Twelve hours and some negotiating later, the house is hers.
Leah
I squeeze the keys in my hand, relishing the small prick of pain, before opening my palm and taking a full minute to examine every ridge of the two pieces of metal before me. As of this moment, I am officially a homeowner. Like, I can do whatever I want, however I want, whenever I want, all in the privacy of my own home, homeowner. Dance naked in the kitchen? Yep. Drink milk straight from the gallon? You betcha. Wear my dirty shoes on the carpet? Yes, indeedy. Will I ever actually do any of those things? Absolutely not. But the important thing is, I could if I ever wanted to.
Right now, what I really want to do is start painting. Eli and Lindsey are shopping for me today, picking up some new light fixtures I have on hold as well as stopping at a furniture store to text me pictures of sofas and anything else they think I’d like. Heath is coming over this morning to help me paint, but I’m too excited to wait for him.
It’s only six in the morning, but I get dressed and make myself a cup of coffee before driving the short mile to my new home.
My goal for today is to get the family room painted.
Last night, after the closing, Eli helped me drop off the paint, drop cloths, and ladder, so I’ll do as much as I can before it gets too high. Heath said he had what we needed to reach the highest parts, so that is a huge relief. Then, my mom is coming over later this afternoon to paint the pink room.
When I took her through the house after my offer was accepted, it didn’t get past her how much anxiety that room caused me. It’s a painful reminder of what I went through. I was almost a mom. Almost. But I’m not, and that’s okay.
I pull up to the house—my house—and reach for my shiny new key chain, a gift from Lindsey. It’s a giant crystal heart on a short silver chain, and it means so much more than something that simply holds my keys.
I enter the front door with my bag slung over my shoulder and move from room to room, opening blinds and letting the early morning sun soak up the space. Every room is a new beginning, open to endless possibilities and countless memories to be made.
I stand in the middle of the master bedroom, picturing how my furniture will fit. At the doorway of the next bedroom, I make a mental list of what this room will need.
But, as I step into the pink room, my happiness and excitement stall. That’s because, although the crib and rocking chair are gone, my pain still lingers. I apply the skills I learned in therapy to fight against the memories. That weak girl back in Chicago, so full of self-loathing and spite, only able to dull the pain with alcohol and random men. I try to shake it off because I know better now—I really do—but the guilt is rising, and these pink walls are screaming at me like a constant reminder of every reprehensible moment from my past.
I turn on my heel and step swiftly down the hall to the family room where I tuck a drop cloth under my arm and grab a paintbrush and a gallon of paint before heading back to the bedroom. I fold out the drop cloth and set up my wireless speaker. Turning the volume to full blast, I’m thankful the air-conditioning is on, so I don’t disturb my neighbors. With a newfound determination, I push myself forward and focus only on the white. A fresh start.
As I dip the brush over and over again, working my way around the edges of each wall, silent tears start to build. Every now and then, I raise a shoulder up to wipe them off, but I push through it. Just as I’m finishing up the last of the trim, I feel someone moving behind me. When I spin around, there’s Heath with a second gallon of paint in his hand. He raises a brow, his way of asking me if I’m all right, so I give one solid nod in response. We couldn’t have a conversation right now if we wanted to. The music is too loud. But, even if it wasn’t, he knows me well enough to know that he should just leave me be right now.
He works alongside me but not close enough to ever step into my space. Thankfully, he never once asks about the slow flow of my tears that continue as we work. It’s just what I need without ever realizing how much I needed it.
When the second coat is finished and every inch of the room is white, Heath turns off the speaker and steps up beside me in the center of the room. We silently critique our work.
“Would you look at that? A clean slate.”
My cheeks now dry and my demons put to rest, I take in our work before walking to the door. “C’mon, I’ll order us a pizza.”
Because, for the slate to be truly clean, there’s still one thing left I need to do.
Heath
I let myself in the house when Leah didn’t answer the bell. The second I opened the door, the music pounding from down the hall told me why. I expected to see her singing into her paintbrush and moving her body to the beat, but what I walked into was anything but that.
When I saw her tears, instinct made me want to turn the music off and go to her, prepared to rip the limbs off the person responsible. But, as I watched from the doorway, I knew this was different from any other time I’ve seen her cry. She wasn’t shuddering or shaking but instead working through something. What, I still don’t know, but whatever it is, I realize somehow, it’s best to just let her find her way through to the other side. So, I grabbed some paint and worked silently close-by.
By the time we finished, her tears had dried up, and she slipped on a content smile. With every stroke of the brush, whatever weight she’d been holding on to fell away in the span of the last few hours.
“Sorry there’s nothing to sit on,” she says as she pushes the pizza box my way, a slice hanging from her other hand.
The pizza is hot and greasy and tastes like the best damn thing I’ve had in a really long time. Or maybe it’s just that good because of the company. I don’t bother hiding the fact that I’m staring at her as we sit on opposite sides of the box in the middle of her dining room floor.
“Thanks for helping me paint,” she says.
“That’s what friends are for.”
She’s picking at a pepperoni, unable to look at me.
“You know what else friends are for?”
My question shifts her attention to me.
“Listening.” When I don’t get a response, I try again. “Talk to me, Leah.” It comes out on a whispered plea.
Her eyes scrunch up tight at my words, her emotions at war, most likely deciding if she should trust me with the final piece she’s been keeping from me. But, after the last couple of hours of watching her wipe away her tears, I need to know, no matter how much it’s going to hurt.
“Lee,” I beg.
Her face drops to her lap as she sets her slice on the cardboard. “What I have to tell you . . . you’ll never look at me the same again.”
“You can trust me.”
After a moment’s pause, she does. “My year in Chicago, it’s still hard to believe it all really happened.”
I set my half-eaten slice down, my appetite abandoned, and steel my emotions for what’s about to come.
“That day I . . . found you, well, it did something to me. It turned me into a different person. Someone I didn’t recognize. Or even like. I started drinking. And, when I went to Chicago with no one to lean on, that person only became uglier, colder. I hated the person I saw in the mirror.
“The drinking got worse. Soon, it became every day—from the minute I walked in the door after work until the time I passed out. Sometimes, I made it to my bed. Sometimes, the sofa. Once I even woke up on the floor. But the alcohol didn’t help. It didn’t ease the pain of that day. I could still see you with her. And I never felt more worthless.”
She’s picking at a splatter of dried paint on her shirt, and I have to fight with myself to stay back when all I want to do is hold her and tell her, again, how sorry I am and how amazingly brave I think she is.
She takes a deep breath and rubs her hands back and forth on her cheeks, preparing herself for what she has to say next. “I started going out to drink. And I started . . . meeting people.”
She lifts her eyes to mine, making sure I
understand her meaning. But she doesn’t need to because the audible groan of pain that rumbles up my chest is enough to tell her what a shock to the heart that is.
“I finally found a way, for a little while at least, to numb the pain. To erase the image of that day from my mind.”
I drop my head to my lap and pull at my hair with my hands. The thought of her being with strange men tears me up. I want to beat the shit out of anyone who touched her.
“I was barely eating, working sixty hours a week, and drinking every night. It started to take a toll on my body, but I didn’t stop. Finally, I didn’t have a choice.”
This is it. I force myself to look at her. She deserves that much. But, when she goes quiet, I think she’s changed her mind. Then, she says something that will forever crack my chest and stab my heart.
“I got pregnant.”
It’s an invisible punch to the gut. My lungs momentarily seize and my muscles tighten like stone. I’m hoping there’s some small chance in a deep, dark corner of hell that she’s anything but serious, but when she wipes away a single tear, I know she is.
“No.” My throat is closed so tight, I don’t know if any sound even came out.
But she’s not done. When I feel her in front of me, pulling my hands and holding them in her own, I know there’s more.
Our bodies connect, her knees pressing against my own, as our heads are both lowered to our laps. We silently watch our fingers wind together like they are acting of their own free will. I try to think of what she needs right now, and the only answer I have is me. My attention. My support. My love. I tug on her hands, and she raises her glassy eyes to mine. With a squeeze, I promise those three things.
“I thought I had cramps, that I was getting my period. But it never came. And the pain only got worse. One minute, I was hunched over at work, and the next thing I knew, I was waking up in a hospital bed. I had started hemorrhaging. Because of an ectopic pregnancy.”
I feel the tears hit our hands, and I’m not sure if they are hers or mine.
“That’s when Eli came. He jumped on a plane and stayed by my side until my mom and brother got there.” She pauses. “I’m sorry I told him what happened with us. I never wanted to come between the two of you. You have to know that.”
My brows crease in confusion as my hands clench and every muscle in my body fights the urge to pull her close and squeeze her in my arms. When she slides herself onto my lap, I give in and do just that, the feel of her against my chest momentarily knocking the air from my lungs.
I push back her hair. “You’re apologizing to me? Don’t ever apologize to me, Leah. After everything I did to you. Everything I put you through. I don’t deserve your apology, and I definitely don’t deserve your friendship.”
“That’s not true. You are a good person, Heath Braeburn. A very good person who made some mistakes, just like the rest of us.”
Her arms wrap around me as her cheek meets my own. I hold her in return and think of all the ways I would protect her if she were mine. I don’t know how long we stay like that, her sitting in my lap on the dining room floor of her empty house, but I soak up every minute.
Finally, her warm lips move across my ear. “Clean slate?”
“Yeah. Clean slate.”
Leah
“Leah, where do you want this box? It’s marked Crap.”
“Anything marked Crap goes in the dining room. Thanks, Campbell!” I shout as I run out the door to grab another load from the truck. Heath and Eli rented it for the day as my housewarming gift. I pass them as they each carry an end of my new sofa. “That goes in the family room, under the window,” I shout.
I turn when I hear the crunch of tires just behind me on the street. “Nice of you to show up and help, considering that’s why you’re home and all.”
Since I bought the house, Connor said that he’d be there to help with the move, but somehow, he got in yesterday, and this is the first I’ve seen of him.
He walks up beside me, and we each take a box from the truck.
“Sorry, Lee. I had something I had to take care of this morning.”
“Yeah, right. What’s her name?” I tease.
Considering I’ve known him since his first breath, I know all of his tells. He looks up at the ceiling when he’s lying, at the floor when he’s in trouble, and scratches at the back of his head when he’s frustrated. Right now, he can’t stop scratching.
As my eyes widen in understanding, he makes a rush for the door.
“Are you serious? Connor, get back here! Who is she? How long has this been going on? Does Mom know? When can we meet her? What’s her name? How did you two meet?”
With the box in his arms, he turns on me. “There’s nothing to tell,” he growls.
“Aw, c’mon. You can trust me. What’s the big deal?”
“I said, there’s nothing to tell. Leave it alone.”
“Geesh, okay. Fine. She can’t be that great if you’re keeping her a secret.”
He jerks forward, and I follow.
“Can I just say one more thing though?” When he doesn’t answer, I take that as a yes. “You’re one of the good ones, Con. And, if she can’t see that, whoever she is, she’s not worth it. Move on.”
Connor has never kept his girlfriends a secret before, and trust me, there have been plenty of them. But, for him to do so now, it can only mean one of two things. He’s realized he’s being played . . . or he’s in love.
I enter the kitchen, deep in thought over who my brother could be all tied up over. Just as I set down the heavy box and wiggle out the numbness in my arms, Campbell comes around the corner and surprises me with a quick kiss to the lips.
“What was that for?” I ask with an uncomfortable giggle.
“Just happy for you; that’s all.” He smiles and heads out to the truck.
I hear a sound from my other side and find Heath and Eli watching me.
“Things with Clam Chowder look like they’re getting a little serious,” Eli prods.
“I don’t know about that. We’re taking it slow.”
“Somebody had better tell him that,” Heath mumbles before he turns and walks out of the front door.
Eli and I watch Heath from out the window until he’s at the truck with Campbell.
“You know he misses you, don’t you?”
“I wish I could believe that.”
We stand in silence, both of us continuing to stare out to the truck.
“How serious are you about this guy?”
I sigh. “I don’t know. I mean, he’s nice. Thoughtful. Polite.”
“Polite? That’s the best you’ve got?” he asks, crossing his arms and raising a doubtful brow.
“He always calls when he says he’s going to. And he asks me before he makes other plans. He even brings my mom flowers.”
“I didn’t realize you were dating my grandpa.”
I roll my eyes and start to work on the boxes on the counter, opening one and fishing around aimlessly. “How’s Lindsey feeling? Still getting sick?”
“Don’t change the subject. What are you doing with this guy, Lee? Because, let me tell you, if you were trying to find the most boring guy ever, you did it.”
“What’s wrong with boring? Boring is . . .”
“Safe. Face it. You’re with him because he’s safe. Sweetheart, I get it. I do. But this guy only wants one thing. A wife.”
“That’s ridiculous. Why would you ever say that?”
“He’s older, solid job path, and I caught him staring into each room like he was making plans for them. He’s all about taking that next step.” His head swings to me as a thought hits him. “He’s the anti-Heath. You’re dating the anti-Heath.”
“Okay, now you’re just being ridiculous,” I huff as I throw a spatula back into the box.
“Am I? I dare you to ask him about kids. The more detailed his answer, the more he’s looking to settle down. You know I’m right. Any guy not ready for that shit will r
un the second a woman says the word baby. Look at Heath. Since Lindsey’s been pregnant, he keeps a constant ten-foot radius from her at all times, like she’s contagious or something.”
“That’s not true at all.”
But we both know he’s right.
“You didn’t answer me. How is Lindsey?”
Thankfully, he lets the subject go. “You can ask her yourself. She’s coming by with lunch.”
“Well, I’m glad to see you two got over your initial freak-out.”
“Can you blame me? We weren’t exactly trying for a honeymoon baby. I still can’t believe it.”
“What did you think was going to happen when you had sex in the Jacuzzi every night?”
“She told you that?”
My smirk gives him my answer.
“I figured the heat and water would nix any chance of that ever happening.”
“Oh, my sweet, sweet Eli. Give yourself more credit, my friend. You’ve got some determined little swimmers there.”
“Little swimmers?” Campbell asks from behind us.
Eli tilts his head ever-so slightly toward Campbell, and I respond with the lightest shake of my own. Now is not the time.
But Eli thinks otherwise.
“Yeah, Leah and I were just talking about babies.” Eli smiles at me before continuing, “I was saying it would’ve been nice to wait a while longer, enjoy married life with just the two of us, and then talk about having a family after a few years. What are your thoughts on the subject, Campbell?”
Campbell doesn’t hesitate. “I think it’s great you’re pregnant. The sooner you start, the more you can have. Am I right?” The excitement in his voice rises near the end as he looks back and forth between Eli and me.
“You make an excellent point, Campbell. What do you suppose is a good number for a family?” Eli leans against the counter, enthralled.
Just like Eli said, Campbell’s answer is immediate. “At least four kids. Or six. I’ve always thought you should keep it even. That way, no one is the odd man out.”
Sweetest Heartbreak (Sweetness Book 1) Page 20