by Jax Garren
Lincoln raised his glass in a toast. “To old times and good memories.”
She mimicked his gesture and put the glass to her lips.
But he wasn’t done talking. “And to new times when we’re not so distant.”
He gulped down a mouthful, but Carrie stopped. “What?”
Sticking his free hand in his pocket, he rolled back and forth on his feet again. Why did she still respond to his discomfort with sympathy? What was wrong with her that she still gave even a microscopic damn about him?
His voice came out soft, almost pleading. “We don’t need to hate each other. I screwed up. Enormously.” He studied her, his eyes filled with regret. It physically hurt to see him like this. But that feeling was nothing compared to what came next. “I was so sad. And drunk. I don’t even remember how I got to her house that night. I just remember waking up and being horrified at myself. How could I do that to you? To us?” He looked at the floor. “I went to therapy after you left. I should’ve done that the first time I…” He took a slow breath. “I’ve never been so disappointed in myself.”
Carrie’s heart stuttered as she dug her fingers into the wood behind her. Lincoln had expressed remorse before, but not like that. Needing a pick-me-up, she put the glass to her lips and let a little liquid pour down, warm and soothing without the fiery aftertaste of the whiskeys she drank now.
“Truth is, Carrie, I’m not happy. I haven’t been since you left.”
She drank more. Of course he wasn’t happy. Who would be happy with the weasel-lemming? Long before that woman had gotten her claws into Lincoln by way of her vagina, Carrie had seen through her saccharine smiles to the viper.
She took another drink. Erica the weasel-lemming-viper.
“I had more fun with you,” he added.
Carrie licked her lips, pulling the oak-y vanilla and spice onto her tongue. Yes, he had. They’d had fantastic fun together. All the time. Until the end.
“And I miss you.”
Lincoln focused on her, watching her with the intensity he’d had when they’d first met. Here he was, saying all the things she’d waited two years to hear, and all she could do was stare at him silently as the Scotch heated its slow path down her throat and mixed emotions ran riot inside her.
“Say something, please. Don’t just stare. It makes me feel crazy.” He gave her a lopsided smile and poured himself another drink. “I don’t know, maybe I am crazy.”
“I missed you too, Lincoln, but that’s a moot point as you’re married to somebody else. I mean, if you want to play tennis or something, I’ll...” She trailed off. What was she offering? Tennis? She had zero desire to play a very civil match of tennis with her ex-husband.
He smirked. “You’ll finally learn how to play?” He’d taken her to the courts for one of their early dates, making her lack of ability with a tennis racket one of their oldest inside jokes. She couldn’t help a little laugh that he remembered.
Of course he remembered. Nearly a decade of history didn’t vanish once the divorce papers were signed and filed. He scooted closer to her until they were almost hip to hip. The proximity set her on edge, but didn’t anger her like she’d thought it would.
It was a pleasant surprise to be able to sit there and not hate him.
She set the glass down and watched his strong chin as he drained the last drops from his own glass. He put his hand on hers. “Seeing you again, Carrie... God, you’re every bit as beautiful as when I first met you.”
She stilled. His presence, the musky cologne he wore, the honey in his voice and strength in his manner, it stilled her heart and froze her in place with the memory of what had been. She’d wanted Lincoln from the day they’d met and he carried her over a puddle so she could get to her bus without ruining her new shoes. He’d been so impulsive and sure of himself.
But that was gone. She couldn’t live in the past.
Before she realized what was happening, he kissed her. Old muscle memory pressed her against him as she’d done every time in their nearly ten years together, even as some inner voice screamed a protest that this was wrong. That she couldn’t trust him.
That he was married to someone else.
A weasel-lemming-viper, yes, but somebody who was not her.
His mouth moved to her cheek and trailed little kisses beneath her ear to a spot that had always sent her reeling. With the warmth of his breath and pressure of his lips exactly where she liked them, she didn’t issue the protest that was building inside her head.
Was it her fault it wasn’t still like this? No. And Lincoln had been hers long before he was Erica’s. What did she owe Erica? That harpy had coveted him their whole marriage. It wasn’t like Erica cared about the sanctity of marriage.
“You feel marvelous,” Lincoln whispered in her ear before trying to bend her back across the desk. She resisted, but it was hard.
Of course it was hard. It was Lincoln. The first man she’d ever deeply loved.
His breath was hot against her ear as he whispered, “Come back to me, Carrie. Forgive me. I want us back. I’ve always wanted you back.”
She put her trembling hands between them, unsure if she was going to hold him or push him away. An image of Brett whispered through her mind, slicing small cuts into the balloon of nostalgia that threatened to overtake her.
Lincoln might be sorry for his actions, but some men didn’t need that level of forgiveness.
And like that, Lincoln’s spell was broken, replaced by a new standard: Brett.
No matter how many times this scene of reconciliation had played in her head, she didn’t want it anymore. It had been a mistake to even come back to his office. She pushed away from Lincoln as guilt rose in her chest. Hopefully Brett could forgive her. God, what was she going to even tell him?
“You are amazing.” Lincoln tried pulling her closer again.
She resisted, nauseous disgust filling her gut.
“After the baby, we’ll be like we were.”
She untangled herself from his grip, needing to tell him her revelation, or some kinder version of it because vomiting on his lap was not appropriate. But the confusing words he’d just uttered distracted her. Was he talking about their baby? The one who had died? She stiffened at the memory. “Baby?”
“Yeah.”
What the hell? Carrie blinked. Blinked again.
The present in the room off the library.
Erica the radiant.
The look in the hens’ eyes as they said to make sure she saw the hostess.
She was so stupid. And she really might throw up.
Lincoln was still talking. “In two months, three tops, we can be together. I’ll file for divorce, and it’ll be just like old times.”
Anger replaced any vestiges of old feelings that had made her want to be nice. Carrie shoved him, hard, sending him bouncing against the other side of the desk. “You asshole!”
“What?” He straightened up and rubbed his side.
“You deserted me because I couldn’t have your baby, and now you’re leaving her right when she is? What’s wrong with you?” Fury seethed inside her, at him and at herself for being here. No, for ever caring about someone who could do something like this.
“You thought I left you because you lost the baby?”
“That’s exactly what happened.”
He came at her slowly, hands out as if to soothe her, or maybe to ward off a blow. Which was smart, because her hands were clenching like she might punch him. “No. That’s not it at all. I never wanted kids, Carrie.”
“But you agreed—”
“Because it was so important to you.” He got too close, and she raised her hands between them.
He took her wrists cautiously, his gaze darting between her face and fists, and she held still for fear she might punch him if she moved.
“I failed you—you have every right to be angry with me. But everything was so depressing. We weren’t happy anymore.” He puffed a hollow laugh. “God,
we spent years having sex by a calendar and clock. Not that it wasn’t still good, but who wants that? But now we know we can’t have kids, so we don’t have to try. We can just go back to the way it was and have fun again. I’m sorry for what I did, but I finally understand why I was so unhappy—and it won’t be a problem this time. I love you. I always have.”
Her skin felt brittle, like ancient glass that would break apart with the least pressure, leaving her insides exposed and deeply vulnerable. Had she really misjudged him so badly for all those years? Or had living with Erica changed him, brought out the worst in him?
Did it matter? Because the result was the same. “Life isn’t just about having fun.”
“Why not? What else is there?” He smiled, and for the first time ever, it didn’t capture her, not even a little bit.
She studied his face as if she’d never seen it before, or at least never really seen the man behind it. Sixty seconds ago, she’d been near to breaking something sacred, and for what? The pleasure of a spoiled boy who didn’t know what keeping faith meant.
Shrugging him off roughly, she stepped away. “Goodbye, Lincoln. This party’s over for me. I won’t be coming back.” She could feel the pressure of tears building behind her eyes as she made it to the door.
“Wait, Carrie! What about—”
She turned back and held up a hand. “Unless you want something really embarrassing published in a widely-read local magazine, I recommend you stop talking now.” Tears fell down her face, and she didn’t care. “And I also recommend you stay with your wife and raise your baby and figure out that sometimes life isn’t ‘fun,’ but decent people deal with it anyway.”
The last thing she saw before the door shut between them was her ex, crumpled in his chair like a doll. Part of her felt sorry for him and his childish outlook. Most of her hated him for not being the man she’d expected him to be. But then, he never had been, had he? She’d seen what she wanted to see and carried some fairy-tale version of him in her head.
How could she have been so stupid and so blind for all those years? And what had she nearly done? Fury and self-loathing filled her, pushing everything else aside. She gathered up her skirt and hurried back to the main rooms—
—Where Brett the practically perfect was waiting for her with a full glass of champagne and a smile that quickly morphed into concern. “What’s wrong?”
“Don’t. Don’t be nice to me. I don’t deserve it.” She hurried past him to the stairs, tripping her way up toward the front door, nearly ripping the magnificent dress in her haste.
“Wait!” He was following her. Brett was so innocent. So good.
She couldn’t tell him where she’d been. They’d never promised each other anything, but still, she felt like she’d cheated on him—on his sweet faith in her. Not only would he be hurt, but he’d know what a fool she was and unlike her, stupidly forgiving Lincoln the first time he’d cheated on her, Brett would leave. She couldn’t stand being deserted again, especially not now when she deserved it.
Ignoring the coat check—she’d buy Lora a new cloak—she rushed outside and into the rapidly chilling night. On the circular drive she halted. She didn’t have a taxi.
Brett came out behind her, champagne gone. “What’re you doing? It’s freezing out here.” He took his jacket off and tried to put it around her shoulders. She pushed him away.
“No, Brett. Just go back inside.”
“You’re in no state to drive. I can take you wherever you want. But what happened?”
“You wouldn’t understand. Just go.”
He stilled, his expression freezing up with anger. “Did he hit on you?”
Shocked, she floundered. He knew. He could just look at her and see what a stupid, weak woman she was. “How do you...? Why do you think...”
As her voice choked off, his jaw clenched in anger, and his jovial eyes hardened like they had in the mall with that mother. But this was worse. So deeply much worse.
She shook her head, trying to play it off, even though she knew it was too late. “Lincoln’s married.”
“Like that stopped him before?” Brett’s expression kept the furious edge as his voice morphed into a jealous growl that surprised her. “Carrie, Lincoln Bryant is a cad of the highest degree, and I saw how he was looking at you all night. What did he do?”
Telling him what had happened was not going to go well. Her tears fell again, hard and fresh. She deserved every bit of his fury, but she couldn’t take it.
His voice gentled as he struggled to soften his expression. “It’s going to be all right. Put on the jacket and let me take you home.” He looked darkly back at the house, for once no joy or humanitarian concern on his face. “I’ll come back later to get your coat and have a talk with him about his behavior.”
Lincoln deserved whatever Brett had to say. But Brett couldn’t come back here not knowing what had really happened. She wrapped her arms around herself, wishing she could disappear. “No. It’s fine. He didn’t... Okay, he did, but it’s my fault. I—I came here, and—”
He turned to her, incredulous. “You came to the party? Yes, heaven forbid you show your face in public. That could have dire consequences.” He huffed a disgusted breath and gently took her arms, smoothing his warm palms up and down her chilled flesh. “Don’t blame yourself for anything that idiot did.”
“You don’t understand. I wandered out of the party like I still live in the damn house. I walked with him into his office even though I knew what he wanted—I pretended I didn’t, but I knew. And I almost said yes.” Her voice was overloud, practically yelling at him. “Don’t you get it? Even when I hated him for what he did, I never stopped wanting him.”
He jerked back like she’d hit him. His soothing grip on her shoulders turned stiff as his face blanched. Once more she could read his emotions as they crossed his eyes—anger and frustration. Disappointment. Rage.
Unbelievably, it was indeed possible for her to feel worse. She pulled out of his grip and turned away. “I’m getting a cab.”
“But you didn’t.” The thread of hope in his voice stopped her. “Say yes, I mean. You walked away. Because you say you never stopped wanting him, and that was true for a while, I’m sure, but not anymore.”
The beginning was out, she might as well give him the whole truth. She turned away, unable to face him. “He kissed me and I didn’t stop him.” She took a deep breath. The cold air whooshed into her lungs, sending old terrors of pain and desertion rushing through her. “He said he wanted to leave her and come back to me for good. But I…” She’d found a potential so much better than Lincoln and then gone and broken it. “I didn’t even know Erica was pregnant. That poor baby. His dad doesn’t want him. How could I have ever loved someone who’d do that?” She buried her face in her hands. “I’m so stupid.”
His grip on her bicep squeezed, not brutally but firmly, as he turned her to face him. That alpha presence he hid so well came back in full force, soothing her with his strength. His voice had a steely calm as he touched her chin. “Remember the story I told you about how my ears got docked?”
His finger nudged her chin, and she obeyed his touch, finding his untamed humor had lost the humor but kept the wildness. Mouth too dry to speak, she nodded.
“I didn’t mention I’d planned to kill the man who did this before I left the island. I had the opportunity—I made sure I did.” He paused for a moment, searching her face as if looking for a reaction. She held her breath, wondering how this unexpected story would end. “I didn’t go through with it. And I am a better man for having wanted that and walked away than a man who never had to fight the temptation. We can’t always control what we want. We can control what we do about it. That’s what matters. That’s what makes us who we are.”
She gulped. Brett had wanted to kill someone? It was hard to imagine. Or at least it had been when he didn’t have that fierce look in his eyes. The one that said he had a force of nature in him hidden just below the v
eneer of silly joy.
“You walked away. Hold your head high. You and me? We’re fine.” He pulled her close, then his face pinched. “If that matters to you.”
For a moment she leaned into his chest, reveling in the warmth and wonderful winter scent of him. He made her feel cared for, like she was something special.
But she was too jaded and Brett was too good, too sweet, despite what he’d just admitted, for the salt and vinegar of her life. Anything that felt this good couldn’t last. She had to let it go now before it went too far and hurt too much. Possibly before she destroyed it with her own stupidity.
The holidays might be a time of hope for people all over the world, but not for her.
Feeling defeated, she pulled away from Brett’s arms and shrugged out of the jacket he’d finally slipped around her, mourning the loss of his scent almost as much as the warm circle of his arms. “I’ll get the dress cleaned and send it to your law firm. Thank you for the use of it. It cleared some things up for me.”
“The dress is a gift.”
“One I can’t accept. You’re a good man, Brett. It’s been good knowing you.” She blushed, embarrassed by her next words, but she said them anyway, “I think I’ll remember you as an elf. A little magic in a dreary world is a good thing.”
“No, Carrie,” he whispered.
She looked at the long driveway in front of her and at the hill to her left. Down the hill was a gas station where she could meet a taxi. Trekking rocky terrain in the dark may not be the smartest thing, but she’d made the walk many times when she’d lived here. By road, the gas station was well over a mile away.
“Don’t walk away. Please, Carrie.” He whispered her name as she turned toward the cedar brush.
“I can’t. I’m sorry, but I can’t. I told you I’m not the right girl for you.” No matter how much she wanted to be.
She picked up the tail of her dress to keep it from dragging through the dust and tottered around the boulders as quickly as she could. The weather grew colder by the moment, and as the air chilled her shoulders, face and calves, she wished she’d taken the time to get Lora’s cloak. But going back now was emotionally not an option. In a few minutes she’d be at the gas station. She’d call for a cab as soon as she got there.