Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Robert
I plop on the sofa facing the window, one arm draped along the back, the other wrapped around a glass of whiskey, as I turn over my thoughts.
Staying away from them was the right decision.
I nod to myself, my restless hand gripping the glass of whiskey tighter, the condensation along the rims trailing down my fingers. I wipe it absently against my thigh, before taking a sip.
I taste the salt clinging to the edge, pungent against my tongue, rooting me in a way nothing else could for now.
Outside my bedroom, the city breathes. Lights blink in and out, with cars moving like currents below.
I made the right decision.
I run it through again, turn it over, and examine it from every angle that matters.
This way, my world doesn’t touch theirs. It doesn’t bleed into it. It doesn’t leave traces that can be followed, exploited, or destroyed.
That’s how this works.
That’s how it has to work.
I take another sip. The burn turns acidic. Or maybe I’m just clinging to it, trying to pull my focus away from Christine’s face replaying in my head.
She looked calm when I said it.
Cold, even.
Cold enough to drop the room temperature. Cold enough to leave my ribs aching all the way out of her apartment.
It’s that iciness I’m trying to melt away with whiskey.
I swallow it down, almost choking on it as Blue’s laughter follows. Then the punch of how she folded into me.
“Fuck.” I bite down, my shirt suddenly too tight against my skin.
That’s exactly why I have to stay away. Because that feeling…that ease… It is a liability. It makes you forget. It makes you think you can have both.
But I know better. I learned that lesson once and I don’t need to learn it again.
I don’t know how long I’ve been circling the same thoughts, but the city starts to blur slightly at the edges, my eyes losing focus.
It was the right decision.
It was the only decision.
I exhale deeply, leaning back further into the sofa, the leather cool against my neck, the glass still in my hand, my fingers loosening just enough for it to tilt slightly before I correct it.
At some point, I stop thinking. Or maybe the thoughts just blur into something darker.
My eyes close.
And just like that, I’m not here anymore.
The smell of smoke hits first.
I’m already moving before I fully register it, my body snapping into motion, my feet hitting the pavement, hard enough to jar something loose in my chest.
The D’Angelo estate building is there... But not the way it should be.
Flames crawl up the side, feeding on the structure. The windows burst one after the other in violent pops that echo so loud it’s deafening.
“No…” I scream, but the word doesn’t make it all the way out.
I keep running, but somehow, I’m not fast enough. I can hear people shouting my name. Then I feel someone grab at me, but I tear free, my focus locked on one thing.
That bedroom. The one I know she’ll be in with our son because she never sleeps in our bedroom when I’m not home.
“Get back, sir!” Someone yells.
I don’t. I can’t.
Because she’s in there.
Because he’s in there.
Because I’m late… I’m fucking late.
The heat hits me like a wall, forcing me back a step I don’t remember taking, the air impossible to breathe, my lungs fighting for something that isn’t there anymore.
“Let me through!” My voice is raw, but useless against the flames surging. “Let me…”
An explosion rips through everything, throwing me back, the force of it knocking the breath out of me.
My body hit the ground hard enough to rattle bones and thought and everything in between.
For a second there’s nothing.
Then the ringing starts.
I try to move, but I can’t. I try to breathe, but it doesn’t come.
And all I can see is fire swallowing everything that mattered.
“Robert…” Something pulls at me again. “Robert…” The familiar pitchy voice cuts through it.
I jerk.
Air slams into my lungs like I’ve been underwater too long, my chest rising too fast, too hard, my grip clenching instinctively around… nothing.
The glass is gone.
The room is… Different. Morning light spilling through the window.
I’m still on the sofa, but I’m not the same.
“Robert.” Atelia bends forward, one hand on my arm, the other hovering like she’s not sure whether to shake me again or not.
Her eyes scan my face, taking in everything.
“What the hell?” She waves a hand in my face.
“What?” I croak, dragging a hand down my face, my skin damp and my breath still jagged.
It takes a second for the room to fully come back into place.
Another for the fire to fade.
And another for the silence to return.
“What is what?” Atelia doesn’t move.
“What are you doing here?” I blink, forcing my breathing to even out, not because it wants to, but because I make it.
“It’s eleven in the morning. We’re supposed to meet the Chinese investors by twelve, and we still have contracts to go over.”
“Yeah,” I mutter, dragging a hand over my face, “But this is my bedroom, Lia.”
“You were screaming,” she shoots back, like that settles everything. “What was that?” She asks.
“Nothing,” I answer, already pushing forward, my hands braced against the sofa as I start to stand.
“Not so fast.” Her palm hits my chest before I get anywhere.
I look down at her, but she doesn’t move her hand. She doesn’t even blink.
“Sit.”
“I’m fine.” I start to argue.
“You’re not,” she counters immediately, pushing just enough to force me back into the seat.
I don’t resist because there’s no point.
I lean back again, slower this time, my jaw clenching slightly as I drag a hand over my face, trying to reset something that won’t fall back into place.
Atelia exhales, then lowers herself in front of me, crouching enough to bring us level. She drops her elbows loosely on her knees, her gaze unwavering, like she’s not going anywhere until she gets what she came for.
“What’s going on?” She asks again with a different tone now.
“I don’t know what you want to hear.” I look past her, my gaze perched outside the window.
“I will ask again…”
“And I’ll tell you it’s nothing you need to worry about.”
“Robert.” She clips, shaking her head. “Don’t fucking do that.”
“It’s...” I exhale through my nose, buying time I don’t actually need.
“It’s back?” She tries to catch my gaze but misses. “The nightmares.”
I don’t confirm or deny it.
“You haven’t had them in years,” she continues. “If you’re having them again, something changed.”
I nod.
“What changed?” Her brows furrow.
“Christine.” I let it out.
“For fuck’s sake, Robert!” She flares, throwing both arms in the air. “Get a fucking grip. What, you fucked her once and… What?”
“Are you going to fucking listen, or do you want to be a bitch about my sex life?”
“Do I have a say?”
“About listening? Yes. About my sex life? No.”
“Okay.” She nods once, like she’s filing something away. “So you fucked her and…”
“There’s a child.”
“What?” Her eyes flash with something, but it's gone just as quickly.
“And she's mine.”
Atelia straightens slightly, her brows pulling together, not in confusion, but in focus.
“How old?” She asks.
“Almost four.”
“So, it’s from that night in Vegas?” Her lips press together briefly.
“Do the math.” I click my tongue.
“Did she confirm this?”
“Yes.” I nod, then exhale.
“And what did you do with that?” Her eyes catch mine now, probing me.
I lean forward slightly, resting my forearms on my knees, my hands clasping loosely between them.
“I told her I’d take care of them.” I shrug, trying to make light of it.
“Okay.” She nods. “And?” She tilts her head just a fraction.
“I’ll stay away.”
She doesn’t respond right away. Instead, she studies me longer than necessary like she’s trying to decide if I’m serious. If I actually believe what I just said.
Then she stands, chuckling.
She walks toward the window and stops. Hands slipping into the pockets of her pants, her gaze laser sharp on the city beyond the glass.
“Do you remember what you were like?” She asks, not looking at me still.
I don’t answer because I don’t like where this is going.
“You were unbearable,” she continues, taking a few steps back into the room, her gaze now fixed on me. “You, my friend, were happy for no reason. Smiling like you’d won something the rest of us couldn’t see.”
I bite down on my tongue, snuffing out the memory before it takes shape.
“You used to leave early,” she adds. “You used to cancel things and ignore calls. Because you had to get home.” She pauses, smiling. “To them.”
“Wrap it up.” I push off the sofa.
“You were a good father.” She ignores me. “You were… a good husband.” She steps closer.
“I know.” I move past her.
“And now you get to be that again,” she continues, turning with me, following without hesitation. “Do you understand how rare that is? How…”
“That’s not what this is,” I cut in, stabbing a finger in the air to make my point.
“It is exactly what this is.” She mimics the gesture.
“It’s not the same.”
“No, it’s not,” she agrees immediately, stepping in front of me just enough to slow me down without blocking me completely. “Because this time, you know better.”
“Which is how I know not to get close enough.”
“Robert, life is…” she gestures loosely, like the situation standing between us “Life is giving you something you lost…”
“Move.” I cut her.
“You have a child, Robert.”
“I have a child!” I lose it, the words hitting her face, but she doesn’t flinch. “Can you not see the fucking problem in that sentence?”
“So your grand solution is to stay away?” Her brows lift slightly.
“You’re coming up to speed.” I exhale through my nose, stepping around her this time.
She follows.
“You don’t get to fund your way out of being a father,” she continues, her voice gaining edge now, firm enough to bite. “You don’t get to throw money at them and miss out on this opportunity.”
“That’s not what I’m doing.”
“It is exactly what you’re doing.”
“For fuck’s sake, Atelia.” I reach the bathroom and push the door open. “Find something else to worry about.” I step inside.
“So what happens when she grows up?” She keeps going, right behind me now. “You seriously will have no problem not being a part of her life?”
“You want me to braid her hair?” I turn the tap on.
Water rushes out, loud enough to fill the space, but not loud enough to drown her out.
“I want you to allow yourself to be happy again.” She shrieks, stepping closer. “You deserve that.”
I grip the edge of the sink, my knuckles whitening from the force.
“Robert…”
“That’s it.” I turn and push the door, slamming it between us.
Still, her words hover, lodged somewhere between my ribs and my skull, repeating, reshaping themselves into something I don’t want to hear twice.
I turn the tap higher and water rushes harder, spilling into the tub. I stand there for a second, my hands braced against the sink, my head bowed, breathing through my nose to silence the noise.
Then I straighten, peeling everything away in a rhythm that feels more like shedding than undressing.
I step into the tub, the water already heating up. I lower myself into it anyway and let it take me.
I pull one knee up, my hand slipping under one foot to brush over skin that doesn’t feel as it should.
The skin there is raised, with scars running along my calf, scattered, some thin, some thicker, but all familiar in a way that doesn’t need remembering.
I trace one from start to finish.
Then another, the movement replaying the memory of all the lighters I’ve pressed into my skin. All the times I burned my feet, craving something louder than what was inside my head. Something that could match it. Or drown it.
It never worked. But it did something.
My fingers still against the scars, I press slightly harder, like I can feel through them, like there’s something buried underneath that I haven’t dug up in years.
I already know what it is.
What it always is.
After the fire, I knew having a family was a liability.
It makes them visible.
Reachable.
Breakable.
And when they’re taken, it doesn’t just end them.
It ends me too.
I’ve lived with that long enough to know better. Long enough to understand what it costs.
Which is exactly why I won’t do it again.
Not with her.
Not with Blue.
Not again.