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His shoulders stiffen. “What aren’t you telling me, McKenzie? There are obviously problems in your life. Why don’t you let me help you?”
“Nothing’s going on, Byron. It was probably drunk teenagers thinking they’re being funny, and my house was empty, so they went on the attack. It’s just my car so it’s not that big of a deal.”
Without asking permission, Byron pulls out his phone, hits his contact list, and arranges to have my car picked up and taken in for repairs. I’d try to stop him, but I’m learning to choose my battles. And the reality is that I need my car and I don’t have the emotional stamina left to deal with the problem right now.
When he hangs up, I move into my living room and sit. Byron follows, a look of concentration on his face, as if he’s trying to find the right words to say.
“Go pack some clothes,” he says. “I’ll take you to my house.”
I wait for him to continue, but he doesn’t say anything else. I close my eyes for a brief second. If I do that, I’ll become reliant on him, and that’s as dangerous as facing the man damaging my property. Maybe even more so.
“Our weekend’s over, Byron,” I finally say, crossing my arms against my chest.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He takes a step closer.
“I’m not going to your house, and I’m too tired to cook. I think you should leave.”
“What if whoever did that comes back?” he asks. “You aren’t safe.” He begins pacing my small living room, eating up the space and making it seem even smaller.
“I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time, and I don’t need to start leaning on anyone now,” I insist. I’m very close to falling apart. If he touches me, I’ll lose it.
“I need to take care of you.” I freeze. How can he take care of me when he thinks I’m such a terrible person? He can’t.
“This weekend was a bad idea. The sex was great, but now that we’re back, I realize that it... um... complicates things. I need to finish my job at Astor Construction, and you need to let me do it on my own. There’s no reason for this game to continue. It needs to end.”
His face goes blank, and he stares at me for several tense heartbeats. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”
This isn’t what I want, but it’s what I need. What I want is for him to take me in his arms and tell me I’ll never be hurt again. What I want is for him to want me for more than a good time in the closest bed. But that’s not what I tell him.
“Yes. It’s what I want.”
He moves to the couch and leans down, coming within inches of my face. “Be very sure that’s what you want, McKenzie. Because I don’t need to be told no over and over again. I wanted you; I pursued you. We had sex. If you really want me to go away, I’ll walk out your door and never come through it again,” he says as his hot breath caresses my face.
I wait until I’m sure my voice won’t shake, and I’m proud when the welling tears don’t come through in my words. “Would you like me to find a replacement at work tomorrow? I have two people who are more than ready to take my place at your company.”
His eyebrows come together and he draws half an inch closer. But he suddenly pushes back to put a distance of several feet between us.
“No. Be at work tomorrow. I’ll send a driver. And I’ll make sure your car’s in the parking garage in the morning.”
With this, he walks from my house. I hear him start the car, then pull away, and I sit as still as a statue. It’s at least fifteen minutes before I manage to stand and look out my window to verify that he’s gone. Only then, do I curl up into a ball on my couch and let the tears fall.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Byron
I need to remember that whatever doesn’t kill me makes me stronger. I don’t do regrets, and I don’t stay angry... for too long. Anger is for the weak and I’m not a weak person.
I’m trying to help McKenzie against all odds, and the woman has the nerve to throw it back in my face. This isn’t the first time she’s refused my help. Why do I keep coming back for more? It makes no sense.
I should’ve taken her up on her suggestion that she leave Astor Construction. I should say goodbye and never look back. But the mere thought of letting her go turns my guts inside out. I can’t let her go. What in the hell is going on with me?
I hit my fist against the steering wheel while stopped at a red light. When a car honks, I realize the light has turned and I’m still sitting here. Slamming my foot against the gas pedal, I peel away from the intersection with a squeal and make my way toward home.
McKenzie and I are nothing to each other. We aren’t even friends or lovers. We simply shared a casual weekend of sex, but that doesn’t put us in arelationship, and I shouldn’t give a damn if something’s going on in her life that’s causing her distress.
Try as I might to convince myself, I can’t help but worry, can’t help but feel compelled to step in and save her. It’s ridiculous, because I’m one of the people in line who want her destroyed — or at least I was. I should be able to send her out of my life without a second thought.
I make it home quickly and head inside. The change of scenery doesn’t change the tenor of my thoughts though. Why can’t I let this go? Why can’t I call her and tell her not to come into work, tell her she can go back to her accounting business free and clear. I can get over all of this.
