Selective/Memory: The Depth of Emotion Book 2 (The Depth of Emotion)

by Lorenzo, DD

  “Aria, stop! I can do this myself. I don’t need your help. I’m a big boy.”

  “Stop being so stubborn! I never said you weren’t, but right now, you need to calm down because your blood pressure is up. Just look at me, please, and breathe with me…”

  Memories were a place where both torture and treasures took residence. Necessary pain medication caused him to meditate on her and offered him the excuse he needed for his mind to reminisce. He used it as an excuse, but he didn’t care. Everything of her was in his mind. Never had a woman carved herself so intently into his life. Her face, the curve of her jawline, her long curls, and her petite hips molested his thoughts. His fixation detailed a mental map of her and overwhelmed him in his obsession as thoughts made their way upward toward her face. The momentary mediation of her softly blushed cheek, and he could imagine running his thumb over it as he held her chin in his hand. His Aria was beautiful beyond measure. The climax of his mental journey was when he remembered her eyes.

  Sparkling like diamonds and tumultuous as a rising storm, he’d never have success in purging them from his consciousness. Oblivious to everything at his renewed thoughts of them, he felt himself letting go of a long sigh. The mere memory of Aria’s eyes brought his breathing down to a normal pace and placed a brilliant, warm light into the most recent black moment of terror. He was foolish enough to lose her, but genius enough to push her toward a life far better without him.

  As he momentarily indulged in his self-imposed pacification, he felt jiggling movements beside the bed.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked, breaking the silence with his deep baritone.

  Slowly turning his head toward the large, jubilant bundle of soft fur, Codygirl shook Declan’s resting place with her monumental tail wagging, acknowledging her love for him. He leaned over toward her and sunk his big hands deeply into Cody’s soft fur, stroking and hugging her, much to her delight.

  “You know she can’t resist a man’s touch,” came a voice from the doorway.

  Carter made his way into Declan’s room, bed rumpled and disheveled, holding a cup of coffee for himself. He handed another to his brother.

  “You look like hell. Another nightmare?”

  Declan shrugged in avoidance of the subject. His continued attention to Cody allowed him to avoid Carter’s obvious discovery.

  “You’re drenched in sweat, Dec. Unless you were having a hot dream about Aria, I’m going to go with the nightmare.”

  Declan glared at him. “Why do you have to go there, Carter? It pisses me off when you make her sound like something foul.”

  Carter shrugged. “So then, tell me. Was it the nightmare again?”

  Body language speaking volumes, Declan’s shoulders slumped in surrender to the line of questioning.

  “Yeah…”

  Shaking his head in acknowledgment, Carter addressed the source of his brother’s distress.

  “Maybe you should talk to somebody about it.”

  The mood that fell in the room indicated that resistance would be the tone of the conversation.

  “Don’t tell me what to do. I’ll figure it out,” Declan said, stiffening at the suggestion.

  “It’s been months, Dec. Let’s be honest. You’ve tried to drink her away more nights than I’d like to count. Even when I’ve poured you into your bed, I’ve heard you cry out Aria’s name.”

  Trying to hide the true source of his drunken cries, Declan lied, “It’s just the accident. I’m always screaming for her to get out of the street. It’s in my head. Obviously, we know she did, and that she’s safe.”

  He handed the coffee back to his brother. As Declan shifted himself so that he was sitting on the side of his bed, he held onto Cody for leverage to balance himself. It was a maneuver that didn’t escape the notice of Carter.

  Settling himself in a chair across from Declan, Carter hoped he was as open to conversation as he was to their recent arguments. “The accident was still traumatic, whether she got out of the street or not. Maybe you’re still, subconsciously, trying to protect her.”

  Dropping his guard, Declan’s response came quickly, “I must be.” He dipped his head into the cup he had taken back. “I still find myself yelling “Go” to her, and that’s what wakes me up; hearing the word “Go.” Somehow, I don’t think she’s safe.”

  Carter gave him an understanding glance. “Yes, she is, but maybe you should call her.”

  Declan scowled over his coffee cup. “She’s better off without me.”

  “Who said, Dec? You? Did you ever ask her?”

  Carter’s raised eyebrow was a verbal challenge, and Declan knew an argument would soon ensue.

  “I didn’t need to. She doesn’t need dead weight. She’s young, beautiful, smart…and I’m a pain in my own ass most of the time with this…” he said, directing Carter’s attention to his leg.

  Carter shook his head. “No, I don’t think so, about whether you would be dead weight to her. As far as the pain in the ass goes? Yeah…you are just that.”

  “It’s done, Carter. She’s better off, like I said. She can move on.”

  “Really? So what you’re saying is that you don’t love her?” Carter challenged.

  Declan didn’t look up from the coffee.

  “Yeah…that’s what I thought…” Carter said, standing to leave the room. “C’mon, Cody.”

  The fluffy girl rose and turned around in circles to follow her master.

  Carter issued one last challenge to his brother.

  “If you really are done with her, but you do love her, then ask yourself this—how are you going to feel when you see another guy with his hands on her—kissing her? With his hand on her hip, or even her ass?”

  The flush of anger began to creep up Declan’s neck as his jaw clenched, though he tried to keep his composure.

  Watching his brother’s response, Carter nodded, noting that they were impossible to hide.

  “Yeah…again, that’s what I thought. I hope you can hide your reaction from her better than you’re doing right now. Good luck with that.”

  The stretch took the torturing tightness away from her back and neck muscles. It felt deliciously sinful to contort her body in such creative postures and derive such pleasure. This was the activity in which she’d found some unexpected peace since rebuilding her days without Declan. She hadn’t thought of Yoga as something in which she would have found an interest, but as she concentrated on elongating and lengthening the strained muscles, Aria relished the new-found diversion. It had become an effective way for her to maintain her focus, calm her mind, and make her feel stronger.

  Try as she might, no day went by without a thought of Declan. He’d enter her head at the strangest times. She expected the pangs of loneliness for him if a certain song came on the radio or if she smelled a familiar cologne while in a crowd. What she didn’t expect were the times when she’d be dead tired from working all day, making herself a sandwich. She’d wonder if Declan had eaten or if he was taking care of himself. Just as soon as the thought would come, she’d chastise herself for the concern, thinking that he didn’t deserve her thoughts. She reminded herself that he told her he was a “big boy and could take care of himself.” It made that train of thought a little bit easier to maintain.

  Walking more in an attempt to relieve her mind of any thoughts of him, she found it more difficult than anticipated as his image would reappear. It was a never-ending and constant battle. During one of those walks, she saw the little yoga studio. She was on her way to visit her mother at her new place of business, Sandy Ann’s.

  Jeannie had decided to move closer after the accident. Although Aria insisted that she was fine, Jeannie told her that she had nothing keeping her from moving closer, and that she, Declan, and Carter might be able to use some help. At the time, Aria and Declan still had a relationship, albeit strained. Jeannie would make meals for Aria, and for Carter, whom she adored. She and Carter would discuss their mutual helplessness at
the distance that was growing between the two people they loved, and became a support for each other. Staying the night at Aria’s house during that time, she heard her daughter’s muffled cries during the night, and it broke her heart. She tried to engage Aria in conversation, but Aria insisted that things would get better, not wanting to discuss Declan with her mother.

  Declan was also closed off and defensive. When Jeannie would visit him, he’d become very quiet, and his mood fluctuated between sad, edgy, and melancholy. Finally, Aria came home one day and said that she wouldn’t be visiting Declan anymore; instead, she’d appreciate it if her mother didn’t discuss her with him should Jeannie decide to continue to visit.

  Jeannie did visit him again; one last time…

  “It’s very hard for me to be here today, Declan,” she spoke in a tone more harsh than she had used before with him.

  As his demeanor became guarded, his voice became firm.

  “I know what I’m doing, Jeannie. A year from now, you’ll thank me for this.”

  “No. I won’t.” She was the one who was firm now. “You think I don’t know what you’re doing, but I know far too well how your mind’s working right now.”

  “I don’t think you do, Jeannie. I love your daughter enough to make her hate me. Do you think this is easy for me? Don’t you think she deserves better than a cripple?” He raised himself to fight back should she disagree.

  “I think my daughter deserves to have whatever she wants, and I think she deserves the right to decide what that is. God knows why, especially after the way you’ve treated her, but she still wants you! You think that pushing her away is showing your love for her? You forget, Declan, that I’ve been through this scenario before. My husband thought that if he pushed me away, that I’d hurt less when he was hurting. He was wrong, and so are you!”

  She paced the floor.

  “Jeannie, Aria doesn’t know what’s good for he—”

  “Stop! Stop it right now!”

  The emotion was making its way through the vocal chords that she was straining to keep in check.

  Taking a deep breath, Jeannie stared straight into Declan’s eyes and gave him a piece of her mind.

  “Pushing her away is NOT loving her. Pushing her away is you not having the courage to let love get you BOTH through this,” she said.

  Retrieving her purse from the chair, Jeannie prepared to leave. Before she walked through the door, she spoke more calmly and walked over to the bed.

  Declan strained to keep his emotions in check, and Jeannie could see how that effort cost him.

  Knowing that she couldn’t turn off her affection for him, she bent down and kissed his head. His eyes filled with tears as she held him close to her.

  “I learned to love you through my daughter, Declan, and I love you for the man that you are. What you and Aria share is something special. This has been a horrible tragedy, but bad things will come up all through your life. What you need to decide is if you’ll allow them to pull you together to fight through them, or pull you apart to fight against each other.”

  Turning to leave, she felt Declan grip her hand. She looked at him, but he had no words.

  Jeannie shook her head in sadness. “She loves you, Declan…and you love her. When the time’s right, you may need to fight very hard to get her back. I only hope that it won’t be too late—for you both…”

  Aria helped Jeannie to find a house that suited her needs, and a locale where she could open her own flower shop. An added source of income was that she also sold the homemade fudge that was her mother’s recipe. She and Aria made a lot of fudge when she was staying at Aria’s or when she’d visit her. All of her friends that would come over to the house loved it and said she should sell it. From there, an idea was born. What girl doesn’t love flowers and chocolate?

  So when the store was named, Jeannie called it Sandy Ann’s ~ Flowers & Fudge. The name was for two of her favorite friends and confidantes, and it fit with a beach theme. It became a local hit in no time, and with Paige’s contacts in real estate, as well as Aimee and Katherine’s business contacts, Jeannie set up a nice supply of reputable accounts. Many purposes had been served. She was close to her daughter, she was independent…

  …and she could also keep a watchful eye on both Aria and Declan…

  Sight is beguiling and deceptive. For just a brief moment, Declan hoped that fakery was what his eyes were practicing as he saw her image. Unfortunately for his heart, his sight was quite reliable. As he exited a restaurant, he saw Aria leaving a yoga studio. She didn’t see him; she was engaged in conversation with another woman. It had been a while since he’d run into her. Each time he saw her was harder than the time before.

  How’s it possible that she’s more beautiful than I remember?

  She casually chatted, almost laughing in her relaxed conversation. Her wild curls piled atop her head, and her blue eyes crinkling at the corners as she smiled, made his heart tighten inside his chest. His lungs worked in concert with his memory—she effectively took his breath away. Seeing her was more like a solid punch in the stomach, and the loneliness of missing her caught him completely off-guard.

  Just as quickly as he’d seen her, she disappeared into a little shop, Sandy Anne’s. For a moment, he was frozen. The content of his meeting completely flew from his memory. All that remained was the truthfulness of his heart pounding into his mind how desperately he ached for Aria.

  He recovered quickly, going directly to his car. Once inside, he breathed a sigh of relief knowing that she hadn’t seen him, yet his hands were shaking. A pack of Marlboro cigarettes, left by Carter, sat on the console. It was a habit from his teenage years , but he didn’t have a drink in the car and he needed something. He reached for one from the pack, taking and lighting it as it dangled from his lips. He had prepared to cough after so many years, but only the smell of sulphur burned his nose as he dragged deeply of the nicotine.

  Tossing the pack onto the passenger seat, he threw his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes to take in the agony and ecstasy of the past few minutes. He was an ass the last time he saw her. The dread of facing up to his bad behavior made him feel sick. It was what he deserved after the way he had reacted to her. If seeing her did this to his mind, the awkwardness of actually speaking would have rendered him a fool, for he couldn’t think of anything to say after the words he had spoken when he last saw her. An apology was in order, at the very least, but one hadn’t been planned or rehearsed. He had been so busy trying to forget her that he didn’t prepare for the backlash of emotions as more vivid memories tumbled in. With each time he saw her, his composure disintegrated further.

  What a fool he was! How could he possibly live an existence without Aria? They had friends in common! She still spoke to his brother, for God’s sake! How could he be so self-absorbed that he didn’t even entertain how he’d behave when he saw her again?

  Hell, in the beginning he didn’t even think about seeing her again—he was so busy driving her away. He told himself that it was for her own good, and perhaps it was. She was smiling just now—she seemed happy. Although she looked a little thinner than when he saw her last, she was as beautiful as he remembered, if not more so. He, however, was not doing as well. He had turned into an angry, sarcastic bastard with just about everyone. Their friends were pleasant to him when they saw him, but as he looked down at his injury, his memory strayed back to the accident, and he felt his lips tighten into a thin line.

  Why did she run? Why didn’t she trust him? She was just as much to blame for their split as he was!

  He placed his head on the steering wheel, as he answered his own question. He didn’t give her a reason to trust him.

  She thought that he was putting the business and money before her, and wasn’t he? Wasn’t the success of The Studio and the money becoming more important than she was?

  Their biggest argument had been about her belief that he was compromising his values and overlooking Marisol
’s motives. When she saw Marisol at the house with him, she thought it was a continuation of the night before. Part of him wanted to ask her why she didn’t trust him, but the other part wondered if it would even be worth the effort. After everything that she had been through at the hands of Marisol during their relationship, she’d never forgive him for Marisol being in the house that day. That’s what he couldn’t remember.

  Why was he with Marisol that day? Why had she come to the house, and what exactly did Aria see?

  He knew it was bad, and he knew it was physical, but he couldn’t remember all of the details. He did know for sure that he wasn’t in bed with Marisol.

  What could have been so bad?

  From the bits and pieces that he had been able to put together, it looked as if he and Marisol had been an item at one time.

  As she visited with him, she showed him countless photos of them at parties, at clubs, at openings of restaurants and art shows, mostly in New York, but all over the world. They were always together and smiling. Carter couldn’t confirm if he and Marisol had ever dated. He said that the first woman he ever told him about was Aria, but he knew he dated a lot of women before her. Aimee said that if he and Marisol had dated, then it was casual because he never mentioned anything to her, but then again, he never discussed women he slept with to Aimee.

  From the picture they painted, he’d been a shallow man and Aria was a serious woman. He had been embarking into his first serious relationship—with her. That much he remembered. If, however, money and business were becoming more important to him, and he was trying to enjoy a quick piece of ass with Marisol while Aria was out, then he didn’t deserve her. He had vivid and dependable memories of his brother’s relationship with Lacey. Their love was an example to follow, and he knew real love when he saw it because of them. Carter would never have hurt Lacey the way he’d hurt Aria.