And you once called me “a tidal wave. A motherfucking force of nature.” And nobody wants to drown. I get it. Really. Goodbye.
“Damn. Did you show the detectives this?”
“Of course not. They’d know I was there last night, and Charlotte already told them I was here with her.”
“What a fucking mess.” Emerson pushed back from the table angrily. “You can’t put Charlie in this type of situation. I don’t care if you killed Katherine or didn’t. It doesn’t matter. The police think you did, and when they find out you were there beforehand, your guilt will be a foregone conclusion.”
“I don’t think it will come to that. I don’t think they have enough evidence to say one way or another.”
“It doesn’t fucking matter! Don’t you get it? Once Griffin talks about how you had his head tattooed by force, things will look even worse. It establishes a pattern. You’ll come off as a man willing to do anything to avenge the crimes against his girlfriend.”
Declan sat there in horror, speechless. He nodded.
Emerson gripped Declan’s arm. “You can’t do this to her. You can’t put her through this. She’s been through enough. Please, just let her go before all of this circus starts.”
“You’re right. Charlotte deserves so much more. I know you’re right.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Two weeks passed, and Charlie was ready to leave the hospital. Declan was by her side every moment for the first week, but once the detectives had come to question the both of them about what happened, Declan’s visits became fewer and fewer, and then stopped altogether. Charlie began making excuses for his absence; he’s busy with work, the new genre launch is eating up his time. But no one believed them, not even her. Something wasn’t right, she could sense it.
She moved around the hospital room easily, and her mouth was starting to heal. Opening the door on the closet in her hospital room, Emerson’s hand came to Charlie’s, closing over her fingers. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?” His eyes were burning; Charlie felt his fear for her. “I want you to go straight home, Charlie. Home. Not to the office. Promise me you won’t.”
“I promise,” Charlie said, but she didn’t mean it. She felt miserable and alone, aching to be near Declan.
Emerson broke into a relieved smile that brought out his dimples. He leaned in, gingerly hugging Charlie. “Good. I’ll stop by this evening to make sure you’re okay.” He drew away and let Charlie go and when the room’s door shut behind her, she heard the thud of it like an echo in her heart.
Declan’s driver had waited patiently as she packed her things herself. He offered to help, but she would have none of it. He didn’t seem to raise an eyebrow to find her without any family to help, or when she told him to take her home. The journey seemed long and cold. They passed by Pearse Publishing on the way.
Charlie wondered if Declan was at the office today. She thought of him, and the way he said I love you, Charlotte in that incredibly wonderful voice of his. She thought about how much she loved him too, how that voice had made her think, once again, of safety. She felt safe with him, enveloped by his feelings for her. But then she thought of another voice, equally darkened with desire, spoken in her living room weeks ago while she was bound and tortured. You’re mine, Charlie. Forever. That too made her think of Katherine.
She was glad to be home. How nice it would be to be out of the hospital. A bath, and some music, and perhaps she would go back to Pride and Prejudice. Austen’s almost compulsive use of irony seemed perfect for the mood she found herself in.
But as she stepped into the living room, the emptiness of the house seemed to mock her. There was nothing familiar; no sounds of Mikki’s wedding induced mania, no Monday morning quarterbacking coming from Aaron. She glanced at the fireplace, thinking back to those stolen moments when the snow fell, and Charlie felt like Declan and she were the only two people in the world. She felt the absence of him like a disease; suddenly she was so alone and lonely she couldn’t bear it, and she called the driver to take her to Pearse Publishing, to Declan.
***
As soon as she entered the office, Charlie saw Declan sitting on the edge of the couch, his head buried in his hands. Concerned filled her, and she started to go to him, but Aaron had arrived and was pulling her back.
“We’re leaving, Charlie. You’re in no shape to be here yet,” Aaron bit out.
Charlie yanked her hand away. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Declan looked up then. His stare was distant and vacant. He stared at her blankly.
She hurried to Declan and knelt in front of the couch where he sat. She reached up, tentatively touching his arm but he flinched and shrugged away her hand.
“What’s wrong?” she asked softly, dread pooling in her chest, suffocating her.
“Nothing, Ms. Flynn.” He spoke in a stiff, formal voice. Declan rose and put distance between himself and Charlie. She pushed to her feet, confused by his mood and demeanor. Charlie didn’t like the way Declan was looking at her. The stony resignation on his face. What had Emerson said to him? What happened that he hadn’t been to see her in a week?
And then when Declan spoke, her blood turned cold, cracking and freezing in her veins. She stood still, too stunned to do more than drop her mouth open in shock.
“You should go,” Declan said in a curt voice. “It’s better this way. You became too emotionally invested. I don’t want you to hurt any more than you’ve had to. It will only be harder if we put off the inevitable. A clean break will be easier … on all of us.”
“What in the name of God is going on?” Charlie demanded, her voice exploding the strained silence.
“Ms. Flynn, we’ve boxed your personal belongings. I will need your badge and key back,” his new assistant spoke in a gentle voice.
Charlie could hear the pity in her tone. She knew Natalie felt sorry for her and all that she’d been through, and thought she was being a silly fool. Declan wanted to push her away, but it felt more like a shove.
To hell with that. She wasn’t leaving without an explanation. Not without trying to reach the man behind that imposing mask. She knew the real Declan. She knew he loved her no matter the chaos going on in the office right now.
Charlie shook her head. “I’m not leaving this building until Declan tells me what the hell he means.”
Declan looked right through her, as though she were a piece of office furniture that needed to be removed. He was cold, remote. His look spoke volumes. It shouted “I don’t want you anymore. You’re damaged goods.”
“Declan?” she whispered, her voice strained as the knot in her throat grew larger. She hated the pleading, weak note to her voice. She was precariously close to begging.
“It’s over Charlotte. I release you from your obligations to Pearse Publishing and from all obligations to me. Forget you ever knew me. You deserve more than I can give.”