One and Only Boxed Set

by Melanie Harlow

  I gave her a half-grin. “Runs in the family.”

  She laughed. “True. Anyway, I’m so happy about it. I’ve always been so close to my sisters, I can’t imagine what my life would be like without them.”

  Her comment got me thinking about something. Maren was close to both her sisters. If I didn’t hear back from her by this afternoon, could I reach out to one of them?

  “So what are your plans for today?” Bree asked.

  “Uh, not sure, exactly.” Stalking my ex-girlfriend’s sisters seemed like a bad answer.

  “Just let me know if there’s anything you need or if you want to go somewhere. I’m happy to take you. And is there anything special you want for your last … for dinner?” She caught herself, but I could see the slip had made her uncomfortable.

  I wanted to put her at ease. “You know what was really fun? The night last week when we grilled hamburgers and hot dogs and hung out by the pool.”

  She smiled, relieved. “Pool party it is!”

  I drank some coffee, ate the toast Bree insisted on making for me, and checked my email again—nothing from Maren. After a quick shower, I unpacked my suitcase, putting clothes in dresser drawers and hanging a few things in the closet, although I hadn’t brought very much. When the kids got up, they wanted me to swim with them, so after checking my inbox one more time—nothing—I put on my suit, and followed them out to the pool.

  “Hey, Oly, can I use your sunscreen?” I asked, spying some Coppertone near her pink unicorn towel.

  “Sure,” my niece said, watching as I gently put some on my new tattoo, which had healed nicely. “Why do you have to do that?”

  “To protect it.”

  She looked closer. “What does Maren mean?”

  Everything, I thought. “Maren is a name. She’s a friend of mine.”

  “In Oregon?”

  “Actually, she lives in Detroit. But I hope she comes to see me in Portland sometime.”

  “Can I come to Portland sometime, too?”

  “You better,” I said, giving her a threatening look.

  She flashed a gap-toothed grin my way and went running for the pool. “Last one in’s a rotten egg!”

  I pretended to hustle but let both her and Lane jump in before me.

  “You’re a rotten egg, Uncle Dallas! You stink!” Olympia taunted, holding her nose. I retaliated by hoisting her up over my head and throwing her into the deep end. When she surfaced, she was laughing. “Do it again!”

  I spent the day at home with the kids, and Finn surprised us all by coming home early. While he went up to change, I checked my email on my phone again, but there was no message from Maren. At this point, it was hard not to feel despondent—she had to have seen it by now, and she’d replied fairly quickly to Finn, hadn’t she? I’d texted and called and emailed. She had to have seen one of those attempts on my part. It was becoming increasingly clear that the issue wasn’t communication—the issue was that she was choosing to walk away.

  But even if that was the case, I wanted to know for sure.

  “Be right back, guys,” I said, wrapping a towel around me and heading into the house.

  Upstairs in my room, I searched “Emme Devine wedding planner” on my phone. From what Maren had told me, Emme was the most romantic of the three sisters, so I figured she was my best bet. The website for Devine Events came up in the search results, and I clicked it.

  Then I called the phone number.

  “Good afternoon, Devine Events. Amy speaking.”

  “Hi, I’m looking to speak with Emme Devine, please.”

  “She’s not in the office right now, can I take a message?”

  Fuck! I frowned at the water I was dripping on the carpet. “Is there any way I could get hold of her? It’s sort of urgent.”

  “Can I have your name?”

  I cringed. Emme was not going to want to speak with me. “Dallas Shepherd.”

  “And what event is this regarding?”

  “It’s not regarding an event. It’s about her sister, Maren.”

  “Oh.” Amy sounded alarmed. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yes. No. I mean—there’s no emergency or anything, I just really need to speak with Emme about her, and I’m running out of time. Maybe.” God. I sounded like a fucking lunatic.

  “Can you give me your number, please?”

  I recited my cell number for her, and she said she’d get back to me. I wondered if it would be a while and contemplated going back outside, but it was only about thirty seconds before my phone vibrated. The number on the screen was not the one I’d just called.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Dallas? This is Emme.”

  “Hey, Emme. Thanks for calling me back.”

  “No problem. My office called and said something about an urgent matter regarding Maren?”

  “Yes.” I exhaled. “I’m trying to contact her.”

  “Can I ask why?”

  “Because I made a horrible mistake, letting her go.”

  Silence. “I’m listening.”

  I closed my eyes. “I want her back.”

  “Why did you do it?” she asked. “Why did you break her heart like that?”

  “Several reasons, all of which seemed valid at the time, but none of which matter to me anymore.”

  “They matter to me,” she said. “So if you want me to help you get in touch with Maren, you better spill them.”

  “Okay,” I agreed, and launched into the story. I told her everything, taking her on the journey from Portland to Detroit to Boston and back again. It was embarrassing and uncomfortable and really fucking awkward at times, but she was right—if I expected her to help, I had to make it clear what this meant to me.

  “So the stuff you told her in the car last Sunday night was all bullshit?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “And you really have loved her all this time?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you want to be with her now?”

  “More than anything.”

  “Wow, Nate was right.”

  I had no idea what she meant by that. “I’m sorry?”

  “Never mind. But Dallas, do you think she should trust you again, after what you did to her?”

  I sighed, my eyes closing briefly. “I know it’s going to be hard. But yes, she should. I’m going to do everything I possibly can to earn it back.”

  “Good.” Then she surprised me with a long sigh. “This is so romantic. I really want it to happen.”

  “Do you think it can? Has she gotten my calls and messages the last two days?” I asked desperately.

  “No. That I can tell you for sure. She’s been at some yoga retreat place where you have to completely unplug and live like forest nymphs or something.”

  Relief, pure and powerful, washed over me. “When will she be back?”

  “Not until tomorrow.”

  “Oh.” I was due at the hospital at six in the morning. Disappointment pressed heavily on me, and I lowered myself to the bed. “Okay.”

  “You said the surgery is tomorrow too, right?”

  “Right. I was kind of hoping to talk to her before I went in, but … that might not be possible.” I felt like crying.

  “I’m sorry, Dallas.”

  “It’s my own fault.”

  Emme was silent for a moment. “When she gets back, I’ll talk with her. I can’t promise anything, because she was so angry and heartbroken, but I’ll try.”

  “Thanks.” I swallowed hard. “Is she … okay?”

  “No. She’s a mess, Dallas. She blames herself for falling for you. She thinks she deserves a broken heart for trusting you again.”

  It was like a knife to the gut. I had no words.

  “She went to this retreat place to recover some sense of self-worth, I think. Find her balance again. You really wrecked her.” Then she sighed. “But I do love a second-chance romance. And for what it’s worth, I think you’re being sincere about your feelings fo
r her. So I’ll do what I can.”

  “Thank you.” I barely got the words out.

  “You’re welcome. And good luck tomorrow, okay?”

  “Thanks.”

  We hung up, and I flopped back on the bed. My head ached, and my heart was in a million pieces, but I’d done all I could.

  Now it was up to her.

  Twenty-One

  Maren

  The knock surprised me.

  It was Thursday evening at the retreat center, my last night there, and not once all week had anyone disturbed me in my room. I’d returned from the evening guided meditation session and was getting ready for bed when I heard the soft knock. I opened the door and found a retreat employee, a young woman, standing there.

  “Yes?” My throat was scratchy and I cleared it. I hadn’t had a real conversation with anyone in four days. The silence was supposed to make it easier to find clarity and hear your inner voice, and although I was feeling slightly calmer than when I’d arrived, my inner voice had stayed quiet. I didn’t feel as though I’d resolved anything. I still cried myself to sleep, I still missed Dallas, and I was still having the nightmare almost every night.

  “I’m so sorry to bother you,” the employee said quietly, “but there was an urgent message for you to call your sister, Emme.”

  I panicked. “Okay, thank you. I’ll call right away.”

  I shut the door and flew to my suitcase, where I dug out my phone. I hadn’t looked at it since I got off the plane in Bangor on Monday, and frankly, I hadn’t even missed it.

  Quickly I plugged it in, and when it came on, I called Emme. She answered right away.

  “Maren?”

  “Is everyone okay?” I asked frantically. “What’s going on?”

  “Everyone is okay,” Emme said. “And I’m sorry to disturb you on your retreat.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Oh jeez, now I don’t know if I did the right thing.”

  “Emme.” I touched two fingertips to my temple. “Please.”

  She sighed. “Okay, but if you’re mad at me for this, I only did it because I thought you’d want me to. Well, and because it’s romantic, but—”

  “Emme. I’m really not supposed to be on the phone or talking at all here.”

  “You can’t talk there? That’s weird. Why not? I mean, I get the thing about unplugging from technology, but talking? Human to human? What’s wrong with that?”

  Suddenly I appreciated the atmosphere of silence more than ever. “Because it encourages us to spend time within ourselves.”

  “Is it helping you?”

  “Some.”

  “Well, good. Before you go back inside yourself, though, I just thought you might want to know that Dallas is trying to get in touch with you.”

  My heart stopped. “He is?”

  “Yes.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because he called me at work.”

  “He did?” A wave of dizziness came over me, and I sat on my bed.

  “Yeah. He said he’s called and left messages for you.”

  “But why?”

  “I think you need to hear it from him.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Gah, I didn’t want to do this. But I’m afraid if I don’t, you won’t talk to him.”

  I took a deep breath.

  “He loves you, Maren.”

  “No, he doesn’t. He doesn’t love anybody. He told me that, remember?”

  “He lied to you.”

  “What?” The room was spinning. “Why?”

  “Because he’s a man, and when men get feelings with a capital F, they act like idiots with a capital I. They make terrible decisions and do all the wrong things. In their caveman minds, it all makes sense somehow. But he loves you. He told me so.”

  “He told me a lot of things. Doesn’t make them true.”

  “Look, just talk to him. Or at least read his messages.”

  “You know what, I don’t even want to read his messages, Emme. Like you said, he lies. And I’ve fallen for too many of them already.”

  “Okay, then don’t. I only thought you might like to know because he’s having that surgery tomorrow. I felt like if there was anything you wanted to say to him, you might want to say it now.”

  “I’ve said everything I want to say to him already,” I said bitterly. I wouldn’t be guilted into playing the fool again. He’d made his choice. “And I’ve heard all I need to hear.”

  “Okay, Maren.” Her voice was quieter. “I’m sorry if I upset you. I thought I was doing the right thing.”

  I took a breath and softened my tone, too. “I’m sorry, too. I’m not upset with you. I’m upset with myself. I’m having a really hard time getting past this.”

  Silence. And then, “Do you still love him?”

  I closed my eyes, felt my chest tighten. Of course I do. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “If it makes a difference, Mare, when I talked to him, I felt like he was being sincere.”

  “I did too, Emme—that’s the problem! He’s a master at sincere. He can make you trust him so easily it’s criminal.” I started to cry. “But it’s not real. And it doesn’t last. He always leaves.”

  “Oh, honey, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you. This is all my fault.”

  “No, it isn’t.” I sniffed and wiped my eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m being bitchy and you’re trying to help. How are you feeling?”

  “Great. I saw the doctor yesterday and everything is perfect so far. I’ll have an ultrasound at ten weeks to confirm the due date.”

  “Has Nate recovered from the shock?”

  Emme giggled. “Almost. I’ve only seen him faint one other time in his life, and that was the night he found out about Paisley.”

  “So he’s consistent at least.”

  “Yeah.” A pause. “Are you going to be all right?”

  I swallowed. “Eventually. I hope.”

  “Home tomorrow, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Travel safe. Love you.”

  “Love you, too.” I ended the call and buried my phone in my suitcase again.

  Hours later, I was still tossing and turning in the dark. It was almost worse than the nightmare. Sleep absolutely refused to come, and the thought of my phone in my suitcase was killing me.

  Should I do what Emme said? Should I listen to his messages? Should I risk whatever healing I’d done this week, put what little peace I’d found with myself in jeopardy? Did I want to trade that in for another apology? Because I didn’t believe for one second that he actually loved me. He couldn’t.

  But something in me would not rest. As if I were compelled by an outside force, I got out of bed and dug out my phone again.

  Just the texts, I told myself as I plugged it in. I’d read his texts and then put my phone away.

  There were two, both from late Tuesday night.

  Maren, can we talk?

  And then:

  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 frowned at the screen. That did not sound like a man in love. That sounded like someone who wanted a favor. Or a man who was selling something.

  Well, I wasn’t buying any insincerity today, thank you very much.

  Then I noticed he’d left me a voice message on Wednesday morning. Convinced it could only reinforce my belief that Emme had been fooled just as I had been, I listened to it.

  “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 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 we
ll. I miss you.”

  The sound of his voice sent chills up my spine and blanketed my arms with goose bumps, but I still hadn’t heard anything that suggested he’d changed his mind about us. To me, it sounded like he just wanted to apologize again, and he wanted me to offer my forgiveness before he went into surgery.

  If that was the case, a text back would suffice. A simple I forgive you, good luck tomorrow. There was no way I could call him, like he’d requested—I’d break down and cry, and I was so tired of tears.

  I typed out the message and hit send. A few seconds later, I got a Failed to Send text. I tried again, but it failed a second time. Sighing, I gave up on the text and decided to send an email to Finn. Dallas would probably hate that, but I had no other option. It was either Finn passing the message along or nothing. I didn’t have an email address for Dallas.

  I opened my inbox. And there it was—a message from Dallas.

  Subject: Those who understand us enslave something in us.

  I recognized the words right away—they were from his tattoo, the first one I’d asked him about—and my breath caught in my lungs.

  Before I could stop myself, I read through the email, my heart pounding faster with every word. I covered my mouth with my hand.

  Was this real?

  I read the entire thing over and over again.

  My God, no wonder Emme had called me. If he’d sounded half as sincere on the phone as he had in this email, I’d have believed him too.

  But should I?

  My head said no.

  My heart said yes.

  My gut … I wasn’t sure yet. My inner voice was still silent.

  Setting the phone down next to me, I pulled the covers up to my chin and lay there, shivering and scared and wide-eyed in the dark.

  I wanted more than anything for his words to be true, for his feelings to exist as he’d described them. I’d never heard him so forthright about his fears or talk about the future like that.

  I picked up my phone again and reread the ending.

  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.