Smiling sadly, I pat her old hands. “I’m afraid the damage is way more serious.”
“Don’t you love him?” Wise eyes peer deep into my soul. Were I to lie, she would know, so I nod.
“So, the rest doesn’t matter. Right, Rabbi Goldman?”
The older gent stands, wobbles, and points at my balcony. “Don’t be a schmuck. Go up, find your mensch, and make nice already.”
Before he falls over, I help him sit and kiss his cheek. “I will. I promise.”
As others applaud, I close my eyes so no one can see them roll. If my life is a fucking tragedy, they’re my Greek Chorus.
Taking a deep breath, I gather my courage, and enter my building. At my apartment door, I realize I have no key and knock. Dash opens, stares, and steps aside. My former lover opens his mouth to say something, then swallows hard, making his Adam’s apple move.
My eyes can’t unsee his suitcase by the door. “You’re leaving?”
Montclair nods, eyes glistening. “We’re no good for each other luv. Danger magnets and adrenaline junkies are a fire hazard on steroids. Together, we’re nitroglycerin.”
“Aren’t we capable of making some changes, Dashiell?” Cupping his cheeks, I will him to stay but he shakes his head, no.
“You don’t want to and I’m not sure I can.”
Unable to deal with the pain in my chest, and done begging, I glance down at my engagement ring. “D-do you want it back?”
“You can keep it, to remember me.” Tears streaming down his face, he rushes out the door.
Mouth agape, I slide against the wall, curl up in a ball, and sob.
Chapter 27
Dash
Two weeks later.
Back in London, I hire a solicitor to help collect Egonov’s bounty. My team cut off the head of Cyber Vonya and deserves their percentage, but Italy’s love of notarized documents has my head spinning.
I pour another double, swallow and grimace. Eating may be necessary, but the refrigerator is empty and frankly, I’d rather drink.
Bugger everything. Lowering my head to my hands, I refuse to think anymore. The effort reminds me of her description of pink elephantitis, which causes my throat to tighten, and tears to well.
Why the hell hasn’t she called or texted? Certainly, I didn’t mean to end us forever. What we needed was time to regroup and figure out how to move forward.
Savoring the aroma of peat, I down more single malt, but the familiar buzz no longer comforts me.
Bollocks. When someone knocks on my door, I pound my fists at the table. “Sod off, ya tosser. Whoever you are, I bloody well don’t want to see you or talk to you.”
“Open the bloomin’ door.” My father’s so loud, hotel security is probably on the way, but I’m not a child and don’t need any of his advice.
“Feck off.” I’ve had a lifetime’s worth of his parenting.
Disregarding me, he pounds the wood with increased vigor and the violent shockwaves resurrect my migraine. While the room spins, I navigate the rough seas of my hotel floor, locate the blurry handle, and making a mighty effort, push it down.
The chain should’ve prevented him from entering but sadly, I neglected to latch myself in.
“Holy Christ Almighty.” Dad shoves his way inside, and I stumble back as he circles the room,
“Stop that.” I traipse after him while he picks up my empties.
“Take a bleedin’ shower.” His tone implies I’m still in nappies, so I snatch an almost full bottle before he dumps my medicine down the sink.
