Jagged Heart (Broken Bottles Series Book 3)

by Taeuffer, Pamela

  “Nicky.” He put his hand under my chin. “Look at me.”

  “Don’t touch me,” I said stubbornly. “Damn it, what?” I gave in. With tears in my eyes, I looked up at him. I tried to keep my anger red-hot. When I saw the sadness that had saturated his face, I couldn’t help but soften.

  “Please don’t pull away from me,” he pleaded. “I didn’t leave you in Yountville. I don’t ever want to leave you. You tear me apart when you accuse me of abandoning you. I wouldn’t do that."

  "You already did," I returned coldly.

  Chapter 12

  Fighting

  “Just for a moment, can you please stop hurling your anger at me? It hurts, Nicky. Please stop.”

  “Wait." I closed my eyes for a few seconds and gathered myself. "In Yountville, weren't you the one who completely shut down and patted me on the back the next morning? I mean, a pat on my freaking back. What the hell was that?”

  “It was . . . I’m trying to explain how I . . .” For a change his speech was scattered. He seemed frightened. “Can you allow for the possibility that there’s more to me than some jerk only after your body? I'm asking you to search your heart. All I've been doing the last few days is searching mine. Will you?”

  “Why should I?" I challenged. "After all, you said you’re rethinking things, right? How did you say it? Let's see, something like . . . if you decided we were okay, then I should leap back into your arms? Shouldn’t we just admit we’re not right for each other? Aren’t we done?”

  “What else?” he asked.

  “What do you mean?” I countered.

  “How else do you want to attack me?" He closed his eyes as if thinking about an answer to his own question; a moment later opened them again. “What other words do you have to pull out of your arsenal so you can shoot me down?”

  “I . . . I don’t know.” It was almost like I was thrown in reverse. “Let’s um, just . . . get this over with.”

  “Get this over with?” he retorted. “Those are the words you use to encourage someone trying to reach out to you?”

  I looked away, unsure of how to respond.

  “Will you please listen to me?” His hand covered mine.

  “Hmm,” I murmured, pretending to act disinterested.

  “I’ll wait until I get a firm yes or no,” he insisted. “I'm a friend asking you to listen. Can you?”

  “Yes.” I answered in earnest.

  "Can I get you anything?" The waiter came to our table with a pot of coffee and a second mug. He looked at Ryan. "Coffee?"

  "Sure."

  "Anything to eat?" he asked after filling both of our cups.

  "No thanks." Ryan shook his head and then took a sip of the black gold and stared into the mug. I waited for him to begin again, knowing how difficult it was to put our feelings into words. When he looked up at me, his eyes seemed more focused and clear. “You say your friends have abandoned you—you say I abandoned you—but I only wanted time to rethink my options."

  "Then you should have said that," I explained. "You barely spoke to me. We avoided each other all morning and you knew I felt bad."

  "I know I should have," he admitted. "I was shaken and confused by what happened. I blew it and I'm sorry."

  "Everything seems to be shutting down," I said mournfully. "I don't know what to do."

  "Nothing is shutting down for you. It's only that you've begun to leap into a new part of your life. Sometimes transition feels like a funeral. It's hard to believe it as they're happening, but those endings force us to grow." Suddenly Ryan's face flushed shades of red. He looked away from me. I had been so engrossed in our conversation I hadn't noticed a female fan had stopped to talk. "When we're done talking, my girlfriend and I will see if you're still here. For now, we need privacy."

  She walked away.

  My heart beat with pride the way he'd taken control and kept the focus on us.

  "Growth feels like death," I admitted cautiously.

  "You’ve had a lot to deal with.” He dipped a napkin into my glass of water and dabbed my eyes with it. “I can’t imagine all the terrible things you’ve had to face at home with your father’s alcoholism. In my opinion, the trouble you've gone through with your family has made you an amazing woman."

  "Thanks, but—"

  "Why do you think Tara and Alex have gotten so close to you?" he interrupted. "They can see a pure spirit. You’re wonderful the way you hope for the best. You want to embrace people and even though you're afraid, you try to let them in. And when you take that chance, your eyes shine with such innocence and joy.

  "I love that look," he searched my face. "I know you’re afraid, but that look—the way you give—it’s what made me fall in love with you. And by the way, do you really understand what you’ve done? To have the first business proposal you designed accepted by a franchise the size of the Goliaths? How much more do you have to accomplish before you realize you're a force?"

  "It never feels like enough," I confessed.

  "You've done it. You're on the way, Nick. The people at Stanford have seen everything before, and yet . . . you were accepted.” He paused, and then in a thick and steady voice, said, “I’ve seen everything before. You're different."

  “Being different hurts.” His comment vibrated inside me. I was shaken. “All I’ve ever wanted was to fit in. I never could.”

  "As you become a more confident woman, you’ll be thankful for your uniqueness." His eyes softened. "Tara, Matt, Alex and Darrell are all attracted to the maturity and wisdom you have in your heart. Those are people who are careful about inviting someone new into their lives. They listen to you. You can trust them and they trust you. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “Yes.”

  “They see the generous, smart, loving woman you are. I see her, too. I hope . . .” He let the words hang between us.

  “What? You hope what?" I straightened, leaning toward him, desperate to hear his words.

  “I hope I’m the only one who can have all of you.” He let out a long sigh that seemed filled with exhaustion. “I want to have you the way a man and a woman have each other. I need your intelligence, your loveliness, your magic—that essence from inside of you that made me notice you immediately.”

  What’s wrong with me that I can’t resist him? I’ve never heard anyone explain things so openly the way he does.

  “Walter called me after you left his office." He raised his arm to get the attention of our waiter, who came to the table immediately. "I'd like a bowl of soup. Split pea."

  The young man hurried to the counter, ladled the soup into a bowl and brought it to our table with two packets of crackers and a pat of butter wrapped in foil.

  Ryan took several spoonfuls of the soup, leaving me hanging with the anticipation of what Walter had said to him.

  “What did Walter say?” Finally unable to wait any longer I had to ask what the comments were from his friend, high school coach and mentor; the man who’d helped him turn the corner after his father died.

  “He spoke with the head of the business department at Stanford. It turns out they were hoping you’d begin in the fall. You already have their attention; they know you're going to be special. And even though Walter knows I’m desperate to have you in my life . . .” He trailed off and looked away.

  “What did he say?” I pressed again for the answer.

  “He told me I should let you go.”

  I don’t like the way that feels, but he’s probably right. It’s what we should do for each other. Oh damn, I don’t know what to do.

  “I know Walter’s right. You need to experience all the things at college waiting for a single woman." He raked his hands through his hair. "The thought of not being with you makes me feel like screaming. I know we're right. I can see the doubt in your eyes and maybe . . . why would you believe me now, I guess. Still, whatever connection has brought us here, I feel like this is it for me. Not for you. I know you'll be all right. I mean for me. You ar
e the only woman I see in my life.”

  He lifted my hand and placed it on his cheek.

  Ropes that had been wrapped so firmly around me, tightening every year, seemed to unravel.

  “Don’t you think if we’re meant to be, we can start seeing each other again when I finish college?” I dared myself to say the words I'd been afraid of.

  “If you turn the corner, I’ll never see you again." His entire body seemed to shake. "You told me you can’t watch me or anyone else pull away in their car or walk away from you?"

  “Yes.”

  “For me it’s the opposite, Nicky. I need to watch you for as long as I can.”

  Oh damn, I’m giving in.

  “I know you’re scared." His cell phone buzzed. "Sorry, I just . . ." He took it from his pocket and looked at the screen. He smiled and put it away. "Chris texting me they're on the plane."

  "I ruined your goodbye," I said regretfully.

  "No. We're bleeding and need to talk so we can find a way to forgive each other. This is important. Believe it or not, I’m scared the same way you are. I’m afraid you’ll shut me out.”

  “I said before I want to be—”

  “Friends,” he acknowledged. “Yes, I know. But I don’t want to be just friends. Truthfully, I don’t know if I’ll be able to look at you again if we don’t make it together. The sadness . . . I don't think I'll ever overcome it. You're intense, and—"

  “You're not an easy person to be with, either. I don't—"

  “I don’t take for granted you have an entire vault of fears.” He moved closer. “Can't you see me differently? Everything I've planned and done since we met has been for you.”

  “How can that be?” I whispered.

  “I love you.” He held my hands in his.

  My thoughts circled, trying to form new conclusions. I looked seriously at him, trying to decide what to say and do.

  You were so cold in Yountville—why didn’t you text or call me that day?

  “Please don’t leave me behind, Nicky. I promise I only mistook your signals. I didn’t know what to do. You threw me like I never have been.”

  He kissed my cheek and rested his forehead on mine. We quietly absorbed each other, continued to hold hands and then wove our fingers together.

  “I tried to let you in. You backed away." I was calmer and more rational. “You rushed me. I’m not ready to open up physically; at least in the way you are.”

  “I’m sorry. You don't understand how you rattle me. "I thought from your signals in Half Moon Bay . . . you were naked with me, and . . . I thought you were ready."

  “I never considered that,” I admitted.

  "We're both learning." He sipped a spoonful of soup.

  “I’m afraid your lifestyle won’t let allow you to be patient. You come and go all the time on your road trips and everything is so big and fast. How can I trust you enough to even argue with you? You’re gone for ten to fourteen days in a stretch and if you're mad there's always someone waiting . . . it's bad news for me.”

  "For us," he corrected. "It's not easy for me to leave you."

  "Yes, us."

  “Let your heart open to our friendship and . . . love—my love. We can do it.” He painted such a positive picture. I wanted to believe him. My whole body seemed to strain, yearning to move nearer. “We'll have to take risks if we want to be together.”

  “I have. I don’t know if I still can. Not the same way you do,” I offered honestly. “That’s the thing I’m most afraid of. If I don’t give in . . . if I don’t keep the peace—”

  “Won’t you please jump in with me? When it comes down to it, aren't we both taking a risk?" He took my hands in his. "Yes, I do have to go on the road and you’ll be in school, but I’ll be home all winter and half of the rest of the year. In summer, you’ll be home. Please give me a real chance. If we don’t work out, you’re not stuck with me."

  “I’ve never felt stuck with you.” My senses were suddenly alive, trembling and tingling. I felt Ryan—and myself—in a new way.

  “I don’t want to lose you. When you fly away, I want it to be with me, Nicky.” He let go of my hands. I closed my eyes as his thumb moved affectionately on my cheek. “Don’t you understand why I backed off in Yountville? I needed to reassess everything I was doing. I thought because of the way we were together in Half Moon Bay a few days earlier you were ready to make love.

  “When you retreated, you shocked me to my core,” he continued. “What you don't know is, I was awake all night as you lay on top of me. Your sweet body was just like a soft kitten on my chest and hips, your bare breasts rubbing on me . . . I was trying to answer the question that kept returning—how could I get the trust of the sweet lady who was with me and have her in every way.”

  I didn’t even think he was awake. Now he tells me he was thinking the whole night?

  “Even in Yountville, as I watched you move, my mind wasn’t on the vets. I was thinking about you, punishing myself for what I'd done wrong and trying to find a way to make the sweet woman I'd held so closely, look my way forever.” He paused, searching my face. “Please accept my apology. I promise that I didn’t intend to make you feel bad. I'm not going to look for someone else just because you hesitate with sex or disagree with me.” He lifted my hand to his lips and kissed it. “The last thing I wanted to do was to make you feel abandoned. Do you believe me?”

  "Yes."

  “Please talk to me instead of holding back and shutting me out. This is the second time you’ve cut me off. The coldness is so final. You don’t realize how it hurts.”

  “I do know the hurt," I replied. "You stood waiting for me with your back turned and the doubts . . . pretty soon I was spiraling. I apologized. All you could say is you were rethinking everything. You wouldn’t talk so . . .”

  “I was trying not to let you see how sad I was. I felt broken.” He brushed his cheek as if there were still tears on it. “I’m putting everything I have right in front of you. I’m not playing games and I wouldn’t discard someone so precious.”

  We talked well into the early-morning hours.

  I finally began to breathe normally.

  Ryan’s hands moved alternately from my cheek, hair, and to my shoulders.

  Slowly my fingertips walked to his.

  I traced them lightly, carefully.

  Between the words, the fears, and the reassurances, we dared take a small step into our unspoken dreams and whisper silently and out aloud, “I’m afraid and very fragile."

  We talked as adults, friends, and peers, not just as a boy wanting sex from a girl or a girl afraid to have sex with a boy. That night, I felt like a woman who had an opportunity to become a part of a good man’s life and bring that good man into mine.

  Although I was tired of fighting, I started to understand—part of life, of love, of joy, of trauma, of dysfunction, and of striving forward—was the fight.

  Fighting for what we want is normal.

  Fighting for what we want is necessary.

  Transitioning didn’t mean I had to isolate myself from others or sever Ryan from my life.

  Our friendship solidified in that early morning.

  I knew he’d be someone who was in my life, forever.

  Chapter 13

  An Invitation

  Sitting in the Java House with Ryan in those tender hours of morning seemed to transform our connection from fragile and broken, to woven and tight.

  The night was unforgettable.

  If I had never opened my journal to write it down, I would have remembered every word of our conversation.

  “You know, the deep feelings I’ve revealed aren’t because of my desire to have sex with you," Ryan tilted my jaw up.

  "I know that," I managed a weak smile.

  “Sex with you is something I want for more than one night, one week, or one month. I want all of you all the time.” He tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear. “I want to take you deep into a love affair. I’m no
t playing. You’re not a quick fantasy to me."

  I felt as if we’d just finished telling each other all of our secrets.

  In some ways, that was exactly what had happened.

  “I value who you are, Nicky. The things I see for us are too important to throw them away for a quick sensation of pleasure. I want to add to your life, not take from it. Do you believe me?”

  “Yes.” I responded immediately. “I always do.”

  “Are you sure I’ve answered your questions and addressed your doubts?” He kissed my cheek. “Let’s get them out while our hearts are wide open. I’ll stay here as long as you need.”

  “You’ve answered everything." I wiped my eyes. “I’m exhausted and I can't talk anymore.” My brain is on overload.

  “If you’re ready, then.” He held out his hand for me.

  "We'd better look for that woman who stopped at our table," I reminded. "You don't want some bullshit online about what a jerk you are."

  "I don't really care this morning." He was obviously spent like I was. "But . . ." He strained his neck.

  We spotted her sitting by herself on the other side of the diner. Now that I had some time to look at her, I saw she was an attractive lady with blond hair, somewhere in her mid-twenties with a good figure, dressed in jeans and a loose T-shirt. She wore a ring on her finger.

  "There she is," I pointed. "We'd better go over."

  He left money for my coffee and berry pie—both unfinished.

  "Sorry about being so abrupt earlier," he shook her hand. "Did you want—"

  "My husband was a patient at the Veteran's Hospital in Yountville a few years back." Her eyes were brown and thickly lashed.

  "What's his name?" Ryan's face softened. I could see he was glad we stopped.

  "Trevor Loughton," she said.

  "How's he doing now?"

  "Really good," she said. "He's on graveyard shift and I'm killing time. He works security across the street at The Towers. I just wanted to get your autograph for him. He follows you and always brags about the visits he had with you."