“Cal, it looks worse than it is. I’m going to be okay.” She leans closer. “The doctors have said there will be no lasting effects. My body went into self-protect mode. I will never blame you, do you understand? Never.”
The feeling behind her words fails to penetrate the hard shell of self-contempt I’ve erected around myself again.
Needing distance, I stand up hastily. She follows and tries to get close again but I move away, putting my arm up to stop her, needing to put as much distance as possible between us.
“Lucia, you need to forget about me, about us. I don’t deserve you. I never have, and I never will. You’ll always remember me doing this to you—losing control and hurting you. I didn’t mean for this to happen and I had vowed to myself to never expose this side of myself to you. I lost control. I ended up hurting you and that is something that I will never be able to forgive myself for.”
Tears fall down her cheeks and my hand itches to lift up, to wipe them away, to comfort her and erase everything that I’ve done. My body needs to move in close, cup her cheeks, and soothe her tears with a soft gentle, full-of-feeling kiss.
But that will never be allowed to happen again. I can’t trust myself with her, and I do not deserve nor will I ever be worthy of Lucia Harding again.
“I love you, Cal. You need—”
“I can’t.” I shake my head, partly in disgust at myself, mostly a warning to the both of us that this can never work again. My failure as a man to protect the woman at my side is glaringly obvious to me with just one look.
But even knowing that, my mind and my body are at war.
The push and pull of my body versus my mind has me tied up in knots. I want to comfort her whilst knowing I am the cause of her pain, to be able to take her in my arms and make everything and everyone else disappear when I know she would be safer without me.
The most painful of contradictions causing the deepest of scars.
Losing Lucia is my punishment—my penance—for committing an unforgivable sin.
I give her one last look, knowing that everything I’m feeling is on full display—no pretense, nothing hiding everything I am. Then I turn and make myself walk away from the only woman to see behind the mask.
Twenty-four hours. That is how long it took for my public breakdown to make the paper. I knew it would happen, but seeing that moment in time when my shattered heart took its final beating at my own hand did affect me. As did the scandalous—but unfortunately not inaccurate—headline. Dirty Drafter’s Despicable Deed. It drew attention to the article reporting on the mysterious bruising on Lucia’s neck, an angry altercation in the hospital corridor between Gino and myself, my subsequent vigil on the floor outside her room, and the heartbreaking scene between the two of us that ended with me walking away. There was speculation, ‘anonymous’ sources, and coverage of the recent museum site accident that might have led to me ‘losing it.’
There was nothing concrete. Everything Carmen Dallas reported—no doubt with great delight—was not slanderous, and was all hearsay. The photos she included in the story were taken from a bystander’s cellphone and no doubt they were the ‘source’ who had clued her in.
That’s not to say that I’m comfortable with the suggestion hinted at in the article that suggests that in a fit of rage, I lost control and took it out on my girlfriend. The suggestion of kinky sex games gone wrong, however, was not something I wanted my parents or family to read.
Today was not the day to sit at home and wallow in despair at the current state of affairs in my life though. Grant had offered to deal with Cal/OHSA—the Department of Occupational Safety and Health—and the museum board in my place, but a partnership is exactly that. It’s not something to be put aside when life is difficult. I explained to my concerned and somewhat stressed partner that burying myself in work and participating fully in the accident investigation would be a good distraction from the personal turmoil I was putting myself through.
There was one change from the last time Grant saw me on my balcony, and that was that my mask was firmly—and more importantly, permanently—in place. In public, in private, alone or with company, I’d decided the moment I left Lucia at the hospital that it was safer for everyone involved to not take any more chances.
Step one of that is focusing on work, on the investigation and our new upcoming projects, and spending as much time as possible away from my home, my bed, and anywhere that reminds me of what I had, what I lost, and what I have done.
Step two was a side note from step one, that being to not give Carmen Dallas—or any member of the press—any more fodder to report on.
Lastly, step three was to push thoughts of Lucia out of my mind, because I saw her face in my dreams every night when I finally managed to find sleep. Thinking about her any other time hurt me, inescapable pain threatening to pull me under.
It’s a plan I have in place to help me cope with the guilt that continues to eat away at me, but it has been unable to keep away the flashbacks of her pale slack face that confronted me after one of the most life-changing climaxes of my life. Even the thought of what I’ve done churns my stomach, and a familiar dark cloud threatens to darken my world further.
Arriving at the office Monday morning, I meet Grant in the reception area, a deep frown marring his normally jovial expression.
“What’s wrong?”
“A lot of things that you don’t need on your plate right now, but the board and the investigators are in the conference room waiting for us . . .”
“What else?”
“Our assistant is running herself ragged dodging calls from the media while also placating clients who are concerned.”
I grit my teeth and walk past him, dumping my laptop bag on my desk and whirling back to see him step into my office and shut the door behind him. “I told you this would happen. You need to step up and take over for me, Grant. I can’t be the face of the company until whatever this is about calms down and the piranhas grab on to their next scandal.”
He shakes his head, his eyes full of concern, but there’s also a flicker of annoyance. “I’m not letting you put that self-deprecating wall of yours back up, Cal. You fucked up; you made a mistake. That was it. I don’t feel any differently about you. Luce sure as fuck doesn’t blame you—”
That stops me in my tracks, my heart seizing at the sound of her name. “You’ve talked to her?”
“I had Gino’s word that he would keep me updated with her progress. She was discharged from the hospital yesterday and is having a few days off work for the . . .” he pauses momentarily, tilting his head and watching me, as if to determine whether to say more. “She’s taking time off work in order for the attention to die down and for the bruises to fade. She doesn’t want to bring any trouble to our business or hers, and feels it’s best to lay low until it has quieted down.”
“How is she?” I ask softly.
“She is battered and bruised, and not physically. She feels she is to blame—”
“What?” I spit out incredulously.
“I’ve told her, and now I’m telling you, the two of you need to talk this through.”
“She’s better off without me. You know what I did. She fucking flinched . . . flinched when I touched her. How can she ever look me in the eye again without remembering that night?” That now familiar lump threatens to make an unwelcome return but I push it back, my armor thankfully holding strong in the face of its most powerful enemy—myself.
“Cal, we don’t have time to go into how everything that just spewed from your mouth is wrong and all the ways that it is, but I will leave you with this. That woman is the best thing to ever happen to you. You need to grasp hold of that and never let her go. Any man worth his weight will recognize that the woman at his side is a true reflection of his character. The two of you together are untouchable; you give her the complexities that come along with being you and in return, she gives you everything.”