‘Please don’t cry,’ he begs, squeezing me to him, his low tone now sincere and unforced. ‘I can’t bear to see you like this.’
I say nothing, my sniffles preventing me from speaking, even if I knew what to say. Which I don’t. The best part of my existence has revolved around avoiding a cruel world. But Miller Hart has taken me and put me in the centre of that world.
And I know I will never escape.
His face is buried in my hair, and he’s humming that comforting melody. It’s a desperate attempt to pull me round. He feels my despondency. He’s worried, and when he’s hummed for minutes upon minutes and I still haven’t ceased weeping, he growls low and stands with me secured against him, then carries me quietly into the bathroom.
He positions me on the toilet, with no need for precision, and pushes my matted hair from my face with the utmost care to avoid my sore cheek. I finally allow my stinging eyes to lift along with my head to face him. His blue eyes reveal horror as they focus on the side of my face, and he takes a deep, calming breath.
‘Wait,’ he orders harshly as he retrieves a facecloth from a small pile beside the sink and runs it under the cold tap. He’s kneeling at my feet quickly, the cloth coating the palm of his hand. ‘I’ll be gentle.’
I nod my acceptance and wince before he’s even connected the cool cloth to my face.
‘Shhh.’ The chilliness hits my tender cheek, making me recoil on a painful gasp. ‘Hey, hey, hey.’ His other palm reaches for my shoulder to steady me. ‘Let it settle.’ Taking a deep breath, I brace myself for the pressure I know he’s about to apply. ‘Better?’ he asks, searching for comfort in my eyes. I can’t find the energy to speak, so I give a pathetic nod, depriving Miller of my eyes when I clench them shut in pain. Everything feels heavy – my eyes, my tongue, my body . . . my heart.
Reaching up, I rub at my tired eyes, massaging into the sockets rigorously with the heels of my hands, hoping to work away the lingering visions, not just of this evening’s outburst but of all Miller’s recent rages and the horrid images of him shoving coc**ne up his nose. I’m being naive and ambitious.
‘I’ll get some ice,’ Miller murmurs, sounding as pitiful as I feel. He takes my hand and replaces his with mine gently on my cheek before he pushes himself from the floor.
‘No.’ I grab his wrist to stop him leaving. ‘Don’t go.’
The hope that flickers through his blank eyes spikes guilt. He falls to his haunches and rests his palms on my knees.
‘You do coc**ne,’ I state, not making it a question. There’s no scope for denying here.
‘Not since I’ve met you, Olivia. There are many things I haven’t done since I’ve met you.’
‘You quit just like that?’ I know I sound cynical, but it’s not something I can help.
‘Just like that.’
‘How bad?’
‘Does it matter? I’ve stopped.’
‘It matters to me. How often do you use?’
‘Did I use.’ His jaw ticks and his eyes clench shut. ‘Once in a while.’
‘Once in a while?’
Blue eyes slowly appear again, pouring with regret, sorrow . . . shame. ‘It helped me get through . . .’
I gasp. ‘Oh God.’
‘Livy, I’ve never had a reason to stop doing any of the things I did. That simple. I don’t need any of it any more. Not now that I have you.’
I drop my eyes, confused, shocked and hurt. ‘Who’ll crucify you?’
‘Many.’ He laughs nervously, and it prompts my eyes to find his again. ‘But I’ll never give up on us. I’ll do anything you want me to,’ he vows.
‘See a doctor,’ I blurt without thought. ‘Please.’ He can’t possibly deal with all these problems. He can’t be beyond help. I don’t care if he’s been told that before.
‘I don’t need a doctor. I need people to stop interfering.’ His jaw is tight, just the mention of meddlesome people spiking the rage that’s so very worrying. ‘I need people to stop making you overthink.’
I shake my head on a sad smile. He doesn’t see it. ‘I can learn to deal with interference, Miller.’ I have to. Miller will take all of the interference personally. Maybe it’s paranoia. Drugs make people paranoid, right? I have no idea, but it’s a problem and it can be fixed, I’m certain. ‘It’s you who’s making me sad.’
His hands halt their calming rubs on my knees. ‘Me?’ he asks quietly.
‘Yes, you. Your temper.’ Cassie’s hate is unpleasant and mystifying, but it didn’t make me feel hopeless like this. That’s his doing. ‘I can help you, but you need to help yourself. You need to see a doctor.’
Blue eyes deepen as they explore my face, and he drops from his crouching position to his knees. I look down at him, immersing myself in the tranquillity that his telling gaze always offers, like right now, even when we’re in such a mess – when Miller is in such a mess – the comfort I’m feeling is immeasurable. He squeezes my thighs before he takes my hands in his and brings my knuckles to his soft lips, all the time maintaining the consuming connection of our eyes. ‘Olivia, do you understand the extent of my feelings for you?’ His eyes close tightly, robbing me of the comfort I partly survive on. ‘Do you comprehend it?’
‘Open your eyes,’ I demand softly, and on a strengthening inhale of air, he lazily pulls them open. ‘I comprehend the extent of my feelings for you. If this is how you feel about me, then I get it. I understand, Miller. But you don’t see me attacking anyone who threatens us. Our united front is enough. Let us do the talking.’
Emotional pain invades his perfect face, making his lips press together and his eyes snap shut again. ‘It’s not something I can help,’ he admits, letting his face drop into my lap. He’s hiding, ashamed of his confession. I know he takes leave of his senses, but he has to try to stop. I sever the contact of our hands and plunge my fingers into his wet hair, looking down at my touch massaging the back of his head. His palms sweep around to my bottom and cling on desperately, his face turning so his cheek is now resting on my thighs. I can see him staring blankly at nothing, and I transfer my caress to his cheek and gently trace the contours of his profile, hoping my touch will have the same effect as his does on me.
Peace.
Comfort.
Strength.
‘Everything I had as a child was taken from me,’ he whispers, stealing my breath with a hint of willingness to tell me of his childhood. ‘I didn’t have many possessions, but they were dear to me and they were mine. Just mine. But they were always taken from me. Nothing was precious.’
I smile wistfully. ‘You were an orphan.’ I state it as a fact, because Miller has just told me in his own little way. The photo doesn’t need to be mentioned.
He nods. ‘I was in a home for boys for as long as I can remember.’
‘What happened to your parents?’
He sighs, and I immediately fathom that this is something that he has never spoken of. ‘My mother was a young Irish girl who ran away from Belfast.’
‘Irish,’ I breathe, seeing Miller’s bright blues and dark hair for what they are – typically Irish.
‘Have you heard of the Magdalene Asylums?’ he asks.
‘Yes,’ I gasp, horrified. The Magdalene nuns were folk of the Catholic Church who claimed to be working for God to cleanse the young women who were unfortunate enough to fall into their clutches – or who were sent there by their ashamed relatives, often pregnant.
‘She escaped, apparently. She came to London to give birth to me, but my grandparents eventually tracked her down and took her back to Ireland.’
‘And you?’
‘They dumped me in an orphanage so they could return home, free of the disgrace. No one need know I existed. I’ve never been a people person, Olivia. I was a loner. I didn’t get along with others, and I spent a lot of time in a black cupboard as a result.’
My eyes widen in realisation. I’m disgusted, but most of all I’m sad. Especially since I can detect the shame he feels. He has nothing to be ashamed of. ‘They locked you in a cupboard?’
He nods lightly. ‘I didn’t mix well.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I say on a guilty gush of air. He still doesn’t mix well, only with me.
‘Don’t be.’ He smooths his palms up my back. ‘You’re not the only one who was abandoned, Olivia. I know how it feels, and that is only a very small part of why I will never leave you. A very small part.’
‘And because I’m your possession,’ I remind him.
‘And because you are my possession. The most treasured possession I’ve ever owned,’ he confirms, lifting his head to find my dejected eyes. Everything was taken away from him. I get it. He smiles mildly at my sadness. ‘My sweet girl, don’t be sad for me.’
‘Why?’ Of course I will be sad for him. It’s an incredibly sad story, and just the beginning of Miller’s wretched life up to this point. It’s all disjointed – the orphan, the homeless man, and the escort. There are things that connect these stages of Miller’s life and I’m scared to death of hearing them. What he’s told me, both vocally and emotionally, has taken me to the front line of agony and sadness. What connects these dots may be an enlightenment that will break my fallen heart beyond repair.
Warmth slides across my wet back, onto my hips, and up my sides, until his grip is creeping onto my collarbones and he’s encasing my neck. ‘If my twenty-nine-year tale of misery has led me to you, then that makes every unbearable part of it worthwhile. I’d do it all again in a heartbeat, Olivia Taylor.’ He dips and sweetly kisses my cheek. ‘Accept me as I am, sweet girl, because it’s so much better than what I was.’
The lump in my throat swells, making breathing too difficult. It’s too late. My heart is already broken, and so is Miller. ‘I love you,’ I utter pitifully. ‘I love you so much.’
The gaping hole in my chest rips even more when Miller’s unshaven chin quivers the tiniest bit. He shakes his head in wonder before rising to claim my whole body, pulling me into him and giving me the most fierce thing in the history of things. ‘I thank everything holy for that, and I’m not a religious man.’
Breathing into the wet hair sticking to his neck, I close my eyes and sink into the lean planes of his body, taking everything he has to give and returning it. My strength is restored, stronger than ever before, and determination is rushing violently through my bloodstream. He hasn’t agreed to seeing a therapist or a counsellor, but my widened knowledge of this confounding man and his confessions is the best start. Helping him, pulling him from his self-professed journey to hell will be easier now that I’m armed with the knowledge I need to understand him.
The interfering would seem inconsequential if it wasn’t for Miller’s extreme reaction to the interferers. He sees me as his possession, and he sees them as wanting to take me away from him. In an ideal world, all of the meddling idiots would disappear with a magic click of my fingers, but being as we don’t exist in a mystical realm, other options need to be explored. And the primary one is getting Miller’s temper under control, since it has become glaringly obvious that all of these meddling idiots are not only meddling, but persistent too. He’ll always see interference as people trying to take his possession – his most treasured possession. It’s natural for him to react this way.
My bones are being constricted to crumbling point under Miller’s embrace, my lungs being squeezed, too. I’m soaking up the luxury of his thing and savouring it, but my depleted body and exhausted mind is also desperate for rest. We’re still at Ice, meddlers are loitering, we’re both still wet and dishevelled, and Miller hasn’t done a thing work-wise.
