Not My Heart to Break

by W Winters

  The past needs to stay where it is. Those ghosts are long gone. Carter’s assessment follows me, hardens me… it warns me to be careful.

  As Laura passes the threshold, I notice her long hair, once naturally dark but now lightened, falling over one shoulder. She peeks over her shoulder but not at me though; instead she looks back to her car. Maybe second-guessing everything, maybe wanting to run. I wonder if she can feel the difference inside of me. I feel it every damn day. I’m highly aware that I’m not the same man she remembers from the past. How could I be? That night changed everything about me.

  When she chose to run, so did something inside of me. And it never came back.

  The clack of the front door closing is followed by the lock clicking into place. Laura’s body shudders at the sound, and I watch closely as her plump lips, colored the same dark red as her dress, part as she sucks in a breath. She may not want to admit I’ve gotten to her, but I damn well know I have.

  She can pretend to be the confident seductress when she looks in the mirror. But I see underneath it all.

  The mix of dark woods and grays, all the masculine clean lines of my home is at complete odds with Laura. She stands out, unable to hide in the neutrals of the open floor plan. She aims to move to the sleek ashen davenport sofa in the living room. Even picking up her pace, turning the air between us businesslike, she takes a few steps forward, only for me to catch her elbow and move her forward, toward the office.

  Her quick glance and questioning gaze are gone as quickly as they came. I couldn’t give two shits where we do this, but she won’t decide it.

  She decided to run from me. To steal from me. She doesn’t get to decide anything else.

  Never fucking again. She doesn’t have a choice.

  I’ve had countless days to plan what I’d say and do. Years ago, back in California. And years here, knowing she was close enough to see with only minutes of driving. Even as I walk her through the hall and open the carved walnut office door, ushering her inside, the plan is changing.

  Some days it’s a debt owed and I want her to pay me back, however I choose.

  Some moments the hate for her leaving me at my worst is so strong, that I don’t want a damn thing to do with her. I want her to know how close I am, and to know I don’t care enough to seek her out.

  Smelling her sweet scent, and listening to the steady beat of her heels clicking against the wood, part of me wants to charm her, to beg for her forgiveness and offer her the world. I could give her that. Everything is different now. That part comes with something else. It starts as an inkling of sorrow, but it’s quick to spread, like oil slicking across the water. It’s thin, but covers every inch in blackness. I want to beg her to love me again. I want her to see how wrecked I was. How I feel like nothing without her. I am nothing anymore, but why would she want me? Why the hell would she ever come back?

  She makes me weak.

  “Your home is lovely,” Laura comments politely with her slender back to me as I shut the office door. Both of her hands grip the strap of her purse, giving away the nerves she’s hiding. “The inside isn’t like the outside… it’s so modern and open.”

  I’m different; I know I am, but so is she. We’re nothing like we used to be. I assess her as she appraises my office. Taking in the rows of books, organized by date of publication. I collect the rare ones because I like the way they smell and look, but I haven’t read them. I don’t intend to either.

  Her footsteps are gentler in this room and the angular edges of her dress seem to soften as I watch her move from one end of my small office to the other. Her footsteps are muted although it’s hardwood beneath her heels. She’s walking more carefully, with more hesitation.

  I love that. The façade fades as the seconds pass.

  She’s still the same girl I know, even if she wants to appear otherwise.

  Her hair is curled, meticulously so when she still sat in her car. But the wind has seen to ruffle her blond tresses. I like her even more with her hair slightly messy. She should aim for that next time, a “just recently fucked” look.

  I want to ask her why she did it, why she dyed her hair. It’s gorgeous on her; she has the tan in her skin to pull it off. I love the memory of her from before more though. She was perfect before.

  Her nails are painted a darker shade of red than the short dress that hugs her curves. Even her makeup is flawless. It’s obvious this look—this sex kitten appeal, is deliberate.

  I would like to pretend she did it for me. But two weeks ago, she looked similar. Perfectly put together and dressed with an edge of a vixen. The thought hits me as she glances up at me: this is who she is now.

  Is it a lie? Is she still the woman I fell for?

  Laura turns the moment my eyes read hers, preventing me from imagining running the tip of my finger along her skin. From the crook of her neck, all the way down her back. I could see myself doing it again and again until she begged me to unzip her dress. “Did you decorate it yourself?” Again, she’s polite.

  I fucking hate niceties.

  “I hired someone,” I say and my answer comes out flat as my eyes gauge her expression. Her knuckles are white from her tight grip, but her smile is forced. The longer the seconds draw out, the tighter her grip gets.

  Maybe she’s realizing what I am. Maybe she’s come to the conclusion that she doesn’t trust the man I’ve become. I wouldn’t blame her.

  I take my time, slipping off my jacket and folding it neatly before placing it over the arm of an amber leather executive chair in the corner of my office. The cufflinks are next to go, sitting them on the end of the antique bookshelf to the left of my desk. I focus on them, avoiding Laura’s prying eyes although I can feel them on me. Every step I take circles her as I move closer to where she is until I finally look up at her, feet away, but I feel miles apart with the way she looks at me.

  “Are you scared of me?” I ask her and take a step forward. She doesn’t move from where she is in front of my desk. “Maybe of what I may tell you?” I take another step forward, blocking the light from the floor lamp in the far corner and causing shadows to darken her face. “Or maybe what I may do to you?”

  “If you wanted to hurt me, you would have already,” she answers me with such certainty, although it’s practically whispered.

  She doesn’t say anything else; she doesn’t give a hint of what’s she’s thinking or feeling. She doesn’t apologize. She doesn’t ask me for anything. The tension thickens as she waits for a response from me.

  How long would she have lived without me and been perfectly fucking fine? All the while, I’ve died inside.

  “You stole from a criminal,” I practically hiss. “So many others would have killed you simply to set an example.”

  “You didn’t tell them,” she responds without letting a second pass. I had so much left to say, so much to make her feel the anxiousness I feel. It vanishes when her gaze softens with agony. “You didn’t tell them I took the money. Your crew never knew.” The sound of her swallowing mixes with the desperation in her voice. My gaze falls to her slender neck and then drifts down to the dip below her throat. She must have difficulty breathing now, because her lips part just to inhale and she leaves them that way. Her chest rises and falls and finally she takes a half step back.

  “Derrick?” I ask her and she nods slowly, bringing my attention back to her face. Her expression gives nothing away, even if her posture gives away everything. “What else?”

  “What else what?” she questions, again evenly.

  “Tell me everything Derrick told you.”

  “We haven’t spoken in a long time,” she says then breaks my gaze as the corners of her lips pull downward. Looking behind her, she rests against the edge of the desk, setting her purse beside her. Her hands tremble slightly until she clasps them together, hiding her emotions as she pretends to relax in front of me.

  What a lie she’s become. Or is it only for me? Sucking in a breath, I rip my gaze
away from her and wait for her response. “Tell me.”

  “The last time I talked to him was a few years ago, when you first moved here.”

  “So you’ve known—” I start to say, and it comes out like an accusation.

  “That you’ve been here?” she says as she cuts me off and I only nod. “I knew when you started working with the Cross brothers because of the whispers. I called Derrick and he confirmed it.”

  “What did he say?” I shouldn’t feel this heat in my blood. This apprehension that she may not like what Derrick told her. I’m not here to soothe her or comfort her though. That’s not what this is about.

  I will never let her in like I did before. Never again. I learned my lesson. She made sure of that.

  “He only said you heard about the Cross brothers and how quickly they were taking over… I asked him if you came for me.” Her voice hitches for the first time and she has to swallow thickly before continuing. I watch pain flash across her expression and she doesn’t try to conceal it. “He said you didn’t.”

  Tap, tap. My pointer finger rests on the desk as I lean my thigh against the side of it opposite from her. Tap, tap. I wonder if that hurt her. Tap, tap. I watch her face as she waits for me to say something, but I don’t.

  “I came up with a plan when I heard you were here,” she confesses.

  “A plan?”

  “I had information I thought you’d want.” I don’t respond to her comment. I merely stare in her doe eyes, watching the way the gentle gold flecks among the blue brighten with emotions in their depths.

  “Like a deal? You wanted to make a deal with me?” Anger roils inside of me, overwhelming my focus. A deal to get me to leave her alone.

  “Yes,” she whispers this time and her fear isn’t something she can hide, judging by how she inches away from me.

  “You thought I came to hurt you?” I question her.

  “At first.”

  I ignore my immediate reaction to hearing her admit that. “I have a deal too. I’ve thought of a lot of them over the past few years.”

  “What’s your deal?” she asks and lifts her chin slightly, her bright blue eyes boring into mine. Back to business maybe. I’m not sure what’s going on in that pretty little head of hers.

  “You do everything I say.”

  Her eyes search mine until she blinks rapidly and looks past me, shaking her head. “That’s not a deal.”

  My words echoing in my head sound more and more inviting. “Yes, it is.”

  “What do I get in return?” She licks her lips quickly, leaning forward as if she’s scrambling to hold on to something before adding, “Deals have two parties.”

  “You get to live,” I offer her in all seriousness. I don’t care who she’s become. Laura’s mine. I will get everything I want from her. I need it.

  “I’m already living.”

  “You stole from me. There’s a debt owed and a corresponding punishment. I would never let someone else steal from me and live.”

  “Just kill me then,” she says and her voice cracks although she’s quick to clear her throat. “Just kill me if that’s what you want.” Despite her shattered veneer she holds her head high. She accepts my glare and doesn’t falter, her eyes brimming with tears.

  Before I can respond, she says something else. I don’t hear it though as I take a seat; I simply watch as she pulls herself back together. She’s damn good at it. At not needing me.

  I take my time, giving her a moment to breathe. At the head of the desk, I grip the armrests, waiting.

  “Did you hear what I said?” Her composure is back, although her breathing is ragged.

  “You said you wanted an exchange. You want to change the details of our deal.”

  Her doe eyes beg me to consider, and they hold a vulnerability that her tense curves fail to deliver. As she takes a step forward, I think she wants to sit in the other wingback chair, but her legs give out. She grips both arms of the chair across from me as her chest rises and falls with a quickened pace. She can’t hide the fear of coming back to this life. Of coming back to me.

  As her bottom lip slips between her teeth, I note that she can’t hide the desire either.

  “I’ve wanted this for too long to consider your proposal,” I tell her, spreading my legs wider and leaning forward in the wingback chair opposite hers. My elbows rest on my knees as I lean closer to her, only inches away as I whisper, “You know what I want. I want you.”

  “I can give you something you want more,” she speaks clearly, although her last words waver when her gaze drifts to my lips.

  Lies. There’s nothing I want more.

  I would have told her that and meant it with every bone in my body, but then she tells me, “I can give you Marcus.”

  Laura

  * * *

  What would he do to me?

  Even as I reach in my satchel for the notebook, my hand trembles. I can’t imagine Seth hurting me. I can’t. Even as he looks at me the way he does. That’s not what scares me.

  I’m scared to go back, back to him and all this shit he comes with. I don’t want this life. I’ve never wanted it.

  A voice in the back of my head whispers: you’re afraid to fall in love with him again. I ache for him. So deeply. Agony shreds me when I see who he’s become. I want to cry more than anything. I don’t know how I’ll survive this. All I have to cling to is a collection of photocopied pages, as if they’ll save me from this.

  “You’re lying,” he says and his voice is firm.

  “I’m not; I haven’t lied. I can give you information on Marcus.”

  “Yes you have,” he bites out quickly and for the first time since I’ve been in here, I see a flash of sadness in his dark cobalt gaze. I can’t respond to him. Not even when he turns away from me, leaning back and tapping his index finger on the desk again. He’s so broken. I didn’t do this to him. It’s not because of me. With the notebook of photocopied pages between my fingers, I lie to myself again: I didn’t do this to him.

  “There’s a patient at the Rockford Center. She’s been in and out of there for years although she’s not a resident currently,” I explain as I hand over the notebook. It’s a hardcover, black and nondescript, of her first collection of memories. Holding out the bound pages, I can’t look in Seth’s gaze. I can’t and I won’t, but he doesn’t take it. He doesn’t accept it and with every long second that passes, it only hurts more. “She’s been with Marcus. She knows about him.”

  “Many people work for—”

  “Been with,” I interrupt him to emphasize, “she was his lover.”

  His fingers graze mine as he takes it. A hot and longing need for him is threatening to consume me. With my eyes closed, I try to ignore what the rough feel of his touch does to me. It’s like a sparkler, hot and brightly lit, yet quickly extinguished. A part of me yearns to move forward, to light my entire body. I’ve always been weak for him. My soul in love with his, needing his. I keep my eyes closed even when I hear him turn the pages.

  I left this man years ago but in this moment, it feels like I’m leaving him again. Simply because I refuse to give in. It feels like I’m running although I’m merely standing still in front of him.

  “She wrote detailed descriptions of every location he took her.”

  “We have intel on his habits and the locations of his businesses.” Seth speaks calmly, as if the information gathered in front of him is nothing new. With my eyes widening, I finally look at him, and then my body jumps when he tosses the heavy notebook down on his desk. The slap ricochets through my body.

  “Like I said,” he says and my gaze falls to his throat, watching the cords tense as he swallows and adds, “you’ll do everything I say.”

  “There are more,” I tell him quickly, ignoring his statement and even I can hear how begging my tone is.

  I’ve fallen for this man once. If I do it again, I’ll cross the point of no return. I’m sure of it.

  His gaze is hungry as
he exhales with disdain. “Give me all of them,” he commands.

  “I don’t have them with me.”

  “You’ll bring them next time then,” he says. He’s bossing me around and telling me what to do.

  “I’ll do what I please,” I bite out, remembering who I am.

  Seth smirks at my response, appearing not at all flustered.

  “It will please you,” he tells me and his tone is different. His cadence caresses every inch of my skin. Leaning forward, he rests his hand on my knee, and damn does my body respond to him. “I will make sure of that.”

  “Seth,” I breathe his name.

  “There are other things that need to be done first. I plan on taking my time.”

  Seth

  * * *

  Hearing her whisper my name like that…

  I want her more than I will ever admit. Just like I’ll never admit how dire the situation is with Marcus. I don’t have this information, but she’ll give it to me.

  I burn for her to give me many things before that happens.

  Her pain as I punish her. And her pleas for me to take her back.

  One thing I’d planned to do since I moved back, one thing that has never deviated is sitting right behind her in the top drawer on the other side of the desk.

  She watches me all the while and I wonder what she sees. What she thinks. What she feels. The drawer slides out with a creak and it’s the only sound in the office.

  For a split second, I wonder if I should do it. If I should give it back to her. Laura needs to feel it though. She needs to know.

  With the folded paper in my hand, I take a moment to clear off the left side of my desk, slipping a pile of folders inside the drawer. Now all that’s left is my laptop and a few odds and ends. The steel pen container is moved first. I set it on the windowsill behind me; clearing off what remains on the desk will take less than a minute. I want her ass right here, on this desk, once she’s done reading what I’m holding.