Chapter 32
Liam
The heat clings to my skin even after sunset, thick and damp. I welcome the discomfort.
Cicadas scream from the jungle beyond the dirt road, the sound rising and falling like a breath I haven’t been able to catch for the past two weeks.
“You look like you’re waiting for someone to show up.” Alf hands me a beer and sits beside me on his rocking chair on the veranda.
I take a sip, staring down the dirt road that leads to the jungle. Red dust still clings to my boots from today’s build, dried mud cracking along the soles.
I don’t tell him that I’m waiting for Roxy to show up. Not here, of course. She has no idea where I am.
I’m waiting… hoping… for her to show up for us. For our future. For the baby. And for me. Yes, goddammit, for me.
It’s like as soon as I agreed to this stupid timeout, my patience reached its limits. Distance was supposed to calm me. Ground me. Instead, it scraped me raw.
How long can I keep giving with nothing in return?
Fuck unconditional love.
I have a condition, it turns out. I want her to love me back.
Leaving her alone was a mistake. I tell myself I did it for her. For her sense of control.
But sitting here, listening to the jungle breathe, it feels more like cowardice dressed up as restraint.
I’m not there, and I can’t remind her what she would be missing. Though I’m not sure she has been missing anything.
She doesn’t need me. And frankly, that’s one of the things I admire about her the most.
She doesn’t need me, and she will realize that now that I’m gone.
She doesn’t need me, but I fucking need her. Like damn oxygen. Like taking a deep breath of fresh air, and a breathing out of all my concerns.
“Do you want to spill some of those worries?” Alf asks.
He’s known me for ten years. He found me beaten on the side of the road when I came back here to grieve Noah, and I didn’t care about my own life.
Getting into that fight was a suicide mission. I picked it on purpose. Pushed until someone pushed back harder.
I’m not sure whether I really wanted to die, but it doesn’t matter anymore. Alf found me. Nursed me back to life, and I started helping him with his mission here.
Concrete dust, rebar, sunburn, sweat. No boardrooms. No expectations. Just work.
Building affordable housing for the poor. In Noah’s memory. This is where I disappear when I need a reminder that life is worth living. When I need to escape my existence.
Roxy was right all along: being driven by revenge is exhausting. This place has been a reprieve from that.
Working, sweating, exhausting myself for days. Letting my body hurt so my head can finally shut the fuck up.
“You know, man, what I liked about you is that we could be silent together. Don’t fuck it up now.” I raise my beer and take a swig.
“Before I knew your demons.” He circles in front of me with his bottle. “This is different. What did you do?”
I scoff. “Why would you assume I did something?”
He gulps half of his bottle, wipes his mustache, and shakes his head. “Are you going to pick at my words, or be a man and fess up?”
“Being a man hardly means sharing,” I grumble.
“Jesus, it’s like pulling teeth with you.”
He takes a puff from his pipe. The smoke curls between us, sharp and sweet, clinging to the humid air.
I take a sip, and we fall silent. Only the silence isn’t the companionable, pleasant version. It presses. Accuses.
I fidget in my seat, and then I sigh. “Alright, you annoying asshole. I fell in love.”
“My condolences.” He chuckles.
“Fuck you.”
“So touchy,” he taunts. “You’ve been coming here for ten years. Together we’ve built twenty, maybe thirty houses. Not counting the ones you sponsored. All that work, all that charity, and you never ever left here feeling better.”
I frown. “Your point?”
“You’ve been driven by revenge, by grief, by anger and self-loathing…”
“Don’t spare me.” I raise my beer.
“Why would I?” he snorts. “Maybe love is what was missing. The question is, why are you here now when you found one?”
I sigh. “She needed space. Time to think.”
“And you gave it to her?” His tone is laced with condescension. “When you find the one, you hold onto her no matter what.”
“Says the man who’s been divorced three times,” I scoff.
He chuckles. “I’m still searching for the one, but we’re talking about you.”
“I’m not a willing participant in this conversation.” I look at him deadpan.
He plays with his pipe. Hopefully dropping the conversation. Though suddenly I want to talk about everything.
“You hope she will come?” he asks.
I do. “She doesn’t know where I am.”
“Have you hit your head while I wasn’t watching?” He punches my shoulder.
“My head is just fine.” I scoot away.
My heart, on the other hand, feels like it’s been left out here in the heat to rot.
“Then why don’t you let her know where you are? Or even better, go after her.”
“Are you losing your hearing, old man? She asked for space.”
“And I asked for a lot of things, and then realized they were not what I needed.”
“I’m worried she will realize the exact opposite. That she doesn’t need me.”
“A smart woman.” He nods.
“Fuck you.”
“Liam, I have seen your rage, your frustration. I have admired your work ethic. Your craftsmanship. Your drive. But never have I thought you’re stupid.”
“I’m going to bed.” I stand up, done with this conversation.
“Or you should go to the airport and stop moping around here. I’m too old for your toxic energy.”
“Suddenly,” I mock.
But as much as I don’t want to admit it, he’s right. I didn’t come here to heal. I came here to hide.
Why am I giving her space? Because she would spook if I pushed her. Don’t we both deserve more than this careful dance?
Fuck that.
Why have I thought that flying to the other side of the continent would make it easier to stay away? What if something happens? What if she needs me? What if…
“Fuck, Alf, how many beers did you have?”
The old bastard chuckles, dangling his car keys. “Only one. Let’s go.”
The room is empty. Of course it’s empty. She must be at the office. As always. Why didn’t I go to Merged first?
Calm down, idiot.
This is good. This is respectful. I’ll wait for her here. Better than ambushing her at work. She would bite my head off.
She probably still will.
I promised her three weeks, and I’m here a week early. But it’s time we moved forward. Whatever that means.
I failed once. I chose obedience over loyalty. It cost Noah his life.
Standing in the middle of Roxy’s hotel suite, I feel like an interloper. Like I broke into her life again. Uninvited, and pretending it’s for her own good.
This is not even our room. I spent one night here before I took off to give her space.
I’m probably making the biggest mistake. I’m trying to force a decision on her.
But am I really?
We’re getting married—for practical reasons—but still. We’re having a baby.
She might be scared shitless of trusting a man, but she needs to be scared with me. By my side.
Not alone in a suite she can’t afford, drowning in spreadsheets and stubbornness.
If she still doesn’t see it, then I would rather know now. Rip off the bandage.
I can give her space, but she needs to take the leap. If she is not ready, we need to find another way to move forward.
It will kill me, but this limbo isn’t productive. It’s torture disguised as maturity.
The baby might be eighteen by the time Roxy is ready to share her life. We need to resolve this.
Fuck, what am I thinking? I march to the mini fridge. Unscrewing the cap on the small bottle of gin, I gulp it down. The burn doesn’t calm me.
If she isn’t ready to accept me fully, I will wait for the rest of my life. There is no other way. That inconvenient fact is already etched deep in my soul.
I clench my fingers a few times and finally snap out of my spiral. I’m certainly pussy-whipped.
Pathetic. Devoted. Both.
I order room service and wait. I call my car agent for an update. I answer a few emails. I turn the TV on and off. I wish I could go to my garage, but I want to be here when she returns.
I want her to walk in and find me steady.
Not waiting like a threat. Not hovering like a leash.
Just… here.
By nine in the evening, the quiet turns from patient to accusatory. Knowing her, she would sleep at work without a second thought.
I pick up the phone, my fingers hovering. Surprising her might backfire, so fuck that.
I type, erase, retype again.
I’m at the hotel. When will you be back?
I stare at the screen, but she must have her phone on silent. Well, she has to return at some point.
I wander to the bedroom and plop onto the bed. The faint residue of her scent grounds me immediately. Fuck, I miss her.
The message is still unread. Okay, I might as well unpack my overnight bag. I open the wardrobe, surprised that there are hangers left beside all her fashion creations.
Something stops me. I helped her lift her suitcase onto the top shelf. I remember because, of course, she protested.
The shelf is empty. Too empty.
Why would she take her suitcase to work?
Something cold settles in my stomach. Something that doesn’t belong to the present. Something that feels agonizingly familiar.
Loss.
I check my phone again. The message is still unanswered.
I call her. No answer.
I call the last person I want to talk to. One of them, anyway.
“Stone,” Corm Quinn answers. “The only reason I’m indulging this late call is because I’m suffering at the opera.”
“I’m not calling to hear your life story.” I rush to the bathroom. “And since you’re not at work, this call is pointless anyway.”
Her toiletries are gone. Fuck, why didn’t I check sooner? I’ve been lounging here, wasting time.
“Fuck you, Liam,” Corm mutters. “But also, let’s stay on the line a bit longer. Saar is glaring at me, and the intermission is not for another lifetime.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose and swallow my retort, because I don’t have time for this banter. “I can’t reach Roxy. Her phone is off.”
He snorts. “That means I won.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Good that this conversation is happening over the phone, because otherwise blood would be drawn.
My phone beeps with a message. I quickly glance at the screen. It’s from Alf. I don’t have time for his customary complaining about leaving money behind.
“If you don’t know where she is, it means trouble in paradise. I had money on this going down the drain in six months.”
I’m sure the losing party is Caleb van den Linden. These fuckers are unhinged. “Do you know whether she is at work?”
“Oh.” The humor drains from his tone. “So the trouble is real.”
“I swear—”
“Calm down, lover boy. She took a week off.”
“When?”
Pause. Too fucking long.
“Yesterday. Family emergency.”
What the fuck? My heart rate spikes to dangerously unhealthy levels. Family emergency? Tawny? Her father?
“Don’t stress. I’m ninety-nine percent sure that was just an excuse she gave me.” The smirk is missing from his tone like when things are important, mostly when applying his business genius.
“Thank you.” I hang up.
Can I trust his assessment? Only one way to find out, because I don’t have Tawny’s number.
Alf sends another message I ignore while I rush out of the room.
The ride to Roxy’s apartment ages me mentally by at least a decade. I try to call her again. Three. Okay, ten times.
I flex my fingers, but that shit is not helping. Maybe it never was. I almost break down her door.
The super threatens me with the police, but after a bribe, he unlocks her apartment.
No sign of Roxy. She hasn’t been here.
What if she left?
I call my mother. She’s been so into the wedding planning, and with Tawny as the maid of honor… it’s a chance to confirm Corm’s theory.
“Hey, love, how are you?” Her tone soothes the frayed edges of my mind. Momentarily.
“I’m good.” I don’t want to alert her, so I choose my words carefully. “Can you give me Tawny’s number? I’m planning a surprise for Roxy.”
“Of course, I just spoke with her an hour ago. What a sweet girl.”
“Great. Send it to me, please.”
Not that I need to call anymore. There is no family emergency. Roxy is gone.
“I will. How are—”
“Mom, sorry, I have to go.” I hang up.
Roxy is gone. She didn’t wait. I gave her space… and she took it with her.
I walk out of her apartment and don’t bother calling a car. I just wander.
She’s gone.
My phone is pinging in my pocket. I should look at it. But I know it’s not her. So what’s the point?
I walk for several blocks, testing the new feeling. The void. It hurt when I left her behind two weeks ago.
The current pain is a new level of agony. It spreads through my chest and stomach, burning in my throat. I didn’t stay, and I lost her.
I step into a bar and order a double gin. Fuck the tonic. I down it and order another one. And another one. And another.
The numbness I count on never comes.
When I blink, a concierge is helping me out of a car. What the fuck? Did I black out? It’s a hotel. Our hotel.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” I hear my voice.
Lights, murmur, a very, very long hallway, and then, finally, darkness.
My tongue is glued to my palate. The throbbing pain in my temples is deafening. I try to pry my eyes open.
Where am I? And why do I feel like the victim of a steamroller accident?
I sit up, the ground swaying, and… the contents of my stomach end up on the floor.
I plop back into bed, and the events of last night start coming back. Well, the events are kind of hazy, but the gaping hole in my heart… That fucker grew in proportion overnight.
No amount of alcohol could fill it. Maybe ever.
With closed eyes, I deal with my body’s protest against last night’s abuse. Glimpses of clarity penetrate through the suffering.
What if she didn’t leave me?
What if she’s doing exactly what she said she needed to do—thinking?
Hopefully, planning a future with me.
And if it’s without me? Then I still show up. For her. For the baby. Even if it kills me.
Certainly not like I did last night. Fuck. I need painkillers. Shower. Breakfast.
The whole humanizing routine takes me an ungodly amount of time while I alternate between despair, determination, and nausea.
When I feel like a person—the jury is out on that one—I take my phone to call her. Enough of the pity party. We have a child who needs us to be adults.
I swipe my screen, grateful the battery is still alive. Barely. Before I even dial, Alf’s messages glare at me.
Alf
I think your girl is here.
Liam, answer!
Where the fuck are you? You need to come.
Jesus, are you alive?
She is unconscious.
She didn’t leave me. I failed her.