“And she’s dead.”
“Because she chose to get involved with your father. Because he chose to kill her. You were not a party to the decisions that lead to her death.”
“I started the cycle.”
“Did you? Because there are rumors that she dated him before you and then went back to him.”
The idea punches me in the gut for reasons I can’t even let myself identify right now. “That’s not true.”
“How do you know?”
I set the ice cream down, reach for the journal and lift it. “Because she wrote about it all. Because the police say so. Because she said so.”
Bella curls her fingers around the blanket and eases back into the chair again. “How long has it been since you dated her?’
“Over a year.”
“That’s a long time, Tyler. Too long for you to wrap yourself in the blame game."
I set the journal on the table beside the ice cream, taunting us both with its presence. “If you read her words, you’d hate me.”
“You try to make me hate you most days at work, and you still don’t succeed. I’m not easily manipulated. Relationships always have two subjective sides, and I have no business inside yours. Neither did your father. He tried to demean your role at Hawk Legal every chance he got. He was getting old, and he wasn’t ready to let you be the king of the castle. No doubt, he wanted what you have. Youth, success, and her. He did this, not you. Remember that. Please.”
I pick up the ice cream pint again, wondering how she’d react if I mixed a shot in with it.
She scoots forward and grabs the remote to the television. Instinctively, I set down the ice cream and reach out and grab her hand. She sucks in a breath. I hold one in, a muscle in my jaw pulsing. I’ve made the mistake of removing the contact barrier and now that I’ve touched her, I want to keep touching her.
Her eyes lift to mine, and she clears her throat. “If you don’t want to watch TV—”
I force myself to let her go, not pull her to me, dropping her hand before I lose the resolve to do so. “I don’t want to watch the news. The media can’t seem to talk about anything but my family.”
“I was thinking about torturing you with a chick flick. I saw on my listings earlier that Dirty Dancing is showing. Patrick Swayze.” She sighs and thumps her chest with her fist. “Be still my heart.” She indicates the remote. “Can I?”
“I’ve never watched a chick flick in my life. Somehow today doesn’t seem like that day.”
Her eyes go wide. “Never?”
“Never.”
She does this delicate little grunt thing and says, “Just one of the many reasons you’re single at thirty-four.”
That comment shouldn’t jab as badly as it does, but mixed with Allison’s words in the journal, it downright stings. “By choice,” I assure her, and considering I’m more than a little curious about her love life, I add, “And you’re single as well.”
“By choice,” she assures me, offering me not even a tease about her personal life. “And I’m twenty-seven, not thirty-four.” She gives me this little chin tilt, as if it celebrates the perfection of her comeback reply, then adds, “I really thought something warmhearted rather than murderous was a good idea right about now.”
She’s not wrong. I motion to the remote. “Turn on your damn chick flick.”
She smiles, and it lights up the room, and I swear even a tiny spot in my black heart, right along with it. She turns on the television, and before the news can begin to play, punches in the station of choice. Patrick Swayze fills the screen. I finish off my ice cream, every last bite, and Bella does the same. I gather two additional pints and carry them to the fridge. When I return, her eyes are shut. I sit back down and find myself staring at her. Just staring at her, spellbound by her beauty, which is more than her looks, which are obviously stunning. Bella’s beauty radiates from within.
Thunder claps like heavy hands above and while I jolt with the impact, she does not. She feels safe here with me, and I can’t figure out why. But then, maybe she knows more about me than me, because when I should be stripping her naked and pulling her onto my lap, I am not. Just as I should wake her up and send her on her way.
But I don’t.
The truth, which I would never admit to anyone, is I don’t want to be alone.
I ease into the couch cushion, low and comfortable, and shut my eyes.
When I open them again, the room is dark, the rain has faded into the night. I blink and sit up, to realize the movie has long ended and Terminator is playing. Clearly, this channel plays old movies. My eyes land on the chair where Bella rested, only to find the blanket on the ground and her missing. The idea that she left while I slept is oddly anger-inducing. Why the fuck did she leave? And why the fuck am I unhappy about it?
I stand, my spine stiff, and that’s when I see her shoes on the floor. She’s still here. Where the hell is she? A sound reaches my ears from my bedroom, and my anger ratchets up tenfold. Why is she in my bedroom? What game is she playing? I step around the couch and walk toward the fireplace and enter my room just to the right of the crackling flame.
The room smells of her perfume and my cock twitches.
The bathroom door is shut and holy hell I’m hot and hard at the idea that she’s naked in there, and planning to surprise me. But I’m still as angry as I am burning alive at the prospect. I can’t protect her from me when I’m battling with what it even means to be me. I’m not in the right headspace for games of the flesh when they pertain to Bella.
I step to the door and knock, the thundering of my fist on the wood no match for the pounding in my chest or the throb of my cock. The door swings open and Bella appears, still fully dressed. The mix of disappointment and relief is not pleasant and does nothing to eliminate my anger, but rather these things spike it times ten.
“What are you doing in my bedroom?” I demand.
Her eyes go wide, a blush rushing over her otherwise pale skin, creating a blood-red stain. I don’t miss the way it blanches her neck and rapidly travels toward her neckline. Nor do I stop myself from wondering just how far down it reaches.
“I ah—” she murmurs. “I couldn’t figure out where the guest bathroom was. I had to go badly and—I’m sorry.”
It’s as reasonable as it is unreasonable, considering the bathroom is right beside the door. “Coming here was not a smart decision. You need to leave.”
“You’re being a jerk.”
“Yes, well, you can choose if you hate me before or after your legs are wrapped around my neck, Bella. Because that’s what’s going to happen if you don’t leave now.” I step backward and give her room to exit.
Her spine straightens and her chin lifts in defiance. “We’re friends.”
“Friends don’t fuck and that’s exactly where my head is right now. I told you. You have two options—”
“I heard you,” she snaps. “I don’t need to hear it again. I’ll leave. You’re being a bastard.”
“Because I am a bastard, Bella. You’ve been warned. I won’t warn you again.”
She steps out of the bathroom and stops in front of me. “I said you’re being a bastard, not that you are one. It’s too bad you don’t understand the difference.” With that, she marches out of the room, and without turning, I know when she exits the bedroom. I feel the shift in the air.