Between the Lines

by Lauren Hawkeye

  Theo looked down at her, wondering how he’d ever found her attractive. How he’d ever even looked at a woman besides Jo. Still, Ava had a point. Jo needed some time to calm down.

  And he needed to absorb the fact that the woman he’d planned to tell he loved had told him in no uncertain terms to go ahead and move across the country.

  The elevator doors slid open, and Theo felt his heart leap into his throat. He groaned when he saw that the only occupant was John, bearing a bottle of what Theo recognized as a brand of scotch that was both hideously expensive and very old.

  “Don’t look so thrilled to see me,” the other man said drily as he stepped off the elevator. He held up the bottle of scotch, wigging it so that the amber contents sloshed invitingly. “After all, all I’ve done today is earn you seventy-five million big ones.”

  Striding forward, John passed the bottle to Theo, then continued down the hall. “Ava, can you grab us some glasses? Then come join us. It’s time to celebrate!”

  Acid churned in Theo’s gut. The last thing he wanted to do was celebrate. His heart was too heavy for that. But if Jo didn’t care whether he stayed or went, then what else was he going to do?

  Drawing everything he felt into a tight bundle and shoving it down deep inside, he followed John down the hall. He was about to accept the deal he’d been working toward since...well, since the night of Jo’s eighteenth birthday, when she’d opened his eyes to everything he’d been taking for granted.

  So why did it feel like he’d lost it all?

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  THE BOTTLE OF hideously expensive scotch sat on the polished Brazilian wood coffee table. Its legs were carved with whimsical tree frogs and palm fronds, one of the pieces that his mother had once hauled into the house to counteract his father’s love of everything stiff and dignified.

  He would have given that entire seventy-five million dollars away on the street just to be able to talk to his mom again, right now. His relationship with his dad had deteriorated beyond the point of repair by the time his father had died, but he still believed that if his mom had been able to fight back the cancer that had killed her, they would have still been close. He would have been able to call her right now, to ask her how to fix this gigantic mess.

  He couldn’t do that. And so he was still eyeing the unopened bottle of scotch, its contents glimmering enticingly in the fading light streaming in through the living room window.

  A drink wouldn’t help him make Jo love him, but it would sure numb the misery that had weighed down his limbs so much that he wasn’t sure he’d ever move again.

  He leaned back on the stiff sofa, letting his head rest on the back. Closing his eyes, he fought the desire for the drink that was taunting him. He focused on slowing his breathing, on trying to find some semblance of calm. When a chime sounded, he thought that maybe he’d finally achieved some deeper state of being, though he wasn’t entirely sure he believed in stuff like that.

  The musical note sounded again, and he sat up stiffly, feeling like he’d been drugged. The doorbell—it was the doorbell. Woodenly, he pushed off the sofa and moved to the front door.

  Jo’s mother stood on the other side. Well-worn yellow oven mitts covered her hands as she clutched tightly to a large pot.

  “Hello, Theodore.” She smiled up at him, the fading sunlight catching in the virulently crimson strands of her hair as she held out the pot. He smelled garlic, Italian seasoning and, best of all, spicy sausage.

  He knew that smell. “Italian sausage soup?” He’d eaten countless bowls of that soup on the well-worn table in the house next door. His heart contracted, and the warmth he’d been so desperately craving as he stared at the bottle of scotch gathered in his core.

  “You know it.” She arched an eyebrow, and he saw a hint of Jo’s stubbornness play out over her finer features. “Are you going to invite me in, or do I have to be rude and invite myself?”

  Choking out a laugh, he stepped back and let her in. She sailed through the door like a steamboat, heading back to the kitchen.

  “I’ll just get this right on the stove. You’ll eat a bowl now, yes?”

  He knew Jo’s mother—Mamesie—well enough to know that this wasn’t a question. She wanted to talk to him, and she’d decided that he could use a meal while she did.

  He rubbed his stomach, which had woken up at the tantalizing scent of the comfort food. She wasn’t wrong. He couldn’t remember if he’d eaten lunch, and he remembered quite well that his breakfast had been derailed by sex with Jo.

  Mamesie had already filled a large bowl by the time he entered the kitchen. She’d placed it on the wide marble island with a spoon and had produced a loaf of bread from the tote bag she’d had slung over her shoulder. The yeasty scent of home-baked bread made his stomach rumble as she sawed off a gigantic slice and balanced it on the edge of his bowl.

  “You haven’t been by to see me since you’ve been back,” she commented mildly as she leaned over the edge of the island, across from where she’d set the soup. He winced as he slid onto one of the bar stools.

  “You still don’t pull punches, I see.” Lifting the spoon, he trailed it through the soup, watching the red droplets as they slid off the metal.

  “I’m not done.” Hooking her thick-rimmed glasses into the front of her blousy shirt, she cast him a disapproving stare. “I’ve got one miserable girl at home. She’s holed up in her room and won’t talk to anyone, not even Beth.”

  “Shit.” Theo dropped his spoon. “It’s my fault, Mamesie. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

  “Are you the only person in this relationship?” she asked mildly, and he shook his hand, feeling as though she’d slapped his hand. “Then I highly doubt that it’s all your fault. So why don’t you tell me about it?”

  He opened his mouth, then shook his head. “With all due respect, I don’t think I should. Jo is your girl.”

  “Theo.” The depth of emotion in Mamesie’s voice had him looking up, startled. “Jo is my girl. But you’ve been my boy, ever since the day I met you. Don’t you know that by now?”

  Her words were the balm he’d needed. Swallowing thickly, he forced himself to begin speaking. He found himself telling her everything, right back to the night he’d left—well, everything except the sex. There were some things a mother didn’t need to know.

  She nodded when he was done, and he set his spoon down. He was surprised to discover that he’d eaten all of the bread and soup, and felt a hell of a lot better for it.

  “So let me get this straight.” Pushing back from the island, Mamesie fixed him with a cool, pale stare. “You told Jo, before this offer came in, that this exact thing was what you dreamed of accomplishing. Then you told her that your dream had come true. And then you told her to be the one to tell you to stay.”

  “Ah...yes. That would be accurate.” When it was all laid out like that, it didn’t sound so great. “But I want to stay, if she’ll have me.”

  “Do you think my daughter loves you?” There was no judgment in Mamesie’s words, but the question brought Theo up short. He knew how he felt, but Jo’s response earlier that day had made him question whether he’d imagined everything between them.

  But...he knew he hadn’t. Jo might not want to love him, but she did. They’d been apart for a long time, but he still felt he knew her heart.

  He nodded.

  “So she loves you. And she told you to go pursue your dream, because it’s what she thinks will make you happy.” Mamesie shook her head. “Gee, I wonder why that is.”

  Hope was a wild thing, unfurling inside him. “So what do I do?”

  Unhooking her glasses again, she placed them squarely on her nose, then peered at him with the withering expression that no one mastered like a mother. “You go get her, you lunkhead. But have another bowl of soup first.”

  CHAP
TER SIXTEEN

  “YOU’RE GOING TO have to talk about it sooner or later,” Amy commented mildly. Jo peeled a slice of cucumber off her eye and glared balefully down at where her youngest sister was painting her toenails neon pink. “If you don’t we’re just going to keep torturing you with beauty treatments.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about.” Jo removed the second cucumber slice, tossing them both into the trash can as she struggled to sit up. Holding up a foot, she wiggled her newly polished toenails and grimaced.

  “Why pink?” she asked Amy, voice sullen. “You have every color of nail polish known to man in your room, so why the hell would you choose pink for me?”

  “Pink with sparkles,” Amy replied cheerfully, pulling her legs up under her where she sat on Jo’s bed. “And I just told you. We’re torturing you with spa night until you talk to us.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about.” Jo crossed her legs as well, looking down at the floor where Meg was stirring something in a bowl. “What the hell is that?”

  “It’s a hair mask.” Meg smiled beatifically up at her. “Egg yolk and avocado oil. And it’s going on your head unless you spill.”

  “I just said, there’s nothing to spill!” Throwing her hands into the air, she accidentally brushed one against her cheek. It came back with a smear of green slime. “Can I wash this off now?”

  “Not until it’s dry.” Beth sat on the floor with Meg, holding a plastic shower cap. “The clay won’t have pulled all the crap out of your pores until then.”

  “Fantastic.” Jo sucked in a deep breath. Her sisters had her number—this was a form of torture unique to her, and she wasn’t enjoying even a second of it. Her room smelled like flowers, the mask on her face itched and her toenails were fucking pink. More than that, she was miserable.

  Had it really only been a few days since Theo had crashed back into her life? As far as her heart was concerned, he’d never left. But that was the thing, wasn’t it—he was going to leave.

  And if she stopped him, what the hell kind of person would she be? Not one who wanted the best for the person she loved, that was for sure.

  Her computer pinged, a notification that she had a new comment on her blog. Normally she loved checking out people’s responses to what she’d written, but right now she couldn’t imagine ever posting again. She couldn’t imagine wanting to know anything about sex ever again, because she’d always associate the act with Theo. He was her match in every sense of the word.

  She’d known he would probably go, but the pain was worse than anything she could have imagined.

  “Well, then. Since you’re still holding out, it’s hair treatment time.” Meg wiggled a paintbrush in her direction. “Come here!”

  The thought of raw egg, cold and slimy on her head, was finally enough to make her crack. Scuttling back into the corner of her bed, out of Meg’s reach, she growled at her sisters as a whole. “Fine! Fine! I’ve been sleeping with Theo. And I fucking fell in love with him again, and he’s moving to San Francisco with all of the hippies, and I’m miserable! Is that what you wanted to hear?”

  “It’s what I wanted to hear.” Jo shrieked as Theo stuck a leg inside her window, knocking her pen cup off her desk. Clapping a hand to her chest as he hauled himself up so that he was straddling her windowsill, she gaped at him in shock. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “The last big discussion we had, you climbed in my bedroom window.” With a grunt, he pulled his second leg in through the window, sliding into her room. Offering a disarming grin to her sisters, he nodded. “Hi, girls. Do you mind giving us a minute?”

  “Not at all.” Balancing the bowl of hair gunk in one hand, Meg rose smoothly to her feet. Smirking at Jo, she waved the paintbrush around. “Should I save this for later?”

  Jo bared her teeth, and Meg just laughed. Offering Beth a hand, she hauled her other sister to her feet, then nudged her to the door. “Come on Beth, Amy. You guys can argue over who gets the hair mask.”

  “Not on your fucking life,” they said together, all three jostling their way through Jo’s bedroom door. Beth was the only one who looked back over her shoulder, smiling softly at her older sister. “Don’t be a total bitch, okay? You know what you want.”

  Then she was gone, closing the door softly behind her. Jo didn’t even take offense to her parting comment, because heaven knew, she was feeling bitchy. Bitchy, and prickly, and spoiling for a fight.

  “That’s a good look for you,” Theo commented mildly as he turned to face her, arms crossed over his chest. Damn it, why did he have to look so good? Dressed in a pair of jeans that were faded in all the right places, with a navy T-shirt that stretched tight over his chest, she had to curl her fingers against the urge to reach out and touch.

  Jo looked down at her torn jeans. She was only wearing a cotton sports bra on top, since she still had a thick layer of clay on her face. Her hair was scraped back from her face with a fuzzy headband, and her toes were pink and glittered when she moved.

  Well, he’d seen her looking worse. Spreading her hands wide, she shrugged. “This is who I am, Theo. What’s the matter? Not fancy enough for your big new job?”

  He ignored the hostility in her voice. Instead, he held out a small, tattered package wrapped in faded paper. Hesitantly, she took it, squinting to read the words printed on the wrapping. “Happy birthday? My birthday isn’t for months. How quickly they forget.”

  Never mind Beth’s gentle admonishment—she was being bitchy. She couldn’t seem to help it. She was furious, not with him for pursuing his dream, but with herself for knowing that she’d never get over him.

  “I’m reenacting our last night together, back then. But backward.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets, then rocked back on his heels. He was barefoot. “You climbed in my window. I’m climbing in yours. We had a fight, and I didn’t give you your present. We are not going to have a fight now, and I’m finally giving that birthday present to you.”

  “This is the present you were going to give me then?” Shock crashed over her like an ice-cold wave. “You kept it all this time?”

  “It was still in the drawer beside the bed in my old room when I moved back here.” He grinned mischievously. “Right beside a box of condoms that are most definitely expired.”

  Jo rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop her fingers from trembling. Why was he giving this to her now? Couldn’t he just go and leave her and her broken heart alone?

  “Open it,” he commanded, and before she could think it through, she was tearing open the paper. Inside was a square gift box, and as she lifted the lid, her pulse started to thunder at the base of her throat.

  Inside, nestled in a bed of cotton, was a gleaming white-gold pendant. She didn’t wear jewelry, never had, but when she held it up closer to her eyes, she immediately understood why Theo had chosen it for her.

  “These are made from antique wax seals, ones that were actually once used by someone to seal letters,” he informed her, attention focused on her, laser sharp. “Your Louisa May Alcott probably used one. I didn’t know that then, but I’m just trying to make you like it more now.”

  “I do like it,” she managed to force out through her dry throat. “But—”

  “In case you haven’t looked that closely yet, it has two hearts on it,” he interrupted, smiling innocently when she glared at him. “They’re tied together with a ribbon. And it says forever.”

  Jo felt her heart crack right open. “Why the hell would you give this to me now?”

  “I love you, but sometimes you need to try to see beyond that thick skull of yours.” Her head snapped up, but he wasn’t done. “I was going to tell you that I loved you this afternoon, before everything went to shit.”

  When he dropped down to one knee in front of her, Jo gasped. “What—”

  “Just let me finish before you yell at me.�
� Grabbing one of her hands, he held tight even when she tried to pull away. “Look. You walked in right after I heard that news. I hadn’t even begun to digest it yet, and I needed to tell someone. You were it.”

  “And I still think you should go.” This was a nightmare, bringing her so close to what she wanted before cruelly tearing it away.

  “I don’t want to.” A cry of anguish tore out of her throat, and when he tried to speak again, she shook her head.

  “You can’t stay because of me. You’ll resent the hell out of me, and I’ll wallow in guilt.” She swallowed past the sting of incoming tears. “But I...fuck, I’m just going to say it. I love you, too. You can be a cocky asshole, but you’re my cocky asshole. I... I’ll go with you. If you want me to.”

  A grin as bright as sunshine spread over his face, and its light chased away some of the dread that crowded after her declaration. She absolutely would go with him, because she needed to be with him. But leaving her family would be one of the hardest things she’d ever done.

  “I don’t want to go.” He growled overtop of her protest. “Hear me out, woman. This deal is amazing, but it’s not the deal for me. I’m not ready to turn Crossing Lines over to someone else. I might not ever be. And I don’t actually want to move. I’ve lived in lots of places, but this is the one that feels like home.”

  “I—what?” Jo gaped down at him as a terrible hope sprang up inside her.

  “But I want to stay on one condition.” Squeezing her fingers, he looked up at her, and love shone from his eyes. “I’d marry you tomorrow, but something tells me that you’ll inform me that that timeline is ridiculous. So I think, in exchange for my selfless decision to stay here in Boston, that you should move in with me.”

  “Move in with you?” Jo couldn’t keep up. Her fingers clenched around the small box that she still held. “Next door?”

  “That’s the idea. I know you’re attached to your family home, but I’ve discovered that I’m kind of attached to mine, too.” He cocked his head, studying her face. “I suppose I could move in here, but I think Ford might try to punch me in such close quarters, and it would be a shame to leave that giant house next door all empty. Just think, you could have an office. You could have a suite of offices.”