Chapter 30

CHAPTER THIRTY

ALYSSA

T oday was as good as any other day. Working for PwC is an honor, but I haven’t been able to muster the excitement old Alyssa would have walked through the glass revolving doors with each morning.

Not when Dante hasn’t let go of the reins choked around my throat since he woke from his coma.

I kept up with him through updates via Brynne and Slate. It tore me up to leave, but I knew it suited both of us.

Dante is the kind of man who doesn’t know what’s good for him, even if it walloped him over the top of his head and told him so.

The texts come at all hours, sometimes even while I’m asleep. At first, they’d make me cry. Sometimes, they still do.

There’s an ache in my chest where my feelings for him won’t die, and I rub at it absently as I stare out of my office window.

“Late night?” Ken asks.

I turn, faking a smile at him.

He’s leaning against the doorframe, tie undone, and jacket gone. His sleeves are rolled up, and there are two glasses of something brown in his hands.

Ken is my boss. He’s older, married, and has children my age. Where most men his age in this business are crude and out of line with how they deal with women beneath their station, Ken is kind.

“Yeah. I was finishing up the accounts you sent over this morning.”

His eyes widen as he crosses the room and hands me a glass. “All of them? I expected them next week, Alyssa. Not today.”

“I know.” I turn back to the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the city below.

How do I tell him I’d only dove into them because of all the texts from Dante? How do I admit to using work to escape the needling feelings inside me that have me warbling on a good day?

“Well, I appreciate you being so prompt. Maybe now you can take those days off we talked about.”

I scoff, sipping from my drink.

Bourbon. He’s a man after my heart.

“Days off? I don’t recall you mentioning me taking time off before, Ken.”

“I just did. Listen, I know something’s going on with you. I’m a gentleman; I know better than to pry into the affairs of a woman, but I also have daughters and a wife, so I know how to spot burnout from a mile away. Even if you don’t need them, take some days off. For me?”

I think about Brynne’s text earlier about false labor. Even though it wasn’t the real thing, I know it’s coming sooner rather than later.

She’s about to pop any day now, and baby Nico will be here.

“I could use some days off, actually. My best friend is about to have her baby, and…”

Ken cuts me off, “Good! Take as many days as you need. After all, you already finished the accounts for the next two weeks.”

“You’re sure this is alright? I only started six months ago and don’t want to get in trouble…”

He shakes his head, and I clamp my mouth shut at the look on his face. “I’m the boss, remember? You’re a better employee than most of the staff on my floor, Alyssa. Take the time, be with your friends. Babies are a blessing; soak up all the time you can.”

I smile, finishing my drink. “Thank you, Ken.”

He reaches over, hand open for me to give him my glass. “Well then, go on. Get home.”

I can’t help but laugh as I pad over to my desk and slip back into my high heels. Ken waits for me to shut everything in my office and slip into my jacket.

I stop as I pass him. “Thank you again. If you need me…”

“I won’t,” he interrupts. He smiles, and his bushy mustache bristles over his lip. “But if I do, I know how to get a hold of you.”

I lean in and kiss his rosy cheek. “Goodnight, Ken. Tell Jean I say hi.”

“I will. She’s going to be thrilled you’ve taken days off. She agrees with me; you look terrible.”

I turn back as I press the elevator button, scolding him with a look that would make Dante laugh.

He shifts on his feet nervously before waving an empty glass in the air and then turning for his office.

When I’m on the elevator, I dig out my phone. It takes a few minutes to get to the ground floor, so I check over my notifications, click into my message box, and know I’ll see new texts in Dante’s muted thread.

That scarf covers too much of your face

I shake my head. Of course, he’d been watching me arrive at work. He always does. I get some text each day, always him commenting on my outfit of the day to let me know he’s out there, lurking.

I miss you so fucking much, but this will be the last time I text. It’s unfair how I’ve kept hanging on when you’re ready to let me go. I love you, Alyssa, but that doesn’t mean you must love me. I told you I’d wait until the end, and I likely will. I have to let you move on, though. Sweet dreams, tesoro.

When the elevator opens, I sniffle. The text hit me dead center, causing my entire soul to ball up in my chest like it was about to take a giant leap through my ribcage to escape.

As I look up and pocket my phone, a man is waiting to enter the elevator.

“Alright, miss?” he asks.

I only nod and bolt past him, heading for the solace of the cold New York air to cleanse the hurt from my heart.

As usual, I forgo telling the man at the desk goodbye and barrel through the revolving door and into the frigid air.

It whips around me, and I close my eyes.

Fuck, will I ever get over him?

After hailing a cab home and showering, I stuffed my face with some underwhelming frozen dinner I found in my freezer before downing two more bourbons and climbing into bed. I forgo checking my dating apps as I’ve deleted them all.

Every man pales in comparison to Dante Ricci, and I don’t know that there’s a dating or sex life in the cards for me after him, either.

I pull my vibrator from the nightstand and turn it onto the highest vibration, the one right before all the nonsensical pulsing settings I’d never use. Sliding it inside my body, I make sure the little rabbit at the top is placed right on my clit as I arch and let the vibrations thrum through me like a swarm of bees set loose.

Closing my eyes, I think of Dante—like I always do.

Tears ruin the moment, and I shut the vibrator off and throw it across the room. It hits a wall and shatters into a few pieces as I roll on my side and let the wave of sadness hold onto me like it’s a comfort blanket.

I grab my phone and scroll through all the texts and little sweet things he’s sent me. Scrolling to the top, I read them.

You look beautiful this morning.

I can’t start my day without seeing you smile, turn around, and give me one, tesoro.

I miss you so fucking much it hurts.

When I woke up, you weren’t there. It nearly killed me.

I survived for you.

I miss you, Alyssa. Please answer.

I love you.

Do you ever think about what we could’ve been if I wasn’t a Ricci?

The things I’d do to you if you were here, darling.

I want to hold you.

I miss you.

I’ve inflicted so much pain over the years, but this is another level of torture.

I walked today. All by myself. I wish you were there to see it.

I’m scared to drive.

I love you.

Fuck, tesoro. I’m dying without you. Answer me, goddamnit!

I’m sorry.

The world seems dimmer now that we’re not together.

You look gorgeous today, my love.

I wish I could be what you need.

God, this is hard.

Today was a bad day. Pain is for the birds.

The nightmares are the worst. Do you have them, too?

You’re so beautiful. I love that skirt on you.

I miss you.

My body aches as I sob into the pillow, curling into the fetal position as his words stabbed through me over and over again. I wasn’t there for him when he needed me. I didn’t rejoice and rush into his arms when he awoke. I don’t even know if he was alone when he awoke.

I wasn’t there the first time he walked after so many weeks of therapy and being in a wheelchair. I’m not there when the nightmares from the crash come for him to hold him through them.

I abandoned him.

How could I contact or message him back after these texts?

How can I ever face him knowing how much of a coward I am?

I miss him so fucking much it feels as if I can’t breathe, but I left him when I needed to be there.

I’m a fucking shit person.

I read his last text repeatedly, contemplating that he’s said he would leave me alone.

Instead of feeling relieved that his stalking and incessant texting is going to come to an end, I’m afraid.

Sad.

God, I’m so fucking sad.

The tears come again, and I can’t make them stop.

I’m miserable. I have been since the day I walked away from Dante, knowing I wasn’t coming back.

I toss my phone onto the bed and turn away from it, letting the pain and anguish rip through me like a knife. I deserve it.

I earned it.

Even though I know I won’t sleep, I close my eyes.

All I can keep seeing behind my closed lids, however, are his final words to me.

I’m glad I have days off because I won’t be okay for a long time.

As long as he was texting, I was holding it together. I was sad, but I was managing because he was still there.

Now, I have to mourn the loss.

I have to grieve.

The club is so fucking loud, but it drowns out all the swirling thoughts in my head as I drug them with bourbon after bourbon.

“Damn, girl, can you even taste them?” Melonie asks.

I hiss as my throat burns, slamming the glass down on the small round table the four of us are sitting at. “Sorry. It’s been a long couple of days.”

“I can see that,” Sheila adds, tossing a weighted look at Melonie. No doubt, they’re going to talk shit about me the moment I leave the table for any reason.

I don’t care, though.

They’re nothing but a necessary thing to pass my time. One needs girlfriends to prowl the town with every so often to stay sane, and these three work on my floor and invited me out with them the first week I worked at PwC.

Melonie is in her third marriage but has no children. Sheila is newly single and ready to mingle with everyone, and Charlene is quiet and reserved. She has a serial killer vibe, but I don’t mind her. She keeps to herself, after all.

I think they let her come along because they’re afraid of her.

I snort inwardly at my joke as the liquor buzzes through me.

Thank God.

I hate that I’ve become this new person who has to drown her thoughts and feelings out only because they’re so at odds with what’s good for me.

I almost texted back this morning. Sure, it’s not the first time I’ve nearly answered, but I typed it this time.

Right before I hit send, I threw the phone and broke it.

Probably for the best. Drunk Alyssa doesn’t make wise choices when it comes to men.

I think back to the last time I was drunk, and Dante spanked me before he fucked me five ways to Sunday, and a blush spreads across my cheeks.

“I’m going to get another. Does anyone want one?” I ask the table.

Sheila and Melonie give me looks before shaking their heads, and Charlene smiles meekly before sliding off her stool.

“I’ll go with you.”

She most likely wants to escape them.

I nod, waiting for her to get through the small crowd of men at the table beside us before we head to the bar.

We stand there for the longest time, waiting for the bartender to see us.

Charlene clears her throat. “You doing alright? I noticed you weren’t at work the last couple of days. Ken said you took some time off.”

Half of me knows she’s just concerned, and the other half wonders why she cares. This is why I only have Brynne as a friend. My commitment issues run deep and wide.

Brynne forced herself into my life and didn’t give me an option other than to get used to her. I don’t think Charlene would do that. So I decide she’s not a threat.

“I’m waiting for my best friend to have her baby,” I tell her, forgoing admitting anything about Dante altogether.

The bartender comes and takes our orders, promptly filling our drinks, and I slide cash over for them and the tip. Charlene slides onto a stool at the bar, and for some reason, I follow suit.

“You seem like you’ve got more going on than that,” she says, sipping her Shirley Temple.

I sigh. “Yeah, I do. I don’t want to talk about it.”

Especially since I went through the trouble of filling my lashes before I came out tonight, and I don’t feel like crying all the glue out of them.

“Oh, sorry. I wasn’t trying to pry. If you ever need to talk, though, I’m here.”

I cock my head at her, seeing her in a new light. Suddenly, she doesn’t seem too strange or meek. She seems…kind.

“Thank you, Charlene. The same goes for you. I’m usually the kind of girl who enjoys silent company if I’m honest. I don’t make a great friend.”

She smiles. “Actually, that’s perfect.” Turning in her chair, she locks her eyes on the television and says nothing.

We spend the rest of the night together at the bar, ignoring one another and drinking until its last call.

We share a cab home, and when I get inside, I’m too drunk to check my phone or cry over my shame.

I climb into bed and drift off, in my makeup and clothes, with my drowned feelings.

Suddenly, I’m thankful for the Charlenes in the world.