Page 75 of Endless Love


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“Fine, then I won’t open them.”

I press my hands against his chest and push him off, storming back to our bedroom. If he doesn’t want it the easy way, there’s only one way left, him going mad and either chasing me or waiting for me fuming. Something will work, it has to.

I put on a pair of worn jeans, a casual sweatshirt, and chose a pair of sneakers and pack a sports bag where I put my swimsuit, a towel, a brush, mascara, shower gel, and my shampoo. I pause at the door, watching him seated on the couch with the laptop in front of him. I shut the door behind me and rush to the elevator.

With my thumb on the engine start button, I realize my mistake. He would just have to track his car to find me. I hop out, deciding I won’t make it easy for him. He wants me to stop protecting him. Well, he should stop being secretive. Fair game.

I step out of the building, and my phone rings, but I switch it to silent. Let’s see if he likes it. I take my time, swimming, indulging myself with a spa treatment for another two hours. I also have a manicure and pedicure. By the time I leave the spa, it’s dinner time. I stop when I inhale the mouth-watering smell of homemade dough out of the oven.

I check my phone. Ten missed calls and five texts, all from Damien. I already know what every one of them says. I pay and go back home.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

BRIA

My heart pounds in my chest, a hefty dose of guilt assaulting me. I slide the key card, and when the door clicks open, everything turns dark. Something isn’t right. I can sense it.

“You keep doing it, Bria, repeatedly,” he slurs, and I freeze.

Yesterday comes crushing back, and now today it’s us from years ago, but we’re not the same. Now, pushing the other ends with us hurting. Are we actually this incapable of normalcy? I love him, and he loves me. We both have to accept we won’t get those seven years back, but we could love each other in a reasonable way in which we could make the other understand our motives.

Wake up, Bria, you’re not eighteen, and he’s not twenty anymore. Those two innocent people vanished on your eighteenth birthday, slaughtered in a hotel room. This epiphany sends a bolt of understanding through my head because we chose to love like this—changed, altered, scarred.

“I searched for you for four hours.”

“Are you drunk?” I ask, even though the answer is evident. I walk toward the couch and slump on it, staring at him through wet lashes. He grabs his face between his hands, his hair disheveled, a portrait of pain, and continues to rant.

“I came back home and counted every one of your clothes. You played with my worst fear. What did you want to achieve? Testing me or pushing my limits? I know you like to do both, but did it cross your mind to trust me?”

I spring to my feet and shout, “Damien, I’d never leave you.”

“And what was this?” he yells back at me and points to the door.

“I wanted to push you to admit something is going on with you, and I’m not imagining things.”

“I’m only human. God, Bria . . .” He drops to his knees, breaking down. I straddle his lap and he presses me to him, and I caress his jaw.

“Baby, what’s wrong?”

“You want to know? I’ll tell you as you said you wouldn’t leave me. This is your chance to prove it.”

“Damien?” My voice shakes, fear settling in my core. He slams his eyes shut, and when he opens them, the resolve behind them shows I won’t like what comes next.

“I hired security for you. You’ll never leave the house without them. Where you go, they go too.” Oh no, he didn’t, and I dig my finger in his chest.

“You can’t do that. I hate it. You know that. Why would you make me accept something like this?” His eyes bulge out, staring at me, disbelief written all over his face.

“Because you were threatened and because I need a clear head. I must also run a fucking company.”

“I don’t need a babysitter.”

“There are three.” My mouth hangs open.

“What? When? Why . . . you can’t.”

“I can, and I will. I haven’t lost you to illness, I haven’t lost you because of my stupidity. I won’t fucking lose you at the hands of a lunatic.”

I stomp to our bedroom. It’s late, but I don’t care. I pick up the phone and dial Alex.

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