Chapter 19 Confession #2
“No.” My voice cracks. “I thought you were my husband.”
“I am,” he says. “I can be. Fuck me, Lucy, but I love you.”
The words hit hard. They’re heavy, especially because I’m dying to echo them, and my heart leaps to hear them in Dallas’s desperate rasp… but they don’t fix anything. Not yet. Now now. Maybe not ever.
I gulp. “I need space. I need some time to think this over.“
“Okay,” he readily agrees. “Take your old room. I won’t bother you, Luce. You come out when you’re ready to talk to me again.”
That’s not good enough.
“I need space, Dallas,” I repeat. “You want me to stay in the penthouse? You want me to be your prisoner—”
His eyes flash again. “I never—”
No. I don’t want to hear it anymore. “I’ll stay. You go. I… I want to be alone. You’re supposed to be at work… doing whatever it is that you do because I know it doesn’t have shit to do with cars… so why don’t you go back to it.”
Dallas winces when I throw in the jab about his being a mechanic. It was a guess—no one confirmed it for me… until the look on his face just did.
He shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans.
“And we’ll talk when I get back? Really talk?
I… I need you to understand why I did this.
I never meant to hurt you, Dandelion. I love you too fucking much to do that.
And I knew this day would come… shit. I wanted you to remember.
To know the truth… just let me explain it better. Okay? That’s all I ask.”
That’s not all he asks, and we both know it. He wants more from me than that. He wants everything. Ever since he walked into my hospital room at St. Luke’s, this stunning creature telling me that he belonged to me… I would’ve given it to him.
But now? I don’t know.
I lie anyway.
“Okay. We’ll talk. Later.”
Much later.
I wait an hour to make sure that Dallas is really gone.
That he isn’t just lurking in the hallway outside of the penthouse or in his office one floor below.
Maybe he is, but I think I’ve gotten a good measure of him by now.
I told him I need space. Since he can’t go to his private workout room to work out his frustrations, he’ll find somewhere else to beat the shit out of something—and he’ll be careful to leave the Fortress so that I can’t accuse him of not listening to me when I asked for space.
Then, once I’m sure that he won’t catch me straight away, I take out my phone.
When Dallas first gave it to me, there was only one number in it: his personal line.
Since then, I’ve had one addition. As quickly as I can, I tap out a message.
I wait for a response. When I get it less than a minute later, I know that I have about twenty or so to get ready to leave.
I don’t have a lot I want to take. I don’t even know if I’m coming back here or when, but I keep the phone and grab a simple black hooded jacket from the closet, then wait for the text that says ‘I’m here’.
The whole time, I wait for my not-quite-husband to come marching into the penthouse.
I mentioned that he treated me like a prisoner, but if he knew what I was planning, he really would lock me down in here to keep me from leaving before he had his say again.
I pleaded in my text to keep my message from Dallas, and I only hope that I made the right decision trusting her when I did.
As soon as my phone beeps, I tiptoe out of the apartment. Still no sign of Dallas, and I let out a soft sigh of relief as I get in the elevator, jabbing the L button for the lobby.
It’s the middle of September. During the day, we can still see the echoes of summer in the brilliant blue sky. At night, the temperature dips, and a woman wearing a jacket with the hood up doesn’t draw much attention.
Especially since her head of white-blonde hair would catch the eye of every member of security who would be looking out for the King’s pawn…
I keep waiting for someone to flag me down as I make my away across the lobby and out through the front door.
I get lucky—or maybe they have orders to watch from a distance, I don’t know—but no one stops me and, before I know it, I’m hurrying toward the basic, nondescript black car that she told me to search for.
I head for the passenger’s side door, pausing when I see that Haven is sitting there. I thought that would be my seat since she was driving, but as I squat a little to check the driver’s seat, I see Connor leaning back, hands rap-tap-tapping on the steering wheel.
I glare at Haven.
She rolls her eyes, the universal gesture for I know you said not to, but I had to tell my husband and he insisted on tagging along anyways.
Connor shifts in his seat, catching my attention. “Don’t worry, Luce. Haven told me we’re keeping this one under wraps. Mum’s the word and all that shit.”
I’m not sure I can believe that. “You’ll lie to Dallas for me?”
Connor chuckles. “For you? No. But for Haven? I’ll do anything for my wife and she told me this is a secret rescue mission. I’m fucking great at those. Now get in before someone in the Fortress sees you and I have to deal with Dallas Collins’s pissy ass.”
You know what? That’s good enough for me.