Isaac stares at me for several long seconds while deciding his next move. I want him to uphold his arrogance, to swing at me like he really wants to, because then I won’t need to worry about the law. I’ll be well within my rights to protect myself, one bloody fist at a time.
My wish is left unanswered when Isaac shifts his eyes to Ryan. “You have a week. If you don’t arrest Theresa by then, I’ll take matters into my own hands.”
I’m about to interject, to fire off a comment that it won’t be the first time he’s gotten his hands dirty, but his next set of words cuts me off. “If I’m going to be accused of something, I may as well do it.”
With that, he spins on his heels and heads into the living room Isabelle entered ten minutes ago, not bothering to show us the way out.
“He’s not who you think he is,” Ryan says when my vicious glare locks with his wide eyes.
“He’s not? Then what the fuck was that?” I nudge my head in the direction Isaac just walked. “He’ll take matters into his own hands? Who says that?”
Stealing his chance to issue one of the many thoughts in his head, I exit Isaac’s property as quickly as I entered it. I’ve barely made it three steps down the pebbled driveway when my fight switches from business to personal.
“You had no right to interview my client without his attorney present.” Regan darts out of the back of a taxi. Her face is as red as mine, her fists just as tightly clenched.
Her casual look and messy bun make my cock swell, but not enough to make my anger subside. She couldn’t find more than a few twenty-minute slots to talk to me the past two days, but she can jump in a taxi and trek across town to defend Isaac. That’s fucked.
When I tell Regan that, the vein in her neck works overtime. “Because he’s my client, Alex! Why can’t you get that through your thick head?!” Her eyes bounce between mine as the anger lining her face grows. “You won’t stop, will you? You’ll keep pushing and pushing and pushing until you force me to pick a team.”
Tears well in her eyes when I fail to deny her assumption. I do want her to pick. I want her to pick me. Isaac has had her at his side for years; it’s my turn.
“I won’t do it, Alex.” Her voice is lower now, more reserved. I don’t know if spotting Ryan’s approach from our right is the cause for her dropped tone or what she says next. “I forced someone to pick his team once before, and look how that ended. I won’t do it again.”
Remorse hits me like a ton of bricks. I forgot about the time she forced Luca to pick. He died the same night. “Rae. . .”
She slices her hand in the air, silently begging for me to give her a minute to gain her composure. When several deep inhalations fail to subdue either her anger or her devastation, she slides into the back of the cab. She throws money at the cab driver, demanding he floor the gas. The reason for her desire to flee quickly comes to light when I spot a bunch of tears splashing down her cheeks. Others may see them as just blobs of moisture, but to me they reveal her heartache, devastation, and disappointment. And unfortunately, she believes I’m to blame for them all.
I try to let her go, to remember I’m not the one in the wrong here, but the further her taxi rolls away from me, the stupider I feel. I’m not letting my personal life affect my work; I’m letting my work interfere with my personal life.
With a grunt, I push off my feet and charge down Isaac’s driveway before my brain can cite an objection. I want to keep the promise I made to Dane, but I want Regan more than anything. She’s worth more than regret, revenge, or any other fucked up emotion I’ve been pummeled with the past six years. I won’t have a life worth living if she isn’t in it.
I chase Regan’s taxi out of Isaac’s driveway and halfway down his hilly street before my fucked up knee stops me. It buckles beneath me, sending me and my large frame skidding across the asphalt. Gravel digs into my palms as the roadside shreds the flesh on my knees, but it’s nothing compared to the pain tearing through my heart when Regan’s taxi continues its journey, her heartache too high to stop and check if I’m okay.
Thirty-Four
Regan
“You smell like puke.”
Laughing, Raquel slides into the seat next to me. The milk vomit rolling down my shoulder is the story of my life lately. Dad got a little eager bouncing Axel on his knee while watching his children open the Christmas presents he arrived with five days ago, but instead of him wearing baby puke as if it’s a fur coat, I suffered from his lack of judgment.
What did I say?The story of my life.
Realizing Christmas Day isn’t the day for deep reflection, I ask, “Don’t you have a grown man to mother?”
Raquel tucks her legs under her bottom before twisting her torso to face me. “I’ve been relieved from my duties.”
“By whom?” I know it wasn’t Isaac, as he mentioned bringing in additional staff to help her with Hugo’s rehabilitation only last night.
Raquel shrugs. “Hugo called me early this morning. Said something about taking a trip.”
Her casual tone shocks me. Hugo doesn’t take trips. He’s a ghost. Ghosts don’t have family to visit. Unless. . .
“Did he say where he was going?”
Raquel shakes her head. “No, but it can’t be local. He called at 3 AM.”
I grimace. That’s the equivalent of witching hour for Hugo. He’s not a fan of early rising.
