“We’ve put it off for too long already.”
The longer the silence stretches, the tighter my guts twist. The air between us is tainted, polluted with hurt and heavy with unsaid words. At the next outlook point, he pulls over and parks. Turning in his seat, he reaches for me.
“What are you doing?”
“I need to hold you when I say what I’m about to say.”
He’s offering me comfort to ease the pain awaiting. I don’t want his consolation. I push on the button to unlock the door and jump from the car. His voice drifts after me as he calls out my name, but I don’t stop until I reach the stone wall that stands between high ground and a terrifying drop. Instinctively, I know what he’s going to say will dislodge all the old hurt, forcing me to face it, and I can’t take that much pain ever again.
Chapter 17
Kristi
The car door slams. Gravel crunch behind me. Jake’s shadow stretches along the ground, his hand lifting tentatively to my shoulder.
I step to the side. “Don’t touch me.”
“Kristi,” he says, dropping his hand.
Why won’t it stop hurting? I both crave and loathe his touch, the belated comfort he’s offering, but as much as I need it, I can’t bring myself to accept it. He cut me too deep. I’ll never make myself that vulnerable again.
Sighing deeply, he sits down on the wall with his elbows on his knees and fingers interlaced, his head hanging low. His words are soft-spoken, a guilty confession wrapped in regret, but I don’t look at him. I can’t give him even that much.
“I hated Dubai from the word go. All I wanted was to get on a plane and head right back to you, but I needed to prove myself, not just to me, but also to my father.” He utters a wry sound. “Too much of my reason for going was for my father and too little for myself. I wanted to return to Rensburg with my own fortune and tell Hendrik Basson he was wrong about me.” He laughs softly. “The joke is on me because he was right after all.”
He lifts his head, seeking my eyes, but I keep my gaze fixed on the breathtaking view that suddenly, for some reason, cuts through me with its beauty.
“If I’d opened your first letter,” he continues, “I would’ve begged my father on my knees to buy me a ticket back to South Africa. My ass would’ve been on a plane faster than you could say dropout. I told myself I’d keep your letter as a reward, read it after my first small victory, but I flunked that test. It was a hell of a lot tougher than I thought. That school admitted the best of the best, and I was just an idiot from a small town who believed he knew something but knew nothing.
“I worked harder. It got a little better. Two, three letters arrived. Still, I put off the reward. One more month, I told myself, one more month to have something good to write back about. The longer I waited, the more difficult it became, until I no longer knew how to explain my silence. By then, I used your letters to punish myself. I told myself I didn’t deserve to read them.
“It got hectic. Things moved too fast. I started using drugs to cope. The high gave me a sense of bravado. I got cocky. The more I was falling behind the rest of the class, the more I wanted to get myself out of that hole with some fucking giant leap of luck. Yousef al-Yasu, my mentor, gave me an intern position in his business as repayment for a favor he owed my father. For some reason, he took to me. He tried to guide me, let me in on his deals. He liked my franchise idea, thought we had a shot at it, but said it was too early. He said we needed to refine it, even when the opportunity arose.
“I wanted to grab that unexpected opportunity with both hands and take the leap from misery to success. He advised against it, so I went behind his back.” He blows out a long breath. “I made a deal. I spoke for Yousef, gave my word on his behalf, and blew it. Ten million dollars. I dishonored him. I was a disgrace. My reputation was ruined.”
He glances over his shoulder toward the flat surface of the sea. “I dropped out. I hated myself as much as everyone else who’s ever met me in Dubai, except for Ahmed, Yousef’s son. God only knows why he still bothered. He gave me a job in his holiday resort business and paid for my flat when Yousef fired me.”
He turns his head back to me, and it’s only then I gather the courage to look at him, when I’m sure I’ve got enough of a handle on my emotions not to cry.
“I reckoned you were better off without me,” he says, “so I made sure I provided a house and sent money, but I didn’t open your letters. And then they stopped. It killed me more than you’ll ever know, but I couldn’t get out of the hole I dug for myself. I was on a self-destructive path, pushing everyone and everything away until that last letter arrived. If it wasn’t for Ahmed, I wouldn’t have known.”
The pause that follows tells me I’m going to like what comes next even less.
“He read them,” he says softly. “Every one of those letters. He’s the one who made me read the last one you sent.”
Hurt lashes at me from too many directions to keep track. Jake ignored Noah and me because of his pride, but someone else, someone I don’t know, were privy to my most intimate feelings and thoughts. Jake threw us away to hurt and punish himself because he believed he deserved nothing better, but he failed to see the repercussion of the selfish act.
“You hurt me,” I whisper. “So much.”
Remorse fills his eyes. “I know.”
“A stranger read my letters.”
“I nearly smashed in his face for it. Still want to.”
“A stranger read them, but you didn’t.”
“I did.”
“When?”
“When I got back to Rensburg.”
“Why now, Jake? Why?”
He looks at me for a long moment, as if contemplating the reason. When he finally speaks, his answer sounds certain. “Because I saw you.”
“You saw me?” I exclaim.
“I saw you and knew you were meant to be mine, both you and Noah.”
For some reason, the declaration makes the ache in my heart worse. It rubs what could’ve been in my face, but could haves are futile. Neither of us can go back in time and change the past. It’s done. I’ll never have it. “Stop it. Don’t say things like that.”
“It’s the truth. I’m not going to lie to myself or you any longer.”
“It’s too late.”
“Don’t say that.” He grabs his head between his hands. “Goddamn, Kristi, I beg you, please.”
It’s hard to cling to control. “I can’t trust you.”
“I broke your trust.” He gives me a haunted look. “Believe me, I know what I’ve done. I’m not asking you to trust me overnight. I’m just asking for a chance.”
“What about Luan? Did you ever consider his feelings?”
“We both know Luan isn’t a factor in what stands between us. You were using him to make up for the father you never had. Luan was security. I’m pretty damn sure he’ll never rock your boat or make you see stars, not like you deserve. Hell, he broke up with you for something he should’ve taken out on me.”
“You and I, we’re not getting back together.” I’m not getting burned twice. Once was hard enough.
“I’m not asking you to make a decision now.”
“Then what are you asking?”
“Three weeks.”
Bitterness spills into my tone. “You didn’t give me a choice, remember?”
“I made a lot of mistakes, too many to expect anyone to forgive. All I’m asking is that you spend the next twenty days with me trying not to think about the past. It’s a hell of a lot to ask, I know, but I just want us to get to know each other. Fuck, Kristi.” He drags his hands through his hair. “We never really had a chance to get to know each other. We’re not the same people we were in school. Too much has happened, and people change. People grow. If we walk away from here as nothing but friends, so be it.”
It’s not what I expected. The Jake sitting in front of me isn’t the boy I remember. The man who declined sex took me by surprise. So does his e
motional turmoil, evident by the deep breaths rattling his chest. I can deny him my heart, but I can’t deny him friendship, or at least giving it a shot, not if he’s serious about getting involved in Noah’s life. God knows, I want nothing more for my baby. I don’t want Noah to suffer those father issues I never overcame.
I regard him from under my lashes. “Do you mean that?”
“I’m Noah’s dad. I’m a part of your lives. If it’s not in a romantic sense, I’ll regret it until my dying day, but I won’t contest your decision. I’m still going to be the best dad I can and give you the support you never had.”
The never had part throws me right back into the past, but I ignore the pain that spreads through my chest and seeps into my heart as if the source is infinite, its destructive power unending. This is about Noah, and what’s best for him. Not trusting Jake doesn’t make it easy for me to trust his intentions.
“Why the sudden turnaround?”
“Without you and Noah, I have nothing left.”
Anger sparks. More ache. This is Jake thinking about himself, not about Noah and me. “That’s not fair. You can’t place the responsibility of giving you a reason to live on our shoulders, and it’s not the right reason for wanting to get back together.”
His look is level, sure. “You’ve been my reason since that night in the alley.”
I clench my hands so hard my nails cut into my palms. More emotions assault me. Guilt. Regret. His unspoken words are like rocks mauling my heart in my chest. “Are you saying everything that happened is my fault for not asking you to stay?”
“No. You did the right thing. I would’ve always wondered how it would’ve turned out if I hadn’t gone to Dubai. All I’m saying is I’ve made some shitty choices. I ignored what was most important to blindly chase my selfish need to prove I’m not worthless. Ironically, I only ended up proving the opposite.”
“I can’t fix you, Jake.” I can barely keep myself together.
“I’m not asking you to.”
For a moment we regard each other quietly, a bigger question brewing in my mind. To utter it would acknowledge I wanted to be something more meaningful than a quick fuck in an alley and a dirty roll in the mud, but I can’t help myself. “Would you have been here if I didn’t ask for a divorce?”
He looks guilty even before he speaks. “Probably not.”
His honesty takes the air from my lungs. It’s a confirmation I didn’t matter. I hold up a hand, not brave enough for the truth after all, but he shakes his head.
“You have to hear this, Kristi. If we’re going to get to know each other with no masks or pretenses, however hard it’ll be, you have a right to know. If you hadn’t asked for a divorce, I would’ve been well on my way to overdosing or drinking myself to death.”
Oh, my God. How naïve can I be? I never considered there could be more than the slush pile of dirt he already disclosed. Paid sex is far from being his only sin. “You can’t be around Noah if you do drugs. I don’t want you in his life—”
“Haven’t touched it since Dubai. Not planning on going near it again.”
“Even if we don’t happen?”
“Even then. I want to be there for Noah. I swear. Give me a chance to prove it.”
“No prostitutes either. It’s not the example I want for my son.”
He winces. “Our son.”
“He won’t be yours if you hang around brothels.”
“Those days are over. The drugs and whores, they went together. I hated that life. I’m not going back to it.”
My body shivers with tremors from the overload of emotions. The information dump from his past is more than I can take. Like a wild rose creeper that has invaded the abandoned mesh of a fence, the feelings strangling my heart are twisted, and warped, and full of thorns with fragile little flowers in between. Even if I don’t want to admit it, I still have feelings for Jake. Those feelings are intertwined with the pain, fragile little roses that survive between thorns.
My voice is shaky. “Noah comes first.”
“What about you, ginger?”
“What about me?”
“Who takes care of you?”
“I’m a big girl.”
“That much you’ve proven, but there’s nothing wrong with letting someone take care of you every once in a while.”
The notion has its attraction. I remember how eagerly I responded when Jake promised to take care of me in the bar. Not so long ago, I believed Luan would be the shoulder I could lean on, at least from time to time. How easily Jake has proven that wrong. Still, I’m not letting Jake near my heart again. Allowing someone to take care of you only hurts in the long run.
He gets up and walks to me, his steps slow and careful, his tone apologetic. “This is not how I imagined the day to pan out.”
“You said yourself, it’s time we’re honest. I’ve been begging for an explanation for four years.”
He stretches his arms as if he wants to pull me into a hug. “I’m sorry.”
I step away, out of reach.
Dropping his arms, he stares at me with a helpless expression. I wish I knew how to fix this, how to make the hurt vanish, but it’s here, in my chest, under my skin, in the rush of my blood through my veins, its thorns embedded with sharp claws in my heart. It’s real, and there’s no magic wand to make it disappear.
A minivan pulls up. The doors open and four kids tumble out, followed by their parents. As they run yelling and laughing to the wall, Jake and I stand motionless in our bubble, staring wordlessly at each other. The flash of disappointment in his eyes says he resents that our discussion has been cut short. I must be a coward, because I’m relieved.
The woman regards us curiously as she nears. It must be obvious we’ve been arguing.
Shoving his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, he asks, “Shall we go?”
I turn my back on him and walk to the car. He catches up before I reach it to open my door. We continue in silence down the rest of the scenic road, the atmosphere strained and the past he asked me to ignore hanging like one hundred and twelve unopened letters over our heads.
“Look,” he says after a long while, pointing ahead.
We’re at the foot of the mountains, crossing a hilly part with the ocean in front of us.
He unwinds his window and sticks out his head. “This is my favorite part.”
The air smells of salt and something else he tells me is fynbos, the plants growing on the mountain slopes. We drive past a lagoon and turn onto a dirt road that leads to a deserted beach with white sand and dunes topped with wild grass. The sun is shining, but there’s a chilly breeze.
He hands me his sweatshirt when he helps me from the car. Grateful, I pull it on while he fetches the cooler box from the trunk. Near the water, he spreads out a picnic blanket and pulls off his clothes. Underneath the jeans, he’s wearing swimming trunks. It’s an improvement to swimming in briefs. He must’ve done more than food shopping before the trip.
Holding out his hand, he asks, “Want to test the water?”
I still feel bruised inside, but his outstretched hand is like a peace offering, and I didn’t come this far to not dip at least my toes in the sea. Despite the heaviness of earlier, his smile is broad. Knowing how much effort the gesture takes, I accept his hand and shed some of the weight pushing on my chest as I follow him to where the water laps over glittery sand. Angry waves foam not far behind.
Like the mountain, the ocean is both scary and exhilarating. The water is a lot colder than I expected, and I shriek when it flows around my ankles. For a while, we simply stand there, hand in hand. Jake is patient, letting me get my fill of the view. The crush of the waves is a rhythmic build and break, pierced from time to time with the call of a seagull. The smell of salt is stronger here. The sand is soft under my feet, shifting with the ebb and flow of the water. Sunrays bounce off the water, making sparkles on the surface.
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper.
“Not a
s beautiful as you.”
I turn my head quickly toward him to catch him watching me with that unsettling intensity.
“If I could bottle the moment, I’d carry it in my pocket forever.”
My cheeks heat a little. I’m not accustomed to compliments. “Some things aren’t meant to be bottled.”
“No,” he says solemnly, “some things are impossible to capture, even in words.”
And some words are too much to handle. Freeing my hand, I head back toward the blanket, away from his words and compliments. My emotions are raw, and I’m fighting not to feel compassion, which is hard. This part of Jake, the unloved boy who turned into an undeserving adult, I understand. I still carry the scar on my cheek to prove it. I know where he comes from, and I know it’s not what’s in a bank account that matters. In that sense, we’re similar. We both have daddy issues. I only hope Jake will make a better father for Noah than Hendrik made for him.
We stretch out on the blanket and eat the sandwiches he prepared for lunch. When the breeze disappears in the afternoon, Jake produces my bikini from the cooler box.
“I didn’t want to give it to you at the house and spoil the surprise,” he says. “You can change here. If it bothers you, I won’t look.”
I appreciate that he doesn’t bring up yesterday when I tried to seduce him. Flames leak over my neck and up my cheeks when I recall in vivid detail how he rewarded me. He’s seen me naked and made me come, but he took us a step back when he declared he wouldn’t have sex with me for the wrong reasons. It’s a far cry from the old Jake who ravished me at the lake and declared my ass belonged to him. Despite my reservations about letting him into my heart, he has an undeniable effect on my body. Contrary to what I thought yesterday, being naked around him—if sex isn’t going to be enough—is too much to handle.
“I’d rather change behind the bushes on the dunes,” I say, taking a step in that direction.
He grabs my wrist. “You’re not going anywhere near those dunes alone.”
I look around. “There’s no one but us.”
“Sometimes surfers come here, and abalone poachers move along the dunes.” He turns his back on me and crosses his arms. “Get undressed.”
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