The Beginning of Always (43 page)

The pit of my stomach turned at the thought of those final months, that final year. God, I couldn’t stand this. I had never spoken about any of it to anyone, least of all the man who was responsible. I began pushing back, fighting to break free from his embrace.

“There? You happy?” My voice rang out sharp and angry. How dared he talk about this? About us? About … her? What right did he have?

I didn’t want his comfort. I didn’t crave his touch.

I couldn’t.

“Let me go.” I twisted in his grip, facing him and pushing his elbow, working to detach myself to leave. I wanted to run, to run somewhere far away with icy wind and secluded scenery. Somewhere else. Across an ocean and a continent, just like before.

Alistair held on tight despite my struggles. “I’m sorry I did that to you.” His sad eyes bored into mine.

That pain seized every nerve. He hadn’t done that to me. The truth was that I was equally responsible, and that fact had killed me more than him leaving. Perhaps I was even more responsible.

I stopped struggling. I was exhausted, my body falling limp.

“We did it to ourselves,” I murmured. I hung my head, seemingly lacking even the strength to hold it up. “We deserved it …”

“Stop. Don’t say that.”

I inhaled a shaky breath. That sensation of my lungs collapsing returned, the squeezing of my heart, the clawing pain at my insides.

“I needed you,” I whispered to the ground.

A heavy exhale. “I know.”

“I was so scared.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You were a coward. You were a coward for leaving.” I shook my head. “I had to deal with it all on my own.”

Alistair didn’t answer, but his expression was pained.

“I made mistakes, Florence. And I’m still paying for them,” he said.

I laughed incredulously. Acrid resentment closed off my throat and took over my voice. “
You
are fine.” I spat the words out. “Everything worked out for you. You left unscathed. You went on with your life while I had to take that year to get my shit together. I got to where I am without your help and I’ll be damned if I’ll let you ruin it.”

Alistair licked his lips, shaking his head. “If I could go back, I would do things differently,” he said.

“But you’d still have left me,” I retorted.

He didn’t answer.

“Don’t lie. I was damaged goods. You didn’t want me anymore. I was ruined.” I turned my back to him and moved back to stand up. Now, I really had to go. But Alistair didn’t slacken his arm and he didn’t let me go. I gave a huff of frustration, and right as I decided to throw an elbow back in his face, he suddenly spun me around so we faced each other again.

Alistair’s features were granite. “I never stopped wanting you, Florence. You’re the only one I want, the only one I ever wanted,” Alistair said fiercely. I stilled. “Don’t believe anything else. Call me a liar about everything else. But never doubt that. That’s the most honest thing I can ever tell you.”

He paused, those eyes drilling into me, his brow furrowed and the grip on my shoulder tightening to the point of pain. He sucked in a fortifying breath and then said, “I love you, Florence.”

I froze. Every cell in my body stopped and my skin felt as if I was doused with ice water. All emotion drained from me except the very potent and real response of panic and fear.

“What?” I stammered out, my eyes wide. I leaned away and shuffled backwards on the seat. Alistair let me go. I stared at him. Really stared at him, fighting to understand. Wanting me was one thing, sleeping with me could be expected, but love?

Nothing made sense. My body flared with anxiety, with mistrust.

Alistair’s face was taut with emotion.

“I never stopped, Florence. I never did.” He reached over for me, and one cool palm cupped the side of my face.

My heart thudded wildly.

I whispered, “Don’t say things you can’t take back, especially when you’re drunk. Don’t do this.”

“I have to say it now.”

“No.” I shook my head and I shoved his shoulder. He allowed me to fall away again.

“No,” I said again. “You’re saying things, doing things you don’t mean. Don’t play with me like this.”

“I’m not.”

“You don’t get to do this. You can’t just ditch me like you did and then blow back into my life now and say these things, and expect me to have an answer!” I was yelling now. “You can’t! It doesn’t work this way! You can’t toy with me like this! Not anymore!”

“I’m not tr—”

But I didn’t let Alistair finish his sentence.

I shoved him away from me, needing distance. “I have to go.” I stumbled off the bench and staggered backwards on my feet. Alistair made no move to stand up and reach for me again. He just watched me as I stumbled backwards, tripping over the blanket sliding off my body.

“I have to go,” I repeated and turned, taking two steps to the patio door.

“Florence.”

I stopped, breathing heavily, trying to refocus. I didn’t look at him. I didn’t look back. I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.

“I’ll … I’ll see you tomorrow,” I stammered, and then I ran.

And he didn’t call me back. He let me leave, because he knew the truth.

There was no escaping from the truth.

Chapter 22

T
he morning after was worse than any one-night stand could be. I didn’t sleep at all after what had happened outside, crumpling into bed as soon as I had fallen through my bedroom door. I was half-fearful, half-hopeful Alistair would search for me, come for me, and we would find ourselves back in the deep bottomless pit we’d put ourselves in. But he never arrived.

I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d stayed out there all night, the whiskey bottle keeping him company.

We didn’t speak when we ran into each other in the kitchen first thing in the morning. He was already in his suit and I was already in my own work clothes. A cook had shown up out of nowhere and left us both a hot breakfast, then melted away before I could even spot, much less thank her.

When Alistair entered the room, I kept my eyes down on my plate.

He didn’t eat. And I didn’t comment on it.

We didn’t speak as we walked to the garage. He simply put down his coffee cup and grabbed his briefcase, and I simply followed. There was a sick sense of mutual understanding, that twisted connection that had brought us to this impasse in the first place. The garage was filled to capacity with expensive European sports cars, and after he swiped a set of keys hanging in an unlocked metal box bolted to the wall, we both got in a dark gray Porsche and left.

All silently. The only sounds were of the garage door sliding open, the clinking of many metal keys, the soft hush of the insulated car doors. The rev of the engine, the high-pitched chimes of the automobile.

We didn’t speak as we drove to the site of his first morning meeting. The tension in the car was heavy enough to cut with a butter knife, and there didn’t seem to be enough air. The air in actuality was crowded with too many smells—the car’s new leather, his cologne, my shampoo, coffee. When I rolled down the window in an attempt to relieve some of the suffocation, the salty ocean air burst into my face and scrambled my thoughts even more. Instead of clearing my mind, all it did was force a flashback to last night and the touch of Alistair’s lips on my skin, while the ocean sprayed below us.

We flew quickly down the Pacific Coast Highway, the roads strangely devoid of traffic.

“Tired?” Alistair asked quietly. I knew he wasn’t trying to do anything besides relieve tension and attempt to be sociable, but his voice assailed me, all low, deep, husky and masculine. A burn tingled between my thighs and I quickly stamped it down.

“Yes,” I answered simply. My fingers inevitably found their way to the edges of my hair and I tugged on them, just to have something to do. I hoped he would quit there, stop trying for normal because normality didn’t exist, not for us, not ever.

But he didn’t quit.

“Did you get any sleep last night?”

I glanced at him. He was too handsome. He had shaved this morning so his skin was smooth and his razor-sharp jawline was even more prominent.

A longing ached within me, but I ignored it.

I averted my eyes to stare blankly ahead, at the sight of an empty road surrounded by cliffs and sea.

“A bit,” I said.

Alistair nodded and the conversation died there.

California was beautiful. I always knew this and had been here before, but never ventured out further than the downtown area. The sun shimmered against the endless blue of the ocean. Seagulls cawed loudly in the sky and perched upon rocks. We passed by several roadside beaches where cars just turned in and parked on the sand. Indistinct black dots colored the horizon, surfers waiting for waves.

The scenery hurtled past me, the trees sprinting past so fast that I couldn’t even pick up any details before they disappeared from my sight.

“Is this what it’s going to be like?” Alistair’s voice jolted me out of my musings. My heart rate picked up slightly at his words. “Awkward the rest of the time we’re here?” There was a glint across his gaze that rang hard. Tense.

I tucked my hair behind my ears and folded my hands onto my lap, shrugging slightly. I fought to remain calm. “Let’s just try to get through this. We’ll be back to New York by Sunday.” I kept my answer light and vague, entirely noncommittal.

Alistair changed gears, pushing hard on the gear stick. The car picked up speed. “And then once we get back, you’re going to avoid me? Scrub any excuse to run into me? Pretend we’re not on the same damn continent for once?”

My fingers fussed with each other, winding and tightening their mutual grips. “I don’t know, Alistair. I really don’t know. What do you want me to do?” I shook my head. “Look, I don’t want to talk about this. Can’t we just act—”

“Normal?” His response came out snide, sarcastic.

My mouth tightened, I didn’t appreciate his tone. So what if I just wanted things to be “normal,” even though I knew normal didn’t exist, couldn’t exist?

“Professional. Let’s act professional,” I responded.

Alistair laughed, a harsh sound devoid of any amusement. “You really love that word, don’t you? You like to use it and hide behind it, pretending that’s the only thing that matters.” He abruptly changed lanes, speeding up and cutting back in front of a sedan. I was jerked to the side by his sudden motions and I clutched at my door handle for stability.

No more light and vague. My voice now was edged with irritation. “That’s the only thing I can control, the only part of this whole mess I have any hand in.”

“That’s what you’d like to think. You like to paint yourself as a victim, believe that nothing you do applies to you.”

“I don’t want to talk about this, okay?”

Alistair pounded a closed fist against his steering wheel. The sound was muffled, but I jumped at his sudden movement. “Well, I do!” he said loudly.

My own anger was quickly peaking. I glared at him as I said, “Look, I have more to lose than you do, alright? My job is on the line here. You can’t just tell me to disregard that!”

“Who ever said that? You’re creating these boundaries in your own head. Whoever said this job and us were mutually exclusive?”

“That’s so—” I started, then stopped midsentence. He was driving fast, way too fast. The road raced ahead and his hands were clenched tight around the black leather steering wheel, knuckles pale with tension.

“Slow down,” I said.

Alistair ignored me. He cut off another car and pulled at the gear stick, legs working. Our car tore down the road, flying past all the other cars in the second lane.

Alistair continued to talk, the volume of his voice picking up. “You know, you think you’re the only one dealing with this, that you’re the only one affected. You’re killing me here, Florence. Every second feels like an eternity.” He jerked his shoulders back, spine rigid. “I tell you that I love you, and what do you do? You run away.”

My hands tightened against the door handle. “Don’t blame this on me. You’re the one pushing me, forcing my hand, taking me to bars and trying to gift me apartments. You’re the one baiting me. You’re testing these boundaries, so don’t you dare try to say I’m the one torturing you.”

“The thought of you tortures me! Just the fact that you exist drives me insane!”

I was yelling now. “Well, I’m sorry I can’t change that for you, but I’m not going to stop existing just to make your life easier!”

Alistair whipped his gaze to me. His eyes were fierce, that razor-sharp jaw I had just been admiring now tense and hard. “You think that’s what I want? The idea of not having you in my life is even worse.”

“You don’t get to decide! That’s what you just can’t understand—you can’t just make the decision to ditch me and then get back together at your convenience.”

This was getting out of hand. It was all too emotional. The air in the cab had now rocketed up a thousand degrees and the sounds of my heart, the racing road, and our angry voices were flooding my mind and causing my body to tremble.

I braced my right hand hard against the dashboard, my left grasping at the side of my seat. I turned fully towards the driver’s seat. “Slow down, Alistair. I’m not joking.”