Only Him

by Melanie Harlow

  I thought you would like to know that Dallas has agreed to have the craniotomy, and it is scheduled for a week from today. He gave me permission to tell you when I asked.

  I have full confidence in the surgeon and know Dallas will pull through.

  Sincerely,

  Finn

  My first reaction was relief. I closed my eyes and took a huge breath, letting gratitude fill me. But the positive vibe was short-lived, because my second reaction was a crushing wave of sadness. He’d changed his mind about the surgery, but not about me. He couldn’t even be bothered to tell me himself.

  It confirmed everything he’d said in the car Sunday night. He didn’t feel what I felt. He didn’t want me in his life. I’d been only a thing to cross off his list. Why he’d texted me in the middle of the night, I could only guess. His conscience again? Well, fuck that. I didn’t want to be anyone’s regret.

  I exited my email and went back to my search results, deciding to book a five-day stay at a silent meditation and yoga retreat center on the coast of Maine, starting on Monday. I needed to slow down, unplug, and unwind. I needed to be alone with myself in order to heal and rebalance. I needed to hear that inner voice, the connection to my soul, and I couldn’t do it surrounded by all this noise.

  I was desperate for peace, inside and out.

  Over the weekend, I talked to Allegra about taking over for me next week and offered her a raise to compensate her for the increased hours and responsibilities. I wasn’t happy with how absent I’d been from my business and my employees lately, but I needed this time to reconnect with myself, contemplate my journey in life and what I wanted to accomplish, and center myself on the right path moving forward.

  Love had knocked me way off course.

  Nineteen

  Dallas

  On Friday, Finn and I went into the shop, and I introduced him to Beatriz. I told her I’d scheduled the surgery and really would be gone for a while this time. “I can’t be alone, so Finn invited me to recover at his house.”

  She hugged me tightly. “I’m so proud of you.”

  “Thanks.”

  It was a long time before she released me. “So when do you leave?”

  “I haven’t booked a ticket yet, but probably Tuesday or Wednesday. And I have a ton of shit to do before then, so I’m not sure how much I can work.” Besides getting my house in order and packing up, I had to make a will, something I’d never even thought about. Finn had suggested it, although he assured me it was just a precaution, and actually, I hadn’t even freaked out.

  Much.

  Beatriz waved a hand in front of her face. “Don’t even think about work. Take time to do what you need to do.”

  “Thanks. I’ll stop in before I leave and clean out my station. But if it’s okay with you, I was going to give my brother here his first ink.”

  She looked at Finn in surprise. “Really?”

  He shrugged, a little color coming into his face. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while. Seems like a good time, since I’m here.”

  Beatriz nodded. “Absolutely. And you can’t go wrong with Dallas. He’s the best.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “But don’t tell anyone here I said that.”

  Finn laughed. “Never.”

  She looked at me. “Let’s have a drink before you go, okay? Maybe we can even drag Evan out of the house.”

  “Sounds good.”

  I took Finn over to my station, and we looked through a book of stencils I had for other tattoos I had done. He didn’t want anything too big and only had one idea—his kids’ names and their birthdates. Nothing wrong with that idea, and I’d have done it, but I thought it might be a little more meaningful if it had more personality. I happened to have some of the artwork Olympia and Lane had sent me taped on the wall in my cubical, and we decided to do their first names in their own handwriting along with their birthdates. Finn liked the drawing I did, and I suggested it might be nice to put it on the left side of his chest.

  “Let’s do it,” he said.

  I created a stencil, cleaned and shaved the area, and applied the design. Both Beatriz and I thought it was the perfect placement, and Finn gave the go ahead.

  “You nervous?” I asked as I finished prepping.

  “A little,” he admitted, lying back in the chair. “But I trust you.”

  “Good.” Then I pulled on my gloves and got to work.

  Finn and I hung out all day Friday, and he helped me make a list of things I should take care of before leaving for Boston, which I’d booked for Wednesday. He loved his new tattoo and said he couldn’t wait to show Bree and the kids. I could tell he felt pretty badass about it, and it made me happy. The only tense moment between us came when he asked if I planned to tell Maren about the surgery. I said no, and he asked my permission to let her know.

  “She cares, Dallas,” he said, tipping back his beer at dinner Friday night. He glanced at the ink on my forearm, where the skin was still healing. “And if you care about her—”

  “You know I do,” I snapped. “Caring about her isn’t the issue.”

  “Then call her.” He set the bottle down hard. “She’d want to know.”

  “No.” I focused on my right hand, which was spinning my water glass around. There was no fucking way I could handle hearing her voice.

  “Dallas.”

  “No, Finn. I promised her I wouldn’t contact her again.” And I could keep that one promise, at least, couldn’t I? For fuck’s sake, I’d broken every other one I’d ever made to her.

  He sighed. “Any objection to my telling her?”

  I shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

  When I took him to the airport on Saturday, he hugged me goodbye and told me how much he’d enjoyed spending time with me—it was the first time we’d ever done that without his family or our parents around, too. “We should do this again sometime. A guys’ weekend.”

  “We should.” Although these days, I wasn’t counting on anything in the future.

  “See you in Boston.”

  “See you. Safe trip home.”

  I spent the next few days cleaning my house, clearing out the fridge, and packing my bags. I got a haircut, checked in with my neurologist, who was happy to hear I’d elected to have surgery, set up auto-pay for my monthly bills, and asked my next-door neighbor to bring in the mail. On Monday, I saw my lawyer, who had created a will according to my specifications. If anything happened to me, my inheritance, and anything else left over after settling the estate, would be split equally between Olympia and Lane. I was only renting my house, so I didn’t have to worry about that, and anything in it, I wanted donated. Two other attorneys in his office served as witnesses while I signed it.

  All day, every day, I thought about Maren. Missed her with an intensity that rivaled the pain in my head. My house had never felt so fucking lonely.

  But it was nothing less than I deserved for what I’d done.

  On Tuesday night, I met Beatriz and Evan for a drink at the Teardrop Lounge. We congratulated Evan again and asked to see pictures of his son, and he happily obliged. He had dark shadows under his eyes and said nights were rough, but I could tell he was happy. I envied him.

  Our drinks arrived—since Beatriz had offered to pick me up and drop me off, I’d indulged in some whiskey—and we raised our glasses.

  “To Hunter William,” Beatriz said. “May he take after his mother as much as possible. And to Dallas’s speedy and full recovery.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” said Evan.

  Evan finished his cocktail quickly and had to get home, but he shook my hand before he left and told me both he and Reyna were pulling for me, and asked me to let them know how everything went as soon as I could. I said I would.

  As soon as we were alone at the table, Beatriz lit into me.

  “You look miserable,” she said.

  “I feel worse than I look.”

  “Still haven’t talked to the girl?”

  I shook
my head.

  “Why not?”

  “Because if I hear her voice, I’ll fall apart,” I said quietly.

  “Dude.” She lifted her drink to her lips and sipped. “You’re a fucking mess. I’m not trying to tell you what to do, but let me tell you what to do.”

  I frowned at her.

  “I’ve been thinking about this a lot, ever since you conned me into giving you that tattoo. You need to come clean with her. It’s got you all fucked in the head. Your aura is, like, choking on this pain.”

  “It’s all I have of her.”

  “Christ, Dallas. Do you even hear yourself? You’re clinging to the pain and guilt instead of the woman you love. She could be there by your side getting you through this. She’d make you stronger, you know. I bet you’d fight harder.”

  Her words made sense, but I’d already done too much damage. “I fucked things up too much. They can’t be fixed. It’s too late.”

  “You haven’t even tried!”

  “She probably wouldn’t even talk to me.”

  Beatriz shrugged. “Guess you’ll have to find that out.”

  I sat there for a few minutes, staring into my whiskey. “I miss her, Bea. I really fucking miss her.”

  “I know, babe.”

  “I thought coming back here and burying my head in the sand would make me feel better, but it didn’t.”

  “It never does.”

  “And I’m scared.” It felt good to say it aloud.

  “Of what?”

  “Of dying. Of losing feeling in my right hand. Of needing people to take care of me. Of not being enough for her.” I looked up at her and admitted the truth. “But I can’t keep living like this. It’s only been ten days, and I’m going crazy.”

  “So do something about it, Dallas.” She reached out and touched my wrist. “We all make mistakes. We’re all human. What sets one man apart from the next is what happens afterward.”

  Exhaling, I closed my eyes. “I don’t even know what to say to her. How to explain myself. I told her a bunch of lies. She won’t know what to believe.”

  “Can I offer a suggestion?”

  I nodded.

  “What do you think she wants more than anything in the world?”

  “A second chance,” I said without hesitation.

  “And what do you want?” She held up one hand. “Wait, let me rephrase. What do you want that you have control over getting?”

  “To make her happy. If I can.”

  “What would make her happy?”

  I sighed. “She wants to be there for me. Take care of me.”

  “Are you comfortable with that?”

  “No. Fuck no.” Frowning, I rubbed the back of my neck. “But if that’s what it takes …”

  “If it were me,” Beatriz said, touching her tattooed chest, “that’s what it would take. Knowing that you were willing to let me see you at your most vulnerable. Because with you, she’s at her most vulnerable too.”

  “Yeah,” I said miserably, picturing her sobbing into her hands after I told her I was leaving. “You really think letting her see me all out of it and half-bald and stapled together is the way to go?”

  “Yes.” She leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Because it says, This is the real me. Yes, I’m the big, strong tattooed hottie with the eyes and the hair and the chiseled jaw, the guy who makes everyone laugh and all the girls swoon and never shows a sign of weakness, but I’m something else with you. I let you see all of me, because I love you.”

  “Damn.” I blinked. “That’s pretty good.”

  “Thank you. Now go make it happen. You’re one of the lucky ones, Dallas. You found it. Don’t let it pass you by.” She reached for my hand and squeezed, her eyes misting over. “Then get better, and bring that girl back here so I can meet the one woman amazing enough to steal your heart.”

  I took a breath. “I’ll try.”

  I texted her that night.

  Maren, can we talk?

  No answer.

  I don’t blame you for ignoring me. But if you have it in your heart to give me a few minutes, I’d really love to talk to you. Call me when you can.

  I waited and waited and waited. Nothing.

  It was late in Detroit, after midnight, so she was probably already asleep. Was she teaching an early morning class tomorrow? If she was, she’d be up within a few hours. I set my phone down, got ready for bed, and checked my phone once more. Nothing.

  I plugged it in to charge and got in bed, but slept only fitfully throughout the night. Every so often, I checked to see if she’d written me back, but was disappointed every time.

  By the following morning, I had to consider the possibility that she’d seen my messages and had decided against replying. After I finished packing and was ready to leave, I decided to try calling her. I got her voicemail. The sound of her voice on the outgoing message made my pulse quicken.

  “Maren, it’s me. You’ve probably seen my messages by now. You haven’t called, which means you’re either too upset with me to talk or you need more time to think about it. I get that. I’ll be on a plane to Boston most of today, but you could reach me in the next couple hours or later tonight. I’ll be on your time zone by then.” I paused. “I don’t know if Finn told you or not, but I decided to have the surgery. It will be on Friday. I’d really like to talk to you before then, if possible. I … hope you’re well. I miss you.” Then I hung up before I started breaking down.

  Two hours later, I was checked in and waiting to board the plane, and I still hadn’t heard from Maren. Frowning at my phone, I heard my zone get called, but I ignored it, wanting to stay at the gate as long as possible just in case she called. Finally, I couldn’t delay boarding any longer, and I was forced to get on the plane without a word from her, not even an acknowledgment that she’d gotten my texts. I reluctantly switched my phone to airplane mode and dropped it into the carry-on bag at my feet.

  What was I going to do if she didn’t call? Keep trying? Leave her a longer voicemail telling her the truth about why I’d broken things off? It wasn’t the kind of thing I wanted to do over voicemail, but she might not leave me a choice. Or would the right thing to do be to leave her alone? If her silence continued, didn’t that mean she didn’t want to hear anything from me? At this point, she was probably thinking, Fuck him and his apologies. I don’t need them. How could I get her to listen?

  I tipped my head back and closed my eyes. This hole I’d dug for myself was deep, maybe too deep to climb out of.

  But I wouldn’t give up.

  Twenty

  Dallas

  I arrived in Boston and spent the evening with Finn and his family. Seeing the kids cheered me up a little, but later, when it was just the two of us, Finn asked me what was wrong. “You seem upset,” he said, his expression concerned. “Are you nervous?”

  “Yes, but it’s not that.” We were still at the dinner table, but Bree had taken the kids up for their baths. Finn said that he would take care of the dishes.

  “What is it?” He stacked a few plates.

  “I reached out to Maren and asked her to call me, but there’s just silence on her end.”

  “Ah.” He piled forks and knives on top of the stack. “I’m sorry.”

  I shrugged. “I get it. She’s hurt. Why should she call me? She thinks she’s heard everything I have to say.”

  “But she hasn’t. She just doesn’t realize it.”

  “I can’t force her to listen to me. I don’t know what else to do.”

  Finn didn’t answer, and after a few minutes, he stood and started carrying dishes into the kitchen. I did the same. When everything from the table was in the sink, I took a seat at the island and watched him load the dishwasher. “Want help?”

  “Nah. I got it.”

  I looked around the big, beautiful kitchen, with its gray-painted cabinetry, black stone counters, and polished wood floor. It was clean but lived-in—kids’ artwork on the fridge, shoes piled over by the
back door, the clutter of everyday life all around. “You’re really lucky,” I said.

  “Damn right I am.” He looked back at me. “But it’s not just luck.”

  “What can I do, Finn? She won’t talk to me.”

  “Maybe email her? She seems to check email often enough.”

  “Did you tell her about the surgery?”

  “Yes. And she replied the next day that she was glad to hear it and thanked me for letting her know. She said she wished us all the best.”

  I swallowed hard. “Okay. I’ll email her. Can you forward me her email address?”

  “Of course.”

  Later that night, I lay in bed with my laptop trying to find the perfect words to say, the words that would undo all the damage I’d done and bring her back to me.

  It wasn’t easy. I wrote, deleted. Wrote, deleted. Wrote, deleted. I’d never been a confident writer, and the pressure in this situation was almost unbearable. Finally, after three hours and a hundred different drafts, I gave up on perfect and just wrote from the heart.

  Dear Maren,

  An email is probably the worst way to say everything I want to say to you, but it’s the way I’m stuck with because I’m stubborn as fuck and waited too long to have the chance to do it in person. I haven’t been able to reach you by phone, not that I blame you for not wanting to speak to me. I’ve put you through too much already, and part of me thinks I should leave you alone even now. But I need to tell you the truth about my feelings for you, and this might be my last chance to do it.

  Everything I told you the night we went to the baseball game is true.

  Everything.

  I never stopped loving you. I fell in love with you all over again the weekend we spent together, and I love you still. I said it was a lie only to make you hate me, so that leaving wouldn’t hurt so much.

  Of course, it hurt anyway. More than I can say.

  When I made the decision to come see you, it was because leaving you the first time has always been my biggest regret, and after getting the news about the tumor in my brain, you were all I could think about. I had to make things right with you. I never intended to fall for you again.