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“Are you mental? You can’t have—”
“It’s as absurd of a request as your need to apologize. I don’t need it. Ask yourself why you need to say you’re sorry. My guess, it has nothing to do with being sorry. And unless you figure it out, don’t bother me again. I blocked you for a reason.”
Cole crossed his gorgeous forearms over his chest. He should register his bare forearms as deadly weapons or insure them as priceless art. Both were true. “I’m not trying to start something with you.”
Cole’s eyes lowered to the ground, and I watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed.
“I know.” It wasn’t my place to tell him things about himself, but he’d unapologetically asked if I was submissive, so I guess we were past social niceties. “You liked being dominant, and you liked being with me, but you don’t want to like those things because you feel guilty. Your anger isn’t about a griddle or a painting. I can’t help you figure those things out.”
Cole’s green eyes melted me on the spot.
“I’m starting therapy.” Cole’s mouth fell open after his admission.
“That’s great. I hope it helps. I hope you find what makes you happy, Cole. You deserve a full life.” I took a step back so I didn’t step forward into him.
I retreated a few more steps while keeping my eyes locked on a confounded Cole. I was not responsible for fixing him. Trying to mend his broken heart could ruin me. It wasn’t worth the risk.
Chapter thirteen
Cole
Twoweeksandthreedays and two therapy sessions since I’d seen Shane. Tracking days obsessively never occurred to me before. Not until Shane.
Therapy wasn’t as terrible as I’d imagined, but it was also worse. She’d given me some mental exercises to use when my anger or thought process took a wrong turn. It actually fucking worked, so that was cool. But I’d leave exhausted.
Facing my regret and guilt felt pointless. Nothing would change what happened. I couldn’t go back and make different choices. I couldn’t even lie to myself and pretend I’d make different choices in the future.
That made me the biggest asshole of all. All my choices were thought out and logical. How Pax and I grew up left trauma that stuck with a person. I’d never pretend to be someone I’m not.
That night with Shane tortured me. Knowing he walked to Brooklyn because of my guilt, unironically ate at me. My go-to emotion was anger, and Shane took the brunt of that. It wasn’t fair.
It wasn’t his fault that I hated myself for being with another man in the apartment Paxton had bought for our future. A future we’d fought about that would never exist. None of that was Shane’s fault. Shane had been the one bright spot in my personal hell.
He deserved more than to be used by me.
Paxton had been the one steady thing in this life that I counted on. My mom had left, and my dad hated me for looking and acting like my mom. My business was unpredictable. I was unpredictable.
Dominating Shane and taking care of him afterward had been a relief. He needed me to tell him what to do as much as I needed to take control. Almost as if the control put me in a subspace as well. If I wasn’t broken, we’d be the perfect match. Even if therapy helped me, I wouldn’t love another person again.
Love gave someone else too much power over my life. My feelings, happiness, and control became all wrapped up in another person. Pax was my soulmate, and I would never feel that way about someone else.
I could never give away that much of myself again. To trust another person with my well-being and my heart.
I had to figure something out. I wasn’t sleeping enough, but I was reluctant to take my prescribed sleeping pills. I usually spent 70 percent of my time tattooing, but I’d cut back, handing clients off to my very capable staff. Clients always agreed, but I felt guilty.
I needed to refocus on my business, but my heart wasn’t in it. For the first time in almost a decade, I took out my easel and paints. The morning light in the loft was perfect for painting. I’d started and discarded over a dozen canvases. Nothing felt right except the paintbrush in my hand.
Alec burst through the door using the keycode. If I had responded to his texts, he wouldn’t be barging into my space. I only had myself to blame.
“You’re not dead. Good news.” Alec grinned, took a seat at the island, and sucked in a candy.
“I told you I was going to paint.” I let the brush lead me instead of trying to consciously create something.
“Yeah, I was afraid of what you were using to paint.” Alec’s serious tone stalled my hand.
In his mind, I might have been painting with my own blood. I winced. “I’m past that,” I assured him.
“I don’t think it’s that simple, boss.” Alec stretched his arms over his head. “I can cover your two-thirty appointment.”