by Abby Brooks
I considered walking past the store. Putting my head down and hiding around the corner until he went away. But that felt like a betrayal of who I wanted to be and how I wanted to live. I was stronger than that. Had more pride than that. I didn’t hide from my problems. I faced them head on.
And so, with my heart in my throat and my stomach in my feet, I pushed through the front door. I would have been okay if he hadn’t turned around, but he looked so bad. So hurt. So…broken.
The sight of him put tears in my eyes and it took every ounce of my will to set my gaze on the door in the back and walk past him. Regardless of how badly my heart wanted him, we couldn’t survive each other. His voice, when he called to me, sent energy and adrenaline coursing through my body, but no simple apology could repair what was never meant to exist in the first place.
A few minutes later, the door to the workshop creaked open and Brooke poked her head in. “He’s gone if you want to come out.”
I nodded and let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding. “Will it ever get any easier?”
Brooke leaned against the wall. “Will what get any easier? Seeing him?”
“Learning to be happy after him. I thought I found something I didn’t actually believe existed. For a second, I believed in love and had hope for a future.”
“It’ll get easier. I promise. Time will pass and the pain will fade.”
“But it won’t ever actually be gone, will it? I’ll always be missing the part of me that belongs to him.”
Brooke nodded and I could see the truth in her eyes. Wyatt would be forever woven through my memories. He was a thread in the tapestry of my life, one I wouldn’t be able to remove without unraveling the whole damn thing.
“He looked really bad,” Brooke said. “I don’t know if you got a good look at him, but I think he’s really suffering.”
“Good!” My voice cracked with emotion. “Let him suffer. He deserves to, after the way he treated me. He threw us away, because of her.” I welcomed the flare of anger. It was so much easier to deal with than the grief that threatened to drown me.
Brooke agreed with me, letting her gaze run over my face as if she were assessing me for damage. I wondered what she saw. Did she see how much I hurt? How much I cared? Did she notice the cracks in my confidence? Could she tell how much I wanted to run to Wyatt and lose myself in the comfort of his arms and how much I hated myself for that desire?
“I always thought the two of us would implode if we got together.” I offered her a weak smile. “And here we are. Imploded.”
“At least you weren’t together for years before you figured it out.”
Except we were. Wyatt had been a part of my life since I was sixteen. I had grown up, falling in love with him, even as I promised myself that love didn’t exist. Brooke knew that; I could see it through the look on her face. She was simply trying to help me find the bright spots in an otherwise horrible situation. I appreciated her efforts, but they were useless. There was nothing good about what had happened between Wyatt and me.
He had my first kiss—a thing I once called beautiful was now tainted.
He was my first lover—a gift I saved for him that ended up cutting me to the bone.
And he was my first love—something I swore I would never give.
Something he would always have.
Something I could never take back.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Wyatt
I did my best not to think about Kara, but she was everywhere. She was in the quiet nights I spent on the back patio—images of her perched on the railing battering my poor aching heart. Her presence permeated the office, a million whispered discussions with Dad echoing off the stoic furniture.
I had been wrong to assume I knew what she and her mother were talking about in her apartment. I had been wrong to jump to conclusions. I had been wrong to cast judgement without asking questions.
When I started helping Burke, I thought I was a good guy doing bad things. Turned out, I wasn’t so good after all. Maybe, I was just a bad guy who had fooled himself into thinking he was good. Maybe, I understood my father better than anyone because of all of us, I was the most like him, willing to jump to conclusions and allow fear to ruin something beautiful. The thought was sobering and awful, but I knew it to be true. I also knew I would stop at nothing to burn that part of me out of existence.
A sound in the doorway caught my attention and I looked up from where I sat hunkered in Dad’s chair. Lucas leaned against the wall, his hands shoved in his pocket. “You look like shit, little brother.”
“That obvious, huh?”
He sauntered into the room, his shoulders square, his chin lifted, and his gaze hard. He took a seat across from me and sat there, glaring with his perfect posture and military training.
I couldn’t help but smile. “You’re doing that thing again,” I said.
Lucas furrowed his brow. “What thing?”
“That thing where you get all intense and glowery.” I made the statement—a long running joke between us—and for one horrible moment I thought he wouldn’t accept it.
But, his mouth curled into a smile and his gaze softened. “Yeah, well, you deserve it.”
I nodded and leaned back in my chair, letting a long breath out through my nose. “Probably.”
Lucas lowered his gaze. “I keep wondering if all this would have happened if I hadn’t joined the Marines.” He frowned as he explained how he had battled guilt during basic training because he knew he had abandoned his siblings to deal with Dad. “But then,” he said, “you stepped up and I felt confident that you had everything under control. And that was wrong of me.”
I bristled at that statement, but Lucas held up a hand, interrupting me before I said anything. “You were only a kid when I left. Hell, I was only a kid when I left, but you are my younger brother and it was a shit thing to do, running away and expecting you to pick up the slack. I should have been the one to protect you from Dad, not the other way around.”
“You did what you needed to do, the same way I did. I’m man enough to take responsibility for my actions.”
Kara flashed through my mind, her eyes burning with pain as I accused her of being the one thing she never wanted to be…
Could I ever take responsibility for that action?
Lucas lowered his gaze, visibly gathering himself for whatever he had to say next. “The girl…Kara…”
Her name hit me hard, but the distaste in his tone hit me harder. “What about her?”
“It’s clear you guys have feelings for each other.”
I ran a hand along the back of my neck, trying desperately to get my emotions under control. I didn’t know what my brother was getting at, but she was the last thing I wanted to talk about. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does matter. I understand you don’t get to choose who you fall in love with. I do. But, aren’t you afraid that the two of you might be a little complicated? Is she worth it?”
Yes. A hundred times over. Kara was worth everything I went through for her. She was worth so much more than I gave her. And the lack of her was destroying me from the inside out.
“Jesus, Luc. It doesn’t matter because it’s over.”
After years of battling my attraction for her…
After years of falling in love so slowly, I didn’t even notice it happening…
It was over before it had a chance to breathe.
Lucas nodded. “That’s probably for the best.”
I glared at him. “It probably is.” The words slipped past my lips and I knew they were a lie. I would regret everything that happened between Kara and me for the rest of my life.
In that moment, I knew I couldn’t let it end like this. I couldn’t let her fade away, knowing I had so many pieces that belonged to her. She deserved to hear my apology. She deserved a chance to be whole again. And if she wasn’t going to give me that chance, I was going to have to fight for it.
Cha
pter Thirty-Three
Kara
At some point this week, the shop stopped looking like a jewelry store and started looking like a florist. Bouquets of flowers covered every possible counter space and new ones came every day. Each delivery arrived with a card, with Wyatt’s chicken-scratch scrawling across the page. The first couple were innocuous enough.
I’m sorry.
You deserved better.
I miss you.
I hope you’re okay.
After those didn’t earn him a reply, he upped his game. On each new card, he described a memory of a time we spent together. He told me about the first day he saw me. That he thought I was beautiful and felt guilty for thinking that way because of how young I was. He told me he hated me instantly and could tell I felt the same.
This is a piece of me that belongs to you, he scribbled at the bottom. And a piece of you that belongs to me.
The next day’s delivery came with a story about how angry he had been when Burke told him to pick me up from jail, but that anger was eclipsed by his need to protect me when he realized I didn’t belong there. Again, at the bottom, where the same words…
This is a piece of me that belongs to you. And a piece of you that belongs to me.
He told me about the night he rescued me from Todd Hudgins. How he slept in my chair to make sure I didn’t throw up in my sleep. How uncomfortable he was to leave after talking to my mom, even though he knew I was safe in my own bed, in my own home. He told me he knew, then, that I meant more to him than I should. That he was in over his head. That he knew he would be better off to just walk away…but he couldn’t.
This is a piece of me that belongs to you. And a piece of you that belongs to me.
After that, he told me he almost chased after me on my seventeenth birthday. That when I showed up at his house after my mom stole my money, he had never been so turned on as he was with me perched on the railing in the rain, my legs wrapped around his waist.
This is a piece of me that belongs to you. And a piece of you that belongs to me.
He told me about the day he got the news about Lucas. How the only thing that sounded strong enough to soothe Wyatt’s breaking heart was me. He called me a balm to his soul.
This is a piece of me that belongs to you. And a piece of you that belongs to me.
Over and over.
Again and again.
I never responded. Even when his words touched me so deeply I had to disappear into the workshop to hide my tears, I stayed silent. Each day, a new set of flowers arrived with a new card inscribed with his version of our history. Each day, I learned a little bit more about how he saw me. How deeply he felt for me.
I never felt so beautiful. So wanted. So understood. Wyatt saw me as something precious to cherish and protect…
At least, according to the story he told through his notes…
“You should call him,” Brooke said as I struggled to find space for the newest delivery.
I didn’t know if I was strong enough to call him. Nor did I know if I was strong enough to not call him. “Why?”
“Because…” Brooke gestured around the crowded store. “It’s obvious he’s head over heels for you. Because he messed up…big time…but maybe he deserves a chance to—”
“To what, Brooke? Apologize?”
She bobbed her head as if I was an idiot for asking.
Fatigue settled over me as doubt spun me round and round. I wanted to talk to him, to give him a chance to explain, but every time I got close, I found myself wondering if all of this was my mother’s doing. She was, after all, blackmailing him to marry me.
And it was all so exhausting.
I was tired. So tired. Hip deep in a bog of manipulation and deception, moving forward felt damn near impossible. It would be so easy to give up and just sink in, let it creep up to my chest, my chin. To wallow in despair until there was nothing left of me.
For once, I just wanted things to be easy and straightforward. I wanted to be able to take someone’s words and actions at face value. I almost said as much to Brooke, but stopped before I did.
How many times had I gone on and on about wishing I had something, while she was right there, where she always was, giving me everything I needed? In this very instant, I wanted to be able to take someone’s words and actions at face value and there she was, being honest with me. Nothing she said or did was manipulation. I had always been able to trust her, and I knew without a doubt that would never change. She would always be there for me, just like Wyatt had always been there.
And just like that, a moment of clarity shone through the darkness that had settled over my life. Or maybe it was a moment of stupidity, but I suspected that was the voice of fear offering that suggestion, and fear often masqueraded as wisdom.
If I could be so caught up in my own drama that I could miss something as wonderful as Brooke’s friendship, maybe, maybe that was what happened to Wyatt. Maybe, while he was trying to navigate an already difficult situation, he heard something awful, something that sparked that fear and it blinded him…
Or maybe I was fooling myself…
The urge to talk to Wyatt sung through my veins, lighting up my cells with energy and hope. I explained my thoughts to Brooke, who beamed when I told her what she meant to me. “But what if it’s my mom?” I asked. “Pulling his strings? Making him do things when he doesn’t care for me at all.”
“I don’t know, Kara. Ask him? Ask her? Sometimes you have to take a leap of faith. Sometimes, you have to risk getting hurt. I love you so much and I can’t watch you live like this anymore. All the fire and spunk I’ve always admired is gone. It’s like I’m watching you die, even though you’re still living. You have to do something, because you can’t go on like this. I won’t let you.”
I digested her words, staring at the wealth of flowers, inhaling the heavily perfumed air. For the thousandth time, I wondered what it might mean if everything Wyatt put in those cards was true.
It means he loves you, whispered my heart. It means he loves you and you’re a fool for not responding sooner.
It means he knows exactly what to say to make you feel that way, whispered my head. It means he and your mom have been talking and you’d be a fool if you responded now.
Brooke watched as I walked from bouquet to bouquet, breathing in their scent, rereading the cards. As I rubbed a petal between my fingers, I realized that I had to know. I couldn’t spend the rest of my life missing the pieces I gave to him and not know how much of our story was true, and how much was built on a lie.
I hadn’t seen my mom since the day I invited her to my apartment two weeks ago. I really wasn’t interested in seeing her ever again, but I needed to know if she had anything to do with Wyatt’s sudden obsession with floral arrangements. I pulled up in front of our condo, next to her vacant parking space. The lights were off, and the windows looked oddly empty. I climbed out of the car and peered inside. No blinds. No furniture. No Mom.
At some point in the last month she moved without calling to let me know. It was an unusual choice for someone like her. Whatever had caused her change in living arrangements was ripe with the opportunity to guilt trip me back into her life. The fact that she didn’t take it plopped a stone of concern into my stomach.
Hoping she still had the same phone number, I shot her a text, then got back in the car and prepared to wait until possibly forever to hear back. Mom never returned a text until it was convenient and for her, I was rarely convenient. To my surprise, she replied before I even got on the road, explaining that she had moved. The information was simple and straightforward and so unlike my mother, I started to worry. I got her new address and permission to stop by, then drove in shock as the quality of the homes dropped with each passing mile.
Finally, I pulled to a stop in front of a rundown apartment building and then checked the address she gave me three times before turning off the engine. As I made my way up the dilapidated walk, my mother swung open the fr
ont door and stepped out.
She said nothing, simply offering a weak smile. Her clothes still looked like her, too tight, too young, too much. Her hair was completely blonde again, not even a whisper of a dark root to be seen. Her makeup was on and her nails were polished to perfection. She looked out of place standing on the chipped concrete stoop, to say the least.
I lifted a hand and stopped in front of her. She didn’t invite me in. We stood, awkwardly silent while I tried to figure out how to start the conversation. Finally, I settled on, “What’s going on?”
Mom lifted a condescending eyebrow. “What? Not a fan of my new home?”
“Not what I said.” I didn’t want to be rude, but I didn’t want to be weak, either. Navigating this new power dynamic between us was uncomfortable.
She dismissed the response with a roll of her eyes and a flip of her hands. “What do you want, Kara?”
I didn’t know what to make of her tone. Everything Mom ever did was designed to create a response in me, but in this instance, there was nothing behind her words. I couldn’t even begin to guess at her ulterior motive, though I was sure she had one. Madeline Lockhart always had an agenda. “Wyatt’s been sending me flowers,” I began.
Mom lifted her hands in a so-what gesture. “Congratulations?”
“I wanted to know if it’s because of you.”
“And why, exactly, would that have anything to do with me?”
I sighed in exasperation. “Come on, Mom. Because of the fact that you were blackmailing him to marry me? Remember that sweet nugget of motherly love?”