by Traci Hall
“You don’t know her.” Ronan got to his feet, his body overwhelmed with a rush of adrenalin. His arms and legs shook as if he’d run five miles in an all-out sprint. All he could think about was making this right.
“Do you?” His dad crossed his arms over his chest, refusing to look away.
“I made a mistake, putting her on the spot.” Ronan rubbed two fingers between his brows, pressing against the building ache. “I did what I wanted, thinking she’d want it too. I was wrong. But, Dad, that doesn’t mean I’m giving up on her.” Ronan held his dad’s sympathetic gaze, wanting him to understand. “She’s the strongest woman I’ve ever known. I didn’t consider her past–and I should have. I handled my proposal all wrong.”
“Ronan, wait a day or two. Emotions are high,” he cautioned.
“Emotions? Passion. Love.” Ronan unclenched his fists. Lucia made him feel all of that and more. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
He should have realized from the beginning that Lucia opening her heart to him was something fragile between them. Instead of nurturing the love they’d grown he’d shoved it in the chaos of his life–wanting her to thrive in it because he did.
And that was just my first mistake.
Lucia heard the knock on her apartment door, and knew without a doubt it was Ronan. Her first instinct, to ignore the pounding, was how the old Lucia would react, and then behave.
She examined her feelings.
Was she afraid of Ronan, or his fists?
“No.”
Her belly twisted and curled-from uncertainty, not fear. Because she had a new honest-with-herself policy, she acknowledged that she didn’t want to open the door because then she would have to face the man she loved–and had just humiliated, shamed, in front of his family.
She’d reacted to his sincere proposal in panic.
Lucia was still half-tempted to shimmy out the bathroom window and catch the next train to Orlando. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d left everything behind but she’d promised herself when she’d decided to stay in Ft. Lauderdale that there would be no more running.
Knock, knock, knock. “Lucia? Honey, let me in. Let’s talk about what happened.”
Ugh. She pressed her hand to her stomach.
“I’m really sorry,” he said, his low tones wafting around the door frame in temptation. Talk, work things out. He was the only adult she’d ever met who thought in such a way.
“You’re sorry?” Dear God, she’d been the one to act like an immature twit. “It wasn’t your fault, Ronan. That was me. I’m the one who should be sorry.” Her eyes stung as she zeroed in on his presence outside. “And I am. Really.”
She rested her cheek against the door. She’d been concerned she’d angered him, and that he might shout and yell. Break up with her, maybe. An apology? Damn it, that was just so Ronan. She didn’t deserve him. He deserved far better than her.
“Let me in, Lucia.”
It was a testimony to her trust for him that she slid free the chain and twisted the knob, pulling backward. Experience had taught her to stand behind the door, in case the angry boyfriend came in with a bat or a broken bottle.
Of course, his hands were empty. Tanned and rough from hauling kegs, Ronan was a working man with the soul of a poet. Beauty personified, he had coaxed her from her self-imposed prison, making her believe she was safe, next to him. They’d spent hours swinging lazily in a hammock on the beach, just listening to the ocean, getting to know one another.
She gnawed her lower lip and met his troubled gaze. The beautiful diamond with a simple gold band he’d given her for her birthday had ruined their relationship. Changed it forever. “Why did you do that?”
He closed the door, prying her hand from the knob and tugging her toward the window seat overlooking the Intracoastal. The waterway was known as Little Venice because of the canals. “Ask you to marry me?”
Her chin trembled, and she told herself to buck up and grow a pair. She heard Henry in her ear–reminding her that a man only wanted one thing. And it wasn’t a tattoo.
“I love you,” he said, so earnestly he tore at her tattered heart.
They sat facing each other, Lucia’s tulle skirt bunched up around her fishnet stockinged thighs as she perched on the window seat. She kicked off her heels, toeing them to the side. He teased her love of fancy shoes when most women lived in flip flops. He scooted back, and their knees touched.
Ronan had changed her perception of love, of trust. He’d treated her with respect and friendship. He’d honored her. Stupid, silly romantic notion–honor. But she’d been touched by it.
Until Ronan, her relationships with men had been dangerous and built on lies. She moved–ran away-whenever things got too close to the heart, or too physical.
He’d seen something inside her that he felt had value, convincing her to see it too. Why had he rushed things? Wanting more? She only had herself to give.
“You’re shaking,” he said, clasping her hands.
And that was on the outside–her insides were a bigger mess. “Why do you care how I feel? How can you apologize when I embarrassed you?”
Ronan shook his head. “I put you on the spot. I was so certain of your love that I didn’t take anything else into consideration. I want us to be together. United.” He kissed their entwined fingers.
“I do love you.” Agony speared her soul as she spoke a harsh truth. “I do, Ronan. But I can’t marry you.”
He stilled, tilting his head as he studied her. “Can’t marry me now, or never?”
Self-doubt flooded her system. Was she making a mistake? She usually left when things got intense. Would Ronan break up with her? How would that feel? Terrible. She’d leave, that’s all. Move on.
Tears spilled over her cheeks and she ducked her head. “Marriage is not a magic spell that guarantees happiness. It’s a red flag to fate, letting the universe know you might be happy. Trust me, Ronan, that never ends well.”
“What are saying?” He released her hands, folding his over one knee.
“You announce to the world that you are happy?” She coiled a curl around her finger, never breaking eye-contact. “Well, the universe sends a nuclear bomb to make sure you aren’t, that’s all.”
Ronan’s mouth dimpled at the corners as he frowned. “You can’t really think like that. It’s self-defeating.”
“It’s what I believe.” It had been her life experience, over and over again. “It’s what I’ve seen with my own two eyes.”
“You’re wrong.” His naïve opinion felt like an attack.
“Wrong?” Lucia lifted her chin, defensive. “You have no idea what I’ve seen.”
He held up his hand. “I don’t want to fight. I want to show you, from my view point, how great life can be.”
“Great for you, and your amazing family, sure.” Lucia tucked her arms around her waist, and her feet beneath her rear. She scooted away so that no part of her body touched Ronan, despite the intimate three-foot space. “You’re one of the lucky ones.”
“Lucky?”
“You were born into a loving family.” It had brought home, watching them all, how dysfunctional her upbringing had been. “I didn’t choose my parents. Nothing I do in the present moment will change who my parents were. Why my dad left, or why my mom couldn’t settle down.”
Agitation caused her knee to tremble and she twisted a silver ring on her thumb round and round.
“I agree that I was fortunate. And that you can’t change your past.” Ronan’s eyes narrowed, crinkling into a fine web of lines as he picked his words carefully. He always smelled faintly of the sand and sunshine. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t be lucky too. Choose your own path. Stay in one place, put down roots.”
“Stay in one place?” She tugged at a curl, then flipped it over her shoulder. He just didn’t get it. Happy ever after was not for her. And if he persisted in wanting marriage, it wasn’t for him, either.
“I like to move. I
was hoping to stay in Ft. Lauderdale through Christmas,” she said, making up the story as she went, accepting that she might have to hurt Ronan in order to get away and save them each a heart-ache later. It’s what she’d always done and she fell back into old, familiar patterns. “By New Year’s, I plan on heading north.” She shrugged, as if her heart wasn’t breaking into a million shards of razor sharp glass.
“I asked you to move in with me and you didn’t say anything about leaving Florida.” His handsome face tightened.
“I told you I had a lease.” She shrugged.
“Leases can be broken or bought out.” He tilted his head to the left. “It would have been a good time to mention you didn’t plan on living here long.”
“It didn’t seem important.” It hadn’t been true—she’d just been scared of moving in together. She hadn’t wanted to argue or rock the boat. For the first time she’d been happy. She knew better than to believe it could last.
He moved back from her until he hit the wall. The three feet of space they sat on was too confining for him to get far. “Not important? We shared our hearts, Lucia. That isn’t the same as a peanut butter sandwich.”
“I never dreamed you’d want to get married! I was content to let our relationship run its course. Eight months or so, a man starts getting a wandering eye.” She wrinkled her nose. “Starts drinking too much, fooling around.” Lucia forced herself to sound worldly and hard. “I leave the first time a man raises his fist.”
“Why in the hell would you stay that long?” Ronan got up from the bench, which gave Lucia room to breathe while at the same time tearing her apart. “You crave the drama?”
She bit the inside of her cheek. She’d had enough drama for three life times. Every instinct inside her told her to push him away. Now. “You know how us artistic types are. Drama, drama, drama. Besides, Ronan, you’re really sexy. How could I not want you?”
His face turned pale beneath his summer tan. He’d taught her to paddle board, and they’d gone kayaking in the state parks—looking for dolphin or manatees. What had she given him?
Better to make him leave than hurt him anymore. She was bad news, and she knew it. If it hadn’t been this unexpected proposal, then maybe she’d have embarrassed him another way. His family constantly engaged in community activities.
Her schooling had been the streets. Nobody taught her manners or etiquette, except what she’d gleaned from bars with daytime television and YouTube videos, where she’d learned what fork to use in a restaurant fancier than Denny’s.
“Knock it off, Lucia.”
“A girl gets lonely.” She smoothed the hem of her skirt, toying with the lace edge.
Ronan blew out a breath and shook his hands to the sides. “I don’t believe you. Your voice changed just now, your demeanor. Your whole body is stiff as a board. You sounded like someone else.”
Probably her mother. Husky, gruff voice that came from smoking two packs a day, if she could afford it. A bowl, pills, booze. However she could find the money. And when Henry had taken them in? Shared his trailer with them? First time that Lucia’d had her own space. She didn’t care that it was a windowless closet–Henry said it was hers.
Henry and her mom had gotten married and everything. But then her good ol’ mom went trolling, telling a crying fourteen-year-old Lucia as she’d painted her lips glossy red that a girl just sometimes gets lonely. Lucia pressed her hand against her upset stomach and hoped she didn’t get sick.
She’d tried to cover her mom’s tracks, but Henry caught on soon enough. Had offered to let her stay, though her mother wasn’t welcome anymore. She left with her mother, hating her for it. Henry owned his own tattoo business and had encouraged Lucia’s drawing skills, teaching her the basics and giving her his old kit.
Lucia scrubbed at her cheeks, determined to get the hell out of here and away from the memories—they’d caught up to her again. “I’ve stayed too long,” she announced.
“You’re really going to leave? Me, your business? Because of this?” Ronan rubbed the bridge of his nose, his expression concerned. “This is a disagreement. Something we can work out. Don’t run, Lucia.”
She gritted her teeth and stared out at the gray-blue water and the boats. “I can’t stay.”
“I ruined your birthday.”
Turning back to the man who’d given her the most amazing gift of true love, Lucia cleared her throat, hating her new honesty policy. Since she was leaving, she supposed she could be honest with him, too. “I’ve never had a cake like that, or a party. It was wonderful.” His parents, cousins, brothers and sisters—they’d welcomed her into the clan not knowing she was toxic. “You didn’t ruin anything. I did.”
“No.” He scraped his fingers through his hair. “I should have paid attention when you hesitated over moving in.” He lifted a single shoulder, trying to figure it out in his own fair way. “I thought you were waiting until I proposed, that maybe you were the kind of woman to need that sort of commitment before living together.”
She blinked back tears. “I am not “that sort” at all. I don’t have a kind, or a type. Ronan, I’m sorry this happened, but it was inevitable. You are the man every woman dreams of finding. Honest, kind, hard-working, loving.” Her voice cracked. “Normal.”
He scowled, his temper visible in the flush of his cheeks.
“I have too much baggage, which seems easy enough to carry right now–we’re in love. But sooner or later, the shit gets heavy.” She knew that, too.
“I want to help you carry your burdens, Lucia. You’ve never seemed unhappy to me, so I didn’t understand how serious you were. I assumed you had your reasons for not being a fan of marriage.”
“I do.” She clamped her lips closed.
“Share them with me.” Ronan held his arms to his sides. “Help me know where you are coming from.”
If she did, he would run for the mountains in Georgia and never come back.
But wait, that was her way of operating. Be fair. He seemed so hurt that just maybe he deserved an explanation. So that he could leave her with a clear conscience, knowing he was getting the luckiest break of his lucky O’Neill life.
“I don’t usually talk about it.”
He gave a rueful chuckle. “No kidding.”
“It’s hard,” she said, her voice defensive. “I learned that if you dwell on the negative, you stay in the dark.”
“I appreciate what you are saying, Lucia.” He walked the perimeter of her small living room and kitchen. “But there’s another way of looking at that. Like, examining the problem. Accepting the facts of the situation. Going forward.”
“You really think I haven’t done that? Energy healing, therapy, drum circles, prayer. You name it, I’ve tried it. What works is pouring myself into my art.” She gestured toward the crates of tablets she’d filled with her drawings.
“You’re talented, even with your fake tats.” He went around the couch again, hands behind his back.
Her mouth trembled, refusing to pretend to smile. “Stop pacing, Ronan. I won’t be able to talk to you if you make me nervous.” When was the last time she’d spilled her guts? Henry, when she was fourteen? That had been last actual person until the multitude of therapists who all urged her to accept her past and forgive her childhood self. She’d worked really hard, and for the most part she’d succeeded.
Talking about it still sucked. She crossed her arms over her waist and sat back on the cushion by the window.
“Can I sit with you?” He gestured toward her.
Her brow furrowed as she realized he didn’t know how to act around her now. What was she doing, baring her soul to him? Oh yeah–convincing him to leave for his own good. “Sit where you want.”
In three strides he’d crossed the room and pulled her from the bench seat, then sat them each on it again. She hadn’t expected that, but she rested against him as he leaned against the wall, sheltering her in his arms as they both looked at the soothing water outside.
That was something they had in common, their love of the ocean. She’d hadn’t been able to afford an apartment with an ocean view, but this one on the Intracoastal, a few blocks up from the beach, suited her and her budget.
“Okay,” Ronan said. “I’m ready.”
A part of Lucia desperately wanted to believe that Ronan would hear her out. Not judge. The survivor in her knew that once he learned her mother was no better than a drugged-out slut, things between them would change. He couldn’t help but look at her differently.
She exhaled, and he dropped a kiss on the top of her head.
“Go ahead, Lucia. Soon as you want to start, make me understand why you and I would never work out. Because, holding you now, I just don’t believe it.”
The way he held her, she had a hard time remembering why he had to go. Worse–why she had to go. “Just listen.”
Ronan adjusted the curves of Lucia as she sat back against his chest, her hips wedged between his thighs. She fit him, as if custom made.
Her shoulders dipped as she released another sigh. “My mother wasn’t always a whore. I don’t think.”
Was she trying to shock him? Well, no matter what she said, he would love her. Her past would not change his feelings for her. Lucia was not her mother.
“Mom and Dad got married young, and had their own little house down the street from Nana’s. Mom said it was nice being so near, until Nana started snooping into Mom’s business–which meant when Mom was drunk. Then Dad ran off with the bleached blonde neighbor, and Mom cried all the time. She was twenty when she had me, and she’d never worked. Dad was a businessman–sold insurance policies.” Her voice droned without inflection. She was relating the facts. Only the facts. “I never saw him again.”
Ronan’s protective instincts flared. “Did you ever try and track him down?”
