Chapter 16 Duncan
DUNCAN
It’s a little before midnight when I take my place in the gallery. Cloaked by shadows, I lean against the wall.
Finally, the worst of this morning has passed.
My pulse has slowed. I don’t need to break anything out of frustration.
The only thing that sticks with me is this insufferable tension. It simmers right beneath the surface as I wait for Elowyn to arrive.
As I think of her incessantly.
The doubts. The confusion. The revenge plan I’m not sure I care for anymore…
All of this is the result of my guilt.
It hurts and, dammit, I deserve that.
The past comes back to me in pieces, reminding me that I played a part in how things fell apart between us too. Distance dulled my concern for her. Her life wasn’t perfect, not even close, and it was like I forgot all about that after the first two years in Jersey.
Rejection cut me deep and I let it distort some of my memories. I did nothing as it messed with my common sense.
If I’d looked closer, if I’d watched her more, I would’ve seen it. The shift in Barclay from belittling to outright bullying. The way gaslighting and manipulation had become second nature to him.
That has to be what happened. There’s no other explanation to how he planted that lie so deep in her head.
“So what?” I grind my teeth. The fabric of my jeans and T-shirt stick to my skin as my muscles pulse. “She could’ve texted. Or called and hung up. Something. I’d have been there in a second. Even less.”
The gallery stays silent in response to my accusations.
My deceitful heart isn’t as quiet.
She thought your kiss disgusted you. That she’d ruined something just by wanting it. That you looked at her like your little goddamn sister. Maybe letting you leave was her way of fixing it.
A rap on the door stops this useless internal debate.
My gaze jerks toward the source of the sound. Electricity buzzes throughout my body. My cock strains to be inside her.
Every part of me is drawn to Elowyn.
Maybe I was and still am second on her list. Maybe she’s sticking around for the money.
She might still hurt me.
Nothing changes the fact that I can’t stop loving her.
There’s no bottling up these feelings anymore. The ones I thought had been buried under heaps of pain.
She’s mine.
Today. Tomorrow.
For-fucking-ever.
Another rap on the door.
I clear my throat that’s thick with emotion and say, “Come in.”
Mary appears in the gallery first, gesturing for Elowyn to follow. Together, they head toward the pedestal.
Elowyn’s gray eyes scan the room.
She can’t see me, but fuck me, do I see her.
The silk bandages fall from the collar of her dress in narrow veils, exposing curves meant for worship.
Her shoulders set back. Her entire demeanor exudes power.
When I made this dress for her, I never imagined she’d look like this.
These bandages are what I use to brace a fractured painting while the glue beneath them sets. They were meant to turn her into what I believed we’d been over the past decade—cracked. Broken.
Nothing feels broken about how badly I want her now.
It feels right.
I should’ve seen it coming. Should’ve looked past my hurt and realized that the moment Elowyn was within reach, my heart would claim what it wanted. And it wants her.
Despite everything—and because of it—I choose this. I choose us.
At last, she’s on the pedestal. Mary is gone.
“Elowyn.”
“Duncan?” She sounds less confident than she appears. “Where are you?”
“Over here.” I’m not sure why I stay in the shadows. I definitely don’t need a moment to catch my breath. Not me. “Don’t move.”
“I won’t, but where are you?” Her head turns left and right, long locks swishing with the movement. “You promised we’d talk.”
“I did.”
And it won’t be about my feelings. My wounds. The hours, weeks, and months I spent waiting for her to call.
We will talk, though.
I just need to figure out what about.
“Will you tell me why you hate me?” The word hate coming from her mouth is hopeful. Like she wishes I hated her.
Anything but indifference, I guess.
For a long time, I wished for the same thing.
But where my soul has hardened against the pain, hers remains tender. Forgiveness radiates through everything she does. Through her soft expression and her softer voice.
Acid creeps up my throat.
Taking a deep breath, I force myself back to the task at hand.
Whatever that might be.
I’ve never been this confused in my life.
One step at a time.
With that in mind, I turn to the end table at my side. Though most of the gallery is dark, I easily find the paintbrush and the Mason jar filled with water.
“Okay, if you won’t talk, I will. Earlier, you asked if I’d believed Barclay.” She pauses. “Let’s say he wasn’t lying, that you’d meant it back then, even if you regret it now. I’m not upset about that.”
Another beat passes. I keep my gaze lowered, letting her talk.
“Duncan, if something I did forced you to leave everything behind, and that in turn made you angry enough to punish me like this, then you need to know I understand, and…”
The gallery seems to close in around us. I hold my fucking breath.
“I’m sorry.”
She’s what?
My head whips in her direction. She’s standing as tall as before; only now, her teeth graze her bottom lip. Her hands wring, chest rising and falling shakily.
I can’t fucking believe this.
Yeah, she apologized about the damn kiss. But that was before today. Before I told her Barclay lied to her.
It’s like she doesn’t believe me.
Worse still, it’s like she can’t.
Fucking Barclay. How badly did he mess with her head?
“I’m sorry for lingering in the hall that night. Sorry I made you kiss me,” she continues.
I’m too stunned to tell her how epically wrong she is.
“I felt so guilty, even years later. That’s why I never called.
” Regret taints her voice, coloring it in a muted, aching shade of blue.
“I hated what I’d done to you. That you lost everything, and it was my fault.
I basically took advantage of you. You told me to go to my room, and I wouldn’t. Couldn’t.”
She can’t possibly think that she coerced me. The boy who went to bed dreaming of her lips. Every time our hands brushed, mine fucking burned.
I want to tell her everything. Need to paint my confession on her body. To say that even if I hadn’t killed a man that night, I’d have kissed her with everything I had, at some point.
God, I want to put this behind us more than anything.
Except then I’d have to be completely honest. If we’re together, finally, I can’t let anything stand between us. That means exposing the worst part of me.
Not the part that hurt her.
She already knows that one.
I’m talking about the fact that I’m a murderer.
I don’t want to bring it up today, when everything between us is still so fragile.
For now, all I can give her is this. Testing the waters before we dive into the heavy stuff.
The air shifts in the room as I cross from darkness into the light.
Elowyn’s gray eyes hook into mine, waiting for me to come closer. Waiting for my answer. My forgiveness.
A huff of a laugh escapes me at that.
“What’s so funny?” Her head tilts, and thick, dirty-blonde locks drape to the side.
Standing like that, she looks like a doll. If I could only put her in my pocket and get the hell out of here—out of my head too—I probably would.
“Nothing. And you don’t owe me an apology,” I quip when I reach the pedestal, inhaling the scent of her clean skin. The faint fragrance of her shampoo. “In fact, don’t ever apologize for being there for me a decade ago. You were off-limits. Forbidden. And still the only thing keeping me steady.”
“Then?” Confusion swirls in her eyes that look silvery up close. “Why are you doing this?”
Because I convinced myself that you never cared. Because I fucked up. Because I can’t be honest with you, not yet.
“I promised you we’d talk, and we will. Later.”
“What’s wrong with now?”
A drum pounds in my head as worry creeps in.
I love how curious she is. That isn’t the issue. What gnaws at me is what happens once I tell her the truth and she starts asking why.
Why didn’t I hand over what little evidence I had to the police?
Why didn’t I drag Ross into civil court where they’d force him to answer questions he couldn’t dodge?
Why did I decide the law wasn’t enough?
And how will she react when the only answer I have for her is this—an eye for an eye?
Before panic has a chance to sink its claws into me, I shut it out.
Then, silently, I continue what I started. I connect with her through art.
When I dip the brush into the water, the bristles darken, the droplets beading at the tip before sliding down the handle as I raise it.
The first pass smooths the collar across her collarbone. She gasps as the silk clings, as the water sinks in, molding itself to her shape.
But that’s the only sound she makes.
As if Elowyn understands that I need touch more than words, she stays quiet with me.
Someone selfish wouldn’t do this. Someone careless wouldn’t be so gentle.
Every second of silence wears down the tension I walked in with. In its place, desire takes root.
Still, I don’t stop. Don’t talk.
I feel.
The moment I slide the brush over her breast, pressing the strip to her hardening nipple, my jaw locks hard enough to ache.
My fingers clutch the brush, nearly cracking it in half. She notices, and a subtle shiver run through her.
I could stay like this forever. Treat her as my art. Watch her body respond to me.
It isn’t possible, though. I have to talk.
We both need it.
“It’s just water.” This explanation has nothing to do with her, me, or our past. It’s what I have. “Nothing permanent.”
“Duncan, hey.” Her voice is soft. Asking without demanding.
“Not yet.”
“Talk to me.” She lifts her hand. One raised eyebrow from me, and she drops it. “I think it’s time.”
Another strip hangs loose at her ribs. The brush follows the curve of her side, slow and precise.