“Nothin’ would stop me from doin’ it,” he assured me, putting his fist out.
Thinking of my psychopath older sisters, I filled my veins with every inch of hard-earned resolve I had within me, and fist bumped him. We looked at each other for a moment before hugging, just a second, not a good-bye but an ‘I’ll see you later.’
Down the stairs, I ignored the bare walls I’d be looking at for the last time. The sound of voices in the living room almost had me glancing over, but I didn’t care enough to waste the energy.
I was over this.
In the kitchen, I pulled my work phone out of my bag, fished my keys out of my purse, and pulled Aiden’s house, mailbox, and PO Box key off the ring. Setting those four items on the kitchen island, I rubbed at my eyebrow with the back of my hand, adjusted my purple-framed glasses, and tried to make sure I hadn’t left anything lying around. Then again, if I left something, Zac could grab it for me.
I rubbed my pants with the palms of my hands and slung my purse over my shoulder, nervous anticipation flooding my stomach. I was doing this. I was fucking doing it.
“Could you go out and grab me something to eat?” Trevor asked, suddenly standing in the kitchen when I turned around to leave.
While I knew I was supposed to kill even this dipshit with kindness, I couldn’t dig deep enough inside of me to be an adult. This was the last time I’d have to put up with his crap; I’d never have to see him again, deal with him again. Amen and thank you, Jesus.
“No,” I replied with a little smirk on my face. “Dinner Roll is leaving now. Please make sure to tell Aiden later on when no one else is around that I said he can eat shit.”
Trevor’s mouth gaped. “What?”
Going out in a mini blaze of glory, I wiggled my fingers at him over my shoulder as I walked out of the kitchen. Just as I reached for the door, I turned to peek in the living room to find Aiden on one couch talking to the reporter. For a brief split second, those brown eyes met mine across the room, and I’d swear on my life a crease formed between his eyebrows.
Just as I opened the door, and before I could talk myself out of it, I mouthed, “I deserve better, asshole,” making sure he read my lips as I did it. Then I raised my middle finger up at him and waved good-bye with it.
I hope they both got syphilis.
Chapter Five
One week turned into two, then three, and finally four.
In the days that followed me walking out of Aiden’s house, and subsequently quitting my job, I thought about Aiden a lot more than I would have ever expected when I wasn’t busy working. Most of those times didn’t even revolve around me wanting to kill him either.
After I walked out of his house, my foot couldn’t hit the gas pedal fast enough to get me home. The first thing I did was start on a new project, more determined than ever to succeed at what I loved doing. I was ready and willing to bust my ass to make things work, no matter the cost.
The ties had been cut as far as I was concerned.
Aiden had been a fucking jackass, when I had never accused him of being anything other than practical and determined. I could relate to that, but I couldn’t connect with him being such a traitor. I was no Trevor or Rob. I didn’t make extra money off the choices he made, and if anything, things were better for me when he was happier. Hadn’t I tried to do what was best for him? Hadn’t I tried to do things that made him happy?
Yet he’d let that asswipe talk about me when I’d spent last Christmas in Dallas, instead of going to see my little brother, because he still hadn’t been able to move around much at that point.
Unfortunately, I thought about Aiden first thing in the morning for days after I walked out. My body wasn’t used to sleeping in until eight; even on my days off, I was usually up and about by six. I thought about him as I made my breakfast and chomped on breakfast sausage. Then I thought about him again at lunchtime and dinner, so used to making his meals and eating part of them.
Each day for those first two weeks of freedom, I thought about him often. You couldn’t work with someone five, six, or even sometimes seven days a week for two years without getting into a routine. I knew I couldn’t just erase him from my life like he’d been drawn in with a pencil.
Much less erase that moment when I realized I’d been holding on to a job with a man who wouldn’t come to my funeral, even if it fell on a day he was supposed to rest. The fact I had family members who wouldn’t go to my funeral didn’t really help ease the sting of it enough.
After a few days, my anger abated, but that feeling of betrayal that had seared my lungs didn’t exactly go away completely. Something had been going on with him; that much had been obvious. Maybe under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t have acted like such a massive prick.
But he had crossed the thin little line I’d drawn in the imaginary sand. And I did what felt right.
So it was done.
I kept living my life as my own boss, which was exactly what I’d planned on doing anyway.
And I didn’t look back at what I’d done.
* * *
I was speed-walking toward my apartment one night after a visit to the gym, finalizing the last brainstorming touches I wanted to add to a paperback design I was aiming to finish before I went to bed, when I spotted a figure sitting at the bottom of the stairs. Patting the pepper spray I always kept within reach, especially when I was in my complex, I narrowed my eyes and wondered who the hell would be sitting there right then.
It was nine o’clock at night. Only drug dealers hung around outside at our complex after dark. Everyone else knew better. Plus, who liked sitting outside with the summer heat and mosquitos?
With that in mind, I walked a little faster, conscious that my knee ached only a little after my two-mile run. Two miles! It had only taken me half a month of jogging four times a week to work up to a steady one-mile distance, and then I’d added another mile, going just a bit faster. It was something, and I was proud of myself. The plan was to up another mile this week.
My hand was still on my pepper spray as I kept a wary eye on the… man; it was definitely a man sitting at the foot of the steps. I squinted. My keys were in my free hand, ready to get put to good use, either to open my door or to stab somebody in the eye if it came down to it.
I had just started pulling my spray out when a male voice spoke up.
“Vanessa?”
For one split second, I froze at the sound of the rumbling, raspy tone, more than slightly caught off guard at the fact that this stranger sitting on the stairs knew my name.
Then it hit me. Recognition.
I stopped in place just as the not-a-stranger stood up, and I blinked.
“Hey.” My ex-boss straightened to his impressive full height, confirming it was him. Aiden. It was Aiden. Here.
Crouched down, he could have been any guy who worked out, especially when he had his arms tucked into his sides, hiding the girth of muscles that made him famous. The possibility that this was the first time he’d ever used the ‘H’ word with me was the first thought that ran through my head before I blurted out, “What are you doing here?”
I was definitely frowning. My forehead was creasing and scrunching up as I took him in, in his T-shirt and shorts, for the first time in a month.