“She cares, Dallas,” he said, tipping back his beer at dinner Friday night. He glanced at the ink on my forearm, where the skin was still healing. “And if you care about her—”
“You know I do,” I snapped. “Caring about her isn’t the issue.”
“Then call her.” He set the bottle down hard. “She’d want to know.”
“No.” I focused on my right hand, which was spinning my water glass around. There was no fucking way I could handle hearing her voice.
“Dallas.”
“No, Finn. I promised her I wouldn’t contact her again.” And I could keep that one promise, at least, couldn’t I? For fuck’s sake, I’d broken every other one I’d ever made to her.
He sighed. “Any objection to my telling her?”
I shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
When I took him to the airport on Saturday, he hugged me goodbye and told me how much he’d enjoyed spending time with me—it was the first time we’d ever done that without his family or our parents around, too. “We should do this again sometime. A guys’ weekend.”
“We should.” Although these days, I wasn’t counting on anything in the future.
“See you in Boston.”
“See you. Safe trip home.”
I spent the next few days cleaning my house, clearing out the fridge, and packing my bags. I got a haircut, checked in with my neurologist, who was happy to hear I’d elected to have surgery, set up auto-pay for my monthly bills, and asked my next-door neighbor to bring in the mail. On Monday, I saw my lawyer, who had created a will according to my specifications. If anything happened to me, my inheritance, and anything else left over after settling the estate, would be split equally between Olympia and Lane. I was only renting my house, so I didn’t have to worry about that, and anything in it, I wanted donated. Two other attorneys in his office served as witnesses while I signed it.
All day, every day, I thought about Maren. Missed her with an intensity that rivaled the pain in my head. My house had never felt so fucking lonely.
But it was nothing less than I deserved for what I’d done.
On Tuesday night, I met Beatriz and Evan for a drink at the Teardrop Lounge. We congratulated Evan again and asked to see pictures of his son, and he happily obliged. He had dark shadows under his eyes and said nights were rough, but I could tell he was happy. I envied him.
Our drinks arrived—since Beatriz had offered to pick me up and drop me off, I’d indulged in some whiskey—and we raised our glasses.
“To Hunter William,” Beatriz said. “May he take after his mother as much as possible. And to Dallas’s speedy and full recovery.”
“I’ll drink to that,” said Evan.
Evan finished his cocktail quickly and had to get home, but he shook my hand before he left and told me both he and Reyna were pulling for me, and asked me to let them know how everything went as soon as I could. I said I would.
As soon as we were alone at the table, Beatriz lit into me.
“You look miserable,” she said.
“I feel worse than I look.”
“Still haven’t talked to the girl?”
I shook my head.
“Why not?”
“Because if I hear her voice, I’ll fall apart,” I said quietly.
“Dude.” She lifted her drink to her lips and sipped. “You’re a fucking mess. I’m not trying to tell you what to do, but let me tell you what to do.”
I frowned at her.
“I’ve been thinking about this a lot, ever since you conned me into giving you that tattoo. You need to come clean with her. It’s got you all fucked in the head. Your aura is, like, choking on this pain.”
“It’s all I have of her.”
“Christ, Dallas. Do you even hear yourself? You’re clinging to the pain and guilt instead of the woman you love. She could be there by your side getting you through this. She’d make you stronger, you know. I bet you’d fight harder.”
Her words made sense, but I’d already done too much damage. “I fucked things up too much. They can’t be fixed. It’s too late.”
“You haven’t even tried!”
“She probably wouldn’t even talk to me.”
Beatriz shrugged. “Guess you’ll have to find that out.”
I sat there for a few minutes, staring into my whiskey. “I miss her, Bea. I really fucking miss her.”
“I know, babe.”
“I thought coming back here and burying my head in the sand would make me feel better, but it didn’t.”
“It never does.”
“And I’m scared.” It felt good to say it aloud.
“Of what?”
“Of dying. Of losing feeling in my right hand. Of needing people to take care of me. Of not being enough for her.” I looked up at her and admitted the truth. “But I can’t keep living like this. It’s only been ten days, and I’m going crazy.”
“So do something about it, Dallas.” She reached out and touched my wrist. “We all make mistakes. We’re all human. What sets one man apart from the next is what happens afterward.”
Exhaling, I closed my eyes. “I don’t even know what to say to her. How to explain myself. I told her a bunch of lies. She won’t know what to believe.”
“Can I offer a suggestion?”
I nodded.
“What do you think she wants more than anything in the world?”
“A second chance,” I said without hesitation.
“And what do you want?” She held up one hand. “Wait, let me rephrase. What do you want that you have control over getting?”
“To make her happy. If I can.”
“What would make her happy?”
I sighed. “She wants to be there for me. Take care of me.”
“Are you comfortable with that?”
“No. Fuck no.” Frowning, I rubbed the back of my neck. “But if that’s what it takes …”
“If it were me,” Beatriz said, touching her tattooed chest, “that’s what it would take. Knowing that you were willing to let me see you at your most vulnerable. Because with you, she’s at her most vulnerable too.”
“Yeah,” I said miserably, picturing her sobbing into her hands after I told her I was leaving. “You really think letting her see me all out of it and half-bald and stapled together is the way to go?”
“Yes.” She leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Because it says, This is the real me. Yes, I’m the big, strong tattooed hottie with the eyes and the hair and the chiseled jaw, the guy who makes everyone laugh and all the girls swoon and never shows a sign of weakness, but I’m something else with you. I let you see all of me, because I love you.”
“Damn.” I blinked. “That’s pretty good.”
“Thank you. Now go make it happen. You’re one of the lucky ones, Dallas. You found it. Don’t let it pass you by.” She reached for my hand and squeezed, her eyes misting over. “Then get better, and bring that girl back here so I can meet the one woman amazing enough to steal your heart.”
I took a breath. “I’ll try.”
I texted her that night.
Maren, can we talk?
No answer.
I don’t blame you for ignoring me. But if you have it in your heart to give me a few minutes, I’d really love to talk to you. Call me when you can.
I waited and waited and waited. Nothing.
It was late in Detroit, after midnight, so she was probably already asleep. Was she teaching an early morning class tomorrow? If she was, she’d be up within a few hours. I set my phone down, got ready for bed, and checked my phone once more. Nothing.
I plugged it in to charge and got in bed, but slept only fitfully throughout the night. Every so often, I checked to see if she’d written me back, but was disappointed every time.
By the following morning, I had to consider the possibility that she’d seen my messages and had decided against replying. After I finished packing and was ready to leave, I decided to try calling her. I got
her voicemail. The sound of her voice on the outgoing message made my pulse quicken.
“Maren, it’s me. You’ve probably seen my messages by now. You haven’t called, which means you’re either too upset with me to talk or you need more time to think about it. I get that. I’ll be on a plane to Boston most of today, but you could reach me in the next couple hours or later tonight. I’ll be on your time zone by then.” I paused. “I don’t know if Finn told you or not, but I decided to have the surgery. It will be on Friday. I’d really like to talk to you before then, if possible. I … hope you’re well. I miss you.” Then I hung up before I started breaking down.
Two hours later, I was checked in and waiting to board the plane, and I still hadn’t heard from Maren. Frowning at my phone, I heard my zone get called, but I ignored it, wanting to stay at the gate as long as possible just in case she called. Finally, I couldn’t delay boarding any longer, and I was forced to get on the plane without a word from her, not even an acknowledgment that she’d gotten my texts. I reluctantly switched my phone to airplane mode and dropped it into the carry-on bag at my feet.
What was I going to do if she didn’t call? Keep trying? Leave her a longer voicemail telling her the truth about why I’d broken things off? It wasn’t the kind of thing I wanted to do over voicemail, but she might not leave me a choice. Or would the right thing to do be to leave her alone? If her silence continued, didn’t that mean she didn’t want to hear anything from me? At this point, she was probably thinking, Fuck him and his apologies. I don’t need them. How could I get her to listen?
I tipped my head back and closed my eyes. This hole I’d dug for myself was deep, maybe too deep to climb out of.
But I wouldn’t give up.
Twenty
Dallas
I arrived in Boston and spent the evening with Finn and his family. Seeing the kids cheered me up a little, but later, when it was just the two of us, Finn asked me what was wrong. “You seem upset,” he said, his expression concerned. “Are you nervous?”
“Yes, but it’s not that.” We were still at the dinner table, but Bree had taken the kids up for their baths. Finn said that he would take care of the dishes.
“What is it?” He stacked a few plates.
“I reached out to Maren and asked her to call me, but there’s just silence on her end.”
“Ah.” He piled forks and knives on top of the stack. “I’m sorry.”
I shrugged. “I get it. She’s hurt. Why should she call me? She thinks she’s heard everything I have to say.”
“But she hasn’t. She just doesn’t realize it.”
“I can’t force her to listen to me. I don’t know what else to do.”
Finn didn’t answer, and after a few minutes, he stood and started carrying dishes into the kitchen. I did the same. When everything from the table was in the sink, I took a seat at the island and watched him load the dishwasher. “Want help?”
“Nah. I got it.”
I looked around the big, beautiful kitchen, with its gray-painted cabinetry, black stone counters, and polished wood floor. It was clean but lived-in—kids’ artwork on the fridge, shoes piled over by the back door, the clutter of everyday life all around. “You’re really lucky,” I said.
“Damn right I am.” He looked back at me. “But it’s not just luck.”
“What can I do, Finn? She won’t talk to me.”
“Maybe email her? She seems to check email often enough.”
“Did you tell her about the surgery?”
“Yes. And she replied the next day that she was glad to hear it and thanked me for letting her know. She said she wished us all the best.”
I swallowed hard. “Okay. I’ll email her. Can you forward me her email address?”
“Of course.”
Later that night, I lay in bed with my laptop trying to find the perfect words to say, the words that would undo all the damage I’d done and bring her back to me.
It wasn’t easy. I wrote, deleted. Wrote, deleted. Wrote, deleted. I’d never been a confident writer, and the pressure in this situation was almost unbearable. Finally, after three hours and a hundred different drafts, I gave up on perfect and just wrote from the heart.
Dear Maren,
An email is probably the worst way to say everything I want to say to you, but it’s the way I’m stuck with because I’m stubborn as fuck and waited too long to have the chance to do it in person. I haven’t been able to reach you by phone, not that I blame you for not wanting to speak to me. I’ve put you through too much already, and part of me thinks I should leave you alone even now. But I need to tell you the truth about my feelings for you, and this might be my last chance to do it.
Everything I told you the night we went to the baseball game is true.
Everything.
I never stopped loving you. I fell in love with you all over again the weekend we spent together, and I love you still. I said it was a lie only to make you hate me, so that leaving wouldn’t hurt so much.
Of course, it hurt anyway. More than I can say.
When I made the decision to come see you, it was because leaving you the first time has always been my biggest regret, and after getting the news about the tumor in my brain, you were all I could think about. I had to make things right with you. I never intended to fall for you again.
But being with you was like coming home to a place where I was more loved, more alive, more me than anywhere I’ve ever been. I should have told you about the tumor right away, but I couldn’t bring myself to ruin those perfect, happy hours we had—and I knew they were numbered. My future was so uncertain, and I didn’t want to drag you into it. I didn’t want you to feel burdened by your feelings for me. I didn’t want your pity. In my head, the only way to spare you from having to see me at my worst was to hide the truth from you.
And because I want to be honest, I will also admit that I wanted to spare myself the pain of losing you. The truth is that I don’t think I’m worth your love or all the trouble it will take to care for me. Maybe that’s because of my childhood, or maybe it’s just because I know I can be a selfish, stubborn prick and you shouldn’t have to put up with my bullshit, but there it is. So I tried to protect both of us by breaking things off.
I was wrong, and for that I am deeply sorry.
What I should have done was tell you the truth and give you the choice to be with me or walk away.
Which brings me to now. As you know, I am having the surgery on Friday, and the surgeon is hopeful he can remove the entire tumor. After that, we will wait for the biopsy to tell us if it is benign or cancerous. If it is cancer, I will likely need additional treatment like chemotherapy and radiation. It would be a long, difficult road to travel.
I don’t know what’s going to happen, and I’m scared.
I’m scared of losing feeling in my right hand. I’m scared of losing speech and memory. I’m scared of being dependent on someone else to take care of me. I’m scared of waking up and not feeling like myself anymore. And although I’ve never felt this way before, I’m scared of dying—not because I don’t want to face whatever reckoning awaits me, but because I don’t want to leave this earth yet. For the first time in my life, I’m looking ahead and thinking to myself, I’m not done.
I’m not done living, and I’m not done loving you, Maren Devine. Not by a long shot.
Granted, I’m not much of a catch right now, but I swear to God if you’ll give me that second chance, I’ll spend the rest of my life making you the happiest woman alive.
You once asked me to let you love me, and I promised I would. Let me keep my promise.
Now, then, always and only yours,
Dallas
I read it over a million times, took a deep breath, and hit send.
Then I closed my laptop, lay back, and prayed she would have it in her heart to forgive me. To accept me. To be mine.
It was going to be a long night.
I was awake for hours—frantically
checking my email every five minutes—but eventually fell asleep sometime after three a.m. When I woke up, it was nearly eight, and I quickly looked at my inbox again.
Nothing.
Sighing, I closed my eyes and tried not to feel like this was a hopeless cause. But my head was pounding, my stomach was upset, and I had a horrible stiff neck from the awkward way I’d slept. Dragging myself out of bed, I followed the smell of coffee downstairs.
“Morning,” Bree said cheerfully, pulling clean plates from the dishwasher. “How are you feeling?”
“Not great,” I admitted.
She gave me a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry. Can I get you some coffee?”
“I can get it.” I took a cup from the cupboard and filled it with coffee from the pot. “Finn at work already?”
“Yes. He went in early today, and he said he’ll be late tonight. But he’s taking off tomorrow and a few days next week.”
That was because of me, and I felt guilty about it as I sat down on a stool at the island. “I wish I didn’t have to inconvenience you guys.”
“You’re not an inconvenience, Dallas.” She gave me a look. “You’re family. This is what we do for each other.”
I nodded. “Thank you. I appreciate everything.”
“You’re welcome.” She paused in her work and sipped from a mug on the counter that said There is a good chance this is vodka on it. “Finn told me you guys had a nice time in Portland.”
“We did.”
“I’m really glad. I think it really bothered him, more than he realized, that you two didn’t have a very close relationship. It bothered me, that’s for sure. I was always on him to do something about it, but he was just so darn stubborn.”
One and Only Boxed Set Page 48
