28. Yellow

Chapter 28

Yellow

" W here are you heading, Miss Bianco?" Norman asks as I whip past the concierge desk. Too slow. He's got eyes at the back of his damn head. Turning around, he hands me an umbrella, casting a friendly smile. "Here. Forecast calls for rain."

"Oh," I hum awkwardly, swinging the umbrella on my index finger. "Thanks."

Norman cocks his head, scanning my face. "I haven't seen you around recently. You staying somewhere else these days?"

"Just busy," I lie with a shrug. "Work and all."

This apartment is tainted. I can't spend more than a few hours inside. I've been keeping busy. Enjoying the final few moments in the city I've always loved to hate. Or hated to love. I can't tell anymore. My feelings are...jumbled.

All my feelings are jumbled.

He narrows his aging eyes. "Don't work too hard now, Miss Bianco. Life's meant to be lived, or so I've been told."

I let out a weak chuckle. "Maybe you should retire then, Norman. Listen to your own advice."

"Oh, dear, I've already lived," he sighs, the sudden sadness in his eyes panging my chest as he flashes me his wedding ring. "Now I'm just waiting to live again."

"You were married?"

"Nearly fifty years," he grins, nodding to my hand. "Any viable suitors ask for your hand lately?"

"My hand's not for sale," I say, giving him a forced wink. "And if it were, no one could afford it."

"I like that attitude," Norman laughs, tossing his head back. "But you never know, Miss Bianco. When you meet the right person, all forms of currency except one go out the window."

"Yeah?" I ask, raising a dubious brow. Fucking preachy boomers. "And what currency is that? Love ?"

He clicks his tongue. "You're too young to be jaded, Miss Bianco."

"And you're too old to be giving me dating advice," I tease, tapping his desk. "Alright, I'm going to go enjoy the park now. Thanks for the chat." I hold up the umbrella. "And this."

"Anytime," Norman sings as I exit my condo building. "Stay dry!"

"Will do," I holler back, tilting my head back and observing the impending thunderstorm of clouds.

I don't actually mind the rain. It's cleaner than snow. Not as dangerous. And there's always sun that follows. Rainbows and shit. Kind of worth it, I think. I zip up my leather jacket and stroll toward the dog park one last time.

It's odd. I've lived in New York my whole life, and yet, I feel like I barely know this city. As I pass cafes, restaurants, and a plethora of eccentric stores, I'm left longing for more time.

There's so much that I've wanted to do, to see, to experience. I had twenty-seven years and I did nothing I've wanted to do. The Empire State building looms in the background as I meander into Central Park. I've never even been! What the fuck is that?

Sighing, I sit down on a park bench and watch the dogs chase each other for what feels like hours. Frenchies, labs, pitties, and poms. All playing together, rolling around, chasing sticks and then, when their owners call, they run to them. Loyal. God, I miss Pinto. He was so fucking loyal. Never left my side. Always chose me.

"I knew I'd find you here." I gasp as Hayden sits down beside me and hands me a cup of coffee. I frown at him and he rolls his eyes. "Just take the fucking coffee, Camilla."

"What are you doing here?" I ask quietly, blowing into the piping hot liquid. Unable to look at him because if I do then it might just start to rain. I keep my eyes glued to the park. "Everything's all set, Hayden. There's nothing left to discuss."

"Green," he whispers, sliding closer to me on the bench, our thighs touching.

"What?" I manage as my breath hitches, my body betraying me in every way that matters. "Green? "

"My favorite color," he elaborates, clearing his throat. "It's green." Blinking, I face Hayden, cutting him a puzzled look. He swallows, licking his lips as he meets my eyes, "You said you didn't know anything about me. I want to change that."

"I don't think?—"

"I'm an only child," he continues before I have a chance to shut him down . Why is he doing this? Why is he putting us both through such torture?The muscles in his neck tighten, pain flashing across his face. "My father..." He sucks in a sharp breath. "My father was a Marine." Hayden's gaze floats down to his watch on his left wrist. "He was... He was a good man, a good father—" He pauses, stirring uncomfortably. "Until he wasn't."

"What..." Despite my better judgment, I shift my weight, rotating to face Hayden. "What happened?"

He lets out a cynical chuckle. "War. It, uh, it changes people."

"What changed?" I ask in a whisper, my palm finding his knee all on its own.

"He did." Hayden glances down, the corner of his lips curling in a ghostly smile as he reaches for my hand. His thumb strokes my skin as he looks at me, trying so fucking hard to mend the pieces he broke. "He suffered from severe PTSD."

"Oh."

"Yeah," he continues, spilling a river of truth that is bound to drown us. "My mother tried to get him into a program, she tried to get help but—" Hayden closes his eyes, his grip on my hand tightening as he siphons off his pain. "He found other ways to...cope. "

"Other ways?" I nudge closer to him, my tone soft, gentle, like the feathers of a pillow. He can fall without fear. In this moment, I'll catch him. "Like what?"

He gives me a knowing look, and I do know.

All too well.

"He became a monster. It was... It was horrible. My mother—" He swallows, wincing. "My poor mother became a fucking punching bag."

"I'm sorry," I whisper, my eyes welling up with sympathetic tears. I can feel his hurt, his helplessness, his authenticity. Raw. Like a wound that's been reopened. "That must have been hard to watch."

"I couldn't do anything to help her," he murmurs, staring at the pavement. "I was too young to help her, and by the time I could—" He pauses, jaw clenching. "It was too late. She... She found a solution. She found a way to escape the abuse."

"Did she…?" I wipe a tear off my cheek. "Did she…?"

"Yes," he whispers, gaze flitting across my face before he tucks a wayward piece of hair behind my ear. A shiver courses down my spine. "She did."

"I'm so sorry, Hayden." I close my eyes as he comforts me. It's wrong. I should be comforting him, not the other way around. "I'm so sorry."

"It's okay.” He palms the back of my head as presses his lips against my forehead like he's branding me with hope. "Don't cry, it was a long time ago."

"I know but…" I hiccup, unable to stop the flurry of tears. I'm malfunctioning. "She was your mom and?—"

"She's the reason I went into psychology," he says, wiping under my eyes. "It was the only way I could... I could somehow make it right, if that makes sense."

"It does," I hum, sniffling. What is happening to me? "I, uh… I get it."

"After I received my credentials, I was—" Hayden looks over my shoulder, giving me a questioning glance.

"I'm alone," I mutter.

"That's when the Bureau reached out," he whispers. "I was recommended by one of my colleagues, Dr. Hadid, for a new initiative that blended ops with psych. At that point, I didn't have any experience, so I figured it was a good foot in the door." He shrugs. "But I never left."

I nod, chewing my bottom lip. "What, umm, what happened to your dad?"

"Not too sure," Hayden says with hatred laced in his tone. "Probably drank himself to death by now. Last I heard he was put into a home. Early-onset dementia."

"You don't want to see him?" I ask, thinking of my own father. "Make amends?"

"Do you?" Hayden raises a brow. "Do you want to forgive your father?"

I shake my head. "Mine doesn't deserve forgiveness."

"Neither does mine," Hayden says. "What's done is done."

"That's fair.” Anger brews in his expression. It's burning him. "But, umm...maybe for your sake, you should."

He frowns. "Should what?"

"Forgive him."

"He's the reason my mother took her own life, Camilla," he states, an edge in his tone. "I'll never forgive him. "

"Don't do it for him," I say, swallowing as I watch his skin burn with agony. "Do it for yourself."

"I'm fine," he says, attempting to reassure me but it doesn't work. It's hard to look in the mirror sometimes. You never know which version of yourself you'll see. "I've dealt with it."

I manage a small smile. "Whatever you say, Doc."

His eyes harden. "Are you psychoanalyzing me right now, Miss Bianco?"

I shrug. "Just observing."

"Well, I'll have to kindly ask you to stop," he says, blinking as a drop of rain falls directly into his eye. I swear I hear a sizzle. "Oh."

I look up, smiling as drop after drop pitter against my face. "It's raining."

"Let me walk you home," Hayden says, standing up. He holds out his hand. "Camilla?"

"I don't want to go home," I say, breathing in the fresh air as I close my eyes. "I want to stay here."

"You're going to catch a cold," Hayden notes. "We have a big day tomorrow."

"That's why I want to stay," I whisper. "I don't want to go home. I... I can't."

"Then come to mine," he says, tone low, pleading. I open my eyes, my lungs expanding. Hayden nods with absolute certainty. "Please, Camilla." He holds out his hand. "Come with me. You can't stay here all night."

"I can’t." I look up at him, admiring the walking hellfire that's burned my entire world away. "I... shouldn't."

"For a woman that has never followed the rules," Hayden breathes, "you sure are afraid of breaking them." He holds out his hand, reaching for mine. "Just for tonight, Camilla. Break them again."

This might be my last chance to break rules for the rest of my life. A final opportunity to live outside the law. Outside morals. Outside reality.

As rain crashes around us, I stare up at Hayden. His eyes are no longer Daniel's. They're greener. More beautiful. More deep and dark and daring than ever before.

I want to dive in.

I want to swim in his fucking soul.

One last time.

"You're a bad influence," I say, linking my fingers through his as he lifts me to my feet. "I'm trying to be logical here."

"Logic can wait, Camilla." He gives me a spine-tingling smile, so warm that the seasons could change. "Tonight, let's be reckless."

Reckless. That's all I've ever been.

What's one more time?

"Fine," I say as he dwarfs my hand with his and we stroll down the park in silence toward the final frontier. As we're about to exit the park, a familiar old woman hobbles past. I turn my head and she's staring at us, grinning. She smiles at me and then looks up at the sky, chanting under her breath before turning away. I blink. "Weird."

"What?" Hayden asks, craning his head toward the old woman. He frowns. "Is that..."

"Just keep walking," I mutter as we get to the crosswalk. A cold breeze flows through my wet hair, and I sneeze. Should've used the damn umbrella. "Shit. "

"We're close," Hayden says, leading me to his apartment building. "You need to change otherwise you'll actually get sick."

"I don't get sick," I shoot back, playfully glaring at him. "My immune system is fantastic."

"I'd rather not risk it." Hayden rolls his eyes, fishing keys out of his pocket as we stop at a five-story walk-up. He opens the door, holding it for me. "After you."

His hand never lets go of mine as we walk inside, as we ride up the elevator, and as we enter this apartment.

He holds on.

"I'll get you a towel," he says, dropping his keys on the counter and flicking on dim lights. I place my purse and umbrella on the counter before awkwardly stepping foot into his living room. My gaze darts to the stereo system and the select few vinyls stacked on top of a record player. Gliding my fingers along the plastic wrap, I pick up the top album. Sweet Baby James. "Do you like James Taylor?"

I spin around, mouth drying as Hayden slips on a dry shirt, a towel in his hand. "No," I breathe out as he walks toward me. "Never heard of him."

"Here." He exchanges the towel for the record, flipping open the player and loading the disc. As the pin drops in the middle of the vinyl, acoustic guitar and a pleasant voice flows through the speaker. "This is my favorite song."

"It's..." I swallow, my heart battering in my chest. This is too reckless. "It's good."

"Dance with me?" he asks as the lyrics rattle all the doubt swirling around in my head. Wordlessly, I nod and he pulls me into his arms, resting his cheek against my temple. "Relax, Camilla. We're just dancing."

Just dancing.

"Mhmm.”

I cling to his shirt and close my eyes as he sways us to the music. The lyrics to “ Fire and Rain” prick at my goddamn soul, and I break. I break over and over again.

His once dry shirt is damp with my tears as we continue to dance. As we continue to dig a hole from which I fear I may never escape.

Fucking James Taylor.

I haven't just seen fire and rain. I'm holding it. It's in my goddamn hands.

He burns the parts of me that are so fucking cold, so frigid, almost frozen.

And in the same breath, he puts out the flames that threaten to kill me.

He suffocates the fire I've kept kindling just so I could feel something.

But with him... I feel it all.

Every fucking emotion.

And it's devastating.

It's truly heartbreaking.

As the song comes to an end, I pull away, tipping my head back to meet his glistening gaze. "I..." I swallow, lost in the foliage of his eyes. "I'm scared, Hayden."

"I won't let anything happen to you," he whispers, stroking my cheek with the back of his rough hand. "I promise."

A spell is cast around me as he cups my chin and arches over .

Time slows down to a bearable speed as his lips press against mine, soft, tender, and nothing like I've ever experienced before.

I kiss him back so gently, as if he's a bomb, as if he could end our lives at any moment.

In speechless unison, lips locked and hands roaming uncharted territories, we sway toward his bedroom for the real final dance.

I keep my eyes closed as he plucks away my clothes, removing the dead, withering leaves of my soul, hoping, almost praying, that they somehow regrow, become stronger, more resilient.

"You or me?" I whisper, mind swirling with clouded need and desire as I watch him undress and shed every last piece of deceit. Chest rising, I take a step toward him and trail my fingers up his taut abs, making circles that, unlike us, don't have an end. He groans, looking down at me, tortured and tempting. I lick my dry lips, swallowing hard as I add, "You can?—"

"No," he breathes, grabbing hold of my wrist and spinning me around, the back of my calves pressing against the bed frame. He rakes his fingers through my hair, with no force, no pain. "Tonight..." He takes a step forward, balmy-sweet breath blowing against my lips as he whispers, "Tonight, it's us. You and me."

And.

So similar to end.

"Hayden..."

Snaking his hand around my waist, he lowers me onto the bed, my legs wrapping around his torso, his cock gliding across my sex. I wither under his docile touch as he feels how wet I am for him, how desperately I want him.

My head tips back, a moan slipping past my lips as he fills me, my walls stretching around his hard, destructive cock. I dig my nails into his flesh as he rocks back and forth, his lips trailing wet kisses on the parts of my body that are still burning, still on fire.

With every rhythmic thrust, every touch, every debilitating groan and moan and grunt that permeates the air, I feel closer to heaven than I've ever dreamed possible.

He says my name like it's a vow, an oath, a declaration that I'm not willing to sign, but it doesn't matter. It's already there, engraved in marble, and notarized for all of eternity.

"Hayden," I cry out, pressure building in my core as the last letter is etched. "Hay?—"

"Fuck," he grunts, coming undone inside me, my pussy clenching as I orgasm. "Baby..."

Catching my breath, brain foggy and no longer in charge, I let my heart speak for the first time in forever.

"Yellow," I whisper. "My favorite color is yellow."

Hayden smiles down at me, gaze flitting across my subdued features as he breathes, "Like the sun."

I hope I get to see it rise again.