by Casey Hagen
She wondered what he saw when he looked out into the night. Did he see the parking lights shining on the cars? Did he see the headlights drifting around the corner, their beams of light disappearing into the night?
Or did he see their transparent reflection in the window? Shane and Bellamy, town sweethearts from 2001-2005?
She saw a man haunted. That alone should tell her not to pry into a history they couldn’t change. Not to be selfish. Not to worry about her inner eighteen-year-old’s broken heart.
“Last night when the conversation turned to you, I told my sister I did it to protect you. I didn’t want to hurt you.” He ran his hands over his beard. “She promptly told me I was full of shit.”
“I’ve always loved your sister. How is she?”
“She’s okay. Not great, but she’ll get there. She always liked you, too.”
Bellamy traced her fingernail over the table in a figure-eight pattern. “So, if that’s not the reason, what was it?”
She winced at the desperation she sensed in her voice. Maybe it was just her, but God, this was a new low. She was thirty. A mature woman. She had a career. A full life—well, as full as it could be without the husband she always dreamed about and the children of her own.
And, apparently, an insecurity where Shane was concerned. Only he could help her banish it.
He peeled off his leather jacket and laid it on the bench next to him, then propped his elbows on the table as he leaned toward her.
At least she hadn’t scared him off.
“Because I’m selfish.” He reached over and ran his index finger up her restless ones and over the back of her hand. “If I’d told you, we would have been over. And I wanted every last second I could get with you, even if we never did more than hold hands.”
***
What the hell was he doing?
Her hand stilled under his touch, and he enveloped it in his own. The warmth, the fit, the way the sensation of her skin against his coursed through him and danced over his nerve endings wound around him. For the first time, the grief he wore didn’t fit so well anymore. Neither did moving on. He sat in the tangled web of where he’d been and where he didn’t even realize he wanted to go, terrified to move forward, but convinced he’d never survive going back.
“My goodness, if it isn’t Most Likely to Succeed and Best Smile of 2005 together again.”
Joy Ann Miller.
All these years later and he’d still never heard a voice like it. Thank God.
Bellamy tried to pull her hand away. “Oh, we’re not—”
“Yes, we are,” Shane said to Bellamy before turning to acknowledge their waitress. “Joy Ann, great to see you again. How have you been?”
“I can’t complain; fifth baby on the way so I’m working extra hours to save up,” she said as she rubbed her belly.
Shane didn’t miss how Bellamy stared longingly at the small mound under Joy Ann’s apron.
“How about you, handsome? Haven’t seen you around these parts since you hightailed it out of here after high school. I’ve heard some things, but I don’t want to speculate.”
“You heard about my wife and son?”
Joy Ann all of a sudden didn’t seem so comfortable with having brought it up. “Yes, that. I’m really sorry. Just tragic.” She set menus before them. “Look, what can I get you to drink to get started?”
He gestured to Bellamy.
“I’ll take a Diet Coke, please.”
“And I’ll take a Bourbon Sour Porter.”
“Coming right up,” Joy Ann said before scooting away as though her ass was on fire.
“I’m sorry she brought it up,” Bellamy said.
“I’m not. We need to talk about it.” His throat felt as though he’d eaten sawdust, so he cleared it. “I need to talk about it.”
“You don’t owe me any explanations about your wife and son. We were over by then. You were free to do whatever you wanted.”
Joy Ann set their drinks before them and took off again. Bellamy’s glass had barely hit the table before she was drinking out of it.
She was scared. She always seemed to know the right thing to say and could talk to anyone. That was a huge part of her charm. But now her hand shook as she set her glass down, and her skin had grown pale.
“I loved my wife and son. I still love them.” He didn’t know why he said it. It went without saying that a parent always loved their child; to include Laura, it was as if a part of him had gone into safe mode and tried to throw out the words that would put a bit of distance back between them.
She narrowed her eyes at him and jutted out her chin. “Did you think I would expect you not to?”
He straightened in his seat, surprised by the heat in her words. “I don’t know what to exp—”
“Well, let me help you.” She leaned in and leveled a hard look at him with her unyielding gaze. Her fingers curled over the edge of the table, the force with which she clenched her hands turning her knuckles white. “I don’t expect you to stop loving the most important people in your life just because they died. What kind of person do you think I am?”
Oh shit. “I didn’t mean—”
“I’m sure you didn’t, but I want to be perfectly clear. You started in with the kisses and the flirting. Now you’re throwing your love for them in my face, as if you want to push me away. Well, the joke is on you, Shane. The only thing that would send me in the other direction is if you pretended that they never existed. That they still don’t.”
Maybe this is why he hadn’t sought out women. He had no confidence that just any woman would be so accepting of the ghosts he carried with him. “I don’t know what I’m doing, Bellamy. I want… Jesus… I want to explore this thing with you, but they’re here and it feels like I’m being disloyal to them.”
“The only way you’re disloyal to them is if you act as if those years with them never happened. As if they don’t matter. And as much as I want to see where this goes, I wish more that you never lost them—even if it means I’d have never had a chance.”
He stood up just enough to reach across the table and sink his fingers into her silken hair. He titled her surprised face up to his and slanted his mouth over hers, swallowing her shocked gasp.
Her soft, warm lips moved along with his. A moan escaped her, and when her lips parted he went for more of taste.
Her cool tongue slid against his, the hint of soda; it collided with his early memories of her and the vanilla lip balm she loved.
The taste of her, the feel of her mouth under his familiar, yet brand-new. Over the years she hadn’t changed, not in any fundamental way, but he had.
Life had happened. Tragedy had scarred him, leaving him altered and lost. But her kiss, the way she gripped the wrist next to her ear, her neat, modest nails digging ever so slightly into his skin, crashed through him, pulling him from the abyss, and colored his weary, cold, black and white world.
With rebirth came pain.
Searing pain.
But he welcomed it. He passed some of the sting to her by biting her kiss-swollen bottom lip. She whimpered—not in pain, but in pleasure.
The ache in his jeans became unbearable. He had to stop or, so help him, he’d pull her right onto the table and bury himself inside her wet heat…a restaurant full of spectators be damned.
He pulled her head back and cupped her cheek with his other hand. Her eyes locked on him despite her half-lidded gaze. She looked like he had just made love to her for hours, pouring every ounce of grief, pain, attraction, and love into her and exhausted her body with the onslaught.
“I’ve missed you, Bell,” he whispered over her lips.
A half-sigh, half-sob escaped her lips as a hot tear slid down her cheek. He kissed the saltiness from her skin.
And found home.
They ate, but what he couldn’t recall. They talked, but about what…he couldn’t recall that either.
He drove her home, walked her to her door, and held her fa
ce between his hands for a sweet, soft kiss—all he dared with a dark, empty house right there, beckoning both of them.
Tonight wasn’t the night. They needed to sleep on it. To be sure.
And the minute she was sure, she was his.
He returned home and found his mother there at the kitchen table with Devin, each sipping tea.
“Well, where have you been?” his mother asked with a smile.
“I think by that look on your face you know where I’ve been. Devin has a big mouth.”
“Hey, you never told me to keep it on the down-low.”
“So, tonight was a date?”
“I guess you could call it that.”
“Yes, but would you call it that?”
“Yes, a date.”
“So, I need some good news this week. What are the chances my boy is coming home?”
“God, Mom. He has a job in L.A. You can’t just expect him to up and move back to St. Helena tomorrow.”
He cracked open a beer and leaned against the sink. “I have a job I can do from anywhere.” Where the hell did those words come from? Not that they weren’t true, but his willingness to offer them up to the vultures in a bundle of hope took him by surprise.
“So you’ve thought about it?”
Of course he had thought about it, for maybe five minutes. Certainly not long enough to have a logical conversation about the possibility. “I don’t need to think about it; it’s kind of obvious since I’m here working for dad while he recuperates and doing my job while I’m here. Actually, I should get on it.”
He kissed his mother’s cheek and ignored her look of surprise.
He nudged Devin’s shoulder and she gave him a wink. Slipping down the hall, he ducked into his room and rolled out his drawings.
The dozens of eraser marks distracted him, so he pulled out a fresh sheet with every intention of transferring what he already had to the fresh paper.
He stared at the old image, rejuvenated blood pumping through his veins. With a smirk he tore the sheet in half, then in fourths, and relegated it to the trash can.
He needed bold curves, lots of soft light, open space, and inviting landscapes around each of the matching buildings. He wanted to highlight each country’s unique contribution to the freedom project.
He needed to inject some Bell into the drawing and make it sing.
Chapter 7
Bellamy rushed to get dressed before Shane arrived. After last night, she thought it best to see him with full body armor.
Maybe she should look into a chastity belt.
Not that she had chastity to protect anymore but, holy hell, every last part of her wanted to rub up on him like a cat.
She was pretty sure the very idea was ill-advised at best.
He was leaving again. Did she really need a repeat performance? How many nights had she cried herself to sleep when he left the last time? Hundreds probably. He’d told her about the college in L.A., and then two days later he was gone.
At least he admitted his selfishness. It was better than an apology. Admitting his faults meant maybe he wouldn’t repeat them. On her. Or anyone.
It worked out perfectly that she had plans to volunteer at the St. Paws Animal Rescue that morning and then meet Cameron and Val for lunch at The Chatter Shack. The soonest she’d be around him for any length of time would be this afternoon.
Maybe she could visit his dad at the hospital and kill some of that time, too.
But not because she was scared.
Absolutely not.
She just didn’t trust her hormones and heart to not overtake her common sense and send her running straight back into heartache.
She had just smoothed her hair into a ponytail when she heard the doorbell. She grabbed her purse on the way to open the door.
“Hey,” she said, pulling the door open and stepping aside to let him in.
“Hi, Bell. You heading out?”
There it was again, the nickname he’d called her all through high school. She didn’t know what to make of him calling her that. It was like he was ready to slide right back into who they were, with no mention of whether she was who he really wanted—or who he wanted for right now.
He had a life seven hours away from St. Helena. She wouldn’t ask him to change it, and she wanted nothing to do with L.A.
She was safe here in St. Helena. She had roots and friends. And when it came down to it, if she never found the right man for herself and never had a family of her own, she at least had the people of St. Helena, the family she’d chosen.
“Yeah, I’ve got plans. You probably won’t see me until late afternoon, if that.” She fumbled for her keys in her purse. “You know what? If I don’t make it home before you’re done, don’t worry about locking up. No one ever bothers the place anyway.” She started past him, but he reached for her arm and stopped her.
“Hey, I know what you’re doing,” he said, tugging her to him and dropping his forehead to hers.
She breathed him in just once before she pulled away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not doing anything. I have plans and I’m busy.”
His hand dropped to hers, where he interlaced their fingers. “You’re scared.”
“I am not,” she said, her head held high. And why wasn’t he? He should be terrified enough for the both of them.
“Our kiss scared you.”
“Nope,” she said, shaking her head and making her ponytail smack against her cheek.
He swung their joined hands and gave her a knowing grin. “Okay, if it didn’t scare you prove it.”
Bad idea. If she tasted him again, she’d be done. She might as well give up men, because she’d be ruined for anyone else. “I don’t have time for games, Shane.”
“No games, just a quick test. If you’re not scared, you’ll have no problem repeating the kiss.”
He was serious. Dead serious. She hadn’t seen that kind of challenge in his eyes since the high school football field. Fierce determination and an unyielding stance. “What are you, twelve?”
“You tell me. Does this feel like the kiss of a twelve-year-old?” He locked his arm around her waist and pulled her against him. With a hand cupping her cheek, he took her mouth in a bold assault.
Her bones melted into a puddle at her feet when her knees buckled. Every hair stood up on the back of her neck, sending shivers down her spine.
That soft beard dancing over her sensitized skin, the mustache tickling her upper lip, combined, launched an offensive against her reason, her willpower.
The second kiss confirmed what she feared. This was what all the men after Shane had lacked. Not a one of them put their mind, body, and soul into something so simple as a kiss.
His tongue slid along hers and she buried her hands in his hair, loving the feel of those silky strands beneath her palm again. Her breasts grew heavy and hot, driving her to press against him harder, seeking relief she knew was impossible to find with clothes on.
His hand rubbed along her lower back, along the waist of her jeans, but never went lower. Not Shane. He’d drive her mad with lust, possess her just as completely as a genie locked in a bottle without sinking so low as to cop a quick feel, which maddened her and ignited a deeper craving in her.
She needed skin to skin.
Heartbeat to heartbeat.
Her lips over every inch of his body.
She wanted his sighs, his moans, and to occupy every fantasy from this day forward, whether he walked away or not.
She wanted to be as important to him as he had always been to her.
She swallowed a whimper of submission, mustered a shred of willpower, and flattened her palm on his chest. Absolutely not lingering an extra second to feel the muscles there before giving him a gentle shove that broke their lips apart.
He cupped the back of her head and kissed her forehead; his lungs heaved like he’d just run one in for a touchdown.
“Now I’m the one who’s scared,” he said
against her temple, his voice gravelly low and just as seductive as his kiss.
Her heart seized at his admission. They might have a chance…if he didn’t screw it up again.
No, that wasn’t right. If they didn’t screw it up. She might have never lost him had she not been so set in her ways. She’d spent years resting the fault solely on his shoulders, but had she been so unwavering in her position on where to go to school, where to live, that she forced him into keeping his dreams from her?
What did that say about her, that the man she loved more than anything, who loved her, couldn’t share his aspirations with her?
“Ditto,” she whispered against his shoulder. She closed her eyes and hugged him tight.
***
Bellamy spent an uneventful morning at the rescue, cleaning up a litter of kittens that had been brought in with their ailing mama.
Their owner had passed away unexpectedly a week earlier, and the family had only discovered the cat and her litter that morning.
The mama had gone without food and water but managed to feed her babies as best as possible, leaving her weak and near death.
Bellamy concentrated on the kittens while she waited to hear from the vet if the mama’s sacrifice would be her last act in protecting her babies.
Tears stung her eyes, as they usually did when she volunteered. She told the staff it was just her allergies but the truth was, every time she worked in the rescue her heart ached.
The abused animals, the injuries, the pets just waiting for their forever homes in cages, it made her want to take home all the fur babies and love them until they just couldn’t stand it anymore, but it wouldn’t matter. The shelter would fill in a matter of days after.
Shay Michaels, the rescue’s owner, sat Bellamy down one day to have a heart to heart about whether or not the hours Bellamy donated to the shelter, although appreciated, would do her more harm than good.
Shay made Bellamy promise that the minute those animals started costing her sleep at night, she’d take a break.
Bellamy promised, but sort of broke it. Just sort of.
When she found herself lying in bed thinking about the Yorkie with a broken leg, having been thrown against a wall by his owner, she thought she’d go mad from the feeling of helplessness. She lay there wondering how many pets were being hurt right at that very minute.
