Blake had his share of those kinds of girls while we dated, and I had stupidly stood by, too afraid of what he would do to me if I left. He hadn’t hid it from me, not at the end anyhow. It was as if he got off knowing that I knew and that I was helpless to get out from under his hold.
From under his thumb.
Closing my eyes, I stood over the sink, the scene playing in my mind, and it felt as if it was just yesterday.
We are walking into a club, his hand is in mine, his buddies are close behind us. With my free hand I try to pull down the way too short, sequined dress without Blake noticing. If he did, he’d get mad and we’d end up fighting once we got back home. I look around and notice it’s nothing but men and extremely scantily clad women hanging out.
Blake looks at me, his smile more of a cocky smirk as his eyes look at my chest and back up. He doesn’t say a word to me the entire time, nor do his buddies. I’m like an accessory, a thing. I don’t even exist to them. He has girl after girl rub against him, some even know him by name. They don't look at me either.
Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I turned off the faucet and looked at the countertops. After one last wipe down, I dried my hands on the apron that was part of the uniform and laughed unceremoniously.
I’d traded sequins for cotton, but I was still just part of the background. My place in the world was once more highlighted to remind me of where I belonged.
God! If the hopeful, bright-eyed eighteen-year-old girl who’d arrived at Berkley could see me now, she’d stare at me in horror. How had I messed up my life so badly? Closing my eyes and taking a cleansing breath, I did what I always did when everything felt like it was too much. I pictured my baby girl’s face and I let a small smile fall over mine, even if this time, a quiver moved over my lips.
Two more weeks and we would head out again.
We’d keep going until we reached Costa Rica and found a small city on the beach. My old boss had family in Costa Rica. Maybe I could call her once I knew everything was safe, and she’d help me find her people.
Then maybe I wouldn’t be so alone.
John
My elbows were on my desk, and my hands were covering my face. What have I done?
All those nights together, our date in the rain, the night at the farmers market; it had all held so much promise; promise and fucking hope for the future that I was too much of a fucking coward to reach out and grab. Hearing her light steps come up the stairs, I turned my chair. I stared out the window so my back would be to her, meaning I wouldn't have to look at what my cowardly actions had done to her eyes. Like clockwork, I heard a slight knock on the door.
“What!” I clipped in a growl.
“I’m done downstairs. Do you need anything before I go?” Forgive me. The words were on the tip of my tongue, heavy and ready to slip out. Take me with you, I wanted to beg her, but I didn’t.
“No. That will be all. Thank you, Anne.” My tone was stern as I stared out into the darkness of the night.
“Right,” she whispered, and I shut my eyes, memories filtering through my mind of her saying that word, only in a different way not so long ago. “Right there,” her whispered pleas had undone me, now they made me ache for her.
“I’ll be leaving early tomorrow, don’t worry about cooking. I’ll have Bernadette call and let you know when I’ll be back.” I kept digging the hole deeper.
“Yes, sir,” she clipped back, and I liked that she did that. I must be sick, because I liked her fighting back. That she didn’t let me walk all over her.
“Good night.” The confidence in my voice wavered, and judging by the way her breathing hitched, I knew she noticed it. She took a step forward, and I closed my hands in tight fists, hoping and praying that she would come to me.
She didn’t.
Instead, she walked away. I heard her movements down the stairs, the door lightly closing behind her, and I rushed downstairs to the kitchen. From the bay window over the kitchen sink, I watched her pushing the stroller towards the guest house, barely able to make her out in the darkness. The guest house door opened then shut behind her, the warmth from the place calling to me.
What the fuck had I done?
Chapter Thirty-Four
Anne
The phone rang, and I picked it up before it started up the second time.
“Davenport residence.”
“Anne?” A soft female voice asked, and I held the phone in both hands.
“Yes.”
“It’s Birdie,” she whispered and I smiled.
“Birdie, why are you whispering?”
“Oh honey,” she said, sounding a little sad, then with a deep breath she continued, “I’m calling you to give you a heads up.”
“Heads up?”
“Mr. Davenport is leaving, going home.”
“Oh.” Dread fell over me. It had only been two days since the night I had put in my notice.
True to his word, he’d left early the next morning and hadn’t come back. I looked at the big cherry wood clock hung on the far wall of the living room and frowned. “It isn’t even noon, is he okay?” I asked.
“No.”
“No?”
“Not at all. Oh Anne, he’s in a mood today. I have no idea why. He’s chewed everyone's head off and just fired Kimmy.”
“The receptionist?” I gasped.
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“He said it was because she was breathing too loudly and I'm not even kidding. Look, I hear him in his office. Just… heads up, okay?”
“Okay,” I answered her just as she ended the call. I hurried around the rest of the day, finishing up with what needed to be done around the house and getting dinner ready.
***
He came home about two hours ago and went straight upstairs, not sparing a glance at either me or Zoey, and I was glad that Birdie had called to give me a heads up on his mood. Finishing up dinner in the kitchen with Zoey in her high chair, I heard him yell for me.
“ANNE!”
I took a deep breath, double-checked that Zoey was strapped into her high chair, and rushed up the stairs.
I knocked softly on the door. “Come in,” he growled. He was standing by his desk, his powerful body radiating tension, reminding me of a wild animal that had been caged in for the first time.
“Where’s the Cognac?” He hissed, his hands in fists and my stomach churned.
“I’m sorry?” I asked, trying to keep my calm and not let fear take over.
“I always have a bottle here. Where is it?” He growled again, and I was at a loss for words. I’d never seen a bottle in here when I’d come into clean.
“I….I don’t…”
“Bring me one, and a bottle of bourbon. NOW!” He snapped, making me jump, and our eyes connected. I saw instant regret washing over him.
“Anne...” he said my name with a tone so raw with unheard of emotion—especially from someone who’d been as prickly and moody as he had been— it made my heart hurt, but even then, I stepped back, not letting him get near me.
“I'll bring it, sir. Anything else you would like, Mr. Davenport?” I asked with an attitude I didn’t mean.
He shook his head and opened his mouth, but quickly closed it as if he’d changed his mind about what he was going to say. This is who he is, I tried to remind myself. He’d tried to warn me, and I had been stupid enough to let myself believe he wasn’t bad. That he was the man that showed me the softer side to him in the small guest house and in the sweet moments I knew I would never forget.
The two sides of him were polar opposites, and I was starting to think that I had somehow imagined the sweeter version. The one that laughed wholeheartedly and looked at me like he somehow couldn’t believe I was real. The man I fell in love with.
I left quickly to get what he needed, returning with his bottles and a glass, even though he hadn’t ask for one. Without making eye contact, I let him know I would be in the garden until it was t
ime to bring him dinner, to which he grunted in acknowledgement.
Quickly rushing down the stairs, I took Zoey from the high chair and headed out of the house with her in my arms.
John
I heard the sound of her running footsteps and then the sound of the back door opening and shutting carefully.
I looked out the window, knowing that given the angle in which I stood, she wouldn’t be able to see me.
Have I scared her away enough that she’d rush to her car and leave?
Part of me, the dead part that was encased in rusting iron, hoped for that, prayed she would leave. Today of all days reminded me of why I had nothing to give to anyone. Not to her, not to Zoey, hell, not even to one of the escorts I had been with in the past from Shine.
Funny, when it came to money, I had the Midas touch, but with love, with people, my touch was the opposite. It was as if the grim reaper and I were connected.
I watched her leave the house almost at a jog and my heart clenched, bile rising as I watched her near her little car. Would she leave? It had only been two days since that stupid night and she’d promised me two weeks.
She kept walking to the small gazebo, and I couldn’t stop watching her and Zoey. They sat and Anne talked to Zoey. Zoey was probably babbling back, and I wondered what my girls were talking about. Are they talking about me? I can't think of them as mine!
Yet relief washed over me knowing they were both here and I hated that. I shouldn’t care.
I grabbed the bourbon and took a swig straight from the bottle, letting the burning sensation wash over me. If I were a different man, a good man, one that could emotionally give them what they deserved, I would be relentless towards my drive to making them my girls. But I was not.
Grace's last words played in my mind, over and over again. I loved you, now you disgust me…it’s all your fault, you selfish bastard!
Chapter Thirty- Five
Anne
Night had fallen over the sky as I walked into the darkened room. The darkness and shadows made him seem nothing but a large lump in the corner. His body was slumped on his large leather chair that faced the window. I couldn’t see his features, but I didn’t need to. I knew every line, every angle of his beautifully rugged face. The door squeaked as I opened it wider, letting the light from the hallway filter in, making him a bigger shadow.
“What?” He slurred.
“I… I just wanted to see if…” My words came out too softly, too sweetly. I took a deep breath to filter courage into my backbone. “I wanted to see if you needed anything?” He’d refused dinner, and now that it was time for me to leave, I couldn’t make myself walk out the door without checking on him.
“No,” his deep voice bit back sharply, his huge body swaying slightly in the chair.
“Mr. Crown called a while ago, and he said he was going to be…”
“Call him back, tell him he should mind his own fucking—”
“That won’t be necessary,” a deep voice startled me, making me jump into the dark study with my hand at my heart as I stared at Michael Crown’s icy blue gaze. “Hello, Anne.” His voice was softer, and he had a sad look in his eyes. Soft, almost regretful.
“Mr. Crown,” my voice shook as I took another step into the room that was suddenly bright. I quickly glanced behind me. John was glaring at us, his hand on the desk lamp.
“Mike, please, and I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you again, Anne.”
“You didn’t,” I quickly answered, shaking my head, and he gave me a kind smile.
I turned back to look at John again. He had moved three steps closer to me rather than to Mike, but he stopped when our eyes met. There was an expression on his face that I couldn’t read. I shouldn’t want to know why he was looking at me the way he was, but I wanted to. Like an idiot, I wanted to know.
Twelve more days and Zoey and I would drive off, start anew.
“I should get out of your way. Mr. Davenport, if you need anything—”
“I won’t,” he cut me off, sounding a little less surly. I nodded and then nodded at Michael Crown and got the hell out of there.
John
“What the hell do you want?” I asked Mike who had been leaning against the door of my study since Anne had walked out.
Mike didn’t answer me. He just looked at me, his arms crossed over his chest. I sat down and stared back, willing myself not to give in. He tilted his head, his stupid eyebrows raised.
“I’m fine,” I hissed.
“I can see that,” his voice was unamused, “Sitting in the dark, being an asshole to everyone. You seem perfectly okay,” he answered back, clearly pissed at me.
“Mike.”
“I know what today is. I’m not an idiot.”
“I know you’re not. I also know that you know I’m not going to talk—”
“You never do!” He growled, his hand on the top of his head.
“Go home, Mike. Go kiss your pretty wife and read a bedtime story to your awesome kids—”
“Don’t be an asshole.” He walked over and sat in front of me. His face serious and clearly worried he said, “You need to let it go, you know?”
“You don’t know shit, Mike.” I slurred, the room slightly spinning.
“You need to talk about what happened and let it go, John.” Mike pushed, and I wanted to fucking laugh.
“No, I don’t.”
“John.”
“I don't sleep,” I admitted, and the room went silent.
I looked at Mike.. I was all too familiar with the determined look on his face and sighed. “I don't sleep well. It’s been nineteen years today and there hasn't been two nights in a row that I’ve slept all the way through.” I slurred, lying. The two weeks I’d slept with Anne in my arms I’d slept like a baby.
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“The hell it wasn’t.”
“She was sick, John,” he told me and I winced. I hated talking about her. I hated what she had done. I hated her. But I hated myself more.
“You don't think I know that?” I retorted, turning my back to him, holding on to my desk.
Talking about her...them, it was too much.
“But for the last nineteen years, every night, every fucking night unless I drink it away or fuck it away, that night replays in my head. Over and over. You have no idea what that shit is like. Over and over on fucking repeat. I remember every detail, Mike,” I growled at him, my vision blurry. “The flat stare of her eyes, the way the room was filled with the copper scent of her blood…” I swallowed hard, trying to keep down the bile that threatened to come up. I looked away, picking up my bourbon. “Her body just…. so fucking still. I wasn’t used to seeing her like that, man, you know… you know she never stood still.”
“She was sick and she was selfish,” he said, sitting straighter, and hearing him call her selfish ignited something in me.
“Fuck you!” I hissed at him.
“Grace was selfish,” he repeated, and my right eye twitched. "She was sick, selfish, and horribly spoiled. She was also beautiful, funny, and had a good heart when she wanted to share that with you. But what she did that night, how she did it…” Mike shook his head. “I was with you before she left...she was a bitch and—”
“Don’t..." I growled. I knew he was right but I couldn’t let him talk about her like that. It’d been my fault! If only.
"You couldn't save her. You couldn’t save her because she didn't want to be saved, John. Grace had serious problems, you know that.”
“Why are you here?” I asked him, taking a gulp of my drink. Mike’s face was now angry and red. “This isn’t your shit to deal with, so I’m asking again, why are you here?”
“Because you’re my brother,” he answered me stubbornly, and I couldn’t help the humorless chuckle that escaped.
“Fuck you, man.” I shook my head.
“Honestly? You want to know why I’m here?”
“Yeah.”
�
��I’m tired of seeing those damn ghosts in your eyes, John. Ghosts you think you hide, but knowing you like I do, I know they’re there. I see them. Shit, everyone sees them. I know you like to give the air of not giving a shit. Live by your stupid motto of work hard, play harder, but you aren't fooling anyone but yourself if you think we believe you're happy. You’re forty-three years old, John. Time to move the fuck on and settle down.”
“What, like get married?” I scoffed, but even then the idea wasn’t so bad. Not with a certain kitten and a little princess walking towards me.
“Why not?”
“What the hell for?” I rolled my eyes. Fuck him.
“Damn it, John! Stop acting like an overgrown fraternity brother!”
“Is that what I'm acting like? Shit. I didn't know Mother Superior was going to be throwing out judgements. Fuck you, Mike.” My words now slurred. I could give a shit. “Two years ago, you liked how I lived, you were more than okay living like me.”
“Yeah. You're right, but I grew up. I—”
“You found her. Man, don't fucking bullshit me. Without Merry Sunshine Sabrina, you'd be next to me drinking if it wasn't for her…” The words flowing out of my mouth were garbage, all of them, but I was so far gone I couldn’t stop it.
“You better be careful with what you say next, John. Sabrina loves you. Our kids adore you. You say something now, and you might not be able to take it back." He was right. I was being an asshole. My silence gave him the idea that I wanted him to keep talking.
“Grow up, John. It's been nineteen years. Let that shit go. She was a complete bitch, you couldn't have saved her, and even before she did the shit she did, she walked out on you! You need to start to live again." His voice went low and almost soft at the end as I stared out into the darkness. My head was swimming in bourbon. Trying to refill my glass, I noted the bourbon was done and moved on to the cognac.
Davenport Harbor (Six Degrees Book 3) Page 20