Breaking Him (Love is War 1)

“The house will likely be sold by whoever inherits it,” Dante continued, “so I assumed you’d want to go through your old things yourself before all of that happens.  If I assumed wrong, Eugene will take you to a hotel, but in case you forgot, there isn’t one close.  You’re looking at a forty-five minute drive each way.  The funeral is in two hours, so you won’t have much time, but if that’s what you want to do, by all means, be my guest.”

I glared at him, temper boiling up.  “I should have seen this coming.  I should’ve guessed you’d pull something like this.”

“What did you expect?  Did you think I was going to put you up at the shitty hotel over on Main Street?”

“I’m used to shitty hotels.”

“You know what?”  His voice was unsteady suddenly, volume going up with every word, ”I don’t give a fuck what you’re used to.”  By the unholy light in his eyes, I could tell he wasn’t talking about hotels anymore.

Perversely but predictably, his apparent fury calmed my own.  I leveled a serene look on him, one meant to either stir him up or stop him cold.  “Okay, fine, it’s hardly worth arguing over.  I’ll stay here and I’ll go through my old room, though I can’t imagine I left anything behind that I wanted to keep.”

His jaw was clenched, eyes still flashing hotly at me.  Stir him up it was.  “You might surprise yourself,” he told me softly.

That made my eyes narrow, serenity gone.  It was amazing the landmines we set for each other with the most innocuous phrases, and I wasn’t interested in walking over even one of his, particularly not at the start of what was bound to be a trying few days.

“I’m quite certain,” I enunciated slowly, “that there is not one thing I left behind in this town that I have any interest in now.”

He seemed to deflate at that, eyes darting away, shoulders slumping, and without another word, I walked into the house.

Point for me, though I wasn’t sure it counted.  It certainly didn’t feel like a victory.

CHAPTER

FIFTEEN

“Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned,

Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned.”

~William Congreve

I went straight to my old room, leaving the bag for Dante to handle.

It was a huge old house, with ten bedrooms and several living spaces, but while I heard people working (cooking, cleaning, preparing) somewhere in the house, the kitchen and dining room I assumed, I didn’t pass by one soul as I made my way through, which was a relief.  I wanted a brief respite before I went straight into battle again, especially here, where every unchanged thing I saw brought back bittersweet memories.  From the entryway to the old den where we used to spend hours our senior year of high school watching movies.

All of it was bad, but my old bedroom was the worst.  The second I walked in the door, I had an almost overwhelming urge to flee.

I shouldn’t be here, I thought to myself, staring at the dresser that remained exactly as I’d left it, covered in sweet, little knickknacks, almost all of which had been gifts from either Gram or Dante.  Every one of those things had meant something to me once upon a time.  Years’ worth of Valentines, birthday, and Christmas gifts from the boy that had broken my heart and the woman who had tried to save it.

No matter the circumstances, I should not be subjecting myself to this, I thought, eyes fixated on a small silver key strung across the corner of the mirror.

“Uncanny, isn’t it?” Dante’s voice came from the doorway, mere inches behind me.  “She didn’t move one thing.  Ten years later, and she was keeping it for you exactly how you’d left it.”

“Like a tomb,” I murmured.

“Or a shrine,” he returned, moving past me, brushing against me like it was nothing, and setting my suitcase onto a large ottoman at the foot of a comfy armchair in the corner by my old bay window.

He didn’t look at me on his way out, but he did stop at the door, clearing his throat, his back to me.  “If I were you, I’d search that dresser before my mom gets to it.  She’s going to clean this place out fast, mark my words, and everything in this room is yours by right, so claim it now if you want it.”

I waved my hand, dismissing the notion.  “She can have whatever she wants.  I won’t be taking any of it with me.”

Only his head turned as he leveled me with a hard stare.  “You’re going to want to double check that dresser, just to be sure.  Trust me.”

I didn’t trust him.  Never would again, but I nodded at him that I understood and as soon as he left, closing the door behind him, I went to the dresser and began to shuffle through it.

I knew, or at least some part of me did, what I was looking for.  I don’t think I really believed it would be there, but it was a thought somewhere in my mind.

Still, when I found the small, white velvet case I staggered a bit where I stood.

And, as I opened it, I had to sit down at what I found.

How?  Why?

He must not have known what was in this dresser, I told myself.  He couldn’t have.

And, while I could be a spiteful bitch, I was not a thief, so the first thing I did was track him down to give it back.

I heard his voice before I saw him, but no one else’s, and so I stumbled into them without any time to brace myself.

Blindly I reached one hand out, holding myself up with the wall, the other gripping the small, white box hard enough to imbed an imprint into my palm.