Page 68 of Widow's Walk

He holds me through it all. All the years, maybe a lifetime, of anguished pain bleeds from me. The air rushes out of me as I wilt against him. Finally succumbing to the epic meltdown.

Resentment.

Hate.

Fury.

Heartbreak.

Betrayal.

Abandonment.

It storms through me, breaking me until nothing is left but the wreckage. And then the blackness takes back over.

“Clair.” A deep voice stirs me from my torture-induced slumber.

The room is dim and quiet when I open my eyes. I’m back in bed with puffy eyes and a raw throat. I turn to meet Blackwell’s bloodshot eyes. He’s crouched beside me, looking more disheveled than before. The longer I stare at him, the more the embarrassment begins to creep in, and I can’t look at him.

“You need to eat something,” he insists quietly.

“I need water.” I push myself upright.

I feel his eyes on me for another moment before he stands up and grabs something off the table. “Here.” I glance at the glass of water and the tiny white pills offered on an open palm. My eyes roll up as if asking if he’s serious. “They’re for your pain.”

Suddenly, everything hurts. My head, my throat, every muscle in my body. My instinct is to fight him on this and refuse the medicine. I’ve been through worse physical pain, I’ll live. But at this very moment, I don’t want to fight.

So, I take the pills and down all the water in one go. I put the cup on the nightstand myself, ignoring his hand, and I look around the room. “So, where are we?”

“Our estate.” My eyes widen on him. “You were dragging your feet on furnishing it, so I had the designer start.”

My nostrils flare with a violent breath as I tear my eyes away from him.Ourestate? Is he fucking mental?

There’s a polite knock on the door. Blackwell answers without a word. When he closes the door and returns, he’s carrying a large tray piled high with steaming, hot food. My eyes lock on the delicious spread, and I swear I start drooling. It looks sinfully fulfilling. It takes everything in me not to dive in headfirst like a beast crazed with starvation.

“Eat,” he orders, and I choose to ignore his curt tone. He can scream in my ear all he wants right now. All I can see isfood. “Then, if you’re up to it later, you can venture out for a look around. See what has been done so far.”

I keep my eyes down on the food, pretending he doesn’t exist. After he lets out a dramatic sigh, he heads for the door. “Oh, and Sinclair?” I still don’t look at him. “There’s no point in trying to run. Even if you were to escape, I will find you. And I will bring you right back here. And it’ll be a long time before I ever let you out of my sight again.”

I grind my molars until I hear him finally leave, the door clicking softly shut behind him. Then, I fucking dig it.

Chapter thirty

Blackwell

Ihaven’t slept next to her since I brought her home.

Three nights. Three fucking, sleepless nights. I’ve been camped out in my office putting out fire after fire. Clean-up and damage control from the takedown. We’ve made ourselves countless enemies, but our allies are still more valuable to retaliate against.

My neck aches, and my back is bent, but I don’t move from the chair. Because if I crawl into that bed with her and she turns her back on me, or recoils if I reach for her, or tells me to go to hell if I whisper her name, I don’t know what I will do to her.

The thin line between restraint and desire.

Part of me wishes to hold her so tight she can’t ever leave again. Tell her how I wish I had told her about what was going on behind closed doors. That I would never let her go, even if it costs me everything.

Then there’s the other part of me that wants to fucking throttle her. For gutting me with that note. For having me chase herthrough blood and fire, only to look at me the way she does now. Like I am the center of all her scars, old and new. As if I made every one of them.

I either want to hold her or strangle her.

---