Chapter 45
“You’re Losing Me” - Taylor Swift
Maeve
“What are you doing here?” I stumble against my suitcase as I take a step backward.
Pierce glances at it as he moves into the room. “I thought you might need support.”
“You should go.” My pulse is a skittering insect beneath my skin. I need him to leave. I don’t have the energy to resist him if he stays.
His steps are muffled by the carpet, but I feel each of them resonating through my bones. “Is that what you want?”
“You shouldn’t be here.” It doesn’t answer anything, but it’s my last line of defense. If I don’t send him away, if I let him break through a single wall, everything will blow up.
“You’re sad.” It’s all he says, because we both know the rest by heart. You’re sad, and I’m the only one who can make you feel better.
The words to drive him away are on the tip of my tongue. I can taste their sharp metallic flavor. I don’t need you. I open my mouth to push them out, but they won’t come.
Pierce reads my intention along with my inability to follow through. He reads it all, the way he always has. One look, and he sees into the darkest, dirtiest parts of my soul.
I hate him for it.
I love him for it.
He takes another step closer, eliminating the distance between us. Before I can force a word out, his hands are threading through my hair. His thumbs sweep across my cheeks, causing stupid tears to well up in my eyes. “Say it,” he whispers.
I want to. I really do. If I tell him that I need him, that I love him, I know what happens next.
He will make my heart soar for the clouds.
I’ll experience happiness like never before.
But the problem with soaring is that you always have to come down, and I’m too scared that this parachute is faulty.
So I don’t say it. Instead, I push against his chest. “Let me go, Pierce.”
An ominous chill envelops me as he drops his hands and takes a step back. “Where are you going?” he says, nudging my luggage with his toe. His tone is icy.
“The hospital.” I waited only a split second before replying, but it was too long.
“Bullshit.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “Tell me the truth.”
I push past him into the bathroom and start adding cosmetics to my bag. “I am.” It may not be the whole truth, but it’s not a lie either.
“You expect me to believe you need three different hand creams in order to spend the night at the hospital?” He’s followed me into the room, and I’m reminded again of why the two of us would never work.
Shooting him a glare, I reach for my toothpaste. Sharp pain pulses through my foot, and I look down to find a shard from the broken cream jar embedded in my heel. “Ow,” I moan, leaning against the vanity.
Pierce is immediately on his knees beside me. “Hand me a pair of tweezers, and I’ll pull it out.”
I give them to him and scrunch my eyes together as he removes the glass. A minute later, he has my foot bandaged and good as new.
“Why am I always tending to your wounds in the bathroom?” he asks, running his hands up my bare calves.
I long to sink into his touch, to let him take me one last time. But if I do, it will only be that much harder to leave when it’s over. Filling my lungs with courage, I back away from him. “I need to go.”
He moves to block the doorway. “Not until you tell me where you’re going.”
“Pierce, I don’t have time for this.” I sigh and try to sidestep him, careful not to put my full weight on my injured foot, but he’s faster than I am.
His hands snake around my waist, holding me in front of him. “I know you’re not traveling until you know Bash is okay.”
I hate that he knows me this well. At the same time, it’s comforting to know that there is at least one person in the world who understands exactly how I tick. Comforting, and absolutely terrifying.
“I told you,” I say, breathing through my mouth so his scent holds no power over me. “I’m going to see him.”
A low growl comes from Pierce’s chest. “Which he are we talking about?”
Dropping his gaze, I make a last-ditch effort to move from his arms. Surprisingly, he lets me go. Slightly off-balance, I stumble to the bedroom to pack up the last of my things.
“Maeve.” A warning pings in his voice, sounding the alarm, alerting me that I need to seek shelter immediately, that the storm in the vicinity is dangerous. He’s still blocking the door between the bathroom and the bedroom, the light behind him making it hard to see his features clearly.
I know there’s only one thing I can do, only one thing I can say, to make him stop chasing me. One thing that will drive him away for good. No matter how much I like dancing in this thunderstorm, it’s time to get to a safe place.
“Preston is getting a divorce.” There’s a note of confidence in my voice that I don’t feel, not even for a second, but my acting must be pretty good, because Pierce’s face falters just slightly in the dim light. I force myself to press on. “Which means this thing between us is over.”
“No.” The word rings out, slamming into my chest with the force of a bullet.
Fortunately, it also has the power to bring me to my senses. “Yes,” I snap. “It’s not your decision to make.”
“The fuck it’s not.” He strides across the room until he’s standing directly in front of me. “Tell me this is your idea of a sick joke.”
Rolling my eyes, I hoist my duffel over my shoulder. “You’re right. Obviously I’m only joking, because who wouldn’t choose you if given the chance?”
With a jerk of his thumb, he lifts the bag off me. “We’re not talking about anyone else. Just me and you.”
“Well, this conversation is getting boring.”
He leans down until his voice hums in my ear. “That’s not what you said when I had your ankles around my neck.”
I close my eyes against the flash of memories threatening to assail me if I give in. “Listen,” I say, looking at him so he can see that I’m serious. “This was fun. But we both knew it was a temporary thing—”
“Fun?” he interrupts, and a vein in his jaw ticks. “That’s what you call what we had? Fun?”
“I—” The words won’t come, because he’s right. It was so much more than fun, but if I admit that, I’ll have to admit exactly what he means to me, and I can’t do that. I can’t give him that power. So I swallow the fear clogging my throat and whisper, “You know there’s no future for us.”
He reaches out and cups the side of my face. My eyes flutter shut of their own accord, my head leaning into his touch.
“Only because you won’t let there be,” he says softly.
I blink my eyes open, staring at him, wondering if he’s right. If things were different—if I were different—would we have a chance? A future? “I’m sorry. I just can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Pierce,” I say, a plea in my tone. Why does he have to make this so much harder than it needs to be?
“You know I’m right. We can’t even stand each other most days.
” But even as I say the words, they ring as hollow as the inside of a church bell.
Because he doesn’t feel like my rival anymore, the guy I love to hate, my nemesis and the bane of my existence.
He feels like my . . . everything. And that’s a thousand times more dangerous.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” he breathes. “I can’t stand to be away from you.” The hand on my face tightens, his fingers threading their way into my hair. “You’re the only thing I think about. I literally count the minutes until I can see you again.”
It’s only the lust talking. It has to be. Anything else is too lethal to consider. And if it’s just lust— “You’ll find someone else in no time,” I say, my voice breaking at the thought of him putting those hands on anyone else. “I’m sure Loretta or Carol—”
“I don’t want anyone else. I want you.” His lips crash into mine, and I taste the desperation there, the way he fully intends to claim me for himself, to force me to admit the truth standing between us.
I’m as eager for him as always, but the voice of reason in the back of my head cuts through the fog of desire, reminding me of what I need to do. Pulling away, I take a deep breath, more to fortify myself than anything else. “Just let me go, Pierce.”
My words shock him. I can see their impact, the way his face changes, the expression melting off until there’s nothing but cold stoicism left. Instead of saying anything, he simply drops his hands and takes a step back. He tosses my bag at my feet. “Fine. Go. Just admit one thing first.”
I lift my eyes, not because I want that connection, but because I’m powerless to resist his magnetism.
“You don’t love him. You just love who you think you are with him.” There’s a hint of challenge in Pierce’s voice as he folds his arms.
I let out a scoff and drop my gaze. Fuck him. Grabbing my duffel and swinging it over my shoulder once more, I vow that nothing he might do or say will stop me from walking through that door. The handle of my suitcase makes a loud pop as I extend it.
“We both know the only reason you’re choosing him over me is because you can control him,” he says.
Setting my purse on top of the luggage, I glare at him. “I couldn’t make him leave his wife, could I?”
Pierce’s laugh is sharp, cutting through my flesh and right to my heart. “The guy is a bastard. He doesn’t deserve you.”
“I suppose you think you do.”
It’s a cruel thing to say, but that’s what we do, isn’t it? We know each other so well that we can pinpoint the exact place to strike—the point of greatest damage—which is why we’ve always been best at hurting each other.
“No,” he says simply, hanging his head. “I know I don’t.”
It’s the last thing I expected to hear, and I frown. He’s going off script, and that makes me more nervous than if we were hurling insults at each other. At least then I’d know how to prepare.
There isn’t anything left to talk about. I’ve made up my mind, and he can’t stop me. Wheeling my suitcase by the handle, I head for the door.
At first I think he’s going to let me go without another fight, and I can’t decide if I’m relieved or disappointed. But then I hear his footsteps on the stairs behind me. My driver must have been waiting for at least thirty minutes already, and it looks like he’ll have to wait a few more.
I turn to face Pierce, knowing it’s a bad decision, but unable to stop it all the same. It’s like looking at a car wreck. You don’t want to, but you can’t help it.
My breath goes ragged in my chest when our eyes catch, like steak on a dull blade, because I know that he’s hearing all of the words I’m not saying—can’t say—and I wonder if it’s possible for someone to know you better than you know yourself, as if they’ve studied your molecules under a microscope and can anticipate every action you’ll take, every thought you’ll have, before you do.
He does. He always has.
“I love you. If you walk out that door, you’re going to rip my fucking heart out of my chest and take it with you,” he says.
“Pierce.” It comes out as a whimper, and it’s the only thing I can say. Anything else will destroy me completely.
“Stay, baby.” He falls to his knees in my foyer, his heart laid bare before me, his face a crumpled mess. “Stay with me.”
My heart tears in half as I look at him begging me for something I can’t give him. I let out a hiccuping sob before I do the hardest thing I’ve ever done and open the door. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”