by Marie Force
“Everything,” she whispers. “Everything is wrong with me.”
I kiss the tears from her face and hold her as close to me as I can. “No, honey. Don’t say that. You’re amazing, and I’m completely gone over you.”
“That’s so sweet, and you’re so… You’re… Incredible. You’re incredible, and I should be able to do this, but I can’t.”
“What can’t you do?”
“This.” The single word is spoken so emphatically, with such disgust and fury that I’m not sure how to react. “I can’t do this because I’m broken. Inside.”
“Did someone hurt you, sweetheart?” I feel, for the first time in my life, that I could commit murder at the thought of someone doing harm to her.
She pushes at my shoulder, and I realize she wants to sit up. So I move quickly to release her.
Natalie grabs for her sweater, and I help her into it. When she reaches under it to refasten her bra, I try not to watch, but I can’t look away. Then she looks at me, and the pain and agony I see in her normally exuberant gaze shatters me. “I should go. This… You… You’re lovely and wonderful, and you’ve been so kind to me. But I…” She shakes her head, and the stark misery is in such contrast to her normal demeanor that I’m shaken to my core. And I’m afraid. I’m very, very afraid of losing her now that I’ve found her.
“Natalie, sweetheart, there is nothing you could tell me that would change how I feel about you or that would make me not want to be with you in any way that I can. If things got too heated between us, that’s my fault. I shouldn’t have pushed you, knowing how you feel—”
Her fingers on my lips stop me and arouse me simultaneously. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I loved everything you did. I loved it, and I encouraged it.”
“Please don’t go. Whatever it is, let’s figure it out together. Let’s find a way through it. Don’t run from me.”
“It’s not fair. You deserve someone who can give you everything, and that’s not me.”
I put my arms around her and draw her into my embrace. Only when her hand lands flat against my chest do I remember that my sweater is gone. Her touch is so potent that I want to beg for her hands on me everywhere, but instead I clear my throat and try to find the words she needs to hear.
“I would wait forever for the chance to hold you and make love to you and to worship you the way you should be worshipped.”
She’s shaking her head before I finish speaking. “You’ve known me for six days. How can you say such a thing?”
I feel like I’m standing at the edge of a cliff, looking down at what my life would look like after Natalie, but if I take a step back and give her what she needs, I’ll never have to experience that wasteland.
“Remember in the car, when you asked me what I was thinking about and I mentioned my parents’ anniversary?”
She nods.
“I was thinking about much more than that. I was remembering a conversation I had years ago with my dad about how I would know when I met the woman I’m meant to be with. His exact words were, ‘Someday, probably years from now, a woman will come strolling into the room, and all the oxygen will seem to leave with her arrival. Your chest will be tight, your heart will beat a little faster, and you’ll know. You’ll just know.’”
With my finger under her chin, I raise her face so I can see her eyes. “From the first second you looked up at me the other day, with your crazy dog attacking me, I knew. I just knew it’s you. You’re the one my dad told me I’d find. That’s why I ran after you when I had something else I was supposed to be doing. It’s why I wanted to see you again Saturday night. I’ve wanted to see you every day since and every day from now on. It’s you, Natalie. So whatever it is that’s got you so upset, I want to fix it. I want to make it right.”
More tears spill down her face, and I brush them all away. “You’re very sweet to say that and to feel that way about me, but no one can ever make what’s wrong with me right again.”
“How do you know that? Have you ever let anyone try?” I know the answer to that question before I even ask it. The shake of her head confirms it. “Let me help, Natalie. Let me in. I want to understand you. Not just in this way,” I gesture to the sofa to encompass what just happened there, “but in every way.”
Her expression is tortured, and I can tell by the way she looks at me that she wants to tell me what has her so upset.
“I can’t,” she says so softly I almost can’t hear her. “I’m sorry, but I just can’t.”
Chapter 10
I want to. God, I want to. No one has ever said anything to me like what he just said so beautifully. He makes me want to believe that anything is possible, that I can have what other people take so effortlessly from each other, but I know better. On the day I became Natalie Bryant, I made a vow to myself that no one in my new life would ever know about April. She died a traumatic, horrible death eight years ago during the most hellish weekend of her life. When I made the decision to leave her behind and become Natalie, I did so with rules that can’t be abandoned, not even for Flynn.
He’s the only one I’ve ever been tempted to tell, and I’ve known him for six days. I know what I need to do. I need to get up, pull myself together and go home where I belong. The interlude with him has been wonderful, unforgettable in every way. But it’s also served as a reminder of my limitations.
First, however, I have to make him understand that this is over. “I want you to know… Every minute I’ve spent with you has been better than any time I’ve spent with anyone. You… You’re so much more than I ever could’ve imagined, and you’ve taught me not to believe everything I read.”
He smiles at that, but it’s not his usual smile. It’s not the one with the deep grooves that line his cheeks when he’s truly amused. “If you’re saying good-bye to me, don’t. We got carried away, Natalie. Won’t happen again until you want it to.”
“That’s just it! I may never want it to, and that is so unfair to you.”
“Can I say something here without sounding like a total cad?”
“Can I stop you?”
He takes my hand and holds it tightly, as if he’s afraid I’ll get away before he can express everything he needs to say to me. “I’ve been with a lot of women. Probably too many. I’ve kissed them and fucked them and done things with them you’d no doubt find distasteful at best, objectionable at worst. But I have never, ever had a woman react to me the way you do. And I have never reacted to any woman—ever—the way I do to you. So if you tell me all I can do for the next year is kiss you, I’ll take it. I’ll take that over you walking out that door right now after telling me we’re done.”
I immediately want details of what he’s done with other women that I would find so distasteful or objectionable, but I have no right to ask those questions. Nor do I have the right to ask him to live like a monk so that I can continue along this path I chose for myself.
“I’d marry you tomorrow, Natalie, if you’d have me.”
His words shock me and bring more tears to my eyes. “Stop it. You have no desire to be married. You’ve made that very clear.”
“I thought you weren’t believing everything you read anymore.”
“You told me yourself that one is true.”
“It was before you. Before you bowled me over and took all the oxygen with you.”
The sad thing is, I want to believe him. I want to buy everything he’s selling. I want to wrap my arms around him and never let him go. But I’ve learned to be wary and distrustful, except I haven’t been with him. I’ve jumped in with both feet and practiced none of the usual caution I usually bring to every new relationship and situation. In my new life, people have to earn my trust. I never give it away like I have with him.
“Do something for me.” He gazes earnestly into my eyes. “Give me this weekend. If, after that, you want out, I’ll let you go. I’ll never forget you, but I’ll respect your wishes.” After a pause, he adds, “Things got out of con
trol tonight. It won’t happen again, unless or until you initiate.”
I’m torn in a thousand different directions at once. I want him. God, I want him so badly I burn from the inside for him and all that he’s prepared to offer me. In six days, he’s made me forget eight painful years spent largely alone while I reinvented myself into the person I am today. I’m risking all that hard-won freedom and emotional well-being with every minute I spend with him, and I’m doing it willingly with my eyes wide open to the potential fallout.
And I don’t care. I want him as badly as he seems to want me. I take a deep breath and release it slowly, the way my counselor taught me to do when things get overwhelming. I force myself to meet his gaze, to look directly into intense brown eyes when I say, “Okay.”
“Yes?”
Nodding, I cling to his hand like it’s the one thing keeping me from hurtling into space, never to be seen or heard from again.
He moves cautiously to put his arms around me. I rest my face against his bare chest, breathing in the scent of soap and deodorant as his chest hair brushes against my cheek. “Whatever it is, whatever you need, I’m here, Natalie. You’re not alone anymore.”
I want more than anything to believe him, to hold on to his words and his assurances with everything I’ve got. But I know better than to be that foolish. So I give him the only thing I’ve got to offer—one weekend. After that, I will leave him, and I’ll never look back.
I’m very good at that.
After I convince Natalie to stay and give me a chance, we enjoy a subdued dinner before leaving for the show. She loves “Wicked” and brightens visibly as the show unfolds before us. We’re in the tenth row in the orchestra section, and since I’ve seen the show twice before, I watch her as she takes in every detail with her usual enthusiasm and exuberance.
I’m gutted by the memory of her pain, her fear and the tears. Part of me wants to hire someone to find out what happened to her so I’ll know what I’m dealing with. But the more reasonable part of me rejects that idea as the stupidest thing I could ever do to her. If and when I find out what or who hurt her, it’ll be when she decides to tell me and not before.
She gushes about the show all the way home, how it was funnier than she’d expected and how she’d never thought about how the wicked witch in The Wizard of Oz had become so wicked. We talk about the music and the story and the jokes. In other words, we stick to safe topics rather than the ones that are fraught with peril.
There’s once again nowhere to park on her block, so I pull up next to two cars and put on the hazards.
“Thank you so much for taking me to ‘Wicked.’ I loved it so much.”
“I’m glad.”
She glances at me shyly. “And for being so nice earlier. I’m sorry I had such a meltdown.”
“Please don’t apologize to me for something you couldn’t help. I want you to remember that whatever it is, whatever haunts you, you’re not alone with it anymore. You can trust me, Natalie. I swear to you I’d never do anything to cause you another second of pain or fear.”
Her small smile is a huge victory for me. “I can certainly see why every woman in America is in love with you, Flynn.”
“Fuck that,” I say emphatically, perhaps a bit too emphatically. “This isn’t some line of movie star bullshit I’m feeding you. This is me—the real me who is crazy about the real you. All that other crap aside, this is my life, Natalie, not my job.”
“I didn’t mean to imply otherwise.”
“And I didn’t mean to jump all over you.”
“I get it. You’re constantly having to separate the real from the imaginary.”
“Yes,” I say with a sigh of relief that she understands. “And this is as real as it gets for me.”
“Thank you for a lovely evening. I’ll never forget a minute of it.”
“Neither will I.” I lean over the center console to kiss her. “Much more to come.”
She kisses me back and caresses my face, the gesture so tender and sweet that I can barely breathe from wanting her.
I want to drive her back to my place and take her to bed and never let her leave, but since that’s not going to happen tonight or any time soon, I withdraw slowly and painfully. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay.”
I steal one last kiss. “I’ll watch you get inside.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Yes, I do.”
She leaves me with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, and that’s all it takes to tell me I’m in for the fight of my life where she’s concerned. That’s okay. I’m willing to wage war to show her what we can have together. Now that I’ve found her, I’ll never let her go.
Neither of us can sleep that night. After exchanging a few texts, I call her and we end up talking for hours about silly things such as the difference between growing up in Nebraska versus Beverly Hills. I notice she never mentions her family in specific terms, always vaguely, as if she’s no longer a part of them. I’m desperate for more information, but I’m cautious. I don’t push. I can only hope she’ll trust me enough someday to tell me her truth. Until then, I summon patience I didn’t know I had.
With the film wrapped and time to kill before we leave for LA, my friends are having a wild week at Quantum. They’ve been calling and texting relentlessly, wanting me to join them, but I’ve stayed away. Until I know how this weekend with Natalie will play out, I resist the temptation to expend my pent-up sexual energy on someone else.
I’m committed to Natalie for now. If she’ll have me, that commitment will go far beyond this weekend. But that remains to be seen.
Hayden is relentless, texting me every half hour about what a pussy-whipped asshole I am for deserting them in their time of celebration. He’s even got Kristian, Jasper and Marlowe on my ass, but I ignore them all and stay focused on Natalie.
By Friday afternoon, I’m a wreck. I’ve never been more nervous about anything than I am about this weekend with her. I’ve driven Addie crazy, micromanaging the details to make sure everything is perfect for Natalie. I was supposed to fly to LA with Hayden and the others, but I’ve chartered my own plane. The last thing I want is to share Natalie with anyone, especially friends who’ve questioned the wisdom of getting involved with her in the first place. I took endless text abuse from them when I let them know I wouldn’t be joining them on the flight, but like most of the shit from them this week, I ignore it.
Wait until they hear that I want to do postproduction on the new film in New York rather than LA, as planned. There’ll be hell to pay with Hayden, in particular. I’ll deal with that on Monday, after the Globes.
I’m waiting outside her school at three o’clock sharp when she emerges with her workbag slung over her shoulder and a suitcase in tow. I figured Leah would be with her, but she’s by herself. As she crosses the street to me, I can almost feel the emotions coming from her—hesitancy, excitement, caution, fear, curiosity and maybe, just maybe, a hint of pleasure at seeing me.
Pleasure is too benign a word to describe what I feel at the sight of her. Relief, anxiety, delight, desire and excitement for the adventure I’m about to take her on. I feel all of that at the same time. I feel more for her than I have for any woman, and rather than run from it, I want to wrap myself up in it and in her.
“Hi,” she says when she reaches me.
“Hi there.” I take her bag and toss it into the backseat with mine and then help her into the car. I’m not sure if I should, but I feel like I haven’t seen her in days, so I lean in to kiss her after I buckle her in.
She kisses me back, and I take that as a good sign.
“Missed you.”
Smiling, she says, “You texted me constantly.”
“No substitute for the real you.”
I want to bury my face in her hair, nuzzle her neck and breathe in the scent of her, but I do none of those things. Hopefully, I’ll get to do all of them on the plane. I pull myself away from her an
d close her door. The second I’ve got the car moving toward our destination in Teterboro, New Jersey, I reach for her hand.
“How was your day?” I ask her.
“Good but busy. We’re doing some testing this week, and the kids hate it so they’re out of sorts, which means we’re out of sorts, too.”
“You have three days to decompress.”
“Believe me, I know. I’m looking forward to it.”
I’m so glad to hear that, I want to sing Hallelujah or some other celebratory song. But like all my other impulses where she’s concerned, I resist. It’s far too soon to celebrate, especially when she’s still deciding whether she’s going to give me a chance.
The ride out of the city is slow thanks to Friday afternoon traffic on the Henry Hudson Parkway. I used to think there was nothing quite like LA traffic until I spent time in New York. Most people don’t drive in the city, but public transportation can be a challenge for me, so I put up with the traffic. Today I’m annoyed by anything that delays me getting to the airport and onto the plane, so I can be alone with Natalie and focused completely on her rather than the traffic.
“I’ve been thinking about ‘Wicked’ all day. Thank you again for that.”
“You’re very welcome. I love that you enjoyed it so much.”
“It was… I need to find a way to expand my vocabulary where you’re concerned, but I keep coming back to incredible.”
“That’s not a bad word.”
“No, but I teach my kids that any word that’s overused becomes a cliché after a while, and I don’t want to become a cliché where you’re concerned.”
“Not possible.” I give her hand a squeeze and wish I could look at her when I say, “Everything about you is fresh and new and interesting to me. And this entire thing between us is the furthest thing from a cliché that I’ve ever experienced. It’s quite possible, in fact, that my entire life up until about a week ago was a gigantic cliché and you’ve saved me from all that ridiculousness.”