We walk outside and Simon scans the vicinity. He places his hand on my lower back and guides me down the sidewalk, his gaze assessing every person around. He scans the windows of the building nearby and the parked vehicles.
“I thought you had a Lambo?” I ask him.
“What?” He flits his attention to me for a brief second.
“Yeah, the guys had told me you had a Lamborghini and were this big playboy.”
“When would I have time to be aplayboy?”
“We’re notalwaystogether,” I remind him.
“But even before thisarrangement, I had other obligations that required my attention.” Simon keeps his hand on my back as we cross the street. “And I sold the car. It wasn’t practical.”
“Simon Beckett, a practical man?” I nudge him with my elbow.
“You shouldn’t listen to what everyone else says, especially about me.” Simon latches onto my hand and pulls me out of the way of a speeding car that runs the red light. “Christ, love, are you okay?” He loosens his grip and skims his fingers over my wrist. “Did I hurt you?”
My heart pounds, the sound of the blaring horn of oncoming traffic still ringing in my ears. “I’m fine.” I tug my hand toward me to conceal the growing red mark where he grabbed me.
The appetite I thought I had disappears with the closeness of yet another near-death experience. I shove away the memory of that man putting something over my mouth, the choking sensation as I inhaled, a reaction I couldn't stop myself from having. I clawed and wiggled but it was no match for the debilitating toxin. I woke to screams, but they were my own. The scar on my wrist a reminder of the cigarettes he burned me with. The one on my chin making me forever uneasy around knives. I was able to enact my revenge…but at what cost? Things changed the day I murdered that man. Within me, and within the relationships I hold most dear. I could see the terror on the guys' faces when I was speckled red with the blood of the man who hurt me. I slit his throat without question, and the craziest thing of all—it was fucking easy. Too easy. I took a life, and I don't know what's more alarming, the fact that someone is dead at my hands, or because of how unbothered I am by it.
Does that make me a monster, too? No better than the man who wanted to carve me like a Halloween pumpkin.
“Let’s get you out of here.” Simon puts his hand on me again, nudging me to move.
I hate how it steals my train of thought, the warmth of his touch overpowering the rampant visions attacking my mind. But if I focus on him, I can escape the wrath my brain creates on a constant loop.
If it’s not a waking nightmare about the events that took place in the past, it’s the constant worries of the growing distance between me and each of my men. Ever since Coen broke my heart all those years ago, I’ve spent the rest of my life avoiding situations like this. Ones where I allow myself to be vulnerable, to care, to be hurt. It’s served me well, keeping me from dealing with the uncomfortable realities of heartbreak. But I was no match to the way Dom, Co, and Magnus came barging into my life. It was swift and unexpected, and I fell for them harder than I imagined possible. Only, with that, those insecurities I’ve worked so hard on masking behind one-night stands and fake phone numbers come bubbling to the surface.
There's no coming back from jumping headfirst over the edge into that kind of love.
If I thought the pain of losing Co all those years ago was rough, I can’t begin to fathom what losing my three men would be like. I would die from a broken heart, and that alone is what plagues me. I insisted on being part of their world, and now that I am, they’ve shut me out.
I was hesitant to let Coen in, too. I was riddled with the loss of the only person I ever loved, and losing such an integral part of your life at an early age has a way of fucking with your head. I didn’t want to suffer through that loss again. I picked up the pieces of my broken heart and held onto it tightly. I never meant to give it to the boy who shared the same trauma. Our mothers gone, and with them, shreds of our humanity we would never get back. We were thrown into a life of pain that we would never escape, not then, not now. We found comfort in each other, and whether I’m proud to admit it or not, we trauma bonded—something one of the therapists I had for a short stint told me is an unhealthy coping mechanism.
“It may look and feel safe, but those types of relationships can be extremely volatile,”she had said.
Coen did make me feel safe. And what we had was real. But when he was ripped from me, so was the warm blanket of his love, leaving me cold and alone and exposed to the violence of what love can do once it’s gone.
I don’t know if I can go through that again. I pretend I’m strong, that I can handle anything, but what if the guys are right—what if I really am weak?
Simon orders us food, and it’s only when he’s telling me to sit that I snap back to reality.
Completely unaware of my surroundings, I anxiously glance around. I press my hands to the picnic table, grounding myself to the here and now. I close my eyes, taking in a breath and paying attention to the oaky scent of Simon’s cologne, the crispness of the air, and the remnants of saltwater lingering in from the coast.
“I got you a Dr. Pepper.” Simon pops the top of the can and places it in front of me.
"Thanks." I take a sip of it in hopes I'll appear somewhat normal despite having such a strange out-of-body experience.
Simon fidgets with the ring on his thumb. “The guys are going to be busy tonight.”
“Of course they are.” I roll my eyes and sigh. “I get one night with Coen and they think they have a free pass to ignore me for a week.” I clamp my hand over my mouth. “I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”
“I didn’t hear anything.” Simon drinks from his bottle of water. “For the record, I don’t think they’re ignoring you, not on purpose at least.”
“You’re giving them the benefit of the doubt, really? Since when were you on their side?”
Simon grins, exposing his excessively white and perfectly aligned teeth. “I’m not.”