Page 108 of Broken Pieces
Because I rather stain my name than hers; the woman who unknowingly saved my life by simply existing.
“I just am. The details are not important.”
As he massages the bridge of his nose, he tosses his pen onto the desk. “Romano, you've got to let me lend a hand here. Are you guilty or not?”
Clamping down on my tongue, a taste of copper fills my mouth. Expecting Hawkins to comply with my planwithout raising questions was a stupid way of thinking. What other options do I have, though? Alex made his intentions clear. It’s either I save my reputation and ruin hers, or vice versa.
I obviously choose to ruin a reputation that means nothing to me. There’s no amount of wealth or fame that would make me change my mind. This is not Aria’s fault, so why should she pay for a feud between me and my fucking brother?
God, this is so fucked.
I still can’t believe it. Fuck my father, honestly. All I feel is pure hatred for that man. It's been years since he passed, but every decision I’ve made for my life has been shaped by the hurt he inflicted on me.
Not anymore. Fuck the money. Fuck the fame I didn’t even want in the first place. I’ll protect the woman I love.Every.Damn.Time. No questions asked.
My steps bring me nearer, and I lean against his desk, my tone icy. “Don’t forget you work for me, Hawkins. I have no issue reminding you of that. I'm ready to plead guilty; so let's work on securing a beneficial arrangement.”
He shakes his head in defeat. “I’ll see what I can do.”
I’ve never felt so all over the place in my life. The bourbon is who I have to thank for that. After slamming glass after glass, I stopped feeling the burn down my throat after the fourth round, but that didn’t deter me from drowning in my sorrows, my mistakes, questioning my life and where the fuck I went wrong. Thought the booze would numb me, but it's doing the opposite—cranking up the emotions instead. Without Aria, I’m fucking miserable. I miss her warm hazel gaze, her touch, the sound of her fucking voice, our bodies colliding, and me getting lost in her. Doesn’t matter how much booze I drink, the need just keeps multiplying.
The elevator doors at my place open, and I catch the sound of someone walking toward me with quiet steps. I'm sitting in the kitchen, perched on the island, facing away.
I gulp down another glass of bourbon and mutter hoarsely, “Go away.”
The steps get closer, and a soft hand fists my hair slightly and I melt at the feel of it instantly, because I’d recognize that touch anywhere. There’s only one person in this fucked up world that can make me feel so much with a simple touch.
“Damian,” Aria whispers.
I squeeze my eyes shut, clenching my jaw as I bite the inside of my cheek, desperately trying to keep my emotions in check. God, I love this woman. There's an overwhelming urge to yell it out,to let her know how damn sorry I am for pushing her away. For calling her pathetic. I’m itching to wrap my arms around her, feel the warmth of her hold, and let myself be enveloped in the comforting scent that's uniquely hers—sweet and addicting—like a familiar, soothing balm to the chaos inside. "What are you doing here?" I ask, grabbing the bourbon bottle and taking another swig of the golden liquid.
Forget the fucking the glass, I'll be nursing this bottle for the rest of the night. Probably for the rest of my miserable life.
She grabs a seat next to me. “Damian, look at me.”
I just can't do it. The pain hits hard when I look at her. If I do, I'll totally lose control. I'll spill everything, and her life will be ruined. I won't let that happen, even if it's my final move, even if she ends up hating me.
I look the other way, feeling the swell of emotions. “Just go away, please.”
“Not until we talk. Not until you tell me why you’re pleading guilty.”
My eyes fix on her, and I curse myself for the stupid move. There's a hint of worry in her eyes, and she looks as tired as me, if not more. But she's still undeniably beautiful. No makeup, just those golden freckles adding a natural glow to her face.
“Who told you that?”
She looks at me, knowingly. “Isabella.Did you really think you could avoid me forever? I'm here. Let's talk.”
Time to play pretend. Wearing the mask I've got down pat.
“There's nothing to discuss. I thought I made that very clear when we last spoke,” I hiss. “Why are you even here? Are you expecting me to say I'm innocent? Because that's not gonna happen.” I down another swig of bourbon.
She gets up and grabs the bottle, slamming it down on the counter. “Can you quit sulking for a second and just tell me what the fuck happened? You said you're not guilty. Are you saying you lied to my face?” Now she's yelling, anger all over her.
Good. This is what I need to break the bond for good and make her hate me.
I shout back as I get up and grab the bottle, “And what if I did? I really don't give a fuck what you think of me. Know your place and mind your damn business.”
She jabs a finger into my chest. “You think after all this time I’m going to buy into this? Cut the bullshit, Damian, it’s beneath you. I thought we were past this.”
