Chapter 26
“What doyou mean a ‘Naughty New Year’s party?’”
“I mean,” Zar drawls, his voice filling my car and heart. “You’re coming to one of my parties.”
“My sister sure loves them.” I’m not joking. Ruby raves about Zar’s parties.
It seems months ago when Luca excluded Zar from Silas and Eily’s party at the club, Zar was inspired to start hosting private events at his beach house.
Was it to get back at Luca? It sounds like his parties are so hot; who cares?
“She sure does,” Zar admires. “There’s no slack in your sister’s rope. She’s one of the few women I’ll allow.”
“Are you in love?”
“Do I have a death wish?” He laughs. “Hell no. I’m never fucking your sister. I’m not fucking anyone. I’m...” He pauses, and I feel the same. “I’m trying to be happy. At least this dog is on the hunt while I bet there’re cobwebs on your pretty kitty.”
I don’t fuck Zar. I don’t fuck anyone. I finally feel numb, and I’d like to keep it that way. Fuck you very much, Love.
It’s simple math. No fucks equals no Fuck Flu.
Zar knows this. We talk all the time.
“Just what am I supposed to do at one of your private orgies?”
“Check IDs at the door. Be my hot bouncer with bouncing titties.”
I laugh. “Fuck you!”
“Fuck someone, please.” He taunts. “And by the way, it’s not an orgy; it’s an opportunity.”
“An opportunity for what?” I turn left. I’m past due for stocking up my fridge, and I’m bingeing a new show this weekend. Beer and chips are required, though I lost my appetite months ago. “Are you inviting me to a kinky fuckathon with the NFL’s finest?”
“They are fine.” Zar drawls again, “Dayum fine. One in particular is…”
His voice drops as I pull into the parking lot of my local market. I park, feeling the ache in his silence.
“It’s okay,” I tell him. “You’re allowed to move on. You can love someone else.”
“You gonna swallow that pill, too?” he asks while I stare out my front windshield. I can’t see anything but all the love I never had.
“I’m not ready,” I answer. “Though some of y’all won’t listen.”
“Oh,” Zar croons. “Who? Who’s ringing your chimes for a different answer?”
I grin because I’m saying it to piss him off. “Your favorite: Jameson Grant. He calls me all the time.”
Zar falls silent. My engine idles. I don’t turn the car off or Bluetooth either until our phone chat is done.
“He’ll kill him if he finds out.” All mischief drops from Zar’s tone. “You know that, right? Luca wasn’t kidding. You may have left, but he never leaves. He’s still watching you. He always will.”
I don’t know it, but I sense it.
Every Saturday night, I stand on my balcony and get lost in the view and memories. I get so lost, I feel like Luca’s there with me, but I’m alone.
And I’m lonely.
I don’t want to know if or how Luca’s moved on because I know he can’t hide who he is forever. No one can. Eventually, he’ll need someone to torture again.
Just please, God, don’t let me know about it.
That’s the worst part. When they move on, leaving you behind. Like your love was a lie.
“It’s not what you think,” I answer Zar. “Jameson’s a friend. We just talk. He’s going through some shit right now.” And it’s not for me to share, so I leave it there.
“Well, then,” Zar soothes. “Come just be my friend, too. Come sit on my back porch in a rocking chair beside me. Come watch the ocean and ring in the New Year with me while we hear others fucking and being happy about it, even if we aren’t.”
“You got a ring with that proposal because I just might accept it?” I talk to Zar and the bustling parking lot. “Me and you? Like a celibate nun and monk, growing old together, while we host secret society parties for closeted NFL players. Hell, yes, I’m game.”
“You want diamonds or pearls?”
“Darlin’,” I’ll always tease him, “you know I deserve both.”
“Only if you show up. New Year’s Eve. Nine o’clock. If you’re not here, I’m kidnapping you. And please, beat my ass when I do because my Mister Happy sure needs a hard pounding.”
“Good night,” is my answer with a grin.
“Night, gorgeous.”
He ends our call and I turn off my ignition.
It’s a Friday night on a December weekend. The grocery store is packed with people buying wine and party foods. Good for them.
I want a party like I want a kidney stone.
After scoring on the beer and the snack aisle, I wind my way to the frozen section. Walking past the cliché ice cream for a solo date, I crave waffles for company. They’ll taste like shit with beer, and that matches my mood.
Scanning the freezer case, I spot different kinds of waffles, but the ones from Disney’s Frozen make me smile. I know someone who’d love these. Me, too, now. I grab a box, letting the freezer door slam shut while I drop the waffles in my cart, needing real maple syrup and…
“Scarlett!”
I look up. Gia’s running down the frozen aisle, aiming for my legs to hug.
“Well, hey, kiddo.” I bend down to hug her because she wraps around me so fast. I’m so surprised that I lose my logic for too long to protect myself.
She can’t be here alone.
“Gia!” That voice booms through the market, and my soul quakes.
Please, no.
One work meeting with him was enough. I couldn’t even look at Luca. Not once. I focused on Zar. I focused on the security report about Brooke Turner’s release. I focused on finding another protection officer for Gia while I pretended I could breathe for an hour, but I couldn’t.
I wore my clothes. I wore my stoic face. I died inside, tender pieces of me starved for oxygen while Luca’s fire burned right through me; with what emotion, I don’t know.
I left the meeting so fast, with Wade and Charlie by my side, and I didn’t look back, though Luca’s glare scalded my back.
But now?
“Gia?” His voice softens at the sight of us hugging. “Hey,” he says tenderly, but who is it for?
Luca stands at the top of the aisle, his face relieved like he’d been chasing Gia through the market. And he’s breathtaking. He’s massive and magnetic with crystal eyes grabbing me through his onyx strands. He’s wearing those same faded jeans, but it’s winter. Luca traded his white linen shirt for a sweater. The vintage, cream, Greek fisherman’s sweater I bought him last New Year’s in Mykonos.
He still wears my sweater? It softens something inside. Hope flutters my heart. He looks happy to see me. Does that mean he still?—
“There you are!” Maren appears, and I hide my gasp, the agony instant.
No…please, no.
Maren’s pushing a brimming grocery cart with Spencer on her heels.
Please don’t do this to me.
She’s wearing a white preppy sweater, jeans, and high heels, too, like she matches Luca.
Not her.
She looks perfect, like she belongs with him, and that’s when I remember my hair’s in a messy top knot, and I’m still in my sweats. An old faded baggy set that’s red and green with Crimson’s muddy paw stains and the Grinch’s smiling face on them, too, for the merry fucking season.
I look as pathetic as I suddenly feel.
Hell stands on higher ground than me.
“Scarlett!” Gia squeezes my legs again. “We’re decorating cookies tonight. Wanna come?”
We?
I look down at her, sudden pain choking my voice. I don’t know how to answer, how not to hurt her or me. And when I glance back up, I see Maren strolling my way with her smirk so big, her makeup so flawless, her long, straight brown hair so elegant. Her hazel eyes dance on the grave of my dreams with Luca, mocking everything I ever wished for. It all dies instantly as I rip my shocked glance from her.
To HIM.
Because Luca stops, he stands beside Maren, his arm barely brushing hers. They look like the couple, the family they are now, while my teeth grab my trembling lip, feeling disgraced, while Luca stares at me like he doesn’t even recognize me.
But I know who I am.
I’m that girl, alone and left at the window, and I can’t see anything but this blinding pain. It’s all I can see because Luca’s trained me too well. For him, I’m too observant. My shattered heart noticed before my teary eyes did…
He’s not wearing his wedding band.
It’s degrading. It’s insulting. It’s every scar I have ripped open. Every insecurity shoved in my face, trying not to cry.
For Maren, he took it off. For her, he moved on. For her, he’s willing to try. For Luca, Maren is good enough.
I lost.
Maren won his love.
Humiliation buckles my knees, but I recover, squatting beside Gia, fighting it, clinging to my last shred of dignity, the last ounce of fight I have left. For her, I will…
“Some other time, kiddo,” I answer her invitation.
But it happens because deep inside, I feel that girl crying at the window while I’m staring at this little girl I love so much, and her father left me, too.
My tear falls.
I can’t fight it.
“Why are you crying?” Gia’s worried, her little hand landing on my cheek.
I swallow, forcing my smile. “I’m just so happy to see you.”
I can’t look at him. I won’t. No man gets my last piece of pride. I’ll die with it.
Gia wraps her arms around my neck, and I bury my face in her curls. She squeezes me back before pulling away. “I get my orange belt tomorrow.”
“You do?” I make pride, at least for her, fill my voice. I keep my eyes on her. She’s all I have left of that dream, even in pieces that are too small. Even though I can smell Luca’s cologne. Citrus and cypress mock the nights I slept in his arms. Even though I can see his shoes, the ones I used to kneel before.
“Will you come?” Gia asks.
“Of course.” It will kill me to have to watch Luca loving Maren, but for Gia, I’ll give my life. “What time?”
She’s six. I don’t expect her to know or answer. He does. “One.”
His body looms, his voice falling over me, too, like I’m on my knees for him again, but no, never again. I keep my eyes on Gia, not him. I fake a smile for her.
“I’ll be there. I promise.” I kiss her cheek. “Night, kiddo.”
I let my body lead. I trust it, not my heart. Turning as I stand, I walk away, leaving my full grocery cart alone in the aisle while I take my beaten pride with me.
Ignoring why I was here and everything I used to fight for, I remember the only one who’ll be there when I get home. I disappear down the dog food aisle and grab a bag for Crimson. The only kind moment I’m granted tonight. The one thing that’s not HIF #17 being shoved down my burning throat is the empty self-checkout I find and quickly, I pay.
I make it to the parking lot. I make it to my car. I make it to my hatch, popping it open. Tossing the bag on the mat, I throw my purse beside it. My phone falls out as my hands fall, and my tears fall, too. I brace my palms on the car mat while I let one sob escape.
So I can breathe. So I can gulp for the air, love, and happiness I can’t find. So I can still feel alive, though my soul just died.
“Scarlett.”
Please, stop.
Luca’s standing behind me, making this worse, making another sob rack up my spine, but this one, I fight. I bite my bottom lip so hard I make it bleed, iron and salt filling my mouth.
If I’m not good enough for his love, he’s not good enough for my tears—no more.
“Scarlett.”
Not even my eyes. My stare that he used to demand, his crystal eyes locked to mine, he doesn’t get that either. I keep my back to him.
“Leave,” I demand.
“Just—”
“Leave,” I insist because all I can see is how, in the store, Luca’s wedding finger didn’t have a pale ring around it—the one I used to see. No, it’s gone. His finger is tan. He gave Maren his love all summer. “Leave. Be happy. Gia deserves it.”
“Look at me.”
“Never again.”
I won’t say his name, either. He’ll never hear it from my trembling lips. I reach for my keys that sprawled across the mat. I look for my phone that fell out of my purse next, and it rings. The screen lights up the night and I glance down at it by my bumper.
JAMESON
I see who’s calling me. Luca must see it, too. Good. Let him hurt as I do. I’ll drag him to his knees with me, both of us beaten and bloody.
Zar said Luca would be furious if I’m with Jameson. Well, let him feel defeat. Let him suffer like me.
Jameson’s ringtone blares, demanding an answer, but I let Luca hear it. Adele sings “Someone Like You” on my phone. It’s an inside joke Jameson made about me and the girlfriend he loves, but Luca doesn’t know that.
Luca’s moved on with his life, with his heart, with his daughter, too, so let him believe the worst about my life, too.
I let the song play, taunting the air until Jameson’s call rolls to voicemail. Then I shove the phone in my purse and grab it before I slam the hatch closed, and still, I won’t look at him.
“Belle,” he growls.
“Leave,” I command. “I’m the Master of my heart now.”
Luca doesn’t answer.
I aim for my driver’s door while his footfalls fill the air. He walks away; he leaves while I drive away, too.
I make it home. I make it through a night walk with Crimson. I make it through five old episodes of Schitt’s Creek trying to cheer up, but it doesn’t work.
It’s almost midnight when my phone buzzes with a text on my nightstand. I flip it over.
Semen Demon
No one is like you, my belle
Luca’s torture never ends, and I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean.
I don’t answer him.
I go out on my balcony and let the night hear the cries I’ve been fighting. I let the river take my sobs. I let the stars glisten like my eyes spilling with tears until it’s all out of me. The wails. The pain. I don’t care who hears me. Who sees me.
There’s nothing left but me, the darkness above, the street lamps glowing below, and tomorrow, when like hell will Luca Mercier ever make me cry again.