26. Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Six
Taking my aggression out on an object was never something I found myself called to do, but when Wendell called and suggested that we head down to the gym and go a few rounds with the punching bags, I agreed. And surprisingly, I’ve never felt better. My mind has been swirling with thoughts of how things went down with Monroe yesterday, and I haven’t been able to stop replaying it in my mind, kicking myself for not opening up like I had planned to.
And I don’t know which feels worse, having her think I don’t care about her or that she said yes to a date with Braxton. I completely lost it at the idea of them together, turning me into someone I didn’t recognize. But everything between us—Monroe, Hayes, and I—felt too familiar, and I panicked.
But my own issues don’t matter in all this. Even when I was on the verge of breaking myself wide open for her, telling her everything about me, and finally opening up to someone, it all felt selfish.
Holding on to her for myself, monopolizing her time when she could be finding true, easy happiness with someone else, made me stifle what I was going to say. Because doesn’t Monroe deserve someone who doesn’t choke on every emotion they feel even when they want to scream it? Doesn’t she deserve someone who’s sure that they can make her happy? That can go out and tell her they want her? And, against everything in me, Braxton is that someone.
I might hate it down to my very core, but at least he’s man enough to go after what he wants.
And who the hell do I think I am? Bossing her around like that, going on the attack when I have zero claim to her. We don’t belong to each other; Monroe said so yesterday, but it doesn’t mean I don’t hate it. I hate feeling like I have no control over the situation and no words to fix it. Even if I had the words, I couldn’t guarantee I’d be able to say them. The fear of saying it all wrong holds me back each time I open my mouth.
The more I think about this inability of mine, of this whole situation I’m in, the harder I punch the sandbag. I picture Braxton and Monroe at dinner or in another far less innocent scenario. Bile rises in my throat when I imagine his hands all over her. My arm rears back, and I punch with as much force as I can. Wendell stumbles back as he attempts to hold the bag firmly in place.
“Damn,” he huffs, reeling back from the force of my punch. “Are you sure you’ve never boxed before? Your form could use some work, but there’s some power behind your punches.”
All of my concentration is on the bag as I shake my head. My hands are up, and I throw a few more punches, each landing in quick succession of each other.
“Nope, just feeling extra motivated to hit something today.” Or someone. My breathing turns ragged between punches.
After a while, I let up. My arms are going numb at my sides, and I nod to Wendell to swap places with me. He readies himself and punches the bag with masterful skill.
“You’re pretty good, you know?”
Wendell chuckles. “Well, I should be. I was at the gym all through high school, punching this bag, imagining it was my dad.”
He punches it again, harder, as if he’s envisioning his father, a nasty bastard who liked to pick on him and his mom.
“I take it your talk with Monroe didn’t go well.”
Wendell kicks the sandbag with some added flair and a smug expression on his face. He’s trying to show off now. His breathing is as uneven as mine, so he stops, taking a breather.
I sigh as Wendell moves away from the bag and sits down on the bench. I follow him.
“It didn’t go. Period .”
He’s breathing hard. “What happened?”
I let my hand run down my face, not even trying to hide anything from him anymore. “I went to her place. I was ready to tell her everything…” I swallow hard. “But I just… I just couldn’t. It was on the tip of my tongue. I rehearsed every line, every pause, every look, everything I was going to say and do, but I just couldn’t get the words out.”
Wendell’s eyes find mine, a glimmer of understanding in them. “Maybe that was the problem.”
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe instead of rehearsing what you’re going to say or planning out every single detail, you could just speak from the heart.”
That mortifies me. Speak from the heart. The very thing that has let me down time and time again. I have never just gone out on a whim like that before, consumed by emotion, and told someone exactly what I was feeling. To be fair, I don’t think I’ve ever really tried.
“I’m getting cottonmouth just thinking about it.” I take a drink from my water bottle.
“Do you want to know the secret to any successful relationship?” Wendell asks.
I nod, eager to hear the answer.
“It’s continuing to try. Trying is ninety-per cent of a relationship. When one person stops trying, that’s when everything falls apart.” He pauses, looking at me intensely. “Trying to make someone happy, trying to listen to them, trying to do the dishes without having to be told. It’s the trying that is so simple in concept but so difficult to master. We become lazy, we fall into the same routines, and we forget that there is another living person in the mix, someone we have neglected.”
I’m silent for a moment.
“So, you’re saying that I should try again?”
Wendell gives me a look. “Try again. Try a million times if she’s the one you want, Alden. If you can sit there and tell me you’ve exhausted everything, that you’re done trying, that’s exactly when you try one more time. Nothing worth the effort comes easily.”
It feels like a weighted plate is pressing down on my chest, making it hard to breathe. Just try. It’s easy enough in theory.
“I’m not ready to throw in the towel, not without laying all my cards on the table.”
“Good, you shouldn’t. You’d be an idiot to let her go now, not when she makes you this happy.”
Monroe’s made me happier than I realized. Happier than I’ve been in years. But she also makes me feel lighter, like I can tackle anything and not drown. Another more pressing issue takes over.
“I didn’t even tell you the worst part about yesterday.”
Wendell looks like he might be sick. “What?”
“Braxton called her, and he asked her to dinner, and she accepted. I don’t know when they’re supposed to go out, but I know it’s soon.”
“My god.” Wendell stands from the bench, furious. “First, he goes after your client and, now, your girl. If you don’t sock him in the jaw, I just might.”
I snort. That’s my best friend, always willing to go to bat for me.
Wendell taps the punching bag and resumes his position behind it, waiting for me. A fire ignites low in my belly as I punch the bag as hard as I can. He called her my girl. Monroe is my girl. I want to make that true. In every way that matters.
“How did you know that Violet was the one?” I’m suddenly curious.
Wendell moves the bag to the side so that he can look at me. His brow line shimmers with sweat, and he wipes it with the back of his hand. There’s a stretch of silence before he answers me.
“I could give you a thousand reasons, but I only need to tell you one.” He smiles. “She understands me.”
That’s all? I was expecting more, I guess.
“She understands me in ways I didn’t even understand about myself. Whether it was because of the damage my father did or despite it, she loved every part of me and made me feel like I wasn’t as broken and helpless as I felt. And she gave me room to grow. We did that for each other. Sometimes, in the best way, love has a way of opening your eyes to all the parts of yourself that you thought were wrong and showing you that someone can love you because of them. And Violet showed me that.”
I can’t even begin to find a fitting response to all that but, “Wow.”
“She’s my person. I can’t explain it more than that.”
“I think I understand you a little more, Wendell.” I chuckle.
“Good, now let’s finish up. You have somewhere you need to be.”
The warm water from the shower soothes my aching muscles, and I feel some of the stress leave my body. But a scream remains on the tip of my tongue, and that permanent lump is still in my throat. I run a wet hand down the length of my body, feeling every ridge and bump and scar. The jagged scar above my right hip bone triggers an unwanted memory. It’s a silent but constant reminder of my demons. It’s as out of place on me as a tattoo would be, wanting attention when all I want to do is forget.
If you leave me now, Alden, you’ll regret it, I promise.
I draw in a shuttered breath, releasing it slowly, and flinch when my fingers run over the scar again. The tissue is numb, but the phantom pain remains. My eyes snap open when a constant pounding comes from the door. There aren’t many people it could be at this hour.
When I open it, it’s the person I least expect to see.
“Monroe?”
She’s holding herself, and she looks upset.
“Can I come in?” her voice warbles, like she might break any second.
I step to the side, letting her slide past me and into the room.
Before I can say anything, she says, “Would it be okay if I stayed here tonight?”
Still dripping from the shower, I’m a little stunned.
Monroe drops her face in her hands. “What am I doing? Coming here like this, I’ll just go…”
She turns away, but my voice makes her stop. “You can stay here.”
“Are you sure?” The timid way she asks punctures my heart.
“Absolutely.”
We stare at each other a second longer before my gaze dips to her clothes. She’s wearing a thin dress, and even though it’s well above eighty degrees outside, she’s shivering slightly.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I slowly pace from the bed to the dresser and then back again. I’m nervous. “Why are you here, Monroe?”
Her eyes finally meet mine, and they have a simmering sadness in them that I’m not used to seeing. “Do you want me to leave?” Her voice is mousy and quiet.
I shake my head and step closer to her. “I didn’t say that. But you’re clearly upset about something, and I would’ve thought that I am the last person you would want to comfort you. So why?”
“I don’t know.”
It dawns on me that we are just two people in this moment, each waiting for one of us to be braver than the other. All you have to do is try. Wendell’s voice is in my head.
I don’t wait for her to say anything more; I just act like it’s an impulse to touch her. Fuck, she’s freezing. I take her hands in mine, kissing the top of both before I rub them furiously, trying to warm her up.
“Are you cold?” My voice is a hushed whisper. Whatever is between us right now, I tread carefully, not wanting to ruin it.
She nods. “I guess after a couple weeks of living inside a hot apartment, my body isn’t used to the blasting air conditioning.”
I tuck her closer to my body. Monroe wraps her arms around my waist and tugs me toward her. She’s hugging me, and I’m hugging her back, and I can’t remember the last time I just embraced someone. It feels nice. It feels right.
A niggling question in the back of my mind makes me break the spell. “Why can’t you stay at your place?”
She struggles to peel herself from my body, and I didn’t think I was holding on to her so tight. She looks up at me through her lashes, chin resting against my chest.
“Harriet and I had a fight.”
Monroe doesn’t expand on it, but by the look on her face and the redness pricking the tip of her nose, I have a feeling it probably didn’t end well.
I hum and rub circles on her back soothingly. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.” She moves away from me fully, taking her body heat with her.
Whatever happened is clearly upsetting her more than she’s letting on. I grind my teeth painfully when I think about when I met Monroe’s mother for the first time. My skin crawls at how she treated her in front of a stranger. I can’t imagine how it was growing up with someone like that.
Taking a cautious step forward, my hand slinks to her lower back. Monroe turns but still avoids looking at me. Her eyes sparkle with unshed emotion, and I freeze. Not knowing the source of her pain is killing me. And I don’t know what to do. Should I keep pushing her? Hoping that she’ll tell me. Or drop it and pretend like everything is fine?
I don’t think about it for another second. “Talk to me, Monroe, please. Let me in.”
Monroe scoffs, but she doesn’t move away from me. With my hand attached to her, we both remain completely still, connected. “And why should I?”
“What?”
“Why should I let you in? Why do you care? Because it wasn’t too long ago that you were telling me you couldn’t be more for me, and now, suddenly, you give a shit? I don’t get it.”
If she still thinks that I don’t care, that I’m still the version of myself that told her all those things, then I need to fix this. She isn’t just my summer fling anymore; she hasn’t really been that for a while. She’s something more important, and I want her to understand that.
“I’ve tried to do this so many times, and each time, I either chickened out or… people … got in the way, but I’m going to make it right because you need to hear me say it.” It’s not as eloquent as I’d like it to be, but the words make it out.
She shakes her head. However, her body language speaks volumes. I focus on every movement as she swallows, her throat bobbing.
“Alden, don’t.”
“Let me make it perfectly clear to you so there’s no confusion.” I take a breath, and my heart hammers against my ribs. I close in on her small frame and dip my head so that I’m level with her. “I give more than a shit about you, Monroe. I care about you, and it’s time you heard me say it.”
She’s shaking her head harder now, but she needs to hear this. I need to hear me say it. My heart feels like it’s going to explode, rattling like a rabid animal in its cage, and the words punch out of me at full speed.
“There’s a reason I always come back here each year, Monroe. It isn’t because I enjoy the breakfast buffet or hearing about my employees’ personal lives. I come back for you. Because even when we were at each other’s throats, you still somehow became the one thing I could look forward to. When I’m around you, the pressure, the voices, everything else that seems important… isn’t. Nothing else matters except being in the moment with you.”
The lull in the air is intense and raw, but something is off. Monroe is quiet, too quiet in response to what I’ve just confessed. Doubt seeps in.
“Monroe?” I ask, hoping she’s just absorbing everything I said.
When she looks up at me, tears are streaking her cheeks. My face drops.
“Why couldn’t you just stick to the rules?”
Confusion takes over. “Why are you crying?”
She’s furious, not just crying. “Because I don’t want to hear any of this.” She’s hiccupping through her sobs. “Because I’m not enough for you, I’m not enough for anyone.”
Everything inside me breaks.
“Monroe, you are enough.” I try to get her to listen to me. “You’re more than enough.”
I don’t know where the sudden shift comes from, and maybe I’m the one making it worse by pushing her, but she steps into me, slow and determined, with that look in her eyes.
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
Monroe wipes her tears away and gives me a look I can’t ignore. I can tell that she has another idea in mind. That look has my balls aching. She isn’t even doing anything, just simply existing, and it is by far the sexiest thing. She strips out of her dress and tosses it to the floor. Next, she takes off her underwear and bra. In no time, she’s naked and standing in front of me with nothing but that deliciously tempting smirk on her face.
“What are you doing?”
“What we’re good at. What this is supposed to be about,” she says.
“We still need to talk,” I whisper, but she shushes me with a hand over my lips.
“I’m done talking.”
She grabs both sides of my face, sucking the air from my lungs as she kisses me. Every pent-up emotion inside me builds until I can’t do much more than kiss her back with the same intensity. I nip and suck at her tongue, drawing the sweetest moan from her.
She’s all I want. More than anything. Normally, I’d give in to her demands without another thought, but something prevents me from following through.
I pull back, panting. “I’m not going to fuck you, Monroe.”
She backs off, her expression hurt and a little confused, but just as quick, it’s replaced with a sultry one, with those green eyes piercing into me.
“Fine.” She moves to the bed. “If you won’t get me off, I’ll just do it myself.”
I don’t know what she means, but I don’t have to wait long to find out. She grabs a pillow, climbs onto it, and positions it under her so that she is straddling it. Her eyes land on me once more, as if to tell me it’s my last chance to grab her, but I can’t move. Keeping that cocky look on her face, she shakes her head and begins riding the pillow.
Whatever resolve I have left almost breaks. I want to rush over to her, to fuck her like she wants me to, but I don’t, I can’t, not when there is so much that we haven’t sorted through. She can’t keep trying to distract me.
“ Fuck …” Monroe moans, bucking her hips wildly and throwing her head back as she continues to grind against my pillow.
Her back arches, and I get a full view of her perfectly bouncing tits. She snakes a hand over one of them, pinching her nipple and mewling as she rides the pillow harder, faster, getting herself closer. She moans again, and I can’t take it anymore. I bolt over to her and grab her from that fucking pillow and climb on top of her. She blinks up at me, smiling like she just won.
“I knew you would break first,” she says breathlessly.
I dive in, kissing her senseless, shutting her up. She’s right. I did break first—in every possible way. But I don’t care that she has the upper hand; I only care that she knows that I’m weak for her. I’m a total mess right now, and it’s all her fault, teasing me like that, and she’s going to pay. She rolls her hips against my bulge, creating an addicting friction. I can’t stop myself from reciprocating, grinding against her, chasing after that feeling.
There’s a small, annoying voice in my head, and I try to ignore it, but it only grows louder. This doesn’t feel right.
Monroe claws at my towel when I lean back, trying to undo it. But I grab her hands.
“Alden…” she whines, bucking into me. “Please…”
It takes everything in me to push her hips down, away from me. “Not until we talk about this.”
Monroe’s face falls, and I know I’ve hit a nerve. “It doesn’t matter.” She looks away from me, but I don’t miss the stray tear that falls.
I wipe it away. “It does.”
Monroe continues to rub herself against me. My hand falls from her hip to pull her closer to me, and I get lost in her.
My balls hitch higher, a tingling sensation starting at the base of my spine. She knows what she’s doing, and judging by the way she wants to steer me away from this line of questioning, I know I’m getting to the crux of the issue.
“Wait… wait,” I mumble in between kisses.
She stops. “What?”
“That’s not good enough for me.” I sit up on my heels, taking Monroe’s hands in mine. “Not anymore.”
She looks startled by my words, and honestly, so am I.
“Are you really saying no to me right now? When I’m naked and underneath you and aching for you?”
“Yes,” I say, although it nearly kills me. I’m an idiot.
Monroe pushes me away from her, grabbing her dress from the floor and pulling it on. I stand up from the bed, my gaze trapped by how angry she looks.
“You don’t get to care about me! You’re not supposed to care, we agreed. You’re just a good fuck, remember?”
Her words slam into me with so much force that I’m not sure how I’m still standing. I move to her, my hand trapping her elbow.
“Don’t throw that back at me.”
She moves farther from me, hiding her face. “Why not?” she croaks. “This was all this ever was. Just because we fuck doesn’t mean you get to say you care about me. That’s not what we are.”
Hurt rolls through me at her bluntness. “But we can change it, Monroe. If we want to, we can start over. I want to start over.”
“But I don’t want that. I don’t want it.”
“I know you’re scared. I am, too. But we can be scared together.”
I can see her mulling it over in her head. “What happens when you go back to New York? You can’t stay here forever.”
My eyes widen. “I-I don’t know. We can figure it out.” My confidence dwindles.
“You haven’t thought any of this through, Alden.” She gestures between us. “You’ve gotten too comfortable with us, with what we could be. But I don’t want you, get that? I’m not the girl for you.”
Fuck this conversation. She’s trying to twist this into something ugly.
My lips thin. “Yes, you are.” I’m floundering, at a loss for how to right this situation. “I want to be with you.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Tell me what I have to do to prove it to you, then.” I’m getting desperate now.
There is a crack in her defence, leaving her vulnerable to what I’m saying, but she quickly builds them back up.
“Nothing. You do nothing because I don’t want you to prove anything to me.”
Her words sting, but there is a note in her infliction that doesn’t have me convinced.
“That’s fine. You’re not ready to come to terms with how you feel. I can wait. Because there’s something more here, I know it. If it’s time you need, I’ll give it to you. Because you’re worth waiting for, Monroe.”
“Then you’ll be waiting a long, long time.” She purses her lips. “We’re too different, Alden. It can never work.”
Wow, she’s really scraping the bottom of the barrel.
“I like that we’re different, and so do you.”
“We’ve had our fun, but you’ll get bored with me eventually because I’m too different. I’m the waitress who can’t make ends meet, the waitress who lived in her car for a year before she could afford her shitty apartment. And you’re… you .” She waves a hand at me. “You have more money than you know what to do with. You donate to charities and fly your summer fling to New York on your private jet at the drop of a hat. We are not the same. We’re from two very different worlds, and that’s what will hurt us in the end. Don’t tell me it won’t.”
I surge forward, cupping her face in my hands. “Don’t do that. Don’t make this about money or whatever it is you’re trying to do.”
She continues, putting her smaller hands over mine. “What happens when you realize I don’t know the dress code for the country club or which fork to use for the fish course? What happens when I inevitably embarrass you in the million other ways it takes to be someone in your world?”
As she pulls away, I run a hand through my hair. This doesn’t sound like her at all. “I don’t care about any of that, Monroe. And neither do you.”
She worms her way out of my arms, putting some distance between us. “You don’t know a damn thing about me, Alden. And how could you? I’ve never let you in.”
“I want to change that. Let me change that .”
“No.” Her voice hardens. “I don’t want to keep dragging you down to my level. It hurts too much to watch.”
“Why are you saying this?”
“Because someone has to. You’ll go back to New York, and I’ll stay here, just like it’s always been. Nothing has changed between us; it can’t change between us, so don’t kid yourself.” She takes a breath. “I’m just reminding myself of the reality of where we are. You should do the same.”
My eyes lock with hers, and I chew on my lower lip. I debate if I should say what I’m wrestling with, and the moment sweeps me up, like a current I can’t get out from underneath.
“I’m done playing games with you, Monroe. I’ve been done for a while. This is real for me, and I can’t keep pretending it’s anything less.”
Monroe’s breath catches, but she doesn’t back down. “You’re not someone who ends up with someone like me, Alden. I know it, and I think deep down you know it, too.”
“That’s bullshit.”
Her lips tremble. “I think I should go. I need some space, and this isn’t helping either of us right now.”
My shoulders sag, and I think maybe Monroe will grace me with one of her sweet laughs and tell me she was only joking, that the knife she plunged into my chest isn’t real. But the longer I stand there, waiting for something that will never come, I know that whatever image of us I built up in my mind, whatever outcome I silently held out for, just crumbled to ash right in front of me.
She leaves, and I watch her go, not knowing what to do. I don’t stop her. Again, I let her walk out that door. It fucking stings, knowing she doesn’t want me. I tried, I really tried to get her to see how sincere I was, but it wasn’t enough. The door slams, and I’m left completely alone.