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I sat staring at the screen long after they ceased. There was nothing quite like being rejected.
Hot, cold. Hot, cold.
What made him pull away again? And at what point should my patience run out?
Ares
Sitting in Sia’s room later that night, I watched her sleep. The light from the hall hit the rails of her crib and cast shadows like prison bars over her tiny form.
So vulnerable.
And she only had me. Whatever choices I made for my life, I made for hers as well.
If I chose wrong, as my father had, she’d grow up in a cage barred with neglect and disdain.
I leaned my head back against the wall and closed my eyes.
Always so fucking tired.
I arrived at the office that morning fully intending to arrange a time to talk to Hope. I wanted to be honest with her. Confess the fears and doubts that plagued me. I rubbed the tightness at the back of my neck in defeat.
Offer her an out.
She had people who loved her, and she most definitely did not need my baggage.
Standing outside her door, I listened as Ratcliffe raked her over the coals. Up until that point, I considered him a blustering fool, but harmless. Hearing him speak to Hope in that manner filled me with rage.
The intensity of it alarmed me. The urge to wrap my hands around his throat and drive him through the nearest wall rode me hard.
Hope’s replies filled me with pride. I carefully backed away from her door. She didn’t need me to stand up for her.
But I was going to do it anyway.
I clenched my jaw in irritation. The woman needed to develop a poker face. The confusion pinching her pretty features when I entered the elevator with that prick, Ratcliffe.
Her open, straightforward text messages.
They gutted me.
She had no armor.
Yet she found all the chinks in mine. She made me feel things for which I was woefully unprepared.
I was stumbling around in the dark. And I did not like to stumble.
Three times I attempted to tap out a reply before giving up.
Ratcliffe had her in his sights. In more ways than one. His sly comments in the elevator had my hands rolling into fists. The look on his assistant’s face mirrored my own disgust for the man.
But my poker face gave nothing away. Perhaps he took that as encouragement.
When we discussed the contract to shoot the Fashion Show, I suggested documenting behind the scenes as well. People loved that.
And I’d be around to keep an eye on Hope.
Like the voyeur she claimed me to be.
I knew what I had to do and there was no way to explain without involving her. I couldn’t risk it.
