One Night: Denied (20 page)

I don’t register the door swinging open behind me, but I do register Nan’s age-worn voice. ‘Dinner’s getting cold!’ she snaps, and then silence falls for the briefest of moments while she takes in the scene she’s happened upon. ‘What the devil . . .?’

I don’t get the chance to even think of what explanation can be given to my grandmother. Gregory springs to life and charges at Miller, throwing himself at his mid-section and taking them tumbling down the path onto the street. ‘You bastard!’ he yells, pulling back his fist and sending it catapulting forward on an angry bellow, but Miller’s head dodges it, sending Gregory’s balled fist into the concrete beside his head. ‘Fuck!’

Miller’s up and dragging Gregory with him, pinning him to the low wall at the end of our front garden.

‘Goodness gracious!’ Nan flies past me and throws herself into the middle of the two men, her notorious spunk rearing its ugly head. There’s no display of fear on her old face, just sheer determination. ‘Pack it in!’ she yells, muscling between them and pushing them apart on a shout. ‘That’s enough!’ Both men heave on each side of her, sweating and glaring over her head. She’s brave, but my fear for her is rife as I absorb potent anger firing off from both men, showing no sign of receding. She’s far from frail, but she’s an old lady nonetheless. She shouldn’t be intervening between these two men, especially not Miller. He’s frenzied, unable to rationalise. ‘I’m giving you one chance!’ she warns. ‘Cut it out or deal with me!’

Her words put the fear of God in me, but I doubt they’ll have any effect on these two. So imagine my shock when both men relax and break the staring deadlock in unison. Then I remember William’s light quip.

No one ever made me quake in my boots, Olivia. Only your grandmother.

‘That’s more like it.’ She releases her palms from each man’s chest slowly, ensuring they’ll remain in place. Her face screws up in disgust as she flicks eyes heated with anger between Miller and Gregory. ‘Don’t you dare make me pull you apart again. Do you hear me?’

I’m staggered when Miller nods short and sharp and Gregory sniffs an agreement, wiping his bleeding nose.

‘Good.’ She points to the front door. ‘Get in the house before the neighbours start talking.’

I remain a quiet, stunned observer as Nan takes the reins and regains control of the horrid situation, pushing both men towards the house when neither moves fast enough for her liking. Miller’s head is dropped, and I know it’s in shame at having my dear grandmother, a woman who he respects, bear witness to this aggression. I’m only thankful that she didn’t appear moments earlier when she would’ve caught Miller in full psycho action.

Gregory passes me first, then Nan, and when Miller approaches my motionless form, he slowly drags disturbed eyes to my traumatised ones and stops in front of me. He’s a dishevelled wreck, his shirt and waistcoat all askew and ripped at the shoulder, his hair wild and tangled.

‘I apologise,’ he says quietly, and then turns and strides down the pathway, his long legs eating up the distance to his car in no time.

‘Miller!’ I shout, panicked as I go in pursuit of him. My unsteady legs are of no assistance and tyres screech away from the kerb before I make it to the end of the path. My hand instinctively reaches for my chest, like a bit of pressure might calm the erratic thumping. It doesn’t and I’m not sure there is anything that will.

‘Livy?’ George’s low husk brings my eyes away from Miller’s disappearing Mercedes to his confused form approaching the house. ‘Sweetheart, what’s going on?’

I give in to my emotions again and fall apart, letting him wrap me in a bear hug and hold my weak body up. ‘It’s all gone horribly wrong,’ I cry into his cable-knit jumper, letting his squidgy chest mould around my diminutive frame.

‘Oh dearie me,’ he soothes, rubbing calming circles into my back. ‘Let’s get you inside.’

George takes a firm hold of my shoulders and guides me up the path, shutting the door gently behind us. Then he steers me to the kitchen, where we find Nan dabbing Gregory’s nose with a damp compress. I can smell the TCP and hear Gregory’s continued hisses, proof that it’s Nan’s treatment of choice. ‘Hold still,’ she chastises him, annoyance still rife in her tone.

Gregory eyes me as George pushes me into a chair and hands me his clean hanky, and Nan swings around, clocking the loss of one person and the gain of another. ‘You’re late!’ she yells at poor, innocent George. ‘Dinner’s ruined and I’ve had a wrestling match in my front garden!’

‘Now hold on one minute, Josephine Taylor!’ George’s back straightens and mine tenses. She’s in no mood to take any backchat, and George should note this from the annoyance pouring from her short, plump body. It doesn’t deter him, though. ‘I’ve just arrived and I can see that dinner being ruined is the least of our worries, so why don’t you put a lid on it and let me help sort out these two sorry states.’

She dabs the compress over Gregory’s lip on a few stutters of shock. ‘Where’s Miller?’ she blurts, her fury now directed at me.

‘He left,’ I admit, wiping at my eyes with the hanky and stealing a risky glance at Gregory. His eyes are narrowed and it isn’t because they’re closing up from the swelling. He’s going to have a shiner on one eye for sure, the opposite eye to the one Miller blackened during their last clash.

My battered friend grumbles something on a sardonic laugh, but I don’t ask him to repeat himself because I know for certain I won’t want to hear whatever he’s said, and neither will Nan or George.

‘What’s happened?’ George asks, taking up the seat next to me.

‘Damned if I know.’ Nan covers Gregory’s split lip with a padded plaster and presses around the edges to ensure it’s stuck tight, ignoring the hisses of protest coming from her patient. ‘All I know is that Gregory and Miller seem to dislike each other, yet no one is willing to enlighten me as to why.’ She turns her expectant eyes towards me, making me drop my gaze to the table, evading her.

Truth is, Miller and Gregory hated each other before Gregory found out about Miller’s tainted past. Now I can only surmise that they categorically despise each other. There’s nothing that’ll fix this. I can have one man or the other. Guilt rips through me as I watch my oldest friend, my
only
friend, being taped up – guilt for being the root cause of his pain and injuries, and guilt because I know that I won’t pick him.

I stand and pull every set of eyes in the room to me, each body stilling to gauge my next move.

Rounding the table calmly, I lean down to kiss Gregory’s cheek. ‘When you love someone, you love them because of who they are and how they came to be that person,’ I whisper into his ear, and immediately appreciate that Nan’s acute hearing might have caught my declaration. I pray Gregory keeps this information to himself – not for me or Miller, but for Nan. It’ll stir too many ghosts. ‘I didn’t give up on him and I’m not about to now.’ I straighten up and walk calmly out of the kitchen, leaving my family behind to go and comfort my someone.

Chapter Sixteen

The masses of sparkling mirrors lining the lobby of Miller’s apartment block bounce my reflection everywhere, the image of me, tear-stained and hopeless, unavoidable. The doorman tips his hat politely, and I force a meagre smile in return, choosing to ride up to Miller’s in the lift rather than take the few hundred stairs that I’ve almost become unaffected by. I keep my eyes forward when the doors meet and I’m confronted with more mirrors, looking through myself and avoiding the ugly sight of the waif-like woman that I’m faced with.

Once I’ve been in the lift for what seems like for ever, the doors slide open and I force my legs to carry me to the shiny black front door. It takes even more mental encouragement to knock. I would question whether he’s even here . . . if it weren’t for the heavy air surrounding me. Miller’s anger is lingering in the space, closing me in and suffocating me. I can feel it spreading over my skin and settling deep.

I jump back when the door flies open on a harsh yank and I’m met by Miller, looking no better than he did when he stalked away nearly an hour ago. There’s been no attempt to restore his perfect self, his hair still messy, his shirt and waistcoat still ripped, and his eyes still reflecting rage. A glass of whisky sits in his hand, his fingers coated in Gregory’s blood. White fingertips indicate the unforgiving grip he has of the glass as he brings it to his mouth and tips the rest of the contents down his throat, keeping steely eyes on me. I’m fidgeting, my eyes now darting across the floor at my feet, but they fly up when I catch an almost undetectable shift of his shoes. Or stagger. He’s drunk, and when I look harder, focus on those eyes that never fail to capture my attention, I see something more – something unfamiliar – and it catapults my unease to a place beyond anything I’ve ever experienced while in Miller’s presence. I’ve felt vulnerable before, hopeless and helpless, but always on an unsure level. I’ve never felt frightened like this, not even during his psychotic displays of madness. This is a different fear. It’s snaking up my spine and wrapping itself around my neck, making words impossible and breathing challenging. It’s my nightmare. The one where he leaves me.

‘Go home, Livy.’ His tongue is heavy in his mouth, making his words slur slowly, but it’s not his usual, purposeful lazy rasp. The door slams in my face, echoing around me, and I jump back, startled at his maliciousness. I’m pounding the wood with my fist before I can decide if it’s a wise move, fear sailing through me.

‘Open the door, Miller!’ I yell, not relenting with my hammering of the black, shiny wood, ignoring the fast numbing sensation spreading across the side of my balled hand. ‘Open!’

Bang, bang, bang!

I’m going nowhere. I’ll hammer all night long if I have to. He doesn’t get to shut me out of his apartment
or
his life.

Bang, bang, bang!

‘Miller!’

I’m suddenly attempting to hit thin air, and it sends me on a few disorientated staggers forward. I just manage to steady my flailing body before it collides with Miller’s.

‘I said go home.’ He’s restocked on dark liquid, the tumbler near to overflowing.

‘No.’ I raise my chin in a brave act of defiance.

‘I don’t want you to see me like this.’ He steps forward hostilely, an attempt to make me retreat, but I stand firm, unwilling to be frightened off. We’re closer because of my tenacity, nearly chest to chest, and he’s breathing liquor vapours all over my heated cheeks. ‘I won’t ask again.’

I inwardly wither on the spot, yet sheer determination is refusing to allow him to see it. ‘No,’ I fire simply and confidently. He’s trying to repel me. ‘Why are you doing this?’

In obvious uncertainty, he polishes off the tumbler of dark liquid, a slight wince and gasp spilling from his mouth, accompanied by potent liquor fumes. They make my nose wrinkle in distaste, both at the sight of Miller and the smell of the alcohol.

‘I
won’t
ask again.’ I push the words through my clenched jaw, playing him at his own game.

He looks me up and down, musing quietly, mumbling incoherent words under his breath as he does. Then his heavy gaze lazily climbs back up the length of my body, apparently in its usual manner, but drunkenness is the cause this time, not Miller’s customary sultry way. He begins to sway. ‘I’m fucked up.’

‘I know.’ I don’t disagree with him. He’s speaking the cold, hard truth.

‘I’m dangerous.’

‘I know.’

‘But not to you.’

My heart shows signs of life again. I knew that. Deep down, I knew that. ‘I know.’

His head performs something between a nod of satisfaction and an uncontrolled bob upon his wide shoulders. ‘Good.’ He turns and wobbles through his apartment, leaving me to shut the door and follow behind. I know where he’s headed before he momentarily stops and changes course, going to the drinks cabinet. He’s drunk enough, at least to me. However, Miller has other ideas. He clangs the bottle against the glass and tips more on the cabinet than into his glass. ‘Bollocks!’ he curses, dropping the empty bottle haphazardly between the masses of other bottles, causing a loud clattering of glass. ‘Fucking mess!’

On an exasperated sigh, I wander up behind him and set about rearranging the bottles and wiping down the mess he’s made, hoping that restoring part of his perfect world might inject some peace into him.

‘Thank you,’ he murmurs, so quietly I almost don’t hear.

‘You’re welcome.’ I can feel his stare burning through my profile as I mess with the bottles, taking my time . . . or biding it.

Bang!

I fly around quickly towards the sound, Miller a little slower.

Bang, bang, bang!

My previously settling heart rate ramps up a few gears, and I look to Miller, who’s staring in the direction of the door, too. But he doesn’t seem in a rush to go and find out what the commotion is, so I make for the entrance hall and circle the table, just as another harsh knock rings out through Miller’s apartment.

‘Wait,’ Miller snaps, grabbing my upper arm and pulling me to a stop. ‘Stay here.’ He passes me, his usually easy strides challenged by alcohol. I remain still, my mind racing as I watch him glance through the peephole. I can virtually see his hackles rise, and it prompts me to step forward, cautious but too curious to stop myself. He pulls the door open a fraction and makes to step out into the corridor, but his obvious plan to hide our visitor is totally defeated when they push their way into the apartment with ease, no doubt due to Miller’s less-than-stable frame.

Now my hackles jump up, too, and my jaw instantly tightens when William presents himself to me, his body oozing authority. He regards me closely for a few moments before dragging his grey gaze over to Miller’s wrecked form. This isn’t ideal. Miller looks shocking, and now William is going to want to know why.

‘What have you been up to?’ William asks, flat and even, like it’s no surprise and maybe he already knows.

‘That’s not your concern,’ Miller slurs, slamming the door. ‘You’re not welcome here.’

I feel the need to back Miller up, but that curious part of me has multiplied, as has the caution. So I remain with my lips sealed, soaking up the animosity batting back and forth between these two men.

‘And you’re not welcome in Olivia’s life,’ William retorts, turning to me. He must see the disbelief on my face, not that he seems in the least bit perturbed by it. ‘You’re coming with me.’

I cough my objection, noting Miller behind William twitching slightly, but not nearly enough for me to be sure that he’ll intervene.
Please don’t tell me he’s going to back William up!

‘No, I’m not,’ I reply surely, squaring my shoulders. I’m staggered by Miller’s lack of input thus far, especially after his violent reaction to Gregory’s interference only an hour ago.

‘Olivia,’ William sighs, ‘you really are trying my patience.’

I brace myself for another comment on my mother, worrying about the anger simmering within me just at the thought of William making reference to her. If he comes out and says what I know he’s thinking, then I might be giving Miller a run for his money in the crazy department. ‘You are trying mine!’

William disguises his recoil well, and I know it’s because he doesn’t want to show a scrap of compassion in front of Miller. No, now he’ll uphold that powerful reputation . . . which means it could get very ugly, very quickly. ‘I’ve told you, you don’t belong here with him.’

My breath catches slightly, remembering William saying a version of those words to me when I was seventeen. I was sitting in his office, drunk. I didn’t belong with William. I don’t belong with Miller. ‘Where do I belong?’ I ask, making William eye me cautiously. ‘It seems you don’t think I belong anywhere. So tell me, where the fucking hell do I belong?’

‘Oliv—’ Miller pipes up, stepping forward, but I cut him straight off, not liking the potential of him agreeing with William.

‘No!’ I yell. ‘Everyone thinks they know what’s best for me. What about me? What about what I know?’

‘Calm down.’ Miller’s by my side, unsteady, trying to soothe me by taking my nape and kneading gently. It won’t work. Not now.

‘I know I’m supposed to be here!’ I yell, making myself shake with my building frustration. ‘I’ve been stumbling through my life since you sent me away.’ I point an accusing finger in William’s direction. It makes him withdraw slightly. ‘Now I have him.’ I throw my arm around Miller’s waist and plant myself to his side. ‘The only way you’ll stop me from being with him is if you put me six feet under!’

William’s speechless, Miller is stiff beside me, and I’m convulsing with anger, searching deep for the focus I need to take some steadying breaths and calm down. I gulp back air. I feel like I’m having a panic attack.

‘Shhh.’ Miller pulls me in closer and drops a kiss on the top of my head. It’s not a full-on
thing
, but it’s working to a degree. I turn into him and hide, and his lips meet the top of my head, pecking and humming as I clench my eyes shut.

It’s a long, long time before someone speaks. ‘How do you feel about her?’ William asks, reluctance and caution rife in his tone.

I stay where I am, dreading what Miller might say. Fascination just won’t cut it. I can feel his heart pounding, can almost hear it, too.

‘She’s the blood in my veins.’ He speaks clearly and softly. ‘She’s the air in my lungs.’ There’s a slight pause, and I’m sure I hear William inhale a shocked breath. ‘She’s the bright, hopeful light in my tortured darkness. I’m warning you, Anderson. Don’t try to take her away from me.’

I blink back my tears and burrow deeper into his chest, grateful he’s backed me up. That silence falls again. It’s eerily quiet, and then I hear breath being drawn and I know whose it is. ‘I couldn’t care less what happens to you,’ William says. ‘But the second I get a whiff that Olivia is in danger, I’ll be coming for you, Hart.’

And with that, the door slams shut and we’re alone. Miller’s hold loosens on me, the vibrations of his body receding, and he releases me when I really want him to hold me tighter. He paces on unsteady legs to his drinks cabinet and clumsily restocks on whisky, knocking it back fast and gasping. I remain still and silent, then after what seems like centuries, he sighs. ‘Why are you still in my life, sweet girl?’

‘Because you fought to keep me in it,’ I remind him without hesitation, forcing myself to sound sure. ‘You’ve threatened to rip the spine out of anyone who tries to take me away from you. Are you regretting that?’

I steel myself for an unwanted reply as he faces me, but his gaze is dropped. ‘I regret dragging you into my world.’

‘Don’t,’ I snap, not liking his loss of fortitude now that William has gone. ‘I came willingly and I’m staying willingly.’ I choose to ignore the referral to
my world.
I’m getting sick of hearing the words
my world
, yet hardly anything about it.

More whisky is tipped down his neck. ‘I meant it.’ He makes an attempt to focus on my eyes but gives up, turning and wandering off across the lounge instead.

‘Meant what?’

‘My threat.’ His arse meets the low coffee table and he places his glass accurately to the side, despite his drunkenness. He even swivels it before releasing it, now happy with its placing. His curl is present and clearly tickling his forehead because he flicks it away and then drops his face into his palms, elbows braced on his knees. ‘My temper has always been a burden, Olivia, but I frighten myself when it comes to my overprotectiveness with you.’

‘Possessiveness.’

His head lifts and a frown wriggles its way onto his forehead. ‘Pardon?’

A diminutive smile pulls at the corners of my mouth at his show of manners when he’s so intoxicated and we’re in such a wretched place. I walk across to him and kneel between his feet, and he looks down at me, watching as I remove his elbows from his knees and hold his hands in mine. ‘Possessiveness,’ I repeat.

‘I want to protect you.’

‘From what?’

‘Interferers.’ He drifts into thought, his eyes looking past me for a few moments before returning to me. ‘I’ll wind up killing someone.’ His admission should shock me, yet his acknowledgment of his unreasonable flaw strangely settles me. I’m about to suggest counselling, anger management, anything to get this under control, but something stops me.

‘William is interfering,’ I blurt.

‘William and I have an understanding.’ Miller stumbles over his words. ‘Although you were never in the equation before. He’s walking a thin line.’ The abhorrence in his drunken tone is palpable.

‘What understanding?’ I don’t like the sound of this. They both have terrible tempers. My guess is that both men know what damage they can do to each other.

He shakes his head on a frustrated curse. ‘He wants to protect you, as do I. You’re probably the safest woman in London.’

My eyes widen at the inaccuracy of his comment and my hands drop his. I disagree. I feel like the most
exposed
woman in London. But I don’t tell him so. I fight off my urge to continue the William–Miller debate. William hates Miller, and the feeling is totally mutual. I know why, so I should just get used to it. ‘Do you want the good news or the bad news?’ I ask as I stand and offer my hand. My unease subsides slightly when I catch a brief twinkle in Miller’s eyes. It’s familiar and needed.