by Robin Hill
But he wishes he didn’t.
The tears I managed to quell burst free, sliding down my face in a solid sheet.
“I tried to fight it,” he says. “God knows I tried. You left and I thought my only choice was to get over you…but I can’t.”
He scrubs his hand over his face, leaving behind damp cheeks and thick, wet lashes. His eyes search mine, and the desperate look he gives me causes my breath to catch. My fingers itch to touch him and my arms long to wrap around him, but I don’t do either. I just stand and stare, unable to move or speak.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “This isn’t how I wanted this conversation to go.” He rakes a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean to dump all this on you. I wanted to tell you I fucked up and to please forgive me and that I hope like hell you still love me because I love you.”
Aside from the running water, the room goes completely silent.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say.” I hug my arms to my chest. “I can’t imagine what that must have been like for you, but you really hurt me, Darian.”
“I know,” he says, “and I’m going to fix it. Please, Francesca, let me fix it. At least let me try.”
“How?”
“Come with me to Austin tomorrow, just for one night. There’s something I want to show you.”
“Austin.” The word falls from my mouth.
Where we began…
I feel light-headed. “This is a lot, Darian,” I say, gripping the counter for support, “and so not what I thought you were going to tell me.” I turn off the faucet. “I’m a little overwhelmed. Actually, I’m a lot overwhelmed. I need to clear my head and just…think.”
Darian nods. “I understand. Do you want me to go?”
“No,” I say quickly, turning toward my bedroom door. I don’t want you to go. “You don’t have to go. Just give me some time.”
Frankie: He told me he loves me.
Jane: I knew it! What did you say?
Frankie: Not a lot. I’m scared. What if he still isn’t ready?
Jane: What if he is?
I sink low in my claw-foot tub as honeysuckle-scented bubbles rise to my chin. My knees are bent, my feet perched on the lip of the porcelain. The faint glow of the afternoon sun filters through sheer white curtains, bathing the room in dim light. The effect is calming, and I begin to relax for the first time in days.
I lie there for maybe an hour as the water cools and the dim light turns gray. I’m about to get out when my phone vibrates with a text.
Darian: I heard a song on my way here that made me think of you. It’s called Flight. Ironic, huh? Can we erase every stupid thing I’ve said since I got here and pretend I led with this?
Frankie: Darian…
Darian: I know. I’m not playing fair. Just listen.
Seconds later, the link appears on my screen and I click on it. A soft piano intro fills my small bathroom and I lie back in the lukewarm water, close my eyes, and let the melody envelop me. The lyrics are both a confession and a promise, and I listen to them again and again until my skin prunes.
Darian’s telling me he loves me.
He’s telling me I’m his lifeline.
He’s telling me…he’s ready.
Frankie: I’ll go with you to Austin.
CHAPTER 16
Waiting for the Sun
Amanda: Checking in. Thanks for handling Flight Risk.
Darian: No problem. I have a meeting in the morning with the Kellerman Group.
Amanda: I thought we decided to wait on that.
Darian: I’m moving forward.
Amanda: I knew it! Riley owes me $20.
Frankie
Darian lost his entire world the day that plane went down. How could a person ever move on from something like that? I don’t think I could. I didn’t think he did. Yet ten years later, here he is. Ready to move on…with me.
I just don’t know if I’m ready.
“You okay?” Darian asks, glancing at me from the driver’s seat. “You seem…far away.”
You know the saying sometimes love isn’t enough? I used to think it was such bullshit. Love is everything.
But now I’m starting to get it.
“I’m fine,” I say. “Just in a daze I guess.”
Because I do love him, and it might not be enough.
A slight frown pulls at his lips as he turns back to the road. “Thank you for doing this.”
I nod, then tuck my feet beneath me on the seat and rest my head against the window.
Is my love for him stronger than my fear of losing him?
I push the question from my mind and focus on the blur of bluebonnets lining I-35. It looks like spring has finally sprung in the Hill Country, and with the sun no longer battling a cold front, it’s a perfect day.
“Are they always this thick?” Darian asks as he moves into the right-hand lane. “The wildflowers?”
“It’s all the rain we’ve had.” I glance at him and then back out my window. “It’s been a wet month.”
Usually there’d be a mix of colors made up of Indian Blankets, Mexican Hats, and Winecups, but this stretch of highway is nothing but blue.
We exit the interstate and head west on Cesar Chavez. Without the festival traffic, Austin feels like a ghost town. The streets are empty by comparison and we make almost every light.
Darian takes a left at San Jacinto, then immediately veers into the turn lane.
My head jerks to the side. “The Four Seasons?”
“You won’t need your bag,” he says with a small smile. “We’re not staying; we’re just…visiting.”
We roll up to the curb and he puts the car in park. A valet opens my door.
“So this is like a do-over?” I ask.
I step onto the sidewalk as Darian makes his way around the car. He’s dressed in the indigo-washed jeans and short-sleeved white button-down he bought on our way into Austin. I’m used to seeing him dressed down in concert T-shirts or dressed up in the occasional suit. This is a nice change. He looks handsome.
“A do-over implies the need to do something a second time because the first time was a failure,” he says. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes, Francesca, but approaching you that day wasn’t one of them.”
A flush creeps up my neck and I spin toward the door, walking ahead as Darian falls in step behind me. I feel the tips of his fingers graze my back and then withdraw as we cross the threshold. I slow my pace until he’s beside me. He keeps his hand close but doesn’t touch me again. I’m tempted to stop so he’s forced to touch me, but I don’t know if I’m ready for that either.
“Someone to Watch Over Me” drifts softly from the Steinway in the corner as we cross the vacant lobby toward the lounge. It’s as quiet in the hotel as it was on the streets outside. South By blew in like a hurricane but only left calm in its wake.
We choose the first table we come to. Darian pulls out my chair and then takes the one on the opposite side. A smile tugs at his lips as he turns his head back to the lobby. We have a perfect view of the front desk, and I don’t think it’s a coincidence.
“What about the antipasto platter?” Darian asks as he skims the menu. “Something light since we’re having a big dinner?”
“Where’s dinner?” I ask, shrugging out of my sweater.
“I was thinking French.”
Not a do-over but a repeat. A walk down memory lane.
My chest warms. “French sounds perfect.”
“Mr. Fox, I thought that was you.” The voice comes from behind me and gives me a start.
“Mr. Harper.” Darian stands with his hand extended.
Mr. who?
Our guest firmly grips Darian’s hand and then turns to me.
Oh.
“And, Ms. Valentine, what a pleasure.” His face brightens as his eyes flicker between us. “Are you staying with us tonight?”
“Not this time,” Darian says. “This date’s a bit…location specific.”
> Mr. Harper chuckles. “Next time then. And thank you again for the tickets. My wife is beside herself.”
Tickets?
“My pleasure. Glad I could help.”
“I’ll leave you kids alone,” Mr. Harper says. “Enjoy your time in Austin.”
The hotel manager walks away and I shoot Darian a look. “Tickets?”
“I may have bribed him a little,” he says, drawing out the I.
“Bribed him?”
“Bribed…traded…” He purses his lips. “I had something he wanted, and he had something I wanted.”
I lean forward with my forearms pressed against the edge of the table, hands folded at my chest. “What did he have that you wanted?”
Darian smiles. “In a sense…you.”
My brows furrow.
“This might be easier to explain if I start at the beginning,” he says, turning his gaze to the front desk. “I brought you back here, Francesca, because this is where my life changed course. That day, you gave me a gift.
“The panel I’d given had just wrapped up and I was headed through the lobby when I heard you. In a sea of people…I heard you.”
My hand flies to my face. “Oh God, was I that loud?”
Darian shakes his head. “No, you weren’t…not yet anyway. I followed the sound of your voice until I found you pressed against the front desk. You were arguing with the clerk, but I couldn’t make out what you were saying. I could just tell you were frustrated and I remember thinking…it was cute.”
“Cute?”
He shrugs. “I watched you for a minute. I was about to walk away when you flung your head back and said—no, shouted—that you were kaput. Everything just stopped. I was rooted in place, and all I could do was stare. Eventually you caught me staring, but I still couldn’t take my eyes off you.”
I remember that moment so clearly. The way my skin tingled and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. I knew someone was watching me. Darian was watching me. I felt him.
“The day I lost my family was the worst day of my life,” he says, “and thank Christ I don’t remember much of it. What I do remember was pure agony. I’d never considered what that word actually meant. To someone who hasn’t experienced it, agony is just a synonym for pain.” The muscles in his jaw clench, followed by my stomach. “Pain has levels. It even has a fucking scale. Agony has no levels, no scale.”
Darian’s eyes close, and mine lower to his hand, balling into a fist on the table. I reach for it, slide my fingers through his, and squeeze it as tight as I can.
“I’m sorry,” he says. He looks at me and then at our joined hands. His eyes are like glass.
“Don’t be sorry. Not for this.”
His thumb brushes against my knuckles, sending a chill up my arm.
“There were some good memories from that day too,” he says. “Memories I’d forgotten.” His expression softens. “And you brought them back.”
“Me? How?”
“It was that word…kaput.” Darian smiles, and the rare sight of his dimple lowers my defenses even further. “I swear every week my mother had a new word, and that week—that day—it was kaput. She said it like it was a word she used often, but I’d never heard her say it before. I remember thinking, God, this crazy woman. I love her so much.” His gaze falls to the table. He picks up a sugar packet and flicks it between his fingers. “Her force-fed vocabulary lessons used to annoy the hell out of me, but as I got older I learned to appreciate them.
“That day I asked her, ‘Is that your new word this week?’
“She smiled and told me it was. Then she said, ‘It’s a great word, but nobody ever uses it.’” He pauses. “But you did.”
“I did,” I say, thinking back on the moment. “And I never do. It’s not something I normally say.”
Darian’s eyes meet mine and his smile tightens. “I wish I could remember all the words she tried to teach me. At least I remember that one, thanks to you. It was a beautiful moment that got lost in a horrible day…and you gave it back to me.”
We barely touch the antipasto platter. Darian’s confession is too big for our small table, and we hurry to leave it. He drives us to The Mendón where we check into the same rooms we had before. And aside from getting in and out of his car, he never lets go of my hand.
The walk to our floor is silent. I’m lost in my thoughts, my mind reeling with questions I need answers for—hard questions I can’t bring myself to ask. So I don’t say anything until we’re standing in front of my door, and even then, I opt to ask an easy one.
“What if I had said no?”
Darian’s still holding my hand. His gaze is aimed at my face, but he isn’t looking at me so much as through me. He’s lost in his thoughts too. My voice catches him off guard and it takes a moment for my words to register.
“Said no?”
“When you offered me a room. What if I had said no?”
He shoves his free hand in his pocket and rocks back on his heels. “I was prepared to wait with you. I was even prepared to have my driver take you home, but I was selfish and didn’t want to do either.” He pauses, then says, “There’s just something about you, Francesca.” His gaze falls to our threaded fingers and he holds my hand a little tighter. “I wish I could explain it. I wish I could understand it. What started out as wanting to do right by my mother turned into wanting something for me. You. I wanted you for me even though I didn’t know it yet.” He shakes his head. “I’m not making any sense, am I?”
“No, you’re…I get it…”
I feel my defenses peeling away in layers. I’m trying to stay strong. Think clearly. Rationally. But Darian’s words cloud the air like a thick mist and I can’t see past my own heart.
A jagged swallow grazes my throat. “I should go.” I pull my hand free, then slip it inside my purse and take out my key card. “Oh, my bag…”
“Already inside,” he says, staring down at his empty fingers. “Take your time. Our reservations aren’t until seven.” He bends to kiss my forehead, then stops.
“It’s okay,” I whisper.
Is it okay?
The feel of his lips is so faint, I wonder if they touch my skin at all.
“See you soon, Francesca,” he says and then turns toward his door.
My chest tightens as if the walls of the corridor are closing in. “Darian?”
He stops and smiles at me over his shoulder.
I shake my head. “Never mind. I’ll see you soon.”
We sit at a small corner table beneath a bronze farmhouse chandelier. The restaurant is full, but the level of noise is considerably lower than it was during South By.
Darian asks if I’d like the same Bordeaux we had that night in my room—the night we were together for the first time. My mind burns with the memory, but I pass. Today has been intense and my emotions are all over the place. The last thing I need is alcohol clouding my judgment.
When the waiter arrives, Darian hands him the wine list and orders sparkling water instead. Then we’re alone, and our table falls quiet. Darian unfolds his napkin and then folds it again. A hesitant smile pulls at the corners of his lips and a flush comes over his face.
I cock my head. “What is it?”
His eyes lift to mine and his smile widens. “I was just remembering the last time we were here. How much I wanted to kiss you.” He unfolds his napkin once more and drapes it across his lap. “I almost did; I was so close.”
“Why didn’t you? You had to have known I wanted you to.”
The waiter delivers a bottle of San Pellegrino and says he’ll return for our orders. Darian pours the water, and I close my hand around my glass to give it something to do.
“I was going to…I was so nervous I was clutching the tablecloth beneath the table. I didn’t even know I was doing it. When I moved closer to you, I felt it pull.” He winces. “We were seconds away from a disaster. I took it as a sign.”
“It would have been worth it.”
>
“I wasn’t so sure.” His pinkie slides against mine, and they curl together. “I was afraid of scaring you off. I think yanking everything off the table might have done it.”
I let go of my glass for his hand. “Like I scared you off? Attacking you in front of my room?” I squeeze my eyes closed, pressing my lips together. “I wish I’d been given a sign.”
Darian laughs. “I still can’t believe you thought I rejected you. I was so…enamored. But I was also terrified—of hurting you, of falling for you…” His grip tightens. “And I managed to do both.”
Darian’s quick to take my hand the second we leave the restaurant, and I’m quick to let him. I know I should slow down and put some space between us, but I can’t help wondering if my time with him is fleeting.
At some point, he’s going to go home and we’ll have nothing but space between us.
With our fingers meshed together, he keeps me close as we wander toward the hotel. We opt for Fifth Street over Sixth, which is fairly quiet on a Sunday night. Darian’s quiet too. Halfway between Neches and Trinity, he stops, as if his feet are suddenly cemented to the sidewalk, and it’s obvious something’s weighing on him.
“You can tell me,” I say. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”
A warm gust of wind whips through my hair, blowing it in my face. Darian steps in front of me and tucks the loose strands behind my ear.
“I was falling in love with you,” he says. “Already. I could feel it, and it scared the hell out of me.” His hand skims my neck and then disappears in the pocket of his jeans. “That’s why I didn’t go that night.”
I’m quiet for a moment as memories from that night resurface. I’d considered everything from he regretted asking me to he got tied up with work and forgot. I even wondered if it was the sex. Was I terrible? Or did he get what he wanted and no longer have a use for me?
Those thoughts were quickly discounted. Darian wasn’t like that; I was sure of it.
When he showed up at my cabin, I ruled out that it had anything to do with me at all.
But it did.