Page 49 of Fall Into Me

“No, I’m not.” My reply came all too quickly.

“Yes, you are. Your face has gone all peachy.” He pointed a tattooed hand in my face, and I swatted it out of the way, desperate to change the topic.

“You have more tattoos.”Ah, yes. Way to ease into it, Calista.

“I do.” His expression had turned thoughtful, the tilt to his head not as predatory as usual but more curious. Like he was daring me to ask him about them because he knew I wanted to know. A part of me wanted to give in to him, but the other part, a very large part, didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

I was grappling for that anger. The knot of which was tied around my heart had loosened through the afternoon. I needed it back.

“They’re nice.” My voice was flat. I regretted even bringing it up and hoped he’d just drop it when I directed all my attention back to the television.

“You want to know what they mean?” His tone lost its teasing edge, and for a moment, I wasn’t sure which answer would hurt more—asking or pretending I didn’t care.

“I don’t.” The lie sat heavy between us, but it was enough to sever whatever tentative thread had been pulling us closer.

“Thanks for dinner.” I pushed away the half-eaten bowl and stood, not waiting for a reply.

I was kidding myself, thinking that retreating to the bedroom would give me a reprieve from Fane. He’d already sunken into every nook and cranny of this house.

“Good night, Rose.” His voice was dark, husky, and it took everything in me not to turn around. To not to ask him one of the thousands of questions I had for him in the same breath that I demanded he leave.

Instead, I reached for that knot of anger, tightening it until it felt like I was choking, and slipped into the darkness of the bedroom.

I imagined he’d come after me, that he’d give me what I wanted: the perfect excuse to yell at him. To pick a fight. To fuel my anger.

When I heard the front door open and close, for one paralyzing moment, I wondered if he had been awake when I left him, slipping out the front door without a sound, if he would have felt anywhere near as broken as I felt right then.

17

Fane

After

I knew I’d lost her the moment the words left my mouth.

Softness didn’t work with this version of Cali. It wasn’t what she needed.

At the time, calling Ashton and telling him I needed a beer seemed like the right thing to do.

That was not a good idea.

“Let me get this straight,” Ash said, taking another deep swig of his beer before turning his glacial blue eyes back to me. “You’ve decided that being a dick to her is the best way to earn her trust?”

“I didn’t decide to be a dick,” I snapped.

“But that’s what you just said.”

“No.” I exhaled sharply through my nose. “It’s a fucked up knee-jerk reaction to, I don’t know, rile her up.”

“Right.”

“I’m angry at her too,” I admitted, though that didn’t even scratch the surface. I was furious. Two years of this pent-up shit, and the only person I wanted to talk it out with, scream it out with, fuck it out with, was dead set on keeping me at arm’s length. Not that I could blame her. I wasn’t completely blind to her side of things. It just didn’t make dealing with my side any easier.

We’d never fought like this before. When we argued, we did it together—no slammed doors, no cold shoulders.

“I know,” Ash said, not dismissing me. He’d been there when I was at my lowest, peeling me off the mattress when I disappeared for a week. “But I don’t see how being a dick is going to win her back.”

“I’m not being a dick. And you’re supposed to be helping me.” I glared at him. “This isn’t helping.”

---