“She begged me to end it. To make her stop breathing.” He took a sharp breath, a reminder of what he’d denied her. Of what he still had. “So I did.”
He let the full meaning of his words sink in. Not just for Addison, but for him. Let it all sink into the room like a stain. One that could never be removed. It was said, and it couldn’t be unsaid.
It was done. And he could never go back and see it undone.
“We’d been stuck there for two weeks by then,” he said. “I was…I didn’t…” He could see it so clearly still. Feel it. His hands on her neck, her pulse, weak already, slowing. Nausea, terror, riding up in him even as she faded away. Until she closed her eyes. Until the pulse stopped. As if she were asleep.
“I didn’t know what else to do,” he said. “She was going to die. And I…” His head cleared and suddenly he was back in the present, looking at Addison’s horrified expression. “I might have died too,” he said, giving voice to the rest of it. To his deepest fear. Why not? He was saying all this anyway, repeating it out loud. He might as well tell the rest. “In the end, I chose myself, Addison. That’s what I do. She was sick, and she was dying…and having it finished only helped me in the end. That’s the kind of man I am. I didn’t fight for her. I let her give up. I helped her give up…so I could be free to fight for me.”
She didn’t say anything. She just sat there, frozen.
“Get out,” he said.
She didn’t move. She just sat there, clutching that damn Coke can. He reached forward and grabbed it, threw it against the wall, trying to jar her. Trying to force a reaction from her. “Did you understand what I just said?” he asked. “I could have killed you out there on that balcony. I was seeing her. I was seeing that night. I was remembering her begging me to take her life, and then me following through with it. Why aren’t you running? Why are you still here?”
Addison stood up and looked at him, eyes wide, expression frozen. “Logan…you didn’t…”
“I didn’t kill her?” He shook his head. “Don’t give me that condescending shit. I felt her breathing stop, because of me. Because I stopped it for her. And yeah, she asked, in a feverish stupor for me to do it, but it doesn’t change the fact that I did. I could have left her there screaming and alone. I could have sat there and listened to it. But I chose to do what she asked. I chose to help her end her life. So don’t tell me I didn’t kill her, when I know I damn well did. When it’s burned into me like a brand. I remember what it was like to put my hands over that horrible injury of hers. To have her blood up to my elbows…don’t tell me what happened. Don’t tell me what you think you know when you weren’t there. When the memories are with me, all the time, like a movie I can never turn off. Now get out.”
“Why? What do you mean get out? You’re going to tell me something like…like that and then tell me to leave?”
“Yes. That’s exactly what I’m doing. What’s so difficult to understand about it?” he asked, his stomach so tight he could hardly breathe, he could hardly move. In one moment he’d said everything he’d barely let himself think, let alone voice. And it had all come pouring out and she—she had heard it all.
What was it about this woman that made him open his veins and bleed for her to see? She had unleashed something in him and he had no idea how to cage it back up.
It was everything. His desire, his fear, his regret, his rage. She had found a weakness in him. In his control. Four years of blocking it all out. Four years of survival, and Addison was reawakening pieces of himself he’d thought were dead.
She made him feel.
And she made him honest. With her and with himself and he wished to God it would stop.
He needed space. He needed to get away from the look in her eyes. The one that mirrored his own feelings. The one that was afraid that, at his heart, he was nothing more than a murderer.
No, less than that. An animal, who had done nothing more than ensure his own survival, wrapped in the guise of helping someone end their suffering. A man who knew nothing more than base instinct.
A man who wasn’t a man.
It was why he hadn’t touched a woman in four years. Because the last time, he had ended the woman’s life. And tonight, the first time, the first time, he’d touched someone since his return…and it had been to wrap his hands around her throat.
He couldn’t imagine giving a woman pleasure with his hands after what he’d done with them. He didn’t even deserve the fantasy.
And yet…and yet Addison made him want. Made him feel. The good, the bad. Like a limb with hypothermia being warmed up, his feelings were starting to come back. To hurt, and burn and make him wish he’d just cut them off.
“You know what?” she said, shoving the sleeves of his robe up to her elbows. “I’m not going to beg you to stay here and deal with you and all your…your…life. It’s too hard anyway. And I have my own things to deal with. I really, really don’t need this, Logan,” she said, and he could see her pain, written all over her face. Knew this was her rejecting him to make his rejection sting less. “I have enough of my own. So I’m not exactly looking to add yours to the pile. I’ll be in the office tomorrow to work. And we don’t have to talk again.”
“You going to make this about you now, little girl?” he asked, rage roaring through him. Because it was about her. If not for her he never would have said anything. He never would have had to hear himself say it all out loud. Never would have had to finish the thoughts that had always circled his mind, like vultures, waiting for a vulnerable moment when they could sweep in and tear his flesh from his bones.
“Tell me more about all the tortured years you spent in your mansion, sweet little Addison Treffen, living off Daddy’s money,” he spat, knowing he was being unfair. Knowing he was taking things out on her because he was ashamed. Because he burned with that shame. Because he wanted her to leave, not just his room, but his hotel so that he wouldn’t have to look in the eyes of the one person who knew his secret. Who knew just what he was.
“All right, congratulations,” she said. “You win, Logan Black. Spend your life alone. Spend it in this hotel. See if I care.”
“Are you leaving?” he asked, his voice hoarse, everything in him wanting to tell her to stay. While simultaneously wanting to drive her away.
There was no name for what he was. Fucked up, maybe, but that was it.
Yeah, that about summed it up.
“It’s what you want me to do.”
“I told you it wouldn’t fix it,” he said. “Nothing can fix this. Confiding in you was hardly going to change that.”
She met his eyes for one long moment, and she didn’t bother to hide the hurt. Oh, there was anger, lots of it. But beneath that, he could see her pain. And he hated himself a little bit.
But that was why he had to send her away now. It was why he had to stop this thing—whatever it was—before it turned into more. Before he started wanting more, when he knew damn well that was impossible.
Before he wanted to touch her again. Strip off all their clothes, all his control, and find freedom. With her. In her.
Then
