He froze, his heart stuttering at her words. He forgot everything she'd said, except the last seven of them. "You've fallen in love with me?"
Her face paled. "God, no—" But then she stopped, horror flashing across her face. "Have I?" She stared at him, her eyes wide as she searched his gaze. "Oh, God. I have, haven't I?" She sat back, staring at him in shock. "Damn. I so did not mean to do that."
He laughed suddenly, the deepest, truest laugh he'd felt in a long time. He grabbed her around the waist and tugged her down beside him, flipping her under him. He grinned down at her, suddenly feeling like a giddy little kid. "You are the cutest human being on the planet."
She wrinkled her nose at him. "This isn't funny, Travis. This is tragic! Falling in love was completely against my rules and my plans, and everything I'd carefully thought out."
He laughed again, unable to contain his sudden happiness. "Rules are meant to be broken, right?"
"Not all rules." She sighed and clasped her hands on top of her head, apparently oblivious to the fact he was stretched on top of her. "I have got to fix this."
"No." He leaned over her, encircling her wrists with his fingers. "Don't fix it. Love me. No one has ever loved me like that. It feels amazing."
She looked at him then, and he knew she was seeing him, really seeing him. "So, it's like a charity thing? Donate love to your cause so you can feel good?"
"Yeah. Exactly." He bent his head and kissed her, softly at first, and a little clumsily, because it was sort of difficult to kiss properly when he was still grinning.
Lissa sighed, a deep, beautiful sigh, as she capitulated and kissed him back. He couldn't contain himself, and the kiss quickly turned deep, passionate, and possessive. He'd never wanted to kiss like that before. He'd never burned so badly for that intimacy of a woman's mouth against his. He tangled his fingers in her hair, angling his head as his smile faded and his need to kiss her properly mounted.
Not a proper kiss. A perfect kiss. One that was worthy of the woman she was. Soft. Tender. Seductive. Respectful. Passionate. Honest. Loving—
He stopped suddenly, his mouth stilling on hers.
Loving.
She loved him. This amazing woman had opened her heart to him. She didn't deserve a kiss that was soft, tender, seductive, or any of the other adjectives he'd impressed himself with.
She deserved a kiss that was about love.
Love.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
He pulled back to look at her. "You deserve to be loved," he said.
Lissa nodded. "Everyone does." She frowned, her hands stilling on his shoulders, where they'd gone when he kissed her.
For a long moment, Travis said nothing, but Lissa could see the growing tension on his face. Her heart tightened. "What is it?"
"I don't have the ability to love like you deserve." His face was tormented, raw with emotion that made her heart turn over. The pain on his face was evident, and she knew it came from deep within him, a place so broken and shattered that he couldn't even breathe without it hurting him.
No wonder she'd fallen in love with him. A man who had endured what he had, who had held himself apart from others his entire life, so terrified of being hurt and betrayed. And yet, he'd given so much of himself to her and Bridgette, without even realizing he was doing it. She framed his face in her hands. "I think you're wrong. You do have that capability."
"Wrong?" He searched her face. "Lissa, don't expect from me what I can't give. I'll only disappoint you, and you deserve so much more."
She shook her head. "You don't see what I see. You're kind. You're thoughtful." She laid her hand on his chest, over his heart. "You've shown me your heart so many times, even if you didn't mean to. That's love, Travis."
"What about not showing up tonight? What about hurting you when I'd promised to come, and I didn't show?"
She sighed. "That's part of love, too. Love isn't perfect."
"Love is about hurting people that matter to you? Like Rand? Like you loved him, and he destroyed you?"
She tensed. "This isn't about Rand. I was young and—"
"And you loved him. So, love hurts. It destroys. It kills." He shook his head. "No, I know about that kind of love, and that's not love. That's hell." He pulled back, putting distance between them. "Damn, Lissa, maybe I do love you. Maybe the reason I'm so freaking happy when I'm with you is because I love you. Maybe you're right. But hell, Lissa, I can't live with myself if I cause you pain."
She sat up, panic beginning to build as Travis stood up. "You can't live fully without pain, Travis. It's part of the journey."
"I can't do that to you. I can't live it myself. I can't go through that." He backed up. "I'm sorry, Lissa. I can't fucking do this. I can't." Before she could stop him, he was climbing down the ladder, disappearing from her sight, leaving Lissa stunned.
She knew he wasn't coming back.
Unlike the other times, she knew that this time, he wasn't coming back.
She hadn't chased Rand. She'd been too hurt and too pathetic to fight. Too much pride to beg. Too much shame to ask. All these years, she'd wondered what would have happened if she'd fought for him. Would it have made a difference, or would it have ended the same?
She heard Travis's boots thud on the deck, and she squeezed her eyes shut, her heart pounding. Should she go after him? Beg him not to leave? Shout at him not to give up? Kiss him into staying? Was she stupid to give up on him just because he wasn't perfect? Shouldn't she fight for him? For them? For what they have?
Yes.
She leapt to her feet and raced across the roof. She leaned over the edge, and saw Travis running down the outside stairs.
Running. He wasn't standing there tormented, warring with his fear of staying and his desire to stay. He was running from her, after she'd told him she loved him.
She gripped the railing, her heart beginning to crumble as she watched him race for the ground. Didn't she deserve a man who wanted her enough to fight for her, instead of always running away? She'd waited for Rand for so long, and then she'd traded it for waiting for Travis. Tonight he'd come after three hours, but how many times would he put her through that? Would she always wonder if today was the day he wouldn't come back? If this tour was the one he'd never come home from?
She watched as he reached the ground and began to walk across the sparse earth toward his truck, which was parked beside the back of her building. The truck that wasn't his, because it was rented. Like all of his life. Rented hotel rooms. Rented concert halls. Rented security at each stop.
He was a man without roots...and all she wanted was roots. She wanted to live here, and give Bridgette the foundation she'd never had. She wanted Bridgette to be so surrounded with a support system that she'd always have someone to go to, even if something happened to Lissa.
Travis reached the truck and looked back. She met his gaze, and tensed. This was the moment. The moment for her to call out and try to stop him. To shout her love from the rooftop. To beg him to at least try.
Her throat burned with the need to cry out, but she said nothing. She couldn't make the words come. As she stood there, staring across the night at the man she loved, she realized that it had to come from him. She couldn't make him stay, and she couldn't live with the fear that he might leave at any moment.
He had to decide to stay. He had to decide he couldn't live without her. He had to decide that she was worth fighting for.
It had to come from him.
So, she let him go.
Chapter 20
Travis couldn't make himself get in the truck.
He couldn't take his gaze off Lissa, standing silhouetted on the roof, under the light of the moon.
His chest hurt. He couldn't breathe. He needed her with every fiber of his being.
And that absolutely fucking terrified him.
What if he failed her? What if he hurt her, like he had tonight when he'd been so late, struggling with his own baggage? He knew he would hurt
her. He was too fucked up. He could never be the easy, nice guy she deserved. He might hate performing, but he knew he wasn't going to quit his tour. Hundreds of thousands of fans had bought tickets to his shows already, fans like Nick who were counting on him showing up. There was no way he could walk away from that. He owed them, which meant he'd almost never be here with Lissa and Bridgette. They would put their lives on hold for him, while he blew them off. What the fuck kind of man did that? What kind of man let people who loved him suffer?
His father had done that. His mother had done that. They hadn't given a shit. What if he caused Lissa the kind of pain that had haunted him his whole life? His body went numb at the thought. He knew he would hurt her. He'd be late. He'd be uncommunicative. He'd be angry, bitter, and defensive at times. He'd already seen how he could affect her. Was he willing to make her endure him all the time?
No. Hell, no.
He wouldn't do that. Unlike his parents, he did give a shit. He wouldn't be like them.
Fuck them.
With a low growl, he turned away, jammed his hand into his pocket, and grabbed his keys. With one click, he unlocked the truck, the chirp loud and obnoxious in the stillness of the night. He opened his door to climb in, but he couldn't stop himself from pausing to look up at the roof again, at Lissa, still standing there, still watching him, giving him the chance to change his mind.
He put his hand over his heart, and spoke quietly, words he'd never burden her with. "I love you, Lissa."
The words drifted into the night, too quiet to reach her.
He let them fade into silence.
Then he got in his truck and drove away.
Lissa hadn't cried when Travis had driven away.
She hadn't felt sorry for herself.
She hadn't moped.
She hadn't done any of the things that she'd done when Rand had left. Instead, she'd chopped vegetables, made chili, baked pies, and focused intently on doing everything she could to shore up the foundation of her life.
But now it was the evening rush, and she was behind, exhausted, and near tears. It was the busiest night she'd had at the café, and she was completely overwhelmed. She needed his help. She needed him to be in the kitchen, washing her dishes. She needed the anticipation of knowing that he would be there later, to hug her, to remind her that she was capable, amazing, and awesome.
Damn him for making her need him.
Nearly at a run, she bolted into the kitchen to check on the meals, and then almost screamed in terror when she saw three massive men in her kitchen.
Stocktons. Not Travis. Other ones. Chase, and two others she didn't know, but whose bone structure and eyes made it clear who they were. One was at her grill, one was at the sink, and Chase was studying the menu.
She cleared her throat. "Um...Excuse me?"
Chase looked up, and he grinned at her, flashing her those same blue eyes that were so much like the man she loved. "Travis called me and said you'd need help tonight. Steen and Zane had stuff going on, but these two miscreants had nothing to do, so I brought them with me." He jerked his head at the brother at the grill. "Ryder has the kitchen skills, so he's on the grill."
The brother apparently named Ryder looked up, and nodded at her. He was wearing faded jeans and old boots. His plaid shirt was rolled up to the elbows, revealing muscular forearms so typical of the Stockton men. His dark blond hair was a little long, and he looked a little ragged, like he'd spent weeks out on a cattle drive and had just come in for a shower and a meal before heading back. There was something unrefined and elemental about him, almost uncivilized. His jaw was hard, his eyes a steely blue, much paler than Chase or Travis's. "Evenin'."
She managed a nod. "Hi."
"Maddox has no social skills and no kitchen skills, so he gets dish duty."
The brother at the sink gave her a nod. "Hey." He was as rough and rugged as Ryder, a bit shorter and stockier, but there was something about his eyes that was haunted, twisted with the kind of pain she knew was a part of these men's lives.
"I'll help with the serving and taking orders. Can't be that hard, right?" Chase looked around. "Got a notepad anywhere?"
Wordlessly, still stunned by their appearance in her kitchen, Lissa handed him the notepad and pen she'd been holding. "Travis asked you to come? When?" Her throat was tight, and she felt like she was going to cry. She needed help so badly, and three tormented, loner Stocktons had walked into her café to help her.
"He just called an hour ago, or we'd have been here sooner." Chase winked at her. "We got this, Lissa. Don't worry."
"I—" She swallowed. "I don't know what to say. I can't pay you all—"
"Pay?" Chase laughed, as Ryder watched her, his pale blue eyes probing deeply. "We don't want money. That's not why we're here. Travis called and said you were part of us now. That means we stand by you. You need help, so we're here. Let's go."
"A part of you? What does that mean?"
"You're under our protection." Chase grabbed two burgers that Ryder had just plated with astonishing finishing touches, and strode out of the kitchen, even though he had no idea what table to take them to.
Under their protection? The Stocktons? Seriously?
Her throat tight, Lissa threw herself at Ryder, giving him a hug. "Thank you!" He was stiff under her hug, but she didn't care. She did the same for Maddox, who also didn't appear to know how to hug her back, but she knew it didn't matter. Stockton men might not know how to hug, but they still deserved them. "You guys are the best!"
Her heart light for the first time since Travis had driven away, she raced after Chase, her mind still spinning at the realization that Travis had called his brothers for help. Travis, who made a point of not connecting with his brothers had reached out to them on her behalf.
For her.
He'd driven away, left her behind, and yet, he'd asked his brothers to help her, knowing exactly what she needed. Help. Family. Connection.
He'd given her everything...except himself.
Chapter 21
Travis had lost the skills that he'd spent his life acquiring.
He knew how to toughen up, to deal with crap, to not care, or let it affect him.
But after driving away from Lissa's last night, he was a fucking wreck.
He'd barely made it through his interviews. His second children's concert had been a disaster. And he could barely manage eye contact with the fans standing in line for his autograph. He'd been there for two hours, signing autographs for strangers who, for reasons he still couldn't fathom, wanted his name scrawled on something they owned. His CD. A tee shirt. A hat. Shoes. Why did they want his signature? Why did it matter?
Shit. He didn't want to be here. He was tired and—
"Travis?"
He wearily held out his hand, barely noticing the woman standing in front of him. She was the last one in line, and then he was finished. "Who do you want it made out to?"
"Annie. Annie Stockton."
Travis's gaze snapped to the woman's face, and then he went cold. Absolutely fucking cold.
His mother was standing in front of him.
The mother who'd screamed insults and epithets at his father for saddling her with a loser kid that she had to support. The mother who'd left him with the abusive drunk who'd fathered him. She'd walked out when he was six, and he hadn't heard from her since.
But he knew her instantly. The voice. The green eyes. It was her. She was older now, obviously, with harsh lines etched in her skin, even though she probably wasn't much past fifty, though he wasn't sure how old she even was. She was wearing jeans and cowboy boots, and a gaudy fuchsia pink shirt. Her necklace was a garish, fake gold, and her eyelashes were long and thick enough practically to touch her eyebrows.
He dropped his hand, his fingers curling into fists. "What do you want?"
She smiled, her bright red lips stretching over garishly white teeth. "Do you remember me?"
"Yeah. What do you want?" He wanted to turn and wal
k away, to shove her back into the memories he worked so hard not to think about. But he couldn't. She was standing in front of him. Right there.
Her smile faded. "I'm sorry."
Her apology was completely unexpected. For his entire life, he'd thought of her as nothing more than a cold, selfish woman who wasn't worth the energy of remembering her name. She'd been callous, relentless, and cruel. Never acknowledging any fault of hers, let alone apologizing. He didn't even know how to respond.
"Travis? Did you hear me?" She peered at him.
"What, exactly, are you sorry for?" The list was long.
"All of it."
Too easy. Too vague. Too insincere. "Name a couple things." Even one. Even one fucking thing.
"I'm sorry for failing you."
He had to look away then, emotions coming hard and fast. For failing him? Yeah, she'd failed him.
"I've been watching you. Tracking your career. When I saw you were coming to town..." She smiled again, hopefully, tentatively. "I thought we could reconnect."
He looked at her then. "You've known where to find me all this time, since the day you walked out, and you never thought to reach out?" Tight fury was laced in his voice, edged with the steel of a thousand years of pain.
She sighed, her fingers tightening around a shiny, black handbag. "What could I say? I didn't deserve forgiveness. I didn't want to ruin your life any more than I already have."
His throat tightened, and he felt like he couldn't breathe. The words sounded right. His own mother. Asking forgiveness. Apologizing. Admitting she was wrong. Jesus. After all this time? "Why now?" So much to say, and at the same time, nothing to say.
"Because you are here. Because you came home." She smiled again, and there was something in her eyes that caught him. A feral glint that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
A Real Cowboy Never Walks Away (Wyoming Rebels Book 4) Page 18