The Man Who Has No Heart

by Victoria Quinn

  Her hand was warm from being under the blanket, and I noticed how slender her fingers were, how much smaller her palm was than mine. My heart rate increased slightly at the touch, at the unexpected affection. My eyes stayed on hers.

  She watched me, her eyes a little more alert, as if she was afraid I would pull away.

  But I didn’t.

  My fingers squeezed hers back instinctively.

  Her eyes softened as she looked at me, her small hand cradled in mine.

  I didn’t think about my actions. I was too tired, too buzzed. It felt good, felt right, so I just let it happen.

  Twelve

  Cleo

  “You put the worm on the hook like this.” Derek took the worm out of the bait jar and hooked it on.

  “Alright.” I did the same, cringing at the smell. “Wow, that smells terrible…”

  “The fish like it,” Derek said. “The smellier, the better.”

  “Fish can smell?”

  “Yep.” Derek got his line ready to cast.

  I looked at Deacon for confirmation.

  Deacon nodded.

  That was something I didn’t know.

  “Now, you throw your line into the water.” Derek started to throw his pole back.

  Deacon was on his feet instantly, steadying the pole so it wouldn’t hit me in the face. “Derek, we talked about this. You’re going to poke someone’s eye out.” He lowered the pole and gripped Derek by the wrists, making the motion for him.

  “But I can’t throw it as far like that,” Derek whined.

  “The fish will come to you.” Deacon released him and sat back down.

  Derek gently flicked his pole, making the bait move a few feet away. “I can normally throw it farther than that…”

  “That’s a great spot.” I stood up and mimicked his movements, throwing the line into the water. It was farther to the right so our lines wouldn’t get crossed. “Now what?”

  “We stay really quiet and wait.” Derek leaned over the edge and looked into the water.

  I took in the scenery, loving how quiet it was, how fresh the air was. “What do we do if we catch one?”

  “Throw it back,” Derek said. “I don’t want to kill them…”

  “Good idea,” I said. “I don’t either.”

  We sat there and waited, listening to the birds call from the trees, listened to the distant sound of other boats from the other side of the lake, listened to the water lap against the stern of the boat.

  I turned to Deacon.

  He was comfortable under the tarp, already looking at me by the time I looked at him.

  When I grabbed his hand last night, I didn’t think twice about it. I hadn’t planned it. The moment just felt right, so I did it. He’d been including me in every aspect of his life lately, not because he needed me, but because he wanted me there. I knew Tucker said to be patient, to give him time, but I couldn’t be patient any longer.

  I wanted this man so much.

  And I believed he wanted me too.

  I couldn’t keep it bottled inside any longer. When the time was right, I would just tell him how I felt, since Tucker said Deacon never assumed anything about anyone. I would make it perfectly clear what I wanted and assure him I would never hurt him…that he could trust me.

  And hope for the best.

  The weekend was over within the blink of an eye, and we packed our bags and headed back to the city.

  Derek sat between us on the drive and showed me all the drawings he’d done recently.

  Deacon was quiet from his side of the car.

  I didn’t realize how lonely and empty I was until I met Deacon—and then the smaller version of himself. I found myself longing for this time together, when it was just the three of us.

  It felt like I had a family again.

  We returned to Manhattan, and like always, Deacon walked me to the door. It didn’t seem like he ever liked to leave his son unattended unless he was with me, so he brought him along.

  I got the door unlocked. “Well, thank you—”

  Derek walked right inside. “Is this your house?” He walked to the coffee table and looked at the wilting flowers. “These look old.”

  Deacon seemed a little embarrassed by his son’s bluntness. “Derek. You don’t just walk into people’s homes without being invited.” He walked inside and watched Derek look around. He turned to me. “I’m sorry…”

  “No, he’s fine,” I said quickly.

  He looked at the flowers in the glass vase. “Are those the ones I got you?”

  “Yeah…” I did everything I could to keep them alive, and even though they looked terrible and had started to smell, I just couldn’t throw them away. It’d been a while since he got them for me, so they were well past their prime.

  Deacon didn’t question it, probably didn’t understand I was holding on to them just because he gave them to me.

  “I like your place,” Derek said. “Where’s the rest of it?”

  Now Deacon glared at him. “Derek.”

  “What?” he asked innocently, obviously not meaning to offend me.

  Deacon walked over to him. “Don’t say things like that.”

  “Like what?” he asked, having no idea what he did wrong.

  “Deacon, it’s fine,” I said gently. “He didn’t mean anything by it.”

  Deacon grabbed him by the arm. “We’ll talk about it in the car. Come on, let’s go. Say goodbye to Cleo.”

  When he knew he was in trouble, he turned dejected. “Bye, Cleo…”

  I hated seeing his sadness, especially when he was so harmless. He had a heart just like his father. “Bye, Derek. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Deacon looked at me before he pulled his son away. “Thanks for spending the weekend with us.”

  It was a sweet thing to say, especially since he meant it. “There’s no one else I’d rather spend my time with.”

  I was not looking forward to this.

  I was always so happy to see both of them—except when I had to take Derek away.

  I hated hurting Deacon. It was the last thing I ever wanted to do.

  My fist knocked against the door.

  Deacon opened it, dressed in jeans and a shirt, like he intended to go to work after this. “Hey.” His tone was somber, like he couldn’t hide his sadness.

  I gave a sad smile before I stepped farther inside.

  Derek stood there with his luggage and his backpack, not looking at his father, as if he was mad.

  “Ready to go, little man?” I asked.

  Derek breathed hard, like he was furious. “Why do I have to go? I hate Mom—”

  “Don’t say that again.” Deacon didn’t have to yell like most parents. All he did was change his tone, turn stern, and that was enough to get Derek to obey. He kneeled so they were at eye level. “You don’t hate your mother. You love her, and she loves you.”

  Derek still wouldn’t look at him. “I want to live with you…”

  “I know.” Deacon didn’t get emotional like he had in the past, as if he was prepared for this moment. “I’m going to try to work out something with your mother, see if she’d be willing to move here.”

  “So, I can live with you?” He raised his chin and looked at his father.

  “No.” Deacon didn’t lie to make his son feel better. “But I can see you as much as I want, every day.”

  Derek nodded. “I hate not seeing you every day.”

  “I know, little man,” he whispered. “I’ll figure it out. We’re a family—we should all be together.”

  He nodded.

  Deacon pulled him in for a hug. “This isn’t goodbye. It’s see you later.”

  Derek whispered into his chest. “See you later, Dad.”

  Deacon squeezed him before he let him go. “I love you.”

  “I love you too…”

  Deacon squeezed his arms before he rose to his feet. After a deep sigh, he turned to me. “Let me know when you drop him off.�
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  “I will.”

  “And let me know when you’re home.”

  I nodded. “I will.”

  He moved to me next, hugging me tightly, as if he was saying goodbye to me like he had to say goodbye to his son.

  It was the happiest I’d ever been, being in his arms. I closed my eyes, inhaled his scent, and nearly burst into tears. This man was home to me. He was my best friend. He was everything.

  He pulled away and gave me a final look. “Alright.”

  I couldn’t do this anymore. I couldn’t keep my hands to myself. I couldn’t be professional. This man had infected me like a disease until he completely took me over. There was no vaccine or cure that could ever rid my body of him…and I never wanted to get rid of him anyway. I wanted to be sick, sick with him. My patience had fallen to zero. My restraint had broken. I couldn’t wait another day, another week. I couldn’t act as if he was just a friend and client…when he was my whole world.

  I had to force myself to look away, to grab Derek’s luggage and pretend my heart wasn’t so full that it might explode. “Come on, Derek… Let’s go.”

  Thirteen

  Deacon

  I was sitting in my office when Cleo’s text popped up on my phone. Just dropped him off.

  It had been painful to say goodbye to him again, but now that I was hopeful for a better future, it didn’t break my heart like it did the first time. In time, I could get Valerie out here so I would never have to say goodbye again. Thanks.

  I got back to work, looking over my spreadsheets for a few hours.

  My phone rang.

  Valerie’s name was on the screen.

  It was almost five o’clock, and I was tired. To top it off, I’d skipped lunch, so I was starving. After hearing Derek make negative comments about her, I wasn’t thrilled to talk to her. She didn’t put sunscreen on my son, let him eat shit at the gas station, and didn’t do anything productive with him. It was hard not to be resentful—in addition to all the other reasons I despised her.

  But there would be repercussions if I didn’t take her call. “Hey, Valerie. How are you?” The book told me to always start a conversation that way, to project a feeling of warmth, even if the other person meant nothing to you.

  “Good. It’s so nice to have Derek back.”

  “I’m sure it is. We had a great time. Thanks for letting me have him for as long as I did.” I shouldn’t have to thank her. It was fucking obnoxious, bending over for this bitch like some kind of pussy.

  “Of course,” she said in her gentle voice.

  I waited for her to say something else. If she had nothing else to say, I’d rather wrap up this conversation and finish my paperwork.

  “Derek talks about Cleo a lot…”

  My chest tightened, remembering what Cleo had said a few weeks ago. She’d warned me this would be a problem and I didn’t really understand it, but I’d heard that tone from Valerie enough times to know that if I didn’t tread carefully, a hurricane wouldn’t strike.

  “He said she was with you all weekend at the cabin.” There was no question, only accusation.

  I didn’t say anything.

  “Deacon, are you sleeping with her?”

  I was extremely annoyed by the question, because who I fucked was really none of her business. “No.”

  “Then why was she at your cabin all weekend, Deacon?”

  “Because none of your business.” I tried to control my temper, but I couldn’t. I’d moved across the fucking country to get away from her, and she was still suffocating me. “Who are you fucking, Valerie?” The second those divorce papers were signed, I stopped giving a damn about her—completely and utterly. I couldn’t care less where she slept at night, who was nailing her in the bed I used to sleep in.

  She was quiet, but the waves were coming. The wind was picking up. Her storm was about to crest the horizon. “I deserve to know who’s spending time with my son—”

  “You don’t deserve to know shit, Valerie.” I got to my feet, running my hand through my hair while my nostrils flared. When I faced the window, I saw my own reflection, saw how ugly I looked when I was angry like this. “I don’t stick my nose in your business. Don’t stick your nose is mine—”

  “You’re playing with fire, Deacon—”

  “Then let me get burned. You’ve already burned me enough as it is.” I hung up the phone and threw it at one of the bookshelves. I turned back to the window and pressed my forehead to the glass, the stitching in my chest tight, the anxiety and frustration making all my veins constrict as my blood pressure skyrocketed. “Fucking bitch.” I hated her, hated her so goddamn much. It didn’t matter how far away I moved, she would always be a stick up my ass, always a thorn in my side. She continually used Derek against me, in the exact same way she did when she purposely got pregnant with him. It was like a leash around my neck, keeping me close, keeping me well behaved, like a fucking dog. If I ever truly wanted to be free of her, I’d have to give up Derek…and I couldn’t do that. So, she would torture me—forever. She’d sink her claws into me like she still owned me, like I was still her husband, when I’d never loved her a single day of our lives.

  I shouldn’t have married her.

  I shouldn’t have tried to be a family.

  I should have walked away from the beginning.

  I shouldn’t have gotten involved with her in the first place.

  I was a rich man who had more money than I could spend in a lifetime—but I was still someone’s bitch.

  Fourteen

  Cleo

  After I grabbed my luggage and got into the private car waiting for me, my heart started to race.

  A million miles an hour.

  I was supposed to go home. It’d been such a long day. It would be nice to slip off my heels and collapse onto the couch, smelling the stench that had started to reek from the flowers. But I was so uneasy, so anxious, that the last thing I wanted to do was go to my apartment. Like a secret I couldn’t keep any longer, I wanted to open the lock in my chest and just let everything out. It was making me sick, staying quiet.

  I couldn’t do this anymore.

  I texted Deacon. I’m in New York. It was ten in the evening, but I wasn’t sure what time he went to sleep. I imagined he’d stayed awake, waiting for that message to pop up on his phone…because he cared about me.

  He texted back. Good. His message was short, not even a full sentence. But it was late, and there was nothing more to say about it.

  The driver kept going, and once he reached the fork on the map, to drive to Deacon’s building or mine, I made my decision. “Take me to the Trinity Building, please.”

  He turned on the blinker and didn’t question me.

  Oh my god, I was really doing this. I texted him. I’m coming to your residence.

  His response was immediate. Everything okay?

  I just need to talk to you. I cupped my cheeks and felt how warm they were. I imagined they were red, like they’d been exposed to the sun too long. My neck was hot too, like I was wearing a turtleneck sweater with material that irritated the skin. I wasn’t sure how this conversation would go, but I knew it wouldn’t be simple. Deacon was never simple. But I knew it would end the way I wanted…because it was obvious our hearts were both in the same place.

  I got into the elevator and rose to the thirty-second floor.

  I walked down the hallway and stopped at his front door, staring at the gold numbers on the front like I’d never seen them before. Now my pulse was audible in my ears, thumping like loud bass from a club. “Oh fuck me…” I dug my fingers into my hair and pushed it from my face, more nervous than I’d ever been before. Since he was expecting me, I let myself inside.

  He was sitting on the couch in just his sweatpants, his hair a little untidy as if he’d been in bed when I texted him. He lifted his chin and looked up at me, his brown eyes looking me over like I’d be covered in bruises. He rose to his feet, tall and muscular, and then came close
r to me, shirtless and powerful. His eyes shifted back and forth as he looked into mine, like he would see the words written there in black ink. “Cleo, is everything alright?”

  “Yes, everything’s fine.” Now that our eyes were locked together, I was more nervous. Seeing him in the flesh only reminded me how much I wanted him, how powerful the connection was between our two souls. “I just need to talk to you about something…”

  With his arms by his sides, he stared at me, still, patient.

  “I…I don’t know where to start.” I’d never struggled to hit on a guy, tell him how I felt, or be the confident woman who handled celebrities every single day. But now, I was a nervous schoolgirl, fidgeting in place, wanting to break eye contact.

  Deacon continued his stare, not having blinked since he approached me.

  “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

  He tilted his head slightly, like he was confused by what I said.

  “I don’t want to be your friend anymore. I don’t want us to spend all this time together as separate people. I want us to be together…romantically, physically, emotionally.” If it were anyone else, I would just kiss him, and every thought in my head would be obvious. But with Deacon, I had to be clear, concise, state everything I wanted because he didn’t make assumptions about other people. He relied on evidence and data. Words were the best way to do that.

  He didn’t react. At all.

  “I want you, Deacon…” I wanted him to kiss me, to tell me he felt the same way, to do something. “I want you to know how I feel…as if it wasn’t already obvious.” My fingers came together at my waist, the tips pressing into each other as I fidgeted in place, unable to read his thoughts in that stoic expression.