“And what if I can’t do that?”
I take a step back, almost staggering at his quiet reply.
Now he’s the one who advances. He moves toward me, holding me in a penetrating stare that terrifies me as much as it breaks my heart. “What if those are promises I can’t keep?”
I swallow hard, a coldness opening up in the middle of my chest. “Then we’re only wasting each other’s time, Nick.”
He doesn’t say anything. Not a damn word. I want to scream and rail at him but I don’t have the strength to summon anger when I’m still reeling from the body blow of everything he just said.
“I should go,” I murmur.
“That’s probably for the best.” His answer is equally as wooden as I feel.
Oh, God. Is this really happening?
I don’t want to believe it.
My hands are shaking as I pivot around to retrieve my shoes. I put them on, collecting my phone and slipping it back into my purse.
“I’ll call Patrick,” Nick offers from behind me, his tone so reasonable I want to scream. “He’ll see you home safely.”
I cringe at the idea of his driver being summoned to schlep me back to Queens. “Don’t bother. I can get home on my own.”
I glance at Nick and find he’s already turned away, staring out at the darkness on the other side of the large window.
As I slip out the door and close it behind me, my exit is punctuated by the jarring crash of a bottle hitting a wall.
Chapter 18
My phone rings for the third time this morning, Nick’s number lighting up the screen. Ignoring the pang in my breast, I mute the call and send it straight to voicemail—just as I have all the other times he’s tried to reach me in the past couple of days.
He’s left messages, but I can’t bring myself to listen to them yet. I don’t want to hear his excuses or apologies. Even worse, I don’t want to hear accusations that I overreacted or that I’m being unreasonable in my demand that we strive for something more than just sheet-scorching sex and amazing orgasms.
I want something real with him.
I want his heart as open to me as mine is to him.
I thought it was, or that we were working toward it at least. At his penthouse the other night I saw that I was wrong. Evidently what I need are things he’s not capable of giving me.
Maybe Nick isn’t capable of giving himself to anyone like that.
“Avery?” My mother’s voice sounds from somewhere behind me, inside the rustic Pennsylvania lake house that once belonged to my grandparents.
It’s early, not even eight o’clock, but I’ve been up for a while already, soaking up the solitude of this place I used to love as a child. There is a tranquility here, comfort in the memories of being on the lake with my grandpa in his small sailboat, and decorating Christmas cookies with my grandmother when I was a little girl. Years before my daddy, Daniel Ross, died. And long before my mother met Martin Coyle, the monster who became my stepfather.
“Avery, honey? Where are you, baby?”
“Out here, Momma.” Seated on one of the old rocking chairs on her back porch, I set my phone facedown on the wicker table next to me and try to erase the sadness from my face.
I’ve been here at her house for the past two days, having taken a bus out of the city to Scranton where my mother picked me up. It’s only been a few weeks since my last visit, but considering we have a decade of separation to make up for since her parole from prison eight months ago, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to see her enough.
But it’s not only that. I needed somewhere soft to fall after my fight with Nick.
I’m not ready to call it a breakup, but right now it’s difficult for me to see a clear path toward anything else with him.
The screen door creaks as my mom steps out to join me on the covered porch. “Well, there you are. You’re up early again today. How long have you been sitting here, honey?”
I shrug. “For a little while, I guess. I just wanted to watch the lake.”