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Josh
Pressing play on the music, I hold my hand out to Emily. “Dance with me.” Her nose scrunches up at my request.
“You wanna dance? To Limp Bizkit?”
“Babe, I’d dance with you to any music. In fact, there doesn’t even need to be music, and I’d still dance with you.”
“Okay, I officially know what it means to swoon now.” She takes my hand and I pull her up, out of the lounger, and to her feet.
I don’t waste time before I have her little body pressed tight against me. The feel of her curves under my palms, her scent surrounding me, hearing her cute little sighs as she relaxes in my hold—this right here is my ecstasy.
I don’t know how I survived living all those years without her. Actually, that’s a lie. I do know. I wasn’t fucking living. That became evident, really fucking fast, the minute she came crashing back into my life.
I listen to the lyrics to “Behind Blue Eyes” play softly, and the words couldn’t be closer to the truth. Because I am a bad man. I don’t have a conscience, but I do dream of a future. And every image I can conjure up, they all revolve around this woman.
Back in high school, I hated the feelings she evoked in me. I hated that I didn’t understand them. And I fucking hated myself, knowing I couldn’t do anything with them. So, I shoved them down. Loved her from the sidelines. Watched her every chance I got.
I’m not sure she even knows the extent at which I used to watch her from the shadows. But how else was I meant to protect her? To shield her from the assholes we went to school with.
Emily tips her head back and looks up at the rafters above us. “This reminds me of graduation night, all the fairy lights. Did you hang them yourself up here?”
“I did.”
“Why?” she pushes. I was hoping she’d drop it. If she didn’t ask, I didn’t have to admit that I’ve spent countless nights staring up at these lights, recalling graduation night. But she asked, and I won’t ever lie to her. Omit the truth? Sometimes. If it’s for her own good, sure. But lying is not something I could ever do with her.
“I like fairy lights.” I shrug.
“You like fairy lights? Why?” She laughs.
“I like them because the twinkle in them reminds me of your eyes. Every time I used to get a glimpse of your blue eyes back in high school, I swore I could see a light reflecting in them. I’ve spent many nights up here, replaying every memory I could conjure up of your eyes.”
“I don’t get it. I know that you love me, Josh. I can feel your love deep down in my soul. I’ve never doubted it—well, maybe I’ve doubted it sometimes. But your love, the thought of knowing that there was still one person in the world who loved me like no other. That knowledge got me through a lot of my darkest times. But what I don’t understand is why? If you love me as much as you do, then why the hell did you make me leave?”
I can feel her body stiffen the moment she finishes her question. How the hell do I answer that? That’s a fucking loaded question. But when I look down into her terrified eyes, I know I have to answer her. She needs to know there isn’t a damn thing she should be too afraid to ask me.
I press stop on the music and pull her into my lap as I fall back down on the lounger. My fingers run through her hair. It amazes me how it’s always so soft and silky. I love the feel of it in my hands.
“I need you to promise me that whatever I say, you will hear me out until I finish. It’s not a pretty story, Em, and I really would urge you to reconsider needing to hear it.” I kiss her lips. I need to seal her to me. I need to feel her connection. She already has one foot out the fucking door. After hearing everything, I wouldn’t be surprised if it tipped her over the edge and made her sprint for the fucking hills.
“I know that I don’t say it much. But I do love you, Joshua McKinley. There is nothing you can possibly tell me that will make me think any differently of you.”
Her words somewhat put me at ease. But she doesn’t know what she’s about to hear. I can barely think about the horrors that the McKinley dynasty was built on. How is someone as fucking perfect as she is ever going to agree to become one of us? Because whether she accepts it or not, she is mine. She is one of us. I’ve already instructed my team of solicitors to change my will, stating that in the event something were to happen to me, everything I own, my majority shares in McKinley Industries—it will all go to her.
“Okay. I was eighteen, Emmy. My father was still in control of everything. I had no way of protecting you. That’s why I had to let you go. Because I knew if I kept you, like every fibre of my fucking being ached to, I would have been signing your death certificate. He would never have let me keep you.”
It doesn’t escape me that she did, in fact, have a death certificate signed anyway. Thank fuck it was a fucking forgery.
“What do you mean? What did you need to protect me from?”
“My father. The McKinley dynasty. The shady shit my father was involved in.”
“What kind of shit?”
I take a deep breath. “Mostly money laundering. However, if it was underhanded, my father probably had his claws in it.”
“Money laundering? Why? Your family clearly is not short on funds,” she asks.
“It wasn’t always about the money. It was about power. My father craved power. He controlled a lot of shady fuckers’ money—who, in turn, gave him power.”
