But she held back, hadn’t she? She didn’t say anything right away. How could she? Harry was her best friend, and had been ever since she moved in next door to him when she was seven. He had always just been Harry to her, and then he’d become something infinitely more precious to her as they grew older.
But she had waited and waited and waited. She was still trying to work things out for herself. She tried to kid herself and think that the love would disappear. That if she stopped thinking about it that it would go away. That if she didn’t look at Harry too much her heart would stop skipping beats.
Nothing worked.
And right now she wished it had. Because loving Harry was painful. I think you would destroy me.
Destroy him.
That’s what he thought of her. That she would destroy him. Not that she would treasure him. Not that she would keep his heart, his love, his trust in her safekeeping. Not that she would protect it and fight for it. But that she would destroy him.
That wasn’t love.
That wasn’t her.
And for Harry to say that—believe that—destroyed her.
She zipped up her suitcase. She needed to leave. Now. Before Harry woke. Before her stupid, foolish, broken heart tried to convince her to stay, to fight, to not give up on this love. But it wasn’t love. Not at all.
It was past time to leave.
HARRY WAS IN the kitchen and making breakfast as coffee brewed.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
She did not want to deal with him right now . . . or ever, for that matter. She should have stolen away in the night, except that it had looked really bad out at three a.m. with the never-ending snow storm outside. Not that it looked any better out there right now.
Well, she’d driven in bad weather before. Lake George was no stranger to snowstorms. She could handle badly plowed roads. Anything would be better than to be anywhere near him.
She walked downstairs, and Harry turned and frowned, taking in her suitcase.
“Where are you going?” he asked, removing the scrambled eggs and bacon from the stove.
“I’m leaving.”
He raised his eyebrows at her. “In this weather?”
“It’s only snow.” She headed to the closet and pulled out her jacket and boots. “I’ll be fine.”
“Have you looked outside?”
“Yeah. I have.”
“You can’t see a thing. I can hardly make out the trees.”
“Your vision has always sucked.” Felicity tugged on her boots, then slid her jacket on. She zipped it up, threw a scarf around her neck, and got out her gloves from her coat pockets. “Stop worrying. It’s annoying.”
“I’m afraid I can’t let you leave in these conditions.”
Felicity paused in the midst of putting her gloves on and gave a short laugh. “Like you could stop me. I’ll destroy you if you do. Remember?”
He glared at her for a long moment. “Fine. Be stupid. Leave. See if I care.”
“Good,” she said, and stomped out the front door.
Her car was covered in snow, and the road leading up to the cabin hadn’t been plowed. The snow was thick, but her car could handle it. She would just have to drive extra slow and be a more cautious driver than usual. It would be a bitch to drive in, but she did not want to stay here.
She started to push the snow off her trunk. The snow was thick and hard on her car, but she managed to get most of it off so she could open the trunk and get out her ice scraper. She threw in her suitcase and slammed the trunk lid down.
Snowflakes plopped onto her like bird poop, and the wind howled, blowing her hood back. She slapped her hood back on and trudged her way over to the driver’s side. She cleaned it up and then started her car, throwing her bag onto the passenger seat. Then she got to work on the rest of the car, swearing at Harry the whole time.
SHE REALLY WAS an idiot sometimes. Harry glared at Felicity through the window as she continued to clean off her car. It was horrible outside. It wasn’t just any old snowstorm that made your morning commute longer and frustrating. The conditions looked like a blizzard, but the weather reports last night hadn’t predicted this. The forecast had been for a strong Northeaster.
Felicity couldn’t drive home in a blizzard. She wouldn’t be safe. She could die.
But the stupid idiot thought she would be fine.
Let her be a stupid idiot. He wasn’t going to stop her. He wasn’t going to care.
FINALLY HER CAR was clean enough for the ride home. She rounded the front of her car and mentally prepared herself for a very long drive, due to the weather. Luckily she could listen to an audio book to help pass the time, and she wouldn’t think too much about Harry if she could help it.
She was opening her door when something hit the side of her arm. She automatically looked down at the snow littering her sleeve.
A snowball.
Her head snapped up just in time to see Harry—not even dressed in a winter jacket—scooping up snow in his bared hands and rolling another wad of white stuff.
“And you’re the one calling me an idiot!” She furiously wiped the snow off her sleeve. “It’s freezing out here, and you have nothing on. If you get frostbite, then—”
A snowball struck her dead in the center of her chest.
“You . . .”
Another snowball clipped her shoulder, and her hood flew back with another gust of wind. Her teeth chattered together. Harry must be even colder than she was. Don’t care. Don’t care. Don’t care . . .
“I’m leaving,” she said and turned to the car door once again.
One instant she was opening her door, and the next Harry plowed into her and knocked her to the ground.
“You . . . you . . . asshole!” She twisted under him, pushing at his chest. “I’m going to kill you!”
“Don’t leave.” His breath blew out puffs of cold air. “I can’t let you.”
“It’s only snow!”
“It’s not only snow. It’s on the ham radio. It’s a fucking blizzard, and it’s been declared a statewide emergency. All the roads are closed.”
Just her luck.
“Now,” he said, getting off her and helping her up. “Get inside.”
“I hate you.”
“Hate me all you want, but get your ass indoors before I carry you myself.”
“Like you even could with your skinny ass.”
“That’s it.” And then he bent down and picked her up, fireman style, and hauled her inside. He set her down carefully even as his jaw continued to clench. “I did warn you.”
Her heart hammered in her chest, and she was breathless. Why had that turned her on? She was mad at him. Furious. She shouldn’t want to rip off his clothes and fuck him. It wasn’t like he even wanted to have sex with her anyway because of his hang-ups.
She went to the front door, but he blocked her.
“I said you’re not leaving,” Harry said. “You can’t.”
“I know that, but my suitcase is in my car. And I need to turn my car off.”
“You stay here. I’ll take care of it.”
Before she could even argue, he was out the door. Without a coat or gloves once more.
She hoped his balls turned blue.
SEVEN
FELICITY WAS STILL not speaking to him, and it had been six hours since the almost getaway. The weather emergency reports were getting worse and worse on the radio. Both of their cells and tablets had long since disconnected from WiFi, and they had briefly lost power. Thankfully the generator his father had bought a few years ago kicked in and the lights went back on. Still, Harry had turned off his cell to charge it.
But Felicity had not uttered one word to him. She avoided him—even now as she sat on the couch and read on her Kindle, with earplugs plugged in to her iPod. The message couldn’t be any clearer: Stay away.
He had really messed things up in an epic way.
He should never have said
anything. He should have just gone with the flow last night and done what he wanted and had sex with her. He shouldn’t have let his concerns and worries get in the way. And most of all he shouldn’t have hurt Felicity.
Even if he did think it was the truth.
She would destroy him.
He loved her, but he knew she would destroy him. Goddesses and mortals never mixed well. She was something more than he was. He’d always known that. And he wouldn’t survive when she left him. Because she would leave him. Sooner or later, she would leave him. Why wouldn’t she? He wasn’t anything. He was an accountant, for crying out loud, and while he had a nice nest egg, it wasn’t like he was a billionaire or even a hundred-thousandaire. He didn’t shine like Felicity did. And she would grow tired of his reluctance, of his shyness, of his hang-ups and worries. And she would think him odd and weird—and any love for him she had would die a cold, brutal death.
But that love probably had already been killed with what he had said last night. She was always “the one” for him. She would always be “the one” for him. But sometimes being “the one” wasn’t enough. It wasn’t worth the risks. The gamble. The eventual heartbreak.
It was better to let her hate him. Let her remain silent.
And let the friendship die.
He knew this would happen.
He had just underestimated how much it would hurt.
FELICITY ADDED PASTA shells to the boiling water and set the Velveeta cheese to the side for when the pasta was ready. She was hungry and didn’t feel like going all out for dinner like she had last night. And she just wanted some cheesy, so bad for you but you don’t give a shit because you’re hurting mac ‘n’ cheese. She was an emotional eater. Sue her.
Harry came downstairs, his hair still wet from a shower. He stopped for a moment at the bottom of the stairs, looking wary. Yeah, he should look wary, the bastard. She turned her attention back to the shells and stirred them. She had ten minutes or so until they would be ready, but she would busy herself here to avoid talking to Harry.
She normally wasn’t one to avoid confrontations but she was still hurting from his words. Her heart broke every time she thought on what he said. The shards of her heart stabbed into her over and over again. She never should have said anything. She never should have whipped creamed herself. She never should have come here. She never should have befriended the bespectacled boy next door.
Never was fast becoming a mantra for her.
Harry opened a nearby cabinet and grabbed a jar of peanut butter.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Making dinner.”
“Why? I’m making mac ‘n’ cheese.”
“I just assumed that you wouldn’t want me . . .”
Yeah, she was still hurt. And pissed. “It’s mac ‘n’ cheese. It’s nothing special, but if you want a peanut butter sandwich, go ahead. It doesn’t matter to me.”
Harry put the jar away. “Mac ‘n’ cheese sounds great.”
She returned to the shells, not even knowing why she had offered. She hadn’t been planning to, but she had. And although she tried to tell herself that she didn’t know why she cared so much, she did.
She cursed her heart for its foolishness.
Didn’t it know any better by now?
Apparently not.
HARRY STARED UP at the ceiling, and then, for what seemed like the hundredth time since he’d gone to bed, checked the clock on his nightstand. 12:01 a.m. It wasn’t even really that late, but he went upstairs about an hour ago. And all he had done was toss and turn since then, ruminating on . . . well, everything.
Felicity was on the other side of the cabin, presumably asleep, since she had escaped to her room around nine. Not that he could blame her for that. But . . .
He didn’t like it.
He didn’t like the distance that had grown between them since their fight. He thought he knew what was for the best . . . that letting her go would be easier in the long run. He’d save his heart from a world of hurt.
His heart kicked against his rib cage, pounding into him with its swift, hard thumps. You idiot, it screamed, you didn’t save yourself from anything.
And worse than that, he had hurt her. Felicity. The woman he loved.
It was better this way. Right?
He turned on his side, facing the window in his room. Snow blurred against the windowpane, and he couldn’t even make out the moon, much less the night sky. At least she couldn’t leave. Not yet anyway. Soon, she would. And what would happen when they returned to Lake George? Their families still lived next door to one another. He was her family accountant, not to mention he was also Felicity’s accountant. They would see each other, but it would be different.
How could it not be?
He didn’t want different.
He wanted the same, but he couldn’t have the same. Not after what he had said. Not after what had happened. Not after pouring his heart out and then doing a complete 180. He thought he was ready. He did. He thought he wanted to be with her, and he did want to be with her . . . but . . . it was better to not take risks. Right?
He turned on his stomach and thumped the pillow with his head a few times. God. Why couldn’t he just have done it? Why? Why couldn’t he just . . . go after what and whom he wanted? Why couldn’t he risk it?
Because he was a coward.
A big, stinking coward, that’s why.
Harry turned on his other side and glared at his closed door. He was the one who always locked himself away. It was safer not to show all of his true self to others—and this included his family—to keep his underbelly unexposed, to hide away his secrets, his desires, his wants, his needs, his dreams, his fervent hope. It was safer to not say. To not risk rejection. To not expose himself to others and have them scoff and ask, “Really? That’s what you want? That’s who you love? You think you can get that? You think you can get her? Dream on, buddy.”
Because when he dared to reach out in the past . . . when he dared to hope that he could go after what he wanted most . . . when he dared to trust someone with parts of his true self, he always got burned. He only trusted his family and Felicity to a certain extent. He didn’t show them everything. He wasn’t stupid. He didn’t believe anyone could really accept and love him completely. All that he was and all that he had in him.
He had never been good enough for that. Always just good. Always the kid who never caused trouble for his parents in or out of school. Always the kid who did his work in school and achieved As and Bs, but was always overlooked in the classroom. Always the kid who was picked on but didn’t say anything because saying something didn’t change anything but made the bullying worse. Always the student in college who never quite fit in—the one who had a couple of friends, but never connected with anyone to form long-lasting friendships. Always the co-worker who did his job and did it to the best of his ability, but at the same time, was just another cog in the machine.
He was always “just” something. Of course he longed for true connections. Of course he longed to open himself up to someone and bare everything, and have that someone not reject him. Of course he longed to be not “just” anymore.
But he didn’t think that was ever going to happen.
So why even bother trying to reach for something unattainable? Why risk anything? He’d been fine before with his lot in life . . . and he would get back to fine again.
But the thought didn’t comfort him, and he worried that fine would never be fine for him again.
Well, he would just make it so. He could find a new normal.
One without Felicity.
His heart howled in his chest, and he pressed a hand there. The ache didn’t go away. It wouldn’t go away. It gnawed at him.
Imagine a life without Felicity.
No, he wasn’t going to.
Imagine it. You do it for everything else.
So he did. He pictured it in his mind returning to Lake George and running into Felicity
at her parents’ annual Christmas Eve dinner. He saw her laughing and talking, and her smile fading away when she spotted him. How the conversation would be stilted, and how she avoided him. How much it hurt.
Imagine further ahead.
He thought a few months from now. When it came time to do her taxes. How he would usually run numbers with her, and they would order in pizza and wings, and she would make him watch Say Anything again. But this time, she emailed him and attached all her receipts and other information so he could do it on his own time. And then she would add that she thought it better in the future that she find another accountant.
Go even further ahead.
He saw a wedding. One of his brothers? But no, it wasn’t. Felicity, in a wedding gown, exchanging vows with another man. One who wasn’t him. That man would slide the ring on her finger, promising to love and treasure her always. To risk it all with her. The reception later on with Felicity and her new husband laughing and smiling at each other. They’d dance off into the sunset, and all Harry would have was regrets of what could have been.
Then ten years later. Felicity with her family, and he would run into them by chance at the market. Two girls and a boy. The youngest, a girl, looked like Felicity so much it hurt. Her business was doing extremely well, but he had already known that, as Fat Lady Sweets had opened up more stores in the Northeast region and down in Cape May and another in Florida. Soon, a store would open in Chicago, and Felicity and her family would be making a move to oversee the operation.
He’d not see her again. He’d only hear about her when Fat Lady Sweets was on the news. When her store won some big award for their candy.
He’d lost the one woman who mattered to him in all his life. He’d thrown away something because he wasn’t able to take a risk. He was scared. And he had lost her. His life, as safe as it was, was pitiful and alone, but he had always loved her. And he hated himself. He hated himself so much for what he had done. She had never been the one capable of destruction. It had been him.
Holiday for Two (a duet of Christmas novellas) Page 13
