Everything I Can Never Have (Age & Innocence Book 2) Read online

  Everything I Can Never Have

  An Age & Innocence novel

  M Johnson

  Contents

  Author Note

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  It’s Just a Little Crush

  Other books by M Johnson

  Excerpt

  Trigger list

  Author Note

  While this book is more taboo than dark, it does contain distressing themes that may upset some readers. It is best going in blind, but if you think you might be one of those readers, please find the specific triggers listed here.

  Prologue

  Xavier

  I hear the soft click of the bathroom door open and my eyes shoot to my wife, the rage inside of me taking over. The look of horror on her face when she sees what I’m holding would be comical if I wasn’t three seconds from losing it.

  “Zave, please.” Maria stares at her phone in my hand, her wet blonde hair dripping onto the light blue towel she has wrapped tightly around her body. “Let me explain—”

  “So that you can feed me more lies?”

  When her phone beeped while she was in the shower, I didn’t give it any thought. I assumed it was our good friend, Aaron, or one of the girls from work, but then I saw the message flash up on her screen…

  When can I see you? I need to see you. It’s been too long, baby.

  The message history goes back a long time—long enough for me to know this isn’t a misunderstanding, or a one-off thing. It wasn’t a moment of weakness, or a single night that meant nothing. It’s a calculated affair that’s been going on right under my nose for fuck knows how long. She isn’t even trying to hide it all that well. Not really. I mean, I’m no expert, but I’d think having a passcode on your phone would be Cheating 101.

  “Please, Zave.” Tears well in her pale green eyes as she takes a step in my direction. “Just listen to me—”

  “Listen to you?” My voice booms through our bedroom, distorted by the anger pulsating through me. “You cheated on me. No, correction. You are cheating on me. You broke the one thing our marriage had left.” I stare at her in both disbelief and shock, then hurl her phone across the room. “How can I trust a fucking word you say to me?”

  How can she possibly explain this in a way that would make it okay? The simple answer is, she can’t, and I refuse to let her make a fool out of me anymore by giving her the benefit of the doubt.

  “You want the truth?” Her voice cracks. “You checked out of our relationship a long time before I did.” She wipes her tear-stained cheeks while I stare at her in disgust. “If you’d been even a shadow of the man I married, then maybe I wouldn’t have… I mean…”

  She doesn’t finish the sentence. She doesn’t need to. I know exactly what she was about to say, and it’s the last straw. I’m the first to admit our relationship hasn’t been great for a while now. It’s barely been functional for months, but equating my emotional distance with her sharing a bed with another man… it’s not even close to the fucking same thing and I want to strangle her for suggesting it is.

  “Don’t you dare try and pin this back on me.” I spit each word at her, the anger burning inside me palpable.

  “I just meant that our marriage failing isn’t entirely my fault,” she whispers. “We’re both to blame—”

  “The moment you let some other guy bury his cock in your cunt, this became your fucking fault.”

  I know that my tendency to bury my emotions can make me difficult to be around. I know we haven’t been intimate in a while. I know I’ve done everything I can to avoid dealing with the problems in our relationship. Objectively, logically, I know I am to blame as much as she is, but right now, I’m too angry to care. Even at my worst, I would never cheat on her. I’m loyal as a fucking dog and I would never seek out solace or comfort in the arms of another woman, ever, no matter how broken we are as a couple.

  Fuck.

  I’m so angry, I can barely see straight. Everything is a haze of red, and when I look at her, all I see is another man’s hands roaming over the body that I used to call mine. I can’t even look at her face without imagining his cock inside her, picturing her screaming his name.

  Cursing under my breath, I storm out of the bedroom and move through the house we’ve called ours for the last two years. In a picturesque suburb, just west of Melbourne’s city centre, this was supposed to be a fresh start, free from the pain and memories we’d been living in for the last eight years, but the problem with the past is, no matter how fast or far you run, it always catches up with you.

  I wind up in the kitchen. Turning around, I fling the closest thing I can find across the room. It’s the expensive turquoise-coloured fruit bowl her parents bought us for our wedding anniversary last year—I’ve always fucking hated it, anyway. With an ear-splitting shatter, it fractures into a thousand tiny pieces across the tiled floor, a hopeless mess, much like the remnants of our marriage. With a howl, I grab the toaster and yank it from the wall, hauling that across the room, too. It cracks and splits, falling to the floor in front of the fridge.

  My hands shaking, I look around, the urge to rip everything apart overwhelming me. Controlling my temper has never been one of my strong points, and right now, it feels impossible. I want to destroy everything in my path, because it feels good to have some godforsaken control, and an outlet for all this rage.

  Maria stands in the doorway, a look of panic on her stricken face. She’s got nothing to be scared of, though. I might destroy everything around us, but I’d never lay a finger on her. I’d never hurt any woman, not even my lying, cheating, whore of a wife.

  “Just fucking leave,” I scream at her. “Go crawling back to whoever the fuck has been keeping you warm at night, because it sure as hell hasn’t been me.”

  “No, it hasn’t been you, Xavier. That’s the problem…” She stops and takes a slow, ragged breath before continuing in a lower, controlled voice. “This is my house too and I’m not going anywhere, not until we talk this through.”

  “Talk?” I laugh erratically. “I can’t even look at you right now and you want to fucking talk?”

  “Well, I’m not going anywhere. So how about you man up, for once in your life, and deal with something—deal with this, with us?”

  “Oh, so now you’re saying I’m not man enough for you—”

  “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

  “I don’t know anything anymore.”

  “Well, I know, and we never failed in that regard. It’s been awhile, but I still remember how good we are together, Zave.” She gives me a pleading look like she’s trying one last time to fix this.

  “Right now, I’d like to forget,” I say, my tone icy. “So, if you won’t leave, I’ll go instead.”

  My shoes crunch down on the glass as I stalk past her and out of the kitchen. A bitter part of me hopes she steps on a piece with her bare feet so she can feel an inch of the pain her betrayal has caused me.

  In the bedroom, I grab an overni
ght bag from the top shelf of the wardrobe and mindlessly throw some clothes inside, not paying attention to what I’m grabbing. For all I know, I’ll end up with a whole lot of nothing useful. In a moment of clarity, I grab my jacket, charger, wallet and keys, then I storm outside.

  “Zave, please don’t leave like this,” Maria pleads, following me outside. “I don’t want to lose you.”

  “You should’ve thought about that before you did the one thing you know I can never forgive you for,” I shout, not bothering to turn around.

  I’ve been driving for what feels like hours, like a plane circling the runway in a storm, waiting for the right moment to land. The text messages play on repeat in my head, and every conversation Maria and I have had for months takes on a different meaning. Every time she said she was going out with friends, or working late, was it all a lie? How many times has she fucked him? Is she in love with him? The longer it all plays out in my head, the angrier and emptier I feel.

  On the outskirts of the city, I stop at a gas station and stock up on a few supplies to get me through the next few days. Eventually, I find myself pulling up in front of a two-star hotel on the other side of the city, in Carlton. The cracked welcome sign and the lowlifes hanging around the front of the hotel make me wonder if it’s the kind of hotel that rents rooms by the hour, but I’m too tired to look for anywhere better, even though I can more than afford somewhere much nicer. At the very least, this place will reflect my foul mood.

  Sighing, I grab my shit and head for the front desk.

  “How long will you be staying?” Donna, as her name tag reads, flashes a disinterested look in my direction, then gazes back down at the trashy magazine she’s flipping through.

  “Indefinitely.”

  She looks up again and raises an eyebrow. “Okay, handsome, how about we start with a week?”

  “Fine,” I mutter. “A week, then.”

  With an audible sigh, she pushes her magazine aside and clicks a few keys on her computer, before picking up a card, swiping it through some machine, and handing it to me.

  “Room three-twenty, third floor, to the right. Enjoy your stay. Call me if you want some company.”

  She winks at me. I give her a stiff nod in reply and take the card, then head for the lift, located just outside the office. The doors of the lift swing open the moment I press the button. I step inside, almost dry retching at the stench of urine and body odour. When the doors open on level three, I rush out, gulping down some fresh air. Sirens wail in the distance, really adding to the ambience of my new home.

  My room door is unlocked, but I go in, anyway, making sure to chain the door behind me. I collapse on an ugly red chair, kick my shoes off and put my feet up on the itchy ottoman. I look around the room, taking in the mismatched furniture and out-of-date décor. It’s the perfect location for a meltdown, which is lucky, because I’m on the verge of breaking down. There’s no way to recover from this because I can’t look past what she’s done.

  Twenty fucking years down the drain.

  Because as far as I’m concerned, we’re over.

  Chapter 1

  Xavier

  This whole “staying in my hotel room and drinking myself into oblivion” thing isn’t good for me, I know that, but it’s hard to get the energy to do anything else. I’ve been ignoring calls from everyone—work, Maria. Even Aaron, my best friend, hasn’t been able to get through to me. I don’t want to focus on anything but numbing the pain burning inside me, and the only thing that comes close to working is copious amounts of alcohol. At this point, I don’t even care what I’m drinking because it all tastes the same when it coats my bitter tongue and meets the angry pit of rage consuming my stomach.

  A knock comes at my door. I assume it’s my latest alcohol delivery, so I ignore it in hopes the person will leave it by my door like the last time and go away. A few seconds later, they knock again. I growl to myself and push off the bed, blinking through the haze of drunkenness as I stumble towards the door.

  “What?” I demand, flinging it open.

  I blink, shocked it’s Aaron. I shouldn’t be surprised it’s him. He could find me anywhere. Even at my lowest, Aaron was the only fool stubborn enough to have clung on to me. He’s a good guy like that, loyal like I am. He gives me a once-over, mouth thinning into a displeased line at the sight and possible smell of my sorry ass. I’m sure I look even worse than I feel, unwashed, unshaven… I haven’t even had the energy or desire to even change my clothes today. Or are they yesterday’s clothes?

  “Hey,” he says.

  “Aaron.”

  I take a step back and he follows me in, wrinkling his nose at the state of my hotel room. The smell of sweat, alcohol and the recycled air I’ve been inhaling for the last two weeks linger in the small space. No wonder I feel so shitty.

  I sit, or rather, fall back down on the bed, and Aaron props himself up against the little desk in the corner, in front of the mirror. He crosses his arms over his chest and levels me with a look. I know that look. I’ve seen it plenty of times and I am not in the mood for it.

  “So… how’re things?” he asks.

  “Fucking peachy.” I scoff, shaking my head and running a hand through my greasy hair. Does he really need to ask? I reach for the near-empty bottle of whiskey on the bedside table, unscrew it and tip it back. “I’m just shitting rainbows over here. How are you?”

  “Worried,” Aaron admits. He sighs and shakes his head. “I haven’t heard from you for weeks, man, and then I see you like this. You’re stressing me out.”

  “Sorry,” I say.

  I mean it too, but it doesn’t come out that way. I’ve never taken pleasure in making my friends worry for me, especially Aaron. My phone buzzes on the bedside table. I glance at it long enough to see it’s my boss, who conveniently happens to be Maria’s dad. He’s probably going to fire my ass, not that I give a fuck. I was planning on quitting, anyway. I don’t want anything to do with her or her family ever again.

  “Nice place,” Aaron comments.

  “It really fits my mood,” I agree.

  “You could’ve come to my place.”

  “No offence, but I needed some space. It’s a lot to process, you know?”

  Aaron sighs and looks away, his gaze shifting to the heavy cheap curtains obscuring the daylight. I’ve been keeping them closed and the lamps dim to save myself from the inevitable hangovers, so when he walks over and opens them, it feels like death is creeping over me. I wince at the harsh light as it fills the room. He turns back to look at me, then he circles the bed like it’s a live cobra that might strike at any time.

  Eventually, he sits down next to me with a heavy sigh and a look of disappointment in his eyes—like I’m the screw-up child he no longer knows what to do with. The thought makes me snort as I go to take another drink, then remember the bottle is empty.

  Well, fuck.

  “It’s Sofie’s eighteenth tonight.”

  “What?” I say, distracted.

  “My daughter. You remember her?”

  I wince at his dig because it has been a long time since I’ve actually seen Sofie. It’s not like I could forget her, though. She’s my best friend’s kid. She used to be as close to me as my own kid.

  “How is she old enough to drink?” I mutter in disbelief.

  But it must be right. She’s a little older than Dylan would be right now.

  “I know. I have no idea where the time has gone. We’re having a night at a bar. I hired a function room,” Aaron continues. “I figured you might want to show your face.”

  “This face?” I ask, gesturing to myself in all my unshaven, unwashed, dark under-eye-circled glory.

  Aaron smiles faintly. “Or maybe a better version of it,” he suggests, nudging his shoulder to mine. “One that won’t terrify the children.”

  “Thanks, but I think I’ll pass.” I sigh, shaking my head. “I’m not good company right now.”

  “To be fair, you’re not good com
pany when you’re at your best, so it won’t be that different.”

  I roll my eyes, which makes his smirk widen. It’s good to see him smile. It’s good to see another person in general, quite frankly. I may be angry and isolated, but I’m not a recluse by nature, though some people might disagree with that.

  “Seriously, Zave… it will do you good to get out of here. You should come. Sofie’s been asking after you. I know she’d want you to come.”

  “Is Maria going to be there?” I cautiously ask.

  “No, of course not.” He looks offended. “I wouldn’t blindside you like that.”

  “Fine.” I give in, feeling a sense of obligation to my friend. “If it will shut you up, I’ll go.”

  “Great.” Aaron grins and gets to his feet. “Shower, have a shave and, I don’t know, maybe figure out a change of clothes? You smell really fucking bad, man.” He wrinkles his nose for effect and dodges out of the way of my shove, laughing to himself. “I’ll text you the address and time. See you tonight.”

  After Aaron leaves, I collapse back down on the bed, convinced that if I close my eyes for just a few more minutes, I’ll feel better. Unfortunately for me, a few minutes turn into a few hours and when I crack my eyes open, the room is dark. Disorientated, my gaze strays to the bright red numbers lit up on the alarm clock on the bedside table.

  Shit. I’ve been asleep for nearly six hours.

  Sitting up, my brain feels hazy as I scan the room for my phone, eventually spotting it on the small round dining table. I force myself to my feet and shuffle over to it, sinking down onto one of the rickety chairs. I scroll through my notifications, past the missed calls and frustrated texts from Maria, and open the texts from Aaron.