Chapter 30
THIRTY
Matthew paced the living room, the shadows of twilight lengthening across the polished wood floors. He’d built this place himself. Knew every inch of it, every nail, every fixture.
She’d only left two days ago, but already the treehouse felt unfamiliar. Foreign, even.
He missed the stack of books she’d kept on one of the side tables. The soft throw she’d use to cover her feet as they snuggled together on the couch.
And now—oh, God—the faint trace of her perfume had almost faded away.
She was gone. And his home was now nothing more than a mausoleum of memories.
The lonely silence pressed in on him, suffocating and absolute. He grabbed his phone and scrolled through his contacts without thinking. Joel’s name caught his eye, and before he could talk himself out of it, he tapped the screen.
“Hey,” Joel answered after the second ring. “Don’t tell me there’s trouble with the case?”
“Nothing like that.”
“So this is a social call. What’s up?”
“I need a drink.”
A pause. Then, “You all right?”
“Not even close.”
“I’ll meet you. Where?”
Matthew rattled off the address of a bar just off Ventura Boulevard that he’d noticed a few times. He wasn’t sure why he’d picked it—maybe because it was unassuming, the kind of place where no one would recognize him or care who he was. Joel agreed without hesitation, and Matthew hung up, grabbing his keys before he could change his mind.
The bar was even darker inside than it had seemed from the street. Faint strains of classic rock hummed from an old jukebox in the corner, and the low murmur of conversation filled the air. It wasn’t crowded, but it wasn’t empty either—a handful of patrons nursed drinks at the bar or slouched in vinyl booths.
Matthew chose a stool at the far end of the bar, away from the others. He ordered a scotch, neat, and watched the bartender pour it with practiced efficiency. The first sip burned all the way down, but it didn’t dull the ache in his chest.
He was halfway through his drink when Joel appeared, his broad shoulders filling the doorway as he scanned the room. Spotting Matthew, he crossed the floor with easy strides, sliding onto the stool beside him.
“You look like hell,” Joel said, flagging down the bartender. “Bad day?”
Matthew huffed a humorless laugh. “You could say that.”
Joel ordered a bourbon, neat, then tilted his head to study Matthew. “This is your party. What’s going on?”
Matthew swirled the amber liquid in his glass, watching the way the light fractured through it. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to say. Hell, he wasn’t sure he could say anything at all.
“It’s a woman,” he admitted finally, keeping his tone neutral. “I screwed up. She found out, and now she’s gone.”
“Screwed up how?”
“Old sins,” he said quietly. “Things I did a long time ago. Before Hardline. Well, things I did to finance Hardline.”
Joel eyed him, nodding slowly.
“She thought she knew me, but this—this changed everything.”
Joel leaned back, his expression thoughtful. “And now she’s seeing an asshole version of you instead of the guy she fell for.”
Matthew nodded. “Pretty much.”
Joel’s fingers tapped absently on the bar. “That’s rough.”
“It’s eating me up,” he admitted. “I can’t change who I was. And I thought she knew I wasn’t that man anymore.”
Joel nodded slowly. “Not really my area of expertise,” he said. “You know my track record with women.”
Matthew nodded. In truth, he didn’t know the details. All he knew was that Joel’s wife had left him over three years ago, and he had backed off of relationships altogether, though that didn’t stop the flow of women in his bed.
“Listen,” Joel finally said. “If this stuff about you was a punch in the gut, you can’t blame her for needing time.”
“I know,” Matthew dragged his fingers through his hair. “But it’s still fucking brutal.”
“Yeah, well, love hurts.” Joel sighed, then took another sip of his drink, then set the glass down with a deliberate motion. “You’ve changed, though. You know that, right?”
Matthew shot him a sideways glance. “Have I?”
Joel smirked faintly. “Okay, we haven’t known each other that long, but if this goes back decades, then yeah. I mean, you’ve built an empire, Matthew. You’ve taken care of people. You’ve done a hell of a lot of good. Don’t let one mistake define you.”
Matthew let out a slow breath, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “I’m not. She is.”
Joel chuckled. “Bullshit.”
One word, but pretty fucking perceptive.
“Listen, I’ve been there. Made my share of mistakes, too. Some worse than you can probably imagine.”
That caught Matthew’s attention. He turned to look at Joel fully, his curiosity piqued.
But Joel didn’t elaborate, just lifted his glass in a silent toast. “We’ve all got skeletons, buddy. You need to remember that they’re dead and gone. The trick is to keep the skeletons buried without letting them drag the man you are now down into the grave, too.”
“And how the hell do I do that?”
Joel shrugged. “Show her, man. Show her that you’ve changed.”
The drive back to the treehouse felt endless, the city lights blurring together as he replayed Joel’s words in his mind. Show her that you’ve changed.
Had he?
By the time he pulled into the driveway, he still didn’t have an answer. The house loomed in the darkness, a shadow of the sanctuary it had once been.
He stepped inside, but the space that had once been as comforting as a cocoon now felt hollow. Empty.
He went to the window and looked out over the Valley below. Was she out there, perhaps in her old rental? Or had she gone to stay with Bree and Ash? Or maybe to a hotel.
Hell, maybe she was sitting in a hotel bar right now, sipping a martini and laughing with some man who didn’t really want her—just wanted to get her into bed.
But Matthew wanted her. Christ, how he wanted her.
With a sigh, he headed for the kitchen, another scotch calling his name. But he paused on the way, a DVD case catching his eye. The Thomas Crowne Affair. Pierce Brosnan, Rene Russo, and that sheer black dress.
They’d watched it together, and he’d deferred to her insistence that the remake was better. He wasn’t sure he agreed, but he had to concede that it was definitely hotter.
So hot they’d paused the movie after that scene, their own lovemaking making the dance that had steamed up the screen seem tame by comparison.
They’d watched the rest of the movie naked, curled up next to each other on the sofa, and despite the very energetic sex and their nakedness and the way his cock refused to chill, it was one of the sweetest moments of his life. A moment that showed him how a life with her could be. Fun. Sensual. Surprising. Tender.
Loving.
He closed his eyes, saying a silent prayer to Saint Dismas, the patron saint of thieves. And to Saint Peter, the patron saint of repentance. He wasn’t Catholic. Hell, he hadn’t stepped foot in a church in years. But right then, he needed all the help he could get. And with luck, one of the two would help him figure out what to do next.
Show her that you’ve changed.
With a sigh, he moved to the console and took out the DVD. He put it back into its case, then returned it to its place in the bookcase.
That was when he saw her collection of poems. She’d left it sitting on the shelf in front of the videos. She’d probably put it down for a moment as she chose a flick, then forgot to pick it back up again.
It was one of her favorite books. They’d sit in the evening, and she’d flip through the pages, reading him snippets that moved her.
With a sigh, he closed his eyes. This walk down memory lane was eating at his gut, but he couldn’t keep himself from twisting the knife a little bit more by flipping through the pages himself. But as he opened the book, a piece of paper fell to the floor. He bent to pick it up, realizing it had been a bookmark, and he’d just lost her place.
Then he saw the words on the page, and they hit him like a punch to the gut?—
Read this to Matthew someday. It’s the way I feel about him.
He sank onto the couch, the paper tight in his hand.
He’d spent years trying to atone for his past, to build something good and true. And for a while, he’d believed he’d succeeded.
Now, without Aria, it all felt hollow.
The trick is not letting them bury you.
He didn’t know if he could win her back. Didn’t know if she would ever trust him again—or if she’d even want him once she knew the full truth. But he had to try. Because if he didn’t, then everything he’d built, everything he’d become, would mean nothing.
He stood up, and for the first time since she’d walked out, he felt the faintest flicker of hope.