Page 52 of Merciless

As I shuffled away, Annette gently grasped my forearm. “She doesn’t love him, you know.”

“She’s wearing his ring. I think that might signify love.”

“She thinks she does… but her heart was broken a long time ago. And we both know you can’t give your heart away when it’s in pieces.”

I patted her hand before detangling her fingers from my arm. Without another word, I turned and left.

I was conflicted, questioning whether her words were supposed to give me solace or torture me further.

Either way, I knew what I had to do. I wouldn’t chase after Charlotte like I desperately wanted to. I was going to respect her decisions, even if those same choices led her away from me.

Annette’s words resonated deeply. I didn’t love the man I’d become. I hardly liked him. It was time I made a conscious effort to change that, first by picking up the shattered shards of my own heart and try piecing them back together.

And if the fates aligned and ever gave me a second chance with Charlotte, I’d move the entire fucking universe to be everything she needed, everything she deserved.

Chapter 31

COLTON

Two years later…

A popular tune played over the car radio as I drove down the main street of town. When I came to a halt at the red light, my humming cut off mid-note.

The innocuous action took me off guard. I couldn’t remember the last time my mind was clear enough to enjoy a mere song, let alone hum alongside it.

I smiled at the new revelation, pushing down on the accelerator as the traffic light turned green.

Two years had passed since I’d inevitably let go of my vendetta against William. Of course, I had to leave one final parting gift, but that was for my mother’s benefit, not mine.

Since then, I had made great changes. I blocked all forms of contact with William, including the toxic kind, via private investigators and deep diving on the internet. When I left him behind, he was still working part-time in the mechanic shop I’d taken, then sold to another. There was no news that he had passed, so I could only assume he remained alive and kicking.

I had come a long way in regard to him. Previously, the mere thought of William would send me spinning into an endless vortex of pent-up aggression. Now, I was an apathetic shell, with no energy to spare for someone of so little worth.

It also helped that the two people responsible for my fucked-up issues had been dealt their fair retribution. Nikita was locked in a prison cell for the rest of her scumbag existence, her daughter left struggling to make ends meet without a rich sugar daddy or mummy dearest to save her. And William? He had nothing, living out the rest of his years alone, with no true friend in sight.

Sure, I was a reformed bad boy. Yet, I couldn’t lie and say that the knowledge of their downfall didn’t comfort me at night.

Old habits die hard, I guess.

I was at the stage where I didn’t wish him any further ill will. I just didn’t want to waste more of my life on him.

The adjustment wasn’t sudden. If anything, I was still on the path of recovery and would probably never get off. Some days, those old feelings of hopelessness would resurface to the point I was drowning in past trauma. Yet, as I continued to chip away and work on myself, those episodes became few and far between.

I wished I could say my healing journey was straightforward, that with professional therapy and mind-numbing medications, I was miraculously cured, but my brain wasn’t wired that way. All of those options were a great resource for the right person, as proven by my best friend, Avery. However, I wasn’t the right person.

I genuinely gave those methods a shot. However, I soon got sick of the mumbo jumbo bullshit. I didn’t want to share my pain. For some fucked-up reason, my experience was mine, and I didn’t take kindly to someone taking my vulnerability and telling me how I was supposed to deal with my past.

Instead, I turned to my support system. And let me tell you, no one was more surprised than me. After being plagued with paranoia for years, I had failed to identify how my trust issues impacted the people who cared for me the most.

Avery, Annette, Eloise, Thomas and my new friend, Noah, had all stepped up and proven repeatedly that I could trust in them. Once I let down that shield and accepted them close, it felt as if I was given a refreshing restart on how to live.

I soon thrived under their guidance and jumped back into work with renewed gusto, though I made a conscious effort to carve out personal time for myself, something I had never done before.

I tried new things, found new hobbies and even fell in love with some—I could now proudly bake a delicious lemon meringue pie, which had become my signature dish.

That beauty sat pretty on my passenger seat, strapped up tight, arriving fully intact as I pulled into the restaurant car park for Annette’s fifty-fifth birthday lunch.

I continued to mindlessly hum the catchy tune as I pushed through the front doors with my backside, hands full of pie that I did not want to ruin at the last minute.