Chapter 57 Let it Out
ONE MONTH LATER
Lawrence still hasn't grieved.
At least, not in any way I can see.
All he does is work. He leaves for the London office before the sun is fully up and comes back long after it's gone down. When he's not at the actual office, he's in the home office with his monitors and a tumbler of whiskey, working on contracts or whatever else will keep his brilliant mind occupied.
He's a machine again, very similar to the cold version of him I used to dread in New York. Except now I know what's underneath it, and that only makes it harder to watch.
I've tried everything.
I've asked. I've pushed. I've sat in silence beside him on the couch during late nights, hoping he'd finally crack open.
Nothing happens.
He kisses my forehead and lies that he's fine, then goes back to whatever screen is in front of him.
I don't know what to do anymore. I'm starting to feel useless.
Most days I'm just here, alone in this beautiful, echoing penthouse.
I talk to Beverly on the phone almost every afternoon, and Jay texts me stupid memes to make me laugh. He and my other colleagues still think I'm back in New York, taking care of my "sick grandma" again.
The lie is starting to sound like a lie.
I can't roll with it much longer. And besides, I hate how easily it rolls off my tongue now.
I miss working. I miss the chaos of the New York office, the clack of keyboards around me, the ridiculous gossip in the break room.
Lowkey, I even miss the subway. And God, I miss New York itself.. the noise, the energy, the feeling that I had a purpose.
The only bright spot is Laura. We've grown ridiculously close these past weeks. She comes over most weekends, sometimes to sit with me on the terrace and drink wine while we both pretend we're not waiting for Lawrence to crawl out of the shell he's withdrawn into.
She's grieving too, quietly, but we're more concerned about Lawrence than her.
Because of that terrifying brain of his, he feels it all so much deeper.
He doesn't just remember his mother, he relives her.
This afternoon, I'm trying to give myself a break from all of it.
I sink deeper into the jacuzzi on the private terrace, letting the hot, bubbling water seep into my tense shoulders.
For a few minutes, my mind goes quiet. Until the soft ding of the private elevator interrupts it.
Lawrence is back.
And he's early. Usually, he arrives at night.
Heavy footsteps echo across the floors of the living room.
"Scarlett?" He calls, his voice is tight with panic. He's afraid I might have finally packed a bag and left while he was gone.
"In here!" I call out, sitting up a little straighter in the tub. "I'm in the jacuzzi!"
Silence falls for a second. Then the footsteps resume, growing louder until he fills the bathroom doorway.
He looks exhausted. His tie is already loosened, and the top two buttons of his crisp white shirt are undone.
Lawrence's green eyes find me, softening when they land on my face.
"Hey, babe," I say softly, resting my arms on the edge of the tub. "How was work?"
"Fine." He shrugs out of his suit jacket and starts loosening his tie the rest of the way. His gaze moves to the frothy bubbles dancing around me. A light, tired smile touches his lips. "Having fun, are you?"
"Yeah." I smile back. "There's not exactly a lot for me to do here. All I do is eat, sleep, and wait for you to come home."
He doesn't answer, but starts unbuttoning his shirt, revealing his sexy chest and abs.
My pulse races the way it always does when he undresses in front of me like this.
"You're back pretty early today," I say, trying to keep my eyes off him. "Any particular reason?"
Lawrence meets my eyes, something raw reflecting behind the exhaustion. "I missed my girlfriend."
"Ouuu," I tease, wiggling my eyebrows dramatically. The small, surprised laugh that escapes his mouth is the best sound I've heard in weeks.
I watch, with my heart still thudding, as he takes off the rest of his clothes until he's standing there completely naked.
I still can't believe this beautiful, tall, broad-shouldered man is mine.
Lawrence steps into the tub, sinking across from me with a low groan of pleasure as the hot water envelops him.
We sit there in the steam and bubbles, soaking up. Then he shifts, the water sloshing around him. "We should get back to New York soon," he says.
I nod. "Yeah. But we can't both show up at the same time. Us disappearing together and then reappearing together again is going to raise every red flag in the building."
"I know." He removes his glasses and sets them carefully on the wide marble ledge beside the tub. "You'll go back first. A week or two ahead of me. That shouldn't be a problem."
He moves even closer through the water until our knees brush. "I'm sorry I've been so silent on you," his voice drops into a softer tone.
I move toward him too, touching his cheek and brushing over the stubble there. "Hey. It's okay. I understand."
For the rest of the bath, we take turns washing each other. When we're both clean, we climb out. I wrap myself in a thick towel and walk into the bedroom, still drying my arms. Lawrence follows a moment later, another towel wrapped around his hips.
I've just finished drying my hair and am now brushing it when he takes the big brush from me and sets it down on the vanity table.
Since I've been sleeping in his room, he had a large vanity table and mirror installed so I can do my makeup and anything else I need there.
Surprised, I arch a brow.
He snakes his arm around my waist and kisses my neck.
I shut my eyes and enjoy it because he hasn't touched me in a while.
"Hey…" I whisper, turning in his arms. "Are you okay? Are you sure?"
His answer is a fervent kiss that has me kissing him back with everything I've got, every hunger that has been brewing inside me.
My hand slides down his abs, till it loosens the knot of his towel as he walks me backwards toward the bed.
It drops to his feet. I take off mine, too.
We fall onto the mattress, kissing wildly.
My hands are in his hair, pulling. His fingers are between my thighs, caressing.
I spread them so he can have access to my already wet and aching core.
But suddenly, he breaks the kiss with a sharp, ragged breath.
Startled, I open my eyes, staring at him.
"Lawrence, are you okay?" I ask softly. "What is it?"
He remains very still, dissociating for a moment. And then I see the first teardrop slide down his cheek.
"Oh, Lawrence," I say in a broken voice, cupping his face tenderly, as the second tear runs down his cheek. "Baby, it's okay…" I whisper. "It's okay."
His shoulders start to shake as more tears come.
Lawrence buries his face in my neck, sobbing against me, and I wrap my arms around him, stroking through his damp hair.
"Let it out," I whisper soothingly again. "Let it all out, baby. I've got you."
He lets it out.
I hold him there while a month of locked-up grief finally breaks free.
And I cry with him, quietly, being his rock as the weight he's been carrying alone finally shatters between us.