Chapter 6
Patrick
Ibarely remember the flight home or the six weeks since I’ve been back. I wake up every morning, drenched in sweat, clutching my chest while the face of my past remains burned into my mind’s eye. I can still feel his fucking lips against mine.
If there had been any other option, I would have taken it, but when Cain’s name was thrown out, it was more of an order and less of a recommendation. Part of me always felt certain I’d die at the hands of Cain Rosemont anyway.
I’ve been working remotely since my return; my total short-term-disability policy allows three months of recovery, not that my job is particularly stressful.
I’m responsible for corporate cooperation, i.e., getting coworkers to get along. Companies hire my team to assist in getting employees to play nicely with each other, usually after teams merge or the administration does something everyone hates.
It’s not what I saw myself doing, but it’s a pretty good fit for me as a natural peacekeeper. Of course, that personality trait backfires a lot. Like when I lost Taylor in an effort not to lose Liam. What a clusterfuck.
The kicker there was that my son ended up marrying Taylor’s twin brother, so I’m destined to be haunted by my past for the rest of my life.
The pain from seeing Taylor’s face has dulled, thankfully, but it’s still awkward, and things with Liam will most likely never go back to ‘normal’.
But I deserve it.
I hurt Taylor almost as badly as Cain hurt me, and there’s no excuse for that.
I’m reading an email from my boss when another email pops up.
Subject: Follow-up with Dr. Rosemont
Without thinking, I click on it immediately.
I fire an email back right away, knowing that if I sit on it for any length of time, I won’t be strong enough to do what needs to be done.
I return to my boss’s email, only comprehending every other word when my cell phone rings, and I realize I’m still on the same sentence I was fifteen minutes ago.
It’s a Boston area code.
Probably the doctor’s office calling to confirm my appointment cancellation.
“Hello?”
“Your appointment wasn’t a request. Nor is it up for debate. You will fly back here so I can get the scans I need to ensure I did my job correctly,” Cain says, barely containing his rage.
“I can have the scans done here and send them to you,” I say, pinching the bridge of my nose as fresh waves of frustration and desire roll through me at the sound of his voice.
“If you aren’t in my office on the twenty-fourth, you can expect me on your doorstep on the twenty-fifth. Am I clear?”
“You don’t know where—”
“You live?” he finishes for me. “I have access to your medical records, remember? Not only do I know your address, I know your blood type, your cholesterol level, and how much fucking semen is in your balls.” He lowers his voice, putting just the right amount of gravel into his next sentence to have me reaching for my cock.
“I also still remember how it tastes, so don’t think for one fucking second that I can’t find my way to your house. See you on the twenty-fourth.”
My biggest problem has always been that I hate Cain as much as I love him.
I’m certain that if Cain were able to love, he’d love me. Unfortunately, I’m also certain that he’s incapable of the emotion.
Once the line goes dead, I know I should get some work done, but I just can’t invest in solving anyone else’s problems right now.
I’m drawn to Cain’s poison like Eve to the apple, but even knowing he’s bad for me, I crave him with an intensity so strong it threatens to drown me, and I know I won’t survive Cain Rosemont this time.
Because of that, I refuse to buy a plane ticket. I refuse to reschedule. I don’t bother logging back in to cancel my appointment a second time, though. Let him think I’ll be at his beck and call just like before.
My only regret is that I won’t see his face as the clock reveals that I’m not going to show up.
Needing a break, I change and head to our local park.
I’m still not allowed to lift weights, but a nice walk makes me feel like I’m not completely wasting away as I work on getting myself back into the shape I was in prior to surgery.
Losing the only outlet that helped clear my mind has wreaked havoc on my central nervous system, and Cain’s phone call certainly didn’t help my frayed nerves and broken heart.