by Devney Perry
I closed my eyes and let the tears fall down my cheeks.
I didn’t want this explanation. I wanted a different one.
One where he had been forced out of the hotel room at gunpoint and held prisoner for nine years. An explanation like that would have made the ache in my heart go away. Instead, his choice to leave without talking to me made it hurt even worse.
He knelt next to my feet before setting aside my whiskey and taking my hands in his. “I’m sorry. I am so fucking sorry, Emmy,” he whispered, peppering my hands with kisses.
“Why didn’t you tell me any of this?” I asked. “You could have told me back then. We could have worked something out.”
“Because I knew that if I looked into your eyes again, I would never let you go. And you were too good for that life. You needed someone who could give you so much more than I ever could.”
He had me completely confused. If I was too good for his life, then why had he been pressing so hard this week? Why did he say that my heart still belonged to him? Just minutes ago, he had declared I was his and he was mine.
“Then what was this past week about? Your chance?” I asked. “I don’t understand how I was too good for you back then—which I wasn’t, by the way—but now everything is different.”
His hazel eyes stared deeply into mine. “You’ve always had my heart, Emmy. I know I fucked up by leaving but I thought it was my only choice. It took me a long time to realize I had other options. And by then, I was afraid it was too late. That you’d moved on with your life. But the moment I saw you, I knew I had a chance to make it right. No man can ever make you happy because no other woman will ever make me whole. We’re it for each other.”
As good as those words sounded, and felt, he was wrong. It was too late.
“Take me home,” I ordered and stood from the chair, forcing him out of my space.
He stood with me but before I could turn away, his hands framed my face and turned up my chin so I was forced to look at him. His eyebrows were pulled together. Clearly he had, expected a much different reaction to his speech.
“Take me home,” I said.
“No.” His lips crashed into mine before I could protest. They were firm and determined. His tongue stroked my lower lip until I finally opened for him. Then it was inside, sliding against my own as he took control.
My hands latched onto his flannel shirt so I wouldn’t fall down on my shaking knees.
The past came flooding back as I remembered how amazing it was to kiss Nick. How he was the only man that could make me ignite in seconds.
Our lips moved frantically back and forth as we erased nine years of history and went back in time. Right now, it was just us.
His hands traveled down my face, down my body, rubbing and squeezing down my sides. When they reached my hips, his fingers gripped my flesh tightly and he lifted me off my feet. My legs automatically wrapped around his waist as he crushed me to his chiseled body. One of his arms banded around my lower back while the other kneaded my ass.
He carried me backward but I didn’t open my eyes. All I could focus on was my mouth fused to his. The feel of his tongue sliding against mine. My throbbing core pressed firmly against the hardness in his jeans.
My back hit a wall, and as Nick’s mouth traveled down my neck, I opened my eyes. He had carried me to a wall directly across from one of the cabin’s large front windows. I could see his back in our reflection and my legs around his waist.
On my feet were a pair of Sperry duck boots. The tan leather contrasted brightly against the dark blue of Nick’s jeans.
Logan had given me these boots before I’d moved. He had told me to wear them so my feet wouldn’t get cold. He knew my feet were always cold.
Ice coursed through my veins. Here I was, making out with another man, when just hours ago I had told Logan that I loved him. Which I did.
“Stop,” I said and unwrapped my arms and legs from Nick. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this. I won’t do this. I’m not this person.”
“What? What’s wrong, Emmy?” Nick asked.
“What’s wrong? I have a boyfriend! That is what’s wrong! I need to go.” Pushing my way around him, I ran to the door and jerked on my coat.
“Emmy,” Nick started but I closed my eyes and furiously shook my head.
“No. Please, Nick. Please take me home,” I begged, my voice cracking as I fought back tears.
What kind of a person had I become? I didn’t cheat. I had vowed never to become like my parents. How could I do this to Logan? My sweet, wonderful boyfriend, who was having trouble adjusting to the fact that his girlfriend was now living in Montana while he stayed at home in New York.
“I am a terrible person. How could I do this to Logan?” I asked myself. Hearing my own words caused a new wave of tears.
“You’re not, Emmy,” Nick whispered to the top of my head as he wrapped his arms around me.
“Let me go, Nick. Please,” I sobbed into his chest.
“Never again,” he said, pulling me tighter into his warmth.
For a moment, I let him hold me while I cried. I let his soothing smell and his strong arms comfort me until I found the strength I needed to push him away and ask one last time.
“Take me home.”
“Rich?” I called into the principal’s office.
“Emmeline! Come in, please,” he said, standing from his desk. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m not sure what to do about a student and I was wondering if I could get your thoughts,” I said as we both sat.
“Of course. Which student?”
“Mason Carpenter.”
He frowned. “I wondered if there were going to be problems with Mason. What’s happening?”
“It’s been almost a month since he moved here and he hardly speaks. I’m getting worried that his behavior isn’t just because he’s shy. He doesn’t make eye contact with me. If I get too close, he flinches. He won’t have anything to do with the other kids except Rowen Cleary. He’ll whisper to her and then she’ll tell me what he says.”
“That is a bit extreme. I’ve seen some kids act like that for the first few days, maybe even a week, but then they get used to the new setting. Has he gotten at all better over the last month?” Rich asked.
“No. I worry about his behavior, but on top of that, his appearance is throwing up all these red flags. Every day this week he’s come to school dirty and he’s been wearing flip-flops to school. I haven’t seen him with socks or a pair of sneakers yet. It’s much too cold for flip-flops.”
My worries over Mason Carpenter had grown significantly, especially after this morning. His normally brown hair had been almost black with grease and he had been clouded with a foul odor. His poor little toes had been almost blue. If something wasn’t done, and soon, he’d be at risk for frostbite.
“Let me do some checking around,” Rich said. “He transferred here from Bozeman. I’ll give his previous school a call and see if they can share anything. I’ll also poke around a bit and see if I can learn more about his home situation. You might try and ask him about it too.”
“Okay. I doubt he’ll tell me but it’s worth a try.”
“Let’s start documenting all of this. Can you jot down some notes and email them to me? We’ll want dates and specific examples in case we need to involve Child Protective Services.”
“Yes. Absolutely. I’ll do that this afternoon when the kids leave. Is there anything else we can do? What about his shoes?” I asked.
“Unfortunately, there’s not much you can do.”
“What if he doesn’t have any warm shoes? Could I buy him some?”
“I’d be careful. Your offer is very generous and I’m not saying that you can’t, but there’s a fine line between getting your students gifts and providing things that parents and guardians should be responsible for. Especially if you are buying for only one child,” he said.
“Understood. It’s just heartbreaking. How long will it t
ake for the authorities to get involved if there is some type of abuse or neglect happening at home?”
“Depending on the severity of the situation, it could be months. Let’s concentrate on building a thorough file, and when it’s enough, we can contact social services. But even after we involve them, this could be a lengthy process. Unless we can irrefutably prove that Mason is in immediate danger, he’ll likely stay where he is for a while.”
“That’s not okay. Not if he is being neglected.”
“I agree. It shouldn’t take that long. But, right now, the most important thing for you to do is to keep Mason safe while he is here. Be there for him in case he does decide to talk. Provide him with a safe learning environment.”
I nodded and sagged in my chair. I felt hopeless and helpless. Going above and beyond for Mason while he was in school was good advice. But what about when he wasn’t with me? Who would take care of him then? Because whoever was supposed to be doing that job was clearly shirking their duties.
“Have faith, Emmeline. As a teacher, you can do a lot to change a child’s future. It just might not happen overnight.”
“Thank you. I appreciate your time.”
“You are most welcome.” He relaxed into his chair. “Are you looking forward to Thanksgiving next week? Do you have plans with family or friends?”
“No major plans this year. I think I’ll just lay low and get caught up on some house work.” As if Mason Carpenter’s situation weren’t depressing enough to talk about, discussing my holiday plans was sure to put me in a somber mood. This year I would be alone. No Thanksgiving Chinese takeout feast with Logan. My plans included a Netflix binge while working my way through two pizzas and a gallon of ice cream.
“You are welcome to join me and my family. We always have plenty of food and my wife would love nothing more than to tell you embarrassing stories about me,” he offered.
“Thank you, Rich. That is so nice of you. I’ll keep it in mind.”
I’d almost made it to the door when a thought crossed my mind. “Do teachers typically buy holiday gifts for their students?”
“Most do. Why?”
“I was just curious. I was thinking of getting them all something but didn’t want to be the only teacher who bought gifts,” I said.
“Whatever you’d like to do for them, I am sure they would love it.”
Rushing back to my classroom, I mentally rearranged my lesson plan for tomorrow. And tonight I was going to brainstorm a new art activity where somehow I would learn each kid’s shoe size.
If getting Mason Carpenter a new pair of shoes meant that every one of my students got a new pair, fine by me.
A week later, all of my students were opening their holiday gifts.
“Are these for me?” Mason whispered.
While all of the other kids were shouting wildly and showing each other their new tennis shoes, I knelt next to Mason, who was staring at his with wide eyes.
Thanksgiving was tomorrow, so today school was only going until noon. I was sure that once all the kids made it home, my afternoon would be spent listening to numerous messages from parents concerned about my extravagant gift.
But I didn’t care. As long as Mason Carpenter had something warm to put on his feet, I’d take whatever flak got thrown my way.
“Do you like them?” I asked.
He nodded and, for the first time ever, looked me in the eyes. His beautiful, big brown eyes were filled with tears of joy.
“Do you not have any other shoes, Mason?”
He looked down and shook his head.
“Then I guess it’s a good thing that the Thanksgiving shoe pixies stopped by today.”
A small grin spread on Mason’s face, revealing a dimple on his left cheek. No matter what I had to do, I was going to make it my mission in life to see that adorable dimple every day.
“You’ve reached Logan Kendrick. Please leave a message.”
“Logan. It’s me again. Please call me back.” I was driving home for Thanksgiving break. It had been over two and a half weeks since I had told Logan I was still married, the same night I had kissed Nick, and I hadn’t talked to either man since.
When Nick had dropped me off that night, I’d asked him to give me some space. He’d immediately rejected my plea, but after I’d begged him to give me time to process everything, he’d reluctantly agreed.
Though, my time was coming to an end. Before driving away, he’d declared, “You’ve got until Thanksgiving to get your head together. I am not letting you go, but I’ll give you some time.”
It wasn’t for a lack of trying that I hadn’t spoken to Logan. I had called him every day but he hadn’t answered my calls. We had become so distant these last few months, we hadn’t even made holiday plans. I was tempted to charter a jet back to New York so I could see him on Thanksgiving tomorrow and we could talk face-to-face.
Could our relationship be repaired? The guilt I felt for kissing Nick was crushing and I would never be able to keep it a secret. But if I told Logan about it, that would be the end. He would never forgive me for kissing another man.
And though it was heartbreaking to think of my life without Logan, I wouldn’t blame him. This was all my fault.
I pulled into my driveway, which was currently occupied by a large, black Cadillac SUV parked by the garage. The driver’s door opened and a tall man stepped out, wearing a black wool dress coat and jeans.
Logan.
I had no idea what he was doing in Montana but it didn’t matter. Whatever his reasons, I was just glad to see him.
Jumping out of the Jeep, I walked right to him and wrapped my arms around his waist, burrowing my head into his chest.
I held my breath, waiting for his reaction, hoping he wouldn’t push me away.
When his arms closed tightly around my shoulders and his cheek dropped to my head, the air rushed out of my lungs.
“I missed you.”
“I missed you too,” he said, kissing my hair.
“Are you here to break up with me?”
He chuckled. “I wasn’t planning on it.”
“Good,” I said, squeezing him tighter.
I took a few deep breaths, inhaling his Armani cologne, before pulling away. Logan always smelled good.
Nick smells better.
That unwelcome comparison ran right through my mind without control. Silently scolding myself, I looked into Logan’s brown eyes. My brain unwillingly conjured up the image of Nick’s vibrant hazel ones.
Nick’s eyes are better too.
What was wrong with me? Why was I standing here with my amazingly handsome boyfriend thinking about Nick Slater?
Because I was bat-shit crazy. That’s why.
“You okay?” Logan asked.
“What? Oh. Yes. I think I’m still in shock that you’re actually here,” I lied.
“Sorry. I should have called, but I just needed some time. I’m tired of having phone conversations.”
“Me too. We need to talk.”
“We do, but not this second. I was thinking we could barricade ourselves in your house and camp out in the bedroom. We can talk in there, among other things.” He grinned.
“I like that plan. But we’re going to need provisions. Otherwise, we’ll starve to death. All I have left in the house is Diet Coke and a half-eaten bag of Swedish Fish.”
“Is there a Chinese place in town where we could get some takeout for Thanksgiving tomorrow?” he asked.
A huge smile took over my face. I’d been terribly depressed, thinking of spending my first Prescott holiday alone. But now with Logan here, it would be like normal. “You’re in luck, darling. Along with one take-n-bake pizza place, there are exactly four restaurants in Prescott, one of which is Peking Garden Chinese.”
“Excellent. Show me this town of yours, sweetheart. Get us our Thanksgiving feast.”
Five minutes later, we were driving the Jeep into town. “When do you have to go back?”
�
�Friday evening,” he said.
“Right.” I frowned. That meant we weren’t going to get all weekend together. Instead, we’d have less than forty-eight hours.
“I’m behind as it is, Emmeline. Taking a couple of days off right now isn’t helping. I’m just hoping if I check in today and work for a couple hours tomorrow, I won’t go home to a disaster.”
It hadn’t been my idea for him to fly out here. If this was such an inconvenient trip, why had he even bothered to come? We could have talked on the phone. Was he here to make me feel guilty for two days? Because I didn’t need his help for that.
I kept my eyes on the road and bit my lip. I didn’t want to get into an argument with Logan twenty minutes into his visit.
“I thought it would be prettier. Greener maybe,” Logan said.
“What do you mean?”
“Montana. I thought it would be prettier. Everything is brown.”
“Are you crazy? It is pretty,” I said. “I think the contrast between the flat land down here and all of the mountains and forest around us is breathtaking. And the grass is golden because it’s winter.”
“Don’t be offended. I just had a different image in my head,” he said and looked at his phone.
I used the rest of the drive to calm down.
Why were we snapping at each other? We had never fought when I’d lived in the city. We’d been short with one another lately but I had assumed it was because we’d been adjusting to a long-distance relationship. Maybe there was more behind those calls than I had wanted to admit.
“Let’s walk around Main Street a bit,” I said. “It’s really cute and I could show you some of my favorite spots.”
I loved the quaint feel of Main Street. Maybe Logan would too. All of the stores had character. Nothing matched but everything went together. And it came together naturally, not forced like it was on so many of the Manhattan streets where I had once lived.
The window displays weren’t professionally designed. The signs weren’t expertly coordinated. Prescott wasn’t fancy or elaborate, but it had real charm. Its allure was in the people who took pride in their work and town.
