Wrong for Me

by Jackie Ashenden

  Rachel was being patronized, and she didn’t like it.

  Every so often she’d glance over at where Levi stood with the other men, simply because it was difficult not to look at him. He was taller than the rest and much broader, his presence like a force of nature. And they were all looking at him with interest sharp in their eyes, hanging on his every word.

  He wasn’t like them in any way, shape, or form, and yet his “don’t give a shit” attitude was clearly very attractive to them.

  It stood to reason. Wealthy business people liked that kind of thing.

  Which maybe didn’t make Levi so very different from them after all.

  The thought was disturbing, and she looked away, uneasy.

  “Are you okay?” Kate asked, spotting Rachel’s discomfort and instantly solicitous.

  Rachel summoned up an empty smile from somewhere. “I’m fine. But if you could point me in the direction of the ladies’ room?”

  All smiles, Kate gestured, and Rachel excused herself, threading her way through the well-heeled crowd. The champagne she’d drunk sat acidly in her gut, making the uneasy feeling worse.

  As she moved, people glanced at her, some of the men openly salacious as they took in her ink, while disapproval flashed in some of the women’s gazes. She didn’t care about them, didn’t care what they thought, but she was supposed to be here for Levi, and that was what caught at her.

  That he was associating himself with people like these. That he wanted to be among people like these.

  Was this what he’d truly wanted all these years? She’d thought initially that once he’d fully realized what that meant, he’d change his mind. But apparently not. He was standing there smiling, the center of attention for all these people, and quite happy about it from the look of things.

  Perhaps this really was what he wanted.

  The thought made her feel worse.

  She slipped through the crowds, the silk of her gown floating after her as she moved inside the main part of the building and into a deserted corridor. She leaned against the wall a moment, enjoying the silence.

  Then she let out a breath, a deep sense of disappointment settling like a large, heavy stone in her gut.

  She’d promised to be here for him, because he was important to her. Because no matter what he thought about it, he mattered. Both to her and to everyone in Royal. But she didn’t think she could do this. She didn’t think she could stand by and let him do this to the neighborhood she loved.

  You promised him.

  The stone sat heavier. She had promised him. But she wasn’t here because she felt she owed him anything anymore. She wasn’t here because of her guilt.

  She was here because he was her best friend and she loved him. She always had.

  But if he thought what he was doing was right, that this development was what Royal needed, he was wrong. So wrong.

  A footstep made her look up, and there he was, no mistaking his tall, broad figure or the long, easy, athletic lope of his stride as he came toward her. He was smiling as he came closer, and the stone became a massive boulder in her gut.

  She loved that smile, and she didn’t want to take it away, not his pleasure in this, not his pride.

  But you’re quite happy to sacrifice yours?

  She swallowed. What the hell was that about? She wasn’t sacrificing her pride, was she? After all, hadn’t he given her the deed to her building, essentially guaranteeing her plans for her art gallery and the art classes she wanted to start?

  He only gave that to you because he doesn’t need that building anymore. Don’t kid yourself that it’s some kind of grand gesture.

  “Hey.” Levi’s deep voice rumbled in the silence. “I wondered where you’d gotten to. Kate said you’d gone to the bathroom. Did you get lost?”

  Her smile felt fixed, as if she’d tacked it there with nails and it was now starting to come away from her face. “No. Just needed a moment of quiet.”

  If he’d picked up on her mood, he didn’t show it. Instead he held out his hand. “Come on. Novak’s planning on the big reveal in half an hour, but I can’t wait anymore. I want to show you what all this big deal is about now.”

  She couldn’t refuse him; she just couldn’t. He needed this, and, pride or not, she wanted to give it to him.

  So she put out her hand and let him lace his fingers through hers, reveling in the warmth of his touch. “Okay. Show me.”

  He drew her down the silent corridor and through a doorway into some kind of meeting room. The classical music and the buzz of conversation from the party drifted in the air, but the atmosphere inside this room was all business.

  There was a large boardroom table in the center of the room with a whole lot of expensive, white leather chairs grouped around it. Sitting on the table were big sheets of paper, all unrolled to reveal a set of beautifully colored drawings.

  Levi led her over to the table, then dropped her hand, leaning over to push aside a couple of the sheets. “Here they are. One of the architects was going over the concepts with me earlier today. Novak’s going to be doing a full-on PowerPoint presentation, but I thought I could show you these now.”

  A strange hesitancy held her still. She didn’t want to look. She didn’t want to stand at his side and study all these beautiful drawings that he was so proud of, the culmination of his years in prison. The years he was so desperate not to have wasted. Because she wasn’t sure she could hide from him her reluctance about all of this. And she didn’t want him to see that. Not right now, not when he was . . . happy.

  But he was looking at her, and there was so much pride in his expression that she couldn’t refuse him. So she took a step over to the table and looked down at the plans that were sitting on top of it. Sketches of familiar buildings that had been repaired and restored into sleeker, cleaner versions of themselves. Streets with all the grime removed and sidewalks with trees, and park benches for people to sit in. There were bright, clean stores and cafés, a playground instead of the parking lot next to the old general store. Even her own studio was there, with Sugar Ink’s sign in the window.

  “Here,” Levi murmured. “I saved the best for last.” He reached over and pushed another piece of paper toward her.

  It was a plan for a public square right where Gino’s bar was. Except instead of the bar there was a wide-open space with more trees and a fountain in the middle. And a wall with a mural on it. The same mural as the one in Sugar Ink.

  “It’s just a concept at the moment,” Levi said quietly. “But I wanted your art in here somewhere. You could do some massive piece like that one in your studio. Or maybe something else.”

  “Something better, you mean?” The words came out before she could stop them, and as soon as they did, she wished she could take them back.

  He stiffened beside her. “No, that’s not what I mean. Why would you think that?”

  She took a slow, silent breath, trying to ignore the stone in her gut and the boulder sitting on her chest, crushing her. Her instinct was to soothe him, to tell him that it was all okay, that she knew he didn’t mean it.

  But that would be a lie. He did mean it, deep down, and she knew he did because even now, even after she’d told him that he mattered, not what he did or didn’t do, he was still trying to impress her. Still pushing these plans that were, admittedly, lovely, and yet weren’t Royal. In fact they could have been concepts for any neighborhood anywhere.

  She swallowed. He was still insisting on this vision of his. Insisting on his vision of Royal. Insisting on his vision of her.

  His vision of what their life should be.

  Because he didn’t realize that he didn’t need to have any vision at all.

  He just needed to be who he was. The man she loved and always had.

  She looked down at the drawings, her vision blurring with stupid, unexpected tears. Was there any point explaining? Could he even understand?

  You promised him this. You promised. Doesn’t he deserve
it?

  “I’m sorry,” she said thickly. “I didn’t mean to say that. The plans are fantastic, Levi. They’re really great.”

  * * *

  He knew immediately she was lying. Because he knew what she looked like when she was excited, when enthusiasm and passion lit up her face, and neither were there now. There was no light in her face at all. In fact he was certain he’d seen the gleam of what looked like tears in her eyes as she’d glanced down at the plans on the table.

  And the pleasure and satisfaction and pride he’d been feeling all evening suddenly drained away.

  He’d thought she’d be pleased with what he’d done. He’d thought she’d be surprised by how thoughtful and sensitive to the neighborhood and its issues he’d been. Sure, he’d gotten rid of Gino’s, but that place was a shithole and no one went there but the drunks. And, Jesus, he’d put her art front and center, in the middle of the new square. Where everyone would come and sit to enjoy the new atmosphere of the place. Where no one would be afraid to walk for fear of getting shot or raped or murdered.

  But no. Apparently she wasn’t pleased. Apparently what he’d presented her with wasn’t right at all.

  Anger flooded through him, and he let it, because it was familiar and far easier to deal with than his pain at the look on her face. At the way she was so obviously trying to do what she’d promised and support him.

  “You don’t like it,” he said flatly, ignoring the barbed wire that had wrapped suddenly around his heart. Not making it a question because he knew the answer already.

  She kept her gaze on the drawings. “I mean, I think you’re going for the right idea. I mean . . . the trees and things . . .” She trailed off, as if she couldn’t think of anything more to say.

  He couldn’t stop himself. He reached out, gripping her chin in his hand and turning her so he could see her face, look into her eyes. “Don’t lie to me, Rachel. Not now, not fucking now.”

  Her throat moved, her gaze flickering away. Everything was there in her face. Pain. Regret. Sympathy. And her fierce determination. “I’m trying,” she said, her voice shaking a little. “I promised you I’d be here. I promised you that I’d support you because this was important to you. But I’m sorry, Levi. These plans look good, but they’re not for Royal.”

  He knew it. He fucking knew it.

  Disappointment sliced through him and all the good things he’d been feeling tonight, cutting them all away.

  He released her chin and took a step back from her, the warmth of her skin lingering on his fingers and somehow making everything worse. “Jesus Christ, I thought I explained why I have to do this. Didn’t you listen to anything I said?” He was being an asshole and he knew it, but he couldn’t seem to shut himself up. “It’s happening. As of tonight I’ve already got the last few backers I need. I don’t need your fucking approval.”

  Her expression seemed to shatter in front of him, breaking apart into lines of hurt and anguish, before coming together again in sudden determination. “If you didn’t want my approval, then why the hell are you so goddamn angry?”

  His jaw tightened. “I wanted you to like them because you’re my friend.”

  But the look in her eyes skewered that particular fiction. She’d always been able to see right through him. “I didn’t say I didn’t like them. I just said they’re not right for Royal. I mean, why don’t you take them back and discuss them with—”

  “Why the fuck should I do that?” His anger simmered, and it was so easy to grasp it, to use it. “I’m not starting all over again, Rachel. No goddamn way.”

  “But I’m not saying you should start again. All I’m saying—”

  “I put your fucking art in there. Jesus, what more do you want from me? I mean, how much more Royal could you—”

  “Let me finish!” Her voice roared over the top of his, silencing him. “You’re so goddamn angry, it’s making you blind, Levi. Blind to what’s right in front of your stupid, gorgeous face.” Her dark eyes were suddenly full of a fury to match his own, blazing. “We love you. I love you. And you don’t need to do this. You don’t need to be this. We want you for who you are, not for what you can do for us or what you can fix.” And now here it was, the passion in her and the fire, lighting her up like a Roman candle in the night. “So you spent eight years in jail, eight years you’ll never get back? So goddamn what? I whored myself out, and, yeah, I had a lot of trouble dealing with that, but I moved on. I made a life for myself, and, no, it wasn’t perfect, but it was mine.” Her voice was shaking now. “It was my choice, Levi. It was my vision. And what I really do not need is you coming back and telling me what that life should really look like.”

  “I’m not trying—”

  “Yes, you are!” She closed the gap between them, getting in his face, the heat and scent of her swamping him, turning all the anger inside him into fierce, hot need. “You have to stop being so angry! You have to open your goddamn eyes and see.”

  But what was there to see? The same shitty neighborhood. The same shitty future he’d always feared. Where all his hopes and his dreams, the positivity that had gotten him through the first time around, were nothing but ashes at his feet. Where he couldn’t fix anything or make anything better. Where nothing he did made any difference at all.

  Where he’d killed someone.

  “See what?” He kept his voice harsh and cold. “That Royal is just as shitty as it was when I left? That your life is better without me than it ever was when I was there? That there’s nothing left there for me, nothing left there at all?”

  Behind the anger in her eyes, pain glittered bright and sharp. “Of course there’s something there for you—me. Or am I not good enough for you now? Am I too low-rent?” Her gown tightened across her chest as she heaved in a breath. “I’m just an ex-slut, the owner of a crappy tattoo parlor, nothing like you expected, right?”

  The look in her face, the edges in all those terrible words cut him like knives. Forcing him to acknowledge a truth that he didn’t otherwise have the guts to acknowledge, a truth that yawned deep and wide inside him.

  We love you. I love you.

  That was Rachel, loyal to the bitter end. Here because of a promise she’d made to him, not because she’d actually wanted to come.

  And all he’d done was trap her. Take away her choice, scorn the life she’d created for herself. Something he was doing even here, even now.

  Christ, he’d thought that giving her the studio had been so supremely unselfish of him, such a grand fucking gesture. But it wasn’t. Not when all he’d been thinking was that it didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. That he could easily spare one building for her little art gallery or “whatever.”

  No, that hadn’t been unselfish of him. It had been the opposite.

  And now he had to acknowledge that terrible truth, had to find the courage to face it.

  It wasn’t that she wasn’t good enough for him.

  It was the other way around.

  He was a selfish, angry ex-con.

  He was a murderer.

  There was no scenario in which he’d be good enough for Rachel.

  No universe in which he would ever deserve her.

  His anger curdled inside him, seeping away, and there was nothing to replace it this time. Leaving him with the knowledge that without anger filling him up, he was nothing but a hollow shell.

  “No,” he said, his voice sounding weird and empty. “You don’t understand. You were never any of those things to me. And I’m not blind. I can see. I know what I am.” He took a step away from her, putting some distance between them. “And that’s why I have to do this.”

  The ferocity was dying out of her eyes now, as if she’d sensed the change in him. “Levi. Please. Let’s talk about this.”

  He shook his head. “I’m done talking, Sunny. I’m sorry, but this is all I have left.”

  She reached for him, putting a hand on his arm, her touch making everything inside him ache. “But I
told you it’s not. You have me.”

  He stared at her a long moment, the emptiness settling right down into his soul.

  She was right; she had to choose her own life, her way. Which meant it was best that he not be part of it. Best that she forget all about him.

  Best that she turn around and walk out of his life forever.

  Unfortunately, he suspected that there was only one way to make her do that and that was to cut her loose.

  So he moved his arm away, letting her hand slide free. “I’m sorry,” he said, hard and cold. “But maybe you’re right. Maybe you’re not enough for me anymore.”

  He made himself watch her expression crack. Made himself watch the pain in her dark eyes shatter into a thousand glittering shards.

  And he stood there and made himself watch as she turned her back on him and walked out of the boardroom without a word.

  Leaving him alone with his plans.

  Chapter 18

  Rachel caught a cab straight home. It seemed pointless hanging around at a party with the broken pieces of her heart knocking around inside her chest, cutting her with every step she took.

  Maybe you’re not enough for me anymore.

  He didn’t think that about her. He didn’t.

  She leaned her head against the window of the cab, watching the city go past in a blur of neon.

  No, he couldn’t. She’d flung those words at him because she was angry, because he refused to see what was right in front of his face. That she was here for him and so were Gideon and the others, and they didn’t need him to be anyone other than who he was. Neither did she.

  Those plans of his . . . She didn’t think they were really what he wanted for Royal or for himself. Because if he did, he would have talked to people in the neighborhood before he’d developed them, talked to Gideon, to her. And he would have listened to what everyone had to say.

  But he didn’t, and he hadn’t. He’d carried on, letting anger drive him, blind him.