Chapter 29
Tracy
“Shit,” I mutter as I pull up to my apartment building and see a familiar, blacked out SUV parked along the curb. I pull in behind it just as Lucas jumps out, a pack of little lightbulbs in his hand.
Grabbing my purse, I rummage through it, pulling out a make-up remover wipe and flipping down the sun visor as I try to clean up my face.
God, I’m a mess. Physically, mentally, hell, probably even spiritually.
I was so turned on in Blake’s office. So eager to do as he said, even as he threatened to not let me come. His idea of punishing me had me practically dropping to my knees for him.
After everything he’s done, me, the pathetic pushover that I am, still wanted to please him. To be his good girl. To be his good little whore.
I wanted it. I wanted him. God, how I wanted to finally be with him.
But then something snapped in him. Something changed, and it went from pleasure and edging to toxic and brutal.
He went to some dark place where I didn’t matter.
Where my enjoyment didn’t matter. He didn’t want to bring pleasure.
He didn’t want to test my limits. He went to a place where he wanted to bring pain. He wanted to hurt.
That was when I realized he hates me. He actually hates me.
I always knew he was frustrated that I barged into his life and business like I had any right to be there. I even accepted that he harbored some small amount of animosity for me.
But I didn’t realize the extent. I didn’t realize the true venom he had for me. And I didn’t realize his biggest issue of all was that his hatred wasn’t the only feeling that was eating him alive.
There’s a part of him that wants me, that can’t get enough of me, and he hates himself more than anything for it.
I don’t know how we can move on from here though, or that I even want to.
How could I want to be with someone who doesn’t care about hurting me?
Who left bruises across my hips and stomach and rope burns on my wrists?
Who kept going, kept punishing, even when it was too much.
When I wanted him to stop. When I tried to tell him to slow down.
I wipe under my eyes with the cloth, trying to get as much liner and mascara off as possible. No amount of wiping gets rid of the red puffiness under eyes though, and there’s no way Lucas won’t notice it.
“Shit,” I mumble again, pulling another cloth from the bag and wiping my cheeks just as Lucas taps on the window.
Giving up, I toss the cloth into my passenger seat and get out to face the inevitable judgment. I’m not expecting what I get instead.
As soon as I step out of the car and Lucas gets a look at my face, he pulls me into himself, his arms wrapped around me tight.
“Are you okay?” he asks, one hand coming to the back of my head and cradling me into his chest.
The genuine concern in his voice breaks me.
“N-no,” I croak, and the tears fall.
“Shit,” he mutters. “I came to change your brake light, but maybe we should go up to your apartment instead.”
I nod against his chest, my tears soaking into his shirt.
“Come on.” He releases me, reaching into my car for my purse, then grabbing my hand and pulling me toward the building entrance.
I follow silently, wiping at my eyes with my free hand while I stare at the ground.
I hate crying. I hate being weak. I hate that a man had the ability to shake me to my core.
“What floor are you on?” Lucas asks when we enter the lobby.
“The sixth,” I squeak, my throat tight.
He drags me to the elevator, and when we’re both tucked safely inside with the door closed, hands me my purse, pulls me into his side, and tucks me under his arm.
His fingers rub soothing circles against my shoulder as he holds me against him, and his silent presence is calming.
Lucas and I have never been close. Other than occasionally running into him at the office, I never really spent any time with him. I kind of assumed the worst of him, given his icy reception to me when Whitney announced who I was at the last company meeting, but maybe I was wrong.
Hell, maybe I’m just a terrible judge of men in general, because I also assumed that Blake would never hurt me, and he so easily did.
The elevator opens, and I lead Lucas down the hallway and to my door. Once inside, I throw my purse on the kitchen island, lose my heels, and sink onto the couch.
“So, what happened?” Lucas asks. He stands in front of me, arms crossed over his chest and a concerned look on his face. His nose isn’t swollen anymore, but it’s still bruised. It doesn’t detract from his handsome face, though.
He must be around Blake’s age—late twenties, early thirties maybe—clean shaven and handsome in that clean-cut sort of way that someone in the corporate world would be.
I let out a shuddering breath. “Blake,” I say quietly. “I guess you could say we had a bit of a falling out.”
If by “falling out”, you mean he fucked me over his desk to the point of pain and told me over and over again how he hates me.
“Fuck him.”
Lucas’ words catch me off guard. “I thought you two were close.”
He scoffs, his face transforming from concern for me to animosity toward Blake. “We were. But he’s been making one bad decision after another lately.”
I drop my face into my hands. “Starting with hiring me, right?”
“No.” He sinks onto the couch next to me.
“Hey, look at me.” He grabs my chin, forcing me to face him.
“I was wrong about you. You’re holding your own and he doesn’t deserve to have you on his team.
You deserve to be someplace where you’re valued and trusted and appreciated, and that place isn’t The Frenshaw Group. ”
“How do you know that?” I ask. “For all you know, I’m messing everything up.”
“If Craig vouches for you, you’re a good one,” he says. A tear escapes the corner of my eye and he brushes it away. “Blake doesn’t deserve you. Just like he doesn’t deserve me anymore. Come to MC Luxury Homes with me. Michael would welcome you in a heartbeat.”
Michael. Michael Clark. Blake’s only competition.
“I didn’t know you left the brokerage,” I confess. What decisions could Blake have made to drive away one of his longest standing and closest agents? Someone who, by all accounts, was a good friend of his?
“It was recent. I just had my license transferred over,” Lucas clarifies as he grabs my hands in his. “Think about it. I’ll vouch for you.”
“Okay,” I whisper.
Lucas stands and pulls the pack of lightbulbs from his pocket. “Give me your car keys. I’ll change that brake light for you quick.”
I offer him a pathetic excuse for a smile. “Thanks. They’re in my purse. On the key ring with all my other keys.”
“Hey.” He reaches out and thumbs my chin. “Don’t let him ruin your day.”
My pathetic smile wavers even more, but I manage to hold myself together enough to tell him, “Too late. But I’ll think about your offer to transfer.”
He gives me a warm smile, then grabs my keys and slips out of my apartment. As soon as the door closes behind him, I grab my phone and head to my bed, flopping down onto it like my body weighs a ton.
And it might. It really might.
I feel like I’m carrying a heavy weight, and I’m crumbling under it, piece by tiny piece. The confidence that usually carries me through each day is wavering like it never has before.
Maybe I should take Lucas’ offer and leave. Go someplace where I won’t constantly be questioning myself, wondering if I’m going to set Blake off or if I’m fucking up. Someplace where my broker supports me and believes in me and wants me to succeed.
I text the person I trust more than anyone else.
Me
Would you think less of me if I quit and went to another brokerage already? Does that look bad?
Her response is immediate.
Riley
What’s going on, Trace?
And no. To both questions.
Me
That’s all I needed to know. Love you
Riley
What happened? I get off work in a couple hours, I’ll call you then
Me
Nothing, and you don’t have to. I just needed your opinion
I don’t think I’m mentally capable of having this conversation with Riley, and a small part of me is afraid she’ll judge me for what I’ve been doing with Blake. Not to mention I’ve told her nothing about him, which is how I think I want to keep it.
I’m too much of a coward to own up to what I’ve been doing. Too ashamed of the way I’ve let Blake treat me. And even more ashamed of the way I kept crawling back to him.
As if on cue, another text comes through.
Riley
Well, if you decide you want to talk about it, just know I’d never think less of you
Unless you did something sadistic, like drown a puppy or something. I could never be friends with a puppy killer
A small laugh escapes and I almost choke on it. Fresh tears well in my eyes and I blink them away.
Me
LOL. I have a hard enough time killing bugs, so I think the puppies are safe
Riley
Whew. We can continue our friendship then *winking face*
My heart already feels lighter. Riley somehow always knows how to make me feel better, and the weight that was just crushing me is a bit more bearable now. Until my phone starts vibrating with an incoming call.
Blake.
I ignore it.
He calls again, and again, I ignore it.
A text comes through a second later.
Blake
Answer me.
Another call comes through. This time I let it go to voicemail.
Only for it to ring again.
Seriously? I’m about to turn my phone off entirely when another text comes through from him.
I should ignore it. I should block his number. Instead, I open it, like the fucking pushover he’s always made me.
Blake
I fucked up. Answer me
I scoff, my fingers flying over the keyboard without my consent.
Me
Get rid of my number, Blake.
Or better yet, get rid of my license. Consider this my notice. As soon as the Moores close on their home, I’m gone
I throw my phone into the nightstand drawer and head for the kitchen, opening a bottle of wine and drinking straight from the bottle like the fucking classy lady that I am.