Chapter 14
ASHTON
F ollowing a leisurely—albeit, somewhat strained—dinner date under the stars, I bid goodnight to Camille at the marina.
“I wish you could stay.” She stretches on tiptoe to plant a warm kiss on my jaw, the Shalimar scent of her flooding my senses.
“I wish I could, too.” I cling to her longer than any reasonable hug ought to last. When I let go, my arms feel like lead.
“Duty calls,” she says, trailing a hand down my chest. “I’ve already kept you from work so much this week.”
My heart squeezes tight as I stare into her wide, hazel eyes. “It’s not you, I promise.”
“I know.”
I need to make sure she believes me. “I’d kill to spend the night with you, but I only have twenty-four hours to get through an enormous amount of documentation from?—”
“I understand, Ash. I do.” There’s a sadness I’ve sensed in Camille since I told her I need time to process. But she’s wearing a smile that looks real, so maybe my guilt is misplaced. “Finding work/life balance is important,” she says. “We don’t need to stay tethered at the hip.”
Brushing the hair from her face, I let my hand linger on her cheek. “I swear I’m not a workaholic.” Some ego-driven urge prompts me to insist I’m not like her ex. “In a choice between spending the night with you or my laptop, you win nine times out of ten.”
Her perceptive smile says she sees right through me. “Trust me, I know you’re not Hayden. Oh!” Her eyes go wide. “I just remembered something.”
That she lost her mind when she said she’d like to keep seeing me? “What did you remember?”
“Hayden asked for your number.”
“Hayden your ex?” What the hell does he want?
“I told him we’re sleeping together, and he asked for your personal contact info.” She must read the alarm on my face. “Not to call you about that. He couldn’t care less that we’re having sex. He seemed happy for me.”
“He did?” That seems unlikely. “He’s a bigger man than I am.”
“Debatable.” She darts a meaningful look at my groin. “He had questions about the disclosure documents. I think it had something to do with an upcoming meeting?”
“That’s later this week.” I’m impressed by the signs that he’s taking it seriously. “My current legal team let me know the new firm sets up corporate clients a bit differently.”
Camille looks concerned. “I hope it’s nothing bad.”
“I’m sure it’s fine.” I can’t seem to stop touching her face. I’m pretending I’m tucking loose strands of hair behind her ear, but the truth?
She looks stunningly lovely bathed in moonlight. My hands ache to touch her, to memorize the contours of her cheekbones. There’s a freckle at the edge of her lip that I’m dying to dip down and kiss. And the softness of her hair, the faint scent of bergamot and spice?—
“You okay?” Turning her head, she kisses the side of my thumb. “What’s going on in your head?”
“Contemplating a live band for the welcome-back event Saturday.”
She smiles at the lie. “I love how well you treat your staff.”
Guilt pokes my ribs with a sharp, icy finger. There’s no way I can share what I’m really thinking. I’m so goddamn in love with Camille that it’s physically painful.
Yes, love.
I fucking said it.
Not out loud. I’m not insane.
What she said about keeping in touch once she leaves here? I want that so much that every bone in my body feels brittle. I picture us together tomorrow, next month, next year, next decade . I’ve had the same thoughts since the first day we met.
Which should be a warning right there.
“I really should go.” Waves slosh the boat dock beneath us. “Breakfast tomorrow?”
“Looking forward to it.” She kisses me again, more gently this time. “I’ll text you Hayden’s number and you can decide whether to reach out.”
“That’s fine.” Sliding a hand to her cheek, I kiss her back with a tenderness that opens a raw wound inside me. When I draw back and look in her eyes, the knot in my chest squeezes tighter. “Thank you,” I murmur.
“For kissing you?”
“For sharing your feelings earlier. For having the courage to tell me what you want.” Starlight glitters in her eyes, or maybe sadness?
Perhaps I put it there by not responding like she’d hoped. “You are an uncommonly brave woman.”
Camille laughs. “I prefer exquisite.”
Turning her head, she kisses the hand that’s still touching her cheek. Then she steps back and leaves me cupping thin air. “Good luck with everything.”
“Thank you.” A breeze stirs her sundress, whipping the wispy pink cotton around her legs. “Have a good night.”
Have a good life.
The words nearly slip out, but I swallow them back. That’s absurd. It sounds like I won’t ever see her again, but I’ll be back in the morning for breakfast.
I’ll only be gone a few hours.
So why does this feel like goodbye for good?
“Sweet dreams, Camille.” I turn to my boat, climbing aboard without looking back. If I see her before I set out, I won’t have the courage to leave.
And I really do have work to get done tonight. That’s why I’m leaving. Not because her confession left me feeling like somebody flayed open my chest with a scalpel.
It’s not until I’ve steered through the channel leading out onto open water that I allow myself a glimpse back.
She’s standing alone, her arms bathed in moonlight, waving from the edge of the water.
There’s something so lonely, so unbearably sad in her posture, that I force my gaze back to the water.
It doesn’t ease the ache in my chest.
By the time I get home, I’m almost too groggy for work. But I power through two dozen emails and a backlog of documents requiring my signature.
It’s nearly midnight when I head to my room. I’m keyed-up and restless and not sure I’d sleep if I turned in now. Something weighs heavily on my heart. It’s not just Camille, or even the fact that imagining life without her feels like someone’s been rubbing my heart on a cheese grater.
There’s something else. Something I’ve put off all day.
Time to face it now.
Easing down gently on the edge of my bed, I stare at the blue and white picture frame. As I draw in a breath, my hands start to shake. They’re trembling still as I pick up the photo and polish the glass with my sleeve.
“I’m so fucking sorry.” My wife and young son smile up from behind dusty glass. “I know you can’t forgive me. I haven’t forgiven myself.”
Twenty years.
That’s precisely how long it’s been. Down to the minute, almost.
This is the grim anniversary of the day my whole life went to Hell.
Maybe I should have told Camille. She would have known what to say. How I should mark this macabre occasion.
Or maybe she wouldn’t have said anything at all. She might’ve just held me, letting the warmth of her body soothe the ache in my heart.
But I’m not accustomed to leaning on anyone like that.
She came here to leave her own worries behind.
To find gratification in a place devoted to her pleasure.
She may not have gotten the full Crystal Bliss experience, but I hope I’ve provided some of the joy she’s given me.
It’s a memory I’ll cling to for the rest of my miserable life.
“Enough wallowing.” I set down the photo and glance at the clock on the wall.
Midnight here means nine p.m. back in Portland. I’d normally never phone a professional contact at this hour, but Camille did say Hayden works day and night. If the man’s at his desk, he can answer the phone. If he isn’t, he’ll at least have my number to call at his earliest convenience.
The phone rings twice before a jovial voice answers. “Hayden Marx.”
“Hello, Mr. Marx. This is Ashton Holyfield. I understand you have some questions for me.”
“Mr. Holyfield!” He sounds authentically thrilled by the call. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you so soon.”
“Is now a good time for you?”
“It’s great, hang on.” There’s some rustling around, and he speaks as he shuffles.
“I’ve gotta say, I really admire your work.
I’ve been reading through disclosure docs for Holyfield Properties.
The way you’ve structured your company between for-profit initiatives and charitable endeavors is really something. Speaks volumes about your character.”
“Thank you.” I don’t want to like him, but he sounds quite sincere. “Social causes are important to me. Tending to others who don’t share my good fortune.”
“Well, it shows.” He sounds so cheerful for a guy who’s still working at this hour. “Mad respect, my friend.”
I’d normally bristle at being addressed so informally by someone I don’t even know. But something about Hayden Marx sets me at ease. I won’t say I find myself liking him, but I definitely don’t hate the guy. “What questions can I answer for you, counselor?”
We spend the next thirty minutes going over dry tax details and some of the nuances of our corporate structure. Hayden asks intelligent questions, and the clack of his keyboard suggests he’s taking copious notes.
“This is great,” he says once I’ve provided all the information he needs. “I really appreciate you filling in some blanks. Helps me head into this week’s meeting prepared.”
“Glad to hear it.”
Hayden clears his throat. “I’m assuming Camille gave you my number.”
“She did.” My shoulders tense as I glance out the window. “She tells me you’ve been informed about our…involvement.”
He chuckles and I picture him pushing away from his desk. I can almost see him leaning back in his chair. “I’m glad you had the balls to bring it up. I wasn’t gonna go there. But since you did, let me just say there are no hard feelings. Truly, I’m happy for her.”
His sincerity rings through the line. “Thank you.”
“I mean it. Camille’s an amazing woman, as you’ve no doubt discovered. She deserves an incredible life, and if you’re the man who can give her that, I wish both of you well.”
“I—thanks.” Something rolls over in my gut. “It’s all very new.”
“Yes, but I can tell by her voice she’s nuts about you.” He chuckles again, and I’m right back to hunching my shoulders. “I know that should be a blow to my ego, but you know what? She wasn’t happy with me. Not like she deserves.”
I’m taken aback by his candor. “I’m sure she cared about you a great deal.”
“No doubt, and I’m glad for all the great years we had together.
But Camille needs a man who can open up to her.
She’s a shrink, so the touchy-feely stuff matters.
She deserves a guy who keeps her laughing.
Someone who won’t let her down. Someone who makes her the center of his universe. That wasn’t me, you know?”
“I—” My mouth feels dry as I drag my gaze off the moonlit sea. The framed photo catches my eye, and my throat squeezes shut when I try to swallow. “Indeed.”
“Anyway, I wish you the best.”
“Thank you.” My heart’s pounding hard and the lump in my throat makes it impossible to swallow. “I should go.”
“Good luck to you, Holyfield.” He’s back to clacking his keyboard keys again. “Looking forward to our meeting.”
I hang up the phone and stare at the photo of my dead wife and child. Hayden’s words ring in my ears, bouncing with a sharp, hollow echo on the inside of my brain.
Camille needs a man who can open up to her.
She deserves a guy who keeps her laughing.
Someone who won’t let her down.
None of those phrases describe me.
I broke my wife’s heart. I lost my sweet boy. I set in motion a sequence of events that destroyed my whole family.
And why?
Because I’m a self-centered, surly, egotistical asshole. That’s who I was twenty years ago. As much as I want to believe I’ve changed, that’s who I always will be. There’s no escaping it.
My mind starts to whirl, displaying the image of Camille’s sad face. She looked so forlorn at the marina. Doesn’t that prove I’m no good for her? The woman professed her wish for a full-time relationship, and what did I do?
I blew her off. I dodged the question, then left her standing alone in the moonlight. Only a buffoon would handle a woman’s heart so carelessly.
That’s what I did, though.
Camille bared her soul, sharing her feelings with courage and honesty. And there I stood, putting my walls up around me, not even brave enough to tell her today marked a milestone of grief in my life.
What kind of asshole does that?
“You.” I jerk my unsteady gaze to the mirror. “You are exactly that kind of asshole.”
My own face stares back, haunted and pale and destined to remain alone forever. What I fool I’ve been to even entertain the thought of tying her down to my darkness.
Camille needs a man who can open up to her.
She deserves a guy who keeps her laughing.
Someone who won’t let her down.
I could never be the kind of man Camille needs. The problem, of course, is that she won’t believe that. She’ll think she can save me, convinced I’m a good man at heart.
What a joke.
But she’ll hold on to me like she held on to Hayden, wasting herself on a dead-end relationship. Wasting her life on a man who could never deserve her.
I can’t do that.
I can’t break the heart of a woman who deserves so much better.
Snatching my phone off the dresser, I pull up her name in my contacts. My hand shakes again as I type out a message that feels like I’m tearing my heart with my teeth.
I’m sorry, Camille. I care about you, but I can’t be what you need. It’s best if we break this off cleanly. At 10 a.m., my jet will be waiting at the airstrip. Kora will escort you, and the pilot is prepared to take you wherever you wish to go. Travel safely, Camille. You are truly exquisite.
I read the words closely, making sure I’ve been clear. That I’ve said what I needed to say.
It’s not what I want, but since when do I deserve to have that?
It’s better this way, in the long run. Camille can find someone more worthy, more stable. A man who can guarantee happiness and fulfillment and a million other things I’m not equipped to provide.
And I—well, I’ll go back to being the lonely, miserable, selfish prick I’ve always been.
The swoop as I send it rips a fresh hole in my chest, but it’s done. The only thing left is to tie up loose ends with the pilot and Kora. They’ll take care of her. Both can be counted on for kindness and compassion. That’s more than I can say for myself.
Once I’ve confirmed all the details, I power my phone down and set it aside. Facing the photo of my dead wife and child, I lie down in my clothes and plunge into fitful, wretched sleep.