Clean Break (A Little Like Destiny Book 3) Page 3

  She’s been right about everything else so far, but this one’s harder to buy.

  * * *

  It’s later that afternoon when a text buzzes through on my phone.

  Mary: Destiny.

  My heart races. I don’t even know how to get to his place, but he sends another text before I have the chance to tell him that.

  Mary: Todd will be downstairs in five minutes to pick you up.

  I want to ask if I should bring my duffel bag, if this is going to be an overnight thing, if this is cause for celebration. I don’t ask, though, and I don’t bring it. I don’t want to come across as presumptuous.

  Me: See you soon.

  After I send the text, I change his contact information back to Mark in my phone. I have nothing to hide from anybody.

  A black Yukon rolls up to the curb just as I walk out the front doors of Lizzie’s building. I recognize Todd as he ushers me into the backseat, and then we’re on our way to Mark’s.

  It’s only a ten-minute drive, but it’s ten fretful minutes filled with anxious thoughts and nervous energy. Part of me is thrilled to see him—to hold him in my arms again, to tell him how much I love him and need him, to kiss him and be the rock he needs right now.

  But the other part of me is terrified. Last night before Brian’s big confession, we said things to each other that meant the end of us, and I still have the other woman in those pictures to consider.

  Each second that drags me closer to his building pushes another tingle of fear through me. By the time we arrive, my entire body is a mass of anxious prickles.

  The doorman greets me and I spot Vinny standing next to the elevator. I walk toward him. He nods in greeting, inserts a key into the keypad in the elevator, and leaves me to ride up alone.

  I knock on Mark’s door once the elevator lets me off on his floor, my heart pounding so loudly I feel it in my ears. He doesn’t answer even though he’s expecting me. I try the handle, and the door opens.

  “Hello?” I call. I step through the door and close it behind me. I lock it for good measure, then turn to walk through the huge, quiet condo toward the door that will take me to the roof. Each step of my foot causes my heart to pound just a little harder. I’m not sure why I’m filled with sudden nerves. This is a good thing. Mark wants to see me. He reached out to me for the first time since he thought I chose Brian.

  This is where we make up. I decide to push out the nerves and replace them with a solid helping of hope.

  I’m met with a mixture of memories when I step out onto the roof. Some are good, like the night Mark told me about where he drew the inspiration for the Vail song “Fading Tower.” Others aren’t so good, like last night when Mark broke his brother’s nose.

  I spot him right away, and the very second I see his posture, fear races down my spine. Just the way he stands tells me this isn’t the happy reunion I’d hoped for.

  His hands are gripping the handrail as he looks out over the buildings that inspired the song he wrote. His right hand is bandaged with gauze around his knuckles, but his left isn’t. His head is bent forward, his shoulders sloping down like he has the weight of the world on him, and he looks lost in thought. I walk up beside him quietly and place my hands on the cool metal handrail.

  “Hi,” I say softly.

  He draws in a deep breath. This is where I expect him to look at me, to give me some indication that we’re going to be okay. He keeps his eyes forward, and the fear transforms to a shudder of dread that spreads through my chest. “Hey.”

  I study his profile. His green eyes that normally look at me with such warmth stare straight ahead, and they’re hard and icy. He doesn’t look like the man I’ve come to know. Something’s changed, something in his expression, and I don’t know what it is. He’s back to being the inaccessible rock star he always was despite everything we’ve been through together, and I’m terrified I’ve lost him for good this time.

  He runs a hand through his hair and down the side of his stubble. It should be my hand there, my palm against his cheek as I comfort him and hold him.

  Instead, I’m gripping the handrail with white knuckles as I brace myself for the worst.

  He steps away from the railing and walks over to the couch. I turn to watch him, expecting him to sit, but he doesn’t. Instead, he picks up a piece of paper and hands it to me.

  I glance down at it. “What’s this?”

  “It’s a first-class ticket back to Vegas. I had Vick schedule you a flight tonight.”

  I stare at the paper and then look up at him, my brows furrowed in total confusion. What about the funeral? Does he have work in Vegas? Why aren’t we just taking his plane back?

  “Thank you,” I say instead of asking those questions. “Will your plane stay here?”

  His brows draw in for a beat in confusion, then understanding seems to dawn. He nods. “Yes. With me.”

  “You’re not going back to Vegas with me?”

  He shakes his head, and the fear and anxiety that planted roots in my stomach start to bloom in my blood. My heart pounds.

  “Why not?”

  He blows out a breath and sets his hands back on the rail as his gaze falls back to the buildings. “I want to say it’s because I have work in LA after the funeral and I have to go to New York to meet with label executives in a few days.”

  “You want to say that?”

  His head moves up and down. “It’s all true. But there’s something else.”

  My heart, the same one that just started mending itself back together with the hope we had a chance, gains a brand-new fissure at his statement.

  “What is it?” I ask. My fingers grip the handrail so hard they start to ache.

  “I love you, Reese.” His voice is soft and laced with pain. He doesn’t look at me, instead keeping his eyes focused on the buildings in front of him as he delivers the words that’ll replay in my head for many nights to come. “But love’s not enough. I feel like shit about what went down last night. I need to put my family first right now, especially with the funeral in a couple days, and I can’t do that and be with you.”

  The heat that stings behind my eyes tips over and tears wet my cheeks as they stream down my face. My chest burns and my stomach hurts as I stare at the back of the man I love.

  I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to tell him this is wrong, that we belong together. How do you fight someone who wants to put his family first? Of course family comes first. I just thought I was becoming part of that family for him.

  Now, though, I’m sure I’m not.

  He finally faces me. He runs his thumb along my cheek, catching one of my tears, and then he pulls me against him and I sob outright. Low wails accompany my tears as my fragile heart is fully decimated.

  I came here expecting a reunion, but I’ll leave with a hole in my chest and aching disappointment swimming through my blood.

  I breathe him in, memorizing the sandalwood and the feel of his arms wrapped around me as he comforts me after his harsh words.

  “This is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do,” he whispers.

  I look up at him through watery eyes. “Then why are you doing it?” I ask. I want to know why our love isn’t enough—why I’m not enough.

  He kisses me softly, and when he breaks the kiss, he leans his forehead against mine. “Because I have to. I can’t see any way to make this work.”

  My chest aches at his words, but I don’t know what to say to convince him otherwise.

  He takes my hand and we walk together toward the stairs to his condo. We both move slowly, like this isn’t something either of us wants, yet we can’t change it. I wish I had the magical answer, the one thing that would fix all this, but I don’t.

  Mark freezes just outside the hallway that leads toward his bedroom. We both glance in that direction and then I feel his eyes on me as the tears continue to race down my cheeks.

  I want to go in his bedroom with him, to show him how I feel about h
im, to find a way to change his mind.

  His breath catches in his throat as our eyes meet, and I watch as the emotions play out on his expression. This is just as hard for him as it is for me. I see the pain there, feel his heartbreak in my chest like it’s my own heart, damaged beyond repair now. He clears his throat but doesn’t say anything, and I know it’s his way of asking me into his bedroom.

  My head screams no as I stare down at the first-class ticket in my hand. It’s wrong. It’ll only fuck further with my emotions. I’m upset over the other woman, the things left unexplained, the words left unsaid. I’m devastated that he’s ending what we have.

  But my heart speaks louder, and my heart can’t say no to him. It’s just like that first night we met. I couldn’t leave Mandalay Bay without my shot with him, and this is my last chance to be with him one final time. My only chance to say goodbye.

  It might fuck with my emotions, but I need this. I need to feel him one last time. I need to know the connection I felt with him was real.

  “Will you please come with me?” he asks softly.

  I don’t respond with words; instead, I merely nod.

  The shades are drawn. We’re just two shadows moving in darkness. We stop beside the bed, and he takes my face between his warm, talented hands, the gauze on his right hand rough against my cheek.

  He cups my face and lowers his mouth to mine. He opens my mouth with his tongue, kissing me desperately as tears fall down my cheeks. I wrap my arms around his waist and feel him tremble beneath my touch.

  I taste the sting of salt in our kiss as my tears mingle with his, which only makes me hurt more for what we’re giving up.

  We slowly undress each other through quiet moans of pleasure and soft lamentations of loss. He caresses my skin, worships and cherishes me, kisses and holds me—proves to me how he only knows how to show what’s in his heart through actions. If either of us had the words, we might be able to save this...but his mind is made up. He’s putting everyone else first, just like he always does, and because I’m an extension of his heart, I come last with him.

  It’s not fair, but I’m only seeing it from my side. I can’t fight against his family. I won’t—it’s the one thing he has in his life that isn’t tainted by mainstream media.

  He rolls on a condom and pushes himself into me as I lie on my back. Tears run down my face, wetting the pillow and my ears, but I keep my eyes focused on his in the shadows of his bedroom as he moves slowly in and out of me, so agonizingly slowly and yet too fast because once we both release, it’ll all be over.

  And then we will be over.

  His tears drip onto my chest, my cheek, down my lips as he rocks sensually into me. We’re both quiet as our bodies connect and souls entwine. There’s no moaning and groaning our way through this, just the occasional grunt here or a quiet sniffle there.

  I memorize the full feeling of him inside me. I fight away the impending orgasm because I don’t want it to happen. He holds his off, too—I see it in the way his lips twist, the way his eyes squeeze shut, the way he pulls out for a beat before he pushes back in. I feel it in the way he holds still inside of me, his eyes intense and loving on mine.

  Everything aches except the parts of me he’s touching, and I don’t know how I’ll move forward from this, how I’ll ever get past him or find love or happiness again if I can’t have it with him. I won’t. I know I won’t.

  When his thrusts turn from slow and tender to a little rougher, a little harder, I know we’re both getting close. The intense pleasure is too good to push away, and while neither of us wants this to end, it has to.

  Everything ends.

  It’s a depressing and sad truth, and this time in his bed is just another reminder of that.

  I cry through my release, the sobs attacking me as pleasure racks my body. He whispers my name over and over, a prayer on his tongue as he comes.

  He collapses over me for a few blissful and quiet moments. I stroke his head where it lays on my chest between my breasts, breathing in his scent and trying to feel and experience every detail. The sandalwood in my nostrils, the softness of his hair beneath my fingertips, the sounds of our heavy breathing mixed with occasional sniffles, the taste of his peppermint mouth, his silhouette in the darkness through my tears.

  He gets rid of the condom, and by the time he comes back, I’m already dressed, clutching my plane ticket in my hands.

  “Stay,” he whispers. “Stay until your flight.”

  “It’s only prolonging the inevitable. If this is the end, I need a clean break.”

  He pulls on his jeans. “I wish it could be different.”

  “It could be,” I say, my voice full of all the hope that’s in my chest.

  He walks over toward me and shakes his head sadly. “No, it can’t.”

  I run my fingertips along his jawline then tip my chin up to press a soft kiss to his lips. “Goodbye, Mark.”

  I don’t wait to hear his whispered goodbye. The idea of his last words to me being goodbye is too heavy. I walk out of his bedroom, through his condo, out his front door, and out of his life.

  five

  I should’ve stayed at Mark’s place, but I had to get out of there. Instead, I spend the next several hours on a hard chair at the airport as I wait for my flight. I board and slide into a seat in first class, thankful for his final gift to me.

  I debate texting Jill before we take off to ask if she can pick me up from the airport in a few hours, but I don’t want to bother her at four in the morning when my flight lands. I’ll catch a cab or get an Uber home. These are the things I allow to occupy my thoughts, because if I allow Mark in my head for even a second, I’ll break. Instead, I stare out the window and focus on the darkness the entire flight home.

  The house is quiet when I step through the doors, but it’s exactly as I left it.

  I’m different, though.

  The last time I left here, I had a duffel bag—which is still at Mark’s house in Los Angeles—and my purse. I still have my purse, but now I have a new duffel filled with things someone else bought for me. Oh, and there’s the whole thing with my heart.

  I left it on a rooftop in Chicago.

  It’s weird walking around without that piece of me. I can still breathe, though, and where there’s breath, there’s hope.

  At least that’s what I tell myself, because if I wallow in the misery that’s ready to crash into me at any second, I’m not sure how I’ll survive.

  The house is empty. I assume Jill is at Becker’s. I take advantage of the peace. I don’t think about what just happened; instead, I shut off my thoughts, crawl into bed, close my eyes, and drift to sleep.

  When I wake up a few hours later, I finally text Jill.

  Me: I’m back home. Might head to Phoenix for a few days before school starts.

  My phone rings a few minutes later, and I see my best friend’s name flash across the screen.

  “Hey,” I answer.

  “What are you doing home? Is Mark with you?”

  “Nope.” I don’t say more. I can’t seem to speak around the sudden lump in my throat.

  “I’m on my way to an event I have to cover, but then I’ll be home and we’ll talk, okay?” Her voice is comforting.

  I clear my throat and take a sip of water to force that lump away. “Don’t worry about me.” I don’t want to interrupt her life with my bullshit issues.

  “Where’s Mark?”

  “Chicago.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s over.” Someday I’ll be able to say those words without feeling the pain slicing through me.

  “Oh my God, Reese! Why? What happened?”

  “Their grandfather died, Brian was using me the whole time, Mark beat the shit out of Brian, and then he chose his family over me. Over us.”

  “Jesus Christ. Okay, this event can wait. I’m on my way home.”

  “Stop it. You have work to do. I’ll be okay.”

  She sighs. “Give me an
hour. Two tops. I’ll be there.”

  “Okay.” I’d fight her, but for one thing, it would be futile, and for another, I could use my best friend right now.

  My phone notifies me of a text after we hang up. My heart races when I see the name on the screen. I quickly open it to read what he has to say.

  Mark: You make it home ok? I sent a ride to the airport and he said he never found you.

  Me: I’m home. Got an Uber.

  And that’s it. We leave it at that, the last words we’ll ever exchange.

  That thought is what finally pushes me over the delicate edge I’ve been balancing on since I left Chicago. I crawl into my bed and allow the grief to wash over me.

  I realize I need to get out of bed, need to find something more productive to do with my time. I log onto my laptop and finally check the work email that’s been sitting untouched for nearly a month. I have a new one from my principal asking me when I can meet with him. I’m reminded of something Brian said up on that rooftop.

  I had to do some handiwork with the principal of her school to make sure Reese would be the one who came begging for a donation.

  Did Mr. Monroe know something about FDB Tech Corp? Was he in cahoots with Brian—or was this something Brian did all on his own?

  Brian easily could’ve looked me up. He had half my belongings in his hands when I dumped my purse all over the floor that morning I got off the elevator and ran into him. He could’ve seen my name or my school keychain or my identification badge—anything, really.

  After I clean up my email and write Mr. Monroe back that I’ll stop by his office sometime this week, I open last year’s syllabus and set to work on revising it. I’m in a foul mood and I’m sure it’s leaking through to my bitchy new class policies. I blare some music to distract myself.

  Just as I finish the paragraph I’m typing, a Vail song comes on my playlist. I read over my paragraph and delete the whole thing. No late assignments will be accepted.

  I pull up Lizzie’s contact info and shoot off the text I’ve been thinking about sending all morning to her.