by Jade Kerrion
But when was too much love ever a problem?
A pleasant voice, quavering with age, drew him back to the present. “Are you all right, sweetie?”
Cody turned his head to look at the elderly woman in the airplane seat next to him.
“You look awfully tense.” She gave a meaningful look at his fisted hands. “It’s okay to be nervous on planes, but it’s really quite safe, you know.”
He forced himself to relax and unclench his fists. “Yeah, I know.”
The woman smiled. “Are you visiting New Jersey or going home?”
Cody hesitated before replying. “I’m going to find the woman I love.” Despair edged through him. And tell her…what?
~*~
Felicity lounged on her bed in an oversized sweatshirt and gray leggings, her smartphone held to her ear as she browsed her bank account statements online. “I can’t thank you enough for what you did for my financial situation,” she said.
“All I needed was a bit of capital to work with,” Drew responded. “Fortunately, your stint in Boulder gave that to you.”
It gave me a whole lot more than money. It also cost me more than I expected.
The doorbell buzzed, but Felicity ignored it. Her roommate, Stacie, had a large and varied collection of boyfriends. No doubt the visitor at the door was part of Stacie’s Sunday evening stable of boyfriends.
“I wouldn’t say you’re home free,” Drew continued. “The loans will eat up a large part of your earnings for the next ten years, but barring unforeseen disasters, you’ll be able to pay them off and save for your own future at the same time.”
“Can’t ask for more. How are you and Maggie doing?”
“We’re both enjoying Milan. Maggie’s fluent in Italian, of course, but I’ve picked up enough so that she doesn’t have to keep speaking on my behalf. On the weekends, we usually head out into the countryside. Maggie’s keen on buying a home in Tuscany. A former vineyard.”
“Really?” Felicity tried to imagine the practical Drew and the glamorous Maggie owning a vineyard in Tuscany. The image should have been incongruous, but it seemed to suit the both of them.
The doorbell was still buzzing. She frowned into her smartphone. Wasn’t Stacie going to get that door? “Hey, Drew,” she interrupted him. “Can you hold on a minute? Someone’s at the front door.” She walked out of her bedroom, went to the apartment door, and looked out through the peephole.
Her heart lurched. Cody.
Her smartphone starting vibrating in her hand. Cody was trying to call her. Felicity sighed and brought the phone back to her ear. “Drew, I’ve got to go. Someone’s here.”
“All right. Talk later.”
She disconnected the call and took a deep breath to smooth her composure before swinging the door open. “Hello, Cody.”
“You didn’t tell me you’d left.”
“I wasn’t aware I had to report my movements to my ex-boyfriend.”
The anger in his face shriveled into quiet sadness. “How about just sharing your plans with a friend—one of your oldest friends?”
“Because he might feel obligated to share his life with me, and to be honest, I didn’t want to know how he was doing.”
An emotion passed across Cody’s face so quickly that she did not have time to decipher it. “Okay, so how about you talk, I listen.”
Felicity shook her head. “I don’t need a therapist.”
“Damn it, Felicity, I’m trying to do something, anything, to get a breakthrough.”
“I don’t need or want a breakthrough.”
“Can I come in, please?”
Felicity stared at him and then, rather grudgingly, stepped aside. “Just for a few minutes. Do you want anything to drink? I have tea, coffee, milk, juice.”
“Nothing, I’m fine.” He stood in the middle of the small apartment she shared with Stacie. “So you managed to move back in here?”
“Stacie’s apparently not very good at finding roommates who are reliable with the rent. The last one just left, and it seemed easiest to come back here, at least for a while, until I find something more permanent.” She walked into her bedroom. She needed to be in her territory. She needed to be where she thought she could be strongest. It had taken everything in her to walk away from Cody once before. She couldn’t afford to be lured back, however much she wanted him and his family.
He followed her into her bedroom. “Did you find a job yet?”
She turned to face him. “I’ve got a temp job as an executive assistant in a legal firm, while she’s out on maternity leave.”
“And when she gets back?”
“I’ll find another job,” Felicity told him in a level tone. “I don’t need to be rescued, Cody. I never did.”
“I know that. You didn’t come to Boulder for the job. You came to Boulder to learn how not to hate me.”
“That’s right. Job done; mission accomplished. Time to go home.” She sighed. “I don’t hate you. I just…”
“You just want to stop loving me.’” He completed her sentence for her.
She shook her head and then laughed at the startled expression on his face.
“I love you, Cody. I can’t turn love or hate on and off like a faucet. It’s just—we’re not good together. Your high-risk job. My neuroses about people dying around you—”
“You know, just breathing is dangerous. People don’t need a crazy job to get killed. Life is full of uncertainty and risk—”
“Yes, but how many people actively seek it out the way you do? You’re addicted to it.” She shook her head sharply. “I know you didn’t come here to argue, and you should know me well enough to know that I’m not walking back into that situation, so why are you here?”
“I wanted to tell you about what happened that day.”
“I read the report. They said the helicopter was hovering too low and too close to the side of the mountain when the avalanche came down. The pilot got disoriented and hit the mountain.”
“Right. I was on the ground when the avalanche came down. I did all the things I was trained to do. Dumped my gear to reduce my weight. Backstroked uphill to try to stay on top of the snow, but I got buried anyway. It took me two hours to crack an opening to the surface, and after that, it was just a matter of time before I got out.”
“Okay…” Why was he telling her this?
“It was you. You got me through it.”
“What?”
“The edge. We both found our edge that day. Buried in the snow, knowing that it would quickly harden like concrete around me, I was certain I wasn’t going to make it. It was hard not to panic, but I kept seeing your face in my head, like you were the solid ground extending beyond the edge, keeping me from falling.” He paused. “You helped me survive that day.”
“I’m glad,” she said woodenly. “And I’m sure you’ll find someone else to be that edge extender for you.”
“Not sure I’ll need one now, at least not in the same way. I quit my job.”
Her jaw dropped. Her lips moved, but she could not quite find her voice for several moments. “But you love your job.”
“Yeah, I was hooked on the adrenaline high. At first I figured…you know—” He shrugged. “I thought that if I gave you space and some time, you’d eventually get used to my job and the kinds of risks I take.”
“I don’t think I could have.”
“No, because it wasn’t about the risks. It was about the consequences. Eric was right about one thing. I shouldn’t have wanted you to get used to the consequences. It would have changed you.” He reached out and took her into his arms. She did not resist. He caressed her hair and her back with the long, calming strokes he had used the day of the avalanche. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think about how it might affect you.”
“And won’t giving up your job affect you?”
“Compromise, right? That’s what relationships are built on.”
She stared at him, afraid to believe that it could be
that simple.
As if he had read her mind, he said, “It’s not going to be easy—I may be a grumpy bastard for a while—but I do know this. I looked forward to my Sundays with you far more than I did to my job, and it wasn’t just a case of missing you all week. I wanted…I still want to come home to you, whether it’s here or in Boulder.”
“Boulder?”
“You love my parents. I guess that means they can’t be all bad. We can be close by, but we’re not moving back into the mausoleum.”
She glared at him.
“I meant mansion. Mausoleum. Mansion. Whatever. They start with the same letter; it’s so easy to get confused.” Cody grinned. “We’ll find a little condo nearby, and you can go back to being the official Hart librarian and florist.”
“And you?”
Cody laughed. “I’m already the official Hart ne’er-do-well. I’ll keep Eric on his toes undoing all the havoc I’ll probably wreak on Hartwell Financial. He’ll be twice the financial genius he is today.” His smile gentled. “As long as I’m with you, we’ll find a way to get through this together. After all, I’d be crazy to face life without you at my side. Won’t you let me stay beside you, please?”
She stared at Cody—her fairy godfather in the guise of a punk kid, her lover, the man who had given her everything including the promise of a different future. She had no doubt it would be difficult—adrenaline was a drug, after all—but how could she deny him…deny them their chance at happiness?
Darrell would have wanted them to be happy. Together.
Felicity smiled and tilted her face up to his. Cody’s lips caressed hers with his breath—warm and teasing—before claiming her mouth. He wrapped his hand through her hair at the base of her neck; his other gripped her waist and held her close. His strength surrounded her as surely as she knew her strength anchored him.
He whispered against her cheek, “You extend my edge.”
Felicity threw her head back and laughed, the sound ringing with joy. “And that’s even better than ‘I love you,’ darling.”
Cody’s grin widened. The daredevil gleam was back in his eyes. “You know, I’ve always had a way with words.”
EPILOGUE
A black Mercedes coupe pulled into the driveway of a Georgian-style red-bricked home. Gabriel Cruz stepped out of his car, grabbed his briefcase from the trunk, and strode toward the front door. He paid no more attention to the black wooden panels accentuating the white window frames than he did to the colorful blossoms in the flowerbeds around the house. It was too dark to see either. Besides, his mind was far away, drilling down through the specifics of yet another Campbell divorce—the man’s third in as many years.
Why even bother getting married? Gabriel wondered as he let himself into his house.
The lighted chandelier in the entryway brightened the foyer although most of the house was dark and quiet. The children—eight-year-old Diego and five-year-old Marlena—were probably already in bed. Was Valeria still awake?
He glanced at his watch. 11 p.m. His wife was probably reading in the bedroom. Well, he wouldn’t disturb her—not when he had brought home piles of documents and desperately needed the time to work through them. His new paralegal, unfortunately, wasn’t nearly in the same class of efficiency as Felicity Rivers had been.
Gabriel found his dinner—lamb shank curry with jasmine rice and grilled vegetables—in the microwave, and an expensive Chianti, already uncorked, on the kitchen island, next to an empty wine glass. He smiled; Valeria had certainly put together his favorites that evening. He reheated his food and ate at the dining table, behind his open computer notebook. The Chianti kept him company as he plowed through his work with dogged tenacity in spite of a dull headache and raw fatigue.
It was almost 2 a.m. when Gabriel finally called it a day. He took his dishes into the spotless kitchen, loaded them into the dishwasher, and then turned to wipe down the kitchen island.
Only then did he notice the cream-colored envelope.
He opened it and withdrew a small card. Valeria’s familiar handwriting scrawled across the page. “Happy Anniversary. I want a divorce.”
DESIRED
At seventeen, Gabriel Cruz and Valeria Trevino exchanged promise rings and agreed on the grand plan for their life, including marriage, children, and a happily-ever-after. Twenty years later, “The Plan” is on track, and a key milestone—Gabriel’s partnership in a law firm—is within grasp, but Valeria derails their shared lives by demanding a divorce.
Valeria can’t explain her decision, but she is compelled by a desperate need for something more than they had agreed upon. What can they do when the foundation of their grand plan crumbles beneath them?
CHAPTER ONE
For the fifth time in as many days, Valeria Cruz awoke alone. Huddled beneath the quilts, she peered, bleary-eyed, over her shoulder. The bedsheets were cool and smooth on Gabriel’s side of the bed. The indentation of his head did not mark his pillow. The sheets, laundered yesterday, smelled of detergent instead of him.
If he had returned home last night, he had probably slept on the sofa bed in his study.
She sighed, her heart too heavy to string curse words into a coherent sentence.
Dawn peeked in through the window, small pockets of sunlight pooling upon the polished hardwood floors. In the next room, she heard her five-year-old daughter, Marlena, call out, “I’m starving! Get me breakfast, Diego!”
“Get yourself breakfast,” eight-year-old Diego retorted. “Mom! She’s bossing me around again.”
The patter of feet rushed down the corridor and into the master bedroom. Marlena, her dark hair loose about her face, scrambled into the bed and primly pulled down on her Disney Princess nightshirt to cover her thighs. “I want to cuddle.” She snuggled against Valeria with a smile that would have melted any heart.
“I thought you wanted breakfast,” Valeria said.
“I want Diego to get me breakfast. I want you to cuddle with me.”
“Ah.” Valeria concealed a smile. “Thank you for clarifying. We’ll cuddle for five minutes, then it’s time for breakfast.”
“Is there space for me?” Diego asked in a plaintive tone from the doorway.
“Of course,” Valeria said. Diego was eight, but as much a cuddleholic as anyone else in the family—as much as Gabriel had once been, but that was a long time ago. The memory was bittersweet, but she had no time to lose herself in memories. She had children now, and they needed her attention. She patted the other side of the bed. “Come on in.”
Diego scrambled in beside her. “Has Dad left for work?” he asked as he wrapped an arm around her waist.
“I suppose so,” Valeria said, although she did not know.
“Did you remind him about the school fair?”
“He knows about the school fair, baby. I put it on his calendar.”
“For the last time,” Diego huffed. “I’m not a baby.”
She stroked the black curls cropped close to his head. You will always be my baby, but you’re growing up so fast. “All right, my big boy.”
“I’m your baby!” Marlena offered with a wide grin. “And a princess.”
Diego cut in. “You’re just a little girl. You’re not a princess because Mom and Dad are not the queen and king.”
“You know, Diego, reality is a really nasty thing to smack your sister with first thing in the morning,” Valeria said, snatching at Marlena’s arms as she reached across Valeria’s body to scratch out her brother’s eyes. “Hold it, hold it. The Mommy Line is in effect.”
Marlena’s eyes opened wide. “The Mommy Line?” A smile crept over her face, transforming her usually serious expression into pixie-like cheekiness. Her voice dropped into a reverent whisper. “What happens when we cross the Mommy line?”
“You get tickled,” Diego intoned solemnly. “Isn’t that right, Mom?” His expression remained impressively neutral as his little hand inched across her stomach, obviously testing the integrity of the Mom
my Line.
Valeria lunged up to follow through on her threat. Diego doubled over in laughter and collapsed into helpless giggles. With a squeal of delight, Marlena threw herself at her brother, her little fingers wriggling into the sensitive spots under his arms and at his waist.
“All right, enough, enough!” Diego shouted. “I can’t breathe.”
“If you can talk, you can breathe,” Marlena said. “Mommy always says so.”
“Mom,” Diego whined. “She crossed the Mommy Line.”
Marlena’s eyes widened. “Uh-oh.” In a flash, she leapt off the bed and was halfway down the corridor to her bedroom before Valeria caught up with her and carried her, laughing and squealing, back to the bed to be thoroughly tickled.
The day began with laughter, shattering the melancholy of Valeria’s waking.
The lively chatter continued all the way downstairs. She saw an envelope on the kitchen island—the card she had left out for Gabriel last night. It did not even look like it had been disturbed, let alone read. Her breath caught.
Not now.
She shoved the note out of her mind and focused on getting her children fed, dressed, and out the door. Keeping her thoughts centered on her children was, however, easier said than done. Her gaze kept drifting back to the card. Had he seen it? Had he read its message?
Had he given a damn?
She ushered Marlena and Diego into her car for the fifteen-minute drive to their Montessori academy. She dispensed kisses and checked them in for the school day before returning home.
The return trip seemed longer and farther, although Valeria knew it was only her imagination at work. She busied herself cleaning the kitchen and restoring it to its pristine state. When every plate had been put away and every surface wiped down, she ran out of excuses.
Her hands suddenly cold, she reached for the envelope, opened it, and removed the card.
Happy anniversary, she had written. I want a divorce.
Her legs trembled beneath her, and she sank down to sit cross-legged upon the cold kitchen tiles. Valeria dragged her hands through her long, dark hair. Gabriel had forgotten their dinner date and failed to come home early as he had promised. Oh, God. Why had she written those words? Was it childish spite over the anniversary dinner she had painstakingly prepared going cold, or had the dinner been the last straw, the final insult in a marriage long gone cold?