Beautiful Storm (34 page)

“Don’t punish me for being honest. If you’d never known, if I had never told you, would you have seen it in me? Would you have known the man who loves you down to his bones was a killer? Could you tell from my touch? Would you have felt it on my lips when I claimed yours? When I moved inside you, making love to you, would you have known then?” My whole body burns for her, but she’s like ice.

“Don’t do this to me, it’s not fair,” she whispers.

“Would you?” I insist. I can’t help myself. I know I should be reining my temper in, not letting it get the better of me, but I can’t stand the stillness taking over her eyes. It’s destroying me.

“No!” she screams at me, fists clenched at her sides.

“Then what’s fucking changed?” I can feel the heat blazing in my eyes burning into hers. Willing the fire in her eyes to reignite, not ebb away into nothing but blackened embers.

“Jesus Christ, Noah. Everything. How would you feel if you discovered I murdered someone for fun? Would it matter if my touch could drive you to the edge? Would it matter that when I kissed you it felt like I was starving for you, and only your taste could ease my hunger? It wouldn’t matter, Noah, because you would never get over the fact. Regardless. What’s the difference?”

Seriously, she’s going there? “Fuck understanding the bigger picture. I guess second chances only apply to you, right?”

Pain etches her face. Shit.

Defeat washes through my body and my whole demeanour shifts. My body sags and my legs struggle to hold me up. I’ve lost like I knew I would. I step in close to her, needing to memorise her scent, feel her warmth. She raises her face to me, her dead eyes meeting mine in defiance. I slowly lift my hand to cup her face and feel her flinch at my touch, flaying another layer of my heart away.

“For the record, you two are my life.” My gruff voice trembles and tears brim in my eyes. I’ve never been in so much pain. “My heart belongs to you. My soul is entwined with yours. I’ll protect you until my last breath whether you want me to or not, and I’ll love you for a fucking eternity.”

I take one last searching gaze into her eyes, hunting for something to hold on to, some tiny fragment of hope. But the grey depths have stilled, flatlined, and there is nothing left for me to find. She doesn’t want me and I’m not going to push her to reason. Placing a gentle kiss on her forehead, a tear escapes my eyes. I release her and walk away. Her breath catches and she muffles a choked sob. And for the second time, I leave my heart with her. She doesn’t want it, but it’s hers just the same.

Acid tears track down my cheeks, burning and disfiguring my already scarred face. My abdominals burn with the words I can’t remove. I was stupid to even consider she might see past my revelation. My angel sees me as Lucifer.

I race upstairs and grab a few clothes, ramming them into my backpack. Angry for letting myself love her, love them.

A different pain grips my chest as I look in on our son. He plays happily with his cars on the floor of the bedroom. When he spots me, he gets to his feet and comes to the stair gate blocking his exit.

“Da-dad, c-ars?”

I swipe away the tears, not wanting to upset him.

“Not now, buddy.” I’m so proud he said ‘cars.’ Another part of my heart breaks as I lift him into my arms and pin him against me, soaking in every last memory I can, unsure if I’ll ever see him again. If she refuses to see me as anything more than a monster then she won’t let me within a foot of my son.

My chest heaves as I place him back in the room and crouch at the gate. “Daddy has to go away for a little while. Can you do me a big favour?”

“Yeash, Da-dad.” I have no idea if he understands me or not.

“I need you to look after Mummy for me, can you do that?” His little head nods in response.

Bending over the stair gate, I place my lips to his head.

“I love you, little man.” With burning eyes, I turn, grab the backpack, and race down the stairs before I can’t leave. Before I think about what I’m doing.

Her stabbing sobs torture my eardrums as I pass the kitchen. Placing my house keys in the dish on the hallway table, I say, “The house is yours, angel.”

I don’t know if she heard me, or if she even wants it, but at least I can give them that. I check my pockets for my bike key, grab my helmet and wallet, then force myself out the front door.

A
WAVE OF
nausea plagues my stomach with each step away from her, them, as if fighting the force of gravity. My mouth dries out, making swallowing down the bitterness scorching my throat almost impossible. My eyes burn, yet my insides crystallise and disintegrate, the pain crucifying me. Lizzie’s gut-wrenching sobs enforce the depth of my betrayal, echoing around my ears like a stuck record.

Why the hell did I tell her?

Out of habit, I want a drink; the need to forget overwhelms me. If I could just take it all back… But I can’t. And at this point, I don’t want to. I did the right thing. I’ll have to suck it up and deal with the aftermath like a fucking man. And the ways I used to lose myself won’t help my situation. Not now.

Nothing will.

With shaking hands, I remove my phone from my back jeans pocket and make a call to the one person who gets me and never judges me. I scroll through my last dialled numbers and press Bear’s name.

“Noah?”

“Mate, I need a favour,” I blurt out, my desperation obvious in the rushed words.

There’s a sharp intake of breath before he answers. “Anything. You know that.”

“Get Layla over to my house… Now.” Emotion chokes every word to the point of incoherency, as cold reality seeps into my bones. I don’t want Lizzie to think I abandoned her. I just need to go away for a little while. Give her time to consider taking me back.

“What the fu—Oh. Yeah… Sure.” His confusion quickly clears. “You told her the truth about you, didn’t you?”

A strangled growl emits from my throat that’s supposed to be a ‘yes.’

“Shit. Okay, I’ll ring her now. Don’t do anything stupid, mate.”

“What could I possibly do that’s more fucking stupid than destroying the only thing I’ve ever fucking wanted?” I spit down the phone at him. Anger at my own stupidity surges through me, enhancing the emotional overload in my system. The line goes dead and I consider smashing the phone into the ground. To watch it shatter into smithereens like my heart. But now it’s my only access to Lizzie and the only people I trust to look after her while I’m gone. The fucking phone is all I have.

I stuff it into my backpack, and force my helmet on. My head throbs as my mind races. Numb legs walk the bike backwards onto the road. I glance back at the house looking for something, someone, anything that will tell me not to go, but there’s nothing for me to find. She’s hardly going to come running out, begging me to stay. Revving the throttle, I race away, crushing myself a little bit more.

Tired and drained after thrashing the Ducati around for an hour or so, I pull up outside of Macy’s. I shouldn’t be here, but I want no company but my own misery. Here I can achieve that. As I kick the stand and turn off the ignition, my neck prickles, sending a shudder through my body. Before taking off my helmet, I scan every corner of the area repeatedly, but nothing seems out of place. Appeased, I remove my headgear and stride into the bar.

Some bird I’ve never seen before is serving behind the bar. Her eyes widen as she notices me at the bar, a look I’m all too familiar with. Not in the fucking mood to play nice, I don’t return the award-winning smile that crosses her face.

“Pint of Stella,” I order, my tone cold enough to freeze oil. Her smile falters, making me feel like a prize bastard, but I couldn’t give a fuck either. She hands me my pint and I hand her a fiver. Not bothering to wait for the change, I find a seat in the far corner, away from anybody who might talk to me. I don’t want to talk. The only thing I want I’ll never find here.

The amber liquid sits in front of me, taunting me like a dare. I spin the glass in my fingers over and over again, watching as it flows in circles and the froth dies. My mind runs riot with all the things that never should’ve been said. I stop the spinning and stare at my pint, waiting for the movement of the beer to stop. My grasp tightens on the cool glass when I stand up. Without giving it much thought, I launch the pint across the room and watch as it smashes against the wooden bar front.

The room goes quiet for a few moments as everyone turns to look, before the natural hum slowly restores. All I can do is release a derisive laugh as the image, so much like my heart disintegrating, replays in my mind.

“Noah.” I look up to find the burly bar owner, complete with gold teeth and tats, standing in front of me.

My chest heaves as I fall back into my seat, rubbing my hands over my face. “Malc.”

“Are you going to cause me trouble?”

“Nah, man. Send me the bill, and can I have another pint?”

He eyes me before sitting down and shouts to the new girl for two pints. I fight hard not to tell him to piss off. The last thing I want to do is pretend to be okay. She brings the drinks over, spilling them as she puts them down. She won’t last long here. Nervousness and a bar full of drunken wankers don’t mix.

“One drink and you’re on your way,” he states, leaning in. “But do anything like that again and you’re fucking barred.”

My goal of being left alone is fucked. I glare at the fucker before nodding. Malc’s a top bloke and deserves some form of respect, even if I begrudge giving it to him.

“I’ve watched you submerge yourself in alcohol and pussy for years. Has it worked?”

He tilts his head as he waits for my answer. The problem with people who run bars is they know far too fucking much. The thought crosses my mind to just either ignore him or walk out. But Malc’s a man of few words, and I know whatever he has to say won’t take long. Plus, I’m lucky he hasn’t thrown me out.

I shake my head, “No, it’s not.”

“Through all the drowning I’ve watched you do, I’ve never seen you destroy anything in my bar, except yourself.” He takes a deep swig of his pint then places it back down on the table.

“So?” My patience is wearing thin with this conversation, fast.

“Something’s changed.” The silence extends as I wait for him to get to the fucking point. “Maybe you’re growing up.” He slaps my shoulder, grabs his pint, and walks off.

My eyes fixate on the glass in front of me. Against my previous judgement, I push my drink away. The thought of taking the first sip into darkness taunts me, begging me to succumb and lose myself in the bottom of the glass. But getting wasted isn’t going to do a fucking thing to help. My mouth dries out and I swallow sawdust.

Fuck.

I release a huff of frustration, and run my hands over my head for what feel like the four millionth time since Lizzie returned. My temples pound, my eyes burn. What the hell am I meant to do now? I have to find a place to stay. Give her the space she needs while still not letting my shop go under. For now, the best course of action would be to go to the workshop. At least there I can bury my head in an engine, or paperwork, and shut the world out. It’s either that or revert to the old me and drink myself stupid and end up doing God knows what.

Not happening.

I push to my feet, sling the backpack over my shoulder, and walk with purpose out to the car park. When I near the bike, my name’s shouted and I turn to the voice, already knowing it’s Bear. He’s probably been tracking me. His forehead furrows, and the lines deepen further as he takes in my appearance.

“I’m not talking about it here.” I throw my leg over the seat as he gets closer.

“Okay.” He lengthens the word. “Where are you going?”

“To the workshop. You coming?”

He dips his head in short acknowledgement and steps forward, his hand grasping my shoulder. “Are you okay, mate?”

I glance at his curled fingers and look him in the eye. He winces at my expression as I shake my head. Without saying anything else, I shove my helmet on, start the engine, and leave at full throttle.