The Dominant

Page 43

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she asked, eyes lit with fire.
I glanced around the room.
Shit. What had I done? Everyone stared at us, like we were the star attraction in some weird freak show. Someone I didn’t even know elbowed the person beside him and jerked his head toward me.
Well, this was embarrassing.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “But I couldn’t let you leave. It was wrong for me to go about it like this, though.” I’d let her leave. Again. It’d destroy me, but I’d do it. “Let me walk you to your car.”
“I’m here now,” she said. “You may as well go ahead and say what you wanted to.”
She blew a strand of hair out of her eyes and I shoved my hands in my pockets. Wouldn’t do to reach out and tuck the strand behind her ear. She’d probably slap me.
This would have been so much easier if I’d been able to talk to her earlier. Then she’d looked amiable. Now she looked pissed.
I took a deep breath. “There’s a small room in the—”
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the deejay said. “The best man and maid of honor—Nathaniel West and Abby King!”
Jackson.
I recognized the song from my first, and only, dance with Abby. Jackson would have known that song, remembered it. Damn fool never forgot anything.
Which meant I was supposed to dance with Abby.
“Ah, hell,” I said, wondering just how long he’d been planning this.
I’d kill him with my bare hands.
I looked over to Abby.
She was still angry.
Maybe she wouldn’t turn me down in front of all these people. Of course, if she did, I deserved it.
I held out my arm. “Will you?” I asked, almost not wanting her to answer. What if she said no?
But, miracles of miracles, she put her hand on my arm.
My stomach did a complete flip-flop.
I collected my courage, pretended it was no big deal she’d just taken me by the arm, and led her to the floor. I caught Jackson and Felicia kissing out of the corner of my eye. Then we made it to the middle of the floor and I had eyes only for Abby.
I stood and let her make the first move.
She reached out and put a hand on my shoulder. My stomach flipped back over.
“I’m trying to decide how this could be more embarrassing and failing,” I said, because out of all the scenarios I’d imagined, talking to Abby in the middle of a crowded dance floor had never been on my list of possibilities.
I placed my arm around her waist, and it might have been my imagination, but I thought she took a step closer to me.
“I blame you completely,” she said. “If you had just let me leave, this wouldn’t have happened.”
But then she would have left—didn’t she see that?
“I went about it all wrong,” I said again, being completely honest. “But if I had let you leave tonight, I’d never have forgiven myself.”
“If you felt that strongly about it, then maybe you should have tried calling me sometime in the last month.”
“I wasn’t at the place I needed to be, Abby.”
“And you are now?”
“No, but I’m coming closer.”
I took a deep breath, and her scent worked its way into my soul once more. I never thought I’d have that scent around me after she left. I knew, even if I never held her again, that I’d forever have this moment, this night, this song, to remember.
Tonight was not the time to talk. The important part had been accomplished—I’d talked to her, she’d listened and not run away. Maybe, if I was honest with her, she’d agree to meet me later.
“It was a mistake to think I could do this tonight.” We were still in the middle of the dance floor, but no one was watching us any longer. I stopped dancing and she didn’t drop her arms from around me. “I have no reason to hope you’ll agree and I’ll understand if you won’t.” Give her an out, I heard Paul’s voice say in my head. “But will you meet me tomorrow afternoon? To talk? So I can explain?”
I braced myself for her to laugh at me.
“Okay.”
“You will?” I asked, unable to contain my surprise. “Really?”
She smiled. “Yes.”
She smiled at me. My heart raced. “Should I pick you up? Or would you feel more comfortable meeting me somewhere? Whatever you prefer.” Her choice. Her decision. Her way.
“The coffee shop on West Broadway?”
Perfect. “Yes. One o’clock tomorrow?”
“One o’clock will be fine.”
The song ended and I had no other reason to hold her, so I led her off to the side. “Thank you, Abby. Thank you for the dance and thank you for agreeing to meet me tomorrow.”
She surprised me by not leaving immediately, but staying longer. Felicia went over to her shortly after the dance ended and they talked, quite animatedly, I might add, for a few minutes. Abby looked up and caught me watching her. I smiled.
Flowers. I should send her flowers.
I wondered briefly where to find an open florist. It was New York; someone had to be open.
I glanced over at Abby again. Elaina joined the group and hugged her. Probably asked why she hadn’t kicked my balls.
She needed more than flowers.
My eyes fell on the caterer discreetly checking the hors d’oeuvres.
She needed cans.
Cans because she’d been the one to show me I could be so much more than what the world thought. We could be so much more than what the world thought.
My feet nearly flew over the floor in my rush to get to the caterer. “Excuse me,” I said, holding out my hand. “Nathaniel West, best man and cousin of the groom. I wonder if I could bother you for a small favor . . .”
Once the box of label-less cans was safe in my car, I wrote a simple note:
To Abby,
For being right about the labels.
Nathaniel
I ducked back inside the building. Todd stood waiting.
“There you are—I thought you ran off,” he said.
I glanced over his shoulder—Abby was still inside. I could see her dancing with Jackson.
While she was in the same room, I wouldn’t leave.
“Todd, can I ask you a favor?” Last time we talked, he’d told me he owed me for what he felt was his role in my breakdown. I argued with him, but if he really wanted to help . . .
“Sure. Anything.”
“I have a box in my car—can you drive it to Abby’s apartment and put it outside her door?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Nathaniel?”
Damn it. He probably thought it was some stalker thing. “No,” I said. “It’s not like that. I want to send her a little thank-you for agreeing to meet with me tomorrow.”
“She agreed to talk with you?” His eyes lit up. “That’s wonderful.”
“I hope I don’t screw it up.”
“Do you know what you’re going to tell her?”
I brought the cards out of my pocket. “Wrote it all down.”
“Sounds great. Looks like you’ve got everything covered. Just promise me one thing.”
“Sure, what?”
He pointed to the cards. “Don’t show those to Abby.”
I got to the coffee shop an hour before we’d planned to meet and used my free time to call Paul. He helped me calm down a bit and reminded me what today was about—Abby needed to get how she felt out in the open. I needed to hear and understand firsthand how my actions made her feel. Then, and only then, could I try to explain myself.
After our call, I took the cards from my pocket and read them one last time. I finished and blew out a deep breath. I hoped she would listen. I hoped there was still a chance of us being . . . something, at the end of the day.
I saw her approach the coffee shop. She wore a pair of jeans and a light blue sweater; her hair was pulled back into a sloppy bun with a few loose tendrils. In other words, she looked gorgeous—as usual.
I still couldn’t believe she’d agreed to meet me and sat stunned as she approached the table.
Manners, West.
I hopped up and pulled out her chair for her. “Abby. Thank you for meeting me. Can I get you something to drink?”
She sat down. “You’re welcome. And, no, I don’t want anything to drink.”
Of course not. She’d agreed to meet me in public not because she wanted to have coffee or eat with me, but because she thought it would be safer somehow.
I had asked her to come and I would start. Todd had told me not to bring out the cards, so instead, I took a napkin—anything to keep my hands busy. “I don’t know where to start, really. I ran this through in my head a hundred times. I even wrote it down so I wouldn’t forget anything. But now . . . I’m at a complete loss.”
I had to get this right. This was my one shot.
“Why don’t you start at the beginning?” she offered.
I dropped the napkin. I had lived through my pain. Had started the process of facing my demons. But now . . . now I had to face her pain. To fully understand what my behavior had cost her.
“First of all,” I said, for this was the most important, “I need to apologize for taking advantage of you.”
She cocked a delicate eyebrow. Was it possible she didn’t know?
“I knew you had never been in a relationship like ours before and I took advantage of you.” There was no other way to explain it. I wouldn’t even try. “The safe word, for example. I told you the truth when I said I’d never had a sub use her safe word before, but beyond that, I didn’t want you to leave. I thought if I made the safe word a relationship ender, you wouldn’t leave me. Of course, that backfired on me, didn’t it?”
“It was your fault.”
Yes. It was. It was all my fault—every word a lie, every action a deception, every denial a sham that served no purpose but to drive her away.
“Yes, it was,” I said. “You gave me your trust. Your submission.” But there was something even more important—the part that cost her the most. “Your love. And in return, I took your gifts and threw them back in your face.”
She didn’t acknowledge what I had said or agree with me. Her eyes caught hold of mine and I saw the pain she’d been living with.
“I handled everything you gave me physically,” she said. “I would have handled anything you gave me physically, but emotionally, you broke me.”
I broke her.
With my actions. With my words. With my betrayal.
The sharpness of her pain struck me, and it was worse, so much worse, than my own.
“I know,” I whispered.
“Do you know how much that hurt? How it felt when you pretended that night meant nothing?”
I knew—it was so much more than nothing. I knew. And I’d lied to her.
She hit the table, shocking me. “It was the most amazing night of my life and you sat at that table and told me it was a scene. I’d have been better off if you’d plunged a knife in my heart.”
Yes, because physical pain was bearable. Emotional pain hurt so much worse. I should have known that—I’d lived with it my entire life.
“I know. I’m sorry.” I wondered if she could even hear me. “So very sorry.”
“I want to know why,” she demanded. “Why did you do it? Why couldn’t you just say, ‘I need time to work this out,’ or, ‘We’re moving too fast’? Anything would have been better than what you did.”
Again, she spoke the truth. But she didn’t know. She still didn’t know the entire truth.
“I was afraid,” I said. “Once you found out . . .”
“Once I found out what?”
I had to tell her. I had no other choice.