Page 45 of Dark Knight

Which is why he picks up on my twisted mental state right away. “Why do you sound like shit?” he demands once he hears my voice. “Are you sick?”

“Just tired.” Because I had a sleepless night after I almost fucked your daughter, and now I’ve gone out of my way to avoid her all day because my life depends on it. Sure, that would go very well. He would be in the car on his way here before he ended the call.

“Everything okay over there? Is there anything I need to know about?”

“No. Sometimes…” I hate saying this, but it’s better to lie a little than to end up with my ass in a sling. “There’s a lot of shit I spent a long time trying not to think about. There are moments when it comes back, whether I feel like dealing with it or not. I’m surrounded by it.”

“I wondered if that would happen,” he murmurs. “I know it was a risk, sending you out there. However, it was the only location nobody but the two of us knew about.” I wonder if he’s reminding me or himself.

“You don’t have any reason to worry,” I insist, clenching my fist hard enough to hurt. I owe him everything, yet I was ready to throw it all away. It’s enough to make me wonder who I am. Whether I’m the man I thought I was all this time.

“You don’t have to tell me that,” he insists with a gentle laugh, and the sound is a white-hot knife in my chest. I am betraying him with every filthy fantasy. Every time I look at her for longer than I should. When I imagine the sort of shit I don’t need to think about while I have him on the phone. I can’t seem to control my thoughts anymore. What is happening to me?

There’s a reason I called him, isn’t there? Fuck, I need sleep. “I’m sending you the plans I drew up. Next steps. I think we start ramping up and move ahead with the arrangements we discussed.”

“Absolutely. You have everything secured?”

“I’ve been working with my contacts. They’ve always come through for me. It might take a little time—there’s some red tape issues, and the local government out there can take a little more time to work around, but things should move along once I give them the go-ahead.”

“And how is she?”

She had to come up eventually. “She’s ready to come home.” At least that’s not a lie. “Tired of my company, that much is for sure.”

“What, my daughter doesn’t like being told what to do? I’m shocked. Where is she? Trying to get her on the phone is like trying to get an audience with the Pope.”

I gaze out the window overlooking the backyard. Mrs. Cooper is out there tending her new mums. “She is next door, with the neighbor lady. Helping with her garden.” It’s a lie, but the alternative would mean telling him I haven’t spoken to Tatum today. I’m sure she’s in the house – I’ve heard her opening and closing cabinet doors in the kitchen. It’s a change from the way she’s hidden herself the past couple of days. I thought after last night, she would be more determined than before not to see me unless one of her limbs was hanging off.

But this is different. I didn’t just piss her off last night. I rejected her. So what if it took literally every last scrap of my self-control? All she cares about is not getting what she wanted, when she wanted it. She wants to turn it into something it’s not. To accuse me of thinking she’s weak and broken and unworthy.

Because he needs to know, I add, “Jeff emailed her yesterday. Empty threats, obviously. That’s why I’m doubling down now.”

“That spineless motherfucker,” he growls. “And he’s avoiding my calls, the bastard. It’s easier to bully a young girl.”

“That’s exactly it.”

“Make sure she knows she has nothing to worry about.”

“I’m doing my best.” My best isn’t good enough. It never was, it never will be.

“And as for those old ghosts,” he adds, and his voice is even tighter than before. “Turn your back on them. Let them go. They have no place in your life now.”

“I know, you’re right.”

“Does she know about any of it?”

“What kind of question is that? Of course, she doesn’t. She doesn’t know the first thing.”

“For all I know, the two of you sat up talking one night, and you told her everything.”

“Talking isn’t something I do much of, and she doesn’t care to listen.”

“I should’ve known better. I’ll review the plan you sent and get back to you, but you know you have all my confidence.”

He couldn’t have picked a worse way to end the conversation. I need to let go of this guilt. It’s going to eat me alive if I don’t.

Rather than head downstairs to work out, I settle for push-ups on my office floor until my arms are jelly. I can exhaust my body and forget the excitement of wanting and being wanted. How long can a man deny himself what he wants most? How long before he cracks? It doesn’t matter. There’s got to be a way to get through the rest of our time together without totally fucking everything up.

Eventually I lose count, finally collapsing in a puddle of sweat that’s dripped from my chin once my muscles are past the point of exhaustion. There’s something about a hard workout, the sense of wiping the slate clean, clearing my head. At least, that’s how it usually works.

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