A Bluewater Bay Collection

by Witt, L. A.

  I avoided his eyes.

  “You said yourself that there’s no such thing as a perfect relationship,” he said. “Right there at my wedding. Everything you said about me and Carter having what you aspire to have?” He waved a hand toward the door. “You have it, Anna. All you have to do is stop making excuses, let your guard down, and let yourself be in love with her.”

  The last few words hit me in the chest. As much as I’d tried to hide behind the anger, I did still love her. I’d fallen hard for her. And as much as it scared the hell out of me, I wanted her back, risk and all.

  My shoulders sank. “God, you’re right. Fuck, I . . . can’t believe . . .”

  He drew me in and hugged me gently.

  “What do I do?” I hated how pitiful I sounded. “She’s already forgiven me for this shit once. I can’t really ask her to do it again.”

  “You can always ask.” He released me, but kept his hands on my shoulders and looked me right in the eye. “I’m going to give you the same advice you give me whenever I fuck up with Carter.” He squeezed gently. “Talk to her. Tell her where you’re coming from.”

  “And if she won’t hear me out?”

  “Then that’s out of your hands.”

  I cringed. “That’s . . . not encouraging.”

  “No, but it’s the reality of the situation. The only thing you have control over right now is whether you take the step to talk to her. If she listens, what she does with what you have to say . . .” He shook his head. “You just have to leave that in her hands.”

  And I . . . couldn’t argue with that, could I? Trust Levi to know exactly what to say. There were few men in my life who could tell me to pull my head out of my ass without being condescending about it. Without mansplaining. But Levi and I were close enough that neither of us minced words. God knew I verbally smacked him around whenever he screwed up with Carter, which he did with some regularity. Apparently turnabout was fair play.

  “You’re right,” I whispered. “I’ll . . . I’ll go talk to her.”

  “Good luck,” he said.

  “Thanks.”

  Now I just had to hope I hadn’t used up the last of Natalya’s goodwill.

  Chapter 22

  Natalya conveniently wasn’t available. Whenever I tried to pull her aside, she had somewhere else she had to be. She sent my calls to voice mail. She read my texts, but didn’t respond. At work, she spoke to me when our jobs required it, but the second I tried to ask her for a moment to talk, she vanished.

  In theory, I could have called her into my office, or demanded she stay after a meeting. But abusing my power and forcing her to talk to me didn’t really seem like the right foot to start off the discussion we needed to have.

  Every day, I alternated between avoiding her and wanting to cross paths with her. Every night, I lay awake, trying like hell to conjure a solution. For a fucking week, in between stressing about my job and trying not to collapse, I agonized over everything.

  After yet another sleepless night and a few gallons of coffee, I sat at my desk, staring at a stack of scripts and blocking and whatever else, and all I could think of was Natalya. Natalya, and the conversation I’d had with Levi right in front of the desk where I was currently tearing out my hair.

  This had to stop. I was losing my mind. Eventually, it was going to start taking a toll on my work—as it was, I barely functioned, though I managed to fumble through everything on autopilot. No one lasted in this business without learning how to bring their A game when they were running on fumes.

  But I was running out of fumes at this point, and I was just plain going crazy. Natalya hated me. She had every right to hate me. And somehow, I needed to find a way to fix what I’d done.

  All right. Enough of this shit.

  Before I could talk myself out of it, I got up, walked out of my office, and made a beeline for Soundstage Two. Jeremy was behind me, almost running across the gravel to keep up, as I went looking for Natalya.

  All I needed to do was get her alone for a few minutes. That should have been easy, but it definitely wasn’t. Natalya had had a couple of meetings before she had to be on set, but she may as well have teleported into them and back out again—I’d waited for her, but she’d slipped past me while I wasn’t looking.

  I looked at the schedule to see when the next stunt was being set up, and apparently she was over on Soundstage One instead of Two like I’d thought, so I headed over there. She was there, thank God. While the crew made some adjustments, I went straight over to where Natalya was having an animated conversation with two of the stuntmen. When they finished and started to walk away, I jumped at the chance.

  “Hey,” I said. “Can we talk?”

  She didn’t even acknowledge me. Instead, she turned and walked away.

  “Natalya?”

  She kept walking.

  “Natalya!”

  No response.

  For fuck’s sake. I jogged after her. “Natalya, wait.”

  She spun around, glaring at me with enough venom to stop me in my tracks.

  “Please.” I glanced around, then met her gaze. “Can we talk? For a few minutes?”

  Her features hardened, which I didn’t think was possible at that point. “Why? So I can hear more about—”

  “Natalya, please.”

  Lips thinning into a bleached line, she stared back at me, but didn’t speak.

  “I just want to talk.” God, I sounded so pathetic and feeble. “That’s all.”

  Natalya swallowed. Slowly, she lifted her chin and pushed her shoulders back. Sharply, barely moving her lips, she said, “Not here. Not at work.”

  “Then . . .” I braced myself. “Where? When?”

  She watched me for a moment, and I wondered if she was just trying to formulate the most effective way to remind me that I could go fuck myself.

  Finally, she rolled her eyes. “Tonight. Your place.”

  I nodded. “Okay. I leave here . . .” I glanced at my watch and panicked momentarily because I was sure now that I’d taken my eyes off her, she’d vanish, but when I looked up, she was still there. “I should be done around eight.”

  Natalya exhaled slowly through her nose. “Nine for me.”

  “So, I’ll see you around . . .”

  “Ten.”

  “Okay. Ten. Great.”

  She turned and stalked off, and as I watched her go, I gulped.

  It wasn’t much, but it was a start. One shot. One Hail Mary, and then I had no doubt the door was closed forever.

  Please, God, let me unfuck this . . .

  * * *

  She wasn’t coming.

  It was well past eleven now, and according to Levi’s texts, the stunts for the day were long finished.

  I eyed the bottle of Baileys on the counter. I’d had a splash of it in some coffee earlier, but hadn’t indulged beyond that because I needed to be coherent. Now I wished I had. At least I’d been smart enough not to break out the bottle of Cuervo. I didn’t need that. Not when salt and lime and tequila reminded me too much of Natalya. And not when they’d make me too stupid to try to win her back.

  Which didn’t matter because—

  Headlights came in through the kitchen window and arced across the wall. Instantly, my heart was thumping. She came?

  I craned my neck, and sure enough, her car was in front of my garage. She killed the lights, and when she got out, my pulse soared. She wasn’t happy about this—her features were hard and her gait was fast and pissed off—but she was here. Good enough.

  I opened the door before she could knock. For a second, our eyes met across the threshold, but I tore my gaze away before I could even read if hers was filled with hostility, uncertainty, or anything else she might’ve brought along tonight.

  As I shut the door behind us, I croaked, “Can I get you something to drink?”

  “I’m fine.”

  Of course you are. We both are. That’s why we’re here.

  Fuck, this is go
ing to be fun . . .

  We took seats on the couch, with a cushion-wide buffer between us, and uncomfortable silence settled in. My living room was about ten degrees colder now that she was in here. Hard to believe this was where we’d started. Where the tequila had burned away her inhibitions and my reservations, and we’d kicked off a hot night with a kiss I swore I could still feel on my lips.

  Eventually, Natalya said, “You wanted to talk, yes?”

  I nodded and met her gaze, studying her rock-hard expression. “Yeah. I’m . . . Look, I’m not very good at this.” I braced for a snide remark about how apparent that was, but it didn’t come. Natalya’s features didn’t move, and her eyes remained blank. I wasn’t sure what to make of that—if I was relieved there were no shots fired, or even more apprehensive because there was no room for humor or sarcasm right now.

  I swallowed, then cleared my throat. “One of the reasons I hung on with Leigh for as long as I did, and why I worked so hard to save that relationship when it should have ended ages ago, was because I was afraid of starting over with someone else. Being alone I could handle. But I knew sooner or later, I’d meet someone else. And I had no idea what to expect.” I pushed out a breath. “I’m just . . . I’m sorry. For everything I said. Yeah, I’ve always had some hang-ups about dating bi women, but when it came down to it . . .” I shook my head. “I was wrong. Plain and simple.”

  “That may be.” Her tone wasn’t so cold now, but she was still guarded. “You don’t know what it’s like, Anna. I’ve always felt like I can’t I talk to anyone without it meaning something. If I can’t talk to men, then I can’t talk to women either.” She shifted her weight, not looking me in the eye. “But maybe I didn’t think about how much it would bother you. If talking became flirting.” She threw up her hands. “My ex wouldn’t let me talk to men either, and if I gave a woman the time of day, then he’d start panting over when I’d invite her for a threesome. So I couldn’t talk to anyone. I want to be with you, Anna, but not if it means you’re going to be suspicious every time I talk to anyone. I’m tired of being alone just so I can be with one person who doesn’t trust me.”

  “I get that,” I whispered. “I do.”

  “Especially when she distrusts me because of things other people have done.” She folded her arms. “If you’re going to assume the worst when I talk to a man, then how is it any different if I talk to a woman? Because if I’m the kind of person who’d cheat on you, there’s no reason for you to think I’ll only cheat with a man.”

  The words were like a hard slap to the face. It hadn’t even occurred to me that if a bi girlfriend were to cheat on me, it might be with a woman and not a man.

  Natalya’s tone hardened. “I’ve done nothing to give you a reason to—”

  “I know. I know.” I exhaled hard. “It took me way too long to realize that, but . . . you’re right.” I tried to hold her gaze, but couldn’t. “The truth is, I’m scared to death. My last relationship was in an awful holding pattern for so long, I forgot what it was like to feel this way. And I guess . . . I guess I’m scared of losing this. Of . . . how much it would hurt if something this good crashed and burned. What it comes down to is that I’m not . . . I’m not good at not being in control.”

  “And I’m not good at being controlled.”

  “No, no. It’s . . .” I shook my head. “I don’t want to control you, Natalya. But relationships, they’re not something that can be controlled, and that’s what scares the hell out of me.” I laughed bitterly. “Hell, I’m not even one of those ‘gold-star’ lesbians. I’ve been with men. I dated Levi, for God’s sake.”

  She adjusted her arms a little and shifted her weight. “So you’ve said.”

  “Right.” I fought the urge to start pacing across the floor. “And I guess . . . I mean, I know what it’s like to be with a man. It felt good. Physically. Just, my heart wasn’t in it, you know? And I guess part of me is always afraid a woman will experience me, and then experience someone like him, and decide they like that better.”

  “It can go the other way too, you know. A woman who’s been with a man can figure out she likes women better.” Her eyebrow arched. “Like, if that woman dates Levi Pritchard, and realizes she’s a lesbian.” With a hint of sarcasm, she added, “Or he figures out he’s gay?”

  Ouch. “Point taken.” I couldn’t hold her gaze, so I stared down at my wringing hands, and the coffee table, and my hands again. “The thing is, it’s not about you. It never was. I’m insecure. And I’m controlling. And . . .” I pushed out a ragged breath. “And I’m sorry.”

  Natalya didn’t speak. She didn’t move.

  Come on. Say something. Even if it’s “fuck off.” How long are you going to make me twist in the wind like this?

  Apparently I hadn’t convinced her, so I set my shoulders back and kept going. “A while back, you told me that people used you. Treated you like a commodity.”

  She flinched but still said nothing.

  I took a deep breath and stared at the coffee table again because it wasn’t going to lash out at me. “And you wanted to know what your purpose was with me. And . . . there isn’t one. You aren’t getting me something objective like a job or a connection to someone. When I think about what I want from this, from you, it all comes back to the same thing: I want to make you happy. I have from the start. First it was in bed, and now it’s . . . in every way I can. And I guess I’m just scared I can’t do that. Not as well as . . .”

  “As a man?”

  Cheeks burning, I nodded, wincing at the shame swelling in my gut. “I’m sorry. It’s stupid.”

  “Yeah, it is,” she snapped. “When Daniel flirted with me and I flirted back, you went straight to the worst possible conclusion. That somehow it was more than just harmless bantering. That maybe it wasn’t—” Her voice caught, and she quickly cleared her throat. “That maybe sometimes I just enjoy bantering with someone and convincing myself he’s just being nice. Like he really wants to talk to me instead of trying to get something else from me.” She swallowed. “If he’d come back and flirted again, it would’ve gone nowhere.”

  Avoiding her eyes, I nodded again. “I get that now. And I think I got it in the moment too. But I’ve been scared to death from the start that the other shoe was going to drop and . . .” I met her gaze, my throat tight and my chest aching. “I was even more scared of that after Levi’s wedding because I didn’t count on falling in love with you.”

  Natalya straightened, her lips parting. “What?”

  “I love you, Natalya,” I whispered, struggling to keep my voice from breaking. “And I mean, when I realized that, it terrified me. So when I saw you talking with Daniel, I went right to the worst possible conclusion because I’ve been so scared it—” My voice broke, and I cleared my throat. “I’m . . . just, I’m sorry. I love you, and I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say. That’s . . . that’s all I’ve got.”

  She was silent for a long, long time. Her expression registered nothing—eyes down and unfocused, lips straight but not tight. Whenever she drew a breath, I braced, expecting her to tell me off or leave. Or both. Each time she let a breath go without speaking, I couldn’t relax, because this thing was still hovering between us, unresolved.

  I couldn’t take it anymore, and broke the silence. “I thought I had a problem with you being bisexual. And maybe . . . maybe I did because I believed a lot of things that I now know aren’t true. But mostly, I was scared. I was scared of what might happen if we took this any further. And . . .” Heat rushed into my cheeks, and I lowered my gaze. “And your sexuality was a convenient reason to keep from setting myself up to get hurt.”

  “Of course you’re scared.” Natalya’s voice was surprisingly gentle. “Everyone is. Relationships are terrifying.”

  “They really are.”

  “But the thing is, everyone freaks out over the end.” She shook her head. “Instead of just enjoying what it is . . .” She paused. “It’s like everyone wants
to stick the landing, but nobody understands that there is no landing. In gymnastics, you can do the routine just right, and it’s all perfect, and then you land and roll your ankle or just hop a little, and the whole thing is ruined. There’s no doing it over, and nothing that came before the landing matters. It’s all shit because the landing was shit.”

  She wrung her hands in her lap. “Love isn’t like that. Even if you fall flat on your face or you break your ankle, you can get up and keep going. That’s the beauty of this—you don’t have to stick the landing, because there is no landing. Not until . . . well . . .” She paused. “The thing is, you just keep spinning and tumbling and flipping, and hope that when you do get to the end, both feet are together on the mat. And even if they’re not, you still have the memory of everything that came before it.”

  I swallowed, letting the words roll around in my head for a moment. “I never looked at it that way.”

  “I don’t think many people do.”

  “No, probably not.” But she was right, wasn’t she? All along, I had been worried about the end and had forgotten about everything else. Like actually being with someone instead of waiting for things to fall apart. “And for what it’s worth—” I took her hand “—I do trust you. Like I said, it was never about you. Or, well, it was, but not because I thought you’d wander off.” I moistened my lips as I lifted my gaze. “Because I’d never had more to lose than I do with you.”

  Natalya’s features slowly softened. After a moment, she put her hand on top of ours. “This scares me too,” she said. “But it’s not enough to scare me away.” She clasped her fingers between mine. “It just means we have to hold on tight and jump in together.”