Take Your Time (A Boston Love Story Book 4)

by Julie Johnson

  I watch my best friend marry the man of her dreams; I see the look of pure love on their faces as they exchange gold bands and say words that will bind them for life. And I know, in my heart, that I’ve made a mistake.

  That Luca was right.

  Mimi wouldn’t want me to live like this — afraid to experience that kind of love. She loved love. She exuded it from every pore. Using her as a crutch to avoid ever getting attached, or hurt, or heartbroken…

  It’s a cop out.

  “I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the minister is saying suddenly. “You may kiss the bride.”

  Nate sweeps Phoebe into his arms and kisses her. Her bouquet-bearing hand shoots straight up into the sky — a victorious, floral fist-pump of celebration. Standing there, with everyone around me clapping and cheering for the happy couple, my eyes lock on Luca’s across the din, as they once did in a crowded gym last December, the first night we met. For a single moment, with his eyes burning into mine, I let it in.

  The hope.

  That one day, this won’t seem so terribly complicated. That one day, I won’t be afraid of this thing between us. That he’ll give me time to figure it out, before moving on to a girl who doesn’t have issues.

  I’m not sure what he sees in my eyes, at that moment, but the look he sends back at me steals the breath right out of my lungs.

  He’s hopeful, too.

  I’m standing on the harbor deck, a glass of champagne in my hand, taking a break from the dance floor where the rest of the bridesmaids are cutting a rug. The groomsmen are clustered by the bar, far too macho to dance. As for me — I may be a hot mess, but I refuse to do the Macarena. It’s a matter of principle.

  Despite Phoebe’s fears of precipitation, the night is perfect for a wedding. Balmy but not humid, with a warm southern breeze blowing off the water. The surface glows gold and pink, reflecting the gorgeous sunset like a mirror.

  My eyes drift across the gyrating guests to the far side of the dance floor, where Luca is standing with a beautiful, petite blonde in a knee-length pink dress. Zoe. As I watch, she throws her arms around him in a massive hug, and he lifts her clear off her feet with a broad smile lighting up his face.

  The sight sends a bolt of jealousy through me.

  It’s silly, of course — I know she’s with Parker. But there’s a part of me that’s always wondered whether Luca was a little bit in love with his oldest friend. They both insist their relationship has never been anything but platonic, that they’re more like siblings than a couple… but watching them now, envy stirs inside my chest, unpleasant and unwanted.

  “They’re quite the pair, huh?”

  The voice cuts into my reverie. Startled, I turn and find Colton leaning against the railing by my side, his blonde surfer-boy looks even more attractive in the fading evening light. He’s watching me with a smirk, clearly amused he’s caught me spying.

  “I wasn’t—”

  “It’s okay. I won’t tell.” His dimples pop out. “Always thought they’d end up together.” He pauses, taking a slow sip of his scotch. “No offense.”

  “None taken,” I murmur.

  “Still could, I suppose.” He says it in an offhand way, as if we’re discussing the weather instead of the demise of two relationships. “Given the right circumstances.”

  I feel my temper spark to life.

  My brows arch at him. “And what circumstances would those be, exactly?”

  Colton’s good-boy facade falls away. The dimples disappear. The easygoing smile flattens into a frown.

  “Listen, you seem like a decent enough human being, and ordinarily I’d have no problem with you dating one of my friends.” The words are blunt, emotionless. “Thing is, though, Luca isn’t just one of my friends. He’s Blaze Buchanan. He’s the best fighter anyone’s seen come up through the ranks in decades. He’s got a real shot at greatness. Not just the regional-league shit he’s doing now, the small-time endorsements and payouts — I’m talking a UFC contract. Millions of dollars in his pocket, every fight. An international audience. Sponsorships. Travel. More fans than you can fathom.” He stares at me. “It’ll change his entire life.”

  “I know that,” I murmur.

  “Then you also know he’s got a championship in just over a week. Fighting a mean-ass fucker named Jack Forrester whose nickname is Lumberjack because he’s built like a damn oak tree and even harder to knock down.” He leans closer, swirling the amber liquid in his highball glass. “Luca should be in the gym with me every day, either training or studying tapes of Forrester’s latest fights. He should be in the zone right now, fully focused. Fully dedicated. You know where he’s been instead?”

  My throat feels tight.

  “With you,” Colton mutters. “Distracted. Unfocused. Off his training schedule. He’s going to lose this fight, lose everything he’s ever wanted, his entire life… because of you.” He shakes his head at me and takes a generous sip of his scotch. “Pretty selfish, if you ask me.”

  “I didn’t,” I snap, but it sounds thin.

  Colton stares at me. “Wonder how he’ll feel about you when he wakes up and realizes you singlehandedly ruined his life? That he threw it all away over a good fuck and a hot piece of ass?” He makes a sound of disgust. “Fucking crime, that’s what it is. They should charge you with homicide for killing his dream.”

  Unwilling to listen to any more, I turn and walk away from him. I don’t make it far; his hand clamps down on my elbow in a tight grip. I try to shake him off, but I can’t.

  “Lila,” he says in my ear. “Might be hard for you to hear, but deep down you know I’m right. You should let him walk away.”

  “You should let me walk away.” I tug at my arm, but I’m still held fast. His grip bites harshly into my flesh until tears gather in my eyes. “Before Luca comes over here and pummels you for touching me.”

  With a sharp scoff, he releases me. His words float after me as I bolt toward the dance floor.

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  I shake myself, wishing I weren’t so affected by everything he said. I tell myself he’s totally off base as I rejoin my friends on the dance floor, forcing a smile and shimmying my shoulders to the beat. But beneath my happy mask, where no one can see, my heart pounds so hard I can barely breathe.

  In lieu of the traditional father-daughter dance, Phoebe waltzes across the parquet floor with Parker, giggling as he spins and dips her. After a few moments, the jazz singer they hired for the reception issues a husky invitation into the microphone, inviting all others in love to step onto the floor for a slow song.

  I watch Chrissy and her husband Mark walk out, hand in hand. Gemma and Chase are close behind. Parker hands Phoebe off to Nate, then takes Zoe in his arms and begins to sway.

  With a fortifying sip of champagne, I decide to take a timely trip to the ladies’ room. I turn around and bump straight into Luca, since he’s standing about a millimeter behind me.

  “Jesus!” I throw a hand over my heart. “You scared me!”

  He reaches out, plucks the flute from my grip, and sets it on a nearby table. “Dance with me.”

  “What?” I ask, heart pounding.

  “Dance with me.”

  It’s not a question. He’s not asking. His hand finds the small of my back as he leads me out onto the dance floor, and then his arms go around me. Pulling me close to his chest, so my head rests in the hollow of his throat, I listen to his pulse pounding and let him lead. The jazz singer is crooning an Adele song, the lyrics hitting a bit too close to home.

  I dare you let me be… your one and only…

  “We’re in a fight,” I remind Luca belatedly, my voice a whisper.

  “We’re always in a fight.” I feel his grin against my temple. “We can fight again later, if you want. Right now, I want to dance with you.”

  “Should we be slow dancing, if we’re in a fight?”

  “Call it a temporary armistice.”

  “A
ceasefire?” I pull back to look up at him.

  “Exactly.” His lips brush the tip of my nose. “You wanna tell me what happened with Colton?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Bullshit, babe. Saw your face. Saw the way he grabbed you.” His voice gets growly. “He took off after your little chat, but as soon as I track him down, he’s gonna answer to me for putting his hands on you. I promise.”

  “Please don’t. You’ll just make things worse.”

  “What did he say to you?”

  I shake my head. “Nothing important. Nothing I didn’t already know.”

  Luca’s eyes narrow. “Not liking the sound of that.”

  I tuck my head back down, so I don’t have to look at him. “You don’t have to like it. We’re in a truce. That means you can’t fight with me about it now.”

  “Later, then.”

  I sigh as we sway, an odd mix of happiness and anxiety swirling through me. A whirlwind of contradictory feelings and desires I cannot sort out, inside my head.

  I want to hold him so tight, he never slips away; I want to push him out of every corner of my heart, until I forget how good it feels to be cherished.

  I want to see him achieve his dreams, without ever once holding him back; I want to live those dreams at his side, never parted from him.

  “You’re quiet.” Luca’s voice is amused. “Never a good thing when you’re quiet, Delilah.”

  I scoff. “I can be quiet.”

  “Sure you can.” He chuckles. “I just prefer it when you’re yelling at me.”

  “You really think it’s normal, the fact that we spend the majority of our time together fighting?”

  “Already told you my opinion on that.”

  “Foreplay,” I murmur. “I remember what you said. But is it normal?”

  “I don’t know. Never done this before.” He tilts my head up to look into his eyes. “Don’t have anything to compare it to.”

  “Me neither,” I tell him in a stark voice. “But—”

  “Delilah.” He cuts me off.

  “Yeah?”

  “Why the fuck would we ever want to be normal?”

  I can’t help the smile that spreads across my lips, any more than I can fight the urge to rise up onto my tiptoes and kiss him, in full view of dozens of strangers and all my closest friends.

  “What was that for?” he asks, eyes warm.

  I shrug. “Figured I’d make the most of our armistice while it lasts.”

  “You know, it doesn’t actually have to end.”

  “And how would that work? We’d just get along? What a ludicrous thought!”

  “Could happen.”

  “Doubtful.”

  “Delilah.”

  My brows lift. “Yeah?”

  “Saw the look on your face earlier, when you were watching me with Zoe.”

  I scowl. “Is there anything you don’t notice?”

  “When it comes to you? No. Not really.”

  I sigh. Figured as much.

  “Point is, babe, I saw your face. Saw the hurt there, when I was hugging her.” He leans down to capture my gaze, so I can’t look away. “You know why she threw her arms around me?”

  I shake my head warily.

  “The way we grew up — foster homes, tossed around by the system, no real family — it can make a person guarded. Hard to get to know. Zoe’s always worried about me ending up alone, because of that. Especially after she left.” His voice gets so soft I have to strain to hear him. “We keep in touch pretty regularly, even though she’s halfway around the world. She tells me about her adventures, all the places she’s been, and Parker; I tell her about my fights, new Knox Investigations cases, Boston’s current events, and… sometimes… about you.”

  “Me?”

  He nods. “See, she knew, even before she left, that I was intrigued by you. Felt pretty sorry for me, too, considering until recently I was damn near positive my feelings were one-sided.”

  “Luca…”

  “But tonight—” His voice deepens. “Told her something new.”

  My heart pounds erratically.

  He leans forward, until his mouth is at my ear. His whisper is meant for only me to hear. “I told her I’d met someone who makes me laugh like no one else and curse like a sailor, who breaks my damn heart every time she cries and heals it every time she smiles…. I told her I was in love with a beautiful, broken girl named Delilah…” He pulls back to scan my face, eyes gleaming. “She was so happy, she threw her arms around me. That’s the hug you saw, babe.”

  My feet stop moving. My breaths are coming too fast. I feel like I’m going to explode from all the emotions rushing into me at once — joy, grief, pain, ecstasy, hope.

  And love.

  Most of all, love.

  It scares the shit out of me.

  “Delilah?”

  “I— I— I’ll be right back. I need some air,” I gasp, hyperventilating. I spin out of Luca’s arms and race from the room, cutting a path past my friends, who are all wearing identical bewildered expressions. I don’t know where I’m going; I can hardly see straight, through the tears suddenly glossing over my eyes.

  I run and run and run on my high heels, until I round a corner and find myself alone in a dark exhibit, breathing hard. Tanks loom overhead on both sides, creating a tunnel of aqua water lit with fluorescent lights. Purple-veined jellyfish pulse electrically all around me. Their tentacles trail through the water like deadly translucent fingers.

  And it’s the strangest thing — as I watch them pulsating, a sort of calm comes over me. Alone, without the crush of people, without the pressure of Luca’s eyes on me, awaiting an answer I’m not sure I can give him, I’m finally able to hear myself think.

  Luca Buchanan loves me.

  His words from yesterday echo in my head. Before the attack, before the night we spent together, before the fight this morning. Before Phoebe got married, before Colton warned me away, before we danced together.

  Feeling hopeless, I’d asked what the point of finding your soulmate was, if they were just going to be snatched from you. I didn’t expect the answer he gave me. I didn’t even understand it, in that moment. Not really. But I do now.

  Life is a beautiful, broken mess. Closer to a Shakespearean tragedy than a Hollywood happy ending, in my experience. I don’t have an easy answer to your question about the point of it all.

  I think the only person who can give you that answer is you. It’s not something anyone can tell you, and it’s not something you can learn from an instruction manual. It’s something you have to discover on your own. Something inside yourself.

  I get it now. That thing he was talking about? That answer I was seeking, about the point of it all?

  It’s love.

  The point is love.

  Whether it lasts five minutes or fifty years. Fleeting or forever. Any time you get with your soul mate is something to be treasured, not feared. Not pushed aside or avoided out of a misguided attempt at self-preservation.

  Luca was right. You can’t refuse to live because you’re so afraid of history repeating. You have to look into the future with wide eyes and a full heart. Like he once told me…

  Visualize the outcome you desire.

  My outcome?

  It looks a lot like him.

  I wouldn’t trade these past few days for anything. And even if the universe conspires against us… even if we don’t last forever…

  It can’t negate my feelings, or eliminate my memories. It can’t erase the love.

  I am in love with Luca Buchanan.

  I’ve been in love with him for months. And I don’t need more time or more space. I don’t need anything except him. Us. Together.

  I seize the realization with both hands. Suddenly, I can breathe again. The panic has faded from my bloodstream. The fear and the worry are still there, but they’re crushed under so much hope and happiness, I can barely feel them anymore.

 
I have to tell him.

  Now. This very minute.

  Hearing footsteps, I turn with a smile already on my face. I half expect to see my handsome fighter coming around the corner, seeking me out…

  Instead, my heart flails inside my chest.

  The smile falls off my lips.

  Because it’s not Luca.

  The man standing there in a crappy ill-fitting suit, wiping blood from his knuckles, has a mottled birthmark on his face and is staring at me with revenge in his eyes.

  Shit.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Some people think feminism is a movement to crush men’s spirits.

  I like to think of it as more of a personal hobby.

  Delilah Sinclair, describing her extracurricular activities.

  I try my best to get away. I really do.

  It doesn’t go well.

  The last thing I see is a flash of purple, the instant before my head is slammed against the jellyfish tank. The blow knocks me out cold. I’m not sure how long I’m unconscious but when I come to, ears still ringing from the impact, I’m hanging facedown, being dragged by the wrists and ankles through a dirty hallway with all the gentleness of a field hand hauling hay bales.

  Wherever they’ve taken me has a cave-like feel — high-ceilinged, dark, dank. There’s a wet, stale smell permeating the air. Mildew and stagnant water. The walls drip with moisture, the floor below me is damp with puddles.

  I turn my head a tiny bit to the left, not wanting to reveal I’m awake, and see several old scuba tanks and a few bait bins, the kinds trainers use to pass out mackerel to the penguins and sea lions at feeding time.

  I’m still in the aquarium.

  My heart pounds erratically. I try to hear their murmured conversation over the roaring pulse between my ears.