26 ~ DARCY

Between us we dragged in air with harsh breaths as we recovered. Oliver held me against his hard, comforting body, tugging my clothing back into place. His mouth moved against my temple as he spoke.

“We’re going home now, and we’re going to figure this shit out. You have to believe what I told you, Darcy.”

I did believe him. Every word. But I struggled to find the right response when I had so much to say. I’d spent three years living with an addict. I knew every ugly side of addiction. I knew the lies, the self-obsession, and the way hurt piled upon hurt every time Rob insisted he’d cleaned up, only to start using again. But that experience didn’t figure in the things I should have explained to Oliver. I felt the words would choke me if I attempted to get them out.

Two men featured in Annabelle’s video. Oliver and Rob.

The more I’d come to know the world of addicts, dealers and meth cooks, the more I’d suspected Rob was dealing, because in the early days our money wasn’t being drained to support his habit. That didn’t happen until later.

My guilty mind continued to chant Oliver’s words. I wanted to look that little fuck of a dealer in the eye when I bought his drugs, and make sure he understood what a lowlife piece of scum I thought he was.

I was certain that if I told him I’d spent three years in a relationship with that ‘lowlife piece of scum’ we were finished.

Oliver kept a tight hold on my hand as we walked back to his home. The entire way I tried to formulate a confession but by the time we reached the house I’d given myself a temporary reprieve. Oliver had enough on his mind, dealing with Annabelle’s demands. Now wasn’t the time to add my drama to the mix.

Luther met us at the door.

“Are you good, Darcy?”

“Sure, thanks.” Luther being civil just made the situation more unnerving.

We settled in the living room. Oliver still had hold of my hand as if I’d run away.

“Right. I’ve drafted this to send to Annabelle,” Luther said, passing a single-page document to Oliver. “It will buy us time. I’ve got my guy digging through her past. You can be sure someone like her won’t have a sparkling background.”

Oliver and I read it together. He dropped it on the coffee table, rubbing his mouth. “You’ve threatened her with the cops. Is that wise? What if she calls your bluff and beats us there?”

“She won’t. We have evidence of her trying to blackmail you. All she has is a shitty video of you buying something from a stranger. Sure, it looks like a drug deal, but we can argue it’s fundraising candy and nobody could prove us wrong.”

“Okay. Go for it.”

“Good, I’m sending it now. You can pour the drinks.”

Oliver finally released my hand. “What can I get you?” he asked.

I wanted a drink. Something strong. Something that would bite, and burn as I swallowed. Something that would create a radiating ball of heat in my chest that would make me gasp. But I didn’t trust myself with anything that would lower my guard. I might have conquered the truth-drug effect of post-climax endorphins, but if I added alcohol, I’d be vulnerable.

Luther was too clever. He’d spot the weakness and take me by the hand directly to the confessional booth.

“You know, I’m pretty wiped out,” I said. “I think I’ll leave you guys to it and take a bath.”

“Are you sure?”

I nodded.

“You’re staying here tonight?”

This time it was a question rather than a statement.

“Yes, thank you.”

Oliver stood and pulled me to my feet. “This will be gone in the morning. We’ll be laughing about it next week.”

Luther’s phone dinged. He picked it up and grinned. “Bullseye.”

“Already?” Oliver asked.

“Yep. Message from Annabelle: You cunt.” He snorted. “I never realized she was so eloquent.”

Oliver’s phone chimed. “Looks like I got one, too. Let’s see.” He swiped the screen. “You’re going to regret this.”

Luther rolled his eyes. “You’re not, but she will. I’m not leaving her alone now, Oli, until she fucks off back to the sewer she crawled out of, and takes all of her shit with her.”

I’d made it to the door that would take me down the hallway toward our room and the bathroom when Luther stopped me.

“Stay and celebrate with us, Darcy,” Luther said. He really was making an effort.

“Thanks, but I’m beat.” Even though his invitation sounded genuine, he was still a terrier.

I filled the tub, loading it with the bath salts I hoped would soothe me. I’d just slipped into the water when Oliver appeared in the bathroom. Fully clothed, fully stunning.

“I brought you tea, unless you’ve changed your mind and you’d like something stronger.”

Even weary, I wished Luther wasn’t here and that Oliver would join me in the bath. I wanted him to invigorate and heal me with that abundance of highly charged energy that seemed to flow from him and fill every corner of the room. He placed the tea on a low shelf and sat on the bath’s edge.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Good, I’m relaxed.”

“That bath’s hot. Look how pink you are.” He soaked a sponge in the water, raised it, then squeezed, making a pattern over me with the stream of water. Across my chest, over each breast, concentrating on my nipples until that they turned into hard pebbles of desire. “All pink, and beautiful, and hurt,” he said, dipping the sponge into the bathwater again. I didn’t realize until then how attuned I’d become to the notes in his voice. The way it changed when he was aroused, or doing business, or making a joke. No matter what the iteration, his voice never failed to affect me. Right now I was raw, and his tone, smoothed with empathy, threatened to crack me open.

I lowered my eyes from his stunning face and concentrated on the stream of water as he directed the flow, back and forth, like a hypnotist’s watch chain.

“I want to know what you’re hiding, Darcy. Not now, not tonight.” Trickle, trickle. “Soon, though.”

My heart thumped so hard I thought he would see it fighting the constraints of my chest.

“My mother rejected my love. Annabelle betrayed my trust.”

Such an expressive voice, yet it gave away none of the emotion that you’d expect with statements like that.

Trickle, trickle.

“Rejection and betrayal are the ingredients in a recipe to create an asshole,” he continued smoothly. “So, my revenge is to not be that asshole.”

I held my breath, hoping his revelations wouldn’t slay me.

“When I tell you that I trust you, I believe you won’t make me regret it. I expect you to believe you can trust me, too. That’s a lot to ask, but I think we’re worth it.”

It was difficult to swallow past the thick lump in my throat. I wished I was a big enough person to exact the same type of revenge Oliver managed.

He wrung out the sponge and placed it on the shelf. “This is getting cold,” he said, passing me the mug of tea. “Enjoy your bath.”

I stopped him at the door. “Oliver…” I could tell him in a rush. Say it fast, without logical construction. A jumble of words that would slow him down while he unraveled them into sensible order. He’d have questions that would help me make sense of my story, and if he trusted me, he’d believe me.

He shook his head. “Enjoy your bath.”

I woke when he came to bed, smelling of whisky peat, leather and cigars. The near day-old growth of his beard scratched my cheek, and the way he cradled me in the secure curve of his body put me right back to sleep again.

When I woke for the second time, the sun was rising across my body and I was alone. Through the bank of windows I could see down to the river. Oliver and Luther were standing on the jetty tending a net.

I pulled on some clothes and met them as they walked across the lawn. Two magnificent men. They brimmed with confidence and achievement when the events of the previous evening were a fresh bruise blooming across my emotions.

“The hunters have returned with breakfast,” Luther said, lifting the lid off a cooler to show the flounder they’d netted in the river.

There were half a dozen in the bin. Oliver came behind me as I bent to look, slipping an arm around my waist. He was soaked below the waist, as was Luther, from wading through the river dragging the net between them.

“Good morning, beautiful.” He kissed my jaw and tugged at my earring with his teeth.

I met his mouth with mine, waiting for Luther to tell us to get a room, or knock it off, but our show of affection didn’t bother him.

I broke the kiss and pulled away from Oliver. “You’re wet.”

“I am. Are you?” He grinned. “I was so fucking hard when I woke, I didn’t want to leave you. But last night Luther suggested you’d probably never had Waitapu flounder for breakfast, and seeing as the tide was ideal, we should get you some. I must have had too much to drink because I agreed. Forgive me. We’ll fuck later.”

“I’ll keep you to that,” I said, laughing. I glanced at Luther who was cleaning the fish on a rustic-looking slab of wood propped up on a trestle. “His attitude toward me has changed. If this keeps up, I might even start to like him.”

“He trusts you. It’s taken a while, but once you’re in his circle he’ll want to nanny you the way he does me.”

I’d never before thought of trust as a burden, but at that moment it weighed heavily on me.

“Do you want me to cook the fish?”

“That’s all prepped, come and see.”

Oliver led me back down to the river where a small, ancient cast-iron oven was embedded in an alcove carved into a rock. He opened the door, blasting us with heat. “Luther doesn’t sleep a lot, so he’s been stoking this since dawn. We’ll wrap the fish with some lemon and it’ll be done in minutes. You can make some of your amazing coffee while I have a quick shower.”

As we crossed the lawn I wondered at this life Oliver had. It was filled with work, and friends, and comfort balanced with the pain he’d experienced. I carried the sins of association like a time-bomb in my back pocket. One bad move, one indiscreet comment, and that thing was going to blow.

I sat at breakfast as if I didn’t have a secret bobbing in my throat. We talked about the fish, it truly was stunning, before the conversation shifted to my coffee-making skills. My secret pulsed. I offered to make more coffee.

“You’re right, Oli. This one’s a keeper,” Luther said as I went to the kitchen and fired up the machine. When I returned, balancing mugs on a tray, Luther was drawing battle plans in a tight scrawl down the outside margin of the morning paper.

“I have every fucking eventuality covered. Annabelle is going to wish she never stepped foot in this country.”

“Has she called—”

Oliver cut me off. “Ignore him. Luther is an over achiever.”

“I can leave you guys to business, if you want.” The lightness in my voice belied the heaviness I felt. I wanted to leave them. I needed time to think, to really absorb what had happened yesterday. The bath, Oliver’s kindness, the fresh fish for breakfast, were all a balm that temporarily made things okay. But the things I hid grew larger the closer they moved to the surface, and I needed time alone to make a decision as to how I’d deal with them.

I pushed back from the table and started gathering things, a flurry of plates and condiments that I piled onto the tray. I spoke as fast as I stacked. “I’m going to head back to the cottage. I have a lot of work to do. Luther, there are contracts I need arranged for the artists. The agency was going to send mock-ups of artwork for the tickets and programs. I’m behind on compiling—”

Oliver stilled my hand. “Slow down. It’s okay. Go and work. I’ll call you in a couple of hours.”