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After Haven’s ass stays in the air for a full minute she finally yanks her dress back down and faces me. “Your loss.”
“Haven, for god’s sake level with me.”
She holds the door and waits. “I won’t confuse you by failing to say goodbye this time. Goodbye, Conner Wiseman. It was fun while it lasted.”
Sure, I could plant myself in a chair and refuse to leave. Make this ugly. But Haven doesn’t crack under pressure. She’s stubborn and she’s intense. There’s no moving her if she doesn’t want to move. I do love those qualities. I just wish she wasn’t using them to make herself unreachable right now.
That doesn’t mean I’m surrendering.
It just means I’ll have to find another way to get through to her.
I don’t know where to find the answers. But luckily I’ve got someone in my corner who will have some ideas.
“This isn’t over,” I tell her.
“Not your call, quarterback.” Haven pushes me out and slams the door to her office.
Too bad. I’m making it my fucking call.
As I storm out of the club I get a brief glimpse of Fiona’s startled face, and another of Alex’s smug grin. A male voice breaks through the din, squawking my last name. Fuck it, I’m not in the mood to entertain anyone. I acknowledge no one and refuse to say a word until I’m back in my truck. Then I place a call.
Gage answers right away. “What’s up?”
He’s already alert, knowing I’m not one to call out of the blue on Saturday night for no reason.
“Need your help.” I tell him what I know, which isn’t much. But my cousin spent years in a world defined by crime and brutality. If my suspicions are correct and the Marchenkos are forcing Haven to play defense for reasons unknown, he’ll root out the truth. Gage has all the connections in the world and nothing stays hidden from him for long.
Haven should know better than to assume I’ll retreat with no questions.
What we have isn’t something that comes around all that often.
And come hell or high water, she and I aren’t even close to finished.
Chapter20
Haven
The wake of club hours is typically peaceful. After the last customer exits and the music dies it’s a favorite habit of mine to sit at the bar and drink a whiskey sour in solitude.
That tradition has changed a little since Conner happened. In the calm hush of the frenzied aftermath we would have a drink together. We would banter and laugh over things that are unimportant. Then we’d go find a bed and screw until we passed out in a tangle of sheets.
Tonight, however, I’m once again drinking alone.
I’m drinking alone because I drove Conner away.
The first swallow of the whiskey goes down harsh, mingling with the sour heaviness of sadness.
I hurt him. I know I did. Even though that was my intention, I still hate myself for the pained confusion stamped on his face.
Conner Wiseman is a man unlike any other. He’s sexy and sincere and humorous and loyal. When I’m with him I could swear my feet hardly touch the ground. I’ve seen how women throw themselves at him. He could have anyone he wants. Somehow he’s chosen me.
And this is what I do to him. Taunt him with one of my former fuck boys and then throw him out of my life.
Sometimes I lie to other people but I don’t lie to myself. That would be an unspeakably pathetic thing to do. I’m keenly aware that I don’t deserve Conner. I never did.
I’m also aware that I am in deeply love with him. What’s more, the odds that I will ever feel this way about anyone else are zero.
My hand closes around the whiskey glass and squeezes. Maybe I’d like to crack the glass, to feel the shards pierce my skin and mingle my blood with the burning alcohol. Create a new source of pain to compete with the self-inflicted bruise in my heart.
