by Rue, Rebekah
“What do you feel like doing for dinner?”
I shrug. “Whatever.” That has him shaking his head.
“Stop this. I don’t want to see you like this.”
“Like what?”
“Like you need him to survive!”
I bow my head; only the noise from the TV fills the room. “Well, that’s where you’re wrong,” I say slowly, lifting my head in his direction. Pain is one of the best teachers I’ve come to know and respect. Those weak, dependent, sad-girl qualities have since been sealed up, scarred, and smoothed over to appear halfway normal. “Someone once told me that I was an amazingly strong woman, and I believe him.” I glance up, hiding the smile behind my knuckles.
Nodding thoughtfully, he gazes across the couch. “Good. Then show me.” He stands up. “I’m going to throw some corn and chicken on the grill, does that sound okay.” I nod.
He moves around in the kitchen, collecting everything he needs. “You need some help?” I yell, twisting and looking over the top of the couch.
“No, thanks, you just keep relaxing. The controller is on the floor if you want to change the channel.”
Heath balances plates and tongs and spices, letting himself out on the balcony with an elbow. Discreetly, I watch him out the window, as he places everything on the grill and lights up a cigarette. That has me glaring until he comes back in, hands full.
“Come to the table; everything is done.”
I take a seat, idly waiting and watching Heath come in and out of the room with stuff. “Is your food okay?” He asks, pointing to my untouched meal and taking a seat.
“When did you pick up that habit?” I sneer, the scent of nicotine polluting his warm scent I love.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. I picked it up from Olivia. I barely do it anymore. Does it bother you?”
Hell, yeah, it bothers me. That name sparks a trickle effect and brings me right back to that day. Physically, I can feel it; my whole mood takes a dump. “What else did you pick up from Olivia?”
He winces and sighs, putting his silverware down as I stand. “Thank you for dinner. I seem to have lost my appetite.”
“Lo.”
“No. Thank you for letting me stay. I’m just going to take a shower and lie down.”
His red hot glare burns a hole in my back as I take the stairs to my room. I shower and put on a pair of baggy lounge pants and a blue tank top and sit in the middle of the bed with my phone. Being all alone quickly reminds me that it sucks being alone. I just need some company, but right now I’m pissed at my only prospect for company. Loneliness is depressing. Loneliness gives you time to think. I don’t want to think. I don’t care to know why I’m jealous or why Talon isn’t here with me.
Maybe I’ll go back down, just for a little bit. I’m debating, flipping my phone around in my hand, as if it’s going to help me decide. It certainly was a bad idea to stay here. I came for a reason and it wasn’t him.
Four days, I can do this.
Correction, three days.
Chapter 22
Lo
Talon and I talked for over an hour last night. He lifted my mood when he expressed how miserable he was with me gone and to fly my ass back home quick. Secretly, the sadness in his voice made me happy.
When I open the bedroom door, savory scents of breakfast foods tickle my nose. As I go down the stairs and into the living room, they just about assault me, but the view from the back porch when I step off the bottom step, stops me dead in my tracks. One look and I have to go outside.
Taking a deep breath of crisp morning air, I step through the French doors. My hands touch the morning dew as I lean over the railing to get a better view of the darkness disappearing with the help of the sun piercing through the tinted clouds. A gentle chill runs up my arms, and I curl them around me, not wanting to leave this view for a blanket. “Wow,” I whisper. I could easily drink my coffee out here every morning.
I hear the faint sound of a door closing behind me and feel heat up against my back, though he doesn’t touch me. My eyes blink softly and my left cheek drifts to the heat it senses next to it. His warmth feels good. When we connect, I let out a gasp. That’s when I see the affection in his face and pull completely away.
“I’m sorry,” he quickly says as I give him a deploring look. Actions like these need to be dissuaded; they can’t happen. “I don’t want you to hide up in that room again.”
“I didn’t hide.”
“Call it whatever you wish. Will you please come inside with me and have breakfast? Then I can take you over to your house. Please.”
“Fine.”
We eat with very little conversation. He tells me what to expect when I get there then gets ready. After another twenty-minute ride, Heath uses a key, unlocking a lock and holds the door open for me. “Go on.”
I scrunch my brow. “I thought you said it wasn’t safe.”
“Nah, it’s completely safe. How else was I supposed to get you to stay at my house last night?” His smile drips with charm and irresistible happiness.
I’m infected, smiling back, elbowing him in the ribs as I walk past. “Ass.” He grunts once through all his laughter.
The windows are boarded up, cabinets and drawers ripped apart, and shredded mattresses overturned. It breaks my heart, yet makes me so angry. What gives someone else the right to come into another person’s home and treat it like a free for all?
“You okay?” Heath asks beside me.
Am I? I look around at all my things—things that are just things now. “Yeah, it doesn’t hurt quite so much anymore.”
“Everything was in much worse shape. Your dad’s garage out back got hit the hardest.”
His guns.
Money and guns, isn’t that what they all want?
Heath has all the supplies we need, and we start in the living room, throwing out or putting the furniture back in place. Most of it was destroyed. Now Heath is working in the garage, and I’m going through drawers and checking under the box springs for anything of importance when something catches my eye. Pushed deep against the wall under my bed is a box. It’s so hard to reach. I lie on my stomach and wiggle myself under the bed frame, barely hooking the lid with my pinkie finger and carefully dragging it out. The cover is dusty, and my fingers leave marks when I remove the lid. “Oh my God,” I whisper, thumbing the many letters Heath left on my doorstep after my parents died and I wouldn’t talk to him. My throat has a hard time swallowing, suddenly choked up. Do I really want to read his words?
Okay, only one.
December 16th: Lo, please answer your phone.
Simple. Okay, maybe just two.
December 17th: Lo, baby, please answer your phone or come outside to talk to me. I know you know I’m here. I’ve been banging on your door.
December 18th: Lo, don’t shut me out. I know you’re sad. Please just let me talk to you . . . hold you. I can make it better. This wasn’t our fault.
December 19th: Lo, I’m starting to worry about you. I haven’t seen or heard from you in days. Please let me in. Let me take care of you.
December 20th: I know you’re getting my letters. I just hope you’re reading them. I’m sitting outside your house, hoping to catch a glimpse. I’ve been seeing a blond girl . . .
“Lo?” Heath yells from the garage.
My heart stops mid-beat, so I throw everything back in the box and shove it under the bed. “Yeah?”
“I’m gonna go grab us some lunch. I’ll be back in ten.” His voice is in the same spot as the first time. “Don’t go anywhere.”
“Okay.” I wait just a few moments, and then the box comes back out.
. . . I’ve been seeing a blond girl coming and going, which relieves some of my stress. I wanted to come to your parents’ ceremony, but my parents made sure I didn’t. They said I needed to show respect and not interfere with your last moments with them. And if that’s what you wanted, then I wanted to respect that as well, so don’t th
ink I didn’t care. I did!! I now know exactly what Romeo felt like when he couldn’t see his Juliet.
You may not be ready today or tomorrow, but when you choose and that moment comes, I’ll be forever right there waiting. Choose to live.
Stupid, stupid, stupid me. I should have never read those letters. I shake off the misty eyes but can’t clear the knots in my stomach. Folding up the letters, I place them all back in their grave and push the box in a far dark corner.
After lunch, we call around for someone to come out and install new windows and a locksmith, and we haul tons of debris to the curb. We’re filthy and decide to call it a day when the sun starts to set. When we make it back to Heath’s house, we both go upstairs to shower, each of us branching to separate rooms, smiling at each other before disappearing behind closed doors. I scrub all kinds of nastiness from my skin, tinting the water gray. The heat from the shower is doing a fantastic job of softening my fatigued muscles. I don’t know how long I’ve stayed under the spray, but a firm bang echoes through the room, startling me straight.
“You alright in there?” Heath yells.
His voice sounds so close. I wonder if he’s in the bathroom with me. “Will you go away and give a lady some privacy. And yes, I’m fine.”
He laughs. “I’ve seen that hot naked body, have you forgotten?”
Cocky bastard! “OUT!”
Heath is out back, relaxing in an L-shaped wicker sectional, smoking a cigarette. As soon as he sees me, he scratches out the fireball. “Please don’t on my accord,” I loosely say, taking a seat. Neither one of us says anything; we simply enjoy the final minutes of the sunset.
“Thank you for all the work you’ve done on the house. I couldn’t have gotten it done without you.”
“I’m happy to help.”
“There’s so much more to do.”
“Looks like you’re going to have to come back.”
I pause. “Looks like it.” He sports the strongest smile, and I find myself admiring his amazing jawline.
“I’ll be right back,” he says, stepping around me. Several minutes later he returns with two cups of tea, a lighter, and a blanket. I snuggle up in the blanket as Heath starts a fire, passing me a mug.
“Thank you,” I say, feeling Heath take his seat next to me.
The crackling of the wood entertains us in our composed silence.
“When do you have to leave again?” I ask, looking up at him.
“Next week.”
“Do you miss home, being gone so much?”
Heath puts down his tea, bringing his knee on the couch so he’s angled closer to me and softly smiles. He looks down at my hand, which is resting on his side of the cushion, then back into my eyes. “When there’s no one at home, there isn’t much to miss.”
“Oh, I suppose you’re right. You should really find a nice girl who makes you happy.” I instantly regret saying it because my heart really doesn’t mean it. Though, it’s only fair that he has happiness too.
His eyes cloud over, and he doesn’t look happy with me saying that. “I had all that already, and I lost her.”
Struggling to swallow, I tilt my chin down and drop my eyes to my tea, which is rippling from my trembling hands. I try clearing my throat to talk, but it’s a weak attempt. “Heath, please don’t.”
“Don’t what?” he whispers roughly. His knuckles slowly push along my cheek, and his fingers catch in my hair, pulling it back as he cups the spot under my ear. “Don’t act like we’re really not supposed to be together? Don’t touch you like you don’t belong to me? Don’t acknowledge the pull you know we’re both fighting? How do you do that?”
It’s a struggle not to give in to the love I feel for him. Even so, a problem still stands between us. “I’m with someone. You can’t keep pretending that after all these months we’re still together.” Shifting my hips over, I give us both some breathing room, letting his hand drop away.
“Why can’t you fight for us like you’re fighting for him? You won’t even make eye contact with me because you know I’m right.”
“Fine! Maybe you are right. But I didn’t come out here to reconcile with you. I have a life in Florida, a happy one, and I have to at least give that one a chance.”
Heath shakes his head in disbelief, tension marring his forehead. He pins me with his stare. Eventually, I have to look away. Otherwise, I’ll want to kiss away the pain.
After some moments, Heath carefully takes my hand, weaving our fingers together, pulling it in his lap. I let him. “I want you to know that, on that morning we made love and you left, I ended it with Olivia.” My body tenses, and at first, I say nothing. This subject doesn’t need resolution. I don’t care. She could still be dating him for all that it matters. His omitting that he even had a girlfriend was what hurt.
“That’s all very sad. It’s really a pity that it all happened in vain. I bet she’s a nice girl and must have been heartbroken.”
I feel his stare and my sanity slipping. I don’t want to talk about this; it’ll only make me mad.
“You’re missing the point.”
My voice turns shaky as I shoot him a direct look and pull my hand away. “I’m done talking about this; it’s going nowhere. A lot of work needs to be done tomorrow because I’m leaving the next day, and I’m exhausted from today. I’m going to bed.” I roughly place my mug on the table and throw the blanket off my lap. This subject is never going to die.
Once I’m alone in my room, there’s only one person’s voice I need to hear to be reassured that I’m making the right choice. The first time I call it goes to voicemail. The second, the same thing. I was going to call him endlessly all night, but by the third time he picks up.
“Hi, sweetheart.”
Chapter 23
Lo
What a cold bitch I was last night. Heath didn’t deserve that, but my heart is tied to Talon right now, and I can’t discount that.
Talon sounded so excited to hear from me, and I enjoyed telling him everything I was working on, but it took great effort to not slip up and say Heath’s name. Talon still believes I’m staying at the house, and there’s no reason to correct that assumption.
After a shower, I dress in a sage-colored Henley and jeans and throw my hair in a ponytail, ready to work. I reluctantly step into the hallway, briefly glancing at Heath’s closed door. I’m not ready to face him. Step by step, down the stairs I scan the living room—no Heath. Halfway down I peer out the windows of the French doors—no Heath. And finally when I reach the bottom, Heath is not in the kitchen either. The coffee is brewed and hot, so I pour a cup and sip on it quietly in the living room. My watch reads 7:20 a.m. Is he still asleep? I watch the top landing of the stairs, waiting for him to come down, but after twenty-five minutes and nothing, I debate whether to leave him here.
Just then the front door opens. Heath and a gust of cool air rush in. His eyes are tired and his clothes dirty with spots of paint. “Did you go somewhere?” I ask.
“Yeah, I was down at the house, getting a head start on the day.” He thumbs behind him. To be honest, I don’t know what to think. But I do owe him an apology. Making my way around the couch, I stop right in front of him, timidly looking up into his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
No response. The only telling sign is a tick of his brow. Then a second later he shrugs a shoulder. “I can’t force you to choose me.” Then he turns and walks towards the door, stopping and looking back. “You coming?”
My heart protests in my chest, and I tactfully follow, buckling myself in his older beat-up Toyota Tundra. “Did you eat breakfast?” he asks as we drive.
“No.”
His eyes go back to the road. “I figured today we could paint.” What am I to say to that? It’s fine with me. So I stare out the window, watching the passing homes, determined to stop thinking about how cold our relationship grew overnight.
Heath gets out first, stepping up onto the front porch, looking back at me, his expression masked
and blank. The same playfulness and happiness no longer tint his skin; then before my eyes, his expression changes slowly, sliding into a weak smile. Huh.
The floors are draped in drop cloths, and the crown molding is taped off in green tape. “I picked up some doughnuts if you’re hungry.” He points to the counter with the white box on it.
“Thanks.” I watch him pull out his phone and turn on some music. So much for us talking. Then again what do we have to talk about? He seems to have heard me loud and clear last night.
We work together, yet totally separate. Heath rolls the walls and I paint around the baseboards. Things start to loosen up when several globs of paint drip into my hair from his roller above. When I feel it and look up, another blob hits me square in the eye. “Ah, watch it, buddy, with the paint.” I only smear it worse when I try wiping it out with my hand.
My face must have been a mess because Heath bursts out with laughter, setting down his roller. “Stop . . . Stop making that face. You’re winking at me.” Heath laughs, oblivious to how happy it makes me when I hear it.
What face? My eye is burning. He’s laughing so hard he has to wipe his eyes on his forearms.
“What a southern gentleman you are letting me go blind.” One-eyed, I search for a towel, but quickly Heath appears with one and sits down on the floor with me.
“Stop, let me clean you up. Stop moving.” He pushes my hands away and carefully wipes the cool rag over my eyelid in a way that won’t push more paint in.
Openly, I watch his happiness. I’m enjoying the color of his eyes, enjoying the shape of his face, enjoying him taking care of me. My tongue draws across my lips, wanting to feel the heat from his. To touch him. Concentrating, his mouth rests slightly apart, and I can barely make out the tip of his red tongue. Everything about him makes me need to kiss him.
When he finishes, he notices me staring, and I know this is the pull he talked about last night. It’s an impossible feat to try to turn these old feelings away when the same desire stares back at me. My heart beats a little faster when his eyes shift to my lips. Yes, kiss me.
My stomach summersaults when he draws his mouth closer. Go on, one kiss.