Unforgiven (28 page)

“It’s none of your business what I’m doing with her.”

“Well, I’m making it my business. I’m not going to watch you hurt this girl.”

“And why do you care?” His own anger was matching hers, and his goal instantly became defense, not rebuttal. “Does she suddenly deserve your concern? Do you really give a shit if I hurt her feelings, break her heart, take advantage of the poor little murderer?” His voice was cruel and cold. He was simply fighting at this point.

“I care! Yes! And I’m not going to watch you destroy her!” It was turning into an entryway shouting match.

“I’ll ask you again, why do you care?”

“Because your sister would be ashamed of me if I didn’t!” She shook her head. She was livid, and he was fuming. “And she’d be ashamed of you too.” Her voice cracked.

“Would she? Save your shame for that fucking bitch upstairs who took her away! She doesn’t deserve shit from me, and if I feel like dragging her worthless ass through my hell and destroying her, then so be it!” He was raging, and even as he spit the words out, the shame did sink in.

His mother shook her head in despair. He could see it in her expression. Utter sadness. For him, for Bailey, for Jess. They were all interchangeable at this point. She started to turn away, but she paused. “Whatever you may think she deserves, it will take you down too. You’re not capable of hurting that girl without destroying yourself. I’ve watched you fade away for six years. I don’t want to watch you disappear altogether. If you can’t treat Bailey with respect, then you cut her loose. Give her back her life.” And then she was gone, and he felt all the shit he was.

It was not as though they’d never argued. They’d argued plenty; it was just the family he’d been raised in. No one worried about biting their tongue. It wasn’t considered disrespectful to speak your mind in his world, but he’d be damned if he hadn’t been disrespectful. He felt challenged the second she opened her mouth, and for a man who was having a hard enough time wrapping his head around what was going on, he’d reacted poorly. He should have defended his actions, his intent, his ability to be decent to Bailey. Instead, he threw her concern for Bailey in her face, and he ultimately proved his mother’s point beautifully for her to see.

He made coffee, wanting to be asleep beside her but unable to settle down enough. He didn’t expect to hear another knock on his door less than fifteen minutes later. He also didn’t expect to see Michelle standing in his doorway with her head cocked to the side.

He’d known Michelle as long as he’d known Bailey, and she was quite the firecracker. They’d gotten along just fine when Bailey had been away, but now was a different story. She was Bailey’s friend first and foremost, and while it was ridiculous to regard her as his enemy on that fact alone, especially given the new dynamic between him and Bailey, there was no doubt Michelle was suspicious.

“Where is she?” No “Hi.” No “Good to see you.”

“Good to see you too. Coffee?”

“Darren, where is she?”

“Sleeping.”

“Then how the hell did she call me ten minutes ago?”

Fuck.

She was too hurt to cry, or maybe she was too angry to give a shit she was hurt. She was a trapped animal with her damn ankle, but it didn’t stop her from hobbling to the bathroom, throwing on her clothes as she fought not to teeter over onto her ass. She re-wrapped the ACE bandage to the point of cutting off the circulation just to get the support she needed to walk. She was gonna fucking walk out of this damn house if it killed her.

She made it out onto the upstairs landing that overlooked the large great room and kitchen, and she caught Michelle’s comment just as she grasped the railing. Darren’s eyes flew up to her, and Michelle’s did too. Darren looked shocked, terrified even, and she ignored the hurt feelings and focused on the rage.

“How dare you.” She was seething, and he just stared. His face was slack, and he looked defeated. Since she felt defeated by him, it seemed appropriate. “How dare you touch me. Why don’t you tell this worthless fucking bitch what she deserves, huh, Darren? More heartbreak, more pain, or maybe just a fuck and fuck off. Is that it?” She was practically spitting her rage at him. Her voice was strong, her will adamant, but her tears were falling.

He just stared. His nostrils were flaring as he breathed. He was the most beautiful man she’d ever known and likely ever would. But he was toxic. He’d earned his venom after years of pain, but she couldn’t let him take her down. It was only a marginal amount of self-respect that she’d managed to hold onto, but it was enough. She took the first step down, pain radiating up her leg, and he moved toward the stairs but stopped in his tracks as Michelle passed him.

Michelle helped her slowly hobble down the stairs, and Darren did nothing but stare at the floor. He gave her little reaction at all as she left, and Michelle looked back once to defend her. “Stay away from her.”

Bailey sank into the seat of Michelle’s car, letting her head drop back against the headrest. She owed Michelle an explanation, and she wasn’t looking forward to giving it to her. But she did, speaking a hundred miles an hour on the way back to her cottage. Michelle’s shocked expression was flashed to her every time she could safely take her eyes off the road, and by the time they pulled up to her house, she had to take a deep breath just to keep herself from screaming.

“So, you slept with him or no? Sorry, you were speed talking, and I heard some stuff that sounded questionable about birth control and penises and toothbrushes, but I got lost.”

“No.”

“Well, thank God for that much, right?”

“Yeah.” But as Michelle’s door slammed and she rounded the car to the passenger door, Bailey’s heart sank. She’d wanted to. So much so. She thought he did too, really did. Not just the sex, the physical act, but them. She thought his desire to make love to her had meant something. Something important, something other than the pain from their pasts. She’d dreamed of giving herself to that man from the moment she figured out what sex was. She didn’t want to think that was one life experience she would have to live without. But it was no doubt safer for her heart.

Her anger got her through Michelle’s short stay, but the moment she left to return to the furniture store and Bailey was faced with her empty cottage and empty heart, the hurt caught up to her again. She sat on the floor of her shower with the water raining down on top of her and cried. She couldn’t let herself think there could ever be anything but pain between them—regardless of the mixed signals he might give her. Sex was just sex, and it certainly didn’t mean anything beyond the physicality of it to him.

But truly hating him wasn’t possible. He was incapable of being anything but hurt by their past, and she understood that. He’d wanted to move beyond that or, at the very least, see if he could. She believed that. His intent hadn’t been malicious, even if his feelings about her were. He’d wanted more, but it just wasn’t in him anymore.

She talked to her mom for an hour on the phone, filling in the details of her most recent catastrophic decisions, minus the juicier bits.

“Oh, hon. Please come to Memphis, baby. There’s just no reason for you to be there.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“You tried. You gave it a shot. You can walk away knowing
you’re
not the one who gave up on
him
. That has to be enough to give you peace. I know how much you cared for him.” Care. “But he’s gone.”

She sighed. It was overly long and overly loud. Her mom was right. There was just nothing left to stay for. “Okay.” Her insides clenched tight, and she heard herself moaning in pain in her head. It hurt. But staying would hurt more.

They decided on a week and a half later. Her parole officer was going to think she was insane. But the decision was made.

The next time Darren had to work, Bailey asked Michelle for a lift to his house. They hadn’t spoken, and she wasn’t going to assume she was no longer expected. She let herself in, cleaned up the kitchen, tossed some laundry in, including her own from her abandoned bag of clothes, and hobbled around aimlessly after that. She found herself in his bedroom, staring down at his bed. It’d taken her a ridiculously long time to get upstairs, and there was no real pressing reason she needed to be up there. But she’d gone up anyway.

His bed was made and the nightstand drawer was ever so slightly cracked. A rush of jealous pain stabbed her, and she instantly pulled the drawer out. It was pathetic that she was studying the box of condoms to see if it had been moved, and it was even more pathetic how very relieved she was to see that it was in exactly the same position it’d been in when she’d gone snooping before.

But once her heart rate returned to normal and the anxiety and paranoia faded, she noticed something else. The picture wasn’t wedged up against the side of the drawer as it had been before. It was lying face up in the middle, staring at her. The Bailey and Darren in that picture were taunting her with their smiling, carefree, and happy existence.

She picked up the picture, caring not at all that he’d know she was rifling through his nightstand, and she started the slow trek back downstairs. She could walk again, but it didn’t mean it felt very good, and when she finally made it to his dining room table, she collapsed exhausted into the chair. She started writing him a letter.

Darren,

I’m going to be leaving for Memphis the Friday after next to be with my mother. It’s time. I’ll continue to take care of Macy until then, and I hope that will give you time to make other arrangements for her care. She’s a peach, and I’ll miss her. As for us, I hope someday you can remember us as we were and not what we became. There was a time when everything you did made me smile. You’ve changed so much since then, but there’s still so much good in you. My words have changed too, and while I miss the old ones, you should know there’s no shame in the new ones. Hurt. Heartbroken. Sad. Strong. And I hope someday soon: Healing.

Yours always, whether you believe it or not,

Bailey

She set the picture by the letter, and after reading it over, nearly destroyed it, but then changing her mind and deciding it was perfect, she finally left, biking herself home slowly and awkwardly. He didn’t call that night, and it hurt that he gave her no acknowledgement, but she supposed that was just easier for him. Whatever he needed was what he should get. He’d suffered long enough.

Crying wasn’t something he enjoyed doing or that he’d done in front of anyone for more years than he could recall, but it was exactly what he did when he found her letter. She was so right to leave, but it felt like an utter failure. He’d been so certain that he needed her near. He hadn’t been sure why, only that nothing else felt right.

It’d taken a while to sink in after she’d left him that day, but she was right. His mother was right. Hell, Michelle was right. He had no business touching her, no business trying to be close to her. All he did was cause her pain. But to think nothing had changed since she’d returned to town and he was still bitter and angry at the world wasn’t entirely true either. He cared. He couldn’t pretend he wanted to hurt her or that he relished her anguish in anyway. Just thinking about her in pain caused him grief. He might not be able to quiet the past enough to put it away yet, but he’d learned not to hate her. How could he ever have? She was his Bailey.

He sat at the dining room table, holding that fucking picture and reading her letter over and over again. He had tears on his lower eyelids for some time before they finally fell, and when they did, it was silent. He stared back in time at where they’d come from and let himself feel the pain of losing her all over again. Knowing the woman he loved was responsible for the most devastating loss a person could endure had broken him. He’d learned to push it away and to let the pain feed his anger and hatred, but he didn’t feel any of that now. He just felt the sadness, and he soaked it in. It was at least honest. Anger had just been a façade that hid the hurt for him. He needed to feel the hurt, and so he did. He sat there, remembering every last amazing memory he had of her, and he let the grief of losing his sister and then Bailey wash over him. He gave himself over to it in a way he never had before, and when he finally pulled himself up from the table, he found his way to bed and collapsed in a stupor to stare at the ceiling for half the night.