‘I guess I was doing my job properly then,’ he said.
‘No,’ she replied, a bit dazed. He didn’t think she was responding to him. ‘No, Ezra, I don’t think you realise...’ Her eyes, wide with surprise, met his. ‘I spent most of the past three years avoiding thinking about my family. About my mother, my sisters. About my dad.’ She paused. ‘Most of the time I was so aware that I was trying not to think about them. It took literal strength not to think about them. So this moment? And earlier, in the river? These moments are...’ Her eyes fluttered up to his. ‘They’re miracles.’
He didn’t reply immediately, recognising that it had taken a lot from her to say it. It had probably taken a lot from her to realise it, too.
‘Would you,’ he started slowly when the silence extended, and he thought she might need help climbing out of the depths of her thoughts, ‘classify them as Christmas miracles?’
She rolled her eyes, but her lips curved. ‘Fine. Yes. Christmas miracles. Because of you.’ She pinned him with her gaze, speaking in a shaky voice. ‘This is special, isn’t it?’
He nodded. But instead of replying, he reached out a hand. ‘How about we get some sleep?’
After a moment, she nodded and took his hand, gripping it so tightly he thought he must have lost circulation. He didn’t mind it. Not when he understood it; when he was trying to hold on to it, to them, too.
When they reached the cabin, he took the keys from her hand and opened the door. And when they were safely inside, he lowered his head and kissed her.
She made some kind of sound—a sigh, a moan, he wasn’t sure. Except he felt it go through him. Felt the emotion of it fill him. Because there was emotion, he thought, his hands running up and down her body, relishing the softness of her. Memorising the curves of her. There was emotion because this was a goodbye.
He didn’t know how he knew it. Didn’t know whether she felt it, too. It didn’t matter.
He let himself fall into it. Let her know that she’d done something to him. Their mouths took, their hands feasted, but that was all there was. That was all there could be.
Somehow he knew that if they went further than this, he wouldn’t survive it. Knew that she knew it, too, when she made no move to take things further. When they finally came up for air—when their eyes met, and with trembling lips, they smiled at one another—Ezra knew he’d remember it, her, forever.
In one quick movement, he leaned forward and scooped her into his arms, carrying her to the bed.
‘This isn’t our wedding night, you know,’ she said in a shaky voice.
‘Yeah,’ he agreed quietly. He lowered her to the bed, then joined her on his side, fine with only their hands touching as they threaded their fingers together. ‘But this is probably the only night you and I will ever spend together. This is how I want to remember it. With you, on this bed, holding hands.’
‘Could you...could you hold me instead?’
His heart stuttered and he nodded, opening his arms to her and wrapping them around her when she shifted against him. He pressed a kiss into her hair, and reached for the switch that controlled the light from the bed. They stayed like that until Ezra heard her breathing deepen, steady. After still, he stayed, and let himself grieve.
It came in the form of a dull panic that crept under his insistence that he’d be fine when she left. A panic that taunted him for falling so deeply. For falling at all.
And yet the feelings he had for Angie were deeper than anything he’d felt for Liesel. Or for Ana. He could see those feelings for what they were now: his mind convincing his heart of something. But now his heart was trying to convince his mind of this, and the feeling was so distinct that he had no choice but to acknowledge it.
The acknowledgement pained him. Stayed with him until finally he closed his eyes in exhaustion.
Chapter Nineteen
It was better this way, Angie told herself as she rounded the steep mountain road of Sir Lowry’s Pass. She slipped out of bed that morning, needing to get some fresh air. Ezra hadn’t stirred beside her—nor was he awake after she took care of business in the bathroom—and she’d taken a lazy walk by herself.
When she passed her hired car, she had an idea: she could...leave. She hadn’t been proud of the idea, but she couldn’t stop thinking about it. Even though it would be no different to leaving him when he’d been showering the night before. Even though it would be no different to what she’d done to her mother and sisters.
Somehow though, it felt different. As if being aware of what she was doing made it different. As if choosing it made it different. But it was also because of their night, which had ended on such a heartbreakingly romantic note. She felt as though it gave her permission to run. So when she got back to the cabin and Ezra was still sprawled out on his stomach, his face turned away from the door, it felt like a sign. One that turned her stomach, but she knew was necessary.
She packed her bag as quietly as she could, put on her shoes, and left. Though she hadn’t been able to resist turning back once last time when she reached the door before she did.
Ezra was still asleep, still turned away from her, and there was a part of her that prayed—that had actually prayed—he’d turn over so she could see his face one last time. But he hadn’t, and she couldn’t face going to the other side of the bed. She couldn’t risk him waking up and witnessing her cowardice.
She hesitated though. Of course she had. But seconds later she left the cabin and climbed into her car. Now she was on the road, driving away from the lodge in the little town that had changed her life.
It was for the best, she told herself again. She ignored the voice that questioned how many times she’d have to repeat it before she could actually believe it. Instead, she focused on the truth of it. It was for the best. Saying goodbye to Ezra would have killed her.
It nearly had the night before.
Their kiss had felt so intimate. It had seared itself into her memory—into her very soul.
Because when they’d kissed last night, she’d poured all the things she couldn’t say into it. She poured the I want to stays into it; the I’d miss yous, too. She’d known what he’d been trying to tell her through the kiss, too. Because of it, the pairing of their lips had moved beyond the physical, the sexual. It had ventured into emotional territory she thought had been torched after her father died.
She stilled, and very slowly tested the word in her head. Died. And then the phrase. My father is dead. Pain swept through her, stealing her breath. For the next ten minutes she focused on breathing in and out. Focused on keeping her eyes on the road.
When the pain subsided, it felt like a victory. Though what she won, she didn’t know. It hadn’t left completely, the pain. She was beginning to think it never would. But this was the first time since her father’s death that she’d allowed herself to think of him in that way. As dead. Not passed away, or no longer there. Dead. It meant something, she knew. She couldn’t deny that that something had to do with Ezra.
Nor could she deny that the fact that she’d slept—really, truly slept—for the first time in years had something to do with him, too. There hadn’t been that flutter of anticipation in her chest, tickling her throat, waking her up in panic. There hadn’t even been the dreams, the result of the unease that lived in her subconscious.
For the briefest of moments when she woke up, she’d forgotten the pain that she carried with her as though it were a part of her body. She’d been able to breathe easily. And then Ezra had stirred beside her and reality had caught up with her.
Just like now, she thought, the anticipation, the panic, the unease returning. She was going home. She was going to face her sisters, her mother for the first time in years. She was going to have to deal with Sophia’s resentment and Zoey’s disappointment. She was going to have to deal with her mother and whatever emotions Charlene needed help with.
But there was more to it, too, she realised, as a fresh wave of panic washed through her.
She’d realised she had power and the ability to decide what she wanted for her life the night before. Now it was telling her that she’d made the wrong decision. That leaving Ezra was the wrong decision. That she was choosing a life that would be miserable without him; one where she would have to live with the knowledge that she could have had him, but had been too afraid to risk her heart. To risk her independence.
She slammed her hands against the steering wheel and choked back the sob that threatened. She had reasons for leaving, damn it. The fact that she was even feeling this way meant that she had already become dependent on him. That she had already begun to break in some small way because of it.
Is that really what’s happening though?
She frowned at the thought, the question. She had no idea where it had come from, or what it meant. But now that she’d thought it, she couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Was this dependence? The desire to be with someone? The change that came from being with that person? The emotions that accompanied it?
If she’d been asked the day before, before Ezra, she would have unequivocally said yes. Needing to be around someone was dependence. Needing someone was dependence. It was the very definition of dependence. But somehow, that definition didn’t take into account wanting someone. Wanting to be around them. Wanting to change—no, not change, grow—because of them.
Just wanting...them.
That was part of it. For her entire life, Angie had believed that needing was a bad thing. Like the need her mother had had for her father’s opinion before she would do something. Like the fact that Charlene had wanted his approval before she would say something.
It was not the life Angie had envisioned for herself. She didn’t want to look to someone else before feeling what she felt. She didn’t want to force the people she cared about to give her permission to do what she wanted. Or to say what she wanted. Or to feel what she wanted. And when they wouldn’t or couldn’t, she didn’t want to force them into doing or saying or feeling something that they didn’t want to.
That was what dependence had meant to her. And she saw now that the life she carved for herself after her father’s death had been running from that, too. Not connecting with anyone. Keeping them at a distance. Controlling her emotions so she couldn’t feel the effects of her choices. The emptiness they’d resulted in. Hell, that had been her life before her father’s death, too.
She’d seen dependence as a defect. Something that would prevent her from functioning normally. It was something that to Angie, meant brokenness.
But she was beginning to see that she’d defined dependence too broadly. If her mother had displayed it in any way or form, Angie had slapped the ‘dependence’ sticker onto it.
Wanting to spend time with someone? Dependence. Caring about them? Dependence. Having them influence her or her life? Dependence. Feeling more than she believed she should for them? Dependence. And grieving, which had combined all of those fears into one neat package? Dependence.
Breath shuddered through her lips, though she wasn’t sure how anything had got past the giant lump in her throat. The lump that told her running had kept her from seeing the truth of this. From seeing that the normal, healthy feelings Charlene had shown in her relationship with Angie’s father had somehow conflated with the unhealthy desire Charlene had had to let him do everything for her.
Angie had spent her entire life being afraid of the normal—of the healthy—because of it.
It dried her throat now, sent an anchor slamming into her heart. She had no idea what to do about it. Had no idea what to think or feel. Did this mean that her father’s influence on her life didn’t take anything away from her independence? Did it mean she wasn’t broken because she’d given in to the grief? Had it affected her relationship with her sisters? Could she finally let go of her fears because of this?
If the answers to those questions were yes, it would change her. It would change her life. She wouldn’t have to be scared about what her emotions were anymore. She’d finally be able to face them. She’d be able to face what running from them had done to her relationships.
She would be able to deal with them.
Like the guilt that wouldn’t simply go away because of her realisations. And how overwhelming it was that she’d hurt her family before figuring them out.
But this was a step forward. A step through. Which meant she could finally stop running.
Because she was still running now. Oh, she’d made up excuses so she wouldn’t have to face it. Told herself that being aware that she was running somehow made it better. That her and Ezra’s goodbye the night before somehow made it easier. None of that was true. No, she’d run because she’d been scared. Ezra made her feel. And to her, feeling would start the torturous journey to losing herself.
But she was free of that now. She no longer had to be afraid that she cared about Ezra. She didn’t have to fear that little burst of warmth she’d felt when he’d held her in the woods as she’d cried for her father. Or the longing that had pulsed in her veins as they’d slow-danced under the moon.
Now that she was free of it, she could see that her feelings for him were significant. She cared enough about him to run, after all. Up until that morning, she reserved running for people she’d known her entire life. For people she cared deeply about.
And though she didn’t have to be scared, she still was.
Scraping off the layers of her emotional issues had revealed this shiny nugget: she was scared of losing someone again. Of getting hurt. Of having her heart ripped out of her chest again. Hell, she wasn’t sure her heart had even returned after being ripped out the first time with her father’s death.
So really, it wasn’t surprising that she was afraid of putting herself in the position to feel that way again. Except that the fact that she was even considering it meant it was already too late to prevent it.
She waited for the wave of panic, but it was really more of a splash. She knew that was because of Ezra. He’d shown her it was okay to feel again. But not only again; he’d shown her it was okay to feel at all. He’d helped her see that feelings wouldn’t turn her into her mother. And wasn’t that enough to give him a chance?
Yes.
She almost smiled at the resounding echo in her head, but then she wondered—did it matter?
She was already far enough away from the lodge that Ezra would know she’d left. He’d know that she’d run, despite how he’d denied she was still doing it the night before. She knew that he’d understand. Somehow he always did. But it would have hurt him. And sure, she’d run from something hard; it would have been worth more if she’d stayed. If she’d been courageous. If she chose not to hurt him.
She just hadn’t had that courage.
She could have said the same thing regarding her family.
The thought sent a hard throb of pain, of shame through her body. It stayed with her until she reached the bottom of the slope of the mountain leading into Somerset West. She frowned at the line of cars keeping her from entering the town that would eventually lead her back home, before lifting her eyes to the electronic board on the side of the road:
Accident Ahead. Both Lanes Closed. Expect Delays.
* * *
She wasn’t there when he woke up. He felt it the moment he opened his eyes. The bed had felt cold. Empty. Something inside him had, too.
Panic shimmered through his body as he got up. As he searched the cabin that had only a bedroom and bathroom. It made no sense, but he searched. Even after he realised her suitcase was gone, he searched.
Then he sat on the bed, wondering what the hell he was going to do about the fact that she wasn’t there.
There was a part of him that urged him to go outside. To check whether she was there
. It was the same part of him that was determined to believe she hadn’t left. That despite the evidence, she’d just gone out to the café to get them coffee. To order breakfast.
He shook his head, flopped onto his back, and let out the air in his lungs. Forced it out, really, and then sucked it back in, as if somehow, the oxygen would bring sanity to the parts of him that were clearly malfunctioning.
If that were the case, they’d started malfunctioning the day before—the moment Angie had slid into the booth opposite him. Because that was the moment he’d felt the interest. Interest that had turned into attraction, which itself had turned into something more. The something more that had him on his back, hoping she was still out there.
That was at the heart of it all. She’d given him hope. He’d been simmering in his unhappiness before her. In the fact that no matter what he did, he always disappointed his family. She’d somehow made him realise that he’d been caught in that disappointment. In that unhappiness. That he must have liked it if he wouldn’t choose to escape from it.
Now he believed he could escape from it. Or rather, that he could focus on more than just the negative of it. He could focus on the love behind it, too. If he did, he wouldn’t be hurting himself with decisions he knew in his gut were wrong for him, but he made for the sake of his family.
Well, he thought after a moment. He hadn’t quite got that far in his introspection the day before. The night before—or the morning, really, because he’d only fallen asleep when the sky had already started going light.
It probably had something to do with what he’d told Angie: that she could choose the life she wanted for herself. He’d be a hypocrite if he didn’t listen to his own advice. To his own gut. Because now that he was learning to let go and to trust it, he could see the decisions he’d made in the past had been the wrong ones. More importantly, he could see that Angie was the right one.
He sat up slowly. Then he stood, opened the curtains, and let the sun warm him. It was a long while before he left his post. Before he went to the bathroom, followed his usual routine. Before he got out of the shower, got dressed.
A Wedding One Christmas Page 21