Page 164 of Grumpy Billionaire Bad Boy

I guess I hadn't thought too much past getting free of Joe. Now that I regained my name, I could return home to California and be London Gardella once again, that name feeling so foreign despite spending my entire life living as that person.

Another bang shakes me to my core and I gasp as a piece of drywall goes flying, the wall separating my apartment from Archer's quite literally being torn to shreds. With my hand to my chest, I gawk at the sight unfolding in front of me, a sledgehammer blasting the wall apart and Archer stepping through in a cloud of dust particles.

With my eyes wide, I take him in, his chest heaving, his tattooed muscles bulging his shirt more than they ever have.

"What the fuck, Archer?" I blurt out because that's the only thing I can think of. I didn't exactly pay it, but I won't be getting the security deposit back on this place anytime soon.

"You," Archer says as he catches his breath. "You didn't answer the door."

I blink a few times and process what he just said. "I didn't answer so you busted the wall down?" I point at my wet hair. "I was in the shower."

He nods and shrugs. "Right, yeah, that makes sense."

"What if I wasn't home?"

"I, uh, I guess I would have waited until you came back."

"Waited for what? You told me you never wanted to see me ever again." Even saying it out loud reopens the wound I keep trying to mend. "What is this about?"

"I need to talk to you." His eyes frantically roam my body and suddenly I'm exposed and vulnerable, even more so than when I was holding that stupid fucking boom box over my head and confessing my feelings for him.

"You couldn't have called? You had to break the?—"

Archer cuts me off. "Will you please shut up, for one minute?"

"Fine, sorry, by all means, the floor is yours." I sigh at the mess he made but realize I've done far worse and yet he's still here, standing in front of me, a beautiful ghost from my recent past. My heart aches and I'm not sure how much more I can take of his rejection.

"I have been in that apartment rotting every single day since I last saw you, and every day before. I can't tell you the last time I slept, not deeply, and when I have, I dreamt of you, waking up in a cold sweat because it wasn't real. I have thought of and played things over and over in my head. I have theorized what happened, and I have done everything I can to shut it off, to shut you off. I stare at this fucking wall, and at this point, it's like it's been talking to me, taunting me, daring me to tear it down."

Archer pauses to loosen a breath and I take one with him like I had been holding it that entire time.

"I don't know what else to do. I can't keep this up. My work is suffering. My family is suffering.Iam suffering."

He takes a cautious step, barely moving at all.

"I hate you, London. I hate your father, I hate what he did to you, what he did to me. I hate everything you stand for. I hate how you never shut up and how you leave destruction in your wake everywhere you go. I hate that your hair is all over my apartment, tangled in my laundry and clogging up my drain.I hate how the scent of you no longer remains on my sheets. I hate how you fight with me over everything and I hate how you think you're always right. I hate that you never listen to me, and you're so fucking hardheaded. I hate how independent you are and that you never really needed me. I hate that I have no idea what you're doing, or who you're with, and I hate that you've been living this close to me. I hate that I don't trust you, and I hate that despite hating you, you consume every single one of my thoughts. And I think the thing I hate the most is that I don't hate you at all."

Archer drops the sledgehammer in his hands and it thuds against the floor.

My heart stutters and I freeze, unable, unsure, unwilling to move.

"What I'm trying to say, my little tornado, is that I love you." Archer comes closer. "I can't stand another second without you in it. I don't know how to fix what's been broken, but I refuse to waste another moment not trying to figure out how."

He bridges almost every shred of distance between us and looks down at me. "Say something," Archer whispers. "Say anything."

I stare up at him, my heart pounding and settling all at once, everything I hoped and wished and prayed for coming to fruition in this very moment. "What took you so long?" My eyes well and I grow tired of the tears that won't seem to stop now that they've begun.

But this time, I have Archer to wipe them from my cheeks, his hands cupping them, his thumbs rubbing gently. "I'm so sorry, London. For the things I said, for the way I treated you, I'm sorry."

I shake my head. "You could have done worse and it would have been justified. I was the one who messed up, Archer. It's me who should be apologizing."

"You already did," he reminds me. "With a boom box."

I pinch my eyes shut, hating the memory that follows—him shutting his door and breaking my heart one final, but well-deserved, time.

"For the record," he adds. "It was the single most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me." Archer presses his lips to my nose, kissing me gently. "I wish I would have reacted differently. I wish I would have realized then how much you mean to me."

I open my eyes and stare up at him, my heart beating evenly in my chest, all this feeling so fucking right, despite how hard it was to get here.

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