“I never asked for that.” I shook, my hands curling into fists at my side. “I just wanted you, because despite what you might think, I see you. And no, you’re no fucking white knight, but you’re what I want.”
When he said nothing I felt my whole body turn cold.
“I won’t stay,” I warned him. “I won’t try to fight for you anymore. This is it. If you walk away it’s not for me. I won’t ever think that. I will always, always blame you for this. For ruining us.”
The silence of the apartment around us seemed to stretch, expand, and thicken like a monster in the dark. For a while we just stood there facing each other as the monster destroyed any chance of the connection that would stop us from breaking apart for good. Finally Caine wrenched his gaze from mine and turned his back on me.
I walked out of the room, suturing up the gaping wound in my chest with the last of my mental and emotional strength. I made it to the guest room, wound temporarily sealed. I was determined it would stay sealed just long enough for me to get the hell out of Boston.
CHAPTER 30
Caine,
After last night I’m sure you understand why I can’t be here anymore. For a while I held on to the hope that if I could just get you to open up to me, to tell me your secrets, then everything would work out for us. Since you’re determined to keep us apart, I’m determined to move on with my life.
I’m heading to Connecticut now to see my dad. The attack brought back a lot of those issues, and I need to try to resolve them before I leave for Paris.
I want to thank you for taking care of me these last few weeks, and I want you to know that I appreciate all you’ve done to try and find the moron who did this. I truly believe he’s lost in the wind, but it doesn’t matter now since I won’t be around long enough for his possible reappearance. When I return to Boston I’m going to fly out to Paris as soon as possible to look at places to rent, etc. Although I truly am grateful for what you’ve done, I would appreciate it if you’d stay away when I return to Boston. I don’t want to see you again. I want a fresh start. You owe me that.
I hope you find peace. I hope you find happiness.
Lexie
Standing out on the lawn of my childhood home, I was still carrying with me that strange mix of fear and resolve. I didn’t know what I expected to get out of this. I just knew that if I wanted to move on with my life, I had to talk to him.
Getting out of Boston had been easy. Getting out of Caine’s building, not so much. Upon his departure for work that morning, I wrote him a good-bye note, and I headed down to the front desk. Arnie and Sly were waiting for me.
They tried to detain me, but when I reminded them that was illegal, they let me go. It took me twenty minutes of arguing with them before they realized I meant it when I said I’d call the police on their asses. I felt bad since they’d been protecting me for the last few weeks, but once I’d made this decision, no one, and I meant no one, was standing in my way. Still, as I made my way to the bus station I couldn’t shake the paranoia that had come as a result of my attack. I found myself constantly glancing over my shoulder and imagining the burn of someone’s stare on the back of my neck.
That and the fact that the bus journey was not fun on my wounded body meant I wasn’t in the greatest shape by the time I got to my parents’ home.
Our house had been very modest. My mom bought it when it was just the two of us and she bought it on her teacher’s pay. My father hadn’t contributed much over the years, jumping from one job to the next, so we’d never left. It was a one-story, two-bedroom house with a wood-clad triangle brow that sat over the tiny porch. The freshly painted gray wood was mimicked in the attached garage’s door, the banister on the porch, and entrance. The house itself was built of quaint pale blond brick. It wasn’t much but it was well kept. Even the lawn had been freshly mowed. Clearly my father was more capable of looking after himself than he’d ever let on in the past.
I lifted a hand to tuck away the hair that was blowing in my face and I was surprised to find I was trembling.
Shaking that off, I took a deep breath to try to ease the pressure on my chest. It felt like it was closing on me.
“Come on, Alexa.”
Somehow I made it onto the porch and I could hear a television playing from inside. I rang the doorbell. The television noise muted and I heard footsteps coming toward the door.
I was going to be sick.
For some reason there was a painful twinge in my wound.
The door swung open and a tall, good-looking man stood before me. He was slim with broad shoulders, and he had a full head of black hair peppered generously with gray that contrasted sharply with his bright gray eyes. He looked a heck of a lot like Edward Holland. Even in cheap clothes he seemed to radiate a sense of class and money. His features slackened with shock. “Alexa?”
My lips felt numb. Somehow I managed to force out, “Hi, Dad.”
“What are you doing here?” He stepped back, allowing me to enter the small living room. A closed door on the left-hand side of the room led into the kitchen. The kitchen led onto a backyard that was massive in comparison to the house. The door directly opposite the front door led into a small corridor, which led onto two small double bedrooms and a family bathroom.
I gazed around, hit by a wave of memories.
The furniture was the same after all these years. Pictures of us as a family still hung on the walls.
“Lexie?”
Our eyes met.
I hadn’t expected to find our home … well, still as our home. I’d built this picture up in my head of the place being stripped back, barren of us, erased by everything that was him. But no. Mom was everywhere here.
This had momentarily distracted me, but reading the wary confusion on his face, I wondered if any emotion he ever showed was actually real.
He gestured to the couch. “Take a seat, Lexie.”
“I’d rather stand.”
“What’s this about? I haven’t seen you since your mother’s funeral and I think this is the most you’ve spoken to me in seven years. What’s going on?”
“I was attacked,” I blurted out.
My father paled. “Attacked?”
I nodded. “I was leaving work and a guy stabbed me. He was wearing a hoodie and I didn’t see his face … We haven’t caught him, but the police are investigating it and think the attack might have been premeditated.”
“Stabbed?” He stumbled toward me, his hands reaching out unsurely.