The logical side of me echoed my thoughts with of course he asked for more time, he loves her and doesn’t want to lose her, dumb ass. But the side of me that had tasted Charlie, the side that had felt what it was like to own her — that side said bullshit.
He didn’t deserve her. He’d naïvely believed he could treat her the way he had for five years and she’d just stay. He thought she’d never leave. And then when she finally told him she was going, he begged for more time.
Bullshit.
“Why should he get another two months?” I asked.
I was fuming, nostrils flaring as Charlie slipped her hand back from where it rested in front of mine and picked up her soup spoon, instead. I felt the loss of that energy between us, and I reached my hand forward, begging her to keep the connection.
“I don’t know, because he wants a chance, I guess,” she said with a shrug. “He wants more time.”
“And what do you want?”
She closed her eyes on a breath.
“I don’t know, Reese. I’m just… I’m confused. I love him, too.” Her eyes opened again, the pain in them mirroring mine. “I’m sorry, but I do. This is all… it’s so much.”
She dropped her soup spoon before even attempting to take a bite, sitting back in her chair.
My hand inched forward again, and she watched the movement, her eyes stuck on my fingertips before they found me again. I needed to touch her. I needed to hold her, to remind her what it felt like when she was in my arms this weekend.
Watching her sitting there so close to me, yet so far away, it was almost as torturous as the night she left me in the fort we’d built. And with the next words she spoke, the same longing ache I’d felt that night ripped through me like a knife.
“I told him yes.”
Her voice was just a whisper, but it might as well have been a train.
“I gave him two months.”
I closed my eyes, pushing a breath through my nose as I tried to hold onto what hope was still left.
I wanted to scream, to flip tables and demand for her to leave him tonight. The rational side of me didn’t exist when it came to Charlie. There was only the mad man inside me, the one who had wanted her for so long — too long — and now that he’d had her, there was no satiating him.
She had to be mine. That was the only answer.
But I knew I couldn’t have her if I didn’t give her the time she needed, the space to make the decision on her own.
She had to choose me, too.
After a moment, I leaned back in my own chair, my hand still flat on the table, though there was too much distance between us now. “I understand,” I finally said.
“You do?”
“I do.”
Charlie sighed, leaning forward, her hand on the table again. She spread her fingers over the cool surface, her eyes on mine.
“Thank you,” she said, fingers inching forward.
We watched each other, and I asked her without words what this meant for me — for us. When her hand reached just far enough for her middle finger to touch the tip of mine, my heart squeezed.
It didn’t change anything for us. That small touch told me so.
Hope trickled back in.
“There’s something I need to tell you, too,” I said, and I swept my hand over hers.
But before I could say another word, Mr. Henderson swung into the café, his eyes lighting up when he spotted us in the corner.
I pulled my hand from Charlie quickly, running it back through my hair and forcing a smile as he approached. Charlie arched a questioning brow, but when Mr. Henderson came into her view, she sat up straighter, finally taking the first bite of her soup.
“Afternoon, Mr. Walker,” he said, greeting me first before nodding at Charlie. “Mrs. Pierce. I’m so glad I found you two together. I have great news.”
Charie’s cheeks were tinged a deep pink, and she only smiled up at Mr. Henderson briefly before taking another bite of her soup.
“What news is that?” I asked.
He clapped his hands together excitedly, his eyes doubling in size. “Well, I just received confirmation that we have two seats at the Star Schools Conference again this year. Are you familiar?”
He didn’t wait for me to answer before he continued.
“It’s a high-end conference for teachers at model schools, mostly private, some public. Incredible speakers and break-out sessions, one of the best conferences in the nation. This year they’re in Miami, and, well…” Mr. Henderson gave us both a toothy smile. “I hope you two like the beach!”
Charlie and I exchanged a look.
“Are you saying that you’re sending us?” Charlie asked.
“I am! How could I not send two of my award-nominated teachers?” he said.
That earned him more blank looks from us.
“I’m so happy to be the one to tell you that you have both been nominated for awards at our annual Westchester Year End Gala. Reese, you have been nominated for our Bright Beginning award, which is reserved for teachers who have joined us in the last eighteen months. And Charlie,” he said, turning to her with the most prideful smile I’d ever seen him wear. “You, my dear, have been nominated for Teacher of the Year.” He chuckled. “And if it counts for anything at all, you’ve already got my vote.”
Charlie covered her mouth with the fingertips I’d just touched, her eyes finding mine before they drifted back up to Mr. Henderson. “Me?”
“Yes, you.” Mr. Henderson extended his hand for hers. “Congratulations.”
She shook his hand deftly, shock still painting her face. “I’m… honored. Thank you.”
“You’re quite welcome, I’m so happy I had the pleasure of telling you. Now,” he said once he had finished shaking Charlie’s hand. “The conference is in less than three weeks. I’ll work on finding substitutes for your classrooms, as it takes place on a Thursday, Friday, Saturday. You’ll fly back Sunday. Mrs. Trumane at the front office will email you all the details, as well as your travel information.”
Charlie still couldn’t speak, so I thanked Mr. Henderson for us, and after swiping a cupcake from the bar, he was gone.
“Congratulations, Charlie,” I said, reaching forward for her hand. This time I took it greedily, squeezing it in my own, wishing I could do so much more. “I’m so happy for you.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, shaking her head. “I just… I can’t believe it.” Then, her eyes caught mine. “And we’re going to a conference.”
“We are.”
“Just the two of us.”
I smirked. “Indeed.”
The first bell rang, signaling the end of the lunch hour, and Charlie’s attention snapped to the clock on the wall before she jumped up.
“I didn’t realize how late it was. I have to get back.”
“Wait,” I said, standing with her. I stepped a little closer, lowering my voice.
“I have to run. We can talk more at dinner tomorrow night?”
“Dinner?”
She smiled. “I figured they hadn’t told you. Pretend to be surprised, please? My parents invited Cameron and I to come watch you play at the restaurant.”
A flurry of thoughts and feelings assaulted me at her surprise — happiness that her parents wanted to see me play, relief that I’d get to see Charlie outside of school, anger that Cameron would be there with her, and complete dread at the fact that I likely wouldn’t be able to keep Blake away.
“Can we have lunch again tomorrow?”
Charlie was already rushing toward the door, her bag slung over her shoulder. “I can’t, meeting with Robin to discuss a few lesson plans. I’ll need to make a plan for when we’re out for the conference now, too.”
Something had shifted in Charlie since the beginning of lunch, likely due to her award nomination. She smiled so brightly, her cheeks rosy pink, hazelnut eyes wide and light.
I hated that I had to share her.
She seemed to read that emot
ion on my face, because she checked over her shoulder that we were alone, then she stepped into me, lifting up onto her toes to press a kiss to my lips.
I stiffened, eyes still open and searching behind her, but the other teachers had gone already. So, I melted into her, pulling her flush against me and sucking her bottom lip between my teeth. She grinned against my lips, sealing the kiss with one last peck, and then she pulled back, flushed.
“For the record,” I said, sweeping a fallen strand of her hair behind her ear. “I hate that you’re going home to him tonight.”
Her face crumpled. “Please… I need you to understand.”
“I do,” I assured her. “But it doesn’t make me hate it any less.”
She squeezed my hand in understanding, and I held that hand as she walked away, only letting it drop once she’d reached the doorway of the café. I watched her go, leaning against the doorframe until she disappeared around the corner of the hallway, and then I finally made my way back to my classroom.
Two months.
I shook my head, disappointed in myself that I’d thought Cameron would let her go so easily. I hated him for asking her for anything, most of all more time, but I couldn’t blame him. He was playing his last cards, whatever ones he had left.
I would have done the same.
I would have done anything to keep her.
Still, I didn’t know how I would get her alone now, how I would remind her of the way it felt to be together this weekend. Something happened in my house, in that fort, at that piano — it was like traveling back in time, but as the people we are now. I wanted to share all of my scars with her, and I wanted to heal all of hers in return.
That would be harder to do with Cameron holding on so tight.
The realization that Blake was in the picture now, too, made me curl my fists in the pockets of my slacks. I didn’t know where to start with explaining her to Charlie, and I didn’t know how to cut Blake out of the picture, either.
The truth was, I loved her, too. I didn’t want to hurt her.
But I didn’t want to be with her, either.
I sighed, running a frustrated hand through my hair. The truth would have to come out — to Charlie first, and eventually, to Blake. Would Charlie hate me? Would she understand?
Would this work in Cameron’s favor?
I didn’t have any of the answers, but I knew one thing for sure.
I had to get Charlie alone before tomorrow night.
CHAPTER TWO
* * *
Cameron
When I was eight years old, I watched my father beat my mother to a bloody pulp — and then he went to jail for the rest of his life, and I went to live with my grandparents.
That was the sob story everyone wanted from me. Everyone. The girls who slept with me, the sports psychiatrist for the hockey team at Garrick, the coach who didn’t understand why I didn’t try to go pro — they all wanted the story. They wanted to solve the mystery, to know more about the man behind the mask.
Charlie was the only one who ever got it.
She was the only one who ever got the story, who ever got all of me.
I couldn’t be sure why those memories were resurfacing as I sat on the edge of our bed Wednesday evening, watching Charlie put on her makeup in her vanity mirror. I used to follow her around when she was getting ready, back when we were younger. It’d take me all of ten minutes to be dressed and ready to go for a night out, but it always took her at least an hour.
So, I followed her around, playing music for us and talking about anything and everything.
I’d make her laugh, refill her wine, tell her she didn’t even need any of the makeup she was so carefully applying. She’d tell me about her dreams and I’d listen. I always loved to listen to her, even when I didn’t have much to say.
Somewhere along the way, I stopped doing that.
I started watching TV downstairs instead, or I’d sit in my office and work until the very minute she was ready to walk out the door. I couldn’t name the year when I’d decided I didn’t want to spend time with her while she got ready anymore. I couldn’t remember what changed.
But tonight, I took my old seat on the edge of the bed, right behind her, and I watched with adoration as she carefully swiped her dark eyeliner over her lids, bringing it to a gentle point at the crease of her eyes.
And I also thought of my father.
Maybe it was because right now, staring at my beautiful wife, I couldn’t imagine the kind of man who could beat someone he made vows to. I couldn’t imagine hurting Charlie, couldn’t bear the thought of seeing her cringe as my hand connected with her cheek, or hearing her scream as my hands wrapped around her tiny arms.
I couldn’t fathom hurting her, and yet I had.
That simple fact might as well have been my father’s fist, for how hard it sucker punched me in the gut, for the sting it left in its wake — a constant reminder, a chronic pain.
I may not have struck her to the ground, or raised my voice, or done anything to purposefully make her feel like she was anything but my entire world. But I had let her grieve the loss our sons alone. I had let her think I’d abandoned her, I’d failed to use my words to comfort her when she needed me most, and I’d let another man come between us and sweep her off her feet right in front of me.
If she wouldn’t have agreed to give me two months to change her mind, I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself.
Two months.
Those words circled my every thought as Charlie tucked her eyeliner away, pulling out my favorite red lipstick, next. Her eyes caught mine in the mirror as she rolled the bottom of the tube, the red stick emerging, and I smirked.
“My favorite.”
Charlie blushed, leaning forward a little to smooth the stick over her top lip.
“I remember.”
I couldn’t help but watch her as she applied the last of it, rolling her lips together once both of them were coated. Then, I stood, towering behind her before I bent to whisper into the hollow point of her ear.
“Can’t wait to help you take that off later.”
Goose bumps sparked from where my lips touched her skin and spread like wildfire down her bare neck. I smiled, finding some sort of hope in the fact that I still knew that spot was one of her weak points, that it was where I’d whisper my darkest desires to her before I made them all come true later in our bed.
Charlie’s eyes found mine in the mirror again, heated at first, but then slowly subdued, slowly saddened.
I realized then that I wasn’t the only one she was putting the lipstick on for.
Maybe I wasn’t even on her mind at all, anymore.
But I didn’t question her, didn’t let it show. I just kissed her neck, holding her gaze in the mirror as long as I could.
“I’ll go get the car warmed up,” I told her. “Meet you in the foyer?”
She nodded, her smile soft and meek. It was a mix of love and pity. I wasn’t sure which one weighed more.
As I descended our stairs, I checked the time on my watch, and the irony wasn’t lost on me.
Time.
It was something I’d never paid attention to before. It felt like an unlimited resource, something I had plenty of. I had time to work through our sons’ death on my own, time to give Charlie her space, time to bring her back to me when she was ready, time to build a life with her — and to try to build a family again, too.
I thought I had forever.
Now, I only had weeks.
Once the car was started, I waited in the foyer, and Charlie came down the stairs in only the way she could — like an angel. She floated from step to step, her long black dress trailing the wood, her neck decorated with a simple strand of pearls that I’d bought her for Mother’s Day when she was pregnant. I waited until she stood in front of me at the bottom step, then I took her hand in mine.
“You’re beautiful,” I told her.
“Thank you, Cam.”
Sh
e smiled, squeezing my hand, and I wrapped her coat around her before walking her to the car.
On the drive to the restaurant where we would watch Reese play piano, I squeezed her thigh and told her I loved her.
She told me she loved me, too.
I believed her, and I knew that was what I needed to hold onto — that love. I had to bring it back to life from where it hung on with futile breaths now. Time was working against me, and I had years to make up for, with just days to do it. Days and weeks and two insufficient months. It wasn’t enough time, but it had to be.
The only thing I could know to be true was that she still loved me.
I hoped that love was enough to bring her back to me, too.
***
Charlie
I thought about Jane again on the drive to dinner Wednesday evening.
It hadn’t yet been a week since I’d let her loose, since I’d opened our bedroom window and told her to fly free. The more time passed, the more I missed her.
As I stared out the window on our drive to dinner, I wondered if she was out there, staring right back at me from a distance.
Cameron’s hand rested easily on my leg, just above my knee, his fingers keeping the inside of my thigh warm as we drove. He’d watched me get ready that evening, from the time I started doing my hair until I applied the very last of my lipstick. It was something he used to do — before.
Every time I looked in the mirror and found his gaze staring back at me, my stomach warmed.
It had always been so special to me, that he would just follow me around while I got ready. It never took him long, and he could have easily done a number of other things. But he always stayed, watching, talking, laughing.
It was like every minute he got to spend with me was a precious one.
Just like on our way to dinner two months before when I couldn’t remember when his hand had stopped finding my knee in the car, I couldn’t remember when he’d stopped watching me get ready. But tonight, he’d done both again.
It should have made me swoon. It would have, just weeks before. I stared at his hand and willed myself to feel that same fluttery joy I’d felt the night after my parents’ house, the night I thought we’d have sex again. I tried to remember what it felt like the night he claimed me after I’d been at Happy Hour with Reese. I searched for the love and adoration I’d felt when I walked in on him redoing my library to surprise me.
Best Kept Secrets: The Complete Series Page 27
