Chapter 46
“Burn Me Beautiful” - Shadow Beloved
Pierce
I glance up when I hear a knock on my office door. My assistant sticks her head around the corner and gives me a bright smile.
“I’m going to head home unless there’s something else you need from me,” she says.
It’s only then that I realize what time it is. “No, I’m just wrapping a few things up,” I tell her. “Have a good weekend.”
She nods and begins to leave, but at the last second, she pops her head back in the door. “You really should go home, too.” Her lower lip finds its way between her teeth. “You’ve put in some long hours this week.”
I take a deep breath to keep from snapping, telling her that I’m the fucking CEO, and sometimes that means working late. She’s only looking out for me. Instead, I flash her a cardboard smile. “I will. Thanks, Hillary.”
As the door closes behind her, I let my head fall in my hands. She’s not wrong—I’ve worked some ridiculous hours this week—but what she doesn’t know is that it’s the only thing keeping me sane right now.
I can’t go home without being assailed by memories of Maeve—pressing her up against the door, the kitchen counter, the walls of my flat; lingering traces of her scent in my sheets even after they’ve been washed, that fucking photograph I bought for her that’s still hanging in my living room.
The random things I’ve found lying around since she left: a hair tie, some French hand cream, a pair of panties, her favorite wine.
She’s fucking everywhere, and until I can do an exorcism, it’s just easier not to go home.
When she walked out that door, it felt like the Demogorgon reached into my chest and plucked out my heart before dragging me into the Upside Down. The shock that, after everything, she still chose that fucking prick took a while to wear off.
I’ve tried to tell myself in the days since that if that’s who she’s chosen to be with, she’s clearly not worth it, but that doesn’t work either, because I’m well the fuck aware of what I’ve lost. I’ve been with a lot of women, and none of them compare to her.
I am Orpheus, and she is Eurydice. I would pay any price to get her back, except she doesn’t want to return.
Pressing my fingers into my eyes, I take several long breaths, letting her out of my system. It won’t work for long—she always finds a way to return—but it will get me through the next five minutes.
I finish up the project I’m working on and head to my car. It’s Friday night, and I don’t have a thing planned. Normally, I’d hit a club with some of the guys or ask a girl I’ve hooked up with to come over, but nothing sounds like fun. Not anymore.
From the beginning, I should’ve known this was what she’d do, but I got too cocky. I thought I could finally change her, make her want me the way I’ve always wanted her. And it worked for a while. But she was never going to be mine. Not when she never learned to trust me.
I’m supposed to host poker night in a few days.
How the fuck am I supposed to sit at the game table with her and pretend everything’s fine, pretend that we didn’t have sex on the green baize—I finally convinced her to do that—that she didn’t kick me between the teeth when she left?
Pretend that she didn’t tuck my heart into her bags the night she walked out the door?
How am I supposed to pretend that it’s not killing me that she’s with him and not me?
I lie awake at night, imagining his hands on her, and I know it’s stupid to torture myself like that. Believe me, I know. But it’s like picking at a scab. You don’t want it to bleed, but you can’t stop.
I wonder if she still fakes her orgasms for him, or if the wanker has somehow figured out how to bring her to climax on his own. What kind of dipshit doesn’t know how to pleasure a woman? That should be an exam you have to pass to graduate to manhood.
Pulling out of the car park, I head to my flat at the Atlantis. Rush hour traffic is already over, although there are plenty of people downtown for dinner and drinks. Maybe I should stop somewhere and get hammered. It might help soothe the black hole in my chest.
Ultimately, I decide to just keep going. I have a stocked liquor cabinet at home. I can get smashed there if I want to.
But when the lights in my flat flicker on, I’m hit with the lingering notes of Maeve’s perfume—that toasty vanilla I’d recognize anywhere.
It’s there and gone in a flash, fast enough that I must have imagined it.
It happens sometimes, like her scent is caught in the walls of this place and the right amount of air movement at the right time causes it to release.
She’s not here. I know that much. I’ve fallen into that trap too often this week already—searching each room, looking for evidence that she’s been by—but I always come up empty and feeling like an even bigger fool than before.
Now that she’s gone, it’s like my brain has decided it’s time to remind me of just how much I’ve lost.
After tossing my keys in the bowl on the foyer table, I run my hand through my hair.
I can’t do this. I need to get wasted and forget about her, even if just for one night.
And fuck that—I need her out of my life for good.
If she shows up for poker night once a week, I’ll never get her scent out of here.
There’s no way in hell I’ll stand a chance of getting over her if she’s constantly in front of me.
There’s only one thing I can do.
* * *
Everyone is here, which means that not only do I have some pretty great friends who are willing to give up their Friday night at the last minute, but also that I must have sounded pretty fucking miserable on the phone for them to drop everything and meet me at Dorian’s.
The speakeasy is a staple in circles like ours, complete with black-and-white tile, chrome accents, and art deco lighting.
Their whiskey menu is extensive, and I order a 1946 Macallan single malt before settling into the black velvet booth, which is actually large enough to fit our entire group. Well, our entire group minus one.
It takes roughly two minutes of catch-up and placing drink orders for anyone to notice.
“Where’s Maeve?” Lux asks, glancing around the table. “She’s never late.”
“She, uh—” I tilt my tumbler back for a small sip while gathering my thoughts. “She had a family dinner tonight and couldn’t make it.”
It’s a lie, of course, because I didn’t call her, but that won’t matter once I tell them why they’re all here.
I haven’t talked to her since the night she left to be with Preston. Can’t stomach the thought of hearing her voice and knowing she no longer belongs to me in even the smallest way. Of wondering if he’s in the room with her, or if she snuck out because she’s ashamed to be talking to me.
Conversation buzzes around the table, but I don’t hear much of what’s being said. I’m still trying to figure out how to tell them what I need to. I never expected it to be this hard.
Walker grins at something Heath whispers in her ear.
Lux and Rhett are bickering over something stupid, while Saylor and Slate look on with amusement and annoyance, respectively.
Things feel unbalanced without Maeve here, but maybe I’m the one who’s throwing things off.
If she were here, she’d have the entire table roped into a conversation.
By the time we’d finished our drinks, she’d have planned an entire trip to the Maldives.
She would hate to miss out on tonight, but I hope when she finds out, she’ll understand why I did it.
It’s the only way forward. I know how much this challenge means to her, how much these friends mean to her.
They’re important to me too, but they’re essential for her.
She doesn’t let enough people in, so it’s crucial she keep the ones she’s chosen to open up to.
I only wish she’d let me stay on that list, too.
Clearing my throat, I glance around at these people who are as close as family to me. This is the last time we’ll sit here like this, because after tonight, nothing will ever be the same. “I asked you all here because there’s something I need to tell you.”
All six pairs of eyes settle on me, and I can read the questions there. The atmosphere has shifted, as though everyone’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“Don’t tell me you’re moving to Canada, mate,” Rhett says, leaning forward. “I’ve heard some crazy shit.”
I smile down at my glass. “No, I’m not moving to Canada.”
“What’s going on, Pierce?” Lux asks. She’s twirling a set of gold bracelets around her wrist, and I have a flashback to the time when she was dating that asshole Carter. Thank fuck that bastard got what he deserved.
“I need to forfeit the challenge.” I toss back the rest of my scotch and motion for the server to bring another.
Silence greets my announcement, as I expected. It’s quickly followed by a barrage of voices speaking over each other, demanding to know what I mean.
I hold up my hand. “I’ve given it a lot of thought, and it will be better this way.”
Lux and Walker share a look.
“Is this about Maeve?” Lux says.
Fortunately, I was anticipating this question, so I’ve come prepared. “Partially,” I say. “I know you were all hoping for a reconciliation, but that’s not going to be possible. Maeve and I are never going to see eye to eye.” At least on the issue of whether we belong together or not.
“Does she know you’re doing this?” Walker is staring at me, her brows pinched together.
I drop my eyes and scratch at a scuff on the table. “We’re not on speaking terms at the moment.”
“Fuck, man,” Rhett mutters. “That’s nothing unusual. There has to be a better solution.”
“There isn’t.” Slapping my hands on my thighs, I lean back in my seat to show them that I’m fine. If I can handle this, so can they. “Besides, we’ll still get together, right? Outside of poker and revenge?”
“It won’t be the same,” he says.
I agree—it won’t be. I don’t want to walk away from my friends, but if only one of us can stay in the group, it should be her. “You good with hosting poker nights?” I direct this question at Heath and Walker, since they already do on a semiregular basis.
Heath frowns and takes a sip of his craft beer. “Why don’t we try to work something out with Maeve instead? None of us want you to just walk away.”
“You know how she can be.” I run a hand through my hair, pushing back against the memories threatening to suck me under. “Let’s just let her have things her way.”
“Maybe after she sees how much the group sucks without you, she’ll change her mind,” Lux offers.
I flash her a sad smile, but I already know that won’t happen. Whether Maeve decides to throw out our stupid feud or not, I can’t come back. Not like this. Not knowing she’ll never give us a chance. “Yeah, maybe,” I say softly.
“You realize if you just show up, there’s nothing she can do, right?” Slate pipes up for the first time, forearms resting on the table. “She’s like five foot nothing. Any one of us can take her.”
Lux elbows him in the ribs, but he keeps his eyes fixed on me. “I mean it. Say the word, and we’ll put her in her place,” he says.
The guy’s dead serious, but that’s the last thing I want. I clap a hand on his shoulder. “Thanks, mate, but I really think it’s better this way. I’ll still come around, at least whenever she’s not there.”
The faces around the table look dejected, eyes lifeless. It pains me to do this to them, but it’s only a matter of time until they forget how things used to be. I mean, look at how easily we assimilated Walker back into our group after she came back, not to mention Saylor and Slate.
“Fucking terrific,” Rhett says. “Mom and Dad are getting divorced and taking turns with us on the weekends.”
Lux’s eyes meet those of each person in the group before finally resting on me. “Are you sure there’s nothing we can do to change your mind? You really want to do it like this?”
I force a chuckle, because I can’t believe we’re still having this conversation. When I ran through this scenario in my head earlier, they accepted my answer with hardly any pushback. Now it feels like we’re spinning in circles. “Yes, I’m sure.”
“Maeve’s going to shit a brick when she finds out,” Rhett says, popping a toothpick in his mouth. “She’s going to want to win the old-fashioned way.”
She’ll be pissed, but she’ll get over it. My guess is she’ll be more relieved to have me out of her life than anything. “Nah,” I say. “A win is a win.”
“You still on for our Thursday tee time?” he asks.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” I assure him. No risk of running into Maeve on the golf course, at least.
“You’ll still come to the wedding, right?” Walker says.
I give her a mock frown. “It’ll take a lot more than a tiny hellcat to keep me from the wedding.”
“That’s good, because I was planning to ask you to be my best man,” Heath says.
Holding up my drink in a toast, I say, “I’d be honored, mate.”
“Yo, what am I?” Rhett throws up his hands. “Chopped liver?”
Heath chuckles and shakes his head. “Walker told me not to ask you.”
Rhett’s mouth falls open as he looks at Walker. “Walker. Baby. On what grounds?”
Beside him, Saylor rolls her eyes and does a poor job of hiding her smile.
“I’m sorry, Rhett.” Walker bites the side of her mouth to keep her grin in check. “It’s the bachelor party more than anything. I still have nightmares about that catsuit—”
“Unbelievable.” He throws his hands in the air in mock defeat. “I make one questionable judgment, and you all won’t let me forget about it for the rest of eternity.”
“Questionable?” Lux says, eyebrows high. “Try ‘fatally scarring.’”
Laughter rings out around the table, Rhett’s included.
“Nah, man, you’re fine,” he says to Heath. “I’ll be too busy with my girl, anyway.” He grabs Saylor and drags her into his lap, making her brown skin turn rosy.
There’s a chorus of groans, and it hits me how much I’m going to miss this, how much I’ll miss them.
We’ll still see each other, but it won’t be the same, no matter what I said tonight.
In some ways, it really does feel like a divorce, Maeve and I alternating nights and weekends so we don’t have to cross paths.
But fuck it—no matter how much it hurts, there isn’t a thing in the world I wouldn’t do for her.