G-Men: The Series (131 page)

Several minutes later, Eli was pounding on my closed and locked door. “Darcy, honey, let me in. I want to find out what happened. Please?”

“Go away, Eli,” I called out. “I just need to be alone for now, okay? We’ll talk, just not right now. I’ve got to work it all out in my head.”

“Are you sure?” he replied, reluctantly. “Because I could just…Fuck, I don’t know, stand next to you? You don’t even have to say anything, I swear.”

I didn’t answer through the door, but I still knew that he was standing there.

“Darce, you really looked like you didn’t need to be alone right now.”

“Maybe later,” I replied. “I’m just so tired. I want to sleep and then take a shower. Later, okay?”

“Okay,” he replied, sounding concerned. “Hey, I’ll be right downstairs if you need me. I’m staying in tonight.”

“‘Kay,” I called out. “Later.”

I heard him retreat back downstairs. I continued to rock back and forth in the fetal position, until, blessedly, I dozed off into a restless sleep.

When I woke up, it was dark outside. I glanced at my bedside clock. It was a quarter till ten. I could hear Eli downstairs, the sound of the television muted any conversation, but I could tell he was on his phone. Probably apologizing to Cain for standing him up tonight so that he could babysit his pathetic roommate.

I crawled out of bed, pulling clean underwear and a nightie from my dresser. I wanted a shower more than anything. I needed to wash off Easton’s scent for good.

My hot shower felt nice. I scrubbed my skin so hard it was a dark shade of pink when I emerged from the shower. I’d washed my hair furiously, remembering how he’d touched it multiple times earlier, wanting his fingerprints gone.

I patted my skin dry, pulling up my clean panties, and tossing the silky nightgown over my shoulders. I started towel drying my long, damp locks, spritzing detangler on it. The bathroom was so steamed up that I couldn’t see my reflection in the mirror. Maybe that was for the best.

I took a hand towel and wiped the fog from the mirror over the sink. I studied my reflection now. I’d managed to scrub all remnants of the mascara and eyeliner off my cheeks where they’d streaked from my tears.

I picked up my wide-toothed comb, and started trying to run it through my hair, bringing some semblance of order to it. It was well past my shoulders. It was the hair that Easton had loved, forever touching it, running his fingers through it, and breathing in the scent of it. He’d been minorly obsessed with it. Not anymore. My hair, like me, wasn’t in his long-term plan.

My comb hit a major tangle and came to an abrupt halt.

Damn! I hate when that happens.

I set the comb down and tried to work through it with my fingers. Shit. I had no patience with this right now. I opened the drawer to the vanity and found Eli’s trimming scissors for his goatee. Maybe I should just snip this one extremely stubborn tangle out. I mean, Christ! My hair was super thick. It wouldn’t be missed.

I aligned the scissors right above the snarled knot in my hair and snipped, watching it fall to the bathroom floor. That wasn’t so bad. I turned back to the mirror, taking the comb that now slid smoothly through that side of my head.

Oops…now this side of my head has a shorter chunk of hair.

Not a problem, I decided. I’ll just make a layer cut that same length on the other side of my head so we match. I studied the new length of hair on the left side of my head, positioning the scissors as closely on the right side of my head and snipped a chunk of the length off. There. I turned back to the mirror, combing both sides to see if they were now even.

Not quite. Just a little bit more off the left…

Twenty minutes later, Eli was outside the bathroom door, knocking loudly.

“Darce? You didn’t fall in did you?” he said, trying to make light of his concern that I may have gone into the bathroom for the sole purpose of slitting my wrists. I mean hell—what he must’ve thought seeing me in the state I was in when I got home.

“No worries,” I called out. “I’m about done here. I just had to trim some split ends. Gotta pee?”

“Well, yeah,” he said, acting as if he really wasn’t sure whether he had to pee or not.

I gave myself one last assessment in the mirror. I guess it wasn’t so bad. At least most of it was even now, though I couldn’t see the back. I’d ask Eli.

I quickly unlocked the bathroom door, throwing it open.

“Ta da,” I sang out, my hands fluffing up my damp locks, or what was left of them. “What do you think?” I asked, twirling around so he’d get the full effect.

Eli’s eyes widened as he studied my face and hair and then dropped his eyes immediately to the bathroom floor where multiple piles of various lengths of snipped clumps of dark brown hair lay, scattered everywhere.

“Oh,
fuck
,” he said, his face a mask of concern. “Do you have Monroe’s personal cell number?”

^{chapter 47}

~ Easton ~

I repositioned myself once again on the soft, leather couch in the cabin of my jet. I’d just finished my second bourbon, my laptop perched on my lap as I attempted to finish this e-mail to Colin. I glanced at my watch. He and Ronnie should be landing at Reagan International right about now. He’d see my e-mail once the flight attendants allowed passengers to resume use of their electronic devices.

I re-read it for the third time:

Colin,

I’m in transit to New York now. I moved my travel plans up for personal reasons. You and I can talk on Monday. Darcy’s aware of the organizational change, but I’m not sure what you can expect from her come Monday. Call if issues arise. - E.

There. It was finished. I closed my laptop, powering it off, and downed the rest of my bourbon. I doubted if there was enough bourbon on the continent at the moment to dull the pain I felt over what I’d done. How I’d left. The fucking coward I’d been.

“Easton,” my mother said quietly as the limo sped off into the black night, putting distance between me and the corpse she’d just introduced to me as my father. “I want to tell you how this happened. You’ve a right to know.”

I looked over at her, seeing the misery in her eyes that meant she was in pain. Now she wanted to share that pain with me. Thirty-three years later.

“I’m listening, Mother.”

“Your fa—Constantine and I were lovers for more than thirty-five years. He was fifteen years older than me, and he was married. His wife, Isabella couldn’t give him children, yet he remained devoted to her whilst loving me on the side.”

“Don’t you mean whilst fucking you on the side, Mother?”

“Come now, Easton. Don’t be churlish. It was love. We loved each other, but I knew he’d never leave Isabella. French aristocracy still exists, despite what you believe. Constantine would never dishonour her that way. I realised that after I purposely got pregnant with you.” She stopped, pulling a lacy handkerchief from her handbag to wipe her tears. “Yes, I know. The oldest trick in the book. It didn’t matter to him, though. He was angry with me and said it was over. Done. He said that he never wanted to see me again.” Her voice was filled with emotion as she continued.

“I wasn’t quite finished with the games, though. I started hanging out at the various pubs and night spots in Swindon. There was an American Air Force base located close by. That’s where I met Trace Matthews. He was immediately attracted to me, so I used that as a weapon against Constantine, knowing it would get back to him.” She shrugged her shoulders, as if it was of little consequence. “I told Trace a month later I was pregnant with his child. He was in love with me. I knew his tour was nearly up with the military. I knew I could leave England and go to the States with him, as his wife. I knew it would drive Constantine crazy. And it did.”

“Mother,” I interrupted, “what’s the point of all this?”

“Please, let me finish, Easton,” she said, touching my arm for comfort. “I did a cruel thing to Trace Matthews. I didn’t love him at all, but I let him think that I did. After you were born, a month early, he knew. Still, he never said a word to me about it, because he loved me and he loved you as his son. The problem was, Constantine wanted me back. He’d located me and was keeping in contact. He knew he had a son. He wanted me to return to England with you so that we’d at least be close. So I did. I admitted everything to Trace Matthews, divorced him and returned to England. Once I did, I resumed the affair with Constantine. I thought for sure he’d want to visit you, but he didn’t. He was afraid word would get out that he had a bastard son and it would crush Isabella. So, all of those ‘vacations’ I took? They were nothing more than me sneaking off to be with him in secret, remote places. Isabella passed away five years ago,” she said in a loud whisper, dabbing her eyes.

“Finally,” she continued, “I thought we’d be together, that our love could be known to everyone. No more hiding.” She laughed derisively, shaking her head in disgust. “It seems when Isabella died, she took Constantine’s heart with her. He was a broken man, eaten up with guilt and regrets. I finally realised that for me, love was a toxic potion. I’d wasted all those years thinking I loved someone who loved me back. It was a cruel realisation. I left him to wallow in his self-pity and remorse. He contacted me several months ago, begging for me to visit him. That’s when he told me he was dying, and that he wanted to see you, to talk to you and beg your forgiveness.”

“And what about you, Mother?” I asked, focusing my attention on this woman who’d given birth to me, but not much else.

“I don’t understand,” she replied. “What are you asking?”

“I’m asking when you intend to ask for my forgiveness.”

I saw her bristle immediately, her eyes narrowing as she stared at me. “You had a good life, Easton. But don’t think for one minute that we aren’t cut from the same cloth, you and me. I’m telling you this as your mother so that you don’t waste the years I’ve wasted pining for something or someone that will never honestly love you back. It’s not within us to love or to be loved unconditionally. We poison ourselves and those around us with our black hearts, trust me.”

I powered up my laptop as the plane was taxiing down the runway of the private airstrip outside of the city. I pulled up the GPS file on Darcy and clicked on the ‘Night Moves’ link to get the coordinates. The codes populated the field immediately. She was at her apartment.

Good girl.

^{chapter 48}

It was July 4th weekend. Eli and I’d decided to host a cook-out at our apartment for the hell of it. I’d invited Mom and Dad, Lindsey, Taz and Baby Harper. Eli had invited Cain. It would be a small gathering, as our outside patio couldn’t accommodate a much larger group.

It had been a little more than two weeks since Easton had dumped me. Eli had gotten me through that weekend. The following Monday, I’d reported to work with a spiffy new hairstyle that barely hit my shoulders, complete with both high and low lights to give it that “chunky” look as Monroe had called it when he made a special Sunday house call to his favorite crazy-ass customer.

I won’t lie, it was a tad uncomfortable being around Colin again. I wasn’t sure how much he knew about Easton and me. But by Tuesday afternoon, the veil of discomfort had been blown away and we were back to our usual business banter and personal chatter.

Ronnie had met us for lunch on Wednesday. She’d been condo hunting and had a list of potentials for Colin to visit after work. I even found myself laughing a couple of times during our conversation, but the absence of Easton’s name on a daily basis at the office, and even at lunch with Ronnie spoke volumes. I even caught Ronnie looking at me with a sad expression a couple of times. After the whole thing that happened in Easton’s hotel room, I was sure I could handle pretty much anything, but someone’s pity…That one took a little strength and tenacity; I’m not going to lie.