by R. S. Lively
“I can't see her at the moment, but I know she's out there somewhere. I saw her just before I came up on stage,” he says. “Darby White? Are you still out there?”
My stomach drops into my shoes and heart climbs into my throat. I surely couldn't have heard him just call out my name. I had to have misheard him. I look around the room, looking for the woman moving toward the stage. I don't see anybody heading to the stage though. Everybody is like me, turning this way and that, looking all around the room.
“Darby?” Carter calls. “Are you out there?”
Knots I hadn't even realized were in my stomach tightened painfully, and I had to keep myself from crying out. A wave of nausea rolled over me and I felt like I was trembling so hard, people might think I'm having a seizure.
I watch as Carter takes the microphone out of the holder on the podium and steps to the front of the stage. He puts his hand over his eyes, shielding them from the lights. There's a curious, but excited murmur running through the crowd.
Carter's eyes land on me and I feel a jolt of electricity shoot through my body, searing every inch of my flesh. My every nerve. I stand there absolutely petrified and I feel the urge to turn and run.
“There she is,” Carter says, that smile on his face.
He jumps down off the stage and the people around me start to turn and look. Eyes fall on me with a weight I can practically feel. All of the sudden I feel claustrophobic. The weight of all those eyes presses down on me and I feel trapped.
In front of me, I can see the spotlight moving and the crowd parting as Carter makes his way toward me. I feel like I actually might be sick, and not wanting to make a spectacle of myself – well, anymore of a spectacle than Carter's already made me – I turn and start to head for the doors.
I don't make it very far though, when I feel a hand fall on my shoulder. Carter turns me around so I'm facing him, looking into those once familiar blue-gray eyes – eyes that once upon a time, I would lose myself in for hours at a time.
As I look upon that oh-so-familiar face, I'm overwhelmed by a maelstrom of thought and emotion. So much feeling passes through my body in the blink of an eye that it threatens to consume me.
“This, folks,” Carter says into the microphone, his eyes never leaving mine, “is this reason I stand before you this evening. Darby White. The woman who opened my mind and my heart and showed me the world through her eyes. If not for her, I never would have taken an interest in art, and my path never would have led me to the Ravere Group.”
Applause erupts all around us and Carter looks at me, his amazing smile growing even wider. When I look into his eyes, I see so much feeling. It's exactly the way he used to look at me ten years ago. Before he'd ghosted me. Before he'd shredded my heart into a million pieces – and then set fire to the pieces.
Remembering that fact, and all the feelings it dredges up along with it, sends a dark current of rage flowing through my veins. My body seems to be moving of its own volition, and I suddenly feel like a passenger in my own skin. I can't stop myself as I reach back and deliver a powerful slap to Carter's face.
His head rocks to the side and the crack of the palm of my hand connecting with the side of his face sounds like a gunshot. To my ears, it sounds louder than the applause rippling around the gallery. The moment I made contact though, the applause stopped abruptly, and it suddenly sounds like the throng of people gathered all suck in a breath together, gasping in unison.
An excited murmur runs through the crowd as everybody cranes their necks, trying to catch a glimpse of the drama unfolding before them. If there's one thing people love, it's drama. And I've just given everybody in attendance something to talk about. Something they'll no doubt, be talking about for days.
Carter rubs his cheek, a cocksure little smirk on his face. I open my mouth to speak, but there are so many thoughts rushing to pass my lips all at once, no words actually come out. The weight of all those stares bears down on me though. It's oppressive and makes me uncomfortable. I want to turn and run, but I can't seem to move.
“Hi Darby,” he says. “Good to see you again.”
“You son of a bitch,” I hiss.
“Yeah,” he says. “I think we should probably talk.”
“I have nothing to say to you.”
“Maybe not,” he replies. “But, I have some things I need to say to you.”
“Tough shit.”
Finally managing to break my paralysis, I turn to go, but he puts his hand on my shoulder and turns me around again. My face is hot with anger and my eyes are narrowed. He wisely steps back and puts his hands up, a grin creasing his face. He raises the microphone to his lips and looks around at the crowd, who continue to stare wide-eyed back at us, the gallery filled with an awkward silence.
“You'll have to forgive us, folks,” Carter says. “Darby's never been much for being put on the spot like this.”
“I'm warning you, Carter,” I say, my voice pitched low so only he can hear it.
“Suffice it to say,” he continues, looking around at the crowd, his smile never faltering, “it was this woman here, an amazing artist in her own right – really, you folks should do yourselves a favor and look into her work, it'll blow your minds – who changed my perception of a great many things. Including about myself. Without her, there is no me. So, thank you, Darby. This award is truly your honor, not mine.”
He tucks the microphone under his arm and starts to applaud. Soon enough, the rest of the gallery joins him – tepid at first – but then it became a full-throated roar. My cheeks are burning with heat, but it's not anger this time. It's embarrassment. I've never been one for the spotlight.
“Enjoy the rest of the gala, folks,” Carter says into the microphone. “And don't forget to participate in the silent auction. The money raised goes to a fantastic cause.”
He hands the microphone off to somebody and steps closer to me, his eyes glued to mine. There's an earnestness in his eyes that leaves me shaking.
“Can we go somewhere and talk for a minute?” he asks.
“Like I said, I have nothing to say to you.”
“And like I said, I have something you need to hear.”
My heart is thundering in my chest and I'm paralyzed with fear. Part of me wants to go with him. Wants to believe whatever it is he is going to tell me, no matter how outlandish it is. Wants to throw myself into his arms and pretend the past ten years never happened, and that we can go back to being those sick-in-love people we were ten years ago.
Yeah, I really moved on from him, huh?
The other part of me though, the more rational and logical piece, remembers all the pain. All the sleepless nights spent crying, wondering what it was I'd done wrong. What I'd done to drive him away. That part of me remembers just how shattered I was – maybe still am.
“Please,” he says. “Just hear me out. If, after that, you want nothing more to do with me, then fine. So be it. I'll accept it. But, please just hear me out, Darby.”
I let out a long breath and look at the crowd around us. Everybody is busy laughing and talking to one another, as if that little melodrama had never happened. I turn back to Carter and feel my heart stutter drunkenly inside of me. He's as beautiful today as he was ten years ago. He's so beautiful it hurts.
But, he'd crushed me. Destroyed me. For a long time, I'd been absolutely ruined because of him. There is no way I can let him weasel his way back into my life. No matter what he says, no matter what he looks like, he's still going to be the man who ghosted me. Vanished from my life without so much as a goodbye.
I open my mouth, my mind fixed and focused, ready to tell him to get lost, but when I hear the words that actually pass my lips, I cringe inwardly – and then mentally kick myself repeatedly.
“Fine,” I say. “Let's go.”
Carter lets out a breath and he gives me a small, grateful smile. “Thank you, Darby,” he says. “All this time –”
“Shut up,” I say. “I promised to hear
you out. Nothing more. Now, let's go get this over with.”
He gives me a roguish little wink and puts his hand on the small of my back, guiding me through the crowd. I reach back and slap his hand away, drawing a soft chuckle from him. He grabs a couple of glasses of wine as we pass by a waiter, and gestures to some doors near the rear.
“Through there,” he says.
He leads me through the doors and down a long corridor to another set of doors. Holding them open for me, we step out onto a small patio in an enclosed garden. There's a slight chill in the air and I shudder. Carter sets the glasses down on a small table near a bench and takes off his jacket, draping it around my shoulders.
“Thank you,” I say softly.
“Please,” he says. “Sit.”
I take a seat and he hands me one of the glasses of wine. I accept it with a small nod of thanks and take a sip. I expected Carter to sit down next to me, but he carries his glass, pacing back and forth in front of me. If I didn't know better, I would have said he's nervous. But, the Carter I knew never got nervous. The Carter I knew was always confident and full of bravado – or just bluster.
Back then, he was always a lot more fragile than he ever used to let on. He wore that emotional armor he'd crafted and never let anything get under his skin. At least, not that he ever let anybody see. I was the only one, who ever got to see behind the curtain. At least, he made me believe I was. Given the way things ended between us, I really don't know what was true and what wasn't back then.
He stops pacing and turns to me. He stands before me, his hands in his pockets, a look of pure uncertainty on his face. It's as close to vulnerable as I've ever seen Carter before and I feel my heart going out to him – something I quickly and ruthlessly stamp out. Not only does he not deserve my pity, I can't afford to be weak right now. Carter is an apex predator and if he smells weakness, he'll pounce on it.
That annoying little voice inside my head laughs, asking me why I agreed to talk to him, knowing what I know. I silently tell it to shut the hell up.
“I've actually thought about this moment for a long time,” he says, a sheepish grin on his face. “I used to have a speech all memorized and rehearsed and everything.”
“What happened to it?”
He shrugs. “Thinking about it now, it seems trite and insincere,” he says. “You deserve better than that.”
“Yeah, I do, Carter,” I snap. “I certainly deserve a lot better than getting ghosted too.”
“Yes,” he says, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Yes, you do.”
“What in the hell happened, Carter?” I ask. “Why did you vanish on me like that?”
He lets out a long breath. “It's complicated,” he says. “Or, at least, it was.”
“That's bullshit,” I say and start to get to my feet.
“Wait,” he says. “Please. Give me a chance to explain.”
I blow out a frustrated breath and glance at my watch. “You have two minutes.”
He gives me a crooked little grin. “It might take a bit more than two minutes.”
“A minute forty-five,” I say.
“Look, Darby,” he says. “I'm sorry I bailed on you like that. I know I hurt you.”
“Yeah, you did,” I snap. “You have no idea how bad you hurt me.”
“You're right, I don't know,” he said. “Believe me though, it was nothing you did, or –”
“Yeah, that's great,” I say. “It's also easy for you to say now. Doesn't change all the time I spent beating myself up thinking otherwise.”
“I'm sorry, Darby,” he says. “I truly am. If I could take all that hurt onto myself, I would. In a heartbeat.”
“Yeah, well, you can't,” I say. “It'd be nice if you got a taste of the hurt you caused me, but you can't.”
I lean back against the back of the bench and take a long drink of my wine, willing the tears in my eyes to not fall. He's hurt me enough over the years, I refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing me hurt anymore.
“Not that it compares, but it wasn't easy for me either, Darby,” he says softly. “You weren't the only one who was hurting.”
I scoff. “You're the one who did the leaving,” I say. “That in and of itself makes the burden of pain you bore a hell of a lot less.”
He lets out a long breath and looks away from me. “Yeah, probably,” he says.
“Why'd you do it, Carter?” I ask. “All these years, I only ever wanted an answer to that question. Why did you run out on me like that?”
He starts pacing again and his demeanor changes. It's clear to see he's agitated and upset. About what, I have no idea. But, it's something. And judging the stern, severe expression on his face, it's something big. Something that really matters to him.
“What is it, Carter?” I ask.
He runs a hand through his hair and turns back to me once more. Gone is the smile and the playful twinkle in his eye. His expression is grim, his jaw clenched. It's as if he'd been debating within himself about whether or not to tell me what was going through his mind, and has come to a decision – and is going to tell me something he knew I wasn't going to like.
“Your brother paid me a visit,” he says. “Back then. After we'd been seeing each other for a few weeks. He came to my apartment.”
A yawning pit opens up in my stomach and threatens to swallow me whole. I have a bad feeling I know where this was going. Back then, Mason was arrogant – so arrogant, he thought he could control my life. Thought he knew what I wanted and needed better than I did. Thought, as my older brother, he should be making the decisions that impacted my life instead of me.
Not a lot has changed since then, really. Though, I'm less likely to put up with his controlling, overbearing, arrogant bullshit now than I was back then. As a younger girl, I'd looked up to Mason. Over time, I grew to fear him and simply accepted what he said without standing up for myself.
Yeah, a lot had changed since I was a teenage girl. Not that it stopped him from trying to throw his two cents into everything I did and every decision I made. As if being some high muckity-muck lawyer made him an expert on everything and entitled him to have an opinion about it too.
“He told me that if I didn't stop seeing you, he was going to use his leverage with the cops...”
His voice trails off and he looks away again, an expression of fury and yet, uncertainty, warring upon his face. I can see that he's frustrated and has long been that way. Whatever my brother said to him back then had gotten deep beneath his skin. Carter has never been one who lets people push him around or tell him what to do, and the fact that Mason had somehow cowed him all those years ago comes as a tremendous shock to me.
I have no idea what Mason held over him, but it was clear to me, that even today, ten years later, Carter's rage about it is still as fresh as the day my brother had threatened him with it.
“Use his leverage to do what, Carter?” I prompt him.
He paces in front of me again, his hands deep in his pockets, a scowl etched deep upon his face. As furious as I am with him, I hate to see him in such obvious pain and distress over something my brother did to him all those years ago.
“It's okay, Carter,” I say. “You can tell me.”
He stops pacing and turns to me. The pain in his eyes is plain as day to me, but it's gone a moment after I see it. Carter has always been a master at controlling his emotions and puts on a mask of neutrality with the ease somebody slips on a pair of socks. The fact that I saw the hurt in him at all tells me just how bad this whole thing cut him. Maybe I was wrong, and my pain wasn't any greater than his.
“Mason told me that he was going to have the cops and the DA go after Pops if I kept seeing you. Said he'd use his position as an attorney to fuck with Pops,” he finally says. “Told me he'd be looking to pin some unsolved murders on him.”
“Murders?” I ask, feeling my blood begin to turn to ice as fear rippled through me. “Did Pops actually kill somebody?”
&nbs
p; Carter shakes his head. “No, of course not,” he says. “I mean, I don't think so, no.”
“You don't think so?'
He growls and is clearly growing more frustrated. “I mean, it's not something him and I ever sat down and talked about,” he says. “All I know is that Pops, whatever he did in the past, atoned for it ten times over. He's a good man. The best man I know.”
“So, you traded me for Pops,” I say, knowing how unfair it is, but wanting to stick it to him anyway.
“It's not like that, Darby,” he says. “Your brother gave me no choice. I wanted to be with you – you have no idea how badly it killed me every fucking day to not be able to see you. But, I couldn't let Mason railroad Pops into prison for something he probably didn't even do.”
I sit back and let out a long breath. I'd like to say I'm surprised to learn Mason is the reason for all of this, but I'm really not. I've always known he's capable of some shady, underhanded stuff, but this takes things to a whole new level for him. The depths he stooped to, just to control me, never failed to amaze me. This though – this was something entirely different.
As pissed as I am at Mason for interfering in my love life like that, I still can't let go of my anger toward Carter. Can't see my way past the pain.
“Probably didn't do,” I say. “You sacrificed our relationship, threw away all of the feelings we had for each other, for a man you don't know for sure isn't a killer.”
Carter's face hardens and a dark shadow passes through his eyes. “I know that Pops isn't a killer, Darby,” he says, his voice low and filled with iron. “He's the best man I've ever known. I wouldn't be where I am today if not for him.”
We stare at each other in silence for a few moments, the tension between us thicker than the humidity in August. We are both mired in our hurts, unable to let go of the past.
“Is there anything else?” I ask. “Anything more you wanted to get off your chest?”
He recoils like I just slapped him again and I see something fill his eyes – pain. Good. I want him to hurt like I hurt.
“Did you really think it was going to be that easy, Carter?” I ask. “That you say you're sorry and we just pick up where we left off ten years ago?”