Chapter 38
Chapter thirty-eight
Ivan
Amy isn’t answering her phone. I haven’t heard from her since yesterday. She’d texted me in the evening, canceling our plans. She had a headache. A knot of worry formed in my stomach; it’s been twisted ever since.
Most nights we spend together; this silence where she should be feels wrong, like something important is missing. My offer to go round and look after her was dismissed with a simple single-word text message. No. The full stop felt like a slammed door.
I’m on my sofa in my boxers, nursing a bottle of beer. The leather is cool against my skin. My cell sits on the arm of the chair, mocking me. A film is playing on my panoramic television: men with guns running around deserted streets, and every so often, someone blows someone else to pieces.
The explosions flash across the screen, but all I hear are my own accusing thoughts. Amy and her silence are all I can think about.
Her phone rings out when I try to call her again, and raw heat flushes in my throat. Something’s wrong; I can feel it bone deep. But she’s choosing not to tell me what it is. I can’t fix something when I don’t know what the fucking issue is.
This woman has me perplexed. Jealousy, fear, protectiveness, all the shit I’ve never had to deal with, slam into one another until I can’t sit still. People normally bend to my will―if a request is made, it’s executed on my schedule.
Not with Amy Corrigan.
She says my name, and I run after her like a pet dog, desperate for praise for good behavior. Her absence hurts in places I never knew existed, and now, I’m waiting like an idiot for her next instruction.
Another beer later, I decide to take matters into my own hands and call myself a taxi.
I pull on my jeans with a black cashmere sweater.
After a glance in the mirror, I notice my hair is messy and bags are starting to form under my eyes.
Tonight is certainly not my best look, but I’m not expecting a welcome with open arms after whatever the hell this is.
I want answers to the questions burning on my tongue.
The journey through the city is slow. Cars and vans cram the roads, making progress pitiful.
It gives me plenty of time to consider what I want to say.
What I need to ask her. My knee bounces the whole ride; I can’t make it stop.
My hand keeps drifting to the keys in my pocket I already know I have.
The taxi stops outside her apartment. Her light’s on—she’s home. I hand the driver a fifty-pound note and step out onto the pavement.
“Do you not want your change, mate?” he calls. I wave his question away. He speeds off as soon as my door clicks closed.
The path to the front door is longer than I remember. My steps slow the closer I get, as if my body knows what my mind refuses to accept. My fingers tremble around the cool metal. I pull the key out, open the door, and then make my way up the stairs.
Her front door looks like it always does, with its small white plaque painted with a delicate pink butterfly in one corner, the name ‘Corrigan’ written in black cursive font.
It hits me with a strange punch of familiarity, that feeling of being home, and I fucking hate that it might not be mine anymore.
I hesitate.
My knuckles hover over the door, I consider knocking. She gave me a key for a reason―our relationship has moved forward. We’re grown-ups, for fuck's sake, yet it feels like a teenage showdown. I force my hand down.
The key slides into the lock with ease―only last week, I greased it for her. She was always complaining about it sticking when she tried to turn her key. The telltale snap of the lock giving way sounds, and I step into the now-familiar room.
Amy is standing by the window, looking out into the dark night. She holds an almost empty wine glass between her long, slender fingers. Her stunning figure is hidden by the baggy checked pajamas, her glossy hair piled high, held in place with a bright red band.
She turns to me, and the look on her face makes me grind to a halt mid-step. Tear tracks shimmer under the lamplight, eyes puffy and raw, lips pressed together so tight it looks painful. I wrack my brain for a reason but come up short.
The anniversary of Bex’s death was in March. We’d spent the day in bed watching comedy films and eating our body weight in chocolate.
Her new job at a local gym is going well. She’s been blissfully happy for months. Our relationship is incredible. She falls asleep on my chest most nights, and my sheets smell of her shampoo.
There is only one thing, the one fact I’ve been hiding. My heart sinks. She’s found out, and I wasn’t the one to tell her. Guilt floods my body, quickly replaced with fear.
“When were you going to tell me?” she screams. I stand mute, my throat squeezing the truth down. “Or were you going to tell me at all?”
“I didn’t know how,” I reply quietly. “It was before you and me. Before we found what we have now.”
“I never sold my gym to you.” Her eyes lock onto mine, sharp enough to slice me wide open. “How did you buy my gym from me without me knowing? Was my little business worth the espionage?”
“You said no.”
My gaze drops to my feet, embarrassed by what I’m about to admit to. “I’m not used to people saying no. No isn’t a word in my vocabulary. From the moment you told me you wouldn’t sell, I had to have it.” The words taste sour, no matter what I tell myself.
***
Amy
My heart splinters as I look at the man I thought I knew.
A man I’ve trusted with the rawest version of me, the parts I’ve hidden from everyone else. A man I was planning a future beside.
“And because I rejected you, you came after me? Was getting me into your bed something you had to do to prove you’re the big man? The winner?”
His shoulders flinch hard, as if my palm connected with his cheek.
“Is this what happens, Ivan? Does someone tell you no and you chase whatever it is until you win?”
“It used to be,” he admits, redness creeping up his neck.
“We’ve been together for months,” I hiss. “How could you not tell me this?”
“It’s a building, Amy. It was a business decision. Bricks and mortar, nothing more.”
He straightens his shoulders, his armor snapping into place. The cautious man who entered my apartment morphs into a direct businessman. “I bought your gym fair and square. It’s been renovated and reopened for months. Why now is the bloody place so important?”
“Only bricks and mortar…” I whisper. My voice cracking like splintered ice. “It’s always been important. I couldn’t face seeing it until now. It was only yesterday, I felt strong enough to see what I’d lost and who I’d let down.”
A laugh breaks free, ugly and desolate.
“That place was my dream. It was my sister’s dream for me to have it. And I blew it.” My free fingers curl into a fist. “All this time you’ve been comforting me while lining your own pockets from my loss.”
“That’s not what happened,” he argues.
“You tricked me into selling it by sending decoys. You fucking manipulated me. Did you pat yourself on the back afterward? Let’s face it, no one is allowed to beat Ivan Harley. No one is allowed to say no.”
“Amy,” he sighs, “why does it matter? I own the gym, but I’m never there.”
“You were there yesterday.”
“You followed me?” he spits. His body tenses, and he takes another step toward me. I hold my hand up to warn him off.
“Don’t flatter yourself. Follow you…” I snort and lift my wine glass to my lips, then drain the last few dregs. “I was leaving work and decided I needed to see how the place looked. Imagine my shock when I saw you skipping down the front steps.”
“I had a business meeting with the new owners,” he mumbles.
I pause to process his words. “New owners?”
“Yes, I’m selling it.”
“Made your money, have you? Has it been a worthwhile investment for you?”
“No, I’m taking a loss on the place so it can move on. I knew this would be an issue between us. I hoped to get rid of it before you ever found out I owned it.”
“Oh, that makes it all right then.” I roll my eyes. “Is that what you do, Ivan? When something outstays its use, do you get rid of it? You’ve proven your point, so you can move on?”
“Amy, I didn’t do this to hurt you.” He takes a deep breath. His strong chest rises and falls. Sad blue eyes focus on me as he steps closer. “I’m not your ex-husband. I don’t throw people away because they can’t give me a child.”
My stomach hits the floor. Did he actually just say that to me? Tears flood my eyes instantly. My grip tightens on the stem of the wine glass until I’m scared it will snap.
“Buying the gym was a poor move, but it doesn’t make me a bad person.”
“No,” I say venomously, “it makes you ruthless. A cunning bastard. What makes you an asshole that you’ve been fucking me for months and never thought to tell me.”
I wipe at my traitorous watery eyes with my sleeve. “That building may just be bricks and mortar to you, Ivan, but it meant something to me. I let it go at a time when my life was spiraling out of control. Choosing who bought it gave me one last scrap of control.”
“You’re overreacting,” he says, and my temper detonates.
“Overreacting! Can’t you see this isn’t about you buying the fucking gym? It’s about you not telling me when you had the chance. We said no secrets. No topic off-limits.” My voice shakes. “You lied to me.”
“I never lied,” he shouts, slamming his hand down on the wooden sideboard. The silver photo frame with the picture of Bex and me crashes to the floor. Glass shatters.
He crouches, picks up the frame, then gathers pieces of broken glass. “Ouch.” Blood drips from his finger, small dots decorating the floor.
“Just go,” I whisper. “Go, please.”
He looks up, those blue eyes pleading, frightened.
“I can’t trust you. Leave now. We’re finished.” Pain surges through my chest; every muscle aches with the real time loss. It’s like my ribs are being cracked one by one, disintegrating piece by piece.
“Sweetheart, please. I know you’re upset, but—”
“Upset?” I gasp. “I’m fucking livid. I won’t be with a liar. I’ve been ripped apart before; I won’t be again. We’re done. Go.”
He reaches for my hand. I step back. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Don’t. I won’t answer. Leave your key on the way out.”