14. Letting Go
Chapter fourteen
Letting Go
The night air washed over my bare arms the moment I left the restaurant.
Sirens wailed a few blocks over, and streetlights cast long yellow shadows across the damp concrete.
Valets were rushing to open car trunks for arriving patrons.
A couple walked past me, sharing an umbrella.
It was a completely mundane Friday evening.
Nobody out here knew a thirty-year lie had just been surgically dismantled in the private dining room behind them.
I had incinerated my entire life, but the city was carrying on exactly as it had an hour ago.
I kept my pace steady, walking past the line of idling sedans toward the loading zone.
Hayes stood by his truck, waiting for me. Just like he had earlier, when he’d driven me here. “You didn’t put a suit on just to sit in an alley,” I said.
“No,” Hayes replied with a smile. “I put it on to take you to dinner.”
He gestured to the passenger side. I climbed up into the cab, smoothing the emerald fabric of my dress over my knees.
As Hayes rounded the hood to the driver’s side, my cell phone vibrated inside my purse.
The screen lit up the dark leather interior of the bag. Marcus.
Hayes eased into the driver’s seat. He glanced at the glowing screen, then looked forward, wrapping his hands around the steering wheel. He let the quiet stretch, giving me the space to handle it myself.
I watched the name flash across the glass.
During our marriage, answering his calls promptly was simply a required transaction.
I hadn’t even realized it at the time, but I’d been conditioned to do it.
It was the easiest way to manage his ego and maintain the peaceful routine he demanded.
But the currency of our marriage was completely bankrupt now. Managing his ego wasn’t my job anymore.
I let it ring. The screen pulsed three more times before the automated system sent the call to voicemail.
A notification icon popped onto the display a moment later. Voicemail received (1).
I pulled the phone from my purse, tapped the screen, and pressed the speaker icon. I needed to hear exactly where his head was at.
The audio filled the cab.
“Elena, pick up the phone,” Marcus demanded.
The smooth cadence of the seasoned executive was completely gone.
Horns blared in the background. He was standing out on the street.
“Sanders locked my corporate accounts. My cards are declining. You need to call him right now. Tell him you were confused. Tell him your pregnancy hormones made you paranoid, and you faked the photos to get back at me for working late.”
He paused. A ragged, desperate intake of breath echoed through the tiny speaker.
“I have no access to the joint funds, Elena,” Marcus continued, his voice rising in pitch. “You have to authorize a release with the bank. You have no income. You have no way to support that baby without me. Stop this tantrum and pick up the phone.”
The voicemail cut off abruptly, hitting the carrier’s time limit. I almost regretted it. It was actually kind of pleasant to hear him writhe.
But Marcus was the past, and tonight was about my future.
I tapped the red icon at the bottom of the screen and blocked his number. I powered the device off and dropped the phone into my purse. We were officially done.
“I missed the dessert course,” I told Hayes.
He shifted the truck into drive, a look of satisfaction settling over his features. “I know a place.”
He navigated away from the financial district, pulling into an older neighborhood on the edge of the city. He parked the truck in front of an Italian bistro tucked between two brick storefronts.
We walked inside. The interior smelled of roasting garlic, fresh basil, and simmering tomatoes. Low lighting cast an amber glow over the wooden tables, and a jazz record played softly through the ceiling speakers.
A hostess seated us in a curved leather booth in the back corner.
“Order whatever you want,” Hayes said, picking up a menu. “We have a lot to celebrate.”
I ordered a massive plate of handmade pappardelle, fresh bread, and a slice of tiramisu. The food arrived steaming hot. The pasta was rich, coated in garlic and olive oil. Every bite settled the lingering tension in my stomach.
Three weeks ago, I had forced down dry chicken while Sylvia and Marcus played their sick game right across from me. Tonight, the meal tasted like survival. I ate until I was completely full, savoring the warmth of the food.
Hayes finished his steak. He set his fork down, leaning back against the leather booth.
“The process server delivered right on cue,” I told him, wiping my mouth with a cloth napkin. “Right after Mr. Sanders fired Marcus in front of the room.”
Hayes nodded. “Sinclair’s security team texted while you were inside. The locks are changed. The alarm codes are reset.”
“The house is mine,” I murmured.
“It’s yours,” Hayes agreed.
The waiters cleared our plates. The tempo of the jazz record melted into a slow saxophone melody. A few couples swayed on the scuffed wooden dance floor near the back of the room.
Hayes picked up his cloth napkin and set it on the table. He stood up, stepped around the edge of the booth, and offered me his hand.
Earlier tonight, I had watched Sylvia wrap her arms around Marcus and lead him onto the floor.
They had paraded their stolen trophy in front of the room, entirely convinced of their own cleverness.
They danced to celebrate a victory they hadn’t actually won, building their pedestal higher right before I knocked it out from under them.
I placed my hand in Hayes’s palm.
He led me onto the wooden floor. He moved close, sliding one arm securely around my waist to accommodate my pregnant belly. He folded my other hand into his. We stepped into the rhythm of the music.
I rested my free hand on his shoulder. My fingertips brushed the soft wool of his suit jacket. His chest was solid and warm under my cheek. He led me across the floor, his attention entirely focused on me.
“You did it,” Hayes murmured over the music.
“I did,” I agreed.
I inhaled the clean scent of cedar and cotton clinging to his shirt. Relaxing my shoulders, I swayed to the music with a man who actually respected me.
My daughter shifted in my belly, a rolling kick pressing against Hayes’s waist.
He let out a quiet breath. His hand moved slightly, his palm resting protectively over the exact spot where she had kicked.
I rested my head against his lapel, listening to the steady beat of his heart. I had taken the wreckage of my old life, cleared the foundation, and claimed the space for myself.
The drive back to the suburbs settled into a quiet rhythm. The tires hummed against the damp asphalt, carrying us away from the city skyline and deep into the tree-lined streets of my neighborhood.
Hayes pulled the truck into my driveway. The motion-sensor floodlights illuminated the concrete. The space where Marcus’s car usually sat was completely empty.
I stepped out of the truck and walked up the paved walkway with Hayes beside me. He reached into his pocket and handed me the new brass key the security team had left for him. I slid it into the deadbolt, and pushed the door open.
I flipped the light switch in the foyer. The house smelled of lemon polish and old wood. The oppressive tension that used to hang in the air was entirely gone. The space felt hollowed out and ready to be filled.
Hayes stepped inside and pushed the door shut. He stood on the woven rug, allowing me a moment to absorb the reality of the entryway.
I set my purse down on the console table. I reached out, laced my fingers through his, and led him up the stairs.
I leaned over and switched on the bedside lamp, which cast a warm amber glow across the crisp white duvet and the expensive modern furniture.
Marcus’s suits still hung in the closet.
His watch winder sat on the dresser. The artifacts of his life were still here, but the man himself was legally and physically gone.
I turned my back on the doorway, shutting out the rest of the house and the ashes of my old life. The past was extinguished, and I was entirely done giving it my energy.
Hayes stepped into my line of sight, anchoring me to the present. His gaze swept over me, thick with a reverence that made my pulse jump. He drank me in, seeing past the armor I had worn all evening to the woman breathing freely underneath.
“You were magnificent tonight,” he murmured. He reached out, his warm hands gently framing my face. “But now… It’s all over.”
His thumbs stroked my cheekbones, cherishing the softness of my flushed skin. He leaned in, and his mouth found mine.
It was slow, deliberate, and devastatingly tender. He tasted my lips, tracing their full shape with his tongue, sipping from me as if I were something sacred. I sighed into his mouth, the last bit of residual tension melting away as his hands slid to the nape of my neck.
“Take this dress off me,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “I just want you.”
Hayes moved with agonizing care. He gripped the soft jersey fabric of the green dress, easing it off my shoulders and down my arms. His knuckles brushed against the bare skin of my back, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. The emerald material slipped past my hips and pooled at my feet.
I stood before him in nothing but a scrap of lace, deeply exposed. My breasts were full and aching, the skin of my torso stretched taut over my stomach. Hayes had seen me before, just like this. But for a fleeting second, my vulnerability still flared.
Hayes banished it instantly. His eyes darkened with sheer adoration. To him, I wasn’t a woman burdened by her changing shape. He loved and accepted every inch of me.
Hayes didn’t leave me standing there to bear the weight of my own body. He took my hand and guided me straight to the bed. He swept back the white duvet and quickly stacked the pillows against the large headboard.
With steadying hands, he helped me onto the mattress, arranging me so I was comfortably semi-reclined against the pillows.
Once I was settled, he leaned over me. His palms slid up my ribcage to cup the heavy weight of my breasts. They were deeply sensitive, and he treated them with breathtaking gentleness. His thumbs brushed over my tightening nipples, coaxing a soft gasp from my lips.
“You are so fucking beautiful, Elena,” he rasped.
Hayes lowered his head, pressing open-mouthed kisses over my collarbones and down the slope of my chest, until his mouth found my breast.
He laved the aching peak with a hot swirl of his tongue, drawing it into his mouth. I arched into him, my fingers tangling in his thick hair. He moved to devote the same, meticulous attention to the other side, worshipping the sensitive curves.
He kissed his way down my torso, his lips leaving a trail of heat over my skin until he reached the swell of my belly. He knelt on the mattress between my thighs, his large hands spreading wide to cradle the sides of my stomach.
He pressed his cheek to my bare skin, then turned his head to map my belly with lingering kisses, cherishing the very center of my world.
Hayes hooked his fingers into the waistband of my lace panties, drawing them down my legs and tossing them aside. His gaze fixed between my legs, but his hands roamed up the backs of my thighs. He kneaded the soft flesh before he parted my legs and leaned in.
I cried out, my head falling back as his tongue found my slick folds. He devoured me with a hunger I still found surprising, every flick of his tongue making spikes of pleasure erupt over my oversensitized body.
“Let it go,” he murmured against me, his breath hot against my wet skin. “You’re free. Let go for me.”
The sensory overload was absolute. I surrendered to it, my hips rocking blindly against his mouth. The ecstasy built into a blinding crescendo. I shattered, sobbing his name, shivering violently as he drank down my release.
Hayes stood and scooped me up into his arms, easily managing my extra weight. He laid me gently on the white duvet, his eyes never leaving mine as he stripped off his own clothes.
Just like during our first time, he arranged me on my side, propping pillows under my head and knees.
He followed me down onto the mattress, curling his large, muscular frame around my back. He draped one heavy leg over mine and reached around, one hand claiming my full breast, the other splaying protectively over my pregnant belly.
“Only you,” he whispered fiercely, pressing a kiss to the back of my neck. “Only this.”
He guided himself to my wet entrance and pushed inside. The deep slide filled the empty spaces inside me, stretching me to the brim. It felt so good I almost wept.
Hayes moved with a grinding rhythm, skin slapping hotly against skin. His lips mapped the curve of my shoulder. His teeth grazed my neck. His hand stroked over my taut belly, cradling the life inside me with every thrust. His fingers toyed expertly with my swollen nipples.
I pushed back against his hips, taking him deeper.
The tension coiled tightly in my lower belly all over again.
The friction was a beautiful agony, an overwhelming build.
I reached back, my fingers digging into his thigh.
A second climax ripped through me, wringing an uninhibited moan from my throat.
Hayes let out a guttural shout, his control finally snapping. He drove into me one final time, burying his face in my hair. As he poured his release into me, his powerful body shuddered violently against my back.
For a long time, the only sounds in the room were our harsh breaths. Hayes eventually shifted his weight, pulling me flush against his chest and wrapping the duvet over us both.
He kissed my bare shoulder, his large hand remaining steadfast and protective over my stomach. The toxic weight of the past was entirely gone, replaced by the grounding warmth of a man who cherished every single inch of me exactly as I was.