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Risking It All

Page 21

by Jennifer Schmidt


  Memphis pulled away and slipped his finger under her chin, lifting her face to his. His lips were soft and gentle, and Kennedy closed her eyes, giving her mouth over to his once more before breaking away and hurrying inside the terminal.

  She’d wept quietly most of the flight, the passenger next to her occasionally shooting her worried looks before finally asking if she was all right. Kennedy had forced herself to bite back the snarky remark that had been on the tip of her tongue. Did she look like she was fucking all right? Her face looked like a punching bag, her throat was so sore she could barely talk, and her nose wouldn’t stop running. But yes, she was fine.

  She thought being at home would help, but the quiet just reminded her of how alone she really was and how much she missed Memphis.

  Kennedy rolled over and stared at the picture of them together on her nightstand.

  Everything had become so fucked up and she wasn’t even sure how. It wasn’t just because of the sex. They had been fine up until last night when she had told him what was going on between them was nothing. If only Memphis would talk to her instead of blowing it off and acting like an ass about it.

  Or maybe she should have stepped up, grown some balls, and told him the truth.

  Kennedy threw off the blankets and went to the kitchen in search of comfort food. An empty refrigerator stared back at her, but buried way in the back of her freezer was a pint of good old, fattening, mocha chocolate swirl ice cream.

  She popped off the lid, grabbed a spoon, and retreated to the couch. She flipped through the channels when she wasn’t shoving her face full of the calorie-packed goodness, but all that seemed to litter her television were romantic comedies. Kennedy made a face, clicked off the set, and concentrated on cleaning every scoop of ice cream out of the carton.

  As she licked off the spoon, she suddenly wished she had a cat, a dog, maybe a bird. Hell, even a fish would make her feel less lonely.

  She plopped the empty carton on the end table and stared at the blank television screen. Now what? She wasn’t tired. She didn’t feel like going anywhere. There was nothing to watch and she was so damn tired of thinking.

  She picked up the remote again and started channel surfing for something to do when her phone rang. Kennedy slowly reached for the cordless and stared at the phone as it continued to blare at her. She cursed herself for not having a house phone with caller ID.

  She waited two more rings before answering.

  “Hello?”

  “You weren’t answering your cell,” Memphis said. “Thought maybe something was wrong.”

  “My cell is off. I forgot to turn it on when I landed,” she told him, muting the television and curling her legs underneath her. “I’m surprised to hear from you.”

  “Why? I told you I’d call.”

  “Is that the only reason you did? Because you said you would?”

  “No.” Memphis went quiet for so long she thought the connection had been lost. “I need to ask you something.”

  Kennedy swallowed over the lump that had risen in her throat hearing those six words.

  “Okay,” she said quietly.

  “And I need the truth no matter what it is,” he added.

  “Okay.”

  “When you said all this week was us . . . succumbing to our desires, as you put it, did you mean that? Is that all you thought of us?”

  “No,” she confessed barely above a whisper. “That wasn’t what I thought at all.”

  “But you thought that’s all it was to me?”

  “I . . .” Kennedy shook her head and gripped the phone tighter. “I didn’t know. I still don’t know what it all was to you.”

  “What did it mean to you?” he asked.

  Her heart skipped a beat, and she suddenly felt short of breath as fear clawed at her stomach at the thought of telling him the truth.

  “Memphis . . .” Kennedy dropped her head against the back of the couch and closed her eyes.

  “You said you’d tell me the truth,” he reminded her.

  “Everything,” she breathed. “It meant everything to me.”

  He stayed quiet, and she chewed on her lip, worried what that meant.

  “What did it mean to you?” she finally found the courage to ask.

  “Have you talked to Brooks?”

  Kennedy picked at the couch arm and frowned at the question, annoyed that he changed the subject and didn’t give her anything in return for her answer.

  “No.”

  “Are you going to tell him?”

  Kennedy clamped her teeth together in frustration and silently screamed every curse word she knew.

  He thought it was so simple to answer his questions, yet when she turned them around on him, he changed the subject to something just as difficult to answer. Yes, she should tell Brooks. But if she was going to end things with him anyway, then was there really any reason to confess? Wouldn’t she be hurting him ten times more by telling him?

  The guilt would eat away at her if she stayed with him, and then she’d have to fess up to her Alaskan tryst with Memphis. If she was going to walk away, then what was the big deal? Did he really need to know? But didn’t she owe it to him and their relationship to be honest with him? Didn’t he have a right to know what had gone on and why she wanted to break things off?

  “I don’t know,” she answered sheepishly. “I don’t know what I’m going to do yet.”

  “You don’t know what you’re going to tell him, or you don’t know what you’re going to do?” Memphis asked.

  “I don’t know what I’m going to tell him.”

  “Does that mean you know what you’re going to do?”

  “Yes, I think so.” She sighed. “It’s not working between us anymore; it hasn’t been for a while now. Being with you in Alaska made that all the more clear. I wouldn’t . . .”

  “What? You wouldn’t what?” he pressed.

  “I wouldn’t have let things go as far as they did between us if I loved him anymore.”

  “So you’re ending it?”

  “Yes.”

  He was silent again and then said, “I’ll see you when I get back, Kennedy.”

  Her lips curved against the phone.

  “Okay.”

  “And just so you know,” he added, “it meant everything to me, as well.”

  ~*~

  Kennedy practically skipped into the gallery the next day, still on cloud nine from her phone call with Memphis. It was true he hadn’t come right out and told her that he was on the same page as she was when it came to how she felt, but what he did say made the grin stay permanently attached to her face.

  “Good morning, Ryder!” She beamed as she dropped into one of the lush, oversized chairs in his office.

  Ryder lifted his eyes off the printout in front of him and arched an eyebrow at her cheery disposition.

  “Alaska was good, I take it?”

  “Alaska, my friend, was amazing.”

  Ryder sat back in his office chair and rolled the pen between his fingers as he observed her with an amused smile on his face.

  “You’re positively glowing, chére.”

  “The land of ice and snow agrees with me, I guess.”

  “Hmm. Or the company you had with you does.”

  Kennedy shrugged him off as she reached into her purse and pulled out a business card.

  “I come bearing gifts for you, Ryder,” she said, sliding the card across the desk. “That is the contact information for an artist in Alaska.”

  Ryder plucked the card off the desk and quickly glanced at the writing. He looked at Kennedy and waved it in front of her.

  “What am I supposed to do with it?”

  “Call him.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he’s fabulous,” Kennedy said. “I stopped in at his gallery while I was up there, and his work is unbelievable. He gave me one of his paintings that I’m having shipped home. I can’t wait for you to see it.”

  Ryder smirke
d and tossed the card on the desk.

  “Kennedy, if he can afford to give one of his paintings away then they’re not worth buying.”

  “Are you saying you don’t trust my artistic eye?” she asked, surprised at his attitude.

  “No. But he’s a small town artist—”

  “And I’m just a waitress.” She glared at him.

  Ryder pursed his lips and played along with her staring contest for a few seconds before reaching out and picking up the card again.

  “You are my masterpiece,” he told her. “And if you say this guy is good, I’ll give him a call. After you show me the painting.”

  “Fine.”

  He tucked the card away in his desk, pulling out another paper as he did and passing it to Kennedy.

  “What’s this?” she asked, scanning the names on the page.

  “Those are all the people who have called since your show wanting to know where they can get this painting or that one,” he said, watching her carefully for her reaction.

  “Really?” Kennedy’s voice pitched in surprise.

  “Really.” Ryder set his elbows on the desk and rested his chin on his folded hands. “The sculpture drew the most interest.”

  Kennedy stopped reading and stared at the page.

  “It did?”

  “Yes. I’ve had many people tell me how moving and powerful it was. You wouldn’t believe some of the numbers that have been thrown at me for it.”

  “It’s not—”

  “I know, chére, it’s not for sale,” he said, waving her off. “But maybe you could do a little more clay work. I think it would be a big seller.”

  “Ryder, that was made when I was going through something very emotional,” she said.

  “I know. That’s why it pulled so many people in—because of the love and pain that went into it. Buyers can tell, Kennedy, when something is real versus make-believe.” He sat back and shrugged. “All I’m asking is if you’ll try. If you can’t pull it off again, no big deal. There’s still a lot of interest in the paintings.”

  Kennedy thought about what he said.

  “I wouldn’t be able to duplicate the sculpture,” she said. “If I did any more clay it would be something completely different. You know that, right?”

  “I assumed that, yes.” He smiled at her.

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Good. Now, we should start thinking of when we should do another show.”

  Two hours later Kennedy was gathering her purse and ready to head home when her cell chimed. She quickly scrambled to find it among the clutter in her handbag, cursing when the damn thing seemed to have disappeared.

  Ryder chuckled as he watched her. “Must be pretty important.”

  Kennedy grinned when she finally found it, but the message that waited for her made the grin leave her face and a knot twist in her stomach.

  “Bad news?” Ryder asked, leaning over to look at the small screen. “Brooks was away again?”

  Kennedy nodded and clicked off the message.

  “Was,” she said. He was back and wanted to come over.

  “Why don’t you sound happy that he’s home?” He sounded more concerned than curious.

  Kennedy sighed and stuffed the phone back in her purse.

  “We just have a lot to talk about, and I’m not really looking forward to it.”

  “Oh, I see. I sense the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ speech coming.”

  “No. It’s totally him.”

  Ryder laughed, and Kennedy felt the knot untwist a little bit. She stood, tossed her purse over her shoulder, and gave him a small smile as she walked out of the office.

  The sun shone into her eyes as she stepped outside, and she reached up and lowered the sunglasses from the top of her head. She took a deep breath of fresh air and started walking to her car.

  As she settled in behind the wheel she took out her cell again and reread the message.

  I’m back. Give me a call if you’re home. We need to talk.

  The childish thought of ignoring the message and pretending she wasn’t home yet crossed her mind, but the adult in her knew she had to face him sooner or later. And getting this all out of the way before Memphis returned was best.

  Instead of calling, she sent off a quick text telling him she was home and he could stop by later that night if he wanted. She half hoped that he would tell her he was too busy, but when his reply came, it said he’d be there by eight.

  Kennedy tossed the phone onto the front seat as she glanced at the dashboard clock. She had six hours to find her courage and decide what she was going to tell him.

  Despite having hours to think it over, she still wasn’t sure what to say or how to go about doing what she had to do when her intercom buzzed at ten to eight.

  Kennedy’s hands trembled as she buzzed him in and unlocked her door. She waited with her back pressed against it, and nearly jumped out of her skin when he knocked.

  Her heart hammered in her chest, and she felt like she was about to break out in a sweat.

  Would he instantly know something was different? Would be able to smell the guilt rolling off her the second she opened the door?

  Hard to smell like guilt when you don’t feel guilty.

  Kennedy didn’t want to admit the voice in her head was right. Hell, she didn’t want to admit she was hearing voices, period. But it was there, imaginary or not, and it was right. She still didn’t feel guilty over what happened between her and Memphis. She didn’t want to hurt Brooks, but she couldn’t regret or feel guilty about her actions. Doing so would mean she wished she had never been with Memphis. And she would never feel that way.

  Vanessa was right when she said it wasn’t fair to any of them. It wasn’t fair to her to be with a man who was never there for her. And it wasn’t fair to Brooks to be with a woman who was no longer in love with him. They both deserved to be happy, and being together no longer made them happy.

  Or at least it no longer made her happy. She wasn’t sure how Brooks felt anymore. Another knock on the door reminded her she was about to find out.

  Kennedy took a deep breath and opened the door, ready to face him. What she wasn’t ready for was what waited on the other side.

  Brooks stood there, a bouquet of red roses in one hand, her favorite bottle of wine in the other, and a tentative smile on his face.

  Kennedy looked at the flowers and wine dumbfounded. The last—and only—time Brooks had bought her flowers was the day after they met in the hospital. On Valentine’s Day, her birthday, or their anniversary he gave her gifts of fancy dinners, lacy lingerie, or tickets to some show or ballet she wanted to see—when he remembered those days, that is. He felt flowers and chocolates were for wooing, and since he already had the girl, there was no reason to woo.

  She knew him well enough to know the flowers meant only one thing. He was trying to once again sweep her off her feet.

  And that she hadn’t been prepared for.

  He lifted his arms in a slight shrug when he saw her attention on the gifts.

  “I figure if Memphis can take you to Alaska, the least I can do is pick up some flowers,” he said with a hint of laugher in his voice. “And also, it’s about time I did something like this for you.”

  Kennedy tore her eyes away from his arms and met his eyes.

  “Hi,” he said, his smile broadening.

  “Hi,” she managed to say.

  “Wow. Give you a dozen roses and you go into shock.” He brushed past her, not waiting for an invitation to come in, and set the items down on the table.

  Kennedy closed the door, still unsure of what to say. She wrapped her arms around her middle and leaned against the wall, facing him.

  “How was your trip?” he asked, dropping the flowers into the empty vase she always left in the middle of the table.

  Her pulse quickened, and she ducked her head so her hair hid part of her face as she pretended to look at her feet.

  “It was good,”
she answered.

  “Just good?”

  “We had fun.”

  At least that wasn’t a lie.

  He turned, and she felt his eyes on her. She quickly scooted into the kitchen and busied herself grabbing two wineglasses.

  “How was Montreal?” she asked.

  “A few surprises, but all in all it was good as well.” He put the bottle gently on the counter and stood beside her. “I did a lot of thinking while I was away, Kennedy,” he told her, reaching out to touch her hair.

  She set the corkscrew down beside the bottle and moved away to the opposite side of the kitchen. Brooks looked at her, confused for a minute, but then picked it up and started opening the bottle. When he handed her a glass, she gripped the stem so hard she was surprised it didn’t snap, and had to refrain from guzzling it all at once.

  “Are you okay, babe?” He eyed her intently.

  She inhaled deeply and shook her head.

  “Brooks, I did a lot of thinking, too.” She stared into the red liquid. “I think—”

  “Wait.”

  She looked up at him, and he sighed as he ran his hands through his short hair and gave her a defeated smile.

  “I know what you’re going to say, Kennedy,” he told her. “And I just want to say something first.”

  She chewed on the inside of her cheek and nodded.

  “I know I haven’t been there for you when you needed me. I pretty much checked out of this relationship after you lost the baby. And that was wrong.”

  Kennedy stared at him, shocked he had brought up the miscarriage. He had never said anything about the baby—ever.

  “I felt like I was alone to deal with the miscarriage of our child,” she said when she finally found her voice. “All this time you never wanted to talk about it.”

  “I still don’t,” he said. “But I realize now that’s where everything started to go a little off. I wasn’t ready for a child, and I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready to be a father, so when you miscarried, I felt very guilty because I was . . . relieved.”

  Kennedy snapped her eyes up to his and her jaw dropped.

  “You . . . you were glad I lost the baby?” She was stunned.

  “I was relieved,” he said, looking ashamed. “Kennedy, I’m sorry.”

 

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