My very favorite gray dress that was so cruelly ruined by the thugs is hanging on the hanger. There are tags still attached. It’s new, obviously bought to replace the one that was destroyed, and as tears start to fill my eyes, I catch sight of the small note pinned to the price tag of the dress. I rush to Helena’s side. She is stupefied, not understanding what my outburst can possibly mean. As I clutch at the note, I pull the pin hastily from it, and sink to the floor with the note in my hand. It is handwritten from Derek.

Ash,

I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you when you needed to hear it most, but I do love you. I want you to have more than I can ever give you. I want you to have better than I can ever be. Please forgive me.

Derek

And as I sob, Helena reaches for the note and reads it. She understands instantly and joins me on the floor. I cry endlessly. I’m complete in the knowledge that he loves me, and yet I’m tortured that he doesn’t want to be with me. I’m tortured that he thinks he’s not good enough for me. This man is my world, and his own self-loathing is the thing that keeps us apart. My heart hurts for him, and I want him. Liz was right. Helena is right. My place is with him, and I’m ready to see him.

Chapter 28

My flight arrives in New York the very next morning, and I’m met by Liz and Frederick. After I called Liz and spoke with her the previous afternoon, she was ready to drive down and get me that moment, but I made an early morning flight the next day instead. Liz offers for Frederick to drive us up to Vermont to Derek’s house, and I wonder all the while how they managed to pull off the time away. It isn’t until halfway through our trip up north that I learn how.

Their request was denied, and they turned in their resignations, packed their belongings, and left together. That explains the oversized bags in the back of Frederick’s SUV, and here I just assumed Liz had over-packed for our trip. But as I look up to them in concern, I see Frederick’s gaze on me in the rearview mirror. He winks at me quickly before he reaches for Liz’s hand and returns his eyes to the road.

As we approach the Champlain Lake area, my nerves start going insane. I’m staring out at the woods and hills as we close the miles between us. As we turn down the long, well-hidden lane that I know will end at Derek’s doorstep, I nearly come unglued in terror and excitement. The trees clear and I take in Derek’s beautiful home, and my heart lurches at the memories of this place. They are incredible memories, and I’m more than worried this place will remain nothing more than a memory to me.

Derek’s SUV is in the driveway, and alongside it sits another. This one is less luxury and far more utilitarian. My heart falls slightly at the idea he’s not alone, and I may be forced to confront him in the presence of someone else. But he loves me, and that is the only fact in the world that means anything to me at the moment.

As I mount the steps, my nerves unraveling with each footfall, I look back once to Frederick and Liz, who watch me carefully from the car. They’re planning on checking-in to a hotel in the nearby town of Burlington once I’m safely inside, but I’m suddenly struck with an incredible urge to beg them to come with me. I’m being juvenile. It’s Derek. It’s just Derek, and he loves me. There is nothing to fear here, and yet I’m terrified, utterly terrified. When I reach for the doorbell, I watch as my fingers tremble from my outstretched hand. There is no hiding my nervousness from anyone, and when I hear the bell sound from within the house, I start to panic, and I feel immediately nauseous.

When I hear the doorknob turn, I take a deep and steadying breath, and as the first of the interior becomes visible as the door is pulled open, my breath leaves me altogether. There in front of me is a woman. Not just any woman, but a beautiful one. Her hair is dark, shimmering brown and falls thickly down her shoulders. She is taller than me, which says nothing, and she is slim and curvy. She is dressed casual, wearing jeans and hiking boots, and I instantly recognize that she is me, just better. She has all the laid-back and casual style that I do, but she pulls it off in a way I never can. Her skin is clear and without much makeup, and yet she is stunning. And as I stare into her large, round eyes, knowing I have a pitiful gaping look on my face, I concede defeat. He’s with someone else.

My gaze sinks to the porch floor as I fight to remain on my feet, and the breath that I’ve been holding for many long seconds, leaves me on a deep exhale that lets go of any hope I had of being with Derek again. I find my voice, wanting to run, but knowing I must say something before I flee. “I’m sorry … I … uh … I’m sorry. I should … I should go.”

But as I turn to leave, my eyes still focusing on my feet, she reaches a hand to mine and stills me. “You must be Ashton.” I abandon my feet for her beautiful face, and see that she is smiling broadly at me. “Well, I see my brother never mentioned me to you. Can’t say I’m surprised… I’m so happy to meet you, Ashton. I’m Morgan Gentry.” She pulls me into a hug, and before she lets me go again, she whispers a final comment in my ear. “You’re just as beautiful as he described.” She pulls away from me, and she is smiling again. She ushers me inside as I look over my shoulder to see Liz staring at me in stunned silence.

When I enter, I stand awkwardly at the door, not certain what to do. This is Morgan. The Morgan. The Morgan who is definitely not a man … and this Morgan is Derek’s sister. My mind is reeling, but I have no time to ponder this turn of events at the moment. My heart is sitting on Derek’s entryway floor, ready to be stomped on and destroyed if the next few minutes don’t go the way I intend. And this is the only consideration that I’m willing to think about at the moment.

The house has an open floor plan, and the entryway is unobscured from the kitchen and great room. Derek’s sister walks toward the kitchen, where two coffee cups sit on the island. My eyes travel quickly around the room, finding it empty except for us. Morgan offers me coffee, but the shock and pain I feel must show on my face because she stops in her tracks. She watches me with concern showing genuinely on her face. I must look ridiculous, standing stone-still at the door, with nothing but utter shock showing on my face. As I stand there frozen in place, Derek rounds the corner from the hallway.

He’s fresh from the shower, and wearing nothing but a pair of well-worn jeans that sit low on his stomach. It isn’t until he approaches the kitchen island that he catches sight of me staring open-mouthed at him. When he spots me, he inhales a shocked gasp and reaches mindlessly for the counter of the island. My teeth find my lip, and I start to worry the hell out of it painfully. My breathing is coming in gasps. He looks beyond shocked to see me, tortured even at the sight of me.

Morgan watches us both casually as she fills a cup of coffee for me, and it is she that speaks next. “You like coffee, right, Ashton? Derek tells me you’re addicted to it.”

She is the only person in the room actually smiling, or breathing for that matter. I try to answer her, but I can’t seem to even meet her eyes, let alone speak. My eyes, instead, are glued to Derek’s, and his to mine. And after Morgan bounces her eyes between the two of us enough to dizzy anyone, she gives up. When she grabs her keys and purse from the dining room table, it is with a nearly amused shake of her head.

She stops at the door and regards us both once more. “How about dinner tonight, Derek? Ashton and I have a lot to talk about.” Derek’s eyes don’t leave mine. They are wide, and as impassive as I’ve ever seen them.

“I’ll call you later,” is the only response that he’ll give her. And once the door is closed behind Morgan, and we are at last alone, he finally speaks to me. “Why are you here?”

“I found your note—” I’m practically whispering.

He cuts me off quickly. “It wasn’t an invitation.” That’s painful, and as his impassive face turns harsh and cold, so, too, does my heart.

What did I expect coming here? That he’d be happy to see me? He obviously wanted to distance himself from me, and I’ve obviously misinterpreted what “I love you” means. Since when does it mean stay the hell out of my life? I’ve been too miserable without him to let him get away with hurting me now. He no longer controls my life, and as my hurt builds under the dark, warning look in his eyes, I feel my own features slacken, and I start to cry. I want to share my pain with him.

I want him to know what he’s doing to me, and on a hitching, sobbing voice, I give him all of it. “How dare you? How dare you push me away?” I’m crying as I speak, and it feels damn good. “All I’ve wanted is to be with you, to love you. Why are you doing this?”

I wait, watching him intently. I won’t look away until he’s given me the respect of answering me, but it’s hard. Tears are falling pathetically from my eyes, and my pride wants me to hide, but my heart wants him to know my pain. And as I continue to look at him, I see it. First, it is the harsh clench of his jaw. Then he swallows hard over his Adam’s apple. His hands are clenching and fisted at his sides, and when his eyes slowly sink closed, and on a shake of his head, he looks away from me, I know he’s in my head, and he’s feeling my pain.

“I don’t want to hurt you. God … I just want you to be happy and safe and to be taken care of…” He’s emotional. He won’t look at me, and his brow furrows and releases repeatedly as my pain hits him over and over and over.

But he makes a good point, and I’m more than intent on sharing it with him. “You are the man who wants those things for me… What makes you think that doesn’t make you exactly the man who is supposed to give those things to me?” I’m still crying, but my voice is strong and full of conviction. His gaze flits to mine, and his eyes soften when they take in my pleading face. But I’m not done. “If you don’t love me … if you don’t want to be with me, then tell me. But if you are hurting me to punish yourself…” I trail off, shaking my head.

“I hate myself! Don’t you get it? All I do is hurt you … from the first moment I touched you, I’ve done nothing but hurt you.” The defeat shows on his face, and his voice is harsh and loud.

I’m incredulous. He’s lost his damn mind! “That’s not true!” My incredulity is obvious in my shocked voice.

I’m shaking my head in protest at his words, but he’s not done trying to convince me of his worthlessness. “And if everything else that I put you through wasn’t enough, I gave you to another man.” His self-hatred is so obvious on his beautiful features.

“But that was my choice. I signed up for this knowing full well what was expected of me. You can’t hate yourself for that.” I’m still incredulous.

“The hell I can’t.” He looks so defeated and pained.

“But Derek, that doesn’t make any sense—”

And then he starts yelling, and my body freezes at his outburst. “I was in love with you! And I sold your body to another man to fuck. How the fuck should I feel about that? That I was doing my job? I loved you, and I still did it!”

His face crumbles as his eyes water and tear, and my heart lurches at his pain. As his tears spill silently while his brow furrows in pain, I approach him quickly and reach for his face. The man who mastered the art of impassivity is as vulnerable as any other person in the world, and his vulnerability is me. His tears come silently as I watch him. I’m in pain just seeing his pain, and I want to end it for him.

“I forgive you.” They’re the only words I can give him, and I pray desperately they’re enough. I repeat those words over and over and over, pleadingly, until he finally let’s his eyes meet mine.

When he eventually wraps his arms around me and pulls me into his body, my heart lets go of the terror that has seized me since arriving, and my entire body relaxes into his. I’m standing on my tiptoes, and he’s leaning his head down to my neck. After many minutes of this embrace, I start to relax and think that perhaps there’s a chance.

He’s not pushing me away anymore, and in my desire to remind him of his humanity, I quietly speak in his ear. “You’ve done far more for me than you give yourself credit for.” My voice is hardly more than a whisper, but he hears me well, and he pulls his head from my neck and starts to interrupt immediately. But before he can get a word out, I tell him to shut up, with a gentle smile pulling at the corners of my mouth for the first time since arriving.