Filthy English

“We aren’t those people anymore,” I said, watching him pace.

He strode back over to me, eyes flashing. “The thing is, I don’t think I could ever leave you, Remi.”

“Dax, please.” His voice was breaking me. I didn’t understand.

“Since your dad died, you’ve gotten it in your head what kind of man you need to be happy. I’m not it.” He paused. “And now you decide I’m the one. I can’t . . .” He let me go, grabbed his shirt off the counter, and slipped it back on. “I—I need a break from this.”

I clutched the counter. He needed a break? The word pinged around in my head. God. Hartford had wanted a break, too. My chest rose.

“Dax, don’t . . .” My voice croaked, and I stopped, afraid I’d cry.

His expression was torn as he gazed at me, his eyes excruciatingly vulnerable. He opened his mouth to speak but slammed it shut. “I’m scared, Remi. Fucking scared. You. Can. Hurt. Me.”

And he was gone.

I held onto the counter as he left out the back door.

I was free to love, and all he had to do was claim me—but he hadn’t.

Malcolm walked in the kitchen slowly, and by the look on his face, I suspected he’d heard us. He wrapped his arms around me.

“You’ll always have me, Remi. I’ll even let you win at Scrabble.”

I squeezed him tighter.

I DIDN’T SEE him Thursday.

I ignored him in class on Friday.

He looked like shit.

I didn’t did care.

I jumped up to leave right as class ended, determined to not glance back. I looked—dammit—and his eyes were on me. Focused in. Raking over each inch of me.

After my classes, I got an excited call from Lulu, who said her roomie Carla had decided to move in permanently with her boyfriend, thus leaving me with the option of contacting the housing department and checking if I could fill her spot. I called immediately, and it was a done deal.

That night, Lulu and Malcolm came to the house to help me pack clothes and necessities. I’d be leaving the bedroom furniture until we had more time to arrange for the heavy lifting. Malcolm offered to help, and he was strong, but I wasn’t sure he or Lulu would be able to help me without the proper equipment. Moving completely out would take some time.

“You could ask Hartford?” Lulu suggested, but I nixed that idea. We were done, and me asking favors would confuse things.

I was determined to do this on my own.

“Good thing there’s already a bed in the dorm room,” Lulu mused as she took in my queen-sized headboard and chest of drawers.

“Yeah.” I wiped sweat off my forehead and pulled my shirt away from my chest to get some air. “I think we can get the end table in your truck though. Wanna try?”

The table was made from pressed wood; Malcolm insisted he’d do it, so we moved out of his way as he picked it up and eased it down the stairs carefully while I walked in front of him in case he stumbled.

We’d just gotten the last box of my clothes in the back of Lulu’s truck when Dax’s car came to a halt on the street.

He jumped out of the car and strode toward us.

“Oh, shit. Here comes some bloody British trouble—dammit, he’s hot, even sweaty. You think he’s dangerous? Want me to stay or go?”

“He won’t hurt me. You guys get in the truck and give us a moment.”

“Too bad I don’t have any popcorn in the cab.” She motioned for Malcolm to get in on the passenger side while she got behind the wheel. Both of them turned around to watch.

“What’s going on?” He looked in the back of the truck, taking in the contents.

Once again, he’d just come from the gym, wearing a tank and a pair of black nylon shorts. His tattoo was out there for everyone to see.

“I’m moving.”

“Where?”

“Dax, look—”

“Sonofabitch!” he yelled. “You’re moving in with Hartford, aren’t you?”

“Never. There’s a spot open in Lulu’s room.”

He raked a hand through his hair. His chest rose. “Fuck.”

I let out a breath. “Dax, look, you’ve barely been here all week. I feel like I’m the one pushing you away from something you should be proud of. You just bought this place.”

“I’m here now.”

“Not the way I want,” I said softly, my heart aching. I sucked in a breath.

He paced around me. Angry. “So, this is it? No warning. No note. No call. Not even a text—just you sneaking away while I’m gone.”

I rubbed at my wrist. My bracelet was packed away. “I was going to leave you a note.”

“I don’t care about a note, Remi! You’re leaving me.” He shook his head, his voice cracking. “Just like I said you would.”

“No, it’s not like that,” I whispered.

I was leaving him for my own sanity. I felt unhinged here without him, walking around his house, waiting for him to appear like some mysterious ghost. This house was nothing without him here. And someday—someday he’d walk in with a pretty coed, and I would lose my fucking mind. I’d crack wide open.

I forced evenness into my voice, trying to rein in the emotion. God, it was so hard to walk away from him, but I had to get some backbone. “I’m in the way of you having a home. We can’t keep pretending we want different things. Someday you’ll bring a girl home and—”