by Amy Andrews
He shook his head, refusing to take the keys. “I’m not taking it back. It can stay empty for all I care.”
“Fine.” She threw the keys back on the table. “Your money.”
They stood awkwardly, staring at each other for long moments. It was hard to believe he’d been inside her fifteen minutes ago.
“Go home, Wade. Finish your book.”
He shook his head. “I seem to have gotten another case of writer’s block. Nothing’s the same now that you’ve gone.”
Oh God. The longing in his voice nearly killed her. What did he want from her? To be some freaking mascot? A cheer squad. His reliable girl Friday, taking care of him, stroking his ego but never expecting anything in return?
She needed more than that. More than he could give.
He had to go—now. Before she caved. “You can do it,” she said briskly. “You have to do it. You just have to find a way back into it again.”
She forced her legs to walk to the door, forced her hands to reach for the handle, to turn it, to pull the door open. She forced herself to stand and wait.
“I really am sorry, Cecilia,” he said as he drew level.
She swallowed, her gaze fixed on his throat because she didn’t trust what she might do if she looked into his eyes. “Me too.”
And then he walked out the door.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Wade sat in front of a blinking cursor for three days with CC’s voice whispering inside his head. Find a way back into it. But the whisper came with an avalanche of memories not conducive to writing.
CC in his number. CC in her purple panties. The taste of Red Bull and Cheetos—his new favorite thing. The driving need to be inside her.
Easy, sexy, distracting memories.
But there were darker ones as well that tightened his chest. Their fight. Her palpable and very understandable fury over the house. A blonde he barely remembered.
Which hadn’t been about the blonde at all. He knew that.
He just wasn’t sure what it was about. She’d denied any feelings for him, so why in hell did she care who he spoke to?
She’d accused him of not knowing what she wanted, and, given what he’d done, Wade couldn’t blame her. He must have been suffering a rush of blood to his head when he thought buying her dream house as a gift was a good idea. How could he have forgotten how growing up in the shadow of her mother’s debilitating dependence had made CC so fiercely independent. How taking care of herself was paramount. Was something she wore like a badge of pride.
Yeah…he’d been a total dumbass.
Unfortunately, none of the memories made it easy to write, and he was growing more and more impatient with his lack of progress. He’d been short with his mom this morning at the farm and pissed off at Wyatt’s goofy lovestruck face. Completely undeterred by Wade’s irritation, his brother had just raised an eyebrow and asked with a smug cat-that-got-the-cream smile how long it had been since Wade had gotten laid.
Bastard.
Tucker had suggested last night at the bar that maybe they should all throw Wade an intervention after Wade had scowled his way through three beers. Drew had offered the sales display room at the funeral home for such a purpose due to its bright lighting, which apparently would help with openness and honesty. But having his friends all sit around trying to get him to talk about his feelings was creepy enough without doing it in a room full of gleaming cherrywood coffins.
He just had to finish the damn book, that was all. As CC had said, he needed to do it.
Okay. Enough. Wade placed his fingers on the keyboard. Find your way back in. Easy. Not.
The CC years were proving to be exceptionally difficult.
Squaring his shoulders, he forced himself to type the first thing that came into his head about how he’d felt the day he’d met CC. He’d been trying to get down the facts of that meeting for days and then deleting each attempt because it read too much like a Wikipedia entry.
Maybe he needed to approach it differently. Think laterally or, hell, dig deeper?
Okay…
The first time I saw Cecilia Morgan, she was kicking her then-boss in the testicles for backing her into a corner and trying to kiss her. I fell in love that day.
Wade snatched his hands off the keyboard, staring at what he’d written.
What the fuck? Where had that come from?
His pulse swelled in his head, reverberating like rotor blades. Wade “The Catapult” Carter didn’t do love. He’d told his friends in the bar only last week that he couldn’t have feelings for CC because she worked for him, because she was his employee, because it wasn’t like that.
But it was like that. Exactly like that.
He’d been lying to himself because what he’d just written was absolutely true. He’d fallen for her hook, line, and sinker that first time—he just hadn’t realized it until now.
But now that he had? Holy. Shit. It ballooned like a fucking mushroom cloud in his chest, swallowing everything in its path. He’d loved before, so he recognized the emotion, but this was so much more than what he’d felt for Jasmine.
Hell, he’d been clued in for less than a minute, and he already knew that.
Jasmine had been all the things a young guy had wanted in a woman. She’d been sweet and quiet and adored him. She’d looked good on his arm and was happy to let him lead, to be the man.
CC was none of those things.
In fact, over the years he’d known her, she’d been a pain in his ass for probably half that time, taking her job as his left tackle to extremes.
But he loved her anyway.
Christ. He shoved his hand through his hair as he stood, pushing away from his desk and pacing to the big windows that overlooked the street. What a fucking idiot he’d been. To have missed it. To have let something that had happened a decade ago snap freeze his heart.
He paced the room, a restless energy sizzling along his nerves as he pondered what to do now. Go and get her, of course, because what was his life if she wasn’t in it? But how did he go about it? He’d already played the grand gesture hand and had fucked it up spectacularly.
What did he get a woman who’d already thrown back the keys of her dream house? He was a gift giver, and the women he’d known had loved that kind of thing. Wade didn’t know how to handle a woman who didn’t.
I’m not like other women.
That’s what she’d said, and she was right. She wasn’t like any other woman he’d ever met. She was rare. Unique. A one-off.
She was five Super Bowl rings. An eighty-yard Hail Mary.
And he didn’t know how to win her over.
Panic set in at the thought. He didn’t even know if she felt the same way. She denied having feelings for him, but had she been lying, too?
Jesus.
He paced back to the window and tapped his fingers against the frame, staring absently at the play of bright sunlight along the grayed, gnarly limbs of the big old tree between the house and the front gate. He hated not knowing, hated feeling out of his depth. Wade was a decisive kinda guy…that’s what made him an excellent quarterback, he didn’t prevaricate.
His cell phone chimed, and Wade’s pulse leapt as he dragged it out of his pocket. CC?
No. A text message from Arlo.
Tucker wants to know if you need that intervention yet?
Wade gave a half laugh, half snort. He shook his head, grateful for idiot friends looking out for him. He was going to miss these guys when he went back to Denver.
No. I need a kick in the ass. I am an idiot.
He sent the text and waited for a reply, staring at the streetlight, the aroma of Red Bull and Cheetos so tantalizing he could almost smell them.
You live in the city. Of course you’re an idiot. Come to the boardinghouse. Need some dumb muscle. I can kick
your ass there.
Wade smiled, shoved the phone in his pocket, and headed for the door. He sure as hell was getting nothing done here, he might as well be among friends.
…
When Wade got to the boardinghouse, he found Arlo and several pieces of furniture on the sidewalk, baking in the afternoon sun. From beds to couches to a huge oven and a massive fridge and freezer.
“These fall off the back of a truck?” he asked.
“Yeah, dude, this is what I do in my spare time. I deal in stolen goods.”
Wade laughed. “Better be careful, I hear the chief of police around here is a real asshole.”
“Pfft. He doesn’t scare me.” Arlo pointed to the nearest couch and bent to slide his fingers under. “This one first.”
“Seriously,” Wade said, also bending to grab hold of the other end. “Where’d you get this stuff?”
“Bob sourced it from somewhere. I didn’t ask any questions.”
Bob and Ray appeared suddenly as Wade and Arlo straightened, balancing the weight of the couch between them. Bob was holding a clipboard—no wonder CC loved him—and Ray had a tool belt slung around his hips.
Great. The Rat Pack.
Bob had probably been the loudest in his displeasure at Wade letting CC run away. She had apparently volunteered to help him format a local history book he’d been compiling for the last fifty years and load it to Amazon.
Wade wasn’t sure Credence was ready for Bob Downey, published author, and he certainly didn’t need the old coot busting his balls today.
“Afternoon, Mr. Downey, Mr. Carmody.”
They nodded at him. “That’s for the far common room,” Bob said, consulting his clipboard. “Follow us.”
Wade and Arlo followed. It may have been forty years since he’d been mayor, but Bob Downey was used to being obeyed.
“How’s the writing?” Arlo asked as they maneuvered the couch through the front door and into the relative cool of the house.
“I wrote a whole paragraph today.”
Arlo whistled. “Progress.”
Oh, it had been progress all right. “Yes. A very illuminating paragraph, actually.”
“Oh?” Arlo cocked an eyebrow as he walked backward along the hallway with Ray and Bob instructing him to watch his step.
“Turns out,” Wade said, pausing for a moment as they edged the couch around the corner into the common room, “I’m in love with CC.”
Arlo grinned. “Well, hell…give the man a cigar.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Wade bent his knees, and he and Arlo placed the couch in the spot where Ray was pointing, against the far wall. “I’m a little slow on the uptake, okay?”
“A little slow?” Bob snorted. “There are dead people quicker than you.”
Wade shook his head. Eighty-something years old and the man had ears like a bat.
“So?” Ray looked at him expectantly. “What are you going to do about it, sonny?”
Arlo laughed. “Yeah, sonny, whatcha gonna do?”
But Wade wasn’t in a laughing mood. “Well, buying her a house as a grand gesture didn’t work, so I’m shit out of ideas.”
“Who bought who a house as a grand gesture?”
Winona suddenly appeared beside Wade’s shoulder. She wore a colorful caftan, myriad thin bangles jingled on her wrists, and big hoop earrings swung from her lobes. Bob and Ray greeted her enthusiastically. Wade half expected them to break into a rendition of “That’s Amore”.
“Wade bought CC a house,” Arlo said.
She whistled and nodded at Wade. “Impressive. Thinking big, smart man.”
“Yeah. I thought so.” Except it had been the worst possible thing he could have done.
“Ah.” Winona nodded. “She turned you down?”
“Yep.”
“Wait.” She frowned. “You bought her a house and told her you loved her and she turned you down?”
Wade glanced uneasily at Arlo. “Not exactly.”
“What does not exactly mean?” she probed.
When he didn’t answer for a beat or two, she pierced Arlo with a raised eyebrow. “I don’t think the L word was part of the whole scenario,” he supplied.
Winona’s face went through a comical display of emotions from disbelief to incredulity. She stared at Wade. “Did you take too many hits to your head in that football career of yours?”
She flicked her gaze to Arlo again. “What is wrong with men?”
“We’re emotional dwarfs?”
She sighed before turning her eyes on Wade. “Listen very carefully to what I’m going to tell you now, okay?” She spoke slowly in case he really had taken one too many hits to the head. “A grand gesture is nothing without the I love you. The gesture is there to get her attention, but it’s not the whole shebang.”
“Right.” He nodded. “Got it. So I could just tell her I loved her now and it’d be okay?” If Winona was here to give him some harsh truths he might as well pump her for pointers as well.
“Not now that you’ve fucked it up—” She paused for a moment to glance at Bob and Ray. “Pardon my language, gentlemen.”
Bob laughed. “Oh, don’t mind us,” he dismissed. “Best entertainment we’ve had since that night we played strip poker in Hannah Moore’s room and we got to see her brassiere.”
He nudged Ray’s shoulder, and they both laughed. Everyone else paused for a moment as they digested that morsel of information.
Winona recovered first and continued. “Now you’ve made it harder for yourself,” she said. “Now you’ve got to make it extra special to make up for the last time. But keep it small.”
Wade blinked. Great… So no pressure, then. “And how do I do that?” he demanded.
Winona shrugged. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Just try and not screw it up this time, huh?”
She turned and walked away, disappearing into her room, leaving Wade none the wiser.
“So?” Arlo prompted. “Any ideas?”
Wade shook his head. Extra special but small. Any other woman he’d just buy jewelry—a necklace or a bracelet. But he didn’t think Winona meant small as in size. He thought she meant it in a non-flashy way.
In a way that spoke to CC. That meant something to her.
It hit him then, in a blinding flash, and he stood a little taller. He looked at Arlo, then at Bob, then at Ray. “I’m going to finish the damn book like she asked me to.”
And the part he was writing right now? It was going to be a goddamn love story. A fucking ode. To Cecilia.
“Then I’m going to send it to her to read, and when she has, I’m going to go to her and I’m going to take George and that damn pig with me and tell her I love her and get down on my knees if I have to and beg her to be mine.”
“That could work,” Ray said.
Bob nodded. “Women like words. Poems and love notes and whatnot. And not just on Valentine’s Day.”
Wade sincerely fucking hoped so, because it was all he had now. “Okay then, c’mon.” He headed for the hallway. “Let’s get this furniture taken care of. I got a book to finish.”
…
Wade wrote. He wrote into the night and all the next day. He wrote for ten days straight, stopping only to go to the farm each morning, even though his father was back to doing all the duties he’d been unable to do just after his pacemaker had been fitted. When he got in from the farm, he showered and went straight to his office and picked up where he left off.
Sally was worried he wasn’t eating and always left him a prepared plate of food before she went home for the day, but Wade barely touched them. Mostly he just mainlined Nerds because he only had time for writing.
He’d found his way back into the book, and it was flowing like honey. Making him smile and laugh and grab at his heart as he related all the funny
little incidents with CC over the last five and a half years.
The time she stopped an enraged six-foot-seven, three-hundred-pound linebacker from entering Wade’s office with just the fold of her arms and the raise of her eyebrow. The time she’d sat with the girlfriend of Jimmy Robinson, his backup quarterback, when she miscarried their baby while the Broncos had been playing away that weekend. The time she’d sourced a snowplow driver at three in the morning willing to drive Wade through a blizzard to the airport in buttfuck Indiana.
So many anecdotes. So many times and in so many ways she’d been there for him in the background, smoothing his way, making everything easy.
And he’d taken it all for granted.
He put it all in the book, hoping like hell that when she read it, she’d understand it for what it was. Him pouring his heart out to her. A love letter to Cecilia Morgan.
Wade emerged into the light ten days later, finally finished. He was exhausted—his back ached, his shoulders ached, his eyes were gritty, but he was done. And it was good.
Or at least he hoped it was.
Normally, CC was the one who told him what was good and what wasn’t, but he hadn’t sent her any of the pages as he’d done through this whole process. He didn’t want her to see the new bit until it was complete. Until he’d totally plucked his heart out of his chest and placed it bleeding at her feet.
He hoped like hell she got it. That she could read between the lines to what he was trying to tell her.
His finger hovered over the send button on his email. He’d composed a brief email to CC and attached the document, and his heartbeat picked up tempo as the enormity of what he was about to do hit him.
He hoped it wasn’t in vain. He hoped she had feelings for him, too, despite the issues she obviously had with his celebrity. Not that he could blame her. CC had been hurt by a philandering father and was slow to trust. Frankly, he’d have a helluva hard time watching random dudes just come up and start talking to CC, too.
But, if she let him, he’d spend the rest of his life showing her that she was his one and only. That she was his forever. And it started with the book.