by Chloe Walsh
I only hoped that when I did she would find it in her heart to take me back.
To let me back in.
Chapter Eleven
HOPE
I found myself struggling to acclimatize to my new surroundings, which was ridiculous considering they weren't exactly new surroundings anymore. I had been with Jordan for more than a month now. It should be more than enough time to settle into a home.
Not for me, it seemed.
I still felt as out of place in Jordan's house as I had the very first day I stepped through the doorway. But then, our marriage hadn't exactly been smooth sailing this past month either.
The settling cracks I had felt in the beginning had turned into a full-blown ridge that mirrored the Grand Canyon. It seemed to be one thing after the next with me and Jordan. We still hadn't slept together, either. I had even taken to sleeping in my underwear in a bid to seduce my husband. Needless to say, it hadn't worked.
Not one time during our intimate kissing sessions had he lost control and had sex with me. I pretended like I understood, but it was a lie.
The truth was, I didn’t understand and couldn’t accept the lack of contact. I knew Jordan was battling his demons, and I was incredibly proud of him for being so strong, but his demons were taking me down, too. I felt unloved and, if I was being really honest with myself, less of a woman. I didn’t turn my husband on. Nothing I did or tried ever came close to tempting him into sleeping with me. God knows I had tried on enough occasions.
A better woman would have the compassion and maturity to handle a man like Jordan, but I wasn’t a better woman. I was human, starved for affection, and desperately lonely.
Kissing and cuddling wasn’t enough for me.
I wanted to be wanted by him.
Maybe that was selfish of me, but the more I tried to repress my feelings and desires, the more resentful I grew. His home was a drug and alcohol-free zone. I respected that. I was proud of him for overcoming the demons that had threatened to take him down. I just… didn’t quite fit here.
I hated myself for the prominent thought I had first thing every morning. The one that told me, "I didn’t sign up for this life…"
But as it happened, I wasn’t just good at telling tales for a living, I was a mighty fine liar in real life, too, and a master at masking my feelings.
For example, whenever Jordan and Annabelle hung out together, I smiled and nodded like I didn’t have a care in the world, or when they needed to work late and asked me to sit Ryder, I agreed and pretended it didn’t rip my heart clean out of my chest or remind me of the family he had belonged to while I was alone.
Or when my dad asked questions about how I doing, I would smile and reassure him with 'Great Dad, couldn’t be better.' And when mom hinted about grandchildren, I had perfected the 'we'll see' or 'you never know' responses.
What a croc of shit.
Mom had a better chance of getting pregnant than me, and Dad had a fricking vasectomy eight years ago.
Jordan wasn’t the only person different now, either.
My mother was, too.
She was quiet and withdrawn these days. She had been this way ever since my revelation about Jordan. I hated it. I wished I had just spoken to Dad and left her out of it. I knew me telling her about Jordan had brought to the surface terrible memories from her own childhood. She had asked me on more than a dozen occasions if she could have my blessing to go and talk to Jordan about it. Every time, I shut it down with a firm no. He couldn’t know that I betrayed him. And sure, my mother was battling with her guilt, but it paled in comparison to what would happen to my relationship if she talked to him. Jordan would talk when he was ready. Not before it.
Meanwhile, Dad never spoke about it again. True to his word, Dad kept it to himself and never brought it back up. He also never brought up the bazillion reasons he had about Jordan being a bad idea for me. He kept his opinions to himself now. It was strange. I wasn’t used to my father being so… not opinionated.
I think the truth affected both of my parents deeply and in different ways. They were both drowning in different versions of guilt. Jordan was their best friend's son. He'd grown up alongside their own children. Knowing that something of this horrific magnitude had happened to one of us rocked their worlds.
I noticed Mom hugged us all a lot more. She was a hugger normally, but the news of Jordan's past had turned her into a helicopter mom, especially around Cash and Casey who were still short enough for her to hover over.
Derek and Dad were having problems, too. Their bromance was on the rocks. I guess Dad was struggling to come to terms with the fact that Derek had never told him. Derek was still under the impression that my father didn’t know anything, while Dad was dealing with knowing and not telling. Overall, it was a horrible situation and I was the one that had put them in it.
Scared to death with the prospect of losing Jordan again, or worse, being the cause of him having a relapse, I slapped a smile on my face every morning and trudged on. Because it had to get easier, right? The first year of marriage was the hardest. We'd been married almost nine years, but I considered us to be in our first year. Eight years of separation didn’t exactly constitute as a happy marriage. No, we just had to get through the next few months. Everything would eventually work itself out. It had to, right?
"Do you want to go out tonight?" I asked. I was sitting up in bed watching him get ready for work. "Teagan and Noah invited us out for drinks."
"I can't tonight," Jordan replied, keeping his back to me as he buttoned up his shirt. "I have to –"
"Work?" I filled in wearily. "Yeah, I know." He always had to work. "But I really want you to get together with them, Jord. They're my best friends." Shrugging, I added, "You making an effort with them is important to me."
"I know," he muttered before swinging around to face me. He looked so beautiful it hurt. He was so handsome. His black curls were trimmed tight and the white shirt he had on emphasized his tanned skin. I wanted to crawl over the mattress and throw my arms around him, but I didn't. The guaranteed prospect of rejection kept me rooted to the bed.
"I'm training a couple of new guys at the Charity so the next few weeks at work are going to be crazy for me," he said in that soft raspy voice of his that I had always loved. "Once everything settles down, we can talk about going out with them." His green eyes burned into mine as he spoke. "Okay?"
I swallowed deeply and nodded. "Okay."
With that, Jordan walked over to my side of the bed and pressed a kiss to my hair. "I love you, Keychain. See you tonight."
When the door closed behind him, I flopped back on the mattress and sighed heavily.
A million different emotions and thoughts coursed through me in this moment, but I clung to the one that gave me hope.
It can only get better…
Chapter Twelve
JORDAN
"What are you doing on the last weekend in May?" Hope asked when I walked into the kitchen after work on Thursday night. She was sitting at the table with her beloved laptop in front of her and one of those Happy Planner's laying open.
"The last weekend in May?" I dropped my keys and wallet on the counter and headed for the fridge. "As in two months from now?"
"It's nine weeks actually," she replied, tapping a pen against her planner. "So, are you working that weekend?"
"I don't know." Grabbing a carton of milk, I walked over to the sink and retrieved a clean glass from the draining board before pouring myself a glass. "I usually get my work schedule a week in advance."
"So, you could book that weekend off?" she asked, tone hopeful. "If you wanted to?"
"Sure, I guess." I nodded and took a gulp of milk. "Why?"
She typed furiously on her laptop for a few seconds before turning to grin at me. "Then book it off, because we are going to Aspen that weekend."
"We are?" My brows shot up in surprise. "Why?"
"I have just agreed to sign at the Indie's Book Bash in Aspen
, and you, my gorgeous husband, are coming with me."
"You want me to come with you?" I frowned. "To a book signing?"
"Uh, yeah!"
Anxiety gnawed at my gut. "Why?"
Hope looked me dead in the eye and asked, "Why not?"
Because it's not my thing?
Because I struggle being in that sort of environment?
Because I can't fucking stand the thought of it?
"No reason," I lied. "I'm just surprised you want me to come. Don’t you usually take Teagan to those things?"
"Those things?" Hope questioned, brow raised.
"Business trips," I corrected.
"That's better," she replied. "And you're right. I normally take Teagan as my assistant, but she's pregnant, and there's no way Noah's going to let her out of his sight."
"Why don’t you take the both of them?" I offered, pouring myself another glass of milk. "I'm sure they wouldn’t mind."
"You want me to take Noah 'The Machine' Messina to a book signing?" Hope shook her head and gaped at me like I had just told her the world was flat. "You do realize he was voted the third sexiest man in sports last year?"
"Yeah?" I shrugged. "He looks like those guys on the book covers – he'd fit right in."
"He would cause a riot, and Teagan would commit a felony!" Hope shot back. "Besides, I don’t want to take them. I want to take you." She waggled her brows suggestively. "We could make a weekend of it – a belated honeymoon of sorts. I've heard amazing things about the hotel we're staying in. Apparently, it's crazy romantic, so I've booked us into this huge suite. And I've got some surprises in store for you…"
"Hope, I really don’t know about this –" I began to say, but one look at her fallen smile caused me to stop. "You really want me to go with you?" I asked instead, running an anxious hand through my hair.
She nodded eagerly. "I really do."
I released a heavy sigh before nodding. "Okay, I'll come."
"You promise?"
"Yeah," I forced myself to say. "I promise."
Chapter Thirteen
LUCKY
I sat on the porch steps of my childhood home in the small town of Gunnison, Colorado and looked out onto the pretty, suburban neighborhood with neatly trimmed gardens and white picket fences I had grown up in.
I had shit to tie up here, shit I'd been putting off for months, but couldn’t anymore. It hurt coming back here. It hurt to see the life I'd once lived. But here I was, sitting in the middle of my personal breakdown, with memories attacking the walls I had managed to build up over the years.
This neighborhood had shaped me. I learned to ride a bike on this street. I had spent more summers than I could count camping in the back yard of my next-door neighbor. I had my first kiss in the house across the street. For the first eighteen years of my life, this small town had been my home, and everyone in it had been my family.
But time had a habit of changing things and it had been almost thirteen years since I stepped foot in this place. The people of my youth were gone now and new families had taken their place, raising their young families in suburban bliss.
Coming back here made me think about how differently my life had changed from what it once was.
I used to be good. Pure. A decent human being. I played football in high school and got drunk on the weekends with my friends. I had a loving mother, a great bunch of friends, a girl I adored, and a future with endless possibilities.
It was all gone now.
Shaking my head, I sparked up a smoke and inhaled deeply, welcoming the stinging sensation as my lungs protested. Good. Fucking burn. I didn’t care.
Exhaling a cloud of smoke, I took another deep drag, and cast my gaze towards the house at the end of the street.
Her father was waiting for me inside that house.
The house that, once upon a time, I used to walk in at least twice a day, and the people who once called me son. Now there was no reason left to call me son.
That reason was six feet under.
My thoughts flicked to Hope and I came to the conclusion that women and my heart were a bad fucking idea.
Last time I fell in love, I went down for murder.
This time, I was positive she should go down for murder because the woman was killing me slowly. And I was fucking letting her do it.
I was pushing myself on her, the masochistic bastard I was, and enjoying the goddamn rejection.
The thing that got me through it was the knowledge that Hope Carter wanted me. I knew she did, and she could run around protesting the hell out of it and ignoring her feelings for me until the cows came home, but it wouldn’t change a damn thing.
She brought me back to life. I'd been living a life of stone for more than a decade. Hope Carter walked into my world and splintered the concrete protecting my heart.
Fuck, she blew the damn wall down by just being herself.
I was never going to be able to live a normal, mundane life like her husband did. I couldn’t offer her that. I had a rap sheet and list of dangerous people I needed to watch my back from. I was thrown in prison when I was eighteen years old and I'd done a lot of shady shit in order to survive that place. I'd made deals with devils, and double crossed a lot of un-crossable people.
I wasn’t good enough for her.
I got it.
Fuck, I got it loud and clear.
But neither was he.
I loved the ugliness inside her. She didn’t have to be perfect when she was with me. She just had to be real. There was no pedestal in sight when she was with me. I didn’t hold her to any damn vows or expectations. She was free to be whoever the hell she wanted to be when she was with me. I would take her in any of her forms. One of these days, she was going to wake up and not be able to lie to herself anymore. One of these days she was going to figure it all out. I knew I'd be standing there on that day with open arms…
I smoked three more cigarettes before I finally plucked up the courage to walk down the street towards the Clarke house. A part of me wanted to get in my truck and drive away from this town without looking back, but I'd never run from my responsibilities before and I wasn’t about to start now.
"Lucky," Hayley's father greeted when I opened the garden gate. He'd been waiting on me. I'd seen the curtains in his front room twitching all damn day. "Good to see you, son."
I could drop on my hands and knees and beg the man before me for forgiveness but it wouldn't change anything, so I inclined my head and shook his hand instead. "Good to see you, too, sir."
"Well, come on in," Mr. Clarke said with an encouraging clap on the shoulder. "Margie's been waiting on you all afternoon. She baked your favorite cookies. Told her not to – that you might not be hungry, but you know the way she is."
I forced a smile and followed the elderly man into the house only to freeze when my eyes landed on the silver haired woman standing in the kitchen doorway. "Lucky Casarazzi," Mrs. Clarke gushed in a voice thick with emotion. "Oh, my boy!" She rushed towards me and threw her arms around my waist, making what was left of my heart shrivel up and fucking die.
"Mrs. Clarke," I managed to squeeze out as I gently hugged her back. "It's good to see you again." I'm sorry I couldn’t save her…
"I was worried you weren't ever coming home," she mused, concern etched across her features. Reaching up, she cupped my face in her hands and smiled. "You look so much like Georgina. I still miss your momma, Lucky. She was my dearest friend and there's not a day goes by I don’t say a prayer for her."
"Yeah," I choked out as pain ricocheted through my body. "Me, too."
"It was such a terrible thing to happen," Mrs. Clarke added as she took my hand and led me into the kitchen. "Her passing while you were wrongfully locked up in that cage."
"I wasn’t wrongfully locked up," I replied gently, taking a seat at the table. "I killed a man."
"You performed a civic duty by eliminating a horrible threat," she hissed, brown eyes welling up with unshed tears. "T
hat creature raped and murdered our beautiful daughter." She reached for the teapot in the center of the table and shakily poured three cups of tea. "He deserved no mercy – the same as he showed Hayley. And you should have been given a medal for stopping him – not locked up in prison."
"Spoken like the true wife of a sheriff," I chuckled, though I felt anything but humorous. I had to face myself every damn day when I looked in the mirror and saw the reflection of a man who had taken a mother's son away from her. I wasn’t the hero she portrayed me to be.
"It's done now," I added, reaching for my cup and taking a sip of tea. "I've served my time and I'm a free man."
"It still not right," Mrs. Clarke continued to rant. Taking the seat beside me, she hovered over me and dropped two sugar cubes into my cup the moment I set it back down. "It’s horrendous enough that Hayley lost her life over that vermin, but for you to lose eleven years of yours?" She banged her slender fist on the table and hissed, "There's no justice in the world."
"Leave the boy alone, Marge," Mr. Clarke grumbled, tone weary. "He didn’t come over here to hash this all up." Taking his usual seat at the head of the table, he looked at me with pained grey eyes and forced a smile.
And in that moment, all I could feel was compassion for the old man. Chris Clarke had been a force to be reckoned with when we were kids. He was the town sheriff and a horse of a man. Now, he just looked old and weathered. Time and pain had obviously taken its toll on him – on both of them. Hayley's parents were a mere fraction of the vibrant people they used to be.
"Have you been to Hayley's grave yet?" Mrs. Clarke asked, causing her husband to sigh heavily. "I laid fresh flowers yesterday. Lilies. Hayley's favorites."
I shook my head and took another sip of tea. "No. Not yet." And I had no plans on going, either, but I left that out.
"You should go see her," Mrs. Clarke added. "I know she would love that."
"That's enough," Mr. Clarke said in a low, warning tone, but his wife didn’t listen.