Page 136 of A Dark Fall
But I don’t crawl back in. Because I don’t deserve something as perfect as her. Alex was unconnected to everything else in my life. She was pure and perfect, and I loved her for it. An idea pops into my head of taking Caleb and her and running off someplace where no one knows me. I almost groan out loud from how much I want that. Would she ever even agree to something like that? Maybe. Before. Before I disgusted her. Before she couldn’t love me.
I glance down at the pieces of paper and photographs on the passenger seat: pictures of Kev and me, Freddie and me, even Eddie Cartwright and me before I put him in a coma. The others are random: me with the Russians, Freddie and me standing by the docks, me putting Cale in the car, Freddie with Steph. They’ve been watching us for months, by the looks of it. It’s not a surprise. Freddie instilled in us the notion they could always be watching. It’s why we never do anything in public. It’s why I’m not worried. I’d have been arrested by now if they had anything concrete. What I don’t get is how they knew about Sharon. That I fucked her. Only two people know about that, meaning either Kev or Sharon has a bigger mouth than I thought.
As I glance back at the house, something pulls at me, urging me again to go back. To give in to the gnawing feeling that’s been eating me up inside since I walked out of there. Then I remember the utter disgust on her face as she looked at me. The face that only this morning looked at me like I’d always wanted it to. The look she gave me when she thought I was a fucking rapist is all I can see now.
As I realize I’ll probably never see her look at me like that again, my entire body clenches with rage and loss. I can’t go back in there—not right now. Not until I’ve sorted it. And I know exactly who to start with.
I pick up my phone and dial. Kev answers on the first ring.
“Where are you?” I ask him before he has a chance to say hello.
“Dropping shit off for Fred. Why? You need something?” he says. It sounds echoey, as if I’m on speakerphone in his car.
“Meet me at the club in half an hour, yeah?”
“Yeah, cool, soon as I’m done here. Everything cool?” he asks. Kev would only ask me that question if he thought things were not cool, so by that assumption, I guess my voice is the giveaway.
“Not really, Kev, no,” I say as I shove the contents of the file back into the envelope.
He snickers. “See, Jay, chicks are not worth the fucking hassle long-term, mate, I’ve told you. Headaches, the fucking lot of them.”
“Thirty minutes, Kev,” I say and hang up.
Kevin’s thoughts on my relationship with Alex have never been welcome. I don’t like the way he talks about women in general, and since it’s far safer if no one knows how serious she was for me, I had to bite my tongue a few times whenever the subject of my “hot doctor” came up. I never wanted her involved in any part of my life; I wanted her separate. Always separate from the dark parts that could taint her. Kev is most certainly a dark part. Ours is a friendship forged by mutually destructive experiences, debts owed, and secrets kept. He’s not the darkest taint though. Fred’s that. Freddie’s a fucking blackout.
With a final look back at her house, I start the engine. The next time I see her will be after I’ve sorted this. Then I’ll come back and do the begging bit. I’m not above begging her. She’s the only person I’d beg for anything. I’ll worship at her feet for the rest of my fucking life if I have to.
The drive back to London I do in complete silence. Normally, I like music while I drive, turned up so loud it blocks out every other thought. Since I met her, that need has lessened. Maybe because since I met her, she’s the only thing I can think about. I’m not thinking about deals or drops or Freddie or what sort of mess Kev will get us all into next. Instead, I think about her. As if she’s a drug I need every minute of every day. Years ago, when I was using, it was to forget the pile of shit my life was. Now,shedoes that. She is how I cope. The only thing that can make my mood change in an instant. Thinking about her, seeing her, being with her. She’s the most addictive drug I’ve ever fucking tried, and I know she’s the kind you don’t ever get over the craving for. Except I’ll need to find some way to get over the craving, and fast, because she’s gone.
She can’t love me. I disgust her.
Paul and some bar staff are the only ones inside when I arrive at the club. Kevin’s white BMW isn’t parked around the back either, and the fact he’s late only darkens my mood further. I nod at Paul as I walk through the place, the sense of achievement I normally get from being here doing absolutely nothing for me now. I couldn’t give a shit if the club burned to the ground. My head is full of her—the sound of her voice when she told me she loved me this morning, then when she asked me to leave her alone. The look on her face when she said I disgust her. She didn’t say she doesn’t love me. Only that she can’t.
That still meanssomething. It means she still loves me.
My mind settles back on this morning when she told me she was in love with me. Why the fuck didn’t I do more? Say more? What the fuck did I say? It felt like fireworks going off in my head, I remember that much. But I remember feeling guilty too. Guilty for making her love me. For making her believe I was good enough for her love. For making her think I could make her happy.Fuck,I want to make her happy, but some things, no matter how much you want them, just aren’t fucking possible. It was always going to end like this. Once she knew. She was always going to leave me when she knew.
My office is cold, but I don’t feel it. I never really feel the cold. I’ve always had an abnormally warm body temperature—some sort of evolutionary process that came about during my formative years, maybe. The consequences of Susan choosing vodka over paying the electricity bill.
The fridge is fully stocked, and the first thing I do is pull out a beer. Then I realize beer’s not gonna do it, so I grab a bottle of Jack from the low cupboard next to the fridge instead. The cupboard is also fully stocked with four bottles of Jack from what I can see. Yeah, that should do it. For an instant, I contemplate the tequila, but I haven’t touched it in nearly four years, and it ended up with me fucking Vicky in a pub toilet last time, so it’s probably safer to steer clear of that. Not that there’s any chance of me making that particular fucking mistake again. But there are plenty of others I could make instead.
I pour three inches of Jack. It’s gone in four gulps, and so I refill my glass quickly, grabbing a handful of ice from the fully stocked bucket to throw that in too. I need to find out who stocks my office and give them a pay rise. Probably Gemma. She spends far too much time hovering about the vicinity of my office. The Jack burns my insides but sends a jolt of warmth to the ice-cold pit of my stomach.
Ten minutes later, as I’m staring out the window onto my club and feeling the effects of a third of the bottle, I hear a knock on the door and the sound of the code being punched in. Kev shuffles through it, smirking. He always looks as though he’s smirking. Laughing at something unseen.
“All right, mate? How’s it going?” His eyes flick to the bottle on my desk, and he raises his eyebrows. “That bad? Smart ones are always the worst. High fucking maintenance.” He shakes his head and goes to take a seat on the low leather couch by the window. He props his legs up on the table and rests his arms behind his head, looking relaxed like he always does.
Even when shit is crumbling down around his ears, Kev wears it like a guy without a care in the fucking world. It’s something I’ve always admired about him. It’s the only thing I admire about him. He’s a complete fucking sociopath.
As I stare at him, I wonder who would care if I put a bullet in him right now. He has a sister I’m pretty sure despises him, and a father in prison. No one would care. Freddie might be slightly pissed off that his most eager lapdog is dead, and that would mean I’d have to fill the Kevin-sized whole for a while, but other than that ...
I keep staring at him while the idea takes root in my head and settles comfortably.
“Did Freddie ask you to pay Sharon a visit, or was it your idea?” I ask, lifting the glass to my mouth. As soon as Alex told me that little nugget this afternoon, I knew who was responsible. I’m not sure the details are exactly like Mark the copper says, but this piece of shit in front of me is the reason Alex thinks I’m a woman-beating rapist.
Kev doesn’t look surprised by my question. Probably knew I’d find out eventually. In fairness, I’ve been pretty distracted lately, but he would have known I’d get around to it at some point. He doesn’t move or change position; he just continues to sit there looking relaxed and conscience-free.
“Fred still wanted his money. I offered to get it,” he says, shrugging.