Page 2 of Dark Secret

“I bet you will,” Debra agreed and took her mask off. We finished up the business of payment, and soon I was on my way.

I knew I was just avoiding going home. I loved that place, and still did, but damn, it was big and empty with just me there. I didn’t like the way sound echoed back. Maybe I needed more furniture? Pillows and stuff like that. Big rooms always sounded emptier when there wasn’t a lot of clutter in them to dampen the sound.

I headed to the nearest mall and bought even more stuff to put around the house. Candles, candle holders, giant vases full of faux plant life, wall hangings, little chairs that would never hold the average American but would fill space, and even several sets of beer crates. They would hold … stuff. I didn’t know what, but I’d find something to put in them.

I headed home with my new household junk, and it took me four trips to empty out the car, but I didn’t care. It was eating up the minutes that I was alone. Another hour saw the house a little more decorated, but still silent. It also kind of looked like I’d gone crazy at a yard sale, but I didn’t care. The house didn’t feel as empty now.

That was the crux of the problem. My phone hadn’t beeped or buzzed all day long. I checked it quite often. Far more than I cared to admit. I was a sad case, but this was just pitiful. I didn’t even have business contacts to call me.

For a minute, I thought about calling Jessi just to see if she’d answer. I talked myself out of it and scrolled through my contacts. Dylan’s name was there at the top, an A in front of his name to make sure of that. My fingers hovered, and then finally I clicked on it. I’d send him a text message.

I composed a dozen different lines but deleted each one. He didn’t deserve me. Not if he couldn't take me without a contract, or at the very least, explain to me why he so desperately needed a contract. I knew the stories of men who had been taken to the cleaners, but in the majority of cases, things like being sued didn’t happen.

For that matter, he should’ve known by now that I wasn't like whoever the woman was who gave him such a complex. I wasn’t about to kid myself and pretend that this need for a contract was normal. I saw it as childish, but I also knew it was some deep part of his psyche, something in him that would not allow him to relax without that piece of paper to reassure him.

It was like women who wouldn’t have sex without marriage first. Did they really think that would stop a man from sleeping with another woman? Or that the marriage would last forever? Okay, maybe that was a bit snide of me to think like that, but really? What did people think a piece of paper could really do?

It was what the promise on that piece of paper said that mattered. As far as this ridiculous contract went, it held no water at all legally. A promise, as far as I was concerned, meant far more to me because I had a little bit of integrity. I didn’t like going back on my word, and if I said I’d do something, then I’d do it. Barring unforeseen circumstances, of course. Sometimes you just couldn’t get to a charity function if you were too busy being sick from a stomach bug you picked up from your niece or nephew. Otherwise, I did as I said I would.

So why Dylan felt this was necessary really got to me, you would think by now I’d proven myself to him. He’d done things to me, seen parts of me; seen me in situations that I’d never allowed another human being to experience. Didn’t that deserve some kind of trust? That was what it had boiled down to, really. He didn’t trust me. Or was it himself?

Now, where had that thought come from? I went to the fridge, poured myself a glass of wine, and came back to the couch. Was he afraid of himself maybe? Did he think that piece of paper would put a shield around him and prevent him from developing feelings for me? Was that it? If that was the case, he failed already.

The man had said from day one that he didn’t want a relationship. He’d asked me for a contract for a few days, then a couple of weeks, and now, he wanted another one? As I pointed out to him last night, we were already in a relationship by now. That brick wall he’d built with his contract hadn’t worked this time.

Maybe that was really the problem? He knew I’d already gotten under his skin, and that made me pause with the glass halfway to my mouth.

Dylan had feelings for me. Shit.

I blinked and then chugged my wine down.

It was so obvious, wasn’t it? Why hadn’t it dawned on me until now?

It hadn’t stopped him from asking for that contract, though. Would his feelings win out over his head now? Maybe?

I couldn’t swear that; I didn’t want a lifetime of what Dylan gave me. So far, he made me feel like I was perfect, as if no other woman could make him as happy as I did. If I was honest, I doubted anyone could make me as happy as he’d made me. I loved being with him, whether that was during sex, when we slept together peacefully, or when we were watching films.

I remembered our trip to the island and thought that might have been the most perfect time we’d had so far. I wanted more days like that, days when we were almost a normal couple. Days when I could care for him as more than just my sir. I wanted to rub his feet when he’d come home from work and to cook for him. I wanted to ease into long baths with him and wash the day away from his skin.

I wanted to hold him when he needed to be held and laugh with him when he needed that. Instead, I was alone on my couch, my pride intact, but my heart starting to crack. Trent had already broken it, but Dylan had put his own little crack there now.

I didn’t know if I could stand this loneliness or the way everything had turned out. I’d given up my family for my pride. I wasn’t even technically with Dylan, but I’d chosen him over my family. Well, that wasn’t the whole of it. They’d treated me like shit for ages now, and I’d basically dumped them because of it, but I would have gone back, eventually. If Trent hadn’t come over here and shown his ass.

I wouldn’t be disrespected in my own home by anybody, least of all my brother. I was paying the price for that pride, and before long, it might be me who cracked. I went for another glass of wine, the need to drown my sorrows strong now.

Dylan

She’d left me, and it was a hard concept to swallow. And I really needed to swallow; my mouth was as dry as a desert. My brain quieted down once I put my head on the pillow, and my thoughts turned right to Stephanie. I’d never been left by a partner before. Ever. Our time together would end, and they would move on; well, most of the time it was me who moved on, but I’d never been walked out on.

I’d woken up with a hangover of epic proportions, and the words she walked out on me banged in time with the pain that pulsed in my head. I rolled over in bed and stared at the window. How was it still dark outside? Surely the sun should have risen by now?

I flopped my hand around for my phone to see what time it was and blinded myself when the screen came on. The pain that lanced from my eyes into my brain was just one more thing telling me I’d had too much to drink last night.

It was seven pm. How the hell had that happened?

I went into the kitchen, where I’d left my laptop, and sure enough, the clock read 7:03. I’d scratched my head and tried to figure out how the fuck I’d slept the day away. I ignored the notifications of emails and messages on my laptop and phone and went into the bathroom. None of the attempts of contact were from Stephanie, so fuck it. I’d wanted a shower, a shave, and some kind of food.

And maybe a couple of aspirin with some orange juice. The orange juice gave me pause when I saw it in the fridge. I’d never kept juices or healthy snacks in the house until Stephanie came into my world. Now it was routine to grab some juice or a banana instead of a soda or a bag of chips.