All I Ever Wanted (Of Love and Madness Book 3)

by Karen Cimms

  “Sounds like he’s either very controlling or he possesses a lot of character.”

  Controlling? Yes, he certainly could be, but not about something like that. Just what she needed: something else to think about.

  The sky was gray and dreary when she emerged, but Kate still reached for her sunglasses.

  Billy was leaning against the passenger side of the car. “Do you want me to drive?”

  She nodded.

  “You okay?”

  Not really. “I’m tired, and I have a headache.”

  He opened the car door, and she slid inside.

  “I’m sorry,” he said after climbing into the driver’s side.

  “I know.”

  “Do you want to get something to eat? That should help your headache.”

  “Not really. Would you mind taking me home?”

  “Home?” He looked so hopeful her heart hurt.

  “I meant back to the house.”

  The ride wasn’t long, but the silence was deafening. They pulled into the garage, but she made no move to get out of the car. Billy climbed out, came around, and opened her door. When he held out his hand, she took it. He helped her to her feet, and when she met his eyes, they were as sad as she imagined her own must be. Uncomfortable and tense, she lowered her head and made her way into the house.

  “Do you want me to make you something to eat?”

  He was being sweet and attentive, and she appreciated it, but it was all too much.

  “If you don’t mind, I’m going to take a couple of aspirin and lie down. I need to be alone for a bit.” She felt like she was deserting him, but she needed some distance. And she really did need to lie down. “We’ll talk later.”

  He looked lost. “Sure.”

  But before she could get very far, he reached for her and pulled her toward him, wrapping her in his arms. The scent of lemongrass enveloped her, and she breathed deep, feeling his heart beat steadily against her cheek. He pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head. When he let go, she bolted down the hall, immediately missing the warmth and comfort of his arms.

  She turned down the covers and slipped between the sheets, too emotionally spent to get undressed. She closed her eyes and tried to empty her mind, hoping to dislodge the pain that had risen between her shoulders and her neck and shot into her temples. It was hopeless. Years of memories overwhelmed her: The way Billy’s face would light up when he saw her after being on tour. The way he always found a way to touch her when she was nearby, from holding her hand to pressing the toe of his boot against her foot. How he’d tried to protect her and the kids from his mother’s ridiculous threats by succumbing to blackmail. And maybe most revealing, the fact that she’d walked out on him nearly a year ago without even leaving him a note, yet the moment he’d learned where she was, he’d gotten on that damn motorcycle and ridden almost seven hours straight to find her.

  She loved him. Of course she did. But her fears weren’t about love. They were about forgiveness. About trust. About letting go.

  What a mess they’d made of their lives.

  She curled onto her side and had almost fallen asleep when she heard the rumble of the garage door below her, followed by the roar of the Harley.

  That was another thing. Annoyance joined the jumble of emotions swirling around her head.

  He knew she hated motorcycles.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Heavy rain beat down upon the roof. Kate opened her eyes in the darkened room. She stretched and rolled onto her back. The pounding in her head had given way to a dull ache, but her stomach growled, demanding to be fed.

  Billy hadn’t returned. Or she’d slept more soundly than usual and the motorcycle was parked in the garage. She pulled on a heavy pair of socks and a warmer sweater and after checking the garage and finding only the Saab, she shuffled into the living room.

  Rain was coming down in sheets, bouncing off the pool cover and the patio. The tide was on its way out, but the water in the cove was alive with movement. A knot of anxiety twisted in her belly. It would be difficult to drive in this kind of downpour in a car; on a motorcycle, it would be impossible. Why the hell did he go out? He should’ve known it was going to rain.

  She tried calling him, but the call went straight to voice mail. He was probably stuck somewhere, and judging by how hard it was raining, he’d be stuck for a while.

  She set a large pot of water on the stove to boil and began chopping celery, carrots, and onions for chicken and dumplings. She browned the chicken, tossed it in the water with the vegetables, and set it to simmer for an hour.

  With a fire blazing in the hearth downstairs, she tried to read, but the steady beat of the rain on the windows made it hard to focus. She needed something more distracting. She turned on the TV, popped Legends of the Fall into the DVD player, and curled up on the big leather sofa draped in her favorite quilt.

  An hour later, the rain hadn’t let up any and there was still no sign of Billy. Damn motorcycles. She paused the movie and returned to the kitchen, where she ripped the meat from the bones and chopped it a bit more aggressively than necessary. She dropped it back into the pot to simmer. Since there was no point in making the dumplings until he returned, she busied herself with putting together a salad.

  When there was nothing left to distract her, she could no longer ignore the icy fingers creeping up her spine. Maybe he wasn’t coming back. Maybe as abruptly as he’d come to Maine, he’d gone back to New Jersey. Could she blame him? He’d wanted to talk after the session with Liz, but she’d put him off. Again.

  Or maybe he was drinking. Her stomach rolled. It was possible. It was after six, and he’d left hours ago. He could be halfway back to Jersey or wasted at some nearby bar. Or worse. He could have wrecked that stupid bike.

  The deluge continued. Rain pelted the windows as if fire hoses had been trained at them.

  She tried calling him again, and again it went straight to voice mail. She tucked the phone into her pocket and stood outside the guest room. What if his things were gone? Hesitating at first, she rested her hand on the knob, then opened the door slowly. The bed was made. His clothes were neatly folded on a chair in the corner. Relieved, she dropped to the edge of the bed, but her cruel mind wouldn’t give in. None of that mattered. All of it was stuff he’d acquired since he arrived. There was nothing he needed to take if he had decided to leave.

  She hugged his pillow to her chest. Would he leave without saying goodbye? No. That was her thing. That left two options: he was drunk, or he’d had an accident.

  Given a choice, she’d rather him sitting in a bar somewhere—warm, safe, and drunk.

  Damn it.

  She turned off the stove, poured herself a glass of wine, and went back downstairs. She turned the movie back on, keeping the volume low.

  The movie was almost over when she heard the rumble of the garage door.

  Charlie shot up the stairs like a rocket. She wanted to follow, but she couldn’t move.

  What if he was drunk? And if he was, was it her fault for not talking to him earlier?

  She climbed the stairs slowly. Would she be disappointed, angry? How should she handle it?

  Prepared for the worst, she was surprised to find the kitchen and mudroom empty. She checked the bathroom and the guest room. Also empty. She was coming up the hall when she heard the door to the mudroom open and the click of Charlie’s nails on the slate floor.

  “Wait,” Billy scolded. “You’re going to track mud all through the house. Give me your paws so I can dry you off.”

  He didn’t sound drunk, although he was only talking to the dog. A minute later, Charlie came bounding out of the mudroom, nearly knocking her over as he passed.

  Billy tugged off his leather jacket. His hair was plastered to his scalp; long strands clung to his face and his neck. He dropped his jacket in front of the dryer with a heavy plop. Water pooled on the floor around him. He had begun to lift his wet sweater over his head when he caught sight
of her in the doorway.

  “Hey,” he said before yanking the sweater off and dropping it on top of his jacket. “Feeling better?”

  She nodded, watching as he toed off his boots.

  “Headache gone?”

  She couldn’t find her voice, so she nodded again.

  He leaned down and pulled off his socks. He unbuckled his belt and tugged it through the belt loops of his jeans. After dropping that in the growing pile, he reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and tossed it on top of the washer. “Pretty sure this is toast.” He placed his keys and his wallet alongside the phone.

  After unbuttoning his jeans, he stopped. “I need to get out of these clothes, and I know you don’t want me to strip down in front of you, so if you don’t mind . . .” He twirled his finger in a circle.

  “I thought you might’ve left,” she said, finally finding her voice. “I didn’t think you were coming back.”

  “I wouldn’t go without saying goodbye.” His voice was a dull, flat monotone. Gooseflesh broke out over his wet skin, and he folded his arms across his chest. “And I would’ve called, but my phone was dead.” The look he gave her made her feel as if she’d been the one left out in the rain. “Besides, I don’t have your number.”

  She pulled a towel from the dryer and handed it to him, and then turned her back while he peeled away his pants. “Are you okay?” She hadn’t smelled alcohol, and he’d seemed very steady for someone standing on one foot while trying to remove his boots and socks.

  “I’m soaked, but other than that, I’m great.”

  His pants landed on the wet pile with a heavy thud.

  “I’m decent.”

  It was hard to miss his frown. He was wet and bedraggled, but his eyes were clear and his speech wasn’t slurred. A wave of relief passed over her.

  “Where were you?”

  “I went for a ride. Took a walk on the beach. I also needed a drink.” His eyes remained fixed on hers. “So I tracked down a meeting in Portland, but it didn’t start until five thirty, so I found this music store in Falmouth. I just hung out there and played for a while.”

  “Find anything you liked?”

  He nodded. “I did, but it’s not like I could take it with me.” He grabbed a clean towel from the pile atop the dryer and rubbed it over his hair. “Then I went to my meeting, and here I am. I couldn’t be any wetter if I’d swum to Portland and back.”

  “Are you hungry? I made chicken and dumplings. Why don’t you take a shower, and I’ll finish dinner.”

  “I just had a shower.”

  “A hot shower.”

  He scooped his things into the dryer and headed for the guest room, leaving wet prints on the hardwood floor, and not even looking at her as he passed.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Billy came into the kitchen wearing a black T-shirt Kate hadn’t seen before and a dry pair of jeans. The quilt from the bed was draped over his shoulders, but he was still shivering.

  She turned up the heat and suggested they eat downstairs where it was warmer.

  “I hope you don’t get sick,” she said as they settled in front of the fire, bowls of chicken and dumplings in their laps.

  He didn’t look up. “I’m fine.”

  She deserved this. He’d been trying for days, and today, he’d put it all out there. It had hurt like hell to hear it all, but he was hurting too. Was that what she wanted? For him to suffer as well?

  They ate in uncomfortable silence. When she spoke, he answered in a one- or two-word monotone, and he didn’t initiate conversation. He didn’t ask when they could talk. He didn’t ask her to listen or work on their issues. He didn’t ask what she was thinking. His silence spoke loudly: he was protecting his heart.

  And it was killing her.

  After dinner, she stoked the fire to a hearty blaze. “Do you want to watch a movie? I don’t have much of a selection, but—”

  “No, thanks.” He rose from the couch, still not looking at her. “I think I’m just gonna head up to bed. I didn’t sleep last night, and I’m kinda tired.”

  “Oh.” She nodded. “Okay.”

  He picked up his empty dishes. “And, uh, Kate?”

  Kate? How could the absence of one little vowel hurt so much?

  “I’m heading out in the morning.” He swallowed so hard it was as if his Adam’s apple moved in slow motion. His eyes finally touched hers, and when they did, her bruised, beaten, and bandaged heart disintegrated.

  Feeling as if her pockets were suddenly filled with lead weights, she struggled to stand. “You’re leaving?”

  “Yeah. I shouldn’t have come. You were moving on with your life, and I’d found a way to stop destroying mine. All I’ve done is hurt you more. I need to go.”

  She should have said something, but her throat had closed up. All she could do was blink.

  His eyes scraped over her face. “Guess that’s it. G’night.”

  “Wait.”

  She took the dishes from him and put them on the coffee table.

  “Sit, please. We need to talk.” When he didn’t move, she asked again. She wasn’t beyond begging. “Please?”

  With a loud sigh, he dropped back onto the sofa. “I don’t know what else there is to say, but let me at least say this. All I ever wanted from almost the first moment I met you was to love you. Instead, I nearly destroyed us both. I think I’ve always known that, but it became a lot clearer today. Knowing that my lies and cheating contributed to your pain . . .” His face was etched with defeat and sadness. “We’ve been like two boats smashing ourselves against the rocks, neither of us wholly trusting the other. It was just so stupid.”

  The fire popped and crackled. The rain beat steadily on the windows. And the voices inside her head kept telling her she needed to fix this. Now.

  She slipped off the sofa and perched on the edge of the coffee table. She tried to slide her knees between his. He resisted at first. Then, with a small sigh, he let her in, although he didn’t look at her. She reached up and pulled the quilt tighter over his shoulders.

  “I’ve been in some pretty intense therapy over the past several months, and it’s taken awhile, but I think I finally understand that the damage done to us by our parents has affected how we respond to one another when we’re at our worst. You know my mother didn’t want me and would’ve had an abortion if my father hadn’t talked her out of it.”

  “Katie.” His voice was soft, soothing. “You don’t have to—”

  “Yes, I do.” She scooted closer. “I thought when I shared this with you when we were first married that I’d dealt with it, but all I’d done was bury it. Even though you made me feel loved and wanted, the insecurity never left me. The feeling of not being good enough was still there. I just grew used to it. Something else I learned at an early age was to avoid conflict. I was good at escaping. Running away was my answer to everything that was difficult.”

  It hurt that he still wouldn’t look at her, and for the first time she really understood she wasn’t the only one who had suffered. She pushed forward.

  “I didn’t value myself, so I didn’t expect you to value me either. And in that sense, I didn’t demand the best from you. I enabled you, because I thought that would make you happy and you would keep loving me. For that, I’m sorry. When you began to depend more on alcohol and drugs, I refused to see it. I made excuses or looked the other way. And now I have this picture in my head of you shooting heroin into your arm, and it’s almost as bad as the image of you and her.” She choked back a sob. “I’m sorry I didn’t try and get you to stop a long time ago.”

  His eyes flicked over her face. “That’s not your fault. I made those mistakes all by myself.”

  She struggled to keep from crying. If she started, she might not stop.

  “And you,” he added, capturing her hands in his. “You are definitely worthy of love. And desirable? You have no idea how desirable you are.”

  The heat of the fire at her back felt warm
er. There were things still left unsaid between them, but now it was his turn. She waited.

  “My father was a mean drunk. He’d take a strap to me now and then.” He shrugged. “Maybe I deserved it. I was a mouthy kid. But one day, he nearly killed me because I’d touched his fucking baseball. Up until then, I’d been a Little League pitching phenom. My size and my speed were almost unheard of for a kid my age. But after that day, I never touched another baseball. I always wanted to watch Devin play. He was a natural, and I was proud of him, but whenever I’d try to go, it made me physically ill. So I made excuses, or I made sure I wasn’t home when he had a game. And if I had no choice, I self-medicated to get through it. I never saw my father after that day, but that didn’t stop the fear of him returning, even as an adult. And by then, it wasn’t just me I had to worry about. The thought that he might come anywhere near you . . .”

  She squeezed his hands, unable to wipe away the tears streaming down her face. He brought his knees together, clamping hers between his own.

  “You know that my mother took off after him. The police were looking for him, and the army after he went AWOL from Fort Kent, but I guess she tracked him down. She’d disappear for a while, then come back. My grandfather would send her packing. But after he died, my grandmother couldn’t turn away her own daughter. My mother would hang around for a few weeks, try to be a mom, but then she’d get antsy and disappear. But not without helping herself to something of value. It wasn’t till after she had taken all of Gram’s jewelry, Pop’s guns, and the Martin he gave me that my grandmother had enough. She hit every pawn shop in three counties looking for that guitar, and when she found it, she bought it back for five times what it was worth, just for me. After that, when my mother would show up, Gram would threaten to call the cops. Then she’d lock herself in her room and cry. It broke my heart, but Janet was still my mother, and I felt bad when Gram sent her away. You saw my mother. She was beautiful, but she’s cunning. I don’t know where it came from, because my grandparents were decent people, but my mother can be evil when she wants something.”