Epilogue
Zach
Two Months Later
“This better be a sick joke.” I tighten the towel around my waist, gritting my teeth and staring at my angry reflection in the mirror.
My shower had been enjoyable. Long and soothing, washing away the sweat and ache from the game of tennis with Walker. Now any gained relaxation has vanished with this call.
“Afraid not, sir.” Tamara inhales sharply as if fortifying herself for whatever else I may dish out. “We knew this was a strong possibility,” she cautions and pauses.
With my palms flat on the bathroom counter, I lean forward and hang my head, unable to look at myself any longer. She’s right. We always knew the verdict on Hummel’s trial could go many ways. But why do I feel like a failure? I failed Paige.
The motherfucker got three years and could be out in as little as six to eight months for good behavior. He deserves the full ten years, more if I had my way.
The reality is, criminal harassment and other similar crimes like stalking and rape—all where the odds are heavily skewed toward women as the target—have a very low conviction rate. Disgustingly so.
In Hummel’s case, it didn’t help our case when the other woman, a past tenant who had also been harassed by him, refused to officially testify. That made it Paige’s word against his.
“Send me the bill and our options for making sure he never does this again.” I jam my finger on the phone screen, ending the call, and curl a hand around the back of my neck, hoping to squeeze the tension from my body and erase the sense I let the woman I love down.
Even with his DNA from his jizz fest—sick fuck—the judge was lenient, stating this was his first offence.
If only we could have proved otherwise. Justice Reeves stated he hoped with leniency there was a chance of Joel’s rehabilitation.
I have no such hope or belief. I would have stopped at nothing to bring forth more evidence, witnesses, or victims for the maximum sentence, but there were none to be had.
Sometimes money can’t get you everything you want.
My hand runs through my damp hair, brushing it off my face, and the other hand feels my jawline, checking if I should shave or if I can push it another day. Thoughts of telling Paige the news run through my mind. I don’t want this to taint our vacation.
Today is the first day of a week in Muskoka at Drew and Pippa’s cottage with her family. When I tell her, she’ll be indifferent about the whole thing. She doesn’t like to talk about him. She isn’t in denial or avoiding the topic—it’s more she’s moving on with her life.
We took all the necessary steps to make sure he doesn’t do this to someone else and if it’s the last thing I ever do, I’ve promised her he’ll never get near her again.
True to my word, shortly after the lobby incident, I paid a little visit to Joel’s father, the owner of all the rental properties Joel manages.
I educated Hummel senior on how sick his son is and made him see the error of his ways in allowing his son the privilege of managing those properties and vulnerable tenants. When Joel gets out of jail, he won’t have a job with Daddy. His father assured me he will keep a close eye on his son.
“Hey, you hungry?” Paige taps lightly on the ajar bathroom door before peering around it. “JP made pancakes.”
“I’m hungry but not for pancakes.” I beckon for her to come to me, and she readily obliges, smiling and sliding her warm hands around my bare waist. “I’m hungry for something sweeter.”
I brush her hair off her shoulder and nuzzle into her neck, breathing in her warm spicy scent. “Did you get your work done?”
Today’s tennis game wasn’t the usual with Walker. It’s Friday and I left the penthouse, giving Paige a chance to tie up some loose ends with the foundation so I could have her to myself. I promised to do the same—no work for ten full days.
She nods, opening her mouth, and a moan slips from her lips with the first lick of my tongue against her sweet skin.
Before Paige, I used to shower at the club after any kind of physical activity and sometimes even grab a bite before going home.
Now, when she’s here waiting for me, I’m the first to leave.
My fingers thread her hair at the back of her head, and she smiles perceptively.
“Hey, relax.” Her finger brushes at the furrow between my brow, trying to smooth out the crinkle.
“I already know.” She pushes onto her toes and kisses the tip of my stubbled chin, pulling away to peer up at me again. “Tamara called me first.”
A frown ghosts my features and I shake my head. “I should’ve known. Has she forgotten who pays her bills?”
She quirks a brow. “About that—” I shake my head, saying, “Nope. We already discussed this and there’s nothing left to discuss. I pay Tamara’s bills regardless of how your situation has changed.”
Paige’s fingers run up and down my bare back and my balls tighten as my dick twitches. Damn.
We now live together, and I refuse to accept any of her money for anything. I have more money than I will ever spend and having her in my life is all I need from her. Nothing else. Well, there is one more thing I want from her, but I won’t push it. Right now, anyway.
I want Paige to be my wife. When I had originally proposed, it had been genuine regardless of our arrangement, but with everything with Reagan, Donovan, and coming clean with all our friends and family, she’s asked me to not ask.
She wants us to enjoy our time as a couple. Together for real. No lies.
Patience is a bitch. I’m trying really hard to be patient and give her what she wants. But I’m not getting any younger and I want everything with her. A home, a family, and all the things I never wished for, or even thought about, before Paige.
“Fine.” She pouts, trying to step away but my grasp holds her firmly to me.
“Where are you going?” My lips lightly graze her plump ones and I’m seconds away from removing all her clothes and having her. “I told you I’m hungry.”
“We can’t. We’re expected at my mom’s in thirty minutes. She just texted she’s on her way back from the airport with Drew and Pip. Everyone is heading to the cottage shortly.”
“Thirty minutes is plenty of time,” I say suggestively, nibbling on her neck again.
“Zach, you’re not playing fair. I’m starving—I want breakfast before we leave.” Her hands roam my chest, inching closer to the towel wrapped loosely around my waist.
She chews on her bottom lip, blinking as she’s torn between indulging in me or getting some food before we have to leave.
I grab her left hand in mine, my thumb absently rubbing the base of her ring finger where an engagement ring should be. It’s become a subconscious thing I do and every time I catch myself, it feels like I’m silently sending her a message to make my wish come true.
“I promise to feed you on the way,” I whisper, and my mouth brushes her earlobe as my fingers deftly undo the button of her shorts, sliding the denim effortlessly down her silky legs. “If you feed me now.”
I grant her a devilish wink and a smile flits over her lips before she schools her features, wrinkling her nose. She continues to pretend her serious contemplation of her supposed dilemma. Food or me.
“You’re killing me, Paige.” I whip her top over her head, and she gasps as her bra falls to the floor and my towel follows suit. “Look what you do to me. Help me out.”
I give her a dirty smile and her gaze drops to my arousal, darkening as the tip of her pink tongue darts out to wet her lip.
“Why Mr. Rothwell, my appetite has suddenly changed, and it looks like you’ve got exactly what I’m craving.”