Chapter 17 #2
I imagine staring her in the eyes and telling her everything I should’ve said before I boarded that plane to Malaysia, leaving her with nothing but legal documents that gave her the house and two pages of devotion she never received.
We push through the rest of the meeting. I make decisions based on instincts honed over years of high-stakes negotiations and calculated risks. My mind operates on autopilot while my soul has already left the building and started driving to Livianna.
I send her another message telling her I can meet her at the house at six. It can’t come soon enough.
An hour passes, and Quinn closes her laptop. “I think we’ve covered everything, unless there’s something else you want to review?”
“No. We’re done here.” I stand before they can transition into follow-up questions. “I’m leaving early today. If anything urgent comes up, call my cell.”
Natalie’s eyebrows shoot up. “You’re leaving early?”
“Once I finish a few things, yes.”
Quinn studies me. “You never leave early. I don’t think you’ve left before six in all the time I’ve worked for you.”
“Maybe, but that doesn’t matter. Today I’m leaving early to tend to something important.” I grab my phone and trek toward the door before either of them can respond.
After two conference calls I was required to be on, I’m in the back seat of my car. David pulls out of the underground garage within minutes. I text Livianna and tell her I’m on my way.
I’m leaving behind confusion and probably genuine worry about my state of mind. I don’t care anymore about maintaining the illusion that I’m not vulnerable.
Because I’m putting her first. I’m choosing us and a real life now instead of this empire I made to shield a past that can’t take away my future.
The drive to Malibu takes forty-five minutes because traffic is surprisingly light for a weekday afternoon. I spend the time rehearsing different ways to tell her about Julian Everhart.
I practice explaining why I’ve kept so much hidden even as I fell in love with her. My thoughts jump around like they never have.
I hope she’ll understand that I was trying to protect her, even though I realize I was really just protecting myself from the exposure of being fully known.
The beach house is exactly as it was the last time we were here together. White walls catch the afternoon sunlight and reflect it back toward the ocean. Floor-to-ceiling windows frame an endless stretch of Pacific that stretches toward the horizon.
The bedroom upstairs holds memories of lazy Sunday mornings when we pretended we had forever instead of stolen time. I meander through the rooms and let the memories wash over me without resistance. They pour into my soul.
She laughs in the kitchen while attempting to make breakfast and setting off the smoke alarm. She curls up on the balcony at sunrise with coffee in her hands, watching the waves and looking more peaceful than I ever saw her in Paris.
I picture her in my arms in our bed, whispering things that drove us both insane and made us lose ourselves in each other. One specific afternoon rises to the surface of my thoughts with perfect clarity. I allow myself to be immersed in it.
Rain traps us inside, and we spend hours tangled in the sheets, talking about everything and nothing important. She traces the lines of my face with her fingertips like she was memorizing a map she might never see again.
“What are you thinking about?” I take her hand to press a kiss on it.
“That I could do this forever.” She smiles, but something melancholy lingers behind her eyes. “If the world would actually let us.”
“Then we won’t let the world in.”
“You can’t keep it out forever, Jax. Eventually reality finds its way through all the cracks we try to seal.”
She was right, of course. I tried anyway. I built higher walls around us and created more distance between her and the dangerous parts of my life.
Protecting her meant keeping her separate, rather than bringing her fully into my life and teaching her how to navigate the shadows chasing me. At least that’s what I convinced myself I was doing.
Now I stand in the same bedroom, staring at the bed where we last made love. I finally understand what I should’ve known back then. I don’t want to keep anything out anymore.
She’s a part of me and I want to build a future with her in it. One where she knows every truth about me, and still chooses to stay.
I check my phone. She still hasn’t responded to tell me she’s coming. Maybe she didn’t get my message.
I send another text.
Me: I’m at the house. When do you think you’ll be here?
The message shows it’s been delivered, but no response appears. A knot forms in my stomach. She said she wanted to talk. She said she needed to explain things about Cash, so where is she?
A bolt of adrenaline zaps my insides. This isn’t like her at all. Even when she’s angry with me, she responds to messages.
She doesn’t just disappear into silence without explanation. She tells me when she needs time and space to get her thoughts together. But I don’t think that’s what this is. She said she wanted to talk.
I pace the living room. Every instinct I’ve honed over the years is screaming that something is very wrong.
These are the same survival mechanisms that kept me alive when I was fourteen and running from my so-called uncle, who was really an operative hunting my family. I’ve learned to trust these instincts because ignoring them gets people killed.
My phone buzzes in my hand. It’s not her.
I open the message and an iron-like heaviness floods through my chest. I already know it’s going to be bad before I even read the words on the screen.
Blocked Number: The subject was in a terrible car accident. Trying to find out which hospital they took her to. Stand by.