Cold Hearted

by Winter Renshaw

Cristiano

  It’s two in the morning and I’m wide awake, listening to the sound of the rain slicking the hotel room windows, its gentle tapping a lullaby of sorts but not enough to lure me to sleep. Daphne lies on her side, one arm tucked beneath her and the other stretched across my chest.

  Two hours ago, we burst into this room, tore off each other’s rain-soaked clothes, and immediately proceeded to do what we do best. I fucked her against the wall. On the bed. Against the glass of the balcony. I could go again if she’d let me, but her warm body melted against mine is a sure sign that she’s spent.

  “I fly home tomorrow morning,” she says with a sigh, trailing her fingernails softly down the center of my chest. “I’ll leave tomorrow, spend a few days at home, and then pack up and head west.”

  “I was planning on spending next week in Amsterdam, but I’ll come home a week early,” I say. “I promised my mom I’d spend more time at home anyway.”

  She releases a breathy laugh. “Don’t leave just because I’m leaving.”

  “I want to see you before you move.” I tuck my hand beneath my head, staring up at the ceiling. “I came clean to my mom about law school and not graduating.”

  Daphne rolls to her stomach, sliding her hand under her chin and resting them on my chest. “Oh, yeah? How’d she take it?”

  “Better than I expected.”

  “Did you tell her about Jax Diesel?”

  Laughing and coughing at the same time, I say, “Yeah, about that. No, I didn’t tell her. She stumbled across one of my books in the wild. Went to the Jax Diesel website because she couldn’t get over the striking resemblance . . .”

  Daphne giggles, covering her mouth with a cupped hand. “No she didn’t.”

  Biting my bottom lip and cringing, I nod. “Yeah, that was a fun conversation.”

  “How’d she take it?”

  “I don’t know, honestly. I just wanted the conversation to end as soon as humanly possible. I think I blacked out that entire five minutes of my life.”

  “Aww,” Daphne snorts through her nose. “Well at least it’s over and done with. Anyway, can we be real for a minute?”

  My gut sinks for a second. Nothing good ever follows a statement like that.

  “Of course.” I clear my throat, meeting her gaze.

  “I’m moving to California. And you’re always traveling. I don’t think this is going to work,” she says softly. “At least not for me. And I don’t think we should kid ourselves. We’re a little caught up in the moment right now, but after tomorrow, it’s back to reality.”

  Sitting up, I lean my back against the headboard, my jaw tense. She rises to her knees, pulling the sheets around her naked body.

  “Daphne,” I say, “I don’t know what I have to do to convince you that I’m serious about this. I want to make this work. I don’t know how, but I know we can figure something out.”

  Her full lips purse. Whatever it is she’s thinking about, she’s keeping it to herself right now, and that’s never a good sign.

  “Do you want to meet my mom?” I blurt. “I haven’t brought anyone home to meet her in years. And I’ll catch a lot of shit for this from my brothers, but I’ll do it. I’ll let you meet my mom. That’s how serious I am about you.”

  Her fingertips lightly graze her chest and she smirks. “You’ve known me since New Year’s Eve . . . which means you barely know me. You’re insane, you know that?”

  “Maybe, but I don’t fucking care.” I pull her into my lap, letting the covers fall to her hips. She straddles me, and I run my hands up the small of her back as I crush her lips with a kiss. The sweet scent of her arousal fills my lungs, sending a throb to my cock. “You’re addictive, Daphne. I’ll do whatever I have to do to get my fix.”

  “Fine,” she says between kisses. “But let’s make one thing clear.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’m not your girlfriend.”

  “Not yet. But you will be.”

  37

  Daphne

  “Need any help?” My mother stands in the doorway of my childhood room as I unpack from my return from Paris. A few loads of laundry and I’ll be ready to start packing again for my move west. Fortunately I don’t have to bring much since I’m renting a fully furnished apartment, and most of my things I can ship. I figured I’d bring two giant suitcases for the flight and FedEx the rest.

  “I’m good,” I say, offering a smile as I toss a wad of dirty clothes into a hamper across the room. “Thanks though.”

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” Mom says, feet shuffling across the gray carpet. She moves to my nightstand, placing her hand on a small journal that I hadn’t noticed until now. “Your father found this in the back of that rental car when he was returning it for you the other week. He brought it back, thinking it was yours, but I don’t recognize the handwriting.”

  Cristiano’s travel journal.

  I remember it now.

  I’d completely forgotten about it, and I’d only seen him writing in it once during our trip.

  “Does it belong to your friend?” Mom lifts her brows.

  “I think so. I’ll make sure he gets it back,” I say.

  “Okay, well, anyway.” She moves toward the hall, lingering in the doorway. “Demi and Royal are coming over for supper tonight. They should be here any minute now. I know we’re all anxious to hear about your time in gay Paree.”

  My mouth pulls up on one side and I nod. “Of course. I’ll be down in a bit. Just going to finish up here and grab a quick shower.”

  “All right, sweetheart.”

  The second Mom leaves, I abandon my half un-packed bags, close my door, and make a beeline for Cristiano’s journal. We left things in a good place, and the last several days have been magical. He isn’t coming home until tomorrow, and I’ll be coming over the following day to meet his mom. Everything’s happening so fast. Everything’s kind of magical. But I can’t help but feel like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  They say when something’s too good to be true, it usually is.

  Cracking open his journal, I read the first entry and gasp.

  July 3rd

  Cabo san Lucas, Mexico

  I took a boat tour of Lands’ End today, where the Sea of Cortez meets the Pacific Ocean. It was a sunrise tour, and I was in the company of mostly couples. Some honeymooners. Some thirty-fifth anniversary celebrators. I couldn’t help but feel, in a strange way, that you were there with me, at least in spirit. And I really wish you were. You would’ve loved it. You always did love the sea. Anyway, the sunrise was beautiful. Streaks of pink and orange mixing with blue. Made me think of you.

  August 12th

  Brussels, Belgium

  I met with my friend Anwar today in Brussels. Known him since my freshman year of college, when he was visiting on an exchange scholarship. Anyway, he showed me around. We went beer tasting and saw the Atomium sculpture park. You always loved art. Wish you could’ve been there. Tomorrow we’re stopping by the Horta Museum and Parlamentarium.

  I page ahead, flipping past date after date, country after country, and city after city. Each entry is written to someone. Someone he misses dearly. Someone he wishes could be with him during his travels.

  Sinking into my bed, I close the journal, pressing it against my chest as I try to catch my breath. I don’t know what this means, but it changes things. I feel the change in my bones, melting into a slight panic when I think about seeing Cristiano again in two days.

  Flipping through the journal again, I look for a more recent date, my eyes unable to scan his writing fast enough when I find it.

  December 31st

  Seaview, California

  Another New Year’s without you. They just keep piling up, one after another it seems. And it never gets easier. Each new year always feels like a reminder that we should’ve been together, and that we’ll never get the chance. Anyway, I’m flying home later today. Guess I’ll see you soon.

  I can
’t breathe for a moment. The oxygen has been sucked from my lungs and my chest burns hot.

  All these entries . . . was he writing to Joey? And why would he do this? None of it makes sense. And he claimed he never loved her. That he was just protective of her.

  The tromping of feet coming upstairs prompts me to shove the journal to the side. A few seconds later, my oldest sister Demi bursts into my room.

  “Welcome baaaack!” she singsongs, hurling herself at me and wrapping her arms around me. I chuckle, and in an instant, I almost forget what I’ve just read. Climbing off me, Demi brushes her dark hair from her face, her smile fading. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I say, forcing a smile. “Just jet-lagged.”

  “Well, Mom’s making lasagna and I think I hear the timer going off, so come on.” She grabs me by the arm, yanking me off my bed. It’s like we’re kids again, though I don’t mind. Life was a hell of a lot easier back then, that’s for damn sure.

  Heading downstairs, I promise myself not to let this little revelation ruin my time with my family. I’ll think about it more, later, when I have a moment to myself. When I’m lying in bed, staring at the cracks in the ceiling. I need time to digest this journal, figure out what it means.

  And I hope to God it doesn’t mean he was lying to me.

  Because I was finally starting to open up to the idea of maybe . . . just maybe . . . this thing we have going might actually be worth putting myself out there again.

  38

  Cristiano

  “Hey, come in.” I hold the door open for Daphne, watching as she takes a deep breath. She hasn’t met my gaze once, and everything about this feels formal. She’s dressed in black leggings and a white blouse, her hair piled into a neat bun on the crown of her head. Her bee-stung pout is slicked in bright red, a sign that she’s not planning to kiss me, at least not anytime soon, and she keeps a careful distance from me.

  She’s nervous, that’s it.

  Cute.

  Placing my hand on the small of her back, I usher her into the living room.

  “Mom,” I yell over my shoulder. “Daphne’s here.”

  My mom appears a moment later, her white apron covered in blotches of red sauce. Wiping her hands down the front, she then quickly unties the knot behind her back and yanks it from around her neck.

  “Hi, I’m Cristiano’s mother, Valentina. So nice to meet you,” she says, extending her hand.

  “Wonderful to meet you as well,” Daphne says, meeting her in the middle and smiling warmly.

  My mom’s going to love her, I’m one hundred percent certain. I dropped the bomb on her this morning, over breakfast, since I didn’t really have a chance last night. I landed late, cabbed it home, and went straight to bed. It’s going to be a while before I adjust to my new schedule, and right now, I’m tired as hell, but I’m excited for Daphne to meet my mother. She needs to know I meant what I said. I’m serious about her.

  “Please sit. Stay a while,” Mom says, pointing to the sofa. “Cristiano doesn’t bring girls home to meet me. He doesn’t bring anyone home, really. Heck, he hardly brings himself home.”

  Mom laughs, and Daphne glances at me, meeting my gaze for the first time since she arrived. She smiles, though I sense a bit of hesitancy behind her expression. I’m going to chalk it up to nerves, because the girl standing here is every bit as beautiful on the outside as the Daphne I know, but there’s something off about her on the inside. I can tell.

  “Cristiano tells me you met in California? That you’re the young lady he drove across the country with?”

  “Yes,” Daphne says, sitting up stick straight. “He insisted on tagging along. I wasn’t sure at first, but it worked out. It was nice to have someone to share the load with.”

  Her shoulders relax, but only slightly, and she glances my way again, this time looking as if she’s studying me. I can’t wait to get her alone so I can tell her to relax, assure her that my mom will be just as crazy about her as I am.

  “I want to show you something,” my mom announces to our guest before rising and moving across the living room.

  “Mom, what are you doing?” I ask as I spot her digging through a pile of books behind the La-Z-Boy.

  “Just looking for a photo album,” she says, voice muffled from behind the chair. “Ah, yes. Here it is.”

  “No,” I say. “No baby pictures.”

  Mom pouts her bottom lip. “But I had the cutest baby boys, and I never get the chance to show them off.”

  “I’d love to see Cristiano as a baby,” Daphne says, smiling delicately, though I know she’s only appeasing my mother.

  The sound of crunching tires against our gravel driveway directs my attention to the front living room window, and I scratch at my temple when I see Joey’s van pull up in our driveway. I wasn’t expecting her.

  “Who’s here?” Mom peers up from her photo album, nose scrunched.

  “Joey,” I say, rising carefully. Turning to Daphne, I say, “Give me a minute, okay? I won’t be long.”

  Stepping to the front porch, I make my way down the steps as Joey lowers herself from her van and wheels up the sidewalk. We don’t have a ramp for Joey’s chair, so we’ll have to converse by the front stoop. It’s been years since she’s seen the inside of my childhood house, which was practically her second home growing up, and I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to that.

  “Hey, Jo,” I say, shoving my hands in my pockets. “What’s up?”

  Squinting into the sun, she glances behind her, her gaze lingering on Daphne’s car for a second too long before returning to me.

  “I wanted to talk to you. You have a minute?” she asks.

  “I’ve got company right now,” I say. “But yeah, I have a minute. What’s up? Everything okay?”

  Pulling in a deep breath, Joey’s lower lip trembles and she glances down and to the side.

  “You were right about Trent,” she says, her voice low. “I shouldn’t have married him.”

  “Jesus, Joey. What happened?” I drag my hands through my hair, feeling my jaw tense. If he hurt her – physically or otherwise – he’s a dead man.

  “Nothing happened,” she says. “I just . . . I think I married him for the wrong reasons, you know? After the accident, I didn’t think I’d find someone. Someone to accept me exactly as I am. And then Trent came along. And yeah, he’s not perfect. There are a lot of things I don’t like about him.”

  She exhales, her shoulders falling.

  “I settled, Cris,” she says, looking up into my eyes. “I settled because I didn’t think I had any other options, and it’s been lonely these last few years. I don’t get out. I don’t go anywhere. People stop by, but they don’t treat me the same. They act like they’re visiting a sick friend. A shut-in. Or they treat me like a helpless baby. And Trent never did that. He treats me the way he treats everyone else.”

  “So what’s the problem?”

  Shaking her head, she smiles, and then her expression fades, bringing a tear to her eye. “When I was up there, saying my vows, I found myself wishing . . . Jesus, this is going to sound completely insane . . . I can’t believe I’m even saying this . . . but I found myself wishing that it was you standing there instead.”

  “Joey.” I bury my face in my palms for a moment. I can hardly look at her right now.

  “When you came into the dressing room on my wedding day,” she says. “a part of me hoped you’d be able to talk me out of marrying Trent. But then I saw the pain in your eyes. And I saw the way you looked at me. And when you said you always thought you’d be the one to take care of me, I knew you didn’t mean it in a romantic way. And I’d never want to be a burden on you. So I convinced you everything was fine. I convinced myself too.”

  “I don’t know what you’re getting at here.” I hook my hands on my hips.

  Joey offers a pained smile, her eyes catching on mine. “I don’t know what I’m getting at . . . I guess . . . I guess I’m coming to tell you that
it’s over between Trent and me. And I miss you. And I want you in my life again. I want you to forgive yourself so we can be us again. I just want things to go back to normal. And mostly . . . I came to tell you that I think I’m in love with you. And I think I’ve always been in love with you. But I don’t think I realized it until now.”

  Her expression turns apologetic, and she chuckles, embarrassed. There’s a pink flush to her cheeks, and her gaze falls to the ground.

  “God, you have no idea how hard it was to say all that,” she says, breathless.

  “Joey.” Taking a step toward her, I pull in a deep breath. “I don’t know what to say.”

  Her smile fades, like I’m watching her heart break in real time.

  “You know I’m always going to love you,” I say. “But you and me? Together? Now? I don’t think that’s in the cards for us.”

  “You met someone,” Joey says, blinking away tears. She tucks a strand of chocolate brown hair behind her ears before crossing her hands in her motionless lap. “Ashley mentioned something . . . about the night of the wedding . . . you were trying to call some girl. I didn’t think anything of it at first. She didn’t give me any details. I guess I assumed it was one of those girls you call when you’ve had too much to drink. I laughed, actually, when Ashley told me because it seemed so typically Cristiano.”

  She glances down at her still hands pressed flat against her lap. Joey gets that way when she’s upset. Her body tenses and she doesn’t move. Even now, all the parts of her that are still capable of moving become as motionless as a statue.

  “Yeah,” I say softly, as if it could possibly cushion the blow. “I met someone.”

  “Okay, well.” Joey looks up at me, forcing a bittersweet, close-lipped smile that sends an ache to my chest. I hate seeing her in pain. “Can I meet her sometime?”

  Nodding, I say, “Of course.”

  “I should go.” Joey chuffs through her nose, her cheeks pink. She’s embarrassed I suppose. When she wheels her chair back to her van, she turns back to me with misting, smiling eyes. “Don’t be a stranger, okay? Come see me more often, will you?”