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Steeling myself against her quiet cries, I grab my keys and phone and practically run from the bedroom. My feet pound down the steps. Only when I'm outside, sucking in fresh air like I'm starving for it, does the tightness in my throat loosen. My skin still feels too tight, like something is crawling all over my body.
I jog toward the beach, trying to focus on the sound of the waves crashing against the shore. Seagulls caw as they circle overhead, watching the sand for hermit crabs to pick apart. The early morning sun shines brightly, beating down on me as I set a grueling pace down the beach. My feet hit the sand with even slaps. I feel my dick bouncing in my sweats with every step, but I don't let it slow me down. I focus on my breathing, sucking air in and blowing it out in even pulls.
It takes a while before the sharp edges of panic begin to dull. I keep running, my mind racing ahead of me.
What the fuck am I going to do? Where the fuck did I think this was going to lead?
When I told her to let me in, when I told her that we were more than a two-week stand, what the fuck did I think was going to happen? That she'd stay in Santa Cruz? That I'd sneak away to be with her? That she'd wait for me, content to live her life on the sidelines, hidden away here like a dirty little secret?
I don't want that for her. She's…God, she's perfect. She deserves to be shown off, not hidden away. And I want to give her that. I want to be motherfucker who can give her everything she deserves, but I don't know if I am that man. I don't know if I can be. Not if it means really sharing my life with her.
I've let her in as much as I can, but she doesn't know a lot of shit. She doesn't understand what I do or what that means. I'm a cop. In her eyes, that makes me a fucking hero. And maybe that's what most people see when they look at me, but being the good guy? Doing the heroic shit? It fucks you up a little. It takes you to dark places beside even darker people.
I don't just swoop in and save the day. I work undercover, slinking in like a gutter rat and doing whatever I have to do to gain trust. Gangbangers and cartel members talk to me because they think I'm just like they are. They let me into their world because I make sure they believe I belong in it. I lie, and steal, and cheat to make them believe it. And when I've gotten what I need, when they've given me everything I can get from them…I burn their fucking worlds to the ground.
Mila doesn't know anything about that type of life. She deserves more than spending nights waiting up, worried about whether or not I'm going to make it home. She deserves more than having to constantly watch her back, not sure if someone I took down is going to crawl out of the gutter and come after her. She deserves someone a whole hell of a lot better than me.
I want to take her to Los Angeles with me anyway.
I want to keep her anyway.
So goddamn badly it's killing me.
"Fuck," I pant, drawing to a stop. I place my hands on my knees and take deep breaths. My lungs are on fire. Looking over my shoulder, I realize that I ran a lot further than I expected. I can't even see the condo from where I'm at, and the beach here isn't empty like our private stretch is. People mill around, setting up chairs and throwing down blankets. Kids run back and forth near the water, laughing and shouting.
I watch them for a long time, letting my heart rate return to normal. My mind still runs a million miles a minute, but I don't feel like I'm going to completely lose it anymore. I feel…fuck. I feel like giving her exactly what she wants.
"You're in love with her," I mutter to myself, wanting to hear the words out loud. They're true. Somewhere over the course of the last four years, I fell for her. Even when I couldn't have her, she was mine. Even when I fought it, she was mine. Even when she was with that prick, she was mine. Every day since she's been here, she's been mine. I fucking love her. That's the real reason I gave her what she wanted when she offered me two weeks with her. That's the real reason I've been lying to Tahani. I'm in love with Mila.
That should scare me because I don't even know what the fuck to do when it comes to love. I've never wanted that. I've never had it. I've always sworn to myself that I wouldn't let it happen to me. I wouldn't be like Brady, pulling a woman into this kind of life. But I fell for Mila anyway.
Because that's the kind of power that gorgeous little blonde has over me. It's not rational or right, but it's true all the same. I'm in love with my daughter's best friend…and I'm willing to do whatever I have to do—face whatever I have to face—to keep her.
I take my time walking back to the condo, trying to work through everything in my mind. I don't know what comes next or how I'm going to deal with the fear. I have no fucking clue what I'm going to tell Tahani about me and Mila, or what I'm going to do if she flips out. A thousand obstacles still litter our path, and I don't know what to do about any of them.
All I know is that I want Mila with me for as long as she's willing. We'll figure out the rest as it comes.
For right now, all I want to do is get back to her and fix what I fucked up. If she lets me.
Christ. I can't get the heartbreaking look on her face when I stormed off out of my mind. I promised her I wouldn't hurt her like her dick of an ex did, and then I did it anyway. I flipped out on her and made her cry.
Never again, baby. It won't ever happen again.
I fucking hate how sad she looked because of me.
Until recently, she never told me about her father, but Tahani did. I knew years ago what he put her through after her mom died, how he neglected and hurt her. She's had more than her fair share of sadness in life. I don't want to be another motherfucker who breaks her heart.
I want to be the man who carries the burden for her so she doesn't have to do it alone. She's carried it long enough.
Yeah, I love her.
By the time I make it back to the condo, the sun hangs almost directly overhead. The time on my phone shows it's almost noon. I was gone a lot longer than I expected. Long enough to seriously fucking worry that she may have packed her shit and left me.
I rarely get nervous, but I'm fucking sweating when I let myself in through the door on the back deck. My mouth is dry, too. I'm almost thirty-nine years old, and I've never told a woman the shit I'm about to tell Mila. Nervous doesn't even begin to explain how I feel as I pull the door closed behind me.
A quick glance around tells me that she isn't in the kitchen. Aside from the coffee still sitting in the pot and the half-finished mug I left on the countertop when I carried her back to bed this morning, the big kitchen is spotless. I take a deep breath and pace toward the living room, praying like hell she didn't leave me. The blinds in the living room are still closed for privacy. The television is off, and the couch looks untouched.
My feet freeze in place as I turn towards the stairs, my heart hammering against my chest like a battering ram. Panic consumes me as I see Mila lying at the bottom of the staircase, her damp blonde hair fanning out around her motionless body. A sickening fear grips me, squeezing my insides until I can barely breathe.
