28. Vincent
Three weeks.
Wait—let me start again. Three miserable fucking weeks since I last saw Wendy, and while I called and texted her every day, multiple times a day, she did not answer or respond to anything.
And I didn’t blame her. I was the piece of garbage who left her again after I swore to her I wouldn’t. I broke my promise to her and shattered everything and our progress in the last few months. The renewed trust?
Gone.
The engagement?
Gone.
Solidifying Wendy to never trust me again?
Done.
I buried my head in my hands as I sat alone in the dimly lit room of the cabin. A single bottle of whiskey was on the table, a testament to my silent struggles. My phone sat beside it, a constant reminder of Wendy's silence. Each passing hour was marked with the hope that she would break that silence, but she never did. The emptiness of her response was deafening.
I was caught between my love for Wendy and the haunting shadows of my past that refused to let me be. How could I protect her when I was the very danger she needed protection from?
Ugh, this wasn’t fair. So unfucking fair. But I guess I had it coming when I screwed too many people and robbed them of happiness while I relished in what they lost. And despite Zachary and I being partners, I was the villain. I went after people personally, even after they lost their livelihoods. Zachary gave up the chase once the chase ended. Why didn’t I practice that restraint during my younger and dumber years? What the fuck was I even thinking, having sex with wives of the losers who sat at our poker table, betting their lives away?
I was spiraling. Spiraling down a rabbit hole of regret, guilt, and self-hatred, feeding off the bottle of whiskey that sat before me. The harsh burn as it slid down my throat was a mere distraction from the pain I felt; the pain of losing Wendy again, the pain of pushing her away. In my attempt to keep her safe, I had ended up hurting her more than anyone else possibly could.
There was a saying that when you loved someone, let them go. If they came back, they were yours; if they didn't, they never were. I had let her go once, and she came back.
And I let her go again, but would she come back? The mere thought of losing her forever brought a sharp, throbbing pain in my chest.
Drowning in my misery wouldn't bring Wendy back or solve the problem. For days on end, I worked relentlessly on figuring out who could possibly want revenge against me, who was seeking retribution for sins I committed years ago. But I wasn’t getting anywhere. The one person I was positive about ended up being the wrong choice. It couldn’t have been the wife. I ran a check on her, and as of last week, she lived the ultimate life of luxury in Spain with some importer-exporter tycoon. The first thought that ran through my mind for her was happiness. Good for her because she was married to some guy who clearly had a problem and didn’t care whose lives he destroyed while giving in to the addiction.
My phone buzzed on the table, lighting the room in a harsh, sterile glow. It wasn't Wendy. Just another notification from Zachary. He was hounding me with updates and plans to deal with this situation, but none mattered. Not when Wendy wasn't by my side. The only reason why Zachary even helped me at this point was because he told me a promise was made to Blair to keep Wendy safe at any cost—even if that meant helping me. When I phoned him two weeks after Wendy’s departure, Zachary clarified that he wasn’t helping me because I was his friend. His efforts were for Wendy.
Why couldn't I have done things differently? When Wendy entered my life, I should have turned the other way and kept her from the inevitable heartbreak and danger of being around me. But selfish as I was, I invited her into my mess of a life, promising her safety and love when all I had to offer was danger and deception.
But God, how I loved her. How I missed her.
The thought of losing her a third time was unbearable. It was a wound that could never heal. Each beat of my heart echoed her name, pulsating with the rhythm of a chant that cried for her return.
I had to fix this.
Staying in the log cabin, away from everyone, wasn’t the answer. And the answer wasn’t in Newport, where Wendy was nestled safely away from me. I needed to go back to my roots. I was going to return to New York.
The next day came, and I drove out of the countryside at dawn on forty-five minutes of sleep. I kept driving and didn’t bother stopping until I saw New York City’s skyline greet me like an old familiar friend. I was back in the concrete jungle that was ruthless and unforgiving. I drove aimlessly through the city streets, past towering skyscrapers and bustling street corners filled with food vendors and disgruntled drivers arguing for the right of way.
The first place I ventured to was even a bit of a surprise for me, and it would certainly be a shock to them: Zachary and Blair’s penthouse. Taking a deep breath, I exited my car and walked toward the glass door. The cool morning breeze slapped my face, a harsh reminder of the reality I was about to encounter. People passed around me in a blur, each engrossed in their own world as I approached the grand entrance. A stern-looking doorman glanced at me once before stepping aside.
I made my way to the elevator, my pulse throbbing in my ears. With every floor the elevator ascended, my thoughts into an abyss of anxiety. It wasn't common knowledge that I was back in town. Zachary and Blair had no idea I'd be showing up on their doorstep.
The elevator chimed, signaling my arrival to their floor. As I stepped out, the posh interior of the penthouse was a stark contrast to the chaos brewing inside me; soft hues of cream and beige filled the private lavish lobby, a grand piano sat in one corner while expensive art pieces adorned the walls.
Taking another deep breath for courage, I knocked on the door.
A moment later, Blair opened it. Her face was a picture of surprise as she took me in.
“Vincent...” she whispered, her voice trailing off. A myriad of emotions crossed her face: shock, surprise, confusion. And then the unmistakable shadow of anger settled over Blair’s delicate features. She stepped back and called over her shoulder, “Zachary!”
Zachary appeared, his broad frame filling the hallway, his face shadowed with concern as he scrutinized me. “Vincent.” His voice a low growl, his dark eyes narrowed into thin slits.
My face dropped, realizing I wasn’t going to be welcomed anytime soon. “You’re mad at me. Why? It’s not like last time. This time, Wendy knows.” I stepped over the threshold of their entrance with Blair backing away. “And we’re not broken up. I asked her to stay with me, but she refused.”
Zachary clenched his jaw, stepped forward, and his left fist whisked through the air, connecting straight to the center of my face.
And then everything went black.
The taste of copper was the first thing I registered as consciousness slowly returned. The world was a blurred haze of sensations, the gentle murmur of voices in the backdrop, an atypical plushness beneath me. I was lying on something, a couch perhaps.
I cracked open my eyes one at a time.
The brightness of the room hit me like a blinding spotlight, but I screwed up my eyes against it until they adjusted to the light. The world cleared up, and Blair's face swam into view. Her arms were folded across her chest, her hazel eyes wide with concern and anger.
“Are you okay?” she asked, her voice tight with restrained emotion.
I tried to sit up, but my head throbbed viciously at the movement. A sharp pain echoed behind my eyes, causing me to wince. She immediately rushed forward, gently pushing me back onto the couch. “Don’t try to move,” she said. “Zachary...” Blair’s voice trailed off as she glanced behind her.
Zachary appeared hidden by the door frame from where he had been standing. He looked hard and impassive, though his knuckles were red and swollen—evidence of the punch that had landed me on their luxurious ivory-colored couch.
“Zachary,” I began again, my throat croaking like sandpaper.
“Save it,” he cut me off sharply, no trace of regret in his gaze, only resentment. “Blair, tell Vincent about the phone call we got earlier.” Zachary nodded in his wife’s direction.
“Wendy called us crying. Asking us why did this happen to her. Why did she take you back?” Blair swallowed her own tears as I spotted her glassy eyes. “How could you do this again to her, Vincent?”
“I didn’t break up with her,” I pleaded from the couch, sitting up, ignoring the shooting pain wracking through my body. What the fuck was with Zachary’s bionic strength? His muscles were always apparent under his clothes, but fucking damn. Did he just punch me in the face or throw me from a building? “I call her every day. Text her every fucking day. And now I’m emailing. And nothing from her! I asked her to stay with me at the cabin, but she said no.” I straightened, running my fingertips along my throbbing jaw. “What the fuck does everyone want from me already? I’m not letting Wendy go. This is what she wants this time.”
Zachary dropped his arms and stormed over to my pitiful frame. He wound his right fist back this time, ready to punch me into next week, when Blair screamed and grabbed Zachary’s forearm.
“No, Zachary!” she cried. Blair pulled him back with all the force she could muster. “Stop this! Beating him up is not going to solve anything.”
Zachary turned to glare at Blair, his face contorted with his inner turmoil. His clenched fist shook from the tension. He exhaled a harsh breath through gritted teeth, slowly lowering his hand. He blinked hard, trying to bring himself under control.
“Isn’t this what you want?” Zachary asked Blair.
“No,” Blair said firmly, holding his gaze. “I know I said protect Wendy at any cost, but this isn’t the answer now that I’m seeing it unfold.” She stood between the two of us, a small yet unyielding barrier.
Zachary turned his back on me, his shoulders trembling with the effort to control himself. I could hear the heavy rhythm of his breathing and see Blair's hand resting lightly on his broad back.
Slowly, he nodded, glancing at Blair before walking away without another word. His footsteps echoed through the penthouse as he disappeared into another room. Blair didn't move until she heard a door close in the distance.
She turned to face me again, her eyes welling with tears of frustration. “Vincent... we...we don't hate you. We just...we don't know how to help this time,” she stammered, her voice wavering. “Wendy is such a good person, and to see her suffer again, even though you’re saying this isn’t abandonment and promising everyone it’s different this time, but the truth is? It’s not.” Blair sighed. “You left Wendy without a choice. What was the compromise on your end?”
My jaw clenched at her words, my heart hammering against my chest. It was clear they didn’t believe me despite all my efforts.
“Fucking hell, Blair!” I shot back, “It wasn’t me who made this decision. If I could have it any other way, Wendy and I would be together now.” I pushed myself off the couch, the pain in my body momentarily forgotten in the heat of my frustration.
I moved to stand in front of her, almost begging with my eyes for her to see the truth. She took a step back, allowing me to somehow stumble over an ottoman and fall. Blair’s face paled as she studied me on the floor.
“Vincent, it’s too complicated. And what’s worse? You’re complicating it more.”
I closed my eyes, suddenly feeling the warm pain circulating my face. “Can someone please get me some ice?”
“Fine.” Blair rolled her eyes. “Just one second.”
Zachary had other plans as he blocked Blair from stepping toward the kitchen. “No. Don’t get him anything.” He stormed over to me. “You are going to sleep here tonight. Get your shit together, and then in the morning, I’m driving us to Newport.”
“Wendy will tell me to get lost.” I hunched forward, resting my elbows on my knees, allowing my loser status to shine like the sun.
Zachary's face relaxed, just enough for me to see through his hardened exterior. “Then get lost,” he said, a tired resignation. “But at least you would have tried.”
Blair gently touched Zachary’s bicep, leaning into his ear and saying, “I’ll be right back.”
Zachary watched her go, his green eyes following her until she was out of sight. He sighed heavily, running his hand through his dark hair in frustration before turning back to me. “Vincent.” Zachary’s voice was stern but devoid of earlier hostility. “You’re going to do your best to fix things with Wendy and grovel.”
I kept my gaze down but nodded nonetheless.
“Alright then,” Zachary said with a curt nod. “First thing tomorrow morning. Newport.”
Blair returned, holding a bag of ice wrapped in a thin kitchen towel. She offered it to me, and I took it with a small nod of gratitude. The chill from the ice was a sharp contrast against the burning sensation on my face but welcomed nonetheless.
I looked at Blair and Zachary standing side by side, a true unified front. How did I mess up so badly? I pushed the love of my life away a second time over a chase I knew I’d never catch without Wendy with me. It was the fear winning, and I was to blame.
“Where should I sleep tonight?” My eyes darted around the room.
“You’re sitting on it,” Zachary half sneered.
“Fine,” I grumbled, settling back into the couch. “And thank you.”
Blair glanced at me once more, her eyes softening a degree before she turned to leave.
As the room emptied and the lights dimmed, I was left alone with my thoughts. I was caught in a whirlwind of regret and self-loathing, picturing Wendy's face as I walked out on her those years ago.
Why had I been so foolish? Why had I let my past rule my future?
A sudden movement drew my attention to the doorway. Zachary stood there, holding a thick blanket in his arms. He grinned slightly as he saw me huddled on the couch. Wordlessly, he came over and spread it over my legs.
“Thanks,” I muttered.
“Try to get some sleep.” He offered a weakened shrug. “It’s going to be a long day tomorrow.”
With that, he left me alone.
As darkness settled over the city outside, I told myself one thing: tomorrow would be a new day, a day for apologies and redemption. And maybe even a day for love.
The next morning, Zachary threw a wet washcloth at my face, the freezing fabric slapping my skin. I sat up, gasping, chasing my breath. I groaned, rubbing my face with the washcloth as I got up stiff from the couch. Every bone creaked in protest as I moved. Wow, I really was getting old.
“Get ready,” Zachary grunted, already dressed and arms crossed over his chest. “We leave in ten.” He walked away, headed somewhere unknown, but stopped suddenly. “When you’re ready, go wait for me in the car. It’s already in front warming up.”
“Someone is driving us?” I squinted.
“Yeah. Cyrus.”
“Cyrus?” I repeated, my eyebrows popping.
Zachary nodded simply and turned away, disappearing down the hallway. I stood alone in the living room, clutching the wet washcloth. My eyes searched for my phone, which sat diagonally on the glass coffee table on silent. I checked the screen for messages and nothing, my heat twisting from the emptiness.
One last time, I told myself before getting ready for Newport and dialed Wendy’s number. The call rang. One ring. Two rings. Three rings. My heart pounded in my chest, and my palms felt sweaty against the cool surface of the phone.
On the fourth ring, her voicemail message greeted me, a brief, familiar melody to my ears. “ Hi, you’ve reached Wendy …” Even hearing Wendy’s recorded voice after weeks apart sent jagged pieces of glass to my heart.
“Wendy...it's Vincent. Look, I…I…” My voice trailed off, struggling to describe the storm inside my heart. “I'm sorry. Please come back to me,” I finally managed to say before ending the call.
Sighing, I returned my phone to the coffee table and got up, feeling my body ache with every movement. In the bathroom mirror, my reflection stared back at me with tired eyes and lines etched deep in my face from years of worry and regret. As I buttoned my shirt, I glanced out the window where the sun was just beginning to rise over the cityscape.
I grabbed my coat and left the room, heading to the car. Cyrus stood by the car door, which he swung open as soon as he saw me approaching.
“Good morning, Vincent.” He nodded as I slid into the backseat.
“Hey, Cyrus. Good to see you,” I half-lied through gritted teeth, reclining against the cool black leather seats, waiting for Zachary.
As the car's engine purred, I glanced through the tinted windows. The sun painted the city in hues of orange and pink, casting a glow over buildings that showcased the beauty of a new day. I couldn't help but think of Wendy and the sunrise we had once watched from our favorite Central Park spot.
A moment later, the passenger door opened, and Zachary slid next to me, holding two coffee cups—one brick red and the other white. He handed me the white cup silently. “Blair’s Americano. I figured a little caffeine would help both of us.”
“Thanks.” I took the coffee from him. The warmth spread through my hands, granting a momentary calm.
“For what it's worth, I'm sorry about what you and Wendy are going through,” Zachary said, looking out the window. His face was stern, but there was a glimmer of empathy in his eyes.
I swallowed a lump in my throat as I took the first sip of coffee, feeling the bitter taste of it and regret on my tongue. “Me too.” I winced. Shit, this coffee was strong.
“Is something wrong?” Zachary stared at me as I smacked my lip, studying the coffee.
“I almost forgot how strong Blair’s coffee tasted.” Although, I never remembered her coffee tasting anything but rich and smooth. Not like this bitter, sour concoction in my hand.
Zachary chuckled, a dry sound barely registered in the car's quiet interior. “It does take some getting used to,” he admitted, wrapping his hands around his cup. He took a sip and smiled. “Nothing wrong with mine.” Zachary raised his drink.
And that was when my eyelids felt impossibly heavy, like I swallowed a sleeping pill bottle. I wanted to speak, say anything, ask Zachary to let me out of the car, but nothing fell from my mouth. My head spun, and I tried to fight the waves of darkness threatening to pull me under. My heart pounded in my ears, and my vision blurred, turning Zachary into a hazy mess of colors. I strained to keep my eyes open, but it was a losing battle.
“Zach...” My voice, softer than a whisper, barely made it out of my mouth before the world around me faded. I tried fighting the drowsiness descending on me, but I was losing. My body sagged against the seat as my gaze faded, and the heavy cup slid from my loose fingers, spilling onto my lap, but I felt nothing.
Zachary turned to look at me, his smile vanishing. “Goodnight, Vincent.”