Crashed (Entangled Indulgence)(65)

She couldn’t avoid her friends forever. Tomorrow morning cars would arrive at the garage, jobs that needed to be done. Time wouldn’t stop because her heart was broken. She couldn’t spend the rest of her life hiding from everyone.

She needed to talk to Deke.

He’d said he loved her, but she wouldn’t, couldn’t believe in it. Her feelings hadn’t mattered when he’d gone back to his ex. He’d played them both. No one wanted to be the other woman. And that’s what he’d made the both of them.

She had no love for Deacon’s ex-wife, and she didn’t know the cause of his and Emily’s split, but the cold way he’d shut her down in front of that room full of people…no one deserved that, not even Emily.

He’d lied and he’d cheated. She still found it hard to believe. She knew Deacon was ruthless in the boardroom, but she’d never dreamed he could be just as ruthless with the people around him, the people who cared for him. He had two sisters he loved and respected. His actions made no sense.

Stop.

She slammed the brakes on the direction her thoughts were taking. There was no excuse for it. No matter how out of character it seemed, the proof was in black and white in a crumpled heap in her recycle bin.

After a long, hot shower, she pulled on her favorite baggy Led Zeppelin T-shirt and felt slightly more human. Finger combing her damp hair, she headed back to the living room. Sleep wasn’t an option, not yet. Right then she thought she might never sleep again, because every time she closed her eyes, she saw him. Those intense green eyes, making her feel things she’d tried to deny—silently telling lies, making promises that meant nothing. Making her hope, making her believe in him.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Alex jumped and spun around at the sound of a fist connecting with her door.

“Alex, get down to the workshop,” Rusty called through the door. “Quickly!” That was followed by the sound of her friend’s boots pounding back down the stairs. A surge of adrenaline shot though her veins. Was Piper hurt?

She didn’t muck around, shoved her feet in her work boots, flung her door open, and ran down after her. When she pushed open the garage door the place was pitch-dark. Walking in, she groped for the lights. “Rusty? Piper? What’s going on?”

The door banged shut behind her, followed by the sound of the lock engaging. “Hey!” She threw the switch, and the overhead lights blinked to life, making her squint against the harsh brightness. She tried the door. Locked. Those bitches had locked her in. She banged on the steel door. “Let me the hell out.”

Nothing. Complete silence.

The sound of a car door opening behind her had her freezing on the spot.

No. They wouldn’t, would they?

“Alex?”

Bitches!

Deacon’s usually smooth, deep voice was a hell of a lot deeper than usual, and not as steady. She couldn’t make herself turn around.

“Look at me, Alex, please?”

His voice was closer that time, but she remained rooted to the spot. “I don’t want to,” she whispered.

If I look at you, I’ll break.

Then he was right behind her, his tight stomach, his chest, plastered against her back. She shivered as the heat of his body soaked through her thin T-shirt. His hands snaked around to rest on her belly, and he dropped his forehead to her shoulder. “Please, Alex.” He nuzzled the side of her neck and sucked in a deep breath. “Please let me explain.”

She rested her head against the cool steel in front of her, trying to fight the way her body reacted to his touch, how right it felt. With a strength she didn’t know she possessed, she removed his arms from around her waist and stepped away. “There’s nothing to say. Nothing that can change what’s happened.” She crossed her arms and shuffled a step to the side to get some much-needed space. “I saw the pictures, Deacon. I know about you and Emily. I know you’re sleeping with her.”

He shoved a hand in his hair, making it stick up on one side. She took him in. He looked like shit. Stubble darkened his jaw, and his eyes were bloodshot, like he’d had about as much sleep as she had. He was wearing the same trousers and shirt he’d had on at the charity event, only he’d lost the jacket and tie and the sleeves were rolled up to his elbows.

“There is no me and Emily.” His eyes begged her to believe him, and God, she wanted to, but how could she? “I haven’t slept in the same bed with my ex-wife… I haven’t had sex with my ex-wife since we were married, and that side of our relationship fizzled out after the first few months.” He swallowed, throat working. “I’ll understand if you choose to walk away after the lies, the secrets, the fucked-up way I went about everything, but I need to explain. Will you let me?”