7. Chapter Seven
Chapter Seven
Ava
I’m not on the floor. Stephen caught me.
Instead of feeling relief that I’m not nursing a broken nose or wrist from trying to stop my fall, I suck in another sharp breath of surprise. For a second, I freeze, unable to think or move. But then I rotate in his arms, instinct taking over, and he lets me.
One solid arm is still around my waist, and his other hand hovers near my cheek where a few strands of hair have caught on my painted lips.
My breathing is shallow, as though I’ve been running, and when I look up into his eyes, I see the same thing I’m feeling reflected.
Desire. Uncertainty. Naked longing.
“Stephen,” I murmur, and I press closer. He doesn’t stop me, tightens his hold to close the gap.
On my cheek, his fingertips are the lightest touch as he frees the strands of hair from their sticky position on my lips.
This moment is everything I used to love so much about him.
How he could be both so manly and yet so gentle, so tender.
This giant who could toss me over his shoulder, order me around, make me come so hard I’d scream from the pleasure, but also a man who could curl around me as we made love, make me feel so precious, so protected, a flower he’d never want to crush.
The realization of what I had, what I lost, is a slice across my heart. I never thought he’d leave me. How could he leave me?
Unable to resist, I run my thumb across the little scars on his cheek, and he closes his eyes at my touch.
Being back in his arms makes me realize that my lungs collapsed when he left, became incapable of a deep inhale and exhale, and it’s only now, with him, that I’ve discovered the cure, the medicine I’ve needed to refill my lungs.
It’s amazing, really, that something as simple as being held again as though I’m cared for can shift my perception so thoroughly. Pure oxygen seeping deep.
“How did you get these?” I whisper.
His eyes snap open, and he releases me so suddenly that I almost stumble again.
His hand snakes out and secures my elbow to stop me from falling.
As soon as it’s clear I’ve got my feet under me, a single moment at most, he opens my office door and walks out, drawing it closed behind him with a cool calmness that shows how thoroughly he’s closed himself off again, as though we never shared anything at all.
The moment in my office keeps replaying over the next few days.
Stephen is even more cautious about spending any time alone with me, and I haven’t had the guts to push him.
When we were younger, I never questioned my compulsion to draw him into my orbit again and again.
Any time he escaped, I knew I’d get him back.
Our ongoing game with each other—I’d run and he’d chase, or he wouldn’t chase and I’d go after him.
To me, that was just what we were, who we were.
I never questioned how on and off we were because even when we were off, I felt like we were still on but with the brightness dimmed.
We’re not on a dimmer anymore. He’s switched us off, and the other day was the first time I saw a flicker from him.
The urge to play with the wires, see if I can get a spark, even if it shocks me, is dangerous.
My life would burn down around me, and if the only person who got singed was me, I’d do it.
If getting Stephen was the result, I’d gladly stand in the ashes of the last six years of my life.
But I’ve got Landon and all the people at Reckless that I have to consider. In Stephen’s absence, I built the kind of life where my actions have consequences for others, and I married a man whose pride would never let me out unscathed.
Even still, as I watch Stephen head for the door again at the end of another shift, another day where I’m just a job to be completed, the part of me I’ve tried so hard to bury yearns to follow him. To beg for something I can’t even articulate. His attention? His affection? His love?
“Is he working out okay?” Raul asks, and I’m startled out of my thoughts, remembering that my husband is home, mixing a drink at the bar on the other side of the room.
The click of the front door sounds, and my heart squeezes at the realization that Stephen is gone again.
“Why do you ask?”
“Just wondering if I need to ask Owen for someone else. Small-island cop, goes away for a few years, has a catastrophic accident, comes back in charge of Bellerive’s clientele. Reeks of Owen making up for something. I doubt this guy’s competence is the reason he’s in charge.”
“Catastrophic accident?” My lungs close up. “What do you mean?”
Raul waves a hand as though his answer doesn’t hold my heart in a vise. “Job gone wrong. Ended up on his deathbed. Apparently a miracle he survived and is able to walk. Which all makes me question if he’s well suited to take care of you or be in charge of Landon’s security.”
I fumble for the couch behind me and sink down, but I hold myself very still, aware that even when Raul seems tuned out, he typically understands more than I realize. “He’s been good,” I say, forcing my voice to stay even. “Better than the first guy, who couldn’t handle eggs and a frozen roast.”
“Hopefully, that’s the worst of it,” Raul says. He approaches the couch with two drinks, and he passes a scotch to me. “Have a drink. I leave for business tomorrow for two weeks.”
I gulp back the scotch and wince as it burns my throat.
My relationship with Stephen was mostly behind closed doors, which benefitted both of us back then.
He didn’t want his colleagues knowing we were sleeping together, and I was happy for him to remain a secret, something just for me.
Of course, over time, my family figured out we were something more, and maybe his family did too.
I never asked. All the secrecy means Raul is unlikely to hear a peep on the gossip circuit, which is a fucking relief right now.
“Did you say goodbye to Landon before he went to bed?” Since I was the one who put him to bed, I know Raul didn’t.
Raul likes the idea of having an heir, but he’s really not much of a father.
Passively involved and interested when it suits him.
If I hadn’t gotten pregnant by accident, I doubt he’d have ever been a dad or a husband.
“I’m leaving after he goes to school. I’ll speak to him in the morning.” He takes my empty glass and goes to the bar to refill it, returning to hand me another three fingers of alcohol.
I stare at the offer for a moment—it’s not just the drink—before shaking my head. “I’m not in the mood,” I say.
Raul lets out a huff and takes my glass back to the bar.
In the years we’ve been married, I’ve only said that to him, even though it’s often true where he’s concerned, a handful of times.
He’s not a skilled lover, but I am. The bedroom is one place where I hold the power, and I enjoy at least that piece of control in our relationship.
The idea of touching him in any way doesn’t hold an ounce of appeal to me tonight.
If I’m really honest with myself, my disinterest started the minute I heard Stephen’s voice in the front foyer of our mansion. A fork appearing in the road.
That realization causes my heart rate to spike. I stare at the glass he’s taken back to the bar, the one I won’t drink, heart pounding.
I’m going to fucking burn my life down.
The wildfire has already started somewhere in the distance, the smoke drifting toward me, diminishing the air quality.
I’ll suffocate, I’ll flee, or I’ll run toward the blaze, convinced survival can exist in the inferno, and I’m not sure which of those will happen first.