by Garren, Jax
Her skin felt brittle, like ancient glass that would break apart with the least pressure, leaving her insides exposed and deeply vulnerable. Had she really misjudged him so badly for all those years? Or had living with Erica changed him, brought out the worst in him?
Did it matter? Because the result was the same. “Life isn’t just about having fun.”
“Why not? What else is there?” He smiled, and for the first time ever, it didn’t capture her, not even a little bit.
She studied his face as if she’d never seen it before, or at least never really seen the man behind it. Sixty seconds ago, she’d been near breaking something sacred, and for what? A spoiled boy who didn’t know what keeping faith meant.
Shrugging him off roughly, she stepped away. “Goodbye, Lincoln. This party’s over for me. I won’t be coming back.” She could feel the pressure of tears building behind her eyes as she made it to the door.
“Wait, Carrie! What about—”
She turned back and held up a hand. “Unless you want something really embarrassing published in a widely-read local paper, I recommend you stop talking now.” Tears fell down her face, and she didn’t care. “And I also recommend you stay with your wife and raise your baby and figure out that sometimes life isn’t ‘fun,’ but decent people deal with it anyway.”
The last thing she saw before the door shut between them was her ex, crumpled in his chair like a broken doll. Part of her felt sorry for him and his childish outlook. Most of her hated him for not being the man she’d expected him to be. But then, he never had been, had he? She’d seen what she wanted to see and carried some fairy-tale version of him in her head.
How could she have been so stupid and so blind for all those years? And what had she nearly done? Fury and self-loathing filled her, pushing everything else aside. She gathered up her skirt and hurried back to the main rooms—
—Where Brett the practically perfect was waiting for her with two glasses and a smile that quickly morphed into concern. “What’s wrong?”
“Don’t. Don’t be nice to me. I don’t deserve it.” She hurried past him to the stairs, tripping her way up toward the front door, nearly ripping the magnificent dress in her haste.
“Wait!” He was following her. Brett was so innocent. So good. She couldn’t tell him where she’d been. He would be hurt and he would know what a fool she was and he would leave. She couldn’t stand being left again, especially not now when she deserved it.
Ignoring the coat check—she’d buy Lora a new cloak—she rushed outside and into the rapidly chilling night. On the circular drive she halted. She didn’t have a taxi.
Brett came out behind her, glasses gone. “What’re you doing? It’s freezing out here.” He took his jacket off and tried to put it around her shoulders. She pushed him away.
“No, Brett. Just go back inside.”
“How are you getting home? You’re in no state to drive. What happened?”
“You wouldn’t understand. So just go.”
He stilled. “Did he hit on you?”
Shocked, she stopped, floundering. “How do you…Why do you think…” As her voice choked off, his jaw clenched in anger, and his jovial eyes hardened like they had in the mall with that mother. But this was much worse. So deeply much worse. She shook her head, trying to play it off. “Why would anyone ‘hit on’ me? I’m just the reporter.”
Though Brett’s expression kept the furious edge, his voice was consoling. “Carrie, I know Lincoln Bryant left his first wife after she had a miscarriage, making him a cad of the highest degree. I wasn’t trying to pry into your personal business, but word gets around.” His jaw set and his voice turned into a jealous growl. “I also saw how he was looking at you all night.”
Telling him what had happened was not going to go well. Her tears fell again, hard and fresh. She deserved every bit of his fury, but she couldn’t take it.
His voice softened again. “It’s going to be all right. Put on the jacket and let me take you home.” He looked darkly back at the house, for once no joy or humanitarian concern on his face. “I’ll come back later to get your coat and have a talk with him.”
Lincoln deserved whatever Brett had to say. But Brett couldn’t come back here not knowing what had really happened. She wrapped her arms around herself, wishing she could disappear. “No. It’s fine. He didn’t… Okay, he did, but it’s my fault. I—I came here, and—”
He turned to her, incredulous. “You came to the party? Yes, God forbid you show your face in public. That could have dire consequences.” He huffed a disgusted breath and gently took her arms, smoothing his warm palms up and down the chilled flesh. “Don’t blame yourself for anything that idiot did.”
“You don’t understand. I almost said yes.” Her voice was overloud, practically yelling it at him.
He jerked back like she’d hit him. His soothing grip on her shoulders turned stiff as his face blanched. Once more she could read his emotions as they crossed his eyes—anger and frustration. Disappointment. Rage.
Unbelievably, it was indeed possible for her to feel worse. She pulled out of his grip and turned away. “I’m getting a cab.”
“But you didn’t.” The thread of hope in his voice stopped her. “Say yes, I mean. You and he didn’t…”
The beginning was out, she might as well give him the whole truth. She turned away, unable to face him. “He kissed me. I didn’t stop him.” She took a deep breath. The cold air settled into her lungs, numbing her. “He wanted more, but that’s when I said no. He said he wanted to leave her and come back to me for good. But I realized I didn’t want that. That’s not my life. I don’t even want it to be.” She’d found something so much better and then gone and broken it. “I didn’t even know about Erica yet. That poor baby. His dad doesn’t want him. How could I have ever loved someone who’d do that?” She buried her face in her hands.
His grip on her bicep squeezed, not brutally but firmly, as he turned her to face him. That alpha presence he hid so well came back in full force, soothing her with his strength. “Remember the story I told you about how my ears got cut? I left out the part where I almost killed the man who did this before I left the island. I wanted to do it. I had the opportunity to—I made sure I did. But I didn’t go through with it. And I am a better man for having wanted that and walked away than a man who never had to fight the temptation. We can’t always control what we want. We can control what we do about it.”
She gulped. Brett had nearly killed someone? It was hard to imagine. Or at least it had been when he didn’t have that fierce look in his eyes. The one that said he had a force of nature in him hidden just below the veneer of silly joy.
“No,” he said, once again sure of himself. “You walked away. Hold your head high. You and me? We’re fine.” He pulled her close.
For a moment she leaned into his chest, reveling in the warmth and wonderful winter scent of him. He made her feel cared for, like she was something special.
But she was too damaged, and Brett was too good, too sweet despite what he said, for the salt and vinegar of her life. She could never hold on to something this good. She had to let it go now before it went too far and the end hurt too much.
She looked at the long driveway in front of her and at the hill behind. Down the hill was a gas station where she could meet a taxi. Trekking rocky terrain in the dark may not be the smartest thing, but she’d made the walk many times when she’d lived here. By road, the gas station was well over a mile away. The hill it was, then.
She pulled away from Brett’s arms and shrugged out of the jacket he’d finally slipped around her, mourning the loss of his scent almost as much as the warm circle of his arms. “I’ll get the dress cleaned and send it to your law firm. Thank you for the use of it. It cleared some things up for me.”
“The dress is a gift.”
“One I can’t accept. You’re a good man, Brett. It’s been good knowing you.” She blushed, embarrassed by her next words, but
she said them anyway, “I think I’ll remember you as an elf. A little magic in a dreary world is a good thing.”
“Don’t walk away. Please, Carrie.” He whispered her name as she turned toward the cedar brush.
Blocking him out as best she could, she debated removing her shoes. Though heels would make progress hard, the ground was probably too cold and rocky to walk barefoot on. “I can’t. I’m sorry, but I can’t. I told you I’m not the right girl for you.”
She picked up the tail of her dress to keep it from dragging through the dust and tottered around the boulders. The weather grew colder by the moment, and as the air chilled her shoulders, face and calves, she wished she’d taken the time to get Lora’s cloak. But going back now was emotionally not an option. In less than ten minutes she’d be at the gas station. She’d call for a cab as soon as she got there. Right now, she just needed to put as much distance between herself and tonight’s events as possible.
She glanced back for one final look before the trees blocked her vision. Instead of the house, however, she sought Brett. His silhouette stood out darkly against the lights of the party, dominating the landscape around him. His eyes were closed and his narrow face tilted up to the stars as the wind tossed his hair back into its natural dishevel. With his slim hips and tall stature, she imagined delicate elf ears in place of the scars.
They fit him so well she could almost believe.
He ran his hands through his hair and cocked his head, like he listened to something mere mortals couldn’t hear. His eyes opened, reflecting brightly in the moonlight. He was sublime, a thing of nature. She ducked into the trees before he caught her staring.
Well after the ten minutes it used to take to reach the gas station, Carrie was lost and freezing. The landscape had changed too much; her old signposts were gone or altered beyond recognition. The wind whipped the trees into a frenzy, swaddling her in prickly cedar and relentless cold. She sat on a boulder to catch her breath or maybe just to give up, call Lora and try to explain the series of events that led her to be lost and freezing on a hillside.
Coming this way had been hasty and stupid. Lora would be pissed but eventually she’d get her off this godforsaken hill.
But it wasn’t Lora she wanted right now. Carrie inhaled and exhaled slowly. She’d blown that bridge to shreds. Performing as a mall elf for fun was one kind of crazy; nearly screwing your married ex-husband and then wandering down a deserted hill sometime around midnight was another crazy entirely.
The night sky provided the only light, and it danced dark shadows across the trees with barely a whisper reaching the ground. Her shoes were ruined, but luckily she hadn’t destroyed the dress. At least she didn’t think she had. She’d find out in the morning, if she ever got out of here. She had to stand up, figure out which direction was down and go that way. Hell, if she just walked one direction she’d eventually find something.
She puffed hot air into her hands and rubbed them on her shoulders, trying to fight the growing numbness. Maybe she’d call Brett in the morning and apologize. She could tell him she’d gone crazy—no lie there—not because of the house, but because she was terrified of losing him. So she left first. But why would he take her back after she admitted she was too scared to go the distance? It would be stupidly hopeful on his part to expect better of her after she’d let him down. Kinda like she’d expected better of Lincoln.
The cold fact remained that she couldn’t honestly tell Brett she’d never get scared again. It would be a lie, and he deserved the truth.
Her insecurity didn’t stop her from wanting him, though. She wanted to be a stronger person for him and for herself, so she could let love happen. She wanted to love and be loved again. And Brett was special. They wouldn’t merely be fun, they’d be wondrous together. Epic, just like he’d said.
Closing her eyes, she wished with all she had inside her for Brett and his kindness and his joy to find her now. She wished so hard that his name escaped her lips like a murmured prayer.
The trees rustled and the birds cawed, and she was alone on a hill. Stupid magical thinking. She needed to get down the hill. Hoisting herself back up, she winced when her left ankle strap cut into her skin and tried to pick a direction.
“Carrie?” The voice blew on the wind so in tune with the movement that it seemed a part of the gale. She lifted her head. There was no way he’d heard her.
And yet… “Brett? Is that you?” Or was she hallucinating? Because she wouldn’t put that past herself right now.
“Carrie,” echoed from a different side this time, impossibly far from the first call but closer to where she was. But it was his voice with its quiet power. Either that or she was going completely insane.
Still, she called loudly this time, “Brett! Brett Vertanen! I’m here! Find me! Please!”
“Carrie Martin.” The voice was right in front of her.
And so was Brett, with no sound of footsteps or moving branches or crunching leaves to betray his path. The air felt charged, like lightning had struck. Energy tickled across her skin then dissipated as quickly as it had come.
With a somber face, he wrapped his tux jacket around her shivering shoulders, and the woods seemed lighter with him near. She collapsed against him, and he held her securely while she cried sobbing tears that ripped from deep inside.
As her tears slowed and calm replaced the ache, his lips pressed gently against her forehead. “Come home with me,” he said. “Please. Don’t make me leave you alone tonight.”
She hesitated, wavering on the edge between hope and despair. But she knew which way she’d fall—she’d picked despair long ago and change was hard. She looked away from his expectant face, down to the ground where he couldn’t meet her eyes. But what she saw there jolted her mood, resetting the delicate balance. “Why are you barefoot? It’s freezing.”
His toes dug into the ground like a sun worshipper on the beach. “It feels good to me.”
A few tiny flakes of white stuck to his hair and shoulders. She reached out incredulously to touch them, and each fleck melted with the heat of her fingers. “Is it snowing? In Austin?”
Brett smiled up at the sky. “Sometimes I miss it.”
Carrie let him go so she could limp around in a circle and see the drops fluttering in the wind. “Did you…” She felt ridiculous. Did he make it snow? Of course not. And he was crazy for going shoeless in a snowstorm. But there he was, with his ethereal face still tilted up, eyes closed, enjoying the snowflakes as they tumbled across his skin.
He opened his eyes slowly and looked back at her. “I have another gift to give you, if you’ll accept it.” He reached into his slacks and pulled out a ring box.
Carrie laughed nervously as the little gray cube clicked open. Inside was a platinum ring with a snow-white opal, glowing with hints of blue, brown, and green. “Is that…?”
He shook his hand, stalling her. “It’s not exactly what you think. You might call it a—a hope ring. Where I come from, you wear this for a year and a day, and then get married or go your separate ways. Ring first. Then the decision. It’s backwards from here, I know.” He trailed off and examined her for a reaction. His own expression showed nothing but that same shy certainty that he wanted to give her this gift. She didn’t know what to say. After a moment of her confused silence, he spoke again. “I wasn’t going to ask like this. I was going to give you a little more time out of respect for your culture—not much, mind you, that would be disrespectful on my part—but I want you to understand how serious I am. You probably don’t believe I can know what I’ll want five, ten, twenty years from now. But you’re wrong. I knew when I met you.”
She stared at the ring, scared and yet covetous. Reason screamed that this was a terrible idea, even if it wasn’t a normal engagement ring. Her heart feared that it would all go wrong and insisted she run away.
And yet that voice inside, the one her mother of the cha-cha-ing cat paper referred to as her “soul’s voice,” insisted she c
ouldn’t let him pass by, that the only right answer here was “Yes.” Eyes misting, Carrie tried to sort through the conflict for an answer.
Her eyes must have betrayed her panic because he began to fill the silence with nervous words. “It was my great-great-grandmother’s. Her husband made it for her. He was a smith. They said he was the best of his generation. You can look at it if you want without putting it on. See what you think.” He stood still, his eyes pleading as the snow swirled around his handsome frame, and she waited for the punch line or the demand. The jerk of reality that inevitably cut through the fairy tale.
When it didn’t come, she asked, “Did Ryssa wear this?”
His jaw worked for a moment before he nodded. “For two weeks. It’s what panicked her brother into action. Does that bother you?”
“No. No, not at all. Are you kidding? I was married. I’m not upset that you were serious about somebody else in the past. Just curious. Anyone else in between?”
“No.”
“Then why me? Why now?”
“I love you.”
Tears mixed with the snow that melted against her fevered skin. “You can’t love me. You don’t know me well enough.”
“Yes, I do.”
“You’re asking a bitter, thirty-year-old divorcée to believe in love at first sight, Brett.” He nodded but didn’t say anything. She huffed out a frustrated breath. “That’s like believing in magic or in”—she waved a hand at him—“elves.”
“All things that are rare. But real.”
Her laugh sounded more like a groan. There was the thing, the crazy, the deal-breaker. “You’re telling me you’re an elf. A real, magic-flinging, Lord of the Rings elf.”
He licked his lips. “I didn’t say that.”
Anger, fearful and irrational, ignited at the lack of answer. “Well, then, why don’t you just say one way or another? Are you an elf, Brett?” She was crazy for asking it as a serious question, but somewhere in her addled brain it had become possible.