Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
PJ
It’s never a good sign when you get a text that says “We need to talk.”
When I got one from my mom’s lawyer, it was to tell me she was going to jail. And when I got one from my ex, Alyssa, it was to tell me she was going on something called a walkabout in Australia to find herself.
Last I saw on her socials she had hooked up with a buff marine biologist named Archie. She found something, all right.
Good for her. I’m happier now, with Fallon.
Besides, she also felt that I was too obsessed with trying to find Evans, which…
now that I think of it, I haven’t looked as hard for him lately either.
After Fallon spotted Marina’s not-so-dead brother at the old canning factory, keeping the sweet, sexy, older man I’m in love with safe has been pretty much the only thought in my head.
That, and keeping an eye on Jojo when she decides to play with Bruiser.
She seems okay with him, but I take a trust but verify approach when it comes to a bird who used to pretend she had a cough and a limp when I wouldn’t give her extra treats.
She may look cute with her little eyes and her fluffy white feathers, but she’s a master manipulator.
Honestly, though, Bruiser seems to adore her, and the feeling seems to be mutual. Which is good, because I’m getting the feeling lately that Bruiser might not be going anywhere.
I sit up from where I’ve been watching them play when I hear a key in the lock. I’m already bracing.
“Hey,” I say cautiously as Fallon walks in.
Any hope I had that this was a harmless sort of “we need to talk,” as in “we need to talk about the fact that you leave your socks on the floor too often,” or “we need to talk about who’s going to be in charge of dishes,” flies out of my head when I see him.
Every muscle is pulled tight. He’s taken off the jacket I know he wore that morning. His tie is undone and slung haphazardly around his neck. His head is bowed.
Either he’s really pissed about something, or he’s super focused on the spot on the carpet where Bruiser tried to dig a hole through the floor yesterday.
“Baby?”
He holds up a finger. The universal wait-a-minute gesture. I want to press him to get whatever bomb he’s about to drop out there so we can talk it out and get past it, but his chest is heaving like he ran all the way here. Rushing him isn’t going to be the right idea.
While I wait, Bruiser runs up to him, excitedly sniffing. The puppy gets on his hind legs to get Fallon’s attention, and Fallon steps in to pick him up. I’ve never been so jealous of a dog in my life.
“Did Wes really pay you to have sex with me?”
Oh. Shit. There’s no fucking right answer here.
“He didn’t pay me. He paid Brennan. But, baby—”
“You know, I’ve spent these last couple of months with you in a ridiculous, shmoopy cocoon of happiness. I could not wrap my head around why Wes was so adamant that you weren’t right for me, but I get it now.”
What the f—“What is it you think you get, baby?” I take a step forward, but his head snaps up, his eyes dark and simmering. I get the feeling if I take another one, he’ll turn around and walk right out the door.
“How much?”
“That doesn’t matter. What matters is—”
“How. Fucking. Much?”
Shit, this is about to go all the way left. It already has.
I lift my chin, refusing to show any embarrassment or shame. One thing I’ve learned over the years is that if someone’s sure they’re right about something, there’s no convincing them otherwise.
“Generally, my rate is five hundred an hour. Brennan takes half.”
“Your pimp.”
“You knew I had a—”
“How much did Wes pay?”
I hate the way he’s cutting me off. He’s already made up his mind, and I want desperately to make him understand.
“Baby. Don’t do this. I lov—”
“Don’t fucking say it.” He’s got a squirming Bruiser held against one shoulder and his keys still clenched in the other.
“Put down the keys. I didn’t sleep with you for the money. I didn’t even want the money, but your brother had already paid.”
He nods absently, squinting at the ceiling as if he’s doing some really hard thinking.
“Remember when you bought me breakfast in the morning? I remember thinking there had to be such a caring guy under that abrasive exterior to spend money on me like that when it was clear I had a lot and you had so little. Now I wonder if it was just an investment. A good orgasm, getting invited back to my place, getting me breakfast in the morning. Next thing you know, we’re spending all of our time together.
Months later we’re already talking about moving in together. Kids.”
His arm flings out, like he’s about to throw the keys. I wish he would. But he only grips them harder in the end.
I feel the pain of his hard swallow in my own throat.
“Worked out great for you, didn’t it?” He’s clenching those keys so hard his knuckles are white.
My stomach is sick; a roiling ball of acid. I don’t answer him because I already know it won’t matter. I’ve had too many conversations with people in this frame of mind.
What I want is to make him sit down. To tell him I cared about him from that first night.
That I’ve never felt this way about anyone.
That I haven’t trusted many people in my life, but I trust him.
That the secrets he shared are safe with me.
That if I had known he existed before our date, I would never have wanted to take a single cent, but that I couldn’t afford not to.
I’m not my mom, though. I won’t twist myself into knots to make a man love me. I won’t beg.
“I’m not going to lie—I couldn’t afford to not take the money, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t matter to me. You have no idea how much it mattered. That night changed everything for me. The money wasn’t about you. It was about survival.”
“I have no idea about anything right now,” he practically whispers.
Bruiser, picking up on the tension in the room, is licking the side of his face.
“I know that I didn’t really know what kind of person I was until I met Marina, and losing her meant losing a piece of myself, because do you know how hard it is to date when you’re an over-six-foot submissive male?
People see my size and my tattoos, and they assume certain things. But you—”
Fallon breaks off with a humorless laugh. “You saw me for who I was. At least I thought you did. Come to find out what I was to you was a paycheck—”
“You were never a fucking paycheck!” My shout echoes around the room. My throat is raw.
“I don’t know how to trust you enough to submit to you again when the foundation of our relationship is a lie.”
“I didn’t lie about anything.”
“You sure as hell didn’t tell me the truth.”
“About one thing. One detail, Fallon, that was absolutely pointless for all I cared because I was falling in love with you. I’ve never been with anyone who made me feel the way I felt when I was with you. Who I felt like I could be myself with. Who felt like…like…”
Like home.
But I shake my head and drop my shoulders, because the agony etched across his face tells me everything I need to know about which way this is going. He’s already gone.
“Wes didn’t want me to tell you. I didn’t like it, but I also didn’t want you to look at me the way you’re looking at me now.” There’s a tearing sensation, a slicing and burning in my chest and all the way down to my gut. “Please stay. Just one more night. We can work this out. I know we can.”
Fuck, I’m turning into my mother. Didn’t I just promise myself I wouldn’t beg?
It’s worse than that, though, isn’t it? Our first night together I remember thinking he was like a drug. That I wanted to drink his moans like alcohol. Well I did. I went and got addicted.
The withdrawal is going to be a real bitch.
He’s already picking up Bruiser’s bed. Bruiser is squirming and trying to get back on the floor so he can play with Jolene. His whine sounds pitiful, but I don’t blame him one bit. I’m tempted to whine myself.
“Fallon, you can’t go. We still don’t know why Eric put those cameras in your house. Or the notes. It’s not safe.”
He holds up his phone. “I know everything I need to know. He already sent me a message threatening my job.”
“What?”
“I’ll deal with it. On my own. I had a security system installed. I’ll be fine.”
“What about—you told me you had trouble sleeping alone, and that was before we found out Eric had been spying on you.”
Maybe I’ve finally got him. His face falls, as if he’s tired simply from thinking about it.
“You’re right,” he says softly. “I was finally able to sleep thanks to you. I really appreciated that.”
“Then stay. I promise I never told you a single other lie, and I never will again. What will it take to get you to believe me? You already have enough information to bury me, and you’re telling me you’re the one who’s lost trust?”
The second that last sentence is out of my mouth, I realize it’s a mistake. Reminding him that I’m a killer, on top of the other reasons he’s afraid to trust me, was not the right call.
My heart’s pounding, the sound drumming in my ears. Across from me, Fallon stands rigid and silent. The only other sound comes from the lady one floor up who’s always yelling at her kids.
“I was about to quit my job for you,” he says at last. “The thing that got me back on my feet after I lost Marina, and I almost gave it up so you and I could be together without sneaking around anymore.”
“I didn’t ask you to.” As much as it sucked, I was willing to be his dirty secret. I would have done anything for him. Maybe I was supposed to be the dominant one, but he was always the one in control.
When I feel the urge (again) to beg, I pull my shoulders back and I ball my hands into fists. I clench them tight until my short nails dig into my skin. God, I want to reach for him.
Don’t. If he doesn’t believe you, then he doesn’t. If he’s going to go, let him.
I remember my mom, face streaked with mascara.
Slamming doors. The way she begged those sacks of dicks not to leave her.
Over and over, they left anyway. Left her with her dignity in tatters, and her son ignored her while she cried and got drunk or got high to drown out the pain.
The time she was so “heartbroken” that she forgot she’d left me outside, banging on the trailer door in the punishing summer heat.
By the time a neighbor found me I’d become ill and severely dehydrated.
That cannot be me. It will never be me.
“Then go.”
Fallon freezes. I think I’ve surprised him. My hope that he’ll backpedal is short-lived.
With a curt nod, he takes Bruiser and walks out. I stare at the door, counting each of his footsteps on the stairs. The lady up above shouts something that starts out with “How many times do I have to tell you…”
All I can think to myself is, they’ll never learn. I didn’t.
All those times my mother gave herself away to someone and begged for them to love her, I’d considered them an important lesson learned. But I didn’t learn at all, did I?
I fell in love with a man, a widower thirteen years my senior, who made it clear from the very beginning that he wasn’t ready to have a relationship with me. I stupidly claimed him anyway.
“Where baby go?” I look down at Jolene, who’s blinking at me with one claw raised, tapping delicately on my pant leg. “Where baby go?” she says again.
I shrug. Fucking hell, my chest hurts.
“Baby left, Jojo.”
There’s one more ridiculous burst of hope. Fallon only took Bruiser’s stuff. He’ll have to come back for his clothes. Then I remember we went by his place this morning before he dropped me off at brunch and went to his faculty thing. His overnight bag is still in his car.
Shit. Somehow I find myself sprawled on the saggy sofa Evans and I bought together from a charity shop, staring at a blank spot on the wall.
“I don’t understand, Jojo. Everything was so good this morning.”
She pecks at my hand. “Fuck off. Goodbye.”