The Man Who Has No Heart (Soulless 2)

But that was all over.

A part of me hoped he would change his mind, but once a full week had passed, I knew it would never happen.

Now, a month had come and gone…and it was like our relationship never happened.

He was just a memory.

I wasn’t sure what I was to him.

I sat on the couch and watched TV, still in my work clothes because I’d been too tired to change. My apartment had returned to its constant state of disarray now that the housekeeper had been let go. There were clothes everywhere, burrito wrappers, cardboard boxes from frozen pizzas…it was a mess.

But I didn’t care. I had no one to impress anymore.

My heels were under the coffee table, and my feet were up on the other end of the sofa. My phone lay on my stomach, as if I would get a phone call or text any second, another client needing something else.

But there was a knock on the door instead.

I wasn’t expecting company, so it was either a random solicitor or someone dropping by. I walked to the door barefoot, smoothed out my skirt, and then looked through the peephole.

It was Deacon.

I pulled away from the door and stilled.

Shit, it was Deacon.

My heart raced with adrenaline, and I didn’t know what to do. The TV was on, so he knew I was home. I was frozen in place, unsure how to proceed. I wanted to be quiet and wait for him to leave, but I knew he would just come back…until he said whatever he wanted to say.

I rested my forehead against the door.

Fuck, I was going to be sick.

He knocked again, the door vibrating against me because it was a thin piece of wood.

I took a deep breath before I opened the door, my eyes connecting to his instantly. They were deep brown like I remembered, serious, focused, intense. He was in a black t-shirt and dark jeans, still muscular and tanned, like he’d been to the cabin recently. I kept one hand on the door, like that would keep him out. I cleared my throat. “Yes?” My heart raced even harder than it had when I’d confronted him at his condo. I was suddenly sweaty, suddenly weak, suddenly terrified…even though he couldn’t hurt me more than he already had.

He slid his hands into his pockets, staring at me for a long time. “Can I come in?”

My hand stayed on the door because I wanted to close it in his face. I wanted to tell him to leave, that I didn’t want to hear anything he had to say. He’d had his opportunity to talk to me in a civil manner, and he chose to insult me and break my heart instead. But I was weak, too weak to be as cold to him as he was to me. I stepped aside and opened the door wider.

He stepped into my apartment, his eyes immediately moving to the coffee table where his flowers had been.

I shut the door then grabbed the remote to turn off the TV. The background noise disappeared, and now only the suffocating silence was left. I turned to him, my arms crossed over my chest, feeling small without my heels on. Our height difference had never been so stark, except when we went on that hike in our running shoes. “Deacon, it’s nothing personal. I just don’t have the time to—”

“Please let me talk.” He spoke quietly, gently, completely different from the way we’d spoken to each other lately. Even his text messages sounded angry. Now, he seemed somber, his eyes a little dead.

I took a deep breath.

“I’m so bad at this stuff, so just be patient with me…”

My arms tightened.

He brought his hands together in front of his chest, his palms gently rubbing together, as if he needed to move in some way as he considered what he would say next. “It’s been a rough month for me,” he whispered. “I didn’t understand what I was feeling, why I felt so terrible…until it became obvious. I’ve been angry, numb…heartbroken.”

My eyes moved to his face, my breathing starting to pick up.

“I thought we were close because of all the things you do for me. I’ve never had anyone I could rely on to keep my best interests at the forefront. But once you were gone and all those things stayed the same…I realized that has nothing to do with the way I feel about you. The only thing I miss right now…is you.” He extended his closed hands toward me, gesturing in my direction. “Now, I realize you delivered my mail to me when I was there on purpose, so you could see me. You never had to do that. You chose to do that. That’s what I miss…seeing you walk through my front door and join me for dinner.”