Into Your Arms (A Contemporary Romance Novel)

by Strom, Abigail

  “Nick—”

  His phone vibrated, and he knew without checking who it was.

  “That’s Paxton’s office. Do you mind if I take it?”

  Kevin picked up his newspaper again. “Go ahead.”

  * * *

  Sara was still tingling from head to foot when she walked into her apartment, and then she caught a whiff of what was cooking in the kitchen.

  “I didn’t think my day could get any better,” she said, putting her arms around Nick from behind as he sautéed mushrooms at the stove. “Whatever you’re doing, it smells amazing.”

  “Filet mignon medium rare with wine sauce, potatoes au gratin, fresh green beans, and mushrooms.”

  “You’re a god.”

  “Only in bed, baby.”

  “There, too.”

  Over dinner, which they ate by candlelight with Miles Davis playing in the background, she told him about what had happened after the auditions. Miles Thackeray had called her into his office and told her that Impossible Things was one of the finest debut works he’d ever seen.

  “This is the guy who never compliments anyone, right? The guy who uses ‘not bad’ as his highest praise?”

  “That’s him.”

  “Sara, that’s fantastic.”

  “I know.” She started to go on, and then stopped.

  After a moment, Nick asked, “What else? What were you about to say?”

  There was no reason not to tell him. “He told me my piece will be in the new choreographer’s showcase.”

  “And?”

  She hesitated, playing with her fork. “He said he wanted to talk about putting me under contract. To do a ballet for the spring season.”

  “Wow,” Nick said after a moment.

  “I know. It’s a big compliment.”

  “It’s more than that. It’s an opportunity.” He paused. “Is that why you didn’t want to tell me about it?”

  Her gaze jerked to his. “What?”

  “Come on.”

  “Well…okay, yes. I was afraid you’d think I was giving up this big…”

  “Opportunity?”

  “Yes. By moving down to Washington.”

  “Sara, it’s not like we have hard and fast plans. There’s no reason you can’t delay your move until after your project.”

  “Delay for a year?”

  “Why not? In the meantime, there’s the phone and Skype and planes and trains. And maybe it’s not such a bad thing for us to take some time to…” he trailed off.

  “Time to what?” she asked sharply. “Change our minds?”

  “I’m not going to change my mind.”

  “But you think I might?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  He pushed back his chair and rose to his feet, grabbing their empty plates and heading for the kitchen.

  She followed him. “Nick, I’m not going to change my mind. And if I’m a good choreographer in New York I’ll be a good choreographer in Washington, too. I’ll find a way to do what I love wherever I go.”

  Nick turned on the tap and started filling the sink with soapy water. “Can you honestly tell me this isn’t a once in a lifetime chance? The director of NYBT is offering you an opportunity to create something incredible, and to see your work performed by the best dancers in the world. What could possibly be better than that?”

  “You.”

  He was standing at the sink with his back to her. Now he went still, his big shoulders looking tense under his tee shirt. Right then, when all his vulnerabilities seemed so well guarded behind his powerful body, Sara felt a surge of love and tenderness that almost overwhelmed her. And in the same moment, she knew in a flash of insight that he was pulling away.

  He turned to face her, leaning back against the counter and folding his arms. “Sara, that’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me. But you can’t throw an opportunity like this away—especially when we have no idea if we’d work as a couple.”

  “What makes you think we won’t work? You didn’t have these doubts a week ago.”

  “A week ago I hadn’t thought it through. A week ago I let myself be carried away by emotion. I do love you, Sara. But that doesn’t mean we should be together. We both know it’s not that simple.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “We make sense here, in New York, but I don’t think we’d work in Washington—and not just because you’d eventually resent me for destroying your career.”

  “I would never—”

  “It’s not just that. You remember telling me that being charming was my façade? The ironic thing is that I haven’t been all that charming in New York. But when we’re in Washington, you’ll see that side of me a lot more, and you’ll hate it.”

  “I won’t hate it. But there will be times I’ll tease you about it, and call you on it, and remind you that there are people in your life who love you even when you’re not charming.”

  He slid his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I’ll be busy, too. Really busy. My dad was a lawyer and he was always busy, and I know from experience that it’s not easy to live with someone like that. I’m being hired to work on a presidential campaign. There’ll be travelling, and twenty hour work days, and nights I don’t come home at all.”

  She could see what was happening, and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it. He was stacking the deck against them and any argument she made would be futile.

  But she had to try. “I see. So if I don’t leave you for being charming, I’ll leave you for being busy? Do you think that’s why your mother left? Because your father was busy?”

  He froze. “I don’t know why my mother left. We never heard from her, except for the divorce papers she sent when I was twelve, and my father never mentioned her name. Why are you bringing her up?”

  Sorrow and helplessness and frustration twisted in her stomach. “Your brother talked about her,” she said, knowing it might make things worse. But she had to get through to him somehow. “He said that even though you were too young to remember her she still…did some damage.”

  “My brother said that to you.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why the hell would he—”

  “Because he loves you, and he wanted me to know…”

  “What? What did he want you to know?”

  “That it’s hard for you to trust women,” she said bitterly. “But I can’t imagine what made him think that.”

  “My brother told you it’s hard for me to trust women,” he repeated, and she could see the cold fury in his blue eyes. “Because of my mother and Laura.”

  “Yes, he did. And I think he’s right. You yourself said that your relationship with Laura still affects you. And I told you that my childhood with my parents still affects me. So we both have baggage. So what? Isn’t it better to talk about it, so we can—”

  “When did my brother tell you all this?”

  “Why does that matter?”

  “He told you the night before the primary, didn’t he? The night you said you wanted to move to Washington?”

  “Nick—”

  “He told you I have trust issues, and you decided to move to Washington.”

  “I wanted you to know that—”

  “What?”

  “That I was willing to change my life for you. To put you first.”

  “Unlike my mother. Or Laura.”

  “That’s an oversimplification and you know it. You’re deliberately twisting what I—”

  “So what it comes down to is this. You agreed to give up your life here in New York and move to a strange city because you felt sorry for me.”

  The look on his face was like a hit to the solar plexus. “That’s not why I—”

  “I think it is.” He scrubbed his face with his hands. “Look, Sara—let’s not talk about this anymore tonight.”

  “Then when will we talk about it?”

  He was quiet for a long time. “I think we need a break.”

  The note of fi
nality in his voice made her cold all over.

  “What do you mean, a break?”

  “I’m going to head back to Washington tomorrow.”

  She sank down into one of the kitchen chairs. “Tomorrow? But…I thought you weren’t leaving until next week.”

  He wouldn’t meet her eyes. “You’ve got a lot going on here, and Paxton’s team is waiting for me to join them. Kevin’s doing well, so…”

  He trailed off with a shrug.

  The coldness settled in the pit of her stomach. “I see. And when do you think we’ll see each other again?”

  “I don’t know. Like I said…I think we need a break.”

  She took a deep breath. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

  He finally met her eyes. “I’m not breaking up with you.”

  “Bull.”

  “I’m not. I just think we need some time. Your career is here in New York, Sara. I can’t let you—”

  “Don’t you dare do that,” she said, her voice shaking with anger.

  “Do what?”

  “Don’t pretend this is for my sake. I can’t stop you from shutting me out, but at least call it what it is.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “You being a coward.”

  She rose to her feet and crossed the room, stopping right in front of him and looking up into his face. “I love you, Nick. There’s something real between us, something rare. When I’m around you, I feel stronger and happier and more alive than I’ve ever felt before. The only reason I even have this opportunity at NYBT is because you made me believe in myself. You pushed me and pushed me until I wanted to kill you, and you were right. And now…” she swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Now that you need me to do that for you, I can’t. You’re running away, and you won’t…” she swallowed again. “You won’t let me fight for you. You won’t let me love you.”

  He looked away from her. “I won’t let you make sacrifices for me.”

  “Damn it, Nick—if you think that’s what I’m doing then I…”

  She stopped, and took a step back, and put her hands over her face. After a moment she let them drop. “You know what? I take it back. I do feel sorry for you.”

  “Sara—”

  “Just go, all right? Just go.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “You’re skipping town like somebody’s chasing you.”

  “I’m moving back to D.C,” Nick told his brother. “That’s where I live, remember? It’s not skipping town when you go back home.”

  Nick zipped his suitcase, double-checked that his laptop was safely stowed in his briefcase, and headed for the door.

  “Are you going to say goodbye to Sara?”

  “We said our goodbyes last night. I heard from the Wineskis, by the way—they’re fine with you taking over the sublet until they get back. I emailed you all their contact information.”

  “Thanks, but I’m moving out myself in a couple of weeks.”

  Nick met his brother’s eyes for the first time. “You are? Where are you going?”

  “To my new apartment.”

  “When did you find a place?”

  “A couple of days ago.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “There wasn’t any hurry. I like being here. And I wanted to stay as long as I thought you might need me.”

  Nick’s eyes narrowed. “As long as I might need you?”

  “Yeah. Why, do you think I got that backwards?”

  He set his suitcase down. “The thought had occurred to me. Although based on what you told Sara, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you think I’m the one who needs saving.”

  “But you are surprised. You’re surprised that anyone could think you need anything. You’re the fixer, right? That’s how you’ve made your name in Washington. You tell everybody else what they’re doing wrong, and you explain how to do it right. But you don’t need to be fixed. It’s okay for you to save Sara, or me, but not for us to try to save you.”

  He felt his temper starting to rise. “I don’t need to be saved. In spite of what you told Sara.”

  “You said last night that you forgave me for talking to her. Was that a lie?”

  He took a deep breath to try to calm himself down. “No. I do forgive you. The truth is, I’m glad this is happening now. It would have been a hell of a lot worse if we fell apart after she threw her life and her career away for a guy she’s known three months.”

  “For a guy she loves. And I don’t believe Sara has any intention of throwing her life or her career away.”

  “Jesus, Kevin. Shut up about this already. It’s none of your business.”

  “Isn’t that what I told you the night I ended up in jail? The night that cop found me face down in a parking lot with an empty bottle of Jack Daniels in my hand?”

  “That was different.”

  “Maybe. But one thing’s the same. I resented the hell out of you for caring about me even when I told you not to, just like you resent me now. Because it makes us feel weak. I still feel weak a lot of the time, you know. The only difference between the guy I was then and the guy I am now is that I’ve learned that there are more important things than whether or not I feel weak.”

  “Good for you,” Nick said, picking up his suitcase again. “Now if you don’t mind, I’ve got a train to catch.”

  “Not until you hear me out.”

  “What the hell do you think I’ve been doing?”

  “Listen to me, Nick. I’m an unemployed divorced alcoholic, and I’m about a thousand times better off than you are. You know why? Because I’m not afraid of myself anymore. I still want what everyone wants—a job where I can make a difference and someone to love and care about. But I only want those things if they’re real.”

  “Are you saying that my life isn’t real?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying. Paxton’s not the real deal and you know it. Sara is the real deal, and you know that too. You’re running away from her because she’s real—and because you’re real to her.”

  The urge to get away from Kevin was clawing at him, and he wondered why the feeling was so familiar. Then he remembered. This was exactly how he’d felt last night when Sara had confronted him in her kitchen.

  “Why would that make me run away?”

  “Because there’s a chance you might get hurt. And if you—the real you—gets hurt, there’s no way to hide from it. That would hit you where you live, and you don’t want to get hit there again.”

  “And you do?”

  “Hell, yes. I’d love to get hit there. I’d like to think that after I die I could look God in the face and say, Father, I know I messed up a lot. But I honestly tried to be the person You created me to be. I tried to look inside my heart and not be afraid of what I found there. And when my soul mate showed up, I had the sense to know it.” He paused. “Not that that’s happened to me, yet—but if it ever does, I’m going to hang on with everything I’ve got.”

  “I don’t believe in soul mates,” Nick muttered.

  “When you meet a woman like Sara, it’s time to start.”

  Nick put his hand on the knob and pulled the door open. “I have a train to catch.”

  * * *

  Nick was looking out the window of the train without really seeing anything, his cell phone pressed to his ear. “That’ll come across as pandering.”

  “Why do you think we’re doing it? We are pandering. I’d sell my soul to the devil if he could guarantee me sixty percent of the Hispanic vote.”

  “So you’ve said. But instead of offering empty rhetoric, we could offer real solutions to some of the problems that—”

  There was a loud guffaw on the other end of the phone. “Look, Nick, I appreciate the humor on a Sunday afternoon. But I live in the real world, and I know you do, too. Put together some ad copy for the Wednesday meeting, will you?”

  Nick slid the phone back into his pocket and pinched the bridge of his nose. The conversat
ion with Paxton’s guy had left a bad taste in his mouth, but he’d been feeling like shit long before he’d answered the phone.

  He hadn’t slept at all last night. How could he, when his bed was just the thickness of a wall away from Sara? Knowing she was so close, and that he couldn’t touch her…

  But she was wrong about one thing. He was doing this for her sake. Sara belonged in New York, and if she uprooted her life for him she’d regret it.

  And he’d never forgive himself.

  If he’d hoped the express could outrun his thoughts of Sara, he’d been wrong. She was all he could think about. Cooking for her, making love to her, talking with her for hours as they lay in bed. He’d never felt so completely at home with a woman...or so alive.

  Okay, enough was enough. Maybe if he did some work he could distract himself. And soon he’d be in D.C., where the distractions would come so fast and furious that not even Sara could break through the noise.

  He grabbed his briefcase and pulled out his laptop, and as he did he caught sight of something in the inside pocket.

  It was the program from Sara’s audition. Each piece was listed with its music and the names of the performers, and notes from the choreographers about their work. He’d stuffed his in his briefcase and forgotten about it.

  He shouldn’t read it. Another reminder of Sara was the last thing he needed right now.

  The train was passing through a wooded area, and as they came around a curve the setting sun disappeared behind the trees. He leaned his forehead against the cool glass of the window and loneliness lanced through him with the force of physical pain.

  He closed his eyes and saw Sara.

  Then he opened his eyes, picked up the program, and started to read.

  I saw my first ballet when I was five years old. The dancers seemed to fly across the stage, and I thought to myself, I want to do that. I want to fly.

  Dancers don’t actually fly, people told me. That’s impossible.

  So I set out to become a dancer and prove them wrong.

  Thirty years later, I haven’t given up hope yet.

  ‘Impossible Things’ is about our ability to hope in utter defiance of reality. In that spirit, I’d like to dedicate this piece to Nick Landry, who made me believe in myself…and in the most impossible thing of all.