Darcy smirked.
She’d grown some balls and kicked his to the back of his teeth.
His howls had followed her down the alley and into an adjoining street. Within seconds, she’d blended into the crowd. Within minutes, she’d arrived at Alvin and Sandy’s doorstep where she’d been taken in and given the couch. Fed and warmed and comforted. And not asked a lot of questions.
She’d let them think it was all about Marcus. She’d let them believe she was suffering from a broken heart. That this was all she was suffering from. It was easier. It was her habit. The old secret had once again been stuffed into her private hell.
The fear had lingered for a few days, still, she’d managed to act on a few things. She’d called the hospital and had been surprised yet not stunned when her pop answered. Marcus La Rocca might be a bastard, but she hadn’t pegged him as vindictive.
She’d been right.
Her pop had seemed oblivious that his meal ticket had thrown her out and she hadn’t had the energy to tell him about her new reality. Pop didn’t like reality anyway, so let him get well in peace. Sandy had taken the small amount of cash Darcy had on hand and found some solid, used clothing—she had the start of a new wardrobe. And Alvin had started a fundraiser to get her some art supplies so she could start making some money and get her feet back on the ground.
Still, the heartache for her lost dreams continued to build and burn inside of her. She’d pretty much understood it was there to stay. She’d live with her need and love for Marcus for the rest of her life.
Another fiery cross to bear in her private hell.
Tonight, though, after two weeks of her huddling on their sofa, Alvin had insisted. It was time to get back out there. Time to live and let live, he’d said. Time to put this behind her. She’d tried to argue, tried to divert, but without telling him of her deepest fear, what could she say? That her broken heart would never let her leave this refuge again? Her pride wouldn’t let her do it.
So here she was. Not having any fun at all. Not caring about anything at all.
“Come on, lass.” Al’s heavy hand landed on her shoulder. “Give it a smile. Things will get better.”
“Sure.” She painted a smile on her lips and forced her eyes to twinkle. “I’m fine, Al.”
“There it is, there’s the Darcy I know.” His worried frown turned to a broad grin. “The man won’t be bothering you anymore. We made sure not to give him an ounce of information when he came around asking about you.”
“Thank you.” She’d been stunned when he’d told her La Rocca had been asking about her. Stunned and shocked. Did he want to confront her about not taking any of his gifts? Was he that displeased? Or maybe he wanted to rub it in her face that her buddy was married. That she no longer had a chance to work her wiles on Matt.
Darcy snorted. For the first time, a bit of her old temper and spirit flared. Just for a moment, she wished the Great Man stood before her so she could kick him in the shins.
Or somewhere else. After all, she’d had recent practice.
She deserved better.
Her little old heart was simply going to have to get over Marcus La Rocca because he wasn’t the man she deserved. The passion in his bed, the compassion he’d shown her and her father, the impassioned way he’d promoted her art—none of it could erase the essential character of the man.
A cynic and a workaholic. A man who could not trust or love.
Darcy Moran was worthy of a much better man.
She straightened her shoulders. For days now, she’d been wallowing. Glad she’d escaped, yet with no real will to live or plan for the future. The appearance of her demon ensured she’d have to return to her usual pattern. She’d have to forget the gallery. She’d have to jump from place to place, never having a real home. One step ahead of him. The thoughts had crowded in on her, deepening her depression until she felt as if she’d suffocate under the weight of her broken dreams.
But it wasn’t in her to accept defeat. She’d survive. Like she always did.
A friend passed her another beer, giving her a jaunty smile.
For the first time since walking away from the Great Man’s sterile life, Darcy gave a true smile back.
She’d be fine. She’d live. Not love again, but living was worth something.
“Hey! Darcy!” A jolly cry from another of her artist buddies captured her attention. Turning to her left, she kept her valiant grin on her face. She’d be the life of the party. She’d show the world what she was made of. Her chin lifted, her eyes twinkled. She was ready to meet the world once more with a cheeky attitude and a fighting spirit.