“It’s nothing,” I said, frozen in place as I watched her eye him from across the room. “He just came to visit.”
“He came to visit?” she repeated, turning to me in horror. “And you allowed him inside?”
“Everly—so good to see you,” Trent smiled wickedly, making my fists clench greedily. I hadn’t tested out whether or not I liked making a good stiff punch to the face yet, and I was thinking Trent seemed like a good candidate to try that one out on.
“Why don’t you go upstairs and wait, while I say good-bye to my old friend,” I said calmly, even while rage and panic twisted and turned my gut, making me feel anything but calm.
She froze as my suggestion struck an obvious nerve. All I wanted was for her to be as far away from Trent as possible. I just wanted her safe. I always wanted her safe.
Seeing her standing so close to this man, bathed in fear, made me erratic. In my haste to protect her, her reaction told me I’d uttered the one thing that made her feel anything but safe.
“What did you just say?” she whispered, a tear already leaking from the corner of her eye. I could see her trust dissipating, receding as she took several steps back.
My gaze darted to Trent, who was watching our entire exchange with an expression of amusement painted across his fucking face. Then he focused solely on Everly as she backed away from us, his gaze slowly roaming up her body, and I saw red.
“Please, upstairs. Now.” She flinched at my harsh words, turning toward the door and running. I could hear her sobs echoing from the stairwell.
“I want you to leave. Get the fuck out of my house and leave,” I said, not bothering to look in his direction.
Trent walked to the slider and stopped. “I’ll have my secretary call you on Monday. Don’t disappoint me, Kincaid. You may not remember but I don’t take kindly to those who owe me a debt—even if that debtor happens to be a friend.”
“We are not friends.”
“We’ll see about that. Make sure you tell Everly I said good-bye—and take care of our girl…wouldn’t want anything to happen to her.” And then he disappeared inside. I listened for the front door to close before running up the stairs, two at a time to find her. I skidded to a halt in front of the master bedroom. It was the last place I expected her to be, but there she was, immobile as she stood beside the king-sized bed, looking down at the unfinished project I had yet to show her.
“What is all this?” she asked, focused on the black frames scattered all over the bed.
“A late birthday present. I wanted to give the room life again. When I took all the photos down and put everything in that box, the room lost so much. It lost its light. I just thought these would give it so much more.”
Her fingers traced the closest picture—a close-up of our faces as we kissed. The original portrait had been much more erotic, taken from one of the nights we’d photographed our lovemaking, but I’d cropped it because I’d loved her expression—the overwhelming need that seemed to consume her. That alone was eroticism.
“But why here? Why in this place?” she persisted, her voice distant and reserved.
“There were once good memories here. I want to make them again someday.”
Her eyes swept over the numerous frames, taking in the dozen or so pictures I’d picked of the two of us, before she silently moved around the room. Stopping at a bare spot on the wall, where the paint was slightly duller, she stared at the square where the last photo had rested. Tears began to stream down her face.
“You’re just like him. And I’m going to end up just like her,” she sobbed into her hands.
“No, no, we aren’t. We are what we make ourselves, Everly. Don’t you see that—our past has nothing to do with what we are today.”
“You’re wrong,” she cried, shaking her head. “It’s already happening. I can see it already beginning.”
She was pacing now, her eyes blazing as I tried to follow her rambling.
“See what? You’re not making any sense.”
“Why was he here, August? Tell me! What was Trent doing here?”
I opened my mouth to answer, but stopped short—my previous vow remaining true. I’d do anything to keep her safe. Even if it meant giving up my own future.
Even if it meant giving up everything.
“I can’t do that,” I said softly.
“Can’t, or won’t?”
“Does it matter?” I asked, feeling my heart falter with every false word.
“No,” she conceded, her gaze falling to the floor, like all of our hopes and dreams. “But I can’t be here if he’s back in your life. I won’t. That man singlehandedly ruined our life once already. I won’t stand around and watch him do it again.”