The Man Who Has No Heart

by Victoria Quinn

  He bowed his head, his palm rubbing the back of his head.

  I didn’t jump to conclusions, but that didn’t look like a good sign.

  He stared at the ground for a while before he raised his chin once more, his expression still unreadable.

  “Deacon?” I could deal with his prolonged silence most of the time, but right now, it was impossible. I’d just put myself out there, and I needed him to acknowledge me, to communicate in the same concise manner I just had.

  “Cleo…” His deep voice escaped from his lips with a painful sigh.

  Fuck, that didn’t sound good.

  He moved his hands to his hips. “You mean a lot to me, Cleo. But…”

  Oh, the agony.

  “I don’t feel the same way.”

  I started to breathe hard, overrun with humiliation, with anger. “How can that be possible? You’re my best friend, and I’m yours. You take me to the planetarium with your son, take me to lunch with your family, the cabin for the weekend—”

  “I misspoke.” He sighed again, this time growing frustrated. “Obviously, I’m attracted to you.”

  That was obvious?

  “Obviously, you’re the one person on this earth who understands me.”

  Damn right.

  “But I don’t want to be in a relationship again.”

  Now, it all made sense. Tucker’s warning had been right, that it didn’t matter how Deacon felt about me, what he felt when we were together, his past would restrain him from a better future. “I know Valerie hurt you. I understand that was a bad relationship. But I’m not Valerie. That wouldn’t happen with us—”

  “The answer is no.” His nostrils started to flare, his face starting to tint that red color it did when he was really angry. It was the same look he wore when he was on the phone with Valerie, like he was so pissed off, he didn’t know how to contain everything inside his chest. “I’ve been divorced for six months, Cleo. The last thing I want to do is get stuck with someone else. I like being by myself. It’s the first time in my life that I’m actually happy. Why would I sacrifice that to do that shit again?”

  I closed my eyes briefly, feeling his palm strike me in the face.

  “No,” he repeated, as if his answer hadn’t been clear enough.

  I wanted to walk out, but I also didn’t want to turn my back on him, give up on what we could have. “I understand you’re scared to be in another relationship—”

  “I’m not fucking scared.” He snapped at me, like he’d already given that response before.

  I didn’t like it when he screamed at me, yelled at me, treated me like I was a nuisance. “I’m not Valerie, Deacon. You’ve known me for six months. I’ve only put your best interests first. I’ve proven to you that I’m not some manipulative, cunning, evil—”

  “I never said you were. But it doesn’t make any difference. I will never put myself in that situation ever again. Even now, that cunt is kicking me like a dog, still making my life miserable. Now you suggest the two of us have a relationship—”

  “I’m not Valerie!” I screamed. I felt the angry tears in my eyes, felt exhausted by the suffocating insults he continued to throw at me. “I’m Cleo. I’m the woman you trust to take your son back and forth across the country. I’m the woman who runs your life as smoothly as possible because I want you to be happy. I’m the woman who’s got your back through and through. I’m the most loyal motherfucker on this planet.” I stepped back, breathing hard, keeping the tears at bay so I could let them fall when I reached the hallway. “I’m not her…and I think we’d be great together.”

  He dragged his palms down his face, taking a second to root his anger. When he looked at me again, he was just as pissed as before. “I care about you a lot, Cleo. But I never want this to be something more. I can’t just fuck you and pretend it didn’t happen the next day, so we can’t do that.”

  I felt like I’d been slapped in the face again. That was how he viewed me? As one of his disrespectful bimbos who left their red panties behind? He didn’t feel everything I felt? After everything we’d been through?

  “I want this to remain professional. We go back to what we were and move on.”

  I’d never been this hurt in all my life. When my husband told me about his infidelity and moved out to be with his new woman, I was numb inside. But this was worse, so much worse, because my feelings for Deacon were a million times stronger than what I felt for that piece-of-shit ex-husband of mine.

  I took a deep breath and smoothed out the front of my skirt, trying to turn off my heart, turn off my soul, feel nothing so I could walk out of that residence with the grace of a queen. I wasn’t going to lie, I’d hoped to end up in his bed tonight, to make love so good that we touched the stars. But instead, I’d lost him entirely. “Alright, Deacon.” I straightened my back and squared my shoulders. “I’ll see you later.” I turned around and walked to the door, and the second my face was turned, I felt the tears begin, felt them flood my eyes and spill over onto my cheeks. I wanted to regret putting my heart out there and sabotaging what we had, but I didn’t. Now that I knew where he stood, how he really felt, I could stop wasting my time assuming I was different, that we were supposed to be together.

  “Cleo?”

  I stopped at the door but didn’t turn around. I couldn’t let him see my face.

  He waited for me to face him.

  Never. “Let’s just move on, Deacon.” I shut the door behind me and walked down the hallway to the elevator, doing my best to walk at a normal pace, not to sprint for freedom. He said he wanted to move on and go back to the way we were.

  I could move on…but we would never get back what we had.

  I got into the elevators and the doors shut.

  A part of me hoped he would come after me, like in the movies. At the last second, he’d realize he’d been a dick and he did feel the same way. He’d wipe my tears away with the pads of his thumbs and kiss me, becoming the man I needed.

  But my life wasn’t a movie.

  It was a shitshow of mistakes.

  No one would be awake at this hour, so I let my tears spill down my cheeks, let the sobs crack my chest, let myself come apart, my arms wrapped around my waist and gripping me tightly.

  I wasn’t even humiliated anymore…just heartbroken.

  I can’t just fuck you and pretend it didn’t happen the next day, so we can’t do that.

  I had no opposition to one-night stands. I had no problem with a passionate night that evaporated the following morning. But hearing him say that…hurt so much. I thought I was more than that.

  Guess not.

  The elevator slowed down and stopped at the seventeenth floor.

  You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

  The doors opened, and Jake stood there in sweatpants and a t-shirt, like he intended to grab something from the lobby before returning to his residence. He stilled as he looked at me.

  I was an ugly crier, so my cheeks were probably red, my eyes bloodshot. I probably looked like shit. My palms immediately went to my face so I could block everything out, pretend he wasn’t standing there looking at me.

  The elevator shifted as his weight joined me.

  Then the elevator started to move again.

  “Baby.” He grabbed my wrists and gently tugged them down.

  I didn’t push him off. I didn’t tell him to leave me alone. I’d hit rock bottom and stopped caring. I was numb to everything. I was a good person, but the world kept shitting on my shiny shoes. My husband left me, the first relationship I had with anyone was with a married man, and then I found someone who was really special…and he didn’t give a damn about me.

  Jake looked at me, the emotion in his eyes. “Talk to me.”

  I shook my head, my lips trembling.

  The elevator hit the lobby, and the doors opened.

  Jake turned to the keypad and pressed button 17.

  The doors closed, and we headed back up to his floor.

>   Jake turned me into his body and wrapped his arms around me, letting me use him as a crutch, letting me use him as a tissue. His hand moved up my back as he comforted me. “I’m sorry he hurt you…”

  I stopped fighting it and wrapped my arms around him, letting my cheek rest against his chest.

  The doors opened at his floor.

  Jake moved his arm around my waist, and he guided me out of the elevator.

  Fifteen

  Deacon

  A week had passed.

  I went to work every day like usual, spending most of my time in the lab. I had patient care coming up soon, so my schedule would be different once again. Patient care was the part of my job I hated the most, because I wanted to tell them I would fix them…but I couldn’t.

  Whenever I came home, my groceries were delivered, my dry cleaning was in the closet, my laundry was done, and my mail was on the dining table.

  But I never saw her.

  Not seeing each other for a while was probably for the best, so we both had time to cool off and pretend that conversation never happened.

  When I got home, I saw the mail on the table. I recognized Cleo’s handwriting on the sticky notes. One pile was marked “Paid Bills,” while the others were marked as “Important.” I went through it all and shredded what I didn’t need anymore.

  Then I made dinner and sat at the dining table, working on my laptop while I enjoyed my food.

  Tucker texted me. You want to go out tonight?

  My response was immediate. No.

  Just no?

  I’ve got a lot of work to do. I didn’t want to be around anyone right now. Spending my week in the lab was nice because I didn’t have to talk to anyone. The only person who said anything to me was my assistant, Theresa, but she knew I preferred to talk as little as possible.

  My life went back to normal…as if nothing happened at all.

  The following week was the same.

  I expected Cleo and me to cross paths at some point.

  But that never happened.

  When I came home from work, she wasn’t at the desk downstairs, and when I stepped into my condo, everything I needed was already there. I started to wonder if I used to see her all the time…because she wanted to see me.

  It’d been a while since I’d spoke to Derek, so I contacted his device. Since Derek was smart, we were able to connect our devices through the internet, so I could call him without him actually having a phone.

  It rang for a while before Derek’s face appeared on the screen. His eyebrows were initially furrowed, like he was trying to figure something out, but once he saw my face, his eyes lit up. “Dad!”

  I smiled. “Hey, son.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Just finished dinner. What are you doing?”

  “Working on my train set.”

  “Cool.”

  “Where’s Cleo?”

  I turned stiff at the question, unsure how to respond. “Derek, she doesn’t live with me. You know that.”

  “Yeah, but she’s always around.”

  “Well…she’s not here right now.”

  “Oh.” His eyes turned sad. “Well, tell her I figured out what kind of ants those were at the cabin. Did you know there’s like thousands of species of ants?”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Yeah, it’s crazy.”

  I sat at the dining table, my arms on the surface on either side of the device. I saw his moon poster in the background, along with his space-themed bedding.

  Derek stared at me for a while. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You look sad.”

  “I’m not sad.” I forced a smile.

  His eyes remained glued to the screen. “But your eyes aren’t smiling…”

  Cleo’s observation of Derek had been correct. He could read people’s emotions in a way I couldn’t. He was five years old…and he was always right on the money. “Just tired.”

  “Is something wrong with Cleo?”

  “Why would you ask that?”

  “Because your eyes got sad when I talked about her.”

  I stared at the screen for a while, unsure how to respond to that. “We had a fight…”

  “Ooh…”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Like how you and Mommy had a fight?”

  Nothing like that, actually. “No. Cleo and I are just friends.”

  “But aren’t you best friends?”

  I stared blankly again.

  “Like how you and I are best friends?”

  My eyes softened. “We are best friends, Derek. But Cleo and I…” I couldn’t find the words to describe it, so I changed the subject. “Have you been in the pool a lot? I can see your goggle tan…”

  Now it’d been almost three weeks since we’d seen each other or spoken.

  My life felt off.

  In the beginning, it felt normal. But then it started to feel sterile, empty.

  Even lonely.

  My life was the same every day, going to work and then returning to an empty condo. My evenings were undisturbed. It was just me and my laptop.

  I decided to take the following day off, since it was the day Cleo delivered my dry cleaning and groceries. She would walk inside, and we’d be forced to get past the first awkward conversations.

  But the hours passed…and she never came.

  The next day, I went back to work, and when I came home, everything was finished.

  It made me wonder if she kept her eye on the front door of the lobby, waiting for me to leave the building before she did her errands, to ensure I wasn’t there.

  If that were the case…would I ever see her again?

  After work, I texted her from my condo. Theresa is about to drop off some paperwork I left at the office. Could you take it from her and deliver it? I stared at the screen, wondering what she would say. It felt strange giving her an order as our first official conversation, but I didn’t know what else to do.

  She texted back immediately. You got it.

  I continued to stare at the screen, waiting for more dots, waiting for a longer message.

  It never came.

  An hour later, a knock sounded on the door.

  I left the dining table and moved to the front door, my heart racing a little bit, my palms a little sweaty. Normally, our interactions always made my heart steady, always made me feel a sense of peace. But now, I was simply uncomfortable.

  I opened the door—and saw Matt.

  “Hey, Mr. Hamilton.” He held up the thick envelope stuffed with everything I forgot at the office. “Here you go. Anything else?”

  I took the stack of papers without taking my gaze off his face. “Where’s Cleo?”

  His professionalism faltered at the question, like he didn’t understand why I’d asked. “She’s with another client right now.”

  I’d never asked for anything and got it delivered by someone else—not once in the six months I’d known her. “How is she?”

  “Uh, fine.” He raised an eyebrow. “Everything alright, Mr. Hamilton?”

  “Yes…I’m fine.”

  I texted her on Monday. I forgot my lunch. Could you bring me something?

  You got it.

  I hoped for more, but it never came.

  When noon struck, I knew she’d be there any moment, would step through the doors and bring me what I asked for. Maybe we would talk. Maybe we wouldn’t say a word to each other. But I wanted to see her, regardless of how hostile it was.

  The doors opened.

  I stilled at my desk, eager to see that brown hair, those blue eyes.

  But it was Theresa.

  She walked to my desk with the bag and took out all the containers.

  “Where’s Cleo?”

  She finished removing everything before folding up the bag. “She just dropped this off and said she was in a hurry.” There must have been something wrong with my face because she said. “Everything alri
ght, Dr. Hamilton?”

  “Yeah…I’m fine.” That was the response I’d given to everyone lately, but I was starting to realize it was a bald-faced lie. “Fine.”

  When I got home, I called her.

  It immediately went to voice mail.

  I pulled the phone away and stared at the screen, unable to believe I’d just gotten her voice mail. “Hey, this is Cleo. Leave me a message, and I’ll—” I hung up. I didn’t even know what her voice mail sounded like because she always answered on the first ring. I texted her. You’re just never going to speak to me again?

  The dots popped up right away. Is there something you need?

  No. I just want to talk.

  Well, I’m busy with a client right now.

  I sighed in annoyance, unable to believe this was happening. Then call me afterward.

  The dots were there for a long time, like she was typing up an essay. Your errands have been finished, your bills have been paid, and every request you’ve made has been completed in record time. My professionalism hasn’t changed, Deacon. Now, if you need something, let me know. Otherwise, I’m very busy.

  I read the message twice, my fingers gripping the phone so hard I nearly broke it.

  We enjoyed the game right behind home plate, using the season tickets from one of Cleo’s other clients.

  Tucker had a great time. “I hope a ball comes flying toward us and breaks my arm or something.”

  I gave him a raised eyebrow.

  “You’re a doctor. You’ll fix me.”

  “I’m not an orthopedic surgeon.”

  “A what?” He grabbed his beer and took a drink, his focus back on the game.

  The woman sitting beside me poked me in the side. “Who are you rooting for?” She was a young brunette, maybe a few years younger than me, and she was with a friend. They didn’t seem to be with anyone else, any dates.

  “I don’t really follow baseball.”

  “But you pay a hundred grand for season tickets?” she asked incredulously.

  “I bought them from a friend.”

  Tucker leaned forward. “Hey, what’s going on over here?” He extended his hand, smiling. “I’m Tucker. Sorry, my brother is just brilliant. Doesn’t know how to talk to people.”