Let Me Love You Again (An Echoes of the Heart Novel Book 2)

by Anna DeStefano

  A decade or so younger than Walter, a few years older than Oliver, Law’s handshake earlier had been firm, his energy intense but steady. He’d said he was recently married to the Chandler Elementary principal, which meant he likely knew Oliver’s family the same as almost everyone else in the room. The anonymity of AA only went so far in a small town.

  Law glanced over his shoulder toward the back. “Friend of yours?” he asked softly.

  “Not exactly, no.” Oliver fixed his attention on the next person from the crowd of twenty or so who’d walked to the front of the room.

  Law leaned in. “She’s here pretty regular, but no more than once a week. If that’s going to be a problem, check with Walter. He’ll have a line on other meetings for however long you’re in town.”

  Oliver nodded his thanks and crossed his arms, tuning in to the new speaker’s sobriety story. Except a part of him knew that Selena never got up, never moved. And that he couldn’t let her slip away again, not without trying to fix at least part of what he’d bungled yesterday.

  The meeting wound down. Walter invited people to stick around as long as they wanted, to grab something to drink or eat from another folding table sporting a coffee maker, bottled water, and a couple of bakery boxes from Dan’s filled with assorted pastries. If anyone needed a sponsor, there was a designated place across the room to deal with that, too. The smoking area was the alley out back.

  A blur at the edge of Oliver’s vision told him that Selena was on the move. He pushed his way through the crowd—ignoring several people offering a handshake or a welcome—and out the front door into the balmy night. He caught up to Selena as she reached her car.

  “I didn’t know you’d be here,” he said, winded from sprinting across the parking lot.

  “I believe you.” But she kept her back to him.

  Inserting her key, she unlocked the sedan that appeared to be someone’s Frankenstein approach to melding three, maybe four, different makes into one. The faded green paint on the trunk screamed at the different tints of blue that covered the rest. The two tires he could see didn’t match. Neither did the chrome on the front bumper and the faded metal on the fenders. From the way it sat, tilted slightly on its axles, someone had wrecked the poor thing more than once.

  “Talk to me.” Oliver stopped her from opening the driver’s door, his hand catching it near the top of the window. “Damn it. Just stand here with me for a minute. Help me figure some of this out.”

  She dropped her head and rolled her shoulders, supple muscles flexing beneath the deep red T-shirt she’d thrown on over tight jeans. Travis had said she was a runner, too. Every morning on the weekends. Damn, Oliver would give anything to see that. A sophisticated city girl turned and stared straight into him, wearing black, square-heeled boots. She planted her palm in the center of his chest and shoved him out of her personal space.

  “Figure what out?” she asked.

  “Hell if I know.” He kept his hands to himself by burying them in the back pockets of his jeans.

  “I don’t want to do this in public, Oliver.”

  “You don’t want to do it at all. You’re never going to want to, and this is the most privacy we’re likely to get for a while. I don’t know when I’ll have another break at the house, now that Dad . . .”

  “What’s happened with Joe?” She brushed his arm, her touch loving, her expression concerned.

  Oliver closed his eyes. “He needs a bypass, as soon as possible. I came here straight from the hospital.”

  “I’m so sorry. Your family . . .”

  “We’ll be fine.”

  That Oliver had no doubt about, with or without his help. Look at how they’d all been pulling together to support him the last few days. Nothing kept the Dixons down, or stopped them from taking care of their own.

  “But it’s going to be a rough go of it for a while,” he admitted. “And I don’t know what I’m going to do if Joe doesn’t . . .”

  He simply couldn’t say it.

  “I’m glad you had a meeting to come to.” Selena’s touch dropped away.

  “Travis’s friend Walter was pretty stand-up about it, meeting me at the door and smoothing the way. I had no idea that you . . . How long have you been in AA?”

  “Pretty much since I left town.” She scanned the quiet parking lot and then the star-shot sky overhead. “So far, my sobriety is one of the few things I don’t think the general public around here is keeping tabs on. I’m betting that’s going to change if you don’t let me get in my car and drive out of here.”

  Oliver’s fingers closed around her toned forearm instead. “It wasn’t my intention to ambush you tonight. Or at Belinda’s yesterday. I only wanted to get things out in the open and talk. But when I saw Camille up close, and she . . .” He forced himself to focus. “Can we give this another shot? I’m usually a lot better at dealing with people’s difficult issues.”

  “That’s what your website says. No computer problem’s too big or too broken for you to fix. You find a way to deal with one client’s difficulties, then you move on to someone else’s.”

  His website? “You’ve been googling me.”

  “No.” Embarrassment pinkened her cheeks. “A little. Not much. Marsha said something to my mom about how proud she and Joe were of you. I may have . . .”

  “Internet stalked me?

  “Once or twice.” Selena shoved soft, sleek hair behind her ear. “Besides, you positively reek of it now.”

  “What?”

  “Success. Control. Business. Everything about you—except your deplorable wardrobe—says you’re at the top of your game. A player to be reckoned with, running your own company. Not that I’m surprised as much as some people will be when word spreads. When I saw you the other morning I would have guessed you’d landed on your feet even if I hadn’t already known part of your story. I’ve been around enough of you.”

  “Enough of who?”

  “Corporate types. Movers and shakers. I can recognize one from a hundred paces, long before he throws a Hello Kitty Frisbee over my head. You’re eaten up with it, even if you look like you’ve slept in your clothes for three days. I bet you dominate whatever business environment a problem draws you into. And now your difficult issue is my daughter and dealing with her.”

  “For my family’s sake.”

  “I was inside just now. I heard how hard all of this is for you. Being home and leaving again soon. I’m assuming learning about Camille—maybe being a dad and not knowing what to do about it—is part of what’s thrown you for enough of a loop to need a meeting tonight.”

  “Okay. It’s personal for me. But I have my family to think about, too. And I know you’re worried about them, or you wouldn’t have avoided my folks for two months, or have looked so guilty at the hospital when you finally visited them.”

  Selena gazed over his shoulder to where the meeting was still going on. “The fact that Camille exists doesn’t mean our worlds have to be karmically linked forever. I never meant to hide her from your family. It wasn’t a conscious decision. I never thought I’d come back. Everyone was living their lives . . .”

  “But you did come back.”

  “Shit happens, Oliver. We were supposed to have been long gone by now.”

  “Yet you stayed.” And that reality seemed to be messing with her as much as him. “It scares me, too, Selena. I still don’t know how to wrap my head around what family means. Or what it doesn’t. But . . . I don’t want to just run again, not until I’ve figured some of this out.”

  Selena squinted up at him. “I’m happy you want to give Chandlerville and your family a second chance to be in your life. But you don’t know if you can actually go through with that, do you? And I’m terrified of what that might mean for my daughter.”

  “I’m just asking for a chance,” he pressed. “Hear me and my family out—the way you listened to me inside. You’ve always been able to see me, understand me, like no one else could. Do that again,
Selena. I’m not a bad guy. I’m not out to hurt you or Camille, and neither is my family.”

  She seared him with her disbelief. “Are you telling me you could rock your world and be a hands-on father if Camille is yours? Because unless you can, I’m trying—I’ve been trying since Tuesday—to understand how there’s anything but heartache ahead for my daughter if we take her down this path.”

  “Having Marsha and Joe as grandparents would be a good thing for Camille,” he hedged. “Look how happy she is with Belinda.”

  “She needs consistency.”

  “Then give her that in Chandlerville.”

  “Because surrounding ourselves with this town and our families worked out so well for the both of us when we were kids? My mother just announced that she kicked my father out twenty years ago, instead of him leaving on his own. Clearly my childhood was going to be messed up from the get-go.”

  “That doesn’t mean Camille will have the same experience.”

  “No. But being a part of either of our families doesn’t necessarily mean she’ll be happy.”

  “She deserves as much family as we can give her, even if—”

  “We? You and me? Or me and your family, once you’re out of the picture again? Once we tell Camille she has a father and let her know you that way, and then you disappear from her life. She’s already known one man who couldn’t be bothered to be a real parent to her. She doesn’t need another.”

  “What if Brad’s her father?” Oliver felt the possibility twist in his gut.

  “Do you want him to be?”

  Selena’s heart was in her eyes, every lost thing about her that Oliver had once thought he could save.

  “See what I mean?” she said when he couldn’t find his voice. “See how complicated this gets? You don’t know what you’re feeling yet. You don’t know if you really want my daughter in your life. Or if you just want to not hurt anybody. And all I can think about is that you should be furious. All of you should be. And then I worry what that kind of messed-up dynamic could do to my daughter.”

  “A part of me was pissed at first,” he admitted. “Stunned. And then angry again, for like a second, when I met you two out front of your mother’s. And then I saw Camille’s eyes . . .”

  Selena collapsed against the side of the car. “A lot of people have green eyes.”

  He conceded her point, trying not to let the panic show—how thinking of Camille being Brad’s felt like losing something infinitely precious, before it had even been his to begin with.

  “I’m sorry about your dad,” he said, wishing he could hold her and make her see that the last thing he’d ever want was for her daughter to feel anything but happy and secure. Things Selena had deserved to feel her entire life.

  “Yeah,” she said. “Me too.” She fumbled with her tote bag’s strap. “I’m sorry I didn’t find a way to tell your family about Camille on my own.”

  “We need to talk. Brad and Dru and you and me, we need—”

  She turned away and got her driver’s door open with a screech. She tossed her bag inside. And then she slapped her palms on the roof of the car. Collecting herself, she faced Oliver again, a tough, confident woman.

  “We what?” she asked.

  “My father might be dying . . .” It wanted to explode inside Oliver—how close his family was to the incomprehensible. “He might have already missed meeting his first grandchild. If he recovers, we have to make sure he’ll have that chance.”

  Oliver watched Selena swallow. Hard.

  “Brad and Dru are getting married in a few months,” he pressed. “My mother’s got a houseful of kids and me—me—as her best fallback plan to keep Family Services satisfied until we know how things are going to shake out for the toddler my parents just signed on to foster. I have no experience with kids, a full-time job demanding my attention all over the globe—if I don’t lose every potential client I have lined up because I can’t schedule a damn thing with every minute of my day up in the air the way it is right now. And on top of it all, I’m dealing with maybe having a child of my own to be responsible for. I can’t let any of it drop. I won’t. I’ll find a way to work through it all. And we can find a way to deal with Camille responsibly, if you’ll let us try.”

  “My daughter is the best thing that ever happened to my life. She’s not something to be dealt with. She’s no one else’s responsibility. I’m not going down that road again, Oliver, to feeling . . .”

  “To feeling what?”

  There was some big ugly still playing out between Selena and her estranged husband. Oliver was certain of it.

  “Trapped.” She choked out the word. “That’s what you’re telling me. Where my child is concerned, I’m trapped into doing what you want. Or I’ll be depriving your parents of their grandchild.”

  “I’m telling you that you and your daughter already belong with my family, if you’ll just find some way to trust that we have your best interest at heart. Are there some hurt feelings still? Sure. But we all made mistakes when we were kids.”

  He thought about Travis and Dru, his siblings’ forgiveness, and how his parents had welcomed him back with open arms. Now there was one other person he needed to make amends to.

  “When we were eighteen,” he continued, “I pushed too hard for you to get better—for me—before you were ready to deal with your drinking for yourself. I made you feel abandoned. And I knew how messed up you still were about your dad leaving. I made you think that if you didn’t do what I wanted, you’d have no one. And then I left you behind when it all imploded, just the way you were afraid I would. I’m sorry for that, Selena. I hope you can forgive me.”

  “I slept with your best friend, who may have gotten me pregnant.” Self-loathing dripped from each word. “I didn’t stick around long enough to even know I was expecting. And by the time I found out, the last thing I’d have considered was begging anyone in Chandlerville for help.”

  “You wouldn’t have had to beg. You’re among friends here. Family. A part of you must have believed that, or you wouldn’t have come home again.”

  “I didn’t have a choice.”

  “You wouldn’t still be in town, you wouldn’t be talking to me now, if you were really . . .”

  “Scared? I’m terrified. Of all of you.”

  “Including your ex?”

  Oliver wanted a few minutes alone with this Parker character, to explore exactly what had happened in New York. And no matter his intentions to just talk and nothing else, he wanted Selena in his arms again—to comfort and reassure both of them. To kiss and excite. To need and feel her craving him again.

  But her gaze had grown haunted.

  “The way I see it, you’re fighting to get things right with Belinda so Camille will have a grandmother. So she’ll feel safe and secure. Let her have my family to help with that, too. Let them be a good thing for her.”

  “Just them?” Selena asked, nailing him, demanding an honest response when he didn’t have one. “What about you?”

  What about him?

  Was he a father or an uncle? It shouldn’t matter which. But it did. It scared the spit out of Oliver, how much it did.

  “I’ll make this work” was all he could promise. “Whatever’s best for everyone.”

  Selena looked . . . disappointed, and like she wanted to press the issue. But people were spilling into the parking lot. His and Selena’s talk was about to become fresh fodder for the local gossips.

  “I won’t bother you at another meeting,” he promised.

  “But what about your program while you’re home?”

  “I’ll find another place.”

  “You relapsed two years ago. It’s been seven for me. I don’t come all that often.”

  “You felt like you needed to be here tonight.”

  Selena laughed. “And whose fault was that?”

  “This is your meeting. Don’t worry about me.”

  “After what I just heard, I do worry about you.”
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  Oliver stilled at her admission. The noise and bustle around them faded. A warm breeze blew a tendril of brown hair forward, over her shoulder. He longed to brush it away.

  “I can skip for now,” he insisted, “if—”

  “No. You can’t.” Genuine concern. Soft eyes. With no effort at all, she blew through all his best intentions.

  Oliver allowed himself to touch.

  Her hair. The skin on her long, smooth neck above the scooped collar of her T-shirt. Just the tips of his fingers, sliding down to the pulse beating madly at Selena’s throat, while he absorbed the wonder of her caring enough to berate him about his sobriety.

  “Don’t risk your own recovery for me,” she pleaded, their mouths inches apart.

  “I won’t be responsible for you risking yours. You have no idea how proud I am of what you’ve accomplished.” He hadn’t meant to let this get personal. But the words kept coming. “You’re healthy. You need to stay healthy for Camille. That’s what’s important.”

  “That will never change.”

  Tears glistened at his praise, making her eyes sparkle. She stood a little taller. Her attention dropped to his mouth, slid back up to his eyes.

  “From the moment I realized I was pregnant,” she said, “I stopped drinking. I found my first meeting. No matter what happens . . . I’ll never go back.”

  “No, you won’t. Neither will I. This is hard, I know. But we’re both going to get through it sober.”

  She bit her bottom lip. Then, tentatively, she nodded, trusting him at least that much.

  Oliver was proud of Selena’s sobriety . . .

  And he was touching her. Until his fingertips slid away, so gently she could have imagined them being there at all. Her body betrayed her, wanting to be closer, no matter the people trickling out of the meeting or the cars pulling out of the parking lot. She was flat-out desperate to lose herself in Oliver’s commitment to make sure they kept each other healthy and on track.

  She forced herself to step back, pressing against Fred’s solid presence.

  “Be proud of yourself,” she insisted. “You’re doing this for your family, remember? And we both know what happened the last time we tried to help each other.”