The Hustle (Irreparable #4) Page 17

  Peyton’s things arrived in town yesterday and will be delivered to her place around noon tomorrow. I didn’t complain when I called to track them and they were lost. Turned out they had been stored and missed a scan in at the facility. Something that worked out perfectly for me as it gave me extra time with her.

  Neither of us has spoken about what her things arriving means. I want her to stay and I want her to go. As much as I try to keep my thoughts focused, they swirl in the never ending whirlwind in my mind. I feel the strength of my past indiscretions trying to push her away and save her from me.

  It’s a daily fight to contain my prick mouth from doing something to piss her off. The doubt is a result of my incessant fear because deep down I know if it doesn’t work out, it will be like losing Maria all over again.

  I turn over on my side to look at my beautiful angel, who’s given herself completely to me, and wonder how much longer I can fight doing the same. Her hair, draped across the pillow like strands of spun gold and her lips the perfect shade of pink beg me to wake her. But I choose to bathe in the peace that comes with her shallow breaths. She belongs here with me in my bed, in my loft, and in my heart.

  “Mommy!” Javier’s bloodcurdling scream filters through the open door.

  Peyton shoots up in bed before I do. She’s on her feet and out the door in an instant. There’s the pull at my heart, letting me know she’s too close and that eventually she’ll hurt me or Javier. That’s what all women do. It’s inevitable, and as overprotective as I’ve been with my heart, it’s twice as fierce when it comes to my son. I shake my head, scrubbing at my face as if I can cleanse the doubt.

  Seconds later I stand outside Javier’s door and see him nestled in Peyton’s arms as she strokes his overgrown brown hair. His sobbing eases as Peyton whispers things I can’t hear, but I know offer love and reassurance.

  “I had a bad dream,” he tells her.

  “It’s okay. I’m here.” She rocks him in her arms for a few seconds, letting him settle. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “It was about my papa. He was hurting my mommy and I tried to stop him, but I wasn’t strong enough.”

  “Oh, baby.” That’s all I hear Peyton say as I barely make it back to my room. Whatever else is said between them will only turn me into a crying bitch.

  I’ve failed to save Javier from Eduardo. Even dead, the man will haunt that little boy. It’s like he knows Javier’s so close to finally having security and he refuses to let it happen. More likely it’s me he’s haunting and using his son to do it, as he always did.

  Thirty minutes later, Peyton slides into bed next to me and lies on her side. I welcome her into my embrace but find little comfort in her palm running up and down my chest. “I think he needs to talk to someone,” she whispers.

  “Like a shrink? Fuck that!”

  I tried the shrink route after my mother flipped my life upside down. That quack doc made things much worse. He provided every excuse I needed to act like a manwhore, didn’t give a fuck . . . ass.

  “He needs to talk to someone.”

  “He has us,” I snap.

  She sighs at the severity of my voice. “Did you even hear what he said?”

  “Yes. That his dad was beating on Maria. He saw it many times.”

  “No . . . After that, he said in the dream his mommy was me. He’s scared, Aidan. On some subconscious level, he thinks what happened to his mother was his fault. And now that we’re getting close, he’s afraid to fail and lose me.”

  My skin prickles at knowing my son’s deepest fears are so close to my own. “Well since your belongings will arrive tomorrow, you can go back to your place. Maybe if you aren’t around so much, it’ll be easier for him.”

  “You fucking asshole. Don’t do that to him.”

  She knows me well enough to know I’m putting the walls back up firmly in place, but she won’t let me do it easily.

  “Do what? He’s not talking to some quack who will only make it worse.”

  She releases a breath to show her annoyance at my bullshit as she rolls over and lies flat on her back. “No, I meant don’t put your shit on him. If this is too hard for you and you just want to be done with me, say it before I get any closer to that little boy.”

  The hole is deep, but I have to dig my way out because just hearing the words that us being done is a possibility makes me realize I’m handling this all wrong. “How can I be done with you?”

  “You did it before.”

  The sadness in her tone softens me. I roll onto my side facing her. Her face is highlighted by the light in the hallway she left on. This would be easier in the dark, when I didn’t have to see how tense this conversation has become.

  “I might have left you, but I was never done with you. Even when I found Maria again, you were always there. And you knew it. That’s why you waited so long for me.”

  I thought I was saying something reassuring, but she looks at me like I’ve only made things worse and I would have been better off keeping my mouth shut.

  “Time I wasted, because you’re still too jaded by things that were never your fault to admit how you feel.”

  “I’m trying, goddamn it!” I didn’t mean to yell and when she flinches at my tone, I realize the baggage I carry will always be there to steer me in the wrong direction.

  “What’s holding you back? What do I have to do to make you see me? Do I need to dye my hair black and cover my body in tattoos so you’ll keep your eyes open when you touch me? I know you picture her face every time you kiss me. I can feel it, but I can also feel how much you want to care about me. I’m not her and I never will be, because I’m here and I’m real and I love you. And I love that little boy. Please let her go. Take a chance . . . Believe you love me, because I believe you do. I know you do.”

  I reach for her face, but she turns her head, unable to accept any affection or simply unwilling to. She’s extremely hurt and rightfully so. Always seeking what’s easier, I intentionally pushed for a fight. Having not a clue how to make things right only serves to bring my anger to the surface, which between the two of us, will end in certain disaster.

  “I don’t want you to be her. I want you to be your perfect, beautiful, amazing self. I haven’t told you I love you because deep down, I know I always have. And that makes me feel like that little boy’s mother died in vain and that fucking guts me. If I just stayed with you and loved you like I wanted to, Maria would still be alive.”

  Her expression doesn’t change at all. I’m not even certain she heard me until her eyebrows lift. “That’s awfully convenient isn’t it? I know you feel guilty, but don’t use him or Maria as an excuse. You made a choice and you don’t get to change it.”

  She knows nothing about the choices I’ve made and what I live with every day. Her condescending tone and the way she looks at me like she’s solved some riddle brings my anger to a boil. I don’t want to be accountable. Guilt is easier, but Peyton won’t accept excuses. I don’t know why I ever thought this could work.

  A woman who can read me can hurt me. Maybe I need a woman I can manipulate so I don’t have to face the demons. I’m balancing too much as it is. “No, I can’t change it. But nonetheless, I chose wrong. Just like it was wrong to ask you to stay here with me.”

  “No. You know what? This time . . .” She swallows hard before lifting her hand. “I was wrong.” Before I can catch her arm, she leaps out of bed. She breathes heavy as she changes into jeans and a T-shirt.

  “What are you doing?” I ask as the fear of her leaving creeps up on me.

  “I actually thought you were capable of loving me. But you can’t, and it isn’t because of Maria or Javier. You can’t because you’re too preoccupied feeling sorry for yourself.”

  It takes her only five minutes to erase every trace of her from the loft. Every instinct I have is telling me to go after her. But my ever-foolish pride won’t allow it. If I feel hurt now, it will only be worse if I go after Peyton and be
g her to stay with me. I’m all out of fight. Or I’m too scared to fight because every time I do someone gets hurt.

  Night turned to day as I laid awake, wallowing in the anger I have no business feeling. Peyton didn’t do anything wrong. She called me out on my shit again and I didn’t like it. To save face, I reverted to the heartless dick I used to be, because that guy can compartmentalize his feelings much easier than I can. He’s better at protecting my heart. But with every tick of the clock, I realized how much I hate that guy. How he’s the reason I keep failing and if I want to succeed, I have to work harder to make him shut the fuck up.

  I grab my phone off the nightstand to call Peyton and beg her to forgive me. The text on the screen from her confuses me. I didn’t hear it come in about ten minutes ago and it doesn’t make any sense.

  P: rpbrtdhere helkkkk

  Maybe the phone was in her pocket or something because if she meant to text me it would have been something along the lines of, You’re such an arrogant asshole. Or, Grow the fuck up.

  I call her three times but each time the call goes to voicemail. She’s either asleep or ignoring me. Pounding on my door pulls me from my bed and I answer the door in a groggy fog. Tori and Drew come through the door, reminding me that I forgot she’s taking Javier and Drew to a birthday party for a classmate today.

  “Where’s Javier?” she asks, looking around, expecting him to be ready as he should be at ten o’clock in the morning. “You forgot?”

  “Yeah, sorry. Rough night.” I go wake Javier up and the look on his face after he stretches alarms me. Peyton clearly isn’t the only one pissed at me and I wonder how much he heard last night.

  “You heard us fighting?”

  His chin dips and he looks up at me. It’s the eyes that tell me he’s not an idiot and I’ve insulted his adolescent intelligence. “I heard her yelling and I heard her leave and if she’s not back when I get home, we’re fightin.’”

  I laugh when he giggles. “Okay, little scrapper. No need for that. I called her three times already, but she isn’t answering.”

  There’s that look again, only this time he clearly thinks I’m the idiot. “You have a car.”

  “And you have a birthday party.” I laugh. “Aunt Tori’s waiting for you.”

  While he gets dressed, I go back to the front room to find Tori with her hand on her hip and her lips pressed tight.

  “Where’s Drew?” I ask because it’s safer than asking what’s wrong.

  “I set him up in your office to color.” She taps her foot while I continue to ignore her. When it’s abundantly clear I’m not answering anything, she doesn’t speak, instead choosing to let out a noisy sigh.

  When I don’t take the hint, she finally asks, “What’d you do?”

  Her question isn’t exactly direct, so I’ll stick with evasive. “What makes you think I did anything?”

  The same look Javier gave me moments ago appears on her face. At least now I know where he learned it.

  “I went back to help you get Javier ready and I heard him.”

  “What do you think I did?” I answer annoyed, hoping she’ll take a hint and drop it but she continues to look at me with expectations. I growl in frustration. “I acted like a dick and she told me to go to hell and left in the middle of the night.”

  “And you can’t even blame me this time.”

  What the . . . When did this become about her? “I never blamed you.”

  “Didn’t you?”

  It suddenly dawns on me that when Brady was talking about me not being the only one with regrets, he was referring mainly to Tori. It was Maria catching us together that sent her running. It pains me that Tori not only feels this way but that we never discussed it.

  “No . . . I don’t.”

  She hangs her head and turns away.

  “You were sick. I get that. I spent so much time trying to figure out why I always ran to help you. And why to this day, I would drop anything to be there for you. I justified my behavior to Maria because she kept pushing. I could never quite explain how I felt to her. Because of our history, I assumed I still had feelings for you, which made things worse with Maria. But that wasn’t it.”

  She turns back around and looks at me. “I was there for you then and I’m here now, because we’re family, Tor. That’s what family does.” Her soft smile assures me that she hears what I’m telling her. “So, no, I don’t blame you and I’m not going to be angry with myself anymore and I won’t let you be angry either. In the end, Eduardo wanted Maria and he was going to get to her somehow. Am I angry that if I handled things differently, she’d still be here? Yes, but I don’t blame you. I love you because you’re my family. You always have been.”

  The tightness of our hug shows me how much we needed to have this conversation. When I release her, she cups my cheek. “There’s no guarantee that if you did anything different, Maria would still be here.”

  I can’t smile or nod because she’s wrong. If I’d given up my quest for revenge, and stayed with the woman I was in love with, Maria would still be here and Javier would still have his mother. Tori’s hand lowers, but her gaze stays with me. “Peyton’s your family now, too.”

  That’s something I can smile about. Now let’s hope I can fix the mess I made last night, because I can’t imagine my life without Peyton in it.

  Once I shuffle the three of them out the door, I try to call Peyton again, but again, she doesn’t answer. I stare at her earlier text. It doesn’t make any sense until I break it up and realize, if I don’t hurry, I might lose another woman I love.

  P: rpbrtdhere helkkkk

  rpbrtd—Robert Dellisens’ . . . here . . . helkkkk—help

  I don’t remember leaving my apartment or riding the elevator to the garage, but my head clears as I race toward Peyton’s house in nothing but boxer’s and a T-shirt. Mike texts that he and JT are five minutes out. I have a vague recollection of texting them before I left. Because her place is empty, I never bothered to set the alarm the other night. I’m not even sure we locked the door. What was there to steal? “Fuck!” I scream until my throat closes up.

  I run every red light. Fuck it, if a cop follows me, even better. The adrenaline coursing through me sets my skin ablaze, but it’s my thundering heart that I can’t control. It knows I fucked up again. The fear and anxiety I felt when I roamed the Torrente mansion looking for Maria hits tenfold. If I can’t get there on time. If I can’t save Peyton, then the man I’ve fought so hard to be will fail as miserably as the man I used to be.

  There’s also the lingering concern of how I’ll react to what I see. Javier might end up fatherless because as the rage I’ve been restraining charges toward the surface, I know I’ll kill that sick fucker if he hurts Peyton.

  When I first discovered Robert Dellisen in my bedroom, I was terrified, but then I got a glimpse of what he feels for me and I knew he wouldn’t hurt me. Even now as he sits on the floor in the corner pointing a gun at me, I know he’s conflicted with whatever madness lives in his head.

  The nerves remain but I don’t feel panicked. He’s clearly not stable. The carefully placed pictures of me he’s plastered all over the walls are proof of that. They showcase the last year of my life. He’s been a constant shadow I never saw. His desperation is the only thing that kind of alarms me, as I don’t know how far he’ll go to avoid getting caught.

  He hasn’t said a word in close to an hour. About the same amount of time that’s passed since I tried to text Aidan without him noticing. I failed and he ripped the phone out of my hand but not before I hit send. If he were going to hurt me, he would have done it then.

  I study the man closely. Aidan would never point a gun at me and he scares me a hell of a lot worse than this unimposing, horribly insecure man. My eyes focus on the gun as I wonder if he’d really use it if I challenged him. I don’t know him well, but he doesn’t seem capable of shooting someone.

  It’s only a matter of time until this situation escalates. Ev
entually Aidan will show up, or Mark and JT, or the movers whom I expect soon. I’m done waiting though and as I stand up off the floor, I refuse to be a victim.

  “Sit down,” he orders waving the gun. His lack of confidence holding the weapon makes me question if he even knows how to fire it. Something else catches my eyes as I stare at the handle.

  “No.” He waves the gun again and I laugh. “Go ahead, shoot me.” His face twists to a look of shock. Being raised in a small town with a father who liked to shoot and made you study your weapon is paying off. “Go ahead. It will hurt like hell, but an air soft pistol isn’t going to kill me.”

  He doesn’t say a word, but I was a fool to think he wouldn’t hurt me. There’s fury in his eyes as he launches forward, tackling me around the waist. I thrash against him, but give up when it appears fighting him won’t end well for me. He is angrier now, as if I’ve woken up the devil inside of him.

  His body fully covers mine, hindering me from moving. “All I wanted was for you to like me.”

  “You can’t force me.” There’s a flash of vulnerability in his eyes, a moment where he knows he’s doing something wrong. This is my chance to use his feelings for me. “But you can try,” I say sweetly as though I’m offering surrender. His grip loosens slightly and I use the opportunity to lift my head, closing my eyes like I want him to kiss me. When his head lowers and his lips meet mine, I bite down on his bottom lip until I taste blood and then attempt to shove him off of me.

  “You little bitch,” he snarls, pinning my wrists down above my head. Blood trickles from his lip and lands on my cheek. His nostrils flare as he inhales. “You’ll pay for that.”

  He laughs with a cruelty that finally brings on fear.

  “Fuck you,” I spit, refusing to show him he scares me.

  “I’m going to take what I want.”