Page 133 of The Finish Line
I knew that no matter how happy I got here with her, that this haunt wasn’t leaving me. The contentment ripped from me because of my long, cruel memory. Thoughts of our fallout the night before Dom died plagued me nonstop tonight, making sleep impossible. I stared up at the ceiling for hours after Cecelia drifted off, sprawled naked over my chest, her thigh hooked around my torso while she dreamed. I let her sleep, no matter how badly I needed the distraction of her body to try and ward the ache away. But it’s not on her to wrestle my demons.
This battle I fight daily, and I’ve never won once.
But I’m still weak with need to go to her now. To rouse her, fuck her, and lose myself in her, basking in the safety of her love, her arms, my sanctuary. I stare at the blue bottle of Bombay, knowing it’s a shitty fucking alternative.
Tonight, all I feel is restless.
Maybe it’s because of the battle I lost today, but even in losing that, I’m a little relieved. I never wanted to leave her, but I didn’t have any other game plan.
Not even the fresh blueprint I managed to conjure up after I lay in bed with her hours later, before shooting off a text to Tyler, brings me any peace.
The night air begins to cool the sweat on my skin and my breaths even just as the back door bursts open and Beau dashes out, licking my knee and darting off a second before Cecelia’s red-rimmed eyes find mine. It’s then I realize just how badly I fucked up.
“I didn’t leave a note.”
A tear slips down her cheek as a sob bursts from her lips, and the sight of it kills me. Reaching out, I grip her hand and pull her into my lap, the relief in her so apparent, it only breaks my heart further.
I press my face into her neck, inhaling her scent. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m so fucking sorry. I wasn’t thinking.” For the first time since I got here, she needs consoling due to fear—fear I instilled in her, and it’s on me.
I cup her face as she shakes in my hold, more tears gliding down her cheeks. Stilling her quivering lips with the long press of my own, I use my thumb to stroke away her tears. As strong as she’s become, I managed to scare her in an unforgivable way by being too immersed in my own shit.
I trace the tiny divot in her chin with my thumb. “I’ve lied and broken promises to you one too many fucking times for you to believe me. But I wish you would believe I could never do that to you again. That’s why you won, Trésor. I surrender. My white flag is yours.”
“I f-f-f-ucking... h-h-ate you, King,” she says through another hitched breath.
“You should. I’m sorry, Trésor. I’m not leaving. This I promise you above all others.”
She blows out an exasperated breath, and I wait until her body relaxes against mine. No words I can say right now are good enough. Over time, I’ll prove myself. I press my face into the side of her neck and inhale. “I’m sorry I can’t stop this. This is my shit. I will get better for you.”
Drinking in her juniper scent, I eye the bottle I discarded on the table. Maybe she’s all I need. She seems to read my thoughts.
“Don’t.” Deep-blue eyes plead with mine, “Talk to me instead.”
“It’s not a problem. I won’t let it be. I won’t waste my life like that. This I know about myself.”
She regards me with tear-soaked eyes. “Well, you may not need one, but thanks to your late-night run, I do.” She lifts the bottle from the table and unscrews it, taking a long drink before dipping to kiss me. I savor the taste of the alcohol, sucking on her tongue and earning a moan until she breaks the kiss. “Please talk to me. Tell me what hurts you so much.”
I nod, scraping my lips with my teeth.
“After I left you in that yard—the day Dom and Sean discovered us—I gave them a few hours to cool off a little before I went to them. A lot of hours, actually. I came back and paced your back yard. I heard you playing “Father Figure,” for me. It stung so fucking bad. I knew how hurt you were. I ended up going back to them before I came to you, and you know I never made it.”
“Why?”
“For the same reason I’m surrendering. I’ve made one too many bad decisions that put the people I love at risk. It’s made me paranoid, and sometimes I don’t know when my instincts are right, or it’s the paranoia. It’s getting harder to distinguish which. I really needed this fucking vacation.”
She nods and runs her fingers through my hair, waiting patiently for me to speak. I want to give this to her, and more than once, I’ve torn pages out of my journal recalling that night, but I could never get through it. I take another long pull of gin and set the bottle down, giving her my full attention as I relay every detail I can remember about that night, save the call from Antoine. She listens attentively, drawing closer to me with each word, her grip on me growing tighter, her eyes shining with empathy when I finish.
After a bout of silence, she situates herself on my lap so she’s fully facing me before she speaks. “You know a judge passes a sentence for crimes committed in order of the severity of the degree of the crime. How much time do you plan on serving, Tobias?”
“It’s not that simple.”
“No, it’s not, but do you think he would want you to live the rest of your life a slave to your guilt? Guilt for actions you regret with your whole heart and being? You know the answer. As hard as he was, that’s not Dominic’s heart. That’s not who he was at all. He was the same impenetrable man operating on love, a mirror image of you.” I bite my lip as she palms my jaw, forcing my eyes to hers.
“I’ve never felt like I just lost my brother, and I know that may seem weird. But I feel like...”
“You lost a son,” she whispers. “It’s not weird. You took on that role. You were both.”
I nod. “I know that love, Cecelia,” I confess, “a father’s love. For the most part, I was Dominic’s father, despite my title.” I shake my head, unable to see her now through my pain. “And the day before he died, I took the one thing he wanted most in the world away from him. He died in love with you. I thieved from him and broke his heart, his trust. What reason did he have not to step in front of those bullets?”