None of it.
Wanting to tell her how much better he could treat her, see to her every need, and take care of her in every way possible, Gavin found his voice trapped in yearning, not wanting to upset her further.
“I’m sorry that I caused this to happen, Gavin. I’m so sorry,” she whispered as tears steadily trickled down her cheeks.
With his brows creased and head tilted, Gavin applied the last bandage. He looked up to her and tried to understand why she would say that. “You think this was your fault?”
“Yes. Dillon was right. If I didn’t let that guy touch me, none of this would’ve happened.”
“Emily…” he paused, bringing his hand up to cup the curve of her jaw. “You’re not responsible for what happened. Do you understand me?”
Sniffling, she adamantly shook her head and stared into his eyes. “No, Gavin, I’m responsible. I had no right talking to that guy to begin with.” She started sobbing uncontrollably. “You and Dillon were friends, and now you won’t be after this. I can’t believe what I’ve caused.”
He could see the mixture of confusion and pain on her face, and it only heightened his confusion. Damn Dillon. He had her under a tighter hold than Gavin could’ve ever imagined. “He makes you think it’s your fault, Emily,” he replied, the words spoken low but unwavering. “And I’m not worried about his friendship right now. I don’t think I ever was. I’m worried about you—you, Emily—not him.”
Shaking her head, she continued to cry, barely managing a breath in between. Gavin rose to his feet and settled himself on the couch next to her. Placing a pillow on his lap, he gently pulled her down and rested her head against it. He wasn’t surprised that she didn’t resist. The woman that he’d come to know was broken—torn to pieces by a man who saw through her weaknesses. Weaknesses he used against her with every chance he got. It could’ve been seconds, minutes, or possibly hours—Gavin didn’t know—but he sat there stroking Emily’s hair until she fell asleep. With bloodshot eyes, Gavin watched as her chest rose and fell peacefully. As each one of those seconds, minutes, or possible hours passed, Gavin knew—and not for the sake of what he wanted for him and Emily, but for the sake of Emily alone—he needed to get her away from Dillon.
Chapter Fifteen
Letting It All Go
The cold infinite October sky held an unobstructed view of a full harvest moon as Emily and Olivia stepped out from their building. Pulling in a deep breath, Emily stared at the twinkling stars spreading across the backdrop of towering buildings. She longed for this season. The air, although crisp, managed to warm her, reminding her of Colorado.
Home.
If there was ever a time in her life that she felt she needed her mother, it was right now.
“We look amazing, chick,” Olivia trilled, waving a taxi over. “My mother always says the best money spent is money spent on hair, makeup, and nails for an evening like this.”
Before Emily could agree, a sleek black limousine pulled up in front of them. The chauffeur stepped out, and Emily recalled that he’d driven them out to Gavin’s home in the Hamptons.
“Good evening, Miss Martin,” the gray-haired plump gentleman said to Olivia. “Please forgive my tardiness this evening. The city has quite a few blocks closed down for repairs that I was unaware of.”
“Hey, Marcus,” Olivia replied with a smile, walking over to him. “Did that sneaky bastard send you?”
“Yes, Miss Martin. Mr. Blake told me to arrive at six o’clock sharp for you and Miss Cooper. Again, I apologize for being late.”
“Hell, I love surprises. I figured we were hailing a taxi over to the party,” Olivia laughed and then turned to Emily. “Apparently, Mr. Blake sees fit to shower things he desperately wants in only the best…because he’s never sent one before.”
Emily shook her head and slipped into the limousine.
After getting themselves comfortable, Olivia popped the top off of a bottle of champagne, pouring them both a glass. “Has Dinkerbell called you again today?”
“Dinkerbell?”
“Yeah, like Tinkerbell. Did he call you again?”
“That’s a new one,” Emily sighed. “What do you think?”
“Well, I figured he might’ve gotten the point already since you haven’t taken his calls,” she shrugged. “And no flowers came to the apartment today, so I assumed he’d finally given up.”
Emily knew it wasn’t in Dillon to just give up that easily. “Right, maybe not to the apartment, but he sent them to Bella Lucina today while I was working.”
“Shut up,” Olivia let out, her eyes wide. “How many this time?”
Emily considered her over the rim of her glass. “Let’s just say there was enough for Antonio to decorate each table and the entire bar area, and he had an extra dozen leftover to bring home to his girlfriend.”
Draining the last of her drink, Olivia leaned back in her seat, her expression soft. “Well, I’m proud of you for not giving in to him. But, in all honesty, I hope you stick to your guns when he finally gets back from Florida. When I spoke to Trevor earlier, he said all the idiot’s been talking about while they’ve been down there is how he’s determined to get you back.”
Emily looked out the window, her eyes taking in the glittering lights of the city. As she watched them go by, she thought about how much she felt like a victim of a violent crash—so battered and bruised. Although she had no broken bones and no pierced skin, her heart bled internally from the wounds inflicted by Dillon. The words he said to her kept running through her head, stinging just as much now as when he first had said them.
She couldn’t deny she did indeed feel guilty for causing the whole situation. She also knew that she could’ve prevented what’d happened. Regardless, she wouldn’t cave to him. She couldn’t. She made sure to send every call he made straight to voicemail. He even went as far as calling the elementary school she worked at. She ignored those messages as well. However, her biggest surprise was when his mother showed up at her apartment unexpected, unannounced, and quite pissed. Emily cut the visit short by slamming the door in her face upon her arrival.
“It’s apparent I have to speak with him when he gets back,” Emily sighed. “I can’t just end it with him without closure.”
“Why not? He doesn’t deserve any kind of closure from you, Em.”
“I’m not talking about his closure, Olivia. I need closure of my own.” Emily tossed back the rest of her champagne and promptly refilled her glass. “No matter how you slice and dice it, he did a lot for me and my family. I know he was wrong for what he did, but he was drunk, and that’s something I need to take into consideration.”
Olivia glared at her from across the limousine. “You’re falling right back into his trap again.”
“How am I falling into his trap, Olivia? He’s not even here.”
She started tapping her temple. “Right, he’s in that brain of yours like a little fungus. My brother gets hammered and doesn’t freak out on Fallon.” Olivia leaned over and poured herself a second glass of champagne. “I’ve dated plenty of guys who got smashed, and they didn’t pull the shit that he pulled with you. I’m sure you’ve had ex-boyfriends that didn’t do that either.”
“I didn’t really date that much before Dillon,” Emily shrugged. “I really have nothing to compare it to.”
Olivia’s face creased with confusion. “Why would you need something to compare it to, Em? End of fucking story—drunk or sober, low or high, mad or happy—a guy’s not supposed to place a hand on a woman. Ever.”