“Sophia, wait,” he begged as she grabbed Henry from the sofa and headed out the door, chin up and footsteps confident. She’d made up her mind.
He slammed his fist on the counter, rage taking over. Chloe had fucked everything up in his life yet again. He’d lost the shard of hope he’d just found, and for what?
Last night, he’d made a breakthrough with Sophia, had finally helped her settle into the idea of a life with him. Now it was gone. Like a wisp of a dandelion in the merciless hands of a reckless child, the safety of their relationship was gone, with the whirlwind of Chloe’s reappearance.
His heart undoubtedly belonged to Sophia. But now, the doubt he’d worked tirelessly to help her overcome was revived, and he didn’t know if he could combat it this time. He felt like he was standing in the middle of a swinging blade, recklessly flying back and forth between “yes” and “no” with Sophia.
Now, the blade lowered, ready to land right on the neck of its victim.
Maybe Sophia was right. Maybe they just weren’t meant to be.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
SOPHIA
You did the right thing, Sophia told herself when she arrived home to the empty house. She’d only been gone a day, but it smelled stagnant like an abandoned property. It felt cold and lonely.
Better get used to it, she thought.
She hadn’t wanted to eavesdrop, had felt completely inappropriate doing so. She’d just turned off the shower, basking in the happiness of the night. She’d finally felt at peace in her heart, in her soul. For a long time after Tim’s death, she’d felt like she’d never be okay again. Love was certainly not a consideration. Her heart had blackened with death when she saw his casket lowered into the ground.
Jackson, though, had changed that. It wasn’t just his killer looks or his sexy stubble. It wasn’t the way his muscular arms made her feel safe or the tender way he kissed her. It was in his heart, in the way he saw what she needed before she even did. It was in the way he respected her past while also wanting her to see the future.
It was just him.
As she’d towel-dried her hair in his bathroom, she smiled, thinking she’d turned a corner in grief. She knew she hadn’t come to the end of the long, tenuous stretch of road called grief. There would still be many more turnarounds and potholes. Still, she felt like with Jackson by her side, she would get through. She could survive the loss of Tim.
She could love again.
She had thought she’d heard Jackson talk to someone, but dismissed the idea as she dressed. She heard his voice rising, though, heard someone in the kitchen, and her curiosity was piqued. She’d cracked the bathroom door slightly, her ear to the crack to listen and to gauge the situation.
That’s when she’d heard her. A woman.
She still hadn’t jumped to any conclusions. In fact, she’d thought about closing the door and primping for a while, giving him his privacy.
She couldn’t. Because she’d heard the word, the pesky four-letter word she’d recently said to Jackson.
Love.
So she listened in, assessing the situation. As she did, the peaceful calmness surrounding their relationship subsided to something else—the resurgence of uncertainty panging in her heart.
Tears threatened to form, but she told herself to stop being ridiculous. She had no claim to Jackson other than a few romantic date nights and some promised I love yous under the false pretense of romance. True, there was certainly something building between them, something promising to bring both of them out of the darkness. True, she did love him, a love she hadn’t expected, a love she’d refused to recognize at first.
But here was the offer to truly resurrect Jackson’s life. This was what he wanted, what he needed more than he needed her.
His son back.
He’d loved Chloe once, from what she gathered. Here was the promise Logan’s custody could stop being in limbo, that Jackson could get back the thing that rightfully mattered most—his son.
She inhaled deeply, knowing what she had to do. Her heart pounded with the loss already, her chest heavy with a different kind of grief than before.
So this was what a broken heart felt like, one not caused by the grasp of death but by the grasp of another’s heart instead. In truth, it wasn’t a whole lot different. Except at least in this case, she knew Jackson would be happy.
We might not have worked anyway, she convinced herself, reaffirming her steadfast decision to walk away. This could have just been a rebound fling for both of us. It was fun while it lasted.
Even as she said the words internally, she knew they held no merit. This was not a rebound or a fling. This was not a cheap excuse for a relationship. This, her heart told her, was the real deal, as real as her love had been for Tim.
It didn’t matter. She had to walk away.
Slumping on the sofa, alone, only Henry there to comfort her, tears drenched her cheeks. She’d done the right thing. It didn’t mean, however, her heart had to accept it as the right thing.
She closed her eyes, the pain surging now for two lost men.
For the millionth time since Tim died, she felt utterly lost and hopeless. She felt, as she did on the day she watched her soul mate buried in the unforgiving ground, as if she wanted to curl up and die. Deciding this wasn’t healthy in any way, she did what she always did when she was hurting, or lost, or confused.
_______________
“Hey, Chica, what’re you doing here? You have the day off,” Stella said as she held up a curling iron on a middle-aged woman’s head. The salon had a few customers waiting in the front area, but it was relatively quiet.
Sophia painted on the chipper, fake smile she was used to. “Oh, you know, I was bored. Wanted to come in and get some stuff organized.”
Stella frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m fine. Really,” Sophia assured, busying her hands at the front desk.
Stella didn’t argue, continuing to work on the lady’s hair. Sophia fiddled with the appointment book, offered some lemonade to the waiting customers, and just generally kept herself busy.
A few hours later, Stella had finished working on the final customer. After he left, Stella almost burst.
“Okay, spill,” she demanded, handing Sophia the bag of Swedish Fish and motioning to the chair.
“Jackson and I are over,” she whispered, figuring there was no use lying to her friend. Stella was relentless when she wanted information.
“Why? What happened?”
“I ended it.”
“Are you crazy? You finally seemed happy. Head over heels, obnoxiously so. I thought you guys had finally rounded a corner? What happened?”
Sophia stared ahead, shoving a few pieces of the familiar candy into her mouth. She chewed the sticky fish, swallowed and then told Stella the entire sordid tale.
Stella sat, speechless, once she’d heard about the carriage ride, the scrapbook, and finally, the Chloe situation.
“Well?” Sophia asked, looking at her friend who was rocking side to side in the salon chair.
“Well, I think you’re nuts.”
“What do you mean? Don’t you understand?”
“No. Not at all. Because obviously he doesn’t want to be with her, Soph. He loves you. I mean, come on, a carriage ride? What kind of man arranges that if his heart isn’t in it?”
“It’s not a question of whether or not his heart is in it. It’s that it can’t be, not if he wants a life with his son.”
“There are other ways to see his son. The appeal, remember?”
“I don’t know, Stella. I just didn’t want to be the one to mess up his life.”
“So you mess up his life by walking away from the great thing you have going?”
“He’ll be fine.”
“You’re not giving yourself any credit. You think Jackson is helping you. You can’t see how you’re helping him, too. So by walking away from him, you’ve hurt him in the worst way.”
“N
o. I gave him a chance to have a normal life back.”
“Normal is overrated. Trust me.”
“I just wanted to do the right thing.”
“I think you just didn’t want to be happy.”
“Excuse me?” Sophia scowled now.
“You heard me. You’re sabotaging yourself. You’re afraid to be happy because you think it’ll mean your relationship with Tim meant nothing. So you’re using this as an excuse.”
“No, I’m not. You have no clue what you’re talking about.”
“Soph, it’s me. I’ve known you for years. I’ve seen you lie to clients about hairstyles looking good on them so long I know your tell.”
“And what is my tell?”
“You tap a hand against your leg.”
Sophia looked down. Her hand was tapping a quiet pattern on her thigh.
“Dammit.”
Stella smiled. “What are best friends for, huh? Now stop being a damn idiot. Go tell him you were stupid, and get him back.”
Sophia shook her head, exhaling in frustration. “I can’t do it.” Tears threatened Sophia’s eyes again. “You’re right. I was happy with him. And you’re right. This isn’t about Chloe. I can’t just move on with him. Chloe was a good excuse. But how can I move on with him when my husband’s in a hole in the ground? Why do I deserve to have love again, a full life, when Tim doesn’t get any of that?”
Stella rose now, embracing her friend. “You’re right. Tim didn’t deserve to die. But Soph, you can’t change that, and you can’t just give up your life, too. He wouldn’t want that.”
They embraced in silence for a long moment.
“That’s it. I’m tired of this sob fest,” Stella said, heading to her bag to get her phone. She dialed a few numbers, held the phone to her ear and said, “Hey, I can’t make it tonight. I’m having a girls’ night.”
Sophia furrowed her eyebrows, trying to decode Stella’s actions.
“I love you, too,” she continued, then hung up the phone.
“Stella, what are you doing? Why are you canceling on Larry?”
Stella held up a finger, dialed her phone again, and waited for the party on the other line to answer.
“Yes, I would like a quart of chicken broccoli, a pint of lo mein, and an order of your wonton soup, please. Uh-huh. Yep. Stella Major. Yep. See you in ten.”
Stella grinned and her huge, toothy grin told Sophia she had plans.
“Get your stuff together. We’ve got Chinese food to pick up and movies to watch.”
“What are you doing?”
“We are having a girls’ night. No talk of boyfriends and sappy crap. Just you, me, some Bruce Almighty, The Hangover, and maybe even some American Pie.”
Sophia wanted to argue, to tell Stella she shouldn’t be canceling her date just for her. But the thought of a night of funny movies, Chinese, and her best friend warmed her heart. She couldn’t resist.
“Sounds amazing. I love you,” she said as she lifted herself out of the chair, tossing the empty Swedish Fish bag in the trash.
“Love you back. Now, let’s get moving. I can’t wait to get my hands on that handsome little man Henry. I hope he sits with me.”
“He will if you give him some lo mein.”
They headed out the door, locking up Pink Lemonade. Sophia had known a trip to her shop would cheer her up. It always did the trick.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
SOPHIA
The weeks passed. Despite Stella’s pleading with Sophia to talk to Jackson, she refused. She was doing the right thing, even if it didn’t feel like it. Her heart ached for Jackson, but she wouldn’t give in. This was what was best.
Jackson hadn’t given up on her yet, his stubborn nature underscored by his incessant attempts to contact her. There’d been at least one phone call or text each day from him. There had been a night when he’d knocked on her door.
She’d practically had to tie herself to the couch to resist answering it.
She’d been strong, though, knowing eventually he’d give up, he’d give in, and he’d get his son back. He’d go back to Chloe, and his life would be smooth sailing. She would be left alone to wallow in her grief, just like she should be.
A few weeks after her split with Jackson, she did something unexpected. She went back to the grief circle she’d quit a few weeks after Tim’s death. She’d felt overwhelmed by it then, disgusted by the prospect of talking about her loss. She didn’t want to have warm faces pitying her as she told her tale. She didn’t want other women who thought they understood nosing around her business, analyzing her grief. She wanted to do it alone.
Now, she realized it was a good thing to go, if not for the companionship, for the simple fact it was a way for her not to forget about Tim. She didn’t want to slip into a routine and let her memories of him disintegrate. As grim as it sounded, she wanted to soak in the pain of his absence so she felt like she could appropriately work through it.
She had to admit, the group was easier now with more time having passed. The anguish, although still palpable, was not as malignant, as fresh. She could stand at the podium and talk about Tim now, and she didn’t feel the need to shred someone’s eyeballs when they winked at her with a conspiratorial I know where you’re coming from wink. In fact, she found herself actually connecting with a few women her age, actually sticking around for the cookies and punch after the weekly meetings to socialize.
See, you weren’t in love with Jackson, she actually convinced herself. It seemed like life without Jackson was possible. She did miss him, especially at night when the stars were out and she’d think of their strolls through the neighborhood. She missed the smell of his cologne, the feel of his warm, scratchy hands on her.
She missed him.
But she could get through this. She could survive in a life without Tim or Jackson. She didn’t need love. Her heart was dead, after all. She would never feel that way again.
She plowed right through the workweeks, smiling more, talking more with her customers. She went out for drinks with Stella a few times, and she even joined a spinning class to get back into shape. She worked with Henry, teaching him basic obedience. Time marched on, and as the days rolled by, she felt confident she was going to be okay.
And then it happened.
A few words, a gleaming smile, and a shining gemstone threw her off the path to recovery, turned the glittering of the spring sunshine into a demonic black hole.
_______________
“I’m so happy for you, Stella! That’s amazing! Give me a hug.”
These words instinctively flew from Sophia’s lips to her best friend’s ears. They were the words she knew she had to say, words she wanted to feel.
In her gut, though, as she hugged her best friend who was stamping her feet in a weird jig due to excitement and giddiness, bile rose.
“Isn’t it gorgeous?” Stella said, flashing a delicate, shiny rock on the telltale finger.
“Of course it is,” Sophia said, grinning while flashing a lot of teeth. She needed to play the part, to be the supportive friend.
She was happy for Stella. Larry was a great guy. He grounded Stella without stifling her. He made Stella want to settle down, to settle in. He accepted her, pink hair and witty remarks. He loved her. It was obvious.
And Stella was crazy about him, too. Sophia had been there through many relationships, breakups, and mistakes. She’d seen Stella be infatuated for the wrong reasons only to end up heartbroken. She’d known this was different from the beginning. Larry and Stella had started as a slow burn, igniting in a careful, contained way. Their relationship was the thing marriages were made of, Sophia knew. She recognized the signs, the sparkle in Stella’s eye, the visions of the future.
Now, a wedding was certainly in her future.
“How did it happen?” Sophia asked, again following the customary questions.
“It’s kind of silly, actually. So you know how my favorite animal is a dolphin, right?”
Sophia just nodded. Clearly she knew this.
“Well, he took me to the aquarium, which I’d been wanting to go to. And then, by the dolphins, with screaming kids and old people walking around, he just dropped to one knee and proposed.”
“That’s sweet.”
“It was definitely different. But I loved it. We’re actually thinking of saying our I dos right there.”
“At the aquarium?”
“Yeah, why not? Conventional is so overrated.”
“You don’t say,” Sophia teased. “Does this mean I’ll be wearing flippers and scuba gear?”
“No. Obviously not. But a dolphin broach might not be out of the question.”
“Whatever makes you happy.”
She turned, heading to the fridge to get some beverages, trying to busy her hands. This was what she hated most about the loss. The grief was a stealthy stalker, waiting until a certain moment, a certain word, a certain event. Then it pounced, threatening to strangle her in pity, in jealousy, in anger. Love was circling around her. People were happy all around her, and she didn’t want that to change.
But why couldn’t she be happy, too? Why couldn’t her heart be bursting with excitement for the future? Why did hers have to be blackened by death, corpse-like in her chest?
“Hey,” Stella said, coming up to her in the kitchen. Henry trailed at her feet, biting her toes. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t, Stell. This is your time.”
“I know. But this can’t be easy. I was insensitive. I’m sorry.”
“Stop! I’m tired of everyone tiptoeing around me like I’m some selfish wench who can’t hear about other people’s happiness. Just stop.” The anger gurgled and bubbled, flowing out in an inferno of words. Stella stood silently, seemingly sensing Sophia’s need to vent.
Sophia closed her eyes, exhaling loudly, putting down the wine bottle as she spoke. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “You’re right. I am upset. It’s not that I don’t want you to be happy. Really. I’m glad you have Larry.”
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