Can't Lose Me

by Amanda Torrey

  “Come with me a moment.”

  He took her by the arm and led her into his office, closing the door behind her.

  The popcorn she had consumed in place of a proper dinner began to rise in her throat. What did he want? Last time she had been in his office, he had asked her out. She had hoped he had picked up on her signals, but he was standing too close for what would be deemed appropriate.

  Her mouth went dry and her toes tingled. She needed to get out of there. She liked this job. She liked Antoine. But not the way he seemed to want her to like him.

  “Are you okay? You rushed out of there as if a horde of angry bees were on your tail. Was it something I said?”

  She shook her head, pressing her cold hands to her hot cheeks in an effort to calm the blushing. This was so wrong. So terribly wrong. She couldn’t have this conversation with him. She couldn’t have any conversation with him that didn’t directly involve work.

  “I think I’m coming down with something. I should head home.”

  She turned toward the door, but his hand covered hers over the knob.

  Her heart pounded in her ears as she struggled for something to say.

  His breath against the side of her face had her recoiling. Personal space. She needed it.

  She turned to tell him that, and just as she did, he gripped the sides of her face and swooped in for a kiss.

  His lips were soft and he delivered the kiss of a man with a crush, not a predator.

  Though his touch was warm and not unpleasant, it was wrong.

  Every inch of her face crawled as if a toxic substance had been dumped on her skin.

  She squeezed her eyes tight and kept her lips firm. She placed her hands on his chest—surprised at the muscle she found there—and gently shoved. She didn’t want to hurt him or anything—she just wanted him to stop.

  And for things to go back to normal.

  He raised his head and looked at her face, lowering his hands to her upper arms, but she couldn’t look at him. She was too ashamed at what signals she must have been sending for him to get the idea that she wanted to be kissed.

  “Too soon?”

  His voice was husky with desire but light with good humor, as if her rejection hadn’t hurt or offended.

  She nodded, biting the inside of her mouth.

  “I’m married, Antoine.”

  “Happily?” he asked, not letting go of the hold he had on her arms. His touch was light and pleasant, almost too comforting for the situation.

  Why didn’t she answer? What the hell was wrong with her?

  He reached for her hand and inspected pointedly.

  “You don’t wear a ring.”

  She snapped her hand away from him and backed up. She fiddled with the spot her rings used to occupy. She had left them behind when she had left Gabe. He hadn’t offered them back to her.

  Why hadn’t he offered them back to her?

  “Listen, Mackenzie. If you’re happy in your marriage, please accept my apologies for my behavior. I should have waited until you returned my affections.” He paused. “But if you think it through and decide that you are not happy in your marriage, I’ll be waiting.”

  He cleared his throat and closed his eyes. She knew the look—he was fighting to control his physical response to their kiss. Or his attraction. Or whatever. She refused to look at his pants to see if he had an erection. His erection was his own problem.

  But he couldn’t leave this office thinking that there was a chance. He was a nice guy and she didn’t want to string him along.

  “I love my husband,” she finally managed.

  Antoine was halfway out the door, but he paused. When he turned toward her, his look was pensive.

  He stared at her for a long time. Too long. She felt herself begin to sweat under her armpits and on her palms. Why was he staring like he was trying to solve the mysteries of the pyramids?

  She straightened her shoulders and tried to look confident—a trait she never seemed to come by naturally.

  Her lips quivered, so she tightened them. Her arms began to shake, so she folded them across her chest. Her legs began to tremble, so she leaned against the desk.

  He continued to stare as she grew uncomfortable remembering the hot sex she had had with her husband on his desk at the print shop.

  She cursed herself. If Antoine could read minds, he might think she was imagining him on the desk with her.

  But she wasn’t.

  She bolted to her feet.

  Desks were dangerous.

  And the only one she wanted to be dangerous with was Gabe.

  She excused herself and tried to get past Antoine. He grabbed her elbow and leaned in to whisper in her ear.

  “You say you love your husband.”

  She nodded so vehemently that she made herself dizzy.

  “But does he love you back?”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Gabe checked the chicken to be sure it wasn’t drying out. He poured himself another glass of sparkling cider, wondering once again whether his wife would make it home to celebrate the holiday before they both had to get up to go to work.

  He despised her schedule. Hated that this other job pulled her away from him so much.

  Wondered if something else was going on with her. If she could possibly be fooling around with someone else.

  He forced his jaw to loosen. There was no room for jealousy here. No reason, either. Kenzie had always been faithful to him—even after she had left him. They were soul mates, and no one would ever get in the way.

  She was simply devoted to this job. True, the job had become a bit of an obsession for her, but he’d let her have her fun. Eventually she’d settle back into the easy strides they had always loved. They’d work together, live together, love together. Their marriage would be stronger than ever because she would realize that they had it all already, and stop trying to reach for something else to fill the well.

  He had seen shit like this on those stupid daytime TV shows when his employees played them in the break room. Lonely woman tries to find herself at a new career. Figures out that what she was missing all along was the love and respect of a good man. Finds fulfillment in something that was right there all along.

  That something was him.

  He knew he hadn’t been the best husband. He hadn’t listened to her. Really listened. She had needed to talk, and he hadn’t been willing.

  But then he did.

  And things were great.

  He had pulled out all of the romantic stops to celebrate this Valentine’s Day. He had found the fine china and fancy tablecloth and napkins set in the basement, tucked away with the other wedding stuff they never used. He had purchased enough flowers to fill the dining area, and though the sickeningly sweet scent was a tad bit cloying for his tastes, he knew the smile on her face would be worth it all. He had blown out the candles two hours ago when he had thought she’d have been home, figuring she was yet again covering someone else’s shift. He’d relight them when she pulled in the driveway; otherwise they were likely to be waxy little stubs by the time she arrived.

  He made himself a peanut butter sandwich. The meal had to be perfect, but he was starving. And he didn’t want to act all hangry-cave-man when she came home. She’d be tired. Possibly moody. And it was his job to make her see that he was all she needed.

  When he finally heard the squeal of her car—he’d have to check her belts soon—and the weight of her tires pressing against the gravel, he stuffed the rest of his sandwich in his mouth and hurriedly lit the candles.

  He swiped the crumbs off his chest and swooshed his mouth with water.

  Stomach still growling, and hoping they’d eat fast so they could get to the real Valentine’s fun in the bedroom, he erased all traces of irritation and impatience from his face and smiled as he opened the door to greet her.

  He could tell right away she had been crying. Her eyes were red and swollen, and though she had probably tried to clean up th
e smudged mascara, he could see a tell-tale smudge on the corner of her eyelid. Her nose matched her eyes in its redness.

  “What’s wrong?” He pulled her in and shut the door behind her, unzipping her coat to check for injuries. “Are you hurt?”

  She shook her head and refused to look at him.

  “You’re home so late.” He hadn’t meant to sound accusatory, but he couldn’t exactly recall his words, so he forced a smile and touched the side of her face. “I missed you.”

  She flinched and pulled away.

  What the fuck?

  She finished pulling off her coat and tossed her boots to the side, not carefully lining them up like they both usually did.

  Something was up. And he needed to know what.

  Was he about to wake up to another “Dear Gabe, It’s been great but see ya” letter?

  The sandwich he had quickly consumed now twisted in his gut. His mouth became drier than just peanut butter induced dryness, and sharp pains rippled through his chest. He held his breath so he wouldn’t say things he didn’t mean.

  She had probably had a rough day. He shouldn’t jump to conclusions when he had no fucking clue what was wrong with her.

  Wasn’t her fault that he hadn’t told her his plans for the evening. Though she could have texted him back earlier to let him know she’d be late…

  He wanted to stop her from rushing away from him. Was she going to bed already? Without a kiss? Or, hell, a “Happy Valentine’s Day”?

  She stopped short when she reached the dining area and clapped her hands over her mouth.

  “Gabe.” Her voice was thick and strangled. “It’s so beautiful. I had no idea.”

  “You would have if you had responded to my texts.”

  “I’m s-sorry.”

  Her eyes welled up again and he cursed himself for making her cry. He had meant to keep calm.

  Maybe he was a bigger asshole than he had thought.

  “No, I’m sorry. I’m acting like an ass.” He closed the distance between them and pulled her close. She didn’t soften against him like he expected her to. “Kenz, what’s going on? I’m not mad.”

  She sniffled and pulled away.

  “You did all of this for me,” she said, gesturing at the table he had so carefully set and the flowers that paled in comparison to her beauty. “And I—”

  “You’re late. It’s no big deal. What sounded like anger was just hunger. You know how I get. Here, sit. I’ll serve you like the princess you are.”

  “I have to tell you something, Gabe.”

  “Tell me over dinner. You’ll be so impressed by my cooking that I know you’re going to want me to hurry and whisk you away to the bedroom, but I have to be fair and tell you there is an equally outstanding cheesecake in the fridge.” He filled her plate as he did his best to tantalize her senses and draw her out of whatever funk she was in. “But I left the whipped cream in the bedroom.”

  “I kissed Antoine tonight.”

  The world stopped, and all feeling in his body stopped with it. The plate he had been holding plummeted to the floor, crashing at his feet and splashing the carefully prepared meal all over his legs.

  “I’m sorry, Gabe. I didn’t mean to.”

  He cocked his head to the side, looking at this woman he had known since he was a teen. The woman he had never thought could break his heart. The woman who seemed to excel at doing just that.

  “You didn’t mean to?”

  “No. I didn’t. God, Gabe.” Sobs tore through her, and for once, he didn’t feel the need to comfort her. “He kissed me. It was very quick and I pushed him away, but he must have thought I wanted him to.”

  The room was silent aside from the roar of her silent cry matching the rhythm of his dying heart.

  Gabe tightened his numb hands into fists, ready to go pound the shit out of that Antoine.

  How dare he touch another man’s wife? A fucking employee, for Christ’s sake.

  “Did you want him to?”

  Her lack of response should have been the only answer he needed, but he waited.

  And then he walked toward her, ignoring the slices on his sock-covered feet as their fine China punctured his skin.

  “Did you want him to kiss you, Mackenzie?”

  “Honestly, would it even matter to you?”

  Her eyes lit with fire as she finally made eye contact. Her tears seemed to dry up under the heat of the flames she shot at him.

  Rage tore through him.

  How could she think it wouldn’t matter?

  Was this whole coming-back thing just part of her grand plan to drive him crazy? To make him miserable? To test the strength and resilience of his heart?

  Why did she want to destroy him so badly?

  Before he could say something he wouldn’t be able to take back, he collected his things and stormed out of the house.

  ***

  “The director has gone home for the day.”

  Gabe tried not to show his anger—he didn’t want to alarm the kind nurse who had taken a risk and buzzed him in after hours.

  “Do you have a number where I can reach him?”

  She shook her head with a tentative smile. “You know we can’t do that.”

  She placed a hand on her hip and smiled more broadly. “Can I help you with something?”

  He shook his head, and then remembered to smile.

  “Thanks anyway.” His pasted on smile the only thing keeping him from cracking publicly, he started for the door. Before he could reach the exit, he spotted Mr. Clark lumbering toward him, cane in hand.

  “Stop right there, son!”

  Shit. Just what he didn’t need. A Henry Clark episode.

  He pretended he didn’t hear him and pushed on the door.

  “Don’t you dare step out that door.”

  Something about the veracity behind his words and the strength of his voice made him falter.

  He didn’t sound like he was having an episode like he often did when Kenzie brought Mr. Clark to their house or the print shop for brief visits. Maybe he had called him “son” as more of a general term rather than thinking that he was, indeed, the son Henry had conceived with his wife, who he often thought was Kenzie.

  Gabe looked helplessly over his shoulder, hoping the nurse would intervene.

  She threw her hands in the air and shrugged. “Sorry. He’s on a mission to speak to you, and I don’t feel like going home with bruises tonight if at all possible. I’ll get him back to bed after he says his piece, if you don’t mind.”

  He minded.

  But he played along.

  “What’s up, Henry?”

  When the old man didn’t flinch at the use of his given name rather than “Dad,” Gabe knew the man was having a lucid moment.

  “I need to talk to you about your wife. Follow me.”

  The man gestured toward the sitting area by the bay window on the other side of the lobby. Gabe stilled.

  He didn’t want to talk about his wife with Henry, the man who loved his wife almost as much as he did.

  He’d much prefer to punch Antoine’s pretty nose in and warn him to stay the hell away from his wife.

  Primitive, yes. But he imagined the crunch of the man’s cheekbone under Gabe’s fist, and the very idea thrilled him.

  The nurse’s eyes begged Gabe to play along so the man wouldn’t have a meltdown. He knew from Kenzie how short-staffed they had been at night—the last thing this woman needed was an elderly tantrum.

  Sometimes doing the right thing really sucked ass.

  He shuffled his way over to the vinyl armchairs and helped Henry get seated.

  “Why aren’t you getting that woman with child?”

  “Excuse me?” Gabe felt the back of his neck grow hotter and hotter.

  “You heard me, son. You kids can’t wait too long or she won’t be able to have them. Is that what you want?”

  Gabe leapt to his feet. Enough was enough. He wasn’t going to talk about impr
egnating his wife with this man.

  “Sit your ass back down and hear me out. I know you don’t want any interference. Don’t think I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be young and proud just because I am covered in wrinkles and losing my damn mind.”

  Gabe needed to get out of there, but one look at the man’s stern and lonely face and he found himself plopping back in his chair like a recalcitrant yet eager-to-please teenager.

  “You’re angry. I sense that I triggered a hot button.”

  “You could say that,” Gabe agreed.

  “My beautiful girl Millie had trouble at first. Is that what’s happening here?”

  Gabe flinched.

  “I see.” Henry reached for his cane and shimmied to the edge of his chair. “That’s why she was upset during our conversation about children.”

  Gabe bit down so hard, he wouldn’t be surprised to find shattered tooth pieces in his mouth.

  “I see those jaw muscles tightening—I’m not blind.” Henry pushed his glasses further up on his nose as if to prove his point. “One word of advice and then you can go home to your pretty thing. You’re angry. I bet you had a fight. Jealous of that foolish director of ours, maybe? You should be. He wants what’s yours. Hold on, son. He won’t get it if you don’t let him.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “If you love her, you swallow your pride. No matter what she does or doesn’t do, you have to love her enough to get through it.”

  Henry started to stand. Gabe jumped up to pull him to his feet, then helped him balance until he found his center of gravity.

  “Do you love her enough, Gabe?”

  Gabe gestured for the nurse to take over as Henry started to wobble unsteadily down the hall. Gabe couldn’t stay. He wanted to throttle the old man he was holding by the elbow.

  Driving home through snow squalls, he missed the turn down his road. Then missed it again. When he missed it a sixth time, he had to wonder why he wasn’t ready to go home.

  Why he couldn’t face her.

  She’d laugh until she started to hiccup if she knew what he was doing. That he was afraid of facing her. That he was afraid that his love had never been strong enough to hold her. That he could never fulfill her enough to make her stay for the long haul.