I stared at him, shock radiating through me. I hadn’t known he thought that way, hadn’t even guessed. Sure, I knew he’d always been a fairly locked down kind of guy, but I hadn’t known the reason. ‘Look,’ I said, wanting to reassure him, spreading my fingers out on his firm chest, ‘I get why you might feel that way. But there’s no bomb, E. There’s no piece of him inside you. There’s only you. So you lost your temper one day. Who hasn’t? That doesn’t make you magically turn into him.’
‘So me on the couch, losing control with you, tearing that suit off you? Scratching you? Wanting to own you? That doesn’t have any potential to turn toxic like Dad did?’
I frowned, searching his handsome face, because he seemed committed to this and I didn’t know why. ‘But that’s got nothing to do with your father being a violent drunk, Everett.’
He put his hand over mine where it rested on his chest. ‘It’s all about control. Dad had none, which means that if I don’t want that potential to become reality, I have to have it all.’ Gently, his fingers closed around my hand and he pulled it away from him. ‘And I don’t have that with you.’
Something cold settled inside me and I let him drop my hand. ‘What?’
There was a hard edge in Everett’s gaze now and I knew what that meant: he’d made a decision. ‘We have to stop, Little. You and me. It has to end.’
That hard edge was sharp and it cut me, and it hurt. So much that I caught my breath. ‘What?’ I repeated, like an idiot. ‘What do you mean, it has to end? But we’ve only got another couple of days—’
‘No.’ There was no arguing with that word. It was heavy and final like a rock fall over a mine shaft, closing off all possibility of escape. ‘It’s better if we stop sleeping with each other now.’
The hurt deepened, which was strange because this was only supposed to be about sex. We hadn’t promised each other anything more than that. Just a few days and then we’d go back to being friends.
You don’t want to go back to being friends, not now. You want to be his.
But I ignored that thought. Ignored it completely. Sure, I liked sex, but I could go out and find it with someone else. It wasn’t a big deal. Everett had shown me a few things about myself and I was grateful for it. I could find that with another guy.
‘So, what?’ I didn’t know why I was pushing, but I couldn’t stop myself from asking. ‘You lose control once, rip an expensive item of clothing, put a few scratches on me, and that’s it?’
A muscle in his jaw flicked. ‘It’s not the bodysuit, Freya. Or the scratches. It’s you.’
‘Me?’
‘Yes, you.’ His voice had turned rough. ‘You’re the one who tests my control. You’re the one who makes me lose it. And I can’t have that. Our friendship is too important to risk.’
‘Oh, bullshit,’ I snapped, not sure why I suddenly felt so angry, so hurt, but unable to stop the words coming out all the same. ‘This isn’t about our friendship. And it’s not about me either, so don’t make it all my fault.’ I lifted my hand from his chest then poked him with my finger. ‘This is about you, E.’
His expression grew suddenly cold. ‘Okay, fine. It is about me. It’s about me not wanting to be the man my father was. Is it so fucking wrong not to want to turn into a violent drunk?’
‘It is when it’s a complete goddamn lie,’ I shot back. ‘You know you’re nothing like your dad.’ I poked him again. ‘I’ve known you for years and years and there’s nothing bad in you, Everett Calhoun. So all of this—the bodysuit, the scratches, not wanting to turn into your dad... You know what I think? I think it’s just an excuse.’ My throat closed, but I forced out the rest. ‘You’re looking for a reason to stop this, aren’t you?’
He ignored my poking finger and went very still. ‘And if I was?’
There was a pressure inside me, around my heart, squeezing tight. ‘Then you need to be straight with me. You need to tell me it’s over.’
‘I thought I just did.’
Of course he had. So why was I arguing? Why did this hurt so much?
‘It’s just sex, Freya.’ His voice was hard and cold. ‘It wasn’t supposed to be anything more.’
But it is.
Yeah, it was. And I knew why. If I looked deep in my heart, I absolutely knew why. The answer had been there all along, sitting inside me for years.
I was in love with him. I was in love with my best friend and that was why this hurt so much. That was why it felt like I was breaking in two.
Just sex, he’d said. That was all it was for him, and if he was looking for excuses to end it then that was all it would ever be for him.
It felt like something was tearing apart inside me, but I turned away so he wouldn’t see it because I didn’t want him to know. I didn’t want him to give me platitudes and soothing, or even his own brand of hard understanding. I didn’t want him to do anything for me at all.
I didn’t need him. I never had.
‘Okay,’ I said, trying hard to sound as if I didn’t care. As if I didn’t give a shit. ‘I’ll just go and get dressed.’
‘Freya,’ he said.
But I didn’t want to hear it. I’d heard enough already.
I went into the fitting room, shut the door hard and then I locked it.
And then I sat on the floor and cried.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Everett
I SAT AT the dining table in the hotel, staring hard at the laptop in front of me, trying to concentrate on my spreadsheet instead of the sounds of Freya getting her stuff together in preparation for her trip back to the airport.
I wasn’t going with her. She’d been adamant she didn’t want me to come and I hadn’t argued. Seemed like it would be better for us both if I didn’t.
Especially given how tense the past couple of days had been.
Your fault, asshole.
Oh, I had no illusions about that. I knew it was my fault. I’d been the one to make the decision to stop sleeping together and I’d known that that decision would hurt her. And it had. She’d tried to hide the pain that had glittered in her green eyes, but I saw it anyway. I always knew when she’d been hurt, no matter how many times she insisted she was fine.
She’d been insisting she was fine for the past couple of days too, pretending nothing was wrong. Pretending we were the same kind of friends we’d always been. But we weren’t. I’d organised a couple more touristy things for us to do before she left, and we’d carried on with them. But the magic was gone. There was a tension between us that hadn’t been there before and, quite honestly, I didn’t know if it would ever go away.
I didn’t know what to do about that, either. I couldn’t keep sleeping with her, I couldn’t give in to the possessive need to make her mine, not if I wanted to stay in control of myself and my emotions. Not if I wanted to stay being the man I’d made myself into. Because, shit, what other options did I have? I could keep her, sure, but I knew what would happen if I did. That need I felt for her, that desperation, was too close to the anger that burned inside me, the anger that was still there, even though my dad had died years ago. Anger that he’d turned to drink after Mom died. Anger that he hadn’t been able to control himself. Anger that he’d taken it out on me, that he’d made my childhood miserable.
Freya had accused me of looking for an excuse to end it when I’d told her we couldn’t sleep together any more and I guess she wasn’t wrong. Because it wasn’t so much the control that was the issue, as it was the feeling behind it. The boulder sitting on my chest. The need for her that had only been growing the past few days, a need that went beyond friendship, that wanted something more.
Something I didn’t want and had never wanted.
It was why I preferred the clubs and the strangers in them. Why I liked the rules and conventions that went along with them. I could keep my distance and not give too
much of myself to any one person, because the trust I shared with people in the clubs wasn’t based on emotion. Emotion was dangerous, and I knew exactly how dangerous. And if anger could shake my control then surely I would be more at the mercy of something deeper?
I couldn’t risk it. I wouldn’t risk it.
There was badness in me, no matter what she said.
She deserves better than you, anyway.
I stared, unseeing, at the laptop screen, the pain that had been sitting just behind my breastbone, the pain I’d been telling myself I didn’t feel for the past few days, deepening.
Yeah, she really did deserve better. Because I had a feeling I’d fucked up our friendship too, probably beyond repair.
Come on, did you really think things would go back to normal?
I muttered a curse and pushed back my chair, getting out of it and walking to the windows, then walking back to the table again, restless and antsy, unable to sit still.
No, I knew they wouldn’t, not deep down. But I’d hoped.
Freya’s footstep sounded from behind me and I swung round to face her. She was standing in the doorway, the duffel bag—which was the only thing she’d brought with her—slung over one shoulder. In jeans and a T-shirt, she looked tough and together and so goddamned sexy I was hard instantly. Which was the state I’d been in constantly for the past few days because although my head was clear where we were at, my dick disagreed.
Freya gave me one of those awful forced smiles that didn’t fool anyone, least of all me. ‘Thanks for the past few days.’ She slid her hands into the pockets of her jeans. ‘It’s been...really great.’
My jaw ached and the pressure in my chest felt like a vice, slowly winding tight. ‘Good,’ I bit out. ‘You sure you don’t want me to come with you?’
‘Uh, no. Thanks.’ Her teeth sunk into her bottom lip as if she’d wanted to say something and then had thought better of it. ‘Okay. Well, I’d better go. Guess I’ll see you when I see you.’ Avoiding my gaze, she began to turn.
‘That’s all?’ I didn’t know why I spoke. I shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself. ‘A thanks and goodbye?’
She turned back, an emerald spark of anger bright in her eyes as she glanced at me. ‘What else did you expect?’
Anger coiled inside me, at myself for the way I wanted more when I knew I shouldn’t and, irrationally, at her for making me want it. Another sign that ending it had been the right decision.
‘Nothing,’ I said roughly. ‘Forget I said anything.’
Something about her tensed in that moment and she looked away. I wanted to close the distance, take her chin in my hand and force her back to look at me. Because she was hurt and I...
What? What are you going to do? Kiss it better? Take her in your arms and tell her everything will be okay?
I couldn’t. Because I knew it wouldn’t be.
After the briefest of hesitations, she turned back to the door. ‘Okay. I’d better go.’
‘Freya.’ I couldn’t help myself. My hands were in fists in the pockets of my jeans and I wanted to reach for her so badly it was all I could do just to hold my ground. ‘I’ll see you back in the States, yes?’
She stopped, her back to me. ‘I don’t know if that’s a good idea.’
The vice in my chest squeezed so tight I couldn’t breathe. ‘What do you mean, you don’t know if that’s a good idea?’
Her back was to me, tension in every line of her shoulders. And everything in me wanted to grab her, get her mouth under mine, kiss and stroke away that tension so it would never bother her again.
But I didn’t and the silence in the room got deeper, wider.
‘Because I...’ She stopped then turned abruptly again to face me and I saw what she’d been trying to hide: the tears tracking slowly down her face.
I took an involuntary step towards her, the tears on her cheeks like a knife to my heart, but she shook her head. Hard.
‘You know,’ she said huskily, ‘I thought if I pretended hard enough that I was fine then I would be. But I’m not fine, E. I’m not. And I’m not because I’ve decided that I can’t have you as a friend any more.’ She lifted a hand, wiping at her face and blinking furiously. ‘I want to be more than that to you. Because you’re more than that to me. I’m in love with you, Everett.’
A part of me must have already figured out how she felt, because it didn’t come as a surprise. But it hurt all the same.
‘It’s okay,’ she said before I could open my mouth to reply. ‘You don’t have to say anything. I know you don’t want what I want and honestly, it’s fine.’ She gave me a brief watery smile that broke my heart. ‘I’ll be okay. But...we can’t be friends at the moment. I can’t do it. In fact, I’m not sure if I’ll...’ She stopped and swallowed, wiping away more tears. ‘I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to do it. I hope you understand.’
It felt like she’d put her hand on the hilt of the knife in my heart and had twisted it brutally hard. Making agony seep through me. Her friendship was worth more to me than anything in the whole goddamn world. More than the billions sitting in my bank account. More than the company my friends and I had spent years building. All that stood between me and my fucking father.
And now she’d just taken it away.
You’ve got nothing to live up to now, have you?
No, I didn’t. There was nothing between me and Dad now, so what was the point in pretending? Why was I bothering to be someone I wasn’t? Live up to an ideal that didn’t exist?
She thought I was a good guy, but I wasn’t. A good man would have told her that he loved her in return, would have dried her tears and held her, never let her go. But I wasn’t a good man.
So all I did was ignore the knife shredding my insides and said coldly, ‘I understand.’
Freya gave a little nod, as if I’d just confirmed something for her, and then she turned back to the door once again and walked through it and out of my life.
It was better that way. It really was.
I kept telling myself that for the next few hours after she’d gone, as I circled the suite, walking around and around, unable to sit still or concentrate, the pain in my chest getting deeper, growing wider. Along with my fury.
The pain was fine, because pain was the easiest thing in the world to control. But anger had always been different. It seethed and boiled away inside me like lava, as if I was a volcano about to blow, and I couldn’t get a handle on it.
I stopped in front of the windows eventually, staring out as dusk now settled over the city, and I realised I must have been circling the suite for hours.
Yet all that walking and the pain and the fury hadn’t changed. I felt just as furious and full of agony as I had in the seconds after she’d gone. Because, of course, I only had myself to blame.
I was the one who’d ended it. I was the one who’d hurt her. I was the one who’d stayed silent after she’d told me she loved me.
My jaw ached. My shoulders ached. Everything fucking ached. And I could see myself reflected in the glass, fury written all over my face.
And it was my dad looking back at me.
You’ll never be the man you wanted to be. Not when all you see is your father.
I reached out and touched the glass, touched that reflection, the anger inside me choking. Because he’d been right. He’d always been right. I was exactly like him.
‘I’ve known you for years and years and there’s nothing bad in you, Everett Calhoun.’ For some reason Freya’s voice from the other day floated back to me, exasperated and angry and full of impatience. ‘You know what I think? I think it’s just an excuse...’
I stared at my reflection, the words echoing inside me.
Yeah, it had been an excuse. Because I hadn’t wanted the feeling inside me, the growing, insistent craving for her. A feeling
too big for me to deal with. It was desperation and ecstasy and need and pure happiness rolled into one. Friendship and sex and trust, and too many others to name.
A feeling that pushed me to the edge.
A feeling I didn’t want to acknowledge.
But she did. What’s your excuse?
It felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped suddenly over my head. I had excuses—I had plenty of excuses, just like she’d accused me of. But that was all they were. Just excuses.
Because I was afraid. Afraid of the feeling inside me, the one I couldn’t deny.
I was in love with her. I was in love with my best friend and I didn’t want to be. Because what did I know about love? My dad had never shown me any affection at all, let alone love. All I’d got were fists to the face and empty beer cans strewn everywhere, and that wasn’t what I wanted for Freya.
She’d lost her mother, then been dumped with a family that didn’t want her. Had been brought up by an aunt who hadn’t cared for her. And now she’d been rejected by a friend who should have supported her, a friend that, despite all of that, she loved. And she deserved better than that.
She deserved someone who would love her completely and without reservation. Without control. Without fear. A man who had a good heart instead of a dark one.
The feeling inside me, the intense, possessive one, wound its fingers around that dark heart of mine and squeezed. It was agony.
At that moment my phone buzzed in my pocket and it was only reflex that had me answering it. ‘What?’
‘Where is Damian?’ Ulysses demanded, apparently not noticing my tone. ‘He’s been gone for days and we need to get this meeting—’
‘I’m not interested in your meeting,’ I growled. ‘And I’m even less interested in where the fuck Damian is.’
‘This is important, Everett.’ His voice was its usual cold, flat self. ‘I need to get this foundation off the ground and I need you two to—’
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