Page 114 of Van Cort

I look at his back, recognising the same breath rate heaving in and out of his chest as mine. It takes me back to seeing him that first time after Father beat him, to his bruised skin and his bloodied face. I’d dismissed that, until that day on the island with Andie, anyway. Somehow, I’d forgotten his selflessness, too. “So, yes, of course I’m sorry about her death. I have been sorry about that for twenty years. But I’m not sorry that I gave you and her every chance of happiness while I took the brunt of our father for you. I’m also not sorry that she gave me the chance to find some fucking sanity in the middle of that, because you gave me nothing other than your contentment, and she was all I had left to use. So, if you need to say something or attempt to get over the past in some way so we can move forward, get it said now. I’m listening.”

He turns to look at me, waiting for whatever I’m going to say or do. I don’t have any response, though. I’m too lost in memories and looking at things differently, remembering things differently.

“Nothing?” he asks. “No snipey comeback?” I wish I did have one, but at the moment, and in the middle of this crap, I’m just a ball of unvented energy. Part of me wants to keep it inside, keep it swirling and churning, but without much more thought, I don’t stop my fist from lashing out. It lands hard into his jaw, whipping it sideways and forcing him a few steps back.

He slowly turns back, a look of sheer fucking disgust on his face, and slides his hands in his pockets. We’re not fighting about her, it seems.

“You fucking deserved that. She was really special, Rhett. She was.” He nods, agreeing. “And whatever you say, you were wrong. You shouldn’t have let go of her. If you had a problem with me, I should have taken it. Not her.” Another nod.

“But she wasn’t River, was she? She wasn’t a woman, and we weren’t men, either.”

Swallowing down the guilt and confusion that’s beginning to make me feel sick, I rein back what’s left of my temper for now. “No. I suppose not.” Maybe later I’ll have thought that through enough to question any logic he just found in killing someone. Or maybe not.

“Okay. I need an answer today, then.”

I lift my gaze from the floor. “An answer to what?”

He turns and walks to a sideboard, sliding open a drawer. The leather-bound marriage contract that I originally brought to him when I first arrived is pulled out and brought over to me.

Pushing it at my chest, he forces my hand on it to hold it, and then covers mine with his. “Your heart’s under our hands, West. It’s good and mostly whole and everything mine should have been. Instead, I’m left with scars and fissures I’m hoping to repair. She’s giving me that hope, and you in some ways.”

“And you think you deserve that?”

He backs away from me, and I watch him smile the same smile he used to in the brief, sober moments of happiness we did have together. Life was good and we were free then. We had dreams, wants.

“Probably not. But I am in love with her, West. You, too, if you’re honest. We can be more than we once were.” He turns and heads for the kitchen.

“I’m still not sure you understand what the hell love actually means,” I call.

“I suppose we’ll find out, won’t we?” he replies, as he disappears around the corner. “You have until three this afternoon to let me know which way this is going.”

Right.

CHAPTER THIRTY - EIGHT

RIVER

He left.

But he did spend most of the night. He didn’t even try to sneak out when he did leave.He trailed kisses down my spine before getting dressed instead, reminding me of the night before. That’s progress, I guess. The kind of progress that brushed against my heart and whispered to let him in while the embers of my anger lay smouldering, almost forgotten.

The bed might have been empty when the alarm blared at me, but I could still smell him on the pillow as I rolled to the spot he fell asleep in.

He’s down the hall now, but I didn’t go to see him before I entered my office - my temporary office that’s far more comfortable than the small box I have at my actual job.

I lean back in the high-back ergonomic chair and look at where I am. Working and having a relationship with the same man? If April told me this was her situation, I’d be yelling at her. But with Everett, it kind of just…happened. Our arrangement has emerged into this complex thing that has my heart mixed up in it, too. Much to my disdain, when I let my mind dwell on it. And that’s usually when he’s being curt and provident with information. But he stayed last night. And he offered the dinner, showing me that he could leave work here, in the office.

If I keep holding onto that, stop analysing everything in minute detail, and just relax the band around my heart… It’s harder to do than say, but my lips twitch, betraying that part of me that’s giddy over all of this. Things that are this good come with a catch - my whole life has taught me that.

I just hope this one doesn’t wreck my heart.

***

At lunch, I log on to check my real work emails and scan the usual internal requests and regular names. One sent yesterday stands out. From HR on behalf of Mr Whitham. I click it and read the words on the screen, my heartbeat quickening in pace until I hear it thrumming in my ears.

Opportunity. New York.

My eyes scan over the words, picking up the important ones.