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He's giving me space and not pushing me for more, but he’s still… there. Watching and lurking and trying with all the thoughtful things he’s doing for me. But are those acts of kindness, of trying to make me feel comfortable, or even a prolonging of his apology?
Or are they more?
My mother was right about my heart being in danger. There is no one more irresistibly dangerous to me than Lenox Moore.
I watch him for a moment, his tall, broad frame and the strong muscles in his back moving against the soft fabric of his gray Henley as he plays. How this beast of a man can pull the most achingly beautiful sound from a box of wood and strings is pure magic. Does he truly like being this alone, or has it become second nature to him? Is he hiding from the world because he doesn’t feel deserving, or is his reason for that far more sinister?
I find myself padding softly over to him, my fuzzy socks slipping silently across the floor, but he doesn’t react to my presence when I finally reach his side other than to scoot over to make room for me to sit. He must have heard me and Alice come in. He continues playing, his hands flying up and down the black-and-white keys, with no sheet music set before him. Whatever he’s playing is either from memory or being created in the moment.
Of all the Central Square guys, he and Grey are by far the most talented, and I can’t help but get lost in the way he plays. In the incredible music that fills the room, bouncing off the high surfaces and surrounding me in the beauty of its notes.
After a few minutes, I’m lulled into some sort of hypnotic state, my eyes closing and my head landing on his shoulder. He places a kiss on top of my head, and I sigh, smiling wistfully. I’m suddenly filled with such a tragic sense of misery and irony I swear my heart is about to give out on me.
Because I could do this.
I could live in Maine in my dream home on the lake in the middle of the woods. I could open a private practice in town and make it my own. I could fall asleep every night and wake up every morning with him wrapped around me. And I could happily sit on this piano bench and listen to him play anytime he does.
I could do all that forever.
But in my heart, in my head, I know this is only temporary. And I realize I’m hurting with that because I want that picture in my head to be my reality, my future. I’ve always wanted that with him. And no amount of protection or distance can erase that reality.
It’s Lenox. It’s always been Lenox.
There is no getting over him. There is only living with the pain of never being able to truly have him. Like a chronic condition, I may be able to treat the symptoms but will never be able to eradicate the underlying disease. I revel in that truth, bleed with it, and when I’ve come to terms with it, I tuck it into its own space in my heart instead of allowing it to continue to bleed me dry.
“Did you get Ezra arrested?” I ask when his fingers start to slow and I’m positive I have control over my voice and emotions.
He finishes off his song and shifts on the bench, forcing me to sit upright. He peers at me and answers, “Yes,” without so much as a blink of his eyes or a twitch.
“Are the drug charges fake?”
“The warrant was fake. The drug use and what they found on him is not. I didn’t have anything planted.”
“I never knew he was using drugs.”
“Recreationally. More since you left him. I noticed it in Vegas, and it prompted me to do some more digging into that. He did also have an unpaid speeding ticket, which is what gave me the idea in the first place. I didn’t set him up with anything he wasn’t already guilty of.”
“Okay.”
He gives me a wry smirk. “Just okay? I was expecting you to ream me out when you found out what I did.”
I shake my head and run my fingers through his soft, thick hair, staring at him with resigned sadness. I can say all that I want about him. I can put up a thousand walls and remind myself a thousand more times where letting him in once took me. But the truth is, hating him is ridiculous, avoiding him is futile, and building wall after wall only ends with him repeatedly knocking them down.
All without him even having to try.
“I spoke to my mother.”
“And?”
“And she’s sending me my dad’s personal laptop. Alfie has been asking for it, and she told him she threw it out. She also doesn’t know why my father changed his will, but she reminded me of how I had come to them two months before the wedding and told them I couldn’t marry Ezra and that my father pressured me into staying and seeing it through. She told me he was under a great amount of stress because of it.”
“I haven’t found any link that ties Ezra to your father’s death. The only people he’s paid are bookies, and those were to settle debts. As far as I could tell, Ezra hardly ever interacted with your father directly and wouldn’t have any direct way of knowing about the will change since your father was so careful with it.”
That’s a relief, I guess. “And Alfie?”
“I’m still working on him. He’s a hacker, Georgia, and they take more care and time as their secrets are more difficult to find and unravel. Last night, when he tried to dig into your computer, I reverse-hacked him because he left it open and didn’t mask himself. A stupid mistake, but now it’s just a matter of time, and it will move faster than it has been. I’m in something he doesn’t want anyone in, and I will discover what he’s hiding.”
I still can’t believe all that I’m hearing. It’s too much. And yet, I’m not sure I’ve ever felt safer than I do here with Lenox. I stare at him, at this fierce, loyal, determined man. I’m so grateful for all he’s done for me. For all he’s doing for me.
