You're Still the One

by Rachel Harris

  “Listen, I’m not trying to get up in your business, but I recognize a woman in love when I see her. I know that you’re in pain, and that you probably won’t believe me when I say this…but you’re not the only one hurting. In spite of what that press release said, Charlie feels more than friendship for you, Ella. That much is obvious to anyone with a lick of sense. He’s just scared.”

  When Arabella scoffed, Sherry chuckled. “I said you wouldn’t believe me. But honey, I have an older brother, a brother-in-law, and a music-man husband, so you’re gonna have to trust me here. Men are a lot more sensitive and vulnerable than they want us to believe. Charlie just needs time to realize how he feels about you.”

  Arabella took a deep breath and rested her head on Sherry’s shoulder. “I’d love to believe that, but Charlie told me from the start that this was only for the summer. He never once led me on or encouraged me to think this could ever be more than friendship. Just like that stupid statement said. My silly schoolgirl hopes confused things.”

  It had been a valiant effort, Ella thought, in trying to sound strong, but Sherry’s cocked eyebrow implied she hadn’t bought the story for one second. Luckily, she appeared willing to let it slide.

  “Come on, enough angst.” Standing up, she tugged on Arabella’s hand. “We’re getting out of this damned house. Tyler’s got Tony, my old security detail, stationed out front so we’ll be safe wherever you want to go. I know you’re leaving soon, so is there anything you want to do in New Orleans before you head on back to Nashville?”

  Ella thought about it. The city was incredible, and she’d seen so much during her stay. But the last couple weeks in Charlie’s arms distracted her from her original goals. While it was happening, she hadn’t minded. Being with him, experiencing true passion, had been worth every unchecked activity on her list. But now, in light of her dad’s bribery and faced with embarrassing photos, they were glaring reminders of how much she’d lost her head.

  Grabbing her phone from the floor, she smiled and said, “Actually, there is one thing.”

  …

  A hesitant rap on the door had Charlie vaulting off his sofa.

  Arabella. The rush of relief made his legs weak. Tyler’s responses to his constant check-in calls were getting strained, and Charlie had been only an hour or two away from storming over there so he could see for himself that she really was okay. And yes, he did get the irony in going from receiving annoying check-in calls to making them.

  He threw open the door, eager to see her face again, to hear her honeyed voice, but came up short when he saw the key in her hand.

  “Hey, Tucker.” Arabella bit the corner of her lip. “Got a second?”

  He nodded reluctantly. “For you, I’ve got two.”

  Arabella didn’t even respond to his pathetic attempt at a joke. “I didn’t quit,” she told him. She smoothed the fabric of her dress and shifted her weight. “I finished the work Mike had for me early. I think it’s best for everyone if I head on home now.”

  Charlie wanted to argue, but he couldn’t. Magnolia Springs had turned into a circus. The security holding back photographers along the street only proved that. But there was still so much left to say. “Why don’t you come inside for a minute? We can talk…”

  Arabella shook her head. “No, I’m not ready for that. I just wanted to grab my stuff, drop off my key, and tell you not to worry about me. I’m a big girl. Broken hearts take time to heal, but I promise you, I’ll be fine.” She held his gaze. “You never once misled me about us.”

  Guilt sat like a rock in his stomach. They both knew that wasn’t true. Maybe he hadn’t misled her about what really counted, his feelings or where he saw them going, but he’d misled her plenty. Brushing aside the regret, he stared into her eyes and searched for a hint of the woman he knew. The Arabella standing in front of him now was closed off and guarded. The sweet girl who never met a stranger was treating him like an acquaintance, and it hurt. Charlie had the urge to shake her just so he could see how she’d react.

  Instead, he took the key from her hand and noticed the white bandage on her forearm.

  “You got a tattoo?”

  Somehow, out of everything, that hit him the hardest.

  Charlie had been involved with every other activity on her list. They’d met at Country Roads because of it. They’d drank beer at the biker bar, went skinny-dipping at Tyler’s, two-stepped at Mudbugs, and shared the toe-curling kiss that signaled their downfall on the Fourth. As jealous as he’d been, Charlie had even watched her ask for Evan’s number, and he’d accidentally stumbled upon her naked mirror show. It had been a source of pride, watching her meet her goals with every activity she checked.

  And this one, he’d missed.

  “Can I see it?” he asked hoarsely, lightly skimming his finger over the bandage.

  Arabella’s forehead wrinkled, but she carefully unpeeled the plastic. “Sherry came with me. Her brother is covered with tattoos, and he recommended I see his guy. After everything that happened, he also refused to let me pay for it.”

  Charlie leaned down to read the raw pink outline on the underside of her wrist.

  Je m’assume.

  “I’m enough,” she said softly, and he raised his eyes. “That’s what it means. The artist helped me find the Cajun French translation, but he said it can also mean I accept what I am and I’m in charge of my own life.” She smiled faintly. “I like that.”

  “It’s perfect,” he told her, hoping she could see how much he meant it.

  “I’ve learned that I don’t need to prove myself to the world,” she told him. “They’ll see what they want to see, and all I can do is my best. If I know I’m enough, then I am. You actually helped me see that.” Arabella lowered her gaze to the white ink. “It doesn’t matter to me if no one else understands what it means, or even knows that it’s here. I understand.” She looked at him again. “I know.”

  Charlie swallowed hard. “While you’re crossing off items, I’ve got another one for you.” His fingers glided across her palm and he took her hand, needing her to believe this if nothing else. “You said you wanted to make a difference in someone’s life this summer. Sweet girl, I hope you know that you did that for me.”

  A light kindled in her eyes, and his heart thudded in his chest. “If it weren’t for you, Arabella, Life & Lyrics wouldn’t be a reality. I won’t lie and say your father’s money doesn’t help, because it does, but it’s you who made the difference. You took my dreams, my scattered thoughts and ideas, and you made them come true.” He squeezed her fingers with a smile. “Abby and I will always be grateful.”

  Her smile dimmed, and Charlie clenched his teeth, sensing he’d said the wrong thing. “I’m glad to have helped,” she replied, taking back her hand. “Please tell Abby that she has an incredible voice and a courageous spirit. She inspired me this summer.”

  “I’ll tell her.”

  They were back to being awkward again. Arabella licked her lips. “I really should be going.” She took a step back and put on a fake smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m sure we’ll see each other again. I mean, you work for my dad, right?”

  Charlie winced, and from the sudden pain flashing across her pretty face, he knew the barb had been unintended. But it hit its mark anyway. “Right.”

  Arabella fluffed her hair and nodded, then glanced at the cameras clicking behind them. “Good-bye, Charlie.”

  Those words. He couldn’t take it. A manic need pulsed through him, and before Charlie could think better of it, he reached out and grasped her slender wrist, spinning her back around.

  “What do…?”

  His mouth crashed down on hers, swallowing the rest of her question.

  He sank his hands in her soft hair and tugged her close, cradling her head as he kissed her, demanding her surrender. She only hesitated a moment before she melted against him, her hands clutching his shoulders, and the relief was almost staggering.

  This kiss wasn’
t soft or romantic, and it for damn sure wasn’t friendly. It was messy and desperate…and Charlie didn’t give a fuck that the cameras were watching. If this was good-bye, then he was going to leave Arabella with something to remember him by. Something honest.

  Where words had failed him, his actions wouldn’t. They’d speak loud and clear, showing her that regardless of what he’d said, or how they’d started and ended, this was real. Their connection wasn’t manufactured or fake. It was the truest thing he’d ever known.

  Arabella moaned, and a sense of completeness flooded his chest. A piece of his soul that went missing the day she’d walked out of his bedroom suddenly clicked back into place, and Charlie sighed in relief, crushing her perfect body against him.

  “Wait, no.” She tore her mouth away and planted a hand against his shoulder. Her eyes were glazed, her lipstick smudged, and when she took a step back, she stumbled. “I can’t do this again. I’m sorry.” She covered her mouth with a trembling hand. “It’s not even about the cameras. I just…can’t.”

  An unfamiliar pressure mounted in his sinuses. Charlie gripped the door to keep from going after her, from admitting that their time together had been so much more than the result of a bribe. That the thought of what his life would be like without her warm laughter, off-key singing, or blueberry scones terrified him.

  But telling her those things would make it worse. It would give her hope that there could someday be a future for them. A day when he’d be willing to give up the band or, in his weakness, ask her to come out on the road. He couldn’t do that to her. She had her own dreams, her own passion to discover. She needed to move on.

  “No, I’m sorry,” he said, unable to raise his voice higher than a hoarse whisper. “I’m so damn sorry for hurting you.”

  Fresh tears sprang to her eyes, and one rolled down her smooth cheek. She wiped it away with her fingertips as she said the words he’d never wanted to hear from her again. “Good-bye, Tucker.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The air-conditioning unit hummed. Outside, a couple houses down, a neighbor was having a party. Music and laughter seeped through the crack beneath his door, reminding Charlie that life went on even though his was upended. Twisting open another beer, he took a long pull and closed one eye as he shot the bottle cap across the room. It crashed against the wall, fell behind the entertainment center, and he cursed under his breath.

  Now he had to get up.

  Pushing to his feet, Charlie stumbled as he walked to where he’d watched it drop, noticing all the subtle changes in his house. The baskets and bins. The coasters and lack of pizza boxes. The need to pick up stupid bottle caps. Charlie bent down and reached behind the entertainment center, closing his hand around the jagged metal.

  Arabella was everywhere. And…paradoxically…she was nowhere.

  Wasn’t that some bullshit?

  Things were fuzzy—he was more than halfway through a six-pack—but her lingering scent was real. The kitchen behind him was hers. Everyone knew the only thing Charlie could cook was toast and soup from a can. It would have to be gutted. The living room clearly belonged to her, too. Before her, this place had been a pigsty. And the bedroom…

  Nope. Not going there.

  Everywhere Charlie looked, he saw where she wasn’t. Without her, the house was empty. Just drywall, hardwood, and a roof. It had no soul, no joy. The strange part was that it looked the same. Logistically speaking, other than a few decorations, it was, and there was no difference between how it was now and the nights Arabella had stayed on her own side at the beginning of the summer. The house was still a house.

  But without her there, it was no longer a home.

  The sad truth was that she was his home. For better or worse, Charlie Tucker was irrevocably in love with Arabella Stone. Too bad it didn’t make any difference.

  Tripping over his coffee table, Charlie swore and dropped into his recliner. Then, throwing his hand out, he picked up his phone, stared blearily at the keypad, and dialed her number again. Not to tell her he loved her; no, he wouldn’t hurt her that way. But to tell her he was sorry, again, and see what he could do to make any of this better.

  Just like every other time, Arabella sent him to voicemail.

  …

  “No, thank you.” Arabella placed her hand over her plate and smiled kindly at their longtime chef. “I’m good. I’m not very hungry today.”

  Maria pulled a face and slopped more food on her plate regardless. “You’re too thin. Mangia! Mangia!”

  There was no sense in arguing. With a sigh, Arabella twirled her fork in her pasta and shoved a huge bite into her mouth. She closed her eyes and made a yummy noise. “Mmm.”

  In truth, the food tasted like cardboard. But that had nothing to do with Maria’s cooking. Under normal circumstances—say, when her heart wasn’t broken into teeny tiny pieces and her stomach wasn’t in revolt—she would’ve gladly accepted a second helping, and probably even a third. It was why it was a good thing that Sunday dinners only came once a week.

  But things for Ella were so very far from normal.

  This week she’d started her job in the business affairs department at Belle Meade Records. Lucky for her, Mr. Tisdale, her new boss, was practically family, otherwise her first week would’ve also been her last.

  On the outside she supposed she looked fine…or so she’d thought, before Maria said otherwise. But she’d done what she should, said what she was supposed to, and appeared where she’d been told. It was just, Ella’s heart wasn’t in it. How could it be, when it was a mangled mess within her chest? Most of the time she went through her day like a robot, focused on putting one foot in front of the other. Unfortunately, those closest to her were catching on.

  After Maria went back to the kitchen, grumbling the entire time about Ella needing meat on her bones, her dad wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Princess, at risk of having that scowl pointed at me, I have to say Maria’s right. You don’t look well.”

  As he’d anticipated, Arabella growled from across the table, and he gave her a tender smile. “It’s your eyes, baby. They no longer glow.”

  Not in the mood to feign an interest in food, Arabella set down her fork before she got stabby with it. “Dad, I’ve been home a week. You can’t expect me to bounce right back. I was humiliated in front of the entire world, and fans have dedicated entire blogs to embarrassing me. I’m sorry if I seem a little emotional.”

  As if finding out she’d been delusional hadn’t been enough, the day after she returned to Nashville she’d discovered the posts. The blogs, the tweets, the Tumblr gifs devoted to immortalizing her fall from grace.

  The media had backed down after the press release, especially once she left Louisiana, but the general public hadn’t been so forgiving. The scandal was Arabella’s first true misstep and the pull to target her just too great. Her favorite gifs involved photos of her dorky adolescent years. Evidently, nothing complemented a tarnished tiara like a twelve-year-old’s overbite. Honestly, though, most of it didn’t faze her. She knew who she was, she knew the truth, and that was all that mattered.

  People saw what they wanted to see. Just as she’d stupidly seen love in Charlie’s eyes.

  “Have you spoken to Tucker since you’ve been home?”

  Arabella clenched her hands in her lap. Her dad was trying to help. It had taken a few days, licking her wounds, to remember that he wasn’t cruel. A bit of a jerk to his employees, perhaps, and hotheaded when he was angry. But he was never malicious, and he’d always treated her with kid gloves, emphasis on the kid. While his actions this summer had been severely misguided, they’d come from a place of love. Ella knew that.

  It didn’t give her any extra patience, however.

  “No,” she said, confused as to why he’d even ask. “Why would I? Charlie and I are friends, but he’s busy getting ready for the tour. We said our good-byes in Magnolia Springs.”

  Actually, Charlie had left her a dozen voicemails, and h
alf as many texts over the last few days, but she’d erased or ignored them all. The pain was simply too fresh, her feelings too raw, to speak with him. Eventually she’d get over this and call him back, and they could try their hand at friendship again. But for now, avoidance was key. It was the only way she’d heal.

  Her dad’s eyebrows twitched. “Strange. He’s called me just about every day, trying to get in touch with you.”

  Now that surprised her, and in spite of herself, Arabella slid her chair closer.

  Her father had calmed down considerably since she returned, thanks in large part to her constant refrain that it wasn’t Charlie’s fault. It hadn’t been. She’d been the one to approach him at Country Roads, she’d been the one to wear her heart on her freaking sleeve, and she’d been the one to push him on the Fourth of July. The media backlash was on her.

  “I admit, I refused his calls at first,” he said. “But we’ve spoken several times now, and I think maybe you should hear what he has to say. That man genuinely seems to care about you.”

  Ella’s hands dropped to the table, rattling the china. “Daddy, you can’t be serious! You were the one who warned me away from him in the first place. Now you’re playing matchmaker?” She shoved her chair away and stared at him with tears in her eyes. “Can’t you see that I’m a mess?”

  “Yes, I can,” he told her gently, “and that’s why I think you should speak with Charlie. It’s obvious you care about him, and I can admit it’s possible I made a mistake.”

  She couldn’t handle this right now. As it was, she was barely hanging on.

  “Dad, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but now isn’t the time for this conversation.” She swallowed down the lump of pain and stood from the table. “If Charlie has something to say to me, then I’ll try to call him later to discuss it. But right now, I have a headache, and I think I should go lie down.”

  A look of regret passed over her dad’s face, but he nodded. “I’ll have Maria wrap up your plate. You can finish it after you rest.”