“Always, even if he doesn’t get his head out of his ass.” MJ smiled at me. “Hang tough, it’ll work out.”
I snorted and returned to mixing batter. My escape ended once it was time to set up in front. I sucked in a fortifying breath, held my head up and pushed through the door. I kept my gaze averted from Jericho’s table but Dare’s laugh reached my ears. I moved on and did the work. I’d hidden physical bruises for years, but they didn’t hurt a fraction of the emotional wound eating me from the inside out. Once I called for breakfast, I returned to the kitchen, determined to clean up and open the shop.
I restocked the counter and ignored the gazes following me. Let them stare.
What did it matter? Nothing mattered anymore.
I attacked the dishes, needing something to distract me from my own sadness. Unfortunately, dishes gave me entirely too much time to think. And my mind revolved on a one-track circuit—Dare.
The kitchen door swung open, and I kept working not wanting to chat with whoever came inside.
“Red.”
His voice froze me, and tears leaked from my eyes. I wiped my hands on the towel and slowly turned to him. My gaze darted from ovens to refrigerators, unable to settle on the man across from me. Pain grew with every glimpse of him. He’d wrapped himself in anger, and I couldn’t see how this ended without me driving away from Barden, my SUV packed, starting over, again.
“You get me, yet?”
He meant, You punished enough, yet? You suffered enough, yet? Do you know your place, yet?
I dropped to my knees, hands behind my back, gaze lowered to the ground. I’d heard the guys talking about the submissive pose. This is what he needed to feel like a man again.
“I guess you got it.” Satisfaction blended with his words.
“Yes, master.” I spoke to the floor.
“Enough, Red. Stand up.”
I stood.
“Look at me.”
I did with tears streaming down my face. My father’s fists hadn’t caused me to cry, but now I couldn’t stop crying. I loved him so much, but this might be more than I had in me.
“Stop it.”
I stared at him.
“Red.” His voice broke.
“May I speak, master?”
“Quit acting like a sub. What are you doing?”
“Giving you what you need.” My tears choked the words.
He stepped back. “I don’t need this.”
“You enjoyed punishing me. Putting me in my place.” I spoke to the floor. My love couldn’t keep my soul from shriveling at this sacrifice.
“That’s not—”
“You tell yourself it’s teaching me a lesson, whatever. Different words for punishing me.” My words soft, the weight of what was coming pushed me low. I folded in on myself until I knelt on the floor again, head bowed.
He turned away from me. “Stop, I don’t want you like this.”
My world disintegrated. I’d sacrificed all I could, and I wasn’t enough. “Just say the word.”
He shook his head, his back rigid with tension. I gave him the only thing I had left. One final gift. “Then I’ll say it.”
For him, I’d do anything, be anything, and say anything. Burned out from the hurt, the rage and the sadness, I knew what needed to be done. I loved him so much I’d say it for him. We’d agreed on the word that ended our ride—enough. If I wasn’t enough, then he deserved his freedom.
“Enough.” The word echoed in the silent kitchen.
I refused to let us suffer, I’d cut parts of me off before to survive. I’d survive his loss too.
Dare’s boots echoed on the tile floor. The door squeaked as he passed through it and out of my life. Tears streamed down my face, but I held the sobs back. Grief weighed me down and I used my remaining bit of strength to push myself to standing.
Dare walked out of my life.
No. No thinking of him.
I grabbed my purse and walked to my car. I’d given more and more, even my independence because I loved him, but giving him freedom chained my heart in sorrow.
I started my car and drove away from the club. The numb detachment melted away, leaving a gaping hole where pain poured out in a gushing flow. If this were a physical wound, I’d be dead.
About a mile down the road, tears obscured my vision so I pulled to the side letting my grief pour out as racking sobs. My phone pinged but I ignored it. Eventually my tears ran out, but they’d be back.
I dug in my bag for tissues to blow my nose. My head throbbed and I couldn’t face the chore ahead of me—starting over sucked.
I grabbed my phone and read the text from Zayn. Take the day off. I have it covered. Dare won’t be in this week.
I stared at the utilitarian words. A manic laugh bubbled in me, but I didn’t let it escape. I feared another torrent of tears. Did it mean I had the week to clear out?