Sucker Punched (35 page)

Reaching up, he brushes the crown dangling from my neck. “All I’m asking for is the chance to try.”

Macy wouldn’t give me a firm yes. She also didn’t tell me no, which gives me hope that maybe I didn’t fuck things up beyond repair.

Plus, she was still wearing her necklace. If she
really
wanted nothing to do with me, she probably would’ve left it on top of her bare dresser. I would’ve gotten that message loud and clear, so the fact that she’s still wearing it is a good sign.

I can fix this. I know I can.

I
have
to, because I won’t survive losing her too.

After I leave Macy’s, I drive around aimlessly. I should go home and clean up. It’s pretty trashed. But I just can’t bring myself to head that way. 

It’s not home anymore, not if she’s not there. It’s just an empty house. And the thought of going to an empty house right now is fucking depressing.

Eventually I find myself in Dorchester, outside my dad’s apartment. The brown three-decker still looks the same—worn and neglected—but it sure doesn’t feel the same.

I don’t know what I’m doing as I get out of my car and shut the door. 

I don’t want to go back in there. Yesterday was. . .plenty. But I know at some point, I’ll have to box up his things and sell the place.

Super looking forward to that.

I climb the rickety steps and open the door that leads to the stairwell. I’ve never been inside this part of the building before, but it doesn’t take me long to find the apartment above my dad’s.

I lift my hand, hesitating before I knock. I’m not even sure this woman will
want
to go to the funeral, but I feel like I should at least give her the option to say goodbye.

A few seconds later, I hear heavy footsteps approaching. Like,
really
heavy. I frown, wondering how much this woman weighs. Then the door swings open and I come face-to-face with a burly, middle-aged man in a stained wife beater and a pair of jogging pants.

I doubt he does a whole lot of jogging in them, based on the gut hanging over his waistband.

Leaning his arm on the door, he looks me up and down. “Whaddaya want?”

Who the hell is this? My dad said she was a widow and this guy’s way too old to be her son.

My eyes dart over his shoulder, to the sketchy-looking apartment behind him. It looks like a future crime scene. “Is there a, uh, woman who lives here?” 

He cocks a brow. “Does it look like a woman lives here?”

No. No, it doesn’t. “Sorry. My dad lives below you. He said he was seeing some woman who lived upstairs. Any idea who that might be?”

“You John’s boy?”

“Yeah,” I say, clearing my throat.

“My condolences.”

“Thanks.” I shift uncomfortably, hitching my thumb behind me toward the other apartments on this floor. “So you know who he was seeing?”

He shakes his head. “If he was datin’ some broad, she didn’t live in this building. Sorry, kid.” 

He shuts the door, and I stand here, dumbfounded.

Why would Dad lie about that? It’s such an insignificant, pointless thing to lie about.

My brows inch closer as I try and remember our conversation. What had we been talking about that led him to say he was dating the widow upstairs?

Something about. . .food, I think. I remember him saying she cooked for him, which was a relief because—

Because I was worried about him. I was nagging him about moving in with me and that’s when he said he was seeing the woman upstairs.

Son of a bitch.

I head downstairs and back outside, until I’m standing in front of his apartment. I don’t know how I feel.

Mad. Hurt. Touched. 

He knew I was worried, and that bastard lied to put me at ease.

I’d just changed into my PJs when there’s a knock on the hotel door. Thinking it’s Savannah, I call out, “Just a sec,” as I untie the towel wrapped around my wet hair and shake it out. I toss it on the king-sized bed before taking the eight steps to the door and swinging it open.

I should’ve looked out the peephole first, because it’s not Savannah waiting in the hall. It’s Blake.

I lean against the door instead of inviting him in. I asked him to give me time and space yesterday. Showing up outside my hotel room isn’t giving me space, but I’ll let it slide since these are extenuating circumstances.

We’re in Philadelphia for his dad’s funeral tomorrow morning. Blake’s mom is buried here and it was only natural that his dad wanted to be buried next to his wife.

I told him I’d go, but that was before I knew it’d be five hours away in Philly. Backing out just because it’s inconvenient for me—and awkward for us—would’ve been an epically shitty thing to do, so. . .here we are.

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder, you know. You should try it sometime.”

Blake brushes past me, waltzing into the room uninvited. “I let you drive down with Declan and Savannah, didn’t I? That’s five hours of absence, so your heart should be plenty fond.”

“It’s plenty something,” I mutter, closing the door.

He sits at the foot of the bed, looking weary. “Thanks for coming. . . I wasn’t sure you would.”

I tuck my hair behind my ear, focusing on the quietly playing TV. It seems safer than looking at Blake. “You’re still my friend. That hasn’t changed.” 

I was hurt yesterday when I threatened to cut him out of my life. If push came to shove, I don’t think I could actually do it. 

I’m loath to admit it right now, but he means too much to me.

“I still want to be more than friends. That hasn’t changed.” Blake smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s the saddest fucking smile I’ve ever seen and tugs at my already frayed heartstrings.

My eyes burn as my teeth dig into my lip. I look away, commanding my tears to stay the fuck where they are and not spill down my face.

Blake and I are locked in a battle over my heart. Crying would give away my position.

“Blake—” It’s all I can get out before my voice starts trembling, so I cut it off.

“Duchess.” He says my name in the same heartbroken tone, his jaw tensing. How he can beg me for forgiveness and apologize in the same breath without even saying the words is beyond me.

Reaching out, he slips his hand in mine and my self-control slips away from me. Tears spill down my cheeks. I refuse to look at him, so he pulls me between his legs until he’s peering up at me.

“I love you,” he says fiercely. “And I
know
you love me too.”

I shake my head, trying to deny it.

“This wouldn’t hurt so much if you didn’t.”

“So what if I do?” I push his hand off and try to move away from him, but he grabs my hips and keeps me from leaving. “It doesn’t change the fact that you broke my fucking heart and shattered my trust.” 

The timeline of when we got together is fuzzy, and I know he didn’t think he was cheating. But that’s exactly how it feels. He asked for my heart and after I gave it to him, he immediately turned around and pulverized it. I can’t help but feel betrayed, angry, and raw, nor can I let him get out of this on a flimsy technicality.

I wipe my face, still not looking at him. “I feel like you cheated on me.”

Blake stands so fast I’m forced to take a step back. He looks like I’ve just slapped him. “I did
not
fucking cheat on you.”

“I didn’t say you did. I said it’s how I
feel
. Nothing you say can change that.”

His mouth thins as he raises his hand then drops it, his fist clenching. It looks like he can’t decide whether to pace or punch something. “I didn’t think you were mine to lose, otherwise I never would’ve risked it. You have to believe me. I’d never cheat on you, Duchess.
Never
.” 

“How would I know that? What part of you fucking another woman lets me know you’d never cheat on me?”

“Because everyone else is a step down from you!” He clamps his hand on the back of his neck, turning away to calm himself. A few seconds later, Blake plops back down on the foot of the bed, taking my hands in his. “As far as I knew, I wasn’t doing anything wrong. I thought I was only hurting myself.” He swallows. “I hate what I did to you. Even if you forgive me someday, I won’t. Every time I close my eyes, I see your face. I see that horrified, heartbroken look on your face, and I have to live the rest of my life knowing I’m the one who put it there. You can’t possibly hate me more than I hate myself.”

His tortured expression guts me.

Damn it. Just when I think I’ve got a handle on my emotions, he goes and stirs everything up. 

I feel like a shaken snow globe, only instead of glitter floating around, it’s a chaotic, cloudy mix of love and hate. I can’t see through it, and it’s impossible to navigate. I just have to wait and see where the pieces settle.

I wipe my eyes, my voice coming out soft. “Then why’d you do it?”

His eyes flicker before looking down. “When you want something for so long and you finally get it, you don’t believe it at first, you know? Like it’s not real. It hadn’t sunk in yet, so when I heard his voice in the background. . . I just accepted that you and me were too good to be true and you were back with the guy you were supposed to be with.

“It fucking hurt, Duchess. It broke something inside me, and I would’ve done anything to try and numb some of the pain. Unfortunately, I only know one way to do that.” He rubs the back of his neck before meeting my gaze again. “I’ll spend the rest of my life earning back your trust. Even if it takes me fifty fucking years, I swear to God, I’ll rebuild it.”

I want to believe him.
So
much. But I need to be cautious with my fractured heart right now. 

I can’t agree to be in a relationship with him yet, but I also can’t say it’ll never happen. I don’t know what the future holds for us. The only thing I do know is that whatever happens, it’s entirely up to Blake.

“Don’t tell me how you’re going to change. Show me. Make your actions match your words and then we’ll talk.”

He nods solemnly. “Deal.”

I step away from him and walk around to the side of the bed. “You’ve worn me out. I’m turning in.” I pull back the covers, expecting him to say goodnight and head back to his own room. What I don’t expect is for him to kick off his boots and take off his shirt.

“Uh, what are you doing?”

His hand pauses on his belt buckle when he registers my less-than-stellar expression. Shrugging, he says, “This could be my last night with you. I know I don’t deserve it, but I want it. Please don’t take it away from me.”

I sigh and climb into bed. “You try anything and I’ll break your fucking dick. Got it?”

He finishes undoing his pants and lets them drop to the floor. “Loud and clear.” Sliding in behind me, he scoops me into his arms and doesn’t let me go for the rest of the night.

Blake slips his hand in mine as they lower his father’s casket into the ground. I feel so bad for him. He looks like he’s on the verge of tears and there’s nothing I can do to make him feel better right now except give his hand a light squeeze, letting him know I’m here for him.

The priest’s voice fades out as my gaze wanders to the grave beside us, where Declan and Blake’s mom rests.
She was so young
, I think sadly as I read her tombstone. Only thirty-eight. Blake didn’t say how she died, whether it was a long and drawn out sickness that took her, or a quick accident.