by Remy Rose
Forcing myself to smile, I get to my feet and help him up. Josh doesn’t know it, but he's already given me something significant. And very soon, I’ll be passing it along to the person who needs to hear it the most.
chapter thirty-nine ~ Carlo
When I see the tan Chevy Malibu in the parking lot, my first thought is that Cassandra changed her mind about my offer to protect her. This is quickly followed by another more disturbing thought that something’s wrong. I walk quickly to her car, finding her huddled in the driver's seat with her arms wrapped around herself.
She looks up at me, her face brightening, and unrolls her window.
“Cassandra, what are you doing here? What's wrong?”
“Nothing's wrong,” she says, shivering.
“Why are you sitting in a cold car? Do you not have heat?”
“I do have heat, but some of us don't want to waste the gas to run the car.”
“You could have come into the building.”
“Not in my barn clothes, I couldn't. Can I talk to you?”
“Absolutely. Would you like to go somewhere?”
“No. My car's fine, if that's all right with you.” She seems eager, almost antsy, her cheeks colored pink and her eyes holding sparks of anticipation. With her hair pulled up in a casual ponytail, she looks adorable, and I find myself again, for the thousandth time, totally and utterly captivated.
I walk around to the passenger door and try the handle, raising my eyebrow when I discover it locked. Smiling, Cassandra unlocks it. As I open it, she says with mock innocence, “You can never be too careful.”
I fold myself into her small car. “You're right. I'm glad to see you're taking these types of precautions. You're sure you don't want to go anywhere to talk? A hotel room, maybe?”
She raises her chin, her lips twitching. “Nice try.” Her expression turns serious. “Carlo. I came to tell you something. I know about the accident—and what happened to your...your wife.”
The words fall like dull, heavy stones. “How...?”
“Your sister loves you very much.”
“Ah.” Gianna, his dolce sorellina. I’ll forgive her, of course, but damn, I wish she had asked me first if I wanted her to talk to Cassandra. And I would have said no. Which is exactly why she didn’t ask.
“She wanted me to know what you'd been through, so I could have that information before I made any...decisions.”
“And have you? Made any decisions?”
“Not yet,” she murmurs. She isn’t able to look at me. “But I'm glad she told me. Not only because it helps me to understand you better, but because I wouldn't have been able to tell you what I'm about to tell you.”
“What are you talking about?”
“It wasn't your fault,” she says breathlessly. “The accident. It wasn't your fault.”
She is so earnest, wanting me to believe this. Gianna, his mother, his stepfather—they had all said the same thing. Lauren’s parents had even said it as well. It wasn't your fault. But I was responsible. I had lost control.
“Cassandra, I appreciate that you're trying to make me feel better, but this is something I know I have to live with.”
“Carlo—you don't understand. I have information to share with you.”
What is she talking about?
“I heard something today from Josh, the stablehand at Windswept—the one at Bull Feeney's. He was talking about an accident a few years ago in the fall, saying that he was on a motorcycle and he passed another bike...”
The other motorcycle...the man, helmet-less, had nodded as he passed us. I feel my face tighten as I remember.
“...and then another car apparently came towards him, going fast, and it forced him—and then you—off the road. Gianna said you couldn't remember what had happened, but Josh does. I asked him some more questions about it while I was giving him a ride home. He said the person didn't even brake, just came into the other lane and then continued on after forcing you off the road.”
There had been no tire marks. The police had had trouble reconstructing the accident since I was knocked unconscious and couldn’t remember much.
“It wasn't your fault, Carlo.” She reaches out, lays a cool hand on top of mine. “You can stop punishing yourself for it.”
Her face is pleading, as though she wants me to instantly rid myself of all my pain. It won’t be that simple. I’ve carried it for so long.
“I don't know what to say right now, except thank you for telling me this.”
“I'm not the one responsible, really. It's Gianna you can thank—if she hadn't told me about the accident, I wouldn't have connected it to what I heard from Josh.”
“My little sister is always looking out for me, and I do the same for her. Which is why I have kept something from her about the accident. I've never told anyone this. There was another life lost that night.”
Cassandra's eyes widen.
“My wife—Lauren—and I were driving to dinner to celebrate...because we had just found out some exciting news.” My throat closes, but I force myself to speak. “We had just found out she was pregnant.”
A long, slow exhale from Cassandra as her eyes well up with tears.
“She said it would be her last motorcycle ride, until after the baby was born. I never should have agreed to it.”
“Carlo...” Cassandra's voice is hushed. “You couldn't have known this would happen.”
“I could have said no to her riding the bike.”
“You can't control people, though, Carlo. She was an adult. She had her own mind, made her own choices...” She puts her hand on mine again, squeezing gently. “You can't blame yourself for what happened. Not anymore, when you know the cause of the accident.”
I look deeply into her sea-colored eyes, feeling like I could drown in their depths. Her lips are parted; her breath coming in quick, hard exhales, and then she makes a choked cry—“I am so sorry, Carlo!”—as she throws her arms around me, putting her soft cheek to mine, and God...the dizzying nearness of her...
Before I can even react, she pulls away—sits back down in the driver's seat and smoothing back her hair, looking lost and bewildered. Cassandra, I say silently, stay with me. Please.
She leans back against the car door with her arms crossed over her chest as she begins to breathe more evenly. “Do you want to talk to Josh about the accident? I haven't told him anything about your involvement.”
“No. I don't see the point. I'd rather leave it alone.”
“All right.” She brings her gaze up to meet mine. “I think,” she says slowly, carefully, “that we both should sit with all of this for a while.”
“Yes.” Jesus, the desire to hold her is so strong that I’m physically aching. “Thank you again, Cassandra.”
With what she just told me, Cassandra has, in essence, given me part of my life back.
But watching her drive away, I feel like I’ve lost it again.
It wasn't your fault.
I hear the words in my head and repeat them, hoping that one day, I can believe it...maybe get my whole life back. And realizing, as I watch Cassandra drive away, that getting my life back also means having her in it.
chapter forty ~ Cassandra
“Are you sure you don't mind doing my last couple of stalls today?” I lean against the railing of the indoor ring, watching Josh on Tango, marveling at how he’s riding the gelding bareback, with only a loose rope around the horse's neck. Josh has been working with him over the past few weeks, teaching Tango to respond to the slightest shift in his seat, the smallest flick of the rope. The way they move, it’s as though the two of them are one.
Josh sits straight and tall, keeping his legs quiet at Tango's sides with his hands lightly gripping the slack rope. Except for Josh occasionally ruffling Tango's chocolate and white mane with his fingers as a form of praise, I can hardly see any movement from him.
Tango's slow, even jog down the short side of the arena changes to a more forward t
rot. As they turn the corner, Tango moves laterally, his front and rear feet crossing over in perfect rhythm. Once in the middle of the ring, he halts abruptly—all with imperceptible motions from his rider.
“How do you do that?” I’m both exasperated and impressed. “You're amazing.”
Josh touches the brim of his cowboy hat and grins. “The horse makes me look good.” Tango walks forward a few steps and halts again, and Josh dismounts, rubbing his horse's neck.
“Seriously, I love watching the two of you.”
“Well, thanks. One good thing about this rainy weather is it gives me a chance to work with him inside. But I'm stoked about getting on the trail again.”
I follow the two of them into the barn aisle. Josh lets the end of the rope fall to the floor in front of Tango's stall, and the horse stops immediately.
“What a good boy. You’re so handsome,” I tell him, stroking his muzzle.
“Thanks,” Josh says, his eyes round with mock innocence. “My horse is, too.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “By the way, you haven't answered my question.”
“What? About doing your stalls? No problem. You helped me out when I was laid up, so I'm glad to return the favor. Although I wish you'd let me make it up to you another way.”
Shit, he’s in a flirty mood. I’m not sure quite how to deal with it. Blushing, I slide my hand under Tango's heavy mane and scratch him lightly like I’ve seen Josh do, very aware of his owner standing directly behind me.
Suddenly, there are hands resting on my shoulders, and I’m turned around to face Josh, taken aback by the intensity in his blue eyes. “Cassandra—I need to know something.”
“Josh, I—”
Gently, he cups my chin in his hand. “I need to know if you'll allow this.”
Oh, shit...SHIT. What am I supposed to do? Now his lips are brushing against mine, feather-soft.
“We would be so good together, Cassandra,” he’s murmuring. “So good.”
Surprise, uneasiness, and not wanting to hurt or embarrass Josh combine to make me freeze up. He is so damned attractive, so nice, so cowboy, so horse-whispery...he is everything a girl could want.
And I can’t.
Josh senses it before I can say it. He is apparently as in tune with humans as he is with equines. He straightens and takes his hand away from my chin, a small, sad smile playing with his lips.
“But it can't just be me thinking we'd be good together, can it?”
“No. I guess it can't. I’m sorry.”
God damn, this sucks. I don’t want to hurt him, but I can’t lead him on—not with what I’m feeling. Or in this case, what I’m not feeling.
“I thought given a little more time, you might be open to the idea of you and me, but now I'm quite sure that's not going to happen. Unless this is some sort of lame April Fool's joke.” He manages a smile, although there are no dimples to be seen.
“I am so glad to know you, Josh.”
“I'm glad to know you, too. There's someone else, isn't there?”
I look at him helplessly, not knowing what to say. Not knowing what to think.
He picks up the end of Tango's rope. “You don't need to answer that. Hey—I'm not going to let this be awkward, I promise. I like you too much.”
“Josh—”
“It's okay. You know, it's ironic how in natural horsemanship, you learn the release is the reward, but wow, it's not in this case. Letting you go will be hard.”
I put my hands in my jacket pockets and squeeze them into fists as I watch Josh walk Tango down the aisle and out the open barn door. God, I hate that I’ve hurt him. He doesn’t deserve that. But he deserves honesty.
I’ll have to debrief with Teal tonight when we go to dinner and then to hear Garrett's band. It will be good to get out; my head and heart have been so full lately, coming to terms with all I’ve learned about Carlo. A wife, and a whole other life. He called twice in the week and a half since we last saw each other in his office parking lot, both times wanting to know if the “stalker” had made a reappearance, and fortunately, I was able to tell him no. I don’t want him to worry—he, too, has more than enough to deal with right now with the revelation of the accident.
Driving home, the clouds are angry-looking—the color of a deep purple bruise. This type of weather is going to make my hair a little crazy. So after my shower, I won’t fight it and will just let it do what it wants. Sometimes it’s best that way.
As I pull into my apartment complex, the rain begins, battering my windshield with large, heavy drops. I put up my hood and dash for my apartment. Norman, a/k/a Mr. Maintenance, is sitting in the parking lot in his old silver pick-up, and I wave to him as I put my key in the lock and open the door.
I hang up my dripping jacket on the hook in the entryway and kick off my Danskos, contemplating whether to finish writing my term paper before or after my shower. I guess I’ll shower first—I can do my work while my hair air dries. The paper will be my next to last major assignment before the final next month. I currently have an A in the class and plan to keep it that way.
I’m drying off after my shower when I’m struck with the temptation to call Carlo. I know we need to meet again to talk, but just like with Josh, I don’t want to lead Carlo on, either. I want to be absolutely sure about my decision. It’s ironic that the balance of power has shifted between the two of us, with me now in charge. Of course, one look from those smoldering eyes, and I’ll most likely be reminded of who is really in control.
But Carlo doesn’t need to know that.
I’ve seen another side of him. I had always believed there was more to him than the dominant, almost cavalier presence he had from the very beginning. Now that I know about his tormented past, I found this awakened a part of me as well—the part of me that wants to protect him. Save him.
Is this desire to save Carlo the root of what I’m feeling for him? Or is there more? And can I let go of the hurt and humiliation he caused by initially planning to use me in that sordid game?
Ugh. I still don’t know. But I’ve got to put these thoughts on hold for now; I have work to do.
I toss my bath towel into the hamper, take my robe off the back of the door and slip it on. A little mousse in my hair, rake it through and go to my room for my laptop. I’ll make some tea and write my paper at the kitchen table.
Taking the computer off my desk, I turn to see my bedroom door closing. Closing, ever so slowly...just as my mind struggles to comprehend what couldn't be, but what is.
A person standing beside it.
My mouth drops open as all rational thought leaves me, replaced by complete and utter awe.
How?
“Hello, Cassandra,” he says, his lips curling into a smile as the door clicks shut. “I've been waiting for you.”
Brock.
chapter forty-one ~ Carlo
I didn’t plan on going anywhere tonight, but after a long run in the rain and a hot shower, I decide that my house is too quiet and my thoughts are too loud. I’ll drown them out with a few drinks and the background noise of Frankie's, a sports bar in Elizabethtown. I usually go out in Lititz or Manheim, but my high school buddy Mick moved back to E-town, bought the bar and has been asking me to stop by and have a drink. And tonight is as good a time as any; the Flyers and the Red Wings are playing. And there’s a chance—not much of one, but a chance—that Cassandra might show up with her friends.
The rain’s slowed to a drizzle as I walk to the bar. Opening the door, I’m met with a barrage of heat and raucous cheering—most likely a goal scored. Mick’s coming toward me, a big smile on his face. He still looks like a teenage boy, with his dark hair curling underneath a Flyers cap. He grasps my hand, and we do the man-hug thing.
“Hey, I'm glad you could finally make it,” Mick says, clapping me on the shoulder. “You're looking good, buddy. Driving all the girls crazy?”
“You have no idea.”
“I trust you're getting laid on a regul
ar basis?”
“I can't complain.” I look around the bar, nodding appreciatively. “The place looks great. Except the owner needs a haircut.”
“Guilty.”
“And I need a beer. Several, in fact.”
“We can take care of that. I've got a seat for you at the bar.”
I follow Mick through the maze of high-top tables, customers staring at the big screen TV's.
Mick turns to talk loudly over his shoulder. “I'm not sure how long it's been since you've been here, but I've upgraded the menu. Anything you want, it's on the house.”
“Thanks, I appreciate that. I'm really impressed with what you've done. More TV's and new seating, it looks like?”
“Yep. Total of fifteen high-def plasmas, and I added a few leather couches.” He pats an empty barstool. “Here's the best seat in the house. I'll be right back—there's some issue with the credit card machine, and I've got to take a look.” He calls to the bartender, puts his hand on my shoulder. “Kyle, this is my high school buddy. Give him anything he wants, and then charge him double. See you in a few, Leone.”
I order an IPA and look around. This is what I need: the distraction of people who are enjoying themselves so I can lose myself in it, feel like I’m one of them.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice someone walking toward me. Heavy-set, balding guy in large eyeglasses who looks vaguely familiar.
“Hi, Mr. Leone.”
“Hello...sorry, I know I've seen you before, but I don’t remember where.”
“I'm Norman—the maintenance man at Cassandra's apartment. I've seen you visiting her a few times. I never forget a face, or a name,” he says proudly, tapping the side of his head.
“Oh—got it. Yes, I remember. I see you're a Flyers fan.” I point at Norman's t-shirt.
“Sure am! Great game so far.”
“Yes, great game. Things at the apartment complex keeping you busy?”
“Yeah, always stuff to do. Cassandra was just driving in as I was leaving. She must be really excited to have her big brother home.”
“Her brother?” She doesn’t have any siblings that I know of.
