Page 51 of Meet Me In The Dark (Skeptically In Love #3)

Julian

I’d gone that night, leaving Celeste in her bed, heart hammering with guilt and confusion as I drove to the hospital.

I didn’t need to ask which one my mother was at.

I was paying for it.

The private wing was quiet when I arrived. Catriona stood outside the room, smaller and younger than I imagined, her wide eyes watering as I passed. Inside, my mother lay frail, eyes sunken but bright with a desperate sort of hope.

The room emptied around us, giving us space that felt more suffocating than comforting.

I stood there, unmoving, as she cried quietly and whispered her apologies.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything. I can’t leave this world knowing you still hate me,” she said, her voice thin but urgent. “I just need to know you’ve forgiven me, so I can have some peace.”

It hit me then, brutally clear: these apologies weren’t for me. They were for her, a last grasp at absolution before her final breath.

My grief had come and gone years ago, a teenage boy mourning the mother he wished he’d had. But if she needed this to ease her passing, if she needed forgiveness to let go, I’d give it to her.

Even if it was a lie.

“Yes,” I said quietly, forcing the word past the bitterness on my tongue. “I forgive you.”

I watched relief wash over her face and felt something inside me break all over again.

What scared me most was that I think, more than ever, I understood her. Not the cruelty or the coldness, but the darkness she carried. It was the same one that sometimes sits on my shoulders.

Moments later, I left feeling numb while her family gathered around her bedside to hold her hand in her final hours.

At the funeral, I stood at the back. I didn’t belong there, yet my sisters had begged me to come. As I watched the dirt fall onto the coffin, I thought I would find some semblance of closure.

I didn’t.

After everyone cleared away, I approached the grave and laid a bouquet down.

A presence shifted behind me, and I turned, only to find Catriona watching me with tears in her eyes .

“These tears aren’t for her,” she whispered, wiping at her face. “They’re for you. I’m so sorry for what she did. I’m sorry we never got the chance to know you.”

My chest tightened because her sincerity was too raw and more real than I could handle.

“Mom wasn’t a bad person, Julian,” she continued, eyes pleading for understanding. “She was just broken. She fought demons that none of us ever saw. She struggled with us too. Dad had to handle most of it.”

I stayed silent because the lump in my throat was choking any words I might have spoken.

“Can I… can I hug you?” she finally asked, her voice trembling.

Without thinking, I nodded. She stepped forward and wrapped her thin arms around my waist. I was holding this stranger who shared my blood and my pain, and I felt lost on how to navigate any of it..

When I walked away, I thought I was done.

I was so fucking wrong.

Despite all the barriers I’d built, all the ways I’d armored myself, that woman had reached from her grave and torn every wall down, leaving me exposed and completely defenseless.

With her death came something I didn’t expect: the unearthing of parts of my mind I must have buried away.

It was like she’d left the door open to a room I’d locked shut.

Fragments returned in uncontrollable flashes—still in diapers, wandering the apartment alone for God knows how long.

The sharp crack of her voice when I cried.

The strangers I was left with for nights at a time, their names forgotten, but their cigarette smoke still clinging to my memory.

The gnawing hunger in my stomach and the cold tile beneath my bare feet.

The merciless beatings from foster families before my parents took me in, the ones who thought the only way to deal with a little boy with anger issues was to beat it out of him.

When those memories surfaced, I couldn’t look at Celeste without feeling like that same small, abandoned boy in the mirror, and I hated the thought of her ever seeing him.

Ever since, I’ve been a fucking mess. A shell of a man, haunted and hollowed out, raw and exposed in a way I haven’t been since I was a kid.

The days after blurred. I’d wake up and feel the weight before my eyes even opened.

Working felt impossible. The simplest decisions became mountains.

My phone would buzz, and I’d know it was Celeste.

My first instinct was to answer, but the thought of her hearing my voice stripped bare and gutted froze me in place.

Every time I almost reached for her, something inside hissed that I’d ruin her. That if she saw me like this, she would look at me differently. Maybe she’d stay. Maybe she wouldn’t. Both outcomes felt unbearable.

So I stayed away. I told myself it was to protect her, when in truth it was because I didn’t know how to protect myself from her.

I missed her like a physical ache. I’d catch myself imagining her curled against me in the dark, her voice teasing me awake, and her sharp little glares whenever she thought I was being impossible.

I wanted those things. I wanted her. But when I pictured showing up at her door again, shame would creep in—the shame of not being the man she thought I was and letting her see cracks that were deeper than I’d even admitted.

I’ve fucked it all up, maybe beyond repair, but I still want her, and that’s the part that scares me most, because if I go back, I’ll have to hand her every jagged, ugly piece of me. I don’t know if I can survive it if she decides to put them down.

The memories break apart as the unmistakable sound of heels hammer down my hallway.

“Ms. Morgan, please. You can’t just barge into his office like this… Again!” Avery’s voice cuts through the air a second before another, far more deadly one snaps back:

“Oh, believe me. He’s expecting me.”

I sit straighter in my chair as Celeste turns the corner like she’s entering a boxing ring, not my office.

Out, Julian. Push her out, out, out.

“Who the hell do you think you are, Blackwood?” she demands, storming in without so much as a knock.

There’s a streak of dust on her cheek from the construction site, and her lipstick is worn, but she’s still the most arresting thing I’ve ever seen.

Avery shoots me an apologetic look before she leaves.

“Celeste,” I say, calm as ever.

“Don’t ‘Celeste’ me, you self-righteous bastard.”

Self-righteous bastard?

That’s a new one. I’ll add it to the collection.

She doesn’t bother closing the door, but she kicks off her heels, sending them flying toward the corner of my office.

She can never pace properly in heels.

“You’re upset,” I say.

“No shit,” she fires back.

Good.

I like her like this.

Wild. Fierce. Beautifully unfiltered .

I also need her to hate me right now.

“You undermined me.” She pauses just long enough to glare at me before pivoting on her heel and pacing again. “Back at the site. In front of Darren. For what? Some pissing contest? Some last-word power trip?”

I don’t interrupt, even as I see curious heads from outside peering toward the office.

“You hired me because I’m the best. You said that.”

“You are,” I agree.

“Exactly. So why start questioning me now?” Her pacing speeds up. “I understand it’s your building, but you left it in my hands. You vanished, and now you’re storming back with all these little critiques like you haven’t been radio silent the entire time.”

I know, and all I want to do is pull you into my goddamn arms. But I don’t say that because I’m sure she would slap me, and I would deserve it.

“I’m the best at what I do for a reason. You don’t like it? Fine. There are plenty of other architects in this city who will do a half-decent job. It won’t be as good as mine, but that’s your problem.”

I pause and let the silence stretch just long enough to make her twitch.

“You’re right.”

She stops pacing. “You agree?”

“Yes.”

“With everything I just said?”

“Correct.”

She looks at me like I’ve grown two heads. “You disagreed with me back at the site for this exact reaction, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

The fight begins to drain from her shoulders like a slow leak. “Why are you being so agreeable now?”

“Because you’re right, and we both know what this is really about.”

She throws her arms out. “Oh, please do enlighten me. What is this really about?”

I should have expected it.

Hell, I wanted this. I lit the damn match, and it burns.

She’s not just angry. She’s hurt.

“We were sleeping together.” I stick to the facts even when it’s going to kill me. We both know it was so much more than that. “And I left without a word.”

“No, we didn’t sleep anywhere. You fucked me and then you left.”

With a slow breath, I stand and walk to the door. Her gaze follows me the whole way.

“What?” she bites. “Ashamed someone might hear that you fucked me?”

God, she gets fiery when she’s pissed.

“Believe me, sweetheart”—I look her dead in the eye—“I’d fuck you in front of an audience if you’d let me.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“You’re blushing.”

“I’m furious, Julian.”

“Even better. You’re sexy when you’re angry.”

“Go to hell.”

“Already there.”

I should apologize, give her space, be a functioning goddamn adult, but everything about her makes me forget how to behave.

My jaw clenches as I drag a hand through my hair. “I was away on business.”

“And your fingers broke? You couldn’t type or pick up the phone? Or are you only able to do that when I put panties in your pocket?”

“It wasn’t that simple.”

“It never is with you.”

“I needed space.”

“Right,” she scoffs, turning from me like she’s about to leave. “Because I’m the irrational one who wanted too much after all those nights of meaningless sex.”

I move fast, catching her wrist before she gets far. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Act like it didn’t mean something.”

She jerks her hand back. “I didn’t say it didn’t mean something. I said you made it meaningless.”

“I told you,” I say quietly, “I had business.”

Sickening guilt claws its way up my throat.

I’m a broken man, and a broken man doesn’t stand a fucking chance of keeping his guard up around someone like her. She doesn’t just find the cracks, she steps through them like they’re doorways.

It’s fucking pathetic. When she was hiding from me, I tore down every wall to reach her. Now that I’m the one hiding, I can’t even pick up the hammer.

“Why do all of that just to cause a fight?” She looks exhausted now too.

“Because fighting with you is easier than dealing with everything else.”

When she turns, the anger in her eyes has softened into wary confusion.

Fuck.

It’s a crack, just a slight bend in my armor, and she notices it .

“What’s ‘everything else’?”

Stepping away from her, I return to my desk and feel the weight of the past week dragging me down as I brace my hands on the wood. “Nothing you need to worry about.”

“Don’t do that. Don’t shut me out.”

“Leave it alone, Celeste.”

She closes the distance again. “Why? Afraid you might have to admit you feel something?”

“I have work to do.” My tone goes cold. “And so do you.”

“You’re sending me away?”

“You’re a busy woman, aren’t you?”

For a moment, she just stares at me, disbelief quickly shifting back to defiance. “You know what?” she says, eyes flashing. “I am a busy woman.”

She grabs her bag from the floor, and just as satisfaction threatens to twist in my gut, she surprises the hell out of me. Instead of storming toward the door, she pulls her laptop from her bag and takes a seat in one of the chairs across from me.

“Celeste.” I’m barely holding on to patience as she opens the laptop and starts typing furiously. “Leave.”

“No.”

I grind my jaw. “Leave, Celeste. I mean it.”

“You should get comfortable with me here because I’m staying.”

“Why the hell are you doing this?”

“Because you want me to leave,” she says, eyes still fixed on her screen, “and I’m done giving you what you want.”

I stare at her, stunned and furious and fucking helpless.

“You can stop glaring at me now. I’m not leaving, but if you could order me a coffee, that would be great.”

“Why won’t you just fucking go?”

“Because,” she snaps, finally lifting her eyes to mine, “something is going on in that head of yours, and you might have fooled everyone else, but I see you. Right fucking through you. Push me away all you want, but I’ll push back harder. You taught me how, remember?”

She’s right.

There’s a violent storm raging inside me. It’s grief mixed with guilt, and I don’t trust myself around her when my defenses are this stripped away.

With a sigh, I lean back into my chair.

Fine.

She wants to stay? I’ll give her exactly what she asked for.

My eyes remain fixed on her as I pick up my phone and dial Avery’s extension.

“Yes?” Avery answers.

“Bring Ms. Morgan an oat milk latte.”

“Sure thing.”

I slam the phone back into its cradle, jaw ticking as Celeste finally looks up. “Thank you.”

After what feels like hours, Avery finally brings in the coffee. Celeste murmurs her thanks, and Avery quickly scurries out, clearly sensing the lingering tension between us.

She lifts the cup to her lips, takes a sip, and sighs.

I don’t know if I want to shake her or kiss her when I ask, “Better?”

She smiles. “Much.”

“Glad to hear it.”

She exhales a shaky breath. “I’m not your enemy, Julian, but I’m also not someone you can use and discard when things get tough. I know what you’re doing.”

“And what’s that?”

“Pushing me away to protect yourself.”

“Don’t,” I warn.

She ignores me and leans forward. “But here’s the thing. I’m already in. You’re just a stubborn bastard who won’t admit it.” She jabs a finger into her chest right over her heart. “I’m already in there, and I’m not leaving.”