Chapter Thirty-Eight
H er smile, unguarded and beautiful , spread across her face.
For the first time since she’d walked out of my place, I could breathe.
“That smile.” Holding her in my arms, I kissed the top of her head. “That’s what I was looking for.”
Her arms wrapped around my waist. “Thank you,” she breathed.
“You can thank me after I fix your front door.” Regretfully, I let her go and held the passenger door of the Range Rover open for her.
“Maybe I will,” she quipped, some of her spark coming back.
Closing her door, the corner of my mouth tipped up as I got behind the wheel. An easy silence fell between us on the way back to her place, and I couldn’t think of a single place I wanted to be more than with her.
My good mood held until we stepped off her elevator and found her front door wide open.
Setting the supplies down, I cursed myself for not having my piece. Holding a finger up to my lips, I pushed her clear out of the path of the open door, then held my hand up and whispered, “Wait.”
Her eyes went wide with trepidation.
Hating the fear that lingered just under the surface for her, I moved quietly into her place. With no weapon, I felt naked, but I knew a hundred ways to incapacitate a man.
Turned out I didn’t have to.
“Brian,” I clipped.
Standing in the living room, his back to me, the fucker spun around and sized me up. “Where’s Evie? What happened to our place? Was she robbed?”
Ignoring him, I went back in the hall and purposely took her hand. “All clear.”
“Who’s….” She trailed off as I led her inside, her body going completely rigid. “What are you doing here, Brian?”
Holding a rolled-up piece of paper, he threw his arms up and looked at her like she was out of her mind. “What the hell happened to our place?”
“It’s my place,” she corrected the prick. “The cops needed to get inside, and they didn’t ring the doorbell.”
The prick glanced at our joined hands. “My name’s still on the lease.”
She didn’t give him an inch. “Good for you. What do you want?”
Looking between us, he frowned. “Where’s all your stuff?”
“Gone.” She didn’t elaborate.
His voice quieted with a concern he didn’t have when his wife was lying in a hospital bed. “You were robbed?”
My free hand fisted as my other squeezed hers. I stepped in. “She’s fine.” Not that he gave a shit.
She pulled her hand out of my grasp. “You can leave, Brian.”
Sighing, his fake expression of concern slipped. “I need to speak with you in private.”
“Then you should’ve called.”
“I did,” the prick whined. “You didn’t answer your phone.”
“I had nothing to say to you.”
“Really, Genevieve?” Still holding the paper, his hands went to his hips. “We’re both adults here. I’m sure we can have a conversa—”
“That’s it.” Fuck this asshole. “You’re done. Leave.”
He glared at me. “I’ll leave after I’ve spoken to my wife .”
“Now she’s your wife? When you need something? What about when she was in the hospital?” The fucking prick was lucky he was still standing. “She signed your papers. Get out before I throw you out.” I took a menacing step toward him.
He backed away from me, but looked at Genevieve. “You didn’t sign the part about relinquishing my last name. You need to do that. You know what I asked for. It’s only fair.”
Un-fucking-believable. “Her last name is her business name. She’ll keep it if she wants.” Even though it killed me to have her tied to this prick in any way, it was still her business. She got to choose.
“ Business .” The asshole snorted. “She sends out invitations and orders cakes. It’s not like she’s well-known or even a brand. She knows what she has to do, what the right thing to do is. And my papers?” he asked, incredulous. “Is that what she told you? That I asked for this divorce?” The prick shook his head at her. “Nice, Genevieve, lying to make yourself look better.”
“ Out ,” I barked.
The asshole held his hands up. “Don’t shoot.” He sneered at me. “I’m going.” Moving toward the door, he eyed Genevieve. “Answer your phone next time I call.” He threw the papers he was holding on her kitchen counter and walked out.
Not sure what to think, I looked at Genevieve.
Her gaze on him as he left, her shoulders defeated, she crossed her arms but didn’t say shit.
I waited.
When she continued with her silence, I caved. “You divorced him?”
“He filed the papers.”
Goddamn it. “Not what I asked.” I didn’t give a shit who filed.
She glanced at the couch. “It’s complicated.”
I’ll bet. “It always is.” Needing to pound something, I went back to the hall and grabbed the shit to fix her door because I said I would, but all I wanted to do was fucking pound her ex’s face in, or leave.
It was the second time she’d lied, and I’d be a fucking fool if I gave her the opportunity for a third.
I hauled the material in as she dropped to the couch and turned the TV on. I spent the next forty-five minutes stripping the damaged casing and jamb, replacing them and putting in a new, more secure lock. I broke the damaged pieces of frame I’d pulled off over my knee so they’d be small enough to dump in her trash and went to the ground floor to the dumpster I’d seen earlier. Pulling the gate open, I tossed the wood in the overflowing dumpster, and my gaze landed on white trash bags at my feet. Barely tied off, there were five of them and they all had colorful clothing and material coming out of them. A box next to them was full of knickknack shit women put on bookshelves. I didn’t have to riffle through them to know they were hers.
“Jesus,” I muttered.
Making a split-second decision, I grabbed the bags and took them to my Range Rover. I returned for the box, loaded it in my SUV, then went back upstairs.
Still lying on the couch, curled in a ball, she stared at the TV.
“Door’s fixed.”
“Thanks.” She didn’t look up.
I told myself to walk away. I didn’t need anyone in my life who lied, especially not a woman. Not to mention her moods flipped like a fucking switch. I didn’t know what caused her change for the better on the way to the store, but I’d felt it. Now I was looking at the woman who’d ignored me for a week, the same woman who lied to me about being married.
I knew what I had to do, for my own sanity.
“The key for the new lock is on the counter. Goodbye, Genevieve.”
She waited until I had the door open. “We had an argument.”
My hand on the handle, like a fucking fool, I paused.
“He wanted us to get pregnant.”
My blood boiled at the thought of her having a child with that asshole.
“I wanted to foster. Foster to adopt, actually,” she clarified, taking a heavy breath before her voice went quiet as hell. “He said he wasn’t going to raise someone else’s problem.”
Jesus.
“I was never his wife,” she continued. “I was always his problem. I was his problem when I told him I didn’t want to be married anymore, and when I refused to talk about it. I was his problem when I wouldn’t see his side of it. I was his problem when he got frustrated and filed the divorce papers. I was his problem when I wouldn’t sign papers that made me someone’s mistake… again.” Her voice got even quieter. “I was always someone’s problem .”
Jesus fucking Christ.
“Those papers made me feel like the failure my existence was had come full circle,” she continued. “They made me relive every moment of being put in foster care. It was emotional and stupid not to sign. My rational side knew it. I had no hold on him, not that I wanted one after what he’d let slip about his true feelings. Besides, he has a new girlfriend and she’s pregnant. He wants to marry her and make the perfect family.” She pushed herself up into a sitting position. “Now he can.” She stood. “You should probably go.”
I didn’t leave. I took three strides and cupped her face. “It isn’t your fault he’s an asshole, or that you wound up in foster care.”
“No, it wasn’t, but it felt like it was. I was a six-year-old kid with attention span issues who failed kindergarten, and my birth mom couldn’t handle being a single mom with a problem kid. Just like it wasn’t my fault that those carjackers joined a gang and decided to steal.” She looked up at me with resignation. “None of it was my fault, but it all still happened, and it’s all still my life.”
She’d had everything in her life taken from her or broken by some asshole. Her trust, her stability, her spirit, her heart, but still, still, she’d looked up at me the first time she saw me and she’d given me a smile so pure of heart, it shone from her pretty eyes to her full lips.
I’d seen her as a lost doe, but she’d been waging her own battles since before I’d so much as thought about the Marines. She’d waged and won. Still standing, no training, no military support at her back, no family, no money, she’d navigated her own war zone and come out alive.
She wasn’t a doe.
She wasn’t even weak.
She was a fucking warrior.
I stroked her soft cheek. “You are not a problem, you hear me?” I tightened my hold. “Do not let anyone ever tell you differently.”
Her eyes welled and a tear slid down her cheek.
I lost all restraint.
My mouth crashed over hers.