Chapter 22 BULLETS
Constantine's POV
I ignore the way something inside my chest squeezes at the thought of another woman having him… at the thought of him touching another woman, giving her attention. I take shaky breaths, not knowing even when the elevator opened and that the warmth I am feeling on my cheeks was not even the sun stinging my eyes but tears threatening to fall.
'Earth to Constantine,' Zara says, waving a hand in front of my face. 'You still with me? What's wrong?' She asks softly.
'Yeah. Sorry. It's…nothing.' I shake my head, trying to clear it. 'I'm here.'
'Good. Because you look like you're about five seconds from a breakdown and I need you to hold it together at least until we get some food in you.' She links her arm through mine and starts walking. 'Come on. The sandwich place is just around the corner.'
The restaurant is small and cozy, with mismatched chairs and a menu written on a chalkboard behind the counter. It's the kind of place that feels warm and lived-in, the opposite of everything in Wyatt's cold, perfect building.
We order sandwiches and sit by the window and Zara immediately starts telling me a story about a coworker on the third floor who accidentally sent a very personal email to the entire company distribution list.
'I'm talking very personal,' Zara says, her eyes wide with mock horror. 'Like, the kind of email you send to your boyfriend at 2 AM when you've had too much wine and you're feeling frisky. You know, those freaky texts.’
Despite everything, I feel a laugh bubble up in my chest. 'No.'
'Yes! And the best part? He didn't realize it for three hours. Three hours of that email just sitting in everyone's inbox.' Zara takes a bite of her sandwich. 'HR had to send out a company-wide memo about email etiquette. It was legendary. And funny. Imagine sending freaky texts like..’ She looks around to see if anyone is staring or hearing what she is about to say. As she notices no one, she continues, ‘Imagine sending texts like… I want to suck your dick till you—’
'Heyyyy!’ I laugh, ‘That's horrifying! And embarrassing!’
'It's hilarious,' Zara corrects. 'And it proves that no matter how bad your day is going, at least you didn't do that.'
The food arrives and we eat in comfortable silence for a while. It's nice. Normal. The kind of thing friends do together, and I realize with a start that Zara might actually be my friend. Not just a coworker being polite.
Like an actual friend. When was the last time I had one of those?
'So,' Zara says, setting down her sandwich. 'You want to talk about whatever's bothering you, or are we going to pretend you're fine?'
'I'm fine,' I say automatically.
'Liar.' But she says it gently. 'Look, I get it. You don't know me that well. You probably don't trust me. But I've been where you are. And I'm telling you, it helps to talk about it.'
I look down at my plate. 'It's complicated.'
'It always is.' Zara leans back in her chair. 'But you know what's not complicated? The fact that you look like you haven't slept in days. That you're carrying something heavy and you're doing it alone.'
My throat tightens. 'I don't have a choice.'
'There's always a choice,' Zara says quietly. 'It might not be a good choice. It might not be an easy choice. But it's still a choice.'
I want to tell her she's wrong. That some of us don't get choices. That some of us have parents in hospitals and nursing homes and bills that crush us and contracts that own us. But I don't say any of that. I just finish my sandwich and let Zara fill the silence with more stories.
By the time we get back to the office, I feel almost better than in a long time. The day passes and I just finish my duties and am grateful that he doesn't even request for me and stays in his office all day.
I don't want to see him and think about Patricia's hand on his chest or the way he didn't push her away. I don't want to remember that I'm just his assistant, his whore, his stress relief, while she gets to be the one his parents want him to marry.
Soon, it's closing hours and everybody starts to file out, I quickly shut down my computer and practically run out before he can call me back in. I hurry to the elevator, my heart pounding, half expecting to hear his cold, magnetic voice behind me, and I leave the office without anyone on my trail and I'm alone and safe. I take a deep breath of relief and board a taxi to Ivy's apartment. She is out, and I have never been more grateful to God that this evening has been smoother than ever. I change quickly into something pretty, a simple sundress and put on some concealer to hide those bite marks properly. Then I text Matthew.
Me: I'll meet you. Tell me where.
His response comes immediately as if he has been waiting for me.
Matthew: Bella's Cafe on Market Street. 7 PM. Thank you, Constantine. Thank you so much.
I stare at the message for a long moment, my finger hovering over the delete button. This is a bad idea. A terrible idea. If Wyatt finds out—
But I don't let myself finish that thought. I grab my coat and leave.
I arrive there and Bella's Cafe is small and warm, with soft lighting and the smell of coffee. It's the kind of place Matthew and I used to come to when we were together, back when everything was simple and I still believed in happy endings.
He's already there, sitting at a table in the corner. When he sees me, his face lights up in a way that makes my chest ache.
'Constantine.' He stands as I approach, like he wants to hug me but isn't sure if he's allowed. 'You came.'
'I said I would.' I sit down across from him, my hands folded in my lap.
'I wasn't sure you meant it.' He sits too, and I can see the nervousness in his eyes, the hope. 'I know I don't deserve this. I know I hurt you. But I need you to hear me out. Please.'
I nod, not trusting my voice.
'That day with Sarah,' he starts, running a hand through his hair. 'It was the biggest mistake of my life. I was an idiot. I was confused and scared and I thought maybe I owed her another chance because of our history. But the second I chose her, I knew I'd made the wrong choice.'
'Then why did you do it?' The words come out sharper than I intended.
'Because I'm an idiot,' he says again. 'Because I panicked. Because I thought—fuck—I don't know what I thought, Constantine. But I know I was wrong. And I've spent the last six months trying to find you, trying to fix this.'
'You can't fix this, Matthew.'
'I know I can't undo what I did. But I can try to make it right.' He reaches across the table, his hand hovering near mine. 'I love you. I never stopped loving you. And I know you still feel something for me. I can see it.'
He's right. I do still feel something. That's the worst part. After everything, after Wyatt, after all of it, some part of me still remembers what it felt like to be with Matthew. To feel safe and wanted and loved, not just used.
'I don't know if I can trust you again,' I whisper.
'Then let me prove it to you.' His hand finally touches mine, warm and familiar. 'Just give me a chance. That's all I'm asking.'
I look at him and I see the boy who made me laugh, who held me when I cried, who promised me forever and then broke me. But I also see a way out. A way back to being the person I was before everything fell apart.
'Matthew—'
He leans forward, and before I can finish the sentence, his lips are on mine. The kiss is soft, tentative, asking for permission I'm not sure I can give. But for just a moment, I let myself feel it. Let myself remember what it was like to be kissed by someone who wanted me and not just my body.
And then I hear it.
Gunshots.
The sound rips through the cafe and I hear people scream. Glass shatters. Matthew jerks back, his eyes wide with shock.
'Get down!' someone yells.
The lights go out and everything descends into chaos. I drop to the floor, my heart hammering, my hands shaking. Matthew is next to me, pulling me under the table, his body shielding mine.
'It's okay,' he's saying, but his voice is shaking too. 'It's okay, we're okay—'
Another gunshot and it's closer this time. And then Matthew gasps, his body jerking against mine.
'Matthew?' I grab his arm and feel something warm and wet. Blood. 'Matthew!'
'I'm okay,' he says, but his voice is thin with pain. 'It's just my arm. I'm okay.'
More screams. More chaos. People running, crying, trying to escape.
I try to stand, try to help Matthew, but someone grabs me from behind.
A hand clamps over my mouth. Strong arms pull me backward, away from Matthew, away from the table. I try to scream, try to fight, but the grip is iron-tight.
'Stop struggling,' a voice hisses in my ear. It's a male. Something presses against my nose and mouth. A cloth. Sweet-smelling chemical.
No. No, no, no—
I try to hold my breath but my lungs are burning. I need air. I need—
The world tilts sideways as my vision blurs. The last thing I hear is Matthew calling my name, his voice desperate and distant. And then there's nothing as the darkness swallows me whole.