“I’m sorry. I just wanted to get it all out. But I could have eased you into it a bit more—a little less…”
“Charity,” Miles murmured, brushing the back of his hand against her cheek. “Give them a second to process.”
“You were so quiet and withdrawn after the wedding. We all noticed, but…” Rita paused and shook her head bitterly. “Sandra told me you were just nervous about your new role as a pastor’s wife. You wanted to make a good impression, she told us. You were trying to tone down your wild streak.”
“She never had a fucking wild streak,” Erik growled, surprising Miles with the unexpected profanity. Thus far, the cheerful semi-retired neurosurgeon had been silently absorbing every painful hit. Earlier, Erik Cole had struck Miles as a cheery, good-natured man, who rarely had a bad word to say about anyone. Now he understandably resembled someone whose entire world had tilted on its axis. “We entrusted our beautiful, exuberant, free-spirited child to them. And they turned that spirit against her. It never sat right with me when they called her wild. But she seemed content. So, settled. Fuck…fuck. Charity. I’m so sorry, baby.”
“It’s not your fault, Daddy,” she said, taking hold of his hand and smiling at him through her tears. “None of you are to blame for his actions. And, it took me a very long time to understand this, but it’s not my fault either. For too long I believed that it was. I believed if I changed everything about myself, I could be what he needed me to be. But he was sick and twisted and he enjoyed hurting me.”
“We should have seen what was going on.”
“How? I didn’t let on. I became adept at hiding what was happening from the world. I withdrew from all of you. And I knew it must have been hurtful and confusing…And I’m so sorry for that.”
“God, don’t apologize!” Faith snapped. “Just don’t!”
“Faith…”
Faith shook her head and tossed her napkin onto the table. “I can’t deal with this. I just can’t. I need some air. I’m sorry.”
Rita sighed softly and shifted her chair away from the table. “I’ll go speak to her.”
“Why don’t you three stay and talk?” Miles suggested quietly. “I’ll make sure she’s okay.”
“Oh but—” Rita began to protest, and Miles offered the clearly torn woman, a sympathetic smile.
“It’s fine. You stay. Charity, is that alright with you?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
He squeezed her shoulders and dropped a quick kiss on her head, appearances be damned. And then went in search of Faith.
He found her outside, leaning against the wall of the building, and struggling to light a cigarette. Her hands were shaking too badly, and the matches kept flickering out in the breeze.
“Allow me,” he offered. He removed the restaurant matchbook from her shaky grasp and expertly lit the cigarette, cupping his free hand around the flame to protect it from the wind.
“Thanks,” she said, after a long drag. She exhaled, turning her head to direct the stream of smoke away from them. But Miles still caught the fragrant hint of tobacco floating back on the breeze. “I bummed it off one of the waiters. I haven’t touched one of these fucking things since before Gracie was born.”
She furiously wiped her damp cheeks with the heel of her hand and huddled against the wall, seeking shelter from the cold wind. She had left her coat inside, and Miles shrugged out of his jacket to slide it over her shoulders.
“I wish he were still alive, so that I could slice off his balls and force feed them to him down a tube.”
Miles sighed and plucked the cigarette from her fingers to take a drag as well, before handing it back. He had quit smoking ten years ago, and it wasn’t a habit he was ever tempted to resume. But he figured he’d step off the wagon with her for a brief moment of solidarity.
He held the nicotine in his lungs for a beat, but the burn reminded him that this was not the best treatment of his newly healed lungs and he exhaled on a cough.
“I said something similar when she first told me. But I think we’d have to get in line behind Charity. She’s strong, feisty and while I didn’t know her before this happened to her…I can tell you that I’m in awe of the woman she is now.”
“We should have known. Should have seen. She was so quiet. So fucking perfect all the time. And that wasn’t my sister. My sister was loud and messy and crazy and boisterous.”
“Don’t,” he muttered grimly. “Don’t do this to yourself. To her. Self-recriminations won’t help anyone right now. She may not quite be the same loud, messy, crazy woman you knew before. But she’s your sister and she loves you all so much. She needs you to accept the woman she is now. Needs you to move forward with her.”
“Who are you?” Faith asked, but the question wasn’t hostile or angry. It was genuinely curious. “You show up here, Charity’s boss, and yet clearly on intimate terms with her. How does that even work? How do we know you’re not taking advantage of her?”
It was a fair question, and Miles shifted his shoulders uncomfortably, starting to feel the cold now.
“I get that, after what you’ve just learned about her marriage, it may be easy to assume that I’m just another arsehole taking advantage of a vulnerable woman. A woman with a history of being manipulated by arseholes. But in making that assumption, you’re underestimating your sister and the woman she is now. I love her.” It staggered him how easily those words drifted out of his mouth. They lingered on the breeze and—much like the nicotine in the drifting smoke—Miles loved the buzz they gave him. “And I’m here to offer her any emotional support she needs.”
“She can get that from us now.”
“I know.” He kept his tone conciliatory. Wanting her to understand that he wasn’t here to tread on toes or run interference between Charity and her family. “Charity and I are very aware that our relationship will end after I leave. We’ll both go home to our families and our lives will continue on without each other. And we’ll be the better for having had this beautiful thing between us.”
“I’m so angry with her,” Faith unexpectedly admitted, from between clenched teeth, taking another drag before tossing the cigarette to the ground and crushing it beneath her heel. “And I feel like I can’t tell her that because she’s already been through so much.”
“You’re her older sister. I reckon you’re entitled to speak your mind.”
“How can I?”
“Trust me, Charity is not a fragile flower. Fuck…despite everything she survived with that bastard—no, likely because of it—she’s one of the strongest people I know.”
“I feel like I don’t even know her anymore. Three years she was in that marriage, and then another three years after that, hiding out there in the middle of nowhere. And she never told us. We never had an inkling. Meanwhile we ate with those horrid people, cried with them, laughed with them. We fucking loved them and they broke our girl.”
She covered her face with her hands, sobs shuddering through her slender frame and Miles, after a brief hesitation, enfolded her in his arms. She was similar in height to Charity, but softer, rounder.
He preferred Charity’s leaner, sleekly muscled body. A fact which constantly surprised him, since he had always enjoyed soft, rounded curves before.
“They didn’t break her. She’s in that restaurant, fiercely unbroken, and ready to share her war stories with you. It may have taken longer than you feel it should have…but it’s happening right now. And I think you should be in there. To hear what she has to say.”
“God.” Her voice was muffled against his shoulder. “Your family must find you insufferable. You’re such a fucking know it all.”
“Yes,” he agreed somberly. “And, worse, I’m right all the time.”
She made a sound, something between a sob and laugh and moved out of his arms.
He plucked his handkerchief from the front pocket of the dinner jacket she still had draped over her shoulders and offered it to her. She took it with a soft m
urmur of thanks and used it to dab at her cheeks and vigorously blow her nose.
“Hope you weren’t expecting this back?” she asked tartly, taking one last swipe at her nose, and he chuckled.
“You and Charity are very much alike, you know?” he pointed out, with a wry shake of his head.
“I used to think so,” Faith said with a heavy sigh.
“Come on. Let’s get in out of the cold.”
“Today was weird.” Charity shrugged out of her coat and draped it over the back of the plush sofa in their quaint cottage. Because of her earlier tension and dread, she hadn’t paid much attention to the accommodation Miles had arranged for them. This place was simply fantastic. Beautifully furnished, comfortable, and luxurious.
She sank onto the large sofa and absently rubbed the back of her neck, wincing at the knots she found there. Miles was in the kitchen, rummaging through the cupboards. He paused in his search for whatever to stare at her assessingly.
“Tea?”
Charity snorted in amusement at the prosaic question. It was so typical of Miles.
“You do know that’s your go-to remedy for everything, right? Last year, when your sister fell and twisted her ankle? You immediately called for tea. When your brother’s boyfriend dumped him the year before? Extra sugar in the tea.”
“It does cure all ills,” he murmured sagely, and filled the kettle.
“I don’t need tea, Miles.”
He shoved his hands into his trouser pockets and lifted his head to look at her. God, he was so wildly beautiful. It was unfathomable to her that she had once found him anything less than gorgeous. Jaw dark with day old stubble, hair shaggy and in disarray thanks to the wind. His white dress shirt was open at the collar and rolled up to his elbows. The expensive fabric strained at the muscular shoulders, proof of how much he had bulked up since his illness.
He was amazing, caring, concerned…and so damned present.
What the hell was she going to do without him?
It was a distressing question, best left for another day, but it still sent a shudder of anxiety down her spine.
She was going to miss him so fricking much. And she didn’t want to spend the time she had left with him, nursing anger or grudges. He was here now.
And she loved him.
“I need you.”
His dimple deepened. Making an appearance before the actual smile graced his lips.
When he spoke, his voice brushed the air like silk floating on a gentle breeze, “I told you earlier, my love, you have me.”
Her eyes welled up, and he made a dismayed sound in the back of his throat. She held out her hand to him, and he was across the floor, and by her side in an instant, his hand in hers.
“Can you just hold me?”
He made a gruff sound and sank down beside her, gathering her close, as if she were the most precious thing in the entire world. She melted into that hold, hating how much it comforted her.
He was humming, his breath stirring the hair at her temple. The notes were melodic, and unrecognizable at first. But the tune organized itself into something familiar.
And a little… incongruous.
“I’m Too Sexy?” she asked with an incredulous blink, and lifted her head to stare at him.
He grinned sheepishly. “I used to hum it to Hugh and Vicki when they couldn’t sleep. It was the only song that ever came to mind. Don’t ask me why.”
She laughed. “Your mind is a weird and wonderful thing.”
She snuggled up against his chest again, her fingers toying with his shirt buttons. After a beat, he went back to humming, his hands gently stroking her back. But Charity couldn’t settle down and she sighed restlessly in the middle of what she assumed was the second verse. Hard to tell without the accompanying lyrics.
The humming stopped. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s all I can think of now,” she complained, and his hands stopped stroking.
“What?” His voice was puzzled, and she lifted her head to meet his somber gaze.
“How very much too sexy you are for this damned shirt.” Her words startled a laugh from him, and she grinned. “So maybe you should get rid of it. You’re too sexy for your pants too, by the way. And definitely way, way, way too sexy for your boxers.”
“Christ, you’re just…” He paused in mid-sentence and swallowed, his eyes devouring her face. The gravity in those gray depths, at odds with the lightness of the moment. “So, fucking adorable.”
“Stop speaking, Mr. Hollingsworth,” she whispered, framing his face with her palms. “And kiss me.”
“Charity I—” She made an impatient sound in the back of throat and covered his mouth. Swallowing the rest of his words as she triumphantly claimed the kiss that she had demanded.
No further words were required after that.
“Why do you love these monstrously huge cars?” Charity complained as she heaved herself into the rental car the following morning. This one was a cherry red Jeep Wrangler…big, boxy, and uncomfortably high.
The drive back would take between six to eight hours and they had to leave immediately after breakfast.
The morning meal had been subdued. Her family still reeling after the previous night’s revelations. Faith had obviously filled Stuart in, because the first thing he had done upon seeing her that morning was tug her into a protective bear hug. It had been comforting. Stuart had always been like a brother to her. Her sister’s high school sweetheart, he had been a constant presence in their family for as long as she could remember.
Faith, in the meantime, could barely make eye contact with her. Her responses to Charity’s comments and questions had been clipped to the point of rudeness. Charity was trying to be patient but part of her wanted to grab her sister by the shoulders and shake her.
Her mother was over-compensating, lavishing her with attention and hugs and endearments, while looking on the verge of tears throughout breakfast. While her father had been so quiet. Her father who always found the funny in every situation, who was filled to the brim with stupid dad jokes, whose voice was always the loudest and most cheerful in every room, had barely spoken half a dozen words all morning.
In the end, it was almost a relief to leave. But the farewells had been genuine and gut-wrenching. Her father and mother clung to her in a three-way hug that felt like it would never end. Stuart kissed her on the cheek and made her promise to call if she needed anything.
And Faith…Charity’s eyes flooded with tears as she waved her family goodbye and watched them grow smaller and smaller in the rear window. Faith had hugged her fiercely, almost painfully and had whispered, “I’m so fucking angry with you. And Blaine. I’m pissed at everything and everyone right now. And I don’t know how to cope. I love you, you dozy cow. Okay? But I’m just so… mad at you.”
“I know.”
“I shouldn’t be.”
“You should, I’m angry with myself as well. I should have told you. Told someone.”
“You should have trusted us.”
“Yes.”
“I love you. We’ll work it out. And heal. As a family.”
“I know.”
“Go. Enjoy the rest of your shagfest with Mr. Know-It-All over there. But you hurry home. Your life has been on hold for far too long.”
The car took a corner, and when she lost sight of her waving family, Charity promptly burst into tears.
She wasn’t even aware that Miles had pulled over until she felt his arms around her.
“Charity.” His voice was a gruff, pain-filled whisper. “You don’t have to leave. You can stay. I won’t hold it against you. I just…I want you to be happy.”
The thought of staying hadn’t even occurred to her, and his words made her cry harder, because with the offer now on the table, she had to consider it. She could stay. Give up the little time she had left with Miles, and start the healing process with her family.
What was to be gained by returning with Miles? A few weeks more
of tormenting herself with something she could not have? There was nothing back there for her. Her future, her life…it was here.
All she had to do was tell him to turn around.
She pushed herself away from him and stared into his harsh face resentfully. Hating that he had offered her this choice.
Why couldn’t he just be selfish for once? Tell her she had to return with him? Be a controlling dick? Why couldn’t he make this easy for her?
In that moment she hated him a little. Hated him intensely for making her love him so much.
Her body curled into a paroxysm of agony as she struggled with this impossible decision. Only it shouldn’t be impossible. It should be easy…
She had once been forced to choose a man over her family. But that hadn’t been a real choice.
This was…and it killed her that it was so hard.
His phone buzzed, providing a welcome diversion to the intensity of the moment, and Charity glanced over to where he had affixed the device to the dashboard. A picture of Stormy floated onto the screen, and Charity hiccoughed, her sobs lessening. She stared at the picture fixedly, gratefully. It was the answer she had been searching for.
This wasn’t just about her and Miles.
“I have to go back to Riversend with you,” she managed to say between lessening sobs.
He did nothing to hide the naked relief in his eyes. But because he was such a good guy, he still warily asked, “Are you sure?”
“I have to say goodbye to George and Amos, and my f-friends…” New friends, people she had only recently allowed into her heart and life. The thought of bidding them farewell was surprisingly hard. But it was the right thing to do. Leaving without so much as a goodbye would be unforgivable. “I have to say g-goodbye to St-St…Stormy.”
“Okay. If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure,” she said. Strength and conviction in her voice. “I have to say goodbye to you, Miles. A proper goodbye. My family? Life here? It’s my future. But I’m not quite done with this bit of my past yet.”
The Best Next Thing Page 29