Page 97 of Inseparable
“How dare you show up here and cast judgment on my life. I’ve told you several times that I don’t want you back in my life and I mean it. That alcoholic junkie also happens to be pretty skillful with his hands, and he’s got a nasty temper, so you really don’t want me setting him on you, but I’ll do it—I’ll tell him if you don’t ... Leave. Me. The. Fuck. Alone.” I scream those last few words, hammering my point home.
Awkwardly, he pulls himself to his feet, still holding his groin. His face contorts in anguish, and I want to look away because I know I’m responsible for putting it there. An extra layer of hatred washes over me. “Why do you hate me so much, Ange? What did I do to you to make you hate me like this?”
“You loved me, and I hate you for that.”
He shakes his head. “You know who I hate?” he asks, but he doesn’t wait for me to respond. “I hate Ayden. This is all his fucking fault.”
I take a step back, reeling. “You can’t say that! You can’t hatehim. You need to hateme!”
He starts hobbling toward the door. “I could never hate you, Ange.” Stopping in the doorway, he straightens up a little, grimacing as he removes his hands from his groin. “Never. You can hurl your hateful words at me. You can threaten me. You can scream and shout and push me all you like, but it won’t make the slightest bit of difference. I love you. I’ve always loved you, and I always will. And I’m going nowhere, baby doll.” His eyes glisten with resolve. “The only possible way you’ll get rid of me is if you kill me.”
And with those parting words, he walks out, slamming the door shut behind him as I sink to the floor in a flurry of tears. I wish I did hate Devin, because it would make this so much easier. But I love him to bits. As much as I always have. Maybe more so thanks to that declaration.
He can stay here and try to fight for me.
But he’s missed sight of the most important thing.
This isn’t about him winning back my heart. You can’t win something you already own, and my heart has always belonged to him.
But if he realized how blackened my heart is, how corrupt and mangled and twisted it’s become, he’d give it back. He’d throw it in my face and run a million miles away from here.
He’d stop fighting for the dead girl with the dead heart.
He’d finally realize what I’ve known these last five years: that I’m not worth fighting for. I never have been.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Devin
I don’t attempt to talk to her again, but I’m not taking any chances either—I can’t lose her again. Now, my days consist of following her around town. Parked outside the diner where she works, I watch as she moves between tables, chatting and flirting with customers, scowling every time she looks out the window and notices me. I salute her, and she flips me the bird. It’s almost comical at this stage. I follow her a few nights to a couple of sleazy joints where she performs her routines for guys older than my dad. Hiding in the shadows, it takes every scrap of willpower I possess not to drag her ass out of there. I didn’t quite lie when I told her I was working for local law enforcement—I just bent the truth a little. I’ve taken an extended leave of absence from my unit, and I’m consulting on a couple of cases for the local guys, but, essentially, I’m a free agent.
I’ve taken minimal vacation time since joining the force, so the captain knew he had little grounds for declining my request. He knows I’m a damn fine detective and that I’m independently wealthy thanks to the share allocation in my dad’s business. I don’t have to work, but I do because I love it. However, there’s no competition between work and the love of my life.
In any such battle, Ange wins, hands down.
So, now I’ve ample time to trail her around town. She may have no regard for her own welfare, but I sure as shit do. She’s trying her best to ignore me, but she’s close to blowing a gasket.
I’m getting to her, and that can only be a good thing. I just need to remind her of the things she left behind.
The things she has to return home to.
There is nothing holding her here. The thin file my PI Nate produced confirmed everything I’ve surmised about her. She’s lived here since she fled, only once briefly leaving the state of Oregon. She didn’t work for the first few years, existing on her trust fund and limitless supplies of vodka, according to her financial records. Then she got her job at the diner, and she started stripping on the side last year. That asshole she’s shacked up with is a good for nothing loser who’s clearly sponging off her. Apart from a few brushes with the law, she’s done a very good job of keeping on the down low.
She has a few friends in town, and she owns the piece-of-shit apartment she’s living in.
But those are the only ties.
Nothing that can’t be cut.
But I can’t push her on this. She won’t even speak to me, for fuck’s sake. So, I’ve got to play smart and ease my way back into her life nice and slow.
For now, I’ll bide my time, and channel inner patience. Something which is becoming increasingly challenging because it’s so hard being this close to her and not being an active part of her life. I still don’t understand why she left. I know she blames herself for Ayden’s suicide, but why she felt she needed to change her identity and hide from everyone she knew still perplexes me.
I want to sit her down and ply her with questions until I understand it.
But that wouldn’t go down well, and my priority at this time is keeping her safe. The answers I desperately seek will have to wait.
It’s my third Friday in town, and I’m parked outside Ange’s place in the dark, drinking copious amounts of coffee and listening to the radio to try to stave off boredom. Usually, she goes out with that asshole she calls her boyfriend on a Friday night. It’s basically the only time in the week when they spend time together. I’m questioning if he’s even her boyfriend at all. If he isn’t some friend she’s just roped in to fuck with my head.
