Chapter 34

I wait for Ian to grab me, to fuck me, to do whatever he’s going to do with me.

It doesn’t matter, whatever it is. I’m so numb I won’t feel it anyway. His is just one more betrayal in a long line that’s led me here.

A bodyguard who’d rather fuck me than keep me safe.

A father who sold me out for ticket sales.

A mother who plays with my sanity like it’s a toy.

And now Ian, the only lover who’s ever mattered turning me into collateral damage for a story he wants to tell.

Is it any wonder I’m so tired? Any wonder I just want to get this over with?

But long seconds pass and he doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. I’d be tempted to look at him, but I don’t want to see the contempt on his face. I just want to finish this, once and for all.

He doesn’t seem to feel the same way, though, because he just stands there, fists clenched by his sides as more and more time slips by. The silence is deafening, breaking over us like so many forgotten promises.

Finally, I can’t stand it anymore and I tilt my head up until our eyes meet. His are pitch black and tormented, his face a mask of regret and rage so deep it strikes at the very heart of me. I stumble a little under the force of it all even as I wonder what he has to be angry about.

It’s not until my name is a broken cry on his lips that I realize I’ve spoken aloud. And then he’s dropping to his knees at my feet, burying his face in my stomach. Wrapping his arms around my waist.

“I’m sorry,” he tells me. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry. Jesus, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to do this to you. I didn’t mean—” His voice breaks again. And then he’s shuddering, his whole body shaking as he wraps himself more and more tightly around me.

And still I don’t get it, still I don’t understand. Until I feel a wetness against my stomach, warm and silky, and only then do I realize that he is crying.

For me.

Ian Sharpe is crying for me when I don’t have the strength or even the will to cry for myself.

I don’t know how to feel about that. Don’t know what to think. But before I even realize I’m going to do it, I move my hands to his head. Tangle my fingers in the cool silk of his hair.

“Ssh, don’t cry, Ian,” I tell him softly. “Please don’t cry.”

His only response is more violent shudders, more tears against my skin.”I’m sorry,” he says again. “I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”

“Okay,” I tell him, because I don’t know what else to say.

“It’s not okay. I was so hell-bent on making sure I wasn’t a monster that I became one after all. I hurt the one person that I would never want to hurt and I did it why? Because I was afraid of turning out like my brother? Because I was afraid the same darkness lived in me and I wanted to prove it wasn’t true?” His voice is ripe with self-disgust. “I was so caught up in studying the darkness, in trying to understand it, that I dragged you down into it without even thinking about what I was doing to you. To us.”

“There is no us.” I don’t say it to hurt him, but he flinches all the same.

“I know. But there could have been. There should have been. And I know saying I’m sorry isn’t good enough. I know it doesn’t mean anything, but it’s true all the same. I’m so sorry that I didn’t think about what my demons would do to you. So sorry that I let my fears get in the way of what we could have been. But that’s on me, Veronica. It’s all on me. None of this is your fault. None of this is because of you.”

He looks up at me then, his beautiful dark eyes still glistening with tears and something more. Something I’ve never seen before and don’t quite know how to identify. And still just the sight of it cracks something open deep inside of me, a spark of warmth blooming in a sea of ice. No one’s ever cried for me before. No one’s ever cared enough to hurt like this just because I hurt.

“You are amazing, Veronica. You’re brilliant and kind and talented and beautiful and you don’t deserve any of the shit that’s come your way. None of it is your fault. None of it.

“William Vargas should have been protecting you. Your parents should have been protecting you. I—” His voice breaks and he clears his throat. Starts again. “I should have been protecting you. You have been betrayed by every single person who should have been looking out for you. Who should have been taking care of you. And for that I am so, so desperately sorry. I will always be sorry.”

He tightens his hold around my waist, pulls me so close that I can feel his heart beating frantically against my stomach. “I get that I’ve given you no reason to trust me—that no one in your life has ever given you a reason to trust them. But I love you, Veronica. I love—”

“Stop.” I force the word out past my too tight throat. “Please. Don’t say that.”

Suddenly it’s all too much. Ian’s words. The look on his face. The feel of his arms holding me like he’s never going to let me go. I can’t think, can’t breathe.

I push at him, struggling against his hold until he figures out what I’m asking for and opens his arms.

Lets me go.

I stumble back, stumble across the room to the French doors that overlook the patio. I shove them open and all but fall outside. I take great gulps of air, pulling it into my oxygen-deprived lungs. I don’t believe what he’s saying. I won’t believe it. I can’t believe it. Not if I ever want a chance at being okay again.

Because if I believe him and it turns out that he’s lying…If it turns out he’s lying then I might as well just give up right now, because I can’t take one more blow and survive. I have nothing left to give and nothing left to lose, except whatever small piece of my soul is still intact.

“It’s okay, baby.” Ian is right beside me, draping his jacket around my shoulders. Stroking a gentle hand down my back. “Just take it easy. Take a few deep breaths.”

I nod even as I do as he says. In through the mouth, hold seven seconds, out through the mouth. I do it again and again, until I can finally breathe without bleeding. I turn to look at him—Ian deserves that much, I think. “I can’t,” I tell him and I know that I should be more articulate. But it’s all I can think, the only phrase running through my head right now. I can’t. I can’t. Ican’tIcan’tIcan’t.

It must be enough, though, because he nods sadly.

“I know, baby.” His voice is filled with sadness, with a resignation that cuts deep into my already shattered heart. “I know.”

Still, he’s opened up so much I feel like he deserves something more than those two words, no matter how inarticulate it might be. “It’s not that I don’t…”

He freezes, his hand stopping mid-rub. “You don’t what?” he asks, his voice hushed in the cold night air.

But I just shake my head and look up at the endless stretch of star-strewn sky above us. I can’t say it. He can’t make me say it.

“I’m not writing the book,” he tells me for the second time tonight. “I know you have no reason to believe me, but I’m standing right here in front of you, promising you that I will not write that book. That no one will ever hear your story from me. I’ve already told the publisher I’ve hit a dead end and given back the advance money. The book is dead.”

“I don’t understand.” I turn to look at him, trying to figure out why he would do something like that.

But he looks as shattered as I feel. “I know you don’t. And that’s the worst part of this whole damn thing. That you’ve been hurt so badly and so many times that you don’t expect the man who loves you to put you first.

“But I am, and I swear to you, Veronica, that from here on out I always will. Even if this is the end. Even if you never talk to me again after tonight. I promise you, I will never betray you again.”

“Your career—”

“Means nothing compared to you. I would give it up today if it meant I could have you. If it meant that you would give me a chance to love you the way you deserve to be loved.”

“You don’t mean that.” He can’t mean it. No one does that, no one tanks their whole career for love. That only happens in the movies, not the movie business.

“I do mean it. I know you don’t believe me. Just like I know the only way to prove it to you is for you to see that there is no book. Not now. Not next year. Not five years from now or ten or fifty years down the line. There will be never be a book.

“And if you give me the chance, I will prove it to you. I will spend every day of my life loving you and giving you a reason to believe in me. To believe in us. But I can’t do it alone. I will meet you ninety-nine percent of the way, I will do whatever I have to to make you feel safe and loved and happy. But you have to take the first step. You have to go the one percent. You have to let me in, Veronica. Please, just let me in and I will do whatever it takes to make you happy.”

I want to believe him. I want to say yes. But I’m not strong enough and I never will be. Not for what he’s asking of me.

I shrug out of his jacket, then hold it out to him. “You should go.” For long seconds, he doesn’t move. He just looks at me, lips tight, jaw working, pupils blown wide open. But I don’t back down and eventually he reaches for his jacket. “You’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever met,” he tells me, bending down to drop a tender kiss on my cheek. “And I will always be grateful that I had the chance to love you.”

And then he walks away, through the living room and down the front door. I don’t follow him, but I know he’s left when I hear the beep of the alarm that signals the opening and closing of the front door.

I don’t go inside once he’s gone. Instead, I stand out on the patio and watch the waves rolling in. They always follow the same pattern. Building up at sea, rolling in, crashing against the shore. Over and over and over again they do this. It’s an infinite cycle, the water washing back out to sea only to become a wave and crash on the shore once more.

I wonder what would happen, though, if everything changed. If the moon shifted radically and the waves no longer crashed into the sand. Would we miss it or would we just accept the new reality like it was always meant to be?

I close my eyes, listen to the roar of the ocean. The splash of the waves on the shore. The shimmy of the water in retreat. And know that I would miss it every day for the rest of my life. Even if the new reality was better. Even if it made more sense. There is something about the sound of the ocean crashing that speaks to my soul in a way that nothing else does.

Nothing besides Ian, that is.

I’m doing the right thing. I know I am. He’s only been a part of my reality for seven weeks—once he’s gone, I’ll adjust to the new reality of life without him in it. Of course I will. Seven weeks is nothing. It’s a press junket. An awards season. It’s nothing.

Or it could be everything. If I let it.

I can’t, I tell myself again. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.

But even after I close my eyes, Ian is all I can see. He’s all I can hear, all I can feel, all I can taste. And I ache with the need to touch him just one more time.

Except he’s gone and I’m the one who sent him away.

It’s better this way. Better for him to go now when there’s still a chance I can recover. When there’s still a chance I can recover from needing him.

I don’t want to need him. I don’t want to need anybody. It’s better that way…for everybody. After all, I’ll never be able to trust him again. Not after he lied to me. Not after he used me.

Not after he…saved me. The realization slams through me. Because he did save me. Unlike the man I knew as Liam Brogan. Unlike my father. Unlike my mother. Ian saved me. What more could I ask of him? What more proof could I possibly want? He’s already humbled himself in front of me, already given me his word—and his tears. And I threw them back in his face.

Shit.

I turn around and dash through the patio doors before racing madly down the hallway to the entryway. I made the wrong decision. It was the safe decision, but it was the wrong one.

I lay on the speed, tell myself that I can still catch him. That I can still—

I freeze as I hit the foyer. Because Ian is standing there, leaning against the front door with his arms across his chest and his legs crossed at the ankles.

“Going somewhere?” he asks, eyebrows raised as he looks me over from head to toe.

That’s when I realize I’m still naked. Of course I am. “That’s the second time you’ve saved me from wandering L.A. in my birthday suit.”

“It is indeed.” He smiles. “Most people would say that’s reason enough to keep me around.”

“Maybe they would. But I’m not most people.”

“Believe me, I am well aware of that fact.”

“And yet you’re still here.”

He makes an agreeing sound. “I am.”

“Why is that?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I was waiting for you.”

It’s my turn to arch a brow. “Waiting for me to do what exactly?”

“Waiting for you to realize you love me, too. Obviously.”

“You were so sure that was going to happen?”

“Sure, no? Desperate for it to happen? Absolutely. On the bright side, I had a strong hunch you were going to come around.”

“A strong hunch, huh?” I cross the foyer to meet him, wrapping my arms around his waist so I can stick my hands in his back pockets. “And why is that?”

“Because this is Hollywood, baby. Happy endings are what you do.”

“They are indeed.” I lean into him, tilt my head up for his kiss. “You sure you want me to be your happy ending?”

“You’re already my happy ending, Veronica. I want you to be my everything.”

Fuck. “You can’t just go around saying things like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I love you.” My eyes well. I’m not embarrassed, though, because his do, too.

“I love you, too, sweetheart. And I’m so fucking sorry I didn’t tell you—”

“Hey!” I slap a hand over his mouth. “No apologies after the credits roll. Hollywood rules.”

“Oh, right.” His grin turns wicked. “Well, then, is there anything we can do after the credits?”

I glance down at my still nude form. “Maybe. Since we’ve got the R-rating and all.”

“Forget R,” he says with a snort as he sweeps me into his arms. “I say we go for NC-17.”