Stella’s hands itched to rip the headphones out of her ears, but his voice was magnetic, pulling her in. He detailed more memories of trying to save his sister, the many ways he’d tried to find her after they were separated, and Stella folded into herself. He hadn’t told her she’d committed suicide—or that he’d had to watch them pull her body out of the water.
“So when the music doesn’t drown it out, I get drunk. Or high. Or whatever works. But it got out of control. When I’d start to come down, the noises would be worse, the visions clearer. So I’d do more, more of whatever the hell I was doing at the time. Long story short, I nearly OD’d a time or two. So now I’m here.”
Once the recording ended, she tore the headphones from her ears and held her head with both hands. She was disgusted with herself. A sob wrenched itself from the depths of her stomach, from her soul it seemed.
“Hope you enjoyed your vacation from your demanding life as a poor, pitiful rock star.”
How could she have said that to him? She’d been raw and vulnerable. Weak and wounded from the encounter with her parents. She was a damaged human being. There was no doubt about that. But that was no excuse. She’d known enough to know that this wasn’t a vacation for him. Known details of the visceral pain and brutal past that had led him here. To her.
Miranda had told her. He was fighting a much bloodier battle than anyone else here.
Maybe he didn’t feel for her the way she felt about him. She’d obviously mistaken lust for love. But she was a grown woman. That was her fault and not something she should’ve taken out on him. Even if he had already moved on to fucking her least favorite nurse.
Stella rubbed her side, her ribcage still sore and stinging from what she’d done the night before.
For whatever reason, their paths had been meant to cross, meant to intersect. And even though the way he’d ended it had been a crushing blow to her only recently discovered soul, it was worth it. She wouldn’t erase the memories of every single second they’d shared for anything.
She had no idea how she would’ve handled the life-altering confession from her parents without the strength he’d given her to hold on to. She might’ve offed herself just to end the internal chaos and confusion, to keep from dealing with the truths that didn’t fit in her previously compartmentalized life.
That was a terrifying thought, much like standing over a gaping abyss.
The woman she’d been before him might not have been strong enough to even process it. So she owed him an apology for the awful things she’d said to him. And a thank you for giving her something she would cherish for the rest of her life. The ability to open herself up to her emotions—to feeling and loving, to hurting and healing.
She stood and exited her office. Heading to Van’s residence, she prayed that if he had moved on to his next conquest, she wouldn’t walk in on the middle of it.
Chapter Thirty-Five
He recognized her knock. The damn woman had come knocking enough times that he’d memorized it. Fuck.
The urge to get loaded and screw someone else had taunted him all night. He was fucking famous. It would take one phone call to get him out of here. But he’d stayed. Because leaving her even a second before he had to felt like a death sentence. The next time he got high would probably be the last.
“You really do enjoy pain and punishment, don’t you, sweetheart?” He forced a sneer onto his face as he opened the door.
“More than you know, Mr. Walker.” Her eyes held a challenge his dick rose to meet. Christ.
“That what you’re here for? Or did we skip an answer on my survey again?”
“No,” she began, stepping around him. “I’m here because I was at home last weekend, listening to my sordid life story being told to me by complete strangers. And the only person I wanted to be there was you.” She paused as if waiting for her words to sink in. “And because I wanted to thank you. For showing me how to feel.”
Her words, so much like his after his first ‘breakthrough,’ as Dr. McLendon called it, hit him directly in the heart. She’d needed him. For more than just screwing her senseless. Wanted him to be a part of her real life.
“You’re welcome,” was all he could manage to get out.
She sighed, meeting his eyes with remorse in hers. “And I’m sorry for what I said. I know you’re not here on vacation.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “I was angry and I lashed out. I thought what we had was…more than it actually was. It h-hurt to find out that I was wrong—that it wasn’t the same for you. But that’s no excuse. And I hope you can forgive me.”
“Forgive you?” He’d pummeled her heart to hell and back on purpose and she was here to apologize to him? Her eyes were filling with tears that somehow had a direct effect on his ability to swallow. He couldn’t seem to locate the part of him that had been certain letting her go was the best plan.
“For saying something so hurtful. I never should’ve—” She sniffled, turning from him. He moved without meaning to, blocking her exit.
“I see. And what we had, what did you think it was, exactly?” He couldn’t help himself, the need to hear the words in her mouth—even if it ruined them both—was overpowering.
Her body—the body that he’d seen bare and on display for him—went rigid. Her eyes narrowed. “I was wrong, whatever I thought. It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me,” he admitted.
Stella’s glistening green eyes met his. “You lied about the blonde.”
Van schooled his face to remain emotionless. “Did I?”
“I can tell by the way you’re looking at me. You don’t really want her. You never looked at her like you’re still looking at me.”
He forced a shrug. “So I lied. People are talking. Jesse told me his dad asked him to keep an eye on us.”
Stella’s eyes widened, but they still held the same determined stare. “So let them talk. If they’d caught us, I would’ve left. I needed you more than I needed this job.”
“No. Don’t. I don’t want that. I don’t want this.”
She winced. Lying to her tied him in knots and pulled them tight enough to snap. His resolve was already fraying at the edges.
“You’re afraid,” she whispered. “I see it now.”
“No idea what you’re talking about.”
She reached out and touched his face. His plan to push her away disintegrated at her touch. “Of caring. Of hurting. Of causing me pain.”
“Actually I thoroughly enjoy that last part.”
“It won’t work.” Her hands drifted down his body, sparks of desire flaring beneath his flesh everywhere she touched. The way she watched him—as if she were seeing him for the first time—stripped him bare.
“What won’t work?”
“Trying to keep me out. I’m in, Van. I’m all in. You’re it for me.”
“Don’t say that.” He yanked out of her grasp. “You can do so much better. Christ. Go find yourself a doctor or lawyer or some shit. That white knight’s out there somewhere, cowgirl. Hop on your horse and go get him.”
She shook her head, his words seemingly bouncing off her. “People lie, Van. They let you down, they disappear, and when fate decides to be exceptionally cruel, they die. But it’s the truths we hide when we’re alive that hurt us both the most. Don’t pretend you’re doing me a favor by pushing me away. You’re not.”
She reached for him again and he couldn’t make himself deny her. His head dipped to rest on hers.
“For so long, I’ve been so afraid. Maybe for my entire life. I’ve been afraid to feel—afraid to let people in where they can hurt me. But I can’t keep you out. You’re in, Van. And you can break, wreck, and ruin me. I’ll only beg for more.”