Beautiful Dark (Beautiful Rivers Book 3)

by J. L. White

  “On your Harley, right?” I asked excitedly.

  He’s grinning at me, looking so pleased with himself. “You like that idea?”

  “I love it!”

  He cups my face in his hands and gives me a kiss. We pull back for a moment, then he brings me in again. This one turns into something soft, and lingering. It’s the kind of kiss that’s so slow and so tender it brings my heart right into his, like we’re making love. I practically melt against his chest. I love it when he kisses me like this.

  When he pulls away, he keeps my face in his hands. “I want to tell you something,” he whispers.

  “Okay,” I whisper back, still in the afterglow of his kiss.

  “I’ve decided to find a new place.”

  “You have?”

  He nods. “I’ve tried, but I don’t want to stay there anymore. I want to look for a new place, and I want you to look with me.”

  “Okay,” I whisper again, though I’m a little confused by his meaning, because it sounds like he just wants help picking a place out, and why wouldn’t I help? We do everything together anyway. But it feels like he’s asking something bigger than that, and I have a funny feeling about it.

  He must see I need clarity. He caresses my cheek again and says, “I want us to live together.”

  I don’t move. I don’t breathe. Live together? Why is he saying that? Why on earth would he suggest that, unless…

  “I’m tired of being apart from the woman I love.”

  The word echoes around in my brain.

  Love.

  Not my love for him, which has been resonating inside of me for months. No. His love for me.

  Wait, wait, wait. No, no, no.

  He can’t do this. My hands grip the material of his shirt, below his shoulder blades. This would be bad. So bad. He’d be stuck with me then. No. I mean, if I were at the five year mark, then hell yes, but I’m so fucking far from that so, hell no.

  My thoughts must be registering on my face, because his smile slowly fades as he watches me. In fact, he gets a look on his face I’ve never seen before. His grip on me slowly loosens, and we pull out of each other’s arms.

  I know I need to stop staring at him like this, but fuck, fuck, fuck. I can hardly think what to do. What have I done? How have I let him get this deep in with me?

  “I—” I don’t know what to say. This cannot happen. We absolutely cannot do this.

  “You can think about it,” he says uncertainly.

  “No,” I blurt out, not meaning to make it sound that way and my heart clenching as I watch him flinch. Okay, fuck. I need to calm down and be more gentle about this, but he shouldn’t be entertaining thoughts like this. I have to stop this train of thought before it goes any further.

  “I mean, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “You don’t want to think about it.” He says it as a statement, not a question. He’s hurt. Shit, he’s hurt and it’s my fault.

  I try really hard to sound more normal and not be in such a fucking panic. “No. I mean, I appreciate the offer, but—”

  “The offer? I’m not offering you a car, I just asked you to move in with me.”

  Fuck, I’ve really hurt him. I see it all over his face. He looks like he’s trying to keep it together though, so I force myself to take a steadying breath so I can reassure him.

  I run my hand through my hair and try to smile. I’m still reeling. “I know, thank you. It’s sweet, but I don’t think it’s a good time.” No, scratch that! That sounds like there might be a good time later, like a few months down the road or something, but I can’t lead him to believe this is an option we can keep discussing. He needs to get this idea out of his head. “I mean, I don’t think it’d be a good idea.”

  “Why not?”

  Fuck. I cannot get my brain wrapped around this and the fact that he’s so clearly hurt and actually starting to get angry is freaking me out even more. I just need to calm this whole thing down so we can go back to normal.

  But I don’t know what to say.

  “It’s just, I mean I’d love to, but…” But what? I’m stumbling all over my words. “I…”

  It’s not fair that he’s looking at me like this. I mean, this came out of nowhere. He loves me? He wants me to move in with him? No, we’re supposed to be just dating and having moments. I can fall in love with him, but he’s not supposed to fall in love with me.

  I know we’ve been seeing each other for six months now, and that’s plenty of time for some people, but what about all those other people who date one another for years and never move in together or never get married or never go anywhere with it? Years, then they kind of grow apart or whatever and break up and it’s all over. Nothing permanent. It’s done, and nobody gets fucked over.

  “It’s only been six months.” Those were my thoughts. I didn’t mean to say them aloud.

  “So it’s too soon,” he says, again like a statement instead of a question. And like he doesn’t believe a damn word of it.

  “Too soon. Yes. Don’t you think?”

  “No, I don’t. Otherwise I wouldn’t have asked you. We spend practically every waking minute together anyway. We sleep in each other’s beds every damn night. I thought it might be nice if we shared a place, shared a bed. But that’s the last thing you want, isn’t it?”

  Eyes fixed wide on him, I shake my head slightly, trying to deny it, but he’s right. It’s the last thing I want. But not because I don’t care about him. That’s clearly what he’s thinking. We definitely can’t move in together, but I don’t want him believing he’s the reason either.

  I reach for him and stroke his arm uncertainly, not sure how to fix this. “I love the time we spend together, Mason. And I—” but I bite back my words. I won’t say I love him. It’s only going to encourage him to be closer to me than he should be.

  He narrows his eyes at me.

  “I love spending time with you,” I say again. “I think we just need to stay where we are, and you know, keep things the way they are. I just don’t know that we should be doing something so permanent.”

  He jerks his head back at that, frowning hard. “Permanent? Because this is only something temporary?”

  I can only stare at him. Come on, this little voice inside my head thinks, you were there for the test. You have to know better. But deep down I know he’s just as delusional as everybody else. They believe what they want to believe, they always have. Even when I was fucking at death’s door, people still insisted on believing everything would be okay.

  “What has this been to you, Corrine?”

  “No. Mason. I’m enjoying you,” I say urgently.

  “Enjoying me,” he repeats slowly. Incredulously. “I just told you that I love you. I moved here in part to be closer to you. My mother was at your graduation.”

  I’m shaking my head. This is spiraling out of control, and I don’t know what to do to stop it.

  “I wanted to be with you. I wanted to take care of you. I wanted to protect you.”

  God, him and Rayce. “I don’t need protection,” I say, suddenly angry myself now. Why does everyone think they need to protect me? They can’t fucking protect me.

  He blinks at me.

  I soften again. Fuck and shit, I’m going about this all wrong. But you know, no one’s ever given me the damned handbook of instructions for this stuff. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you—”

  He holds up a hand to stop me. “Do you already know this is temporary?”

  All I can do is gape at him. What does he really want me to say?

  “Fuck,” he says, and I flinch. He spins away from me, then spins back. “What did you think we were doing, Corrine? Do you think this is just a fling for me?”

  “I didn’t say fling,” I say weakly. He has to stop this. He has to stop.

  “You didn’t have to say it,” he says. “If you already know this is going nowhere, then stop wasting my time.”

  Wasting his time?
Have these moments been wasting his time? Have I been so selfish? He’s made my time so amazing I almost can’t stand it, but maybe it wasn’t fair to keep him for so long when, unlike me, he does have a future plan.

  Maybe I should let him go. Right now. It would be the selfless thing to do. If I should’ve done it long ago, then surely I should do it now.

  For one brief moment I think I actually can.

  But he takes over, and brings me back to reality. With a finality that drops through my body like ice, he says, “You’re not who I thought you were. You can find a ride home.”

  Stunned, I can only watch him as he turns and walks away. Because everything about this feels horribly final. The moment he turns the corner and disappears, I start to crumble, tears bursting painfully out of me.

  I change my mind. I change my mind. I can’t say goodbye yet. I can’t do it. I want him.

  I gather my strength and run after him, but when I get around the corner I don’t see him. When I go inside and to the elevators, the doors are closing. I run over and push the button impatiently, then come to my senses and run for the stairs. I hurry down, my heels clicking on the marble. I push hard on the door and it swings wide. He’s there! But he’s already down the aisle and just getting in his car.

  “Mason!”

  The car door slams. I hurry after him, calling his name as he backs up. But the exit is in the opposite direction. I know he had to have heard me, but he pulls away, turns the corner, and is gone.

  Oh God, I think, coming to a stop in the middle of the aisle, and clutching my arms to myself. What the fuck just happened? How did our perfect evening come to this? What should I have said differently? What should I have done? I didn’t mean to hurt him like this.

  And I don’t want this to be over.

  This is just a fight, I tell myself. It has to be. Couples have fights, right? We have to get past this, I think, shivering from head to toe. He has to forgive me. He has to.

  Because what’s the point of having more life to live if Mason isn’t in it?

  Chapter 30

  Corrine

  When I get home that night, I send him a text. I’m sorry. Please forgive me. Can we talk?

  But he doesn’t respond that night. He doesn’t respond the next morning either. I send him another series of texts, apologizing for hurting him, and begging him to talk to me.

  As the day wears on, I panic even more. I’ve never been in a relationship before, let alone had a fight with someone I’m in a relationship with. Do fights normally go on this long? This is just a fight, right? Or is this over? He hasn’t truly left me, has he?

  That noble voice inside my head keeps telling me I should just let him go. Just let him go, because isn’t this where we’ve always been heading anyway? What did I think was going to happen? How did I think this was going to end?

  But every time I decide to let him go, I go into a fresh panic, and end up sending him another text or trying to call. This can’t be over. It’s can’t.

  At work that afternoon, I’m barely functional. Every few minutes, I check my phone.

  But there’s nothing. Not one word.

  Mason

  I’m trying to tell myself that I’ve overreacted, and that it’s just my ego that’s been bruised. I keep trying to tell myself to man up and talk to her so we can work through it and move on.

  But move on to what?

  Because no matter how I try to tell myself that this is okay, something is wrong. I can’t forget the look of horror on her face when I told her that I love her. I thought she knew. I thought she loved me, too. As many times as we’ve made love, I thought we were on the same page. Was I just an idiot?

  I figured she would need to hear those words from me before I proposed something like living together, and honestly, I wanted to say them to her anyway. I’m not usually one to say those words, but I wanted to.

  I didn’t expect her not to say it back, and I definitely didn’t expect her to act like it was the worst thing I could have possibly said. She as much as said that she already knows this is never going anywhere. God. I’m an epic fool.

  When I met her, I wasn’t exactly looking for a wife, but I do want my own family someday. I’m twenty-seven years old. I’m getting too old to spend six months in a relationship with someone who already fucking knows she doesn’t want me. It kills me.

  And confuses the hell out of me. I thought we had something special. I thought we had something real. The way she looks at me, the way she touches me, the way we can spend day after day together and not get sick of one another. The way she is, even now, begging to talk to me.

  I want to. I’m dying to hear her voice again. I’m dying to hold her in my arms again.

  And I’m terrified to hear what she has to say. What could she possibly tell me that will undo what’s been done? Mostly, I don’t want to talk to her because I don’t think I can survive another round of empty words all while I see the truth on her face.

  Horrified. She looked absolutely horrified. If that’s how she really feels, there’s nothing to forgive. But how can she expect me to forget?

  Corrine

  I can’t go another day without talking to him. I get off work at nine and head to his house afterward, determined to make him see me. I’m that desperate.

  It’s on the way over that an unthinkable thought occurs to me. What if he’s not answering because he can’t? What if he was in an accident? I know I’m probably being an alarmist, but shit happens. I sure as hell never expected to outlive my aunt and uncle, but they drowned at sea one day. Just fucking drowned. One day fine, the next day, gone. Hell, Mason’s own father died in a car accident.

  I get myself all worked up, my foot heavy on the gas, and my heart pounding the whole way. When I get to his street and see his lights on, I’m hopeful. But I have no idea if his cars are in the garage or not.

  I park out front and walk up the darkened sidewalk to the front door. The porch light isn’t on. With trembling hands, I knock. Only a few seconds later, I hear the heavy stomp of his boots across the floor, and all my anxiety about his well-being drains out of me so fast my knees get weak. I press my hands to my chest, close my eyes, and exhale, feeling like an idiot.

  Then everything else that’s going on demands my full attention again. He’s fine. He really has been ignoring me on purpose. He probably isn’t going to be happy to see me standing at his front door. The porch light flicks on, the bolt slides free, and the door swings open.

  He’s in dark jeans and a snug, black tee. When I see him, my heart leaps up in my chest, and my stomach sinks down to my feet. When he sees me, his brows slide lower, lower, lower. He doesn’t remove his hand from the knob.

  “Hi,” I say hesitantly.

  “What do you want, Corrine?”

  “I just… I’m really sorry, Mason. Please, I want to fix this. What can I do?”

  He looks away, clenching his jaw. The muscles in his forearm flex as he grips the knob.

  “Can I please come in and talk to you?”

  He looks back to me, and the storm of anger and pain in his eyes rips right through me. “If things were going too fast for you, that’s one thing. That’s fine. But answer me this. Do you see a future with us?”

  I start to tear up. I don’t want to answer that question. No, I can’t see a future with us, not the way he’s talking about, but not for the reason he thinks. But he won’t understand. People don’t understand this shit. Two and a half years is not that much different than two, and I’m as much on the edge of a cliff as I’ve ever been. I can’t do this right now. If I’m lucky and get to make this kind of decision down the road…

  My heart contracts in sharp pain, because it hurts too much to imagine that kind of blissful future with him knowing how quickly and easily it can be ripped from my hands.

  And it’s so fucking unfair.

  “I take it that’s a no,” he says, his eyes hardening.

  “Mason,” I say pleading, my
voice wobbling, “why can’t we just keep doing what we’re doing?”

  “You mean fucking around?”

  I wince.

  “Because maybe that’s what you were doing, but that’s not what I was doing.”

  I bite my lip. Have I been fucking around with him? Toying with him? Being reckless? God, I’m a horrible human being.

  “I’m sorry,” he says quietly. No, please. Please don’t end this. “We’re done.” And he closes the door.

  The next day I don’t get out of bed until ten, and that’s only because I have to pee. Then I don’t get out of bed again until three and that’s only because my phone’s been downstairs and I need it to call in to work. My shift doesn’t start until four, but apparently I haven’t had enough hours of crying because I still need more.

  I should feel badly about calling in, but I don’t. Let them fire me if they want. I don’t care. I’ve decided to let Mason go the way he wants me to, and the way I should have anyway instead of being such a selfish little bitch. I never should’ve let him get this close to me.

  And if I want to spend all damn day in bed crying about how unfair it all is, I fucking will.

  I leave my phone downstairs and go back to bed. I fall asleep sometime before the sun sets, and wake up to the repeated ringing of the doorbell and loud knocking on the front door sometime afterward.

  Disoriented, I struggle to get untangled from the covers and hustle down the stairs, turning on lights as I go. I didn’t realize I was hoping the person on the other side of the door would be Mason until I open it to see that it’s Rayce. He looks like a man on a mission, too. “What the hell?” I say.

  “Why haven’t you been answering your phone?” He looks me up and down. “Are you sick? Why aren’t you at work?”

  “I called in.” I walk away, leaving the door open. I shuffle to the couch and hear the door shut behind me.

  “Yeah, I know. They told me.”