Hero (Hero 1)

“Alex—”

“I fell in love with Caine Carraway. I fell in the love with the man who teases me, laughs with me, listens to me, and respects me. A man who wakes me up every morning by making love to me, and then kisses me good night every evening after fucking the life out of me—like he can never get enough. No man has ever been as deep inside me as this man, in every way. And because of that when he looks at me he sees me like no one ever has before. That first man judged me, mistreated me. Caine Carraway did not. He made me feel safe for the first time in my whole life. I want him back. I love him. I want him back,” I pleaded.

He wouldn’t look at me. He gave me his profile, staring into my kitchen.

“Caine?”

When he finally met my gaze his eyes were blazing with emotions, all so tightly knit I knew he was in turmoil. He was angry, he was distraught, he was desperate, and he was guilty, all in equal measure.

“You don’t love me.” He shook his head. His voice sounded like sandpaper rasping against stone. “You can’t because you don’t know who I am. I never really let you.”

We stared at each other and the tension between us pulled, like each of us was holding the end of a long piece of piano wire. One more tug and …

“Liar,” I bit out finally, feeling a volcano of ugliness erupting from the pit of my stomach.

“You don’t have to give me two weeks’ notice. Just give me a few days to find a replacement and I’ll release you from your contract.”

“Coward.”

His expression dulled again and he started toward me. “I’m not sticking around for this.”

The smell of his cologne wrapped around me as he brushed past me, and that along with the heat of his body flooded me with memories of our time together. I’d never felt pain like it in my life. “That’s right,” I said, the words sounding as empty as Caine’s. “Don’t choose me. I’ve come to expect nothing less.”

He hesitated a moment, his shoulders hunching up a little.

I took a tentative step toward him and whispered, “I hope your secrets keep you warm at night.”

And then just like that, he shrugged whatever emotion he’d been feeling off and marched out of my apartment for the last time.

In the dark I stumbled in disbelief to my sofa, momentarily numb.

I heard the sound of his car pulling away from my street and driving off into the distance. My belly-deep sob rose to chase after it.

CHAPTER 24

“You have four new messages.”

I stared stonily at my answering machine. If it were up to me I’d be ignoring the little bastard, but the blinking red light on it lit up the dark when I switched off my bedroom light. If I wanted to pretend I was going to get some sleep tonight, I was going to have to listen to the messages or delete them so the blinking would cease.

It had not been a good day.

My face was swollen and puffy. I hadn’t eaten a thing. I drank two glasses of wine I’d then puked up, and because I hadn’t eaten anything it was just red liquid that came back up, and that had made me want to vomit again.

My cell had rung, the chorus of Alanis Morrisette’s “You Oughta Know” flooding my apartment at least a dozen times, so I’d put it on silent. That didn’t work, because people just called the apartment instead and left messages on the answering machine.

If I listened to the messages I had no doubt in my mind that they would make me feel worse.

And yet I’d discovered that worse than the pain of watching the man I loved walk out on me was the cruel, grasping, cloying pain of that abysmal little thing called hope. It clung to me. It whispered in my ear.

There’s still time.

He could change his mind.

When you walk into work tomorrow he’ll take one look at you and he’ll want you back.

I hated that hope. I hated that it made me feel so weak and broken by him. Like without him, without that hope, I’d never, ever quite be the same again.

I hated that he had that power over me.

And I hated that that stupid hope had me thinking that perhaps one of the four messages was from Caine.

He could have called to change his mind.

Sighing impatiently at my pitifulness, I stabbed a finger at the button to listen to my messages.

“You received a message today at nine oh seven … Lexie, it’s me,” my grandfather’s deep voice rumbled into the room. “I hate the way we left it last night, sweetheart. Call me. We need to talk …” Upon listening to the irritating answer service lady’s options, I deleted the message, needing to be numb from the pain he’d caused me too.

“You received a message today at ten forty-four … Lexie. It’s Effie. What has happened? Caine wouldn’t let me into his apartment this morning. He was a snippy little shit and he’s never like that with me. He says he’s changing the locks. What’s going on? Call me right away.”

The ache in my chest intensified at the panic in Effie’s voice. Caine was shutting her out too. I squeezed my eyes closed, rubbing at the throb of pain behind them. What on earth had I walked in on last night? What secret was he hiding that had set him off?

I sighed and pressed the button again.

“You received a message today at two twenty … Hey, it’s me,” Rachel greeted. “I’m just calling to see how the ball went last night. I still can’t believe you attend balls. Wait. Was it a ball? Or a gala? Or do you just call it a party? What is the difference and does anyone whose head isn’t up their ass actually give a fuck? Did you wear the Jenny Packham, you lucky bitch? Please tell me that hot Neanderthal didn’t rip it off your body and ruin a three-thousand-dollar dress. On second thought, don’t tell me anything. If my jealousy increases over a certain level, I will have to end our friendship. Anyway, gorgeous, call me. I want the delicious details …”