Page 48 of Legacy
Luke
Aarabelle says it again and I know she’s being dishonest. I may suck at lying, but she’s absolutely atrocious at it. Figures.
“You’re a player and I really don’t care.”
The way she’s playing at ambivalence makes my blood boil. “Just because I’m attracted to you doesn’t mean I can’t control myself. You called me a project fuck, Hart. Like I had to be worked on. So, I guess that means you’re my projectavoidance.”
She’s scribbling things down on the notepad I gave her as she saunters through my pantry, pulling open the refrigerators and moving canisters on my shelves, completely fucking up the perfect organization that was there before her. She’s pissed and won’t admit it outright.
Clearing my throat, I say, “Project fuck. Definition. Wherein I don’t go by my typical fuck playbook and bag you immediately. I use restraint. Self-control. Building something different. Better. Working up to it. Getting to know you first.” She stills. “That’s what I meant by project, not whatever self-deprecating thing you have in your head.”
She spins, eyes wide. “I wasn’t an option for you. You didn’t have a choice. You didn’t choose me first. I’d never be standing here if you hadn’t been forced into a friendship, er, mentorship, or whatever it is Maverick thought I needed.”
“You do need the friendship though. Can’t you see that? I’m not saying acceptance wouldn’t have happened eventually, Little Dempsey. I’m saying that you were accepted quicker because…I vouched for you.” She goes to fight back, but I hold up a finger. “I’m not saying I, specifically, had anything to do with it. It could have been any of the guys. Even Dagger. I’m not glorifying my sway of the Team; I’m saying having an ally helped turn that acceptance corner. I won’t apologize for it and you shouldn’t ask me to. I helped you because it was the right thing to do. I knew that even then. Before he asked. When you were wet and sandy and miserable during Hell Week. I’d decided then. I kept helping you because I like who you are, not because he asked me to do so.”
Her face softens, but my heart is still hammering. “That bullshit about not caring doesn’t fly with me. I’m not that kind of guy. If you think I’ll let you walk all over me because you think I did something dishonest, you’re dead wrong.”
She brushes past me to the kitchen island and continues writing. She tears the top piece of paper off.
Her lips press into a thin line. “Fuck you, Hart. Here’s my list.” Aara extends her shaking hand, but I let it hang between us, eyeing it then meeting her eyes.
I shake my head once. “No. No one talks to me that way. Is it a hate fuck you’re after? I’m not that guy either. I’m not careless with your heart. I’m careful with what knowledge I tell others. You’ll learn the difference.”
Her hand falls to her side and I can see her quivering. She slams the piece of paper down on the counter. “That’s what it is then? My strong will against yours?” Her voice shakes. “I’ll win every single time. You’re a man. I’m scrappy because I have to be to get what I want.” Aara hangs her head. “It felt too good to be true. That’s what hurts the most. That I was wrong again. Seeing Henry today reminded me of how manipulating people can be.” Her eyes meet mine. “Every time I let my guard down, I end up failing. Sometimes it’s my fault, sometimes it’s not. There’s nowhere safe unless I’m fighting.”
With her shoulders hunched and her lip trembling, it takes everything in me not to wrap her in a hug. That would give her the wrong idea about what I stand for. “You can’t fight for the rest of your life. Honestly, other than the obvious career implications, what is it you’re worried about with regards to me? Ground level. What is it?”
“It’s cliché to say getting hurt again, but that’s the ground level worry. That everyone will say I told you so…again. That Henry will be validated in cheating on me because I’m a shit girlfriend. That you’re inhumanly beautiful and I look like a charity case standing next to you. That everyone will use our relationship as a platform for why women don’t belong in the Teams.” She leans her elbows on the island and puts her face in her hands. “That women ruin the dynamic of everything. That I’m too weak to say no to you.” She turns her head to look at me. “That loving you will cost me everything even if I deem you everything.” A tear slips from the corner of her eye, but she wipes it away. “That other people will get to dictate my love life because I’m a role model.”
“I can’t argue with any of that. I’m not in your shoes. No one can steal intangible objects. I’m sorry you had to hear that from Chase. I’m sorry it made you feel less than or unworthy. That’s what I’m sorry for.” There’s a lump lodged in my throat I have to swallow down. “Everything else is your problem.”
Aara smirks. “You really don’t want to rage fuck? How could I be so wrong about you?”
“Nope. Not into sex with anything resembling anger. Order whatever you want for dinner. Then use the panel to tell security it’s coming. I’m going for a walk on the beach.”
She stands, hands on her hips. “Just like that?”
“What do you want from me?”
Her gaze lights on my abs, and it rises to my eyes. “It’s late. Stay with me. We can make something quick here. Together.”
I sigh. “You’re frustrating, Aara. Granted, I don’t know how to argue with someone who is living with me, but I think this is where one person takes space to cool down.”
Aarabelle walks to stand in front of me. “That’s what normal people do. Normal couples need space during and after an argument. Or I guess they rage fuck. I don’t want to be normal.”
“We’re not normal,” I say. “That’s a blatant fact.”
“We’re not. What should we do now that we’re arguing that’s more…us? Less normal.”
I clear my throat. “Well, I never did get my workout in, but it’s too late for that now.”
She opens her mouth then closes it again. I tell her to spit out whatever it is that’s on her mind. Tentatively she takes another step in my direction. “Something my mom said comes to mind. She said always apologize for something you know is worth forgiving. If it’s a thing you’d want to be forgiven for. Apologies are given because you value the other person and are willing to admit that they matter to you. Kind of along the lines of not sweating the small stuff, but at an elevated level.” Aara casts her eyes down and mutters, “Maybe we act elevated.”
Reaching into my pocket, I pull out my phone and scroll through music until I find what I’m looking for. I tap play, and the Macarena blares through the speakers. “Elevated. Yes. I propose we dance to the first horrible song we can think of, together, and then apologize.” I clear my throat. “It’s a rule. Like, never go to bed angry at your partner, except elevated.”
Her eyes grow large, but as I suspected the song makes her grin. “I can’t dance,” she stutters.
“Neither can I.” Extending my free hand, I slip my phone back into my pocket. She takes my hand. “But this song makes everyone a dancer. Don’t fight it.” The chorus arrives, and I spin her so her back is pressed against my front and extend my hands out next to hers. “Look at us. We’re dancing.”
