Текст книги "Playing Hard to Master"

Автор книги: Sparrow Beckett

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

When it seemed like everyone was done, he exchanged a glance with his mother, who nodded. He stood and went to Everly’s chair and guided her to her feet.

“Come with me.”

He walked down the hall with her, wishing it weren’t winter, so they could have gone outside. Band posters still covered the walls and ceiling of his old bedroom, and the teenage him gloated for a moment about having such a sexy girl set foot in there. He shut the door behind them.

She turned to him, looking upset and perplexed. “Explain.”

“I—I love you, Everly. This all ended up happening ass backward. I wanted to explain in a few days, but really I’m just a fucking coward. I should have told you weeks ago.”

“Your brother called you the boss, and said he was your accountant.” Her usual teasing was gone. She was dead serious.

“Yes. It’s true. I work in transportation, but I started my own company. A small business.” That didn’t sound too bad, so far, right? “I met you, and I liked you a lot. Right from the beginning. But you told me you didn’t have a very good opinion of people who . . .” Fuck. What word would make this less bad? “Had money. So I realized if I wanted to have a chance to win you over, I needed to downplay that. It was dumb, I know. I just—I really liked you, and I didn’t want to fuck it up.”

“So you own a small business?”

“It got bigger over time. There are . . . employees.”

“So you couldn’t take me to the Christmas party, or I’d find out.” Her gaze was stony.

“Yeah.” When he tried to brush her hair back from her face, she jerked back from him, as though his touch might burn her skin.

Fuck.

Oh god, he felt like he was drowning. And it was his own fault for drilling holes in the boat.

“How far do these lies go?” Her voice was cold.

Where could he even begin? “The house I told you was my friend’s is mine. All that crap is mine.”

“And you thought what?” she spat. “That not telling me was okay? That I shouldn’t be allowed to have the truth and make my own decision?”

“Everly, I know it looks bad, but I did it because . . .” This was coming out all wrong. His throat closed up. He could see she had no interest in hearing his excuses.

“You lied to me because you love me.” She snorted. “Is that what you were going to say? That’s pretty fucked up. You’re pretty fucked up, if you thought lying like this was going to be okay.”

The ugly words coming from her mouth hurt more than he could have imagined. Like someone was killing his every hope for happiness.

God, he was an idiot.

“I’m so sorry.” He sat on his old bed, remembering how only an hour ago he’d thought of seducing her in here. It felt like years had tumbled past. “I know it sounds like a load of crap right now, but I’ve been worried about this for weeks, trying to figure out how to tell you. I kept making excuses for myself, but I wasn’t being fair to you.”

She flipped her hair back. He wished he could convince her to sit with him and hash things out, but trying to make her sit with him would probably just make him seem like more of a spoiled, rich asshat. He had to show her that he wasn’t like that. But how?

“So what you’re telling me is that I didn’t actually fall in love with you. I fell in love with a lying, manipulative, rich guy.”

He could feel her pulling away from him like a physical sensation, even though they weren’t touching. It made him cold.

So the fact that he’d done the best with the cards he’d been dealt in life made him automatically evil? Sure, the lies he’d told her had been wrong. He wasn’t proud of himself for that. But she was judging him based on a stereotype of what some people with money were like. This was what he’d been avoiding all along. He wasn’t the monster she thought he was, and neither were his friends. They were just regular guys who’d worked hard and been lucky. All three of them had given up dreams to do what it took to help support their families. Yes, he deserved her anger for the lies, but he didn’t deserve the stereotype. Hadn’t he shown her he was one of the good guys?

“I’m the same person, Everly. Only one thing has changed. This is why I was so afraid to tell you. My money doesn’t make me the enemy.”

Her gaze was hard. Determined. Had the love there all been a lie? She’d gone from adoration to loathing in the course of a short conversation. Real love forgave, didn’t it?

“You’re right. Having money doesn’t make you the enemy. But the lies make you disposable.” A wall had gone up between them, and the final stone had been set in place. She was done with him, and anything else he said would be used against him.

“I love you, Everly.” He thought of the collar he’d had made for her, and how he’d hoped there would be so much more between them. Permanence. A love like his parents had, but possibly even deeper because of the extra bond they shared.

Everly turned her back on him.

She left the room without a backward glance. By the time he was calm enough to follow, she was gone.

Chapter Thirteen

Everly popped a piece of her mom’s famous peanut butter–chocolate fudge into her mouth. Then two pieces. Then three.

“Everly!” her mother scolded. “Stop eating your feelings.”

Scowling at her mom, she said, “I can’t help it,” but it came out more like “I ant el it.”

The six-year-old kneeling on the floor giggled. She winked at him then checked if his dad was watching before tossing him a piece. By the chocolate smeared on his face, she guessed he’d already had a lot, but if her mom was serious about the little guy’s dad, it wouldn’t hurt to get in good with him.

Liam took the chocolate and grinned. They were becoming friends already. Everly and her mom had spent a lot of quiet holidays together over the years. It was nice having a kid around to make Christmas magical again. And it was a distraction she sorely needed.

Jimmy sauntered into the living room, carrying a beer. He stopped short when he spotted his son. Liam’s eyes widened and, panicked, he pointed at Everly.

She shook her head and tsked. “Way to rat me out, kid.”

Her mom’s boyfriend chuckled and set his beer on the coffee table before taking a seat on the recliner opposite the couch. “And here I thought you’d be a good role model.” Jimmy wore ripped jeans and a T-shirt with a Homer Simpson saying. He had a beer gut and overgrown hair, but his eyes were kind and he looked at Everly’s mother like she was a goddess.

“I’m usually a fine, upstanding citizen,” Everly mumbled. “I swear.”

Her mom followed with a tray of more desserts. “She just had her heart broken.”

At the word “heart” she felt herself deflate like an old balloon. Her heart was worse than broken. It was crushed into a million tiny pieces then mashed to dust. It’d never be put back together. There wasn’t enough glue in the world.

She’d put on a brave front for dinner, pretending nothing happened so she didn’t scare poor Jimmy away. Her mom seemed over the moon for this guy. She didn’t want to come across as sullen baggage.

Narrowing her eyes at her mother, she picked up a cookie from the plate she’d just brought out. But all the cookies and chocolate in the world weren’t making her feel better.

“What happened?” Jimmy asked. “Some boy leave you on Christmas? I’ll have a talk with him if you like.” His idea of “a talk” seemed like it might involve rope and a shotgun.

Mouth too full of cookie to answer, she watched her mom take over, dreading the turn it was taking. “She just found out her boyfriend’s rich.”

“Oh.” He nodded for a moment, then the words seemed to sink in. “Wait. What?”

She took a swig of the champagne she’d poured herself earlier to clear her mouth. “It’s not that he’s rich. Don’t make me sound so shallow.” She wasn’t shallow. It wasn’t about that, really. “It’s that he lied. For a long time! How can I trust him? He says he’s different, but he’s acting just like every other rich person we’ve ever known.”

She expected her mom to agree, but Lysette had been dodging giving an opinion on this since she’d cried to her last night after the party. “Now, don’t drag me into this. I’ve met some very nice rich people.”

Everly rolled her eyes, but at the same time, seeds of doubt had been planted in her mind and started to grow. Her whole life, she’d been angry at their family, working against the one percent, convinced they were the enemy—most of them, not all. But not only had she fallen in love with one, but through him, she’d met others who’d just . . . gotten lucky. Was it fair to blame them?

“You can’t be like this forever, hon. You can’t wear this chip on your shoulder your whole life or you’ll miss out on good things that could come your way.” She gave her a candid look. “Like this boy, Ambrosia.”

“Ambrose.”

“Whatever. It’s a strange name.”

She snorted. “Says the woman who named her daughter Everly.”

“See? Another reason you two belong together!”

“Mom,” she warned. If she hadn’t numbed herself with alcohol earlier, she’d still be a crying mess right now. But she’d done enough of that last night. And then again in the morning. She’d cried so hard she’d run out of tears, and even hours later her face felt puffy and her chest ached.

For all of his lying, Ambrose would be a hard one to get over. Looking at Liam’s little golden head of hair and big blue eyes kept making her wonder what her children with Ambrose would have been like. She’d been so close to that. A future. A family. Maybe it wasn’t much, but it was something. And it would have been hers.

Now she had no boyfriend, no play partner, no Dom, no Master. Though she’d only ever worn a generic play collar, somehow her neck felt empty and cold. She’d been owned and loved, she’d tasted that bond, and now her world had gone suddenly gray.

She couldn’t imagine there was anything more painful in the world than losing your Master.

Maybe it hadn’t been official, but it might as well have been. It meant something. He meant something.

That she’d felt it so strongly, been so in love, only made the betrayal hurt more. Last night, she’d driven home through blurry tears and had to pull over twice until she calmed down. He’d been calling and texting all night and day, and she’d finally turned her phone off, unable to handle seeing his name without bursting into fresh tears.

But enough was enough. He kept trying to explain himself, but he didn’t understand that was only making it worse. He was proving exactly what she’d said—he was just like every other rich, selfish asshole. Ambrose wanted what he wanted, and he’d do anything to get it.

And she’d taken him for a Dom. Instead, he was just a spoiled liar.

“So . . .” Jimmy’s voice pulled her attention. His brow creased as he tilted his head in confusion. “You broke up with him because he’s rich?”

“Because he lied about being rich.”

His expression remained bewildered.

“Being rich is enough though. Rich people are entitled, selfish, and inconsiderate,” she spouted off as if she’d said it a hundred times before. Maybe she had, but this time the sweeping generalization embarrassed her as it came from her mouth. Was Ambrose really all of those things? As a second thought, she looked at Jimmy and asked, “You’re not rich, are you?”

“No.” He laughed. “I’m a plumber.”

Jimmy the Plumber. A divorcé with a pickup truck, a trailer home, and a six-year-old kid he shared custody of. But somehow a perfect match for her mom. She always went for humble and ordinary. Everly had assumed she’d do the same, but somehow she’d ended up with the enemy. She snorted at herself. Sleeping with the enemy.

“Listen, honey.” Her mom’s voice softened. “I know our family and the girls at school were mean to you when you were a kid, but you gotta forgive them and get over that shit.” Her gaze shot to Liam, who was happily tasting each kind of cookie. “Uh, stuff.”

“I’m over it,” she replied, suddenly grumpy.

“Clearly not, if it made you break up with a perfectly good guy.”

“Ugh.” She threw her hands in the air. “How many times do I have to tell you? It’s not just that he’s rich. It’s that he lied. For months! That’s acceptable to you? He said he loved me with this hanging over his head. He was okay with that. Doesn’t that say something about him as a person?”

“Did he say sorry?” Jimmy asked.

“Yes. But . . .”

“Sounds like he wasn’t okay with it, then.”

He hadn’t just apologized—he’d groveled and begged for forgiveness. But if she gave in, what did that make her? A doormat. Gullible. She was a sub but certainly not a sucker.

“Let me tell you something about guys,” Jimmy added. “We’re kinda stupid.”

She snorted.

“Seriously. When guys fall in love, it short-circuits their brains. They become drooling Neanderthals and do some really stupid things they regret later. It doesn’t surprise me that a guy could fall for a girl and let a lie get away from him like this. He was probably scared to tell you. Afraid of this exact scenario.”

That was what Ambrose had told her. For a long moment, she couldn’t think of anything to say. She’d thought he’d fallen for her as much as she had for him, but after yesterday, she wasn’t sure anymore. It seemed more like she’d been a conquest. She was just another thing for him to conquer and make his. But could Jimmy be right that this was all one big accident? A messy, jumbled-up clusterfuck, but maybe not the end of the world?

Frustrated, she snapped, “Why are you people defending him? You’re supposed to be on my side.”

Her mom gave her a sympathetic smile. “I am, sweetheart. Why do you think I made so much dessert?”

*   *   *

A few weeks later, her body felt old and used, and not just because she’d picked up more hours at work to keep herself busy. Every morning, she woke up happy, in love with Ambrose. Then she remembered what happened. It was like having her heart ripped away, again and again.

She was exhausted.

Between working her ass off and planning the big sit-in, her eyes were constantly drooping and her feet always ached. But at least she felt something. It was better than the hollowness that came when she was alone in her apartment.

“You okay, Ev?” Chloe asked, pulling her from her pity party.

She must have looked as bad as she felt. But she threw Chloe a shaky smile anyway. “Fine.” She pretended she’d been scanning the crowd. “I can’t believe how many people are here.”

Her best guess was around fifty people had come to the sit-in. Far more than Everly had thought—more than anyone at Community Cares had been prepared for. They were running out of hot chocolate.

City Council was planning to shut down the soup kitchen because so many neighborhood businesses had complained about it. Community Cares had been staging the sit-in for the last two weeks. She’d poured herself into the project, trying to feel passionate about something instead of like a zombie, but it wasn’t working yet.

She’d visited each business and asked them to reconsider their complaints. Surely, a soup kitchen next door wasn’t so bad. It wasn’t like crime had gone up. But they’d said having poor people milling around outside was making their patrons uncomfortable, even though no one was panhandling or anything.

“I guess more people care than we thought,” Chloe said, looking over the crowd.

Everly’s phone vibrated in her pocket. The only reason she checked the caller was to be sure it wasn’t her boss. As usual, it was Ambrose. She rejected the call, ignoring the big lump in her throat, then focused on her task.

Chloe and Max frowned at her sympathetically. Ugh. The pitying looks were getting tiresome. She needed to invest in better makeup if this was going to continue.

“It was him again, huh?” Max asked.

She didn’t bother to answer.

Chloe and Max sighed at each other, then Chloe took a step closer. “You need to talk to him.”

“Shut up.” She avoided eye contact and pretended there was something interesting going on at the hot chocolate stand.

“You haven’t been yourself,” Max said. “We’re worried about you.”

Ignoring them, she tried to smile at other protesters, but they mostly looked afraid of her.

“You might feel better if you just talked to him,” Chloe added. “At least get some closure.”

With a big sigh, she turned to them. “I will talk to him. Eventually. I just needed a little space and time. When I’m ready, we’ll talk and maybe even stay friends.” Fat chance. “Now will you quit bugging me about it?”

Through suspicious looks, they nodded.

“Thank you.” She didn’t cry anymore. The well of tears had dried up. Now she fought the numb haze that was her life.

It was hard. Nothing felt right, tasted good, seemed funny anymore. It was like everything good had left when Ambrose had. Well, when she’d left him. How could she go on like this?

It wasn’t a lie that she planned to talk to him. She was working up the strength and the right words. Friendship was out of the question—it hurt too much just looking at his picture when it popped up on his contact info when he called.

They’d say their good-byes, and then she’d give herself time to heal before heading to the dungeon again.

Just the thought of it made her want to throw up, but if she didn’t go soon, she might never get the nerve. What were the chances she’d find another Dom who understood her bratting but also her need for mastery? Slim to none.

Even if she found someone who came close to meeting her needs, he’d never be Ambrose. She’d never get back what she’d lost.

But she had to believe it could happen or else be doomed to a lonely, dreary life.

Tears stung her eyes. Apparently they weren’t totally dried up. Thankfully, the cold breeze froze them before they fell, and she was spared more pitying looks, especially from strangers.

This had to stop. She had to talk to him. After the protest. Once that was over with and she wasn’t spending all of her free time planning it, she’d approach him with a clear head.

The lights of a police car coming up the road caught her attention. Her initial reaction was to panic, but she knew the laws and they weren’t breaking any. A loudspeaker turned on as the car approached.

“You are blocking the intersection. Please move your demonstration off the road and onto the sidewalk.” The officer spoke slowly from the window of the car. “You are blocking an intersection. We will be arresting violators, so please move your protest to the sidewalk. Thank you.”

She hadn’t noticed that more and more protesters had been lingering in the street. They’d been moving when cars came through though. Wasn’t that enough?

A few people meandered to the sidewalk, but many stayed put, either obliviously chatting to neighbors or glaring at the officer in protest.

“We’re not going anywhere!” one protestor shouted. A few echoed him. “So fuck off!”

“Shit,” Everly whispered. “This is going to get bad.”

Without another word, she rushed toward the people in the road. “Move!” she yelled as she pushed through the crowd. “Get off the road! This isn’t that kind of protest.”

When she reached the members who were getting angry, she said, “We don’t want any trouble. We can still make a difference from the sidewalk. Please move.”

“Nobody cares if we stand around there,” the man said, gesturing at the sidewalk. In his dark eyes, she saw her own desperation, her own resentment from years of pain. She would bet a million dollars this man had a history a lot like hers. “They won’t care unless we make them care.”

“Getting arrested won’t fix anything,” she explained.

At the angry shouts around her, panic struck. She didn’t want anyone thrown in jail because of her. That wasn’t supposed to be how this went down.

She turned and looked at them. “Get off the road. Please!”

But it was too late. A team of officers descended upon them. Some of the crowd fled to the sidewalk once they saw the police were serious. She was still encouraging people to move when she felt a hand grip her arm.

She spun, expecting Chloe or Max to be there, trying to drag her to the sidewalk, but instead she came face-to-face with a uniformed man, wearing sunglasses and holding out a set of handcuffs.

“Fuck,” she muttered.

“Yup.” He slipped the handcuffs on her wrists behind her back and started reading her the Miranda rights.

Dozens of protests, and she’d always managed to avoid arrest. Some people would say she was a real protestor now, but she just felt stupid and irresponsible. How many others had she gotten in trouble?

As she was driven away in the back of the squad car, she had a hard time not letting her emotions get the best of her. Things weren’t supposed to turn out this way. God, did she have to be a failure at everything?

Her life was falling apart. First, Ambrose. And now this. The word “failure” should have been stamped on her forehead. She’d thought she was past the point of feeling like she had as a child, but here she was. Back in the line of fire. Failing at life, just as her estranged family had predicted. Her poor mother was going to be so disappointed. At least she was away with Jimmy for the weekend, but that meant calling her for bail wasn’t even an option—not that she wouldn’t be too ashamed to anyway. All Lysette had ever wanted was for Everly to make something of herself. Instead, now she had a criminal record and a destiny as a lonely cat lady.

Not that being single was bad for some people—but she wanted children someday, and she wanted them to have a father. And she wanted sex. Good, kinky sex with someone who loved her.

It was easy to blame Ambrose now that he was gone. He’d ruined all other men for her. Not only because he’d lied and broken her trust, but because she’d had mind-blowing kinky sex with a dominant that suited her perfectly. What were the chances she’d ever find that again? Even if she settled and dated another guy, she’d be constantly comparing him to Ambrose and coming up disappointed.

After the officer put her information into the computer and took her fingerprints, he locked her in the holding cell with about a dozen other women—mostly from the protest.

Letting out a long sigh, she plopped down on one of the benches. Nothing made you contemplate your life’s direction more than being stuck in a holding cell that stank like urine, with no one to call for bail.

Shit.

There was one person.

Could she swallow her pride enough to do it, or should she spend the night here? Her body was too drained for a terrible night’s sleep. Her emotions were spent—she’d break down sobbing any minute if she didn’t get out of there soon. All she wanted to do was curl up in a ball somewhere warm and cry. God, she sounded like such a baby. She hated not being able to deal with shit she’d gotten herself into.

And what about all the other people here? Maybe she should have explained the rules better, warned them what could happen if they weren’t careful to follow the law regarding peaceful protests. She’d built up a pretty decent savings account—money she’d been tucking away in case of an emergency. It was probably enough to pay bail for the people she’d gotten into this mess. It was only fair to get them out of it. But she had to shift things around in her accounts, so it couldn’t happen tonight.

Ugh. She was so fucking tired.

There was nobody she hated worse than herself right now. Not even Ambrose.

But Ambrose might be the only one who could help her. Not just her, but the innocent people she’d landed here. If he could front her the money, she could set things right.

When the police officer handed her the phone, she swallowed back the lump in her throat and dialed his number.