by Karen Cimms
I flipped to another picture of her daughter. Izzy’s hair was naturally the color Rain dyed hers, and she had the same ice-blue eyes. The only difference was her naturally curly hair and her missing front teeth, at least in the most recent photo.
“Your daughter is beautiful,” I said. “She looks just like you.”
Rain looked pleased. “Everyone says that. I don’t really see much of Jeff in her, which is fine by me.”
“Your mother’s no slouch either,” I pointed out.
Dorinda wasn’t quite as tall as Rain. She didn’t look much past her early forties, and had a similar build and coloring.
“She’ll be happy to hear you think so. She thinks you’re pretty cute too, by the way.”
I couldn’t hold back my grin. “You’ve talked to your mother about me?”
“Don’t get too excited. My mother wants to fix me up with every man who walks in who’s over twenty-one, under eighty, and not wearing a wedding ring.” She grinned. “You, my friend, are at the top of her list.”
Terrific, I was in the friend zone.
She poured another shot, but I stopped her before she poured one for me.
“I have to drive, remember?”
The way she hesitated, the way she bit her lip, I wondered if she was going to ask me to stay. Or was it wishful thinking? And if she did, would I?
Given what she was going through and the fact that she was still clearly in love with that clown, I couldn’t. I didn’t want to desert her, but I needed to protect myself—and I was already feeling pretty damn exposed.
She downed two more shots.
I considered taking the bottle away, as she was already drunk.
“I know this is none of my business, and you certainly don’t have to answer, but I’m wondering what you’re planning to do.”
She looked at me, somewhat askew. “About what?”
“About your situation with Preston.” I hated even saying the son of a bitch’s name.
“I don’t know,” she said, and then buried her face against my chest and began to cry.
I hated it. I hated that I’d pushed her. I hated that she loved someone else and that he was clearly too stupid to make her the priority she deserved to be.
I also hated that if he hurt her in the worst way possible, by dumping her, it might be the only chance I’d have to make her mine. I wanted to be there for her, regardless, but what kind of a friend wants to see you hurt?
A selfish one. That’s what kind.
She pushed herself off of me and sniffed. “I think I’m drunk.”
Even with a tearstained face and black streaks under her eyes, she was beautiful.
I tucked her back under my arm and kissed the top of her head. Like a friend would do. “I think you’re right.”
I held her for a long time, even after she fell asleep against me. It was almost three, and I was fried. Gently, I lifted her off of me and carried her into her bedroom, where I placed her on the bed. I pulled the blanket over her, and even though it made me feel like some kind of creeper, I kissed her cheek. It was warm, and that intoxicating mix of vanilla and coconut wrapped itself around me.
I debated whether to head home or sleep on the couch, and since I didn’t know if she’d need help with her car in the morning, I opted for the couch. I helped myself to one more shot of tequila, hoping it might help me sleep.
It was hard enough to sleep at home, thinking about her on the other side of town. With nothing but a wall between us, it might be damn near impossible.
Chapter Twenty-Five
I didn’t see Chase again after he took me to get my car. In a way, I was glad. It was confusing being around him. I definitely had feelings for him, feelings I didn’t understand.
And then there was that vibration running through me every time we touched. I still had no idea what the hell it meant, but it no longer scared me, and I was no longer worried for his health.
Maybe what I was feeling was just because he was so damn nice. In the short time I’d known him, he’d proven to be someone I could depend on. And I did care about him. I just wasn’t sure if I felt about him the way I suspected he felt about me—and if not, then what? I couldn’t bear to hurt another nice guy. It was hard enough seeing Brian after what had happened with him, and the risk that he could have been a real SOB and arrested me for assault was scary. A lot of guys would have done exactly that just to get even.
Then there was Preston.
I’d given him my heart, and while I loved him, and I believe he loved me, it had never felt right. It was a hard truth to accept, and I wasn’t sure I fully accepted it. Acknowledge was a better word. I was acknowledging the possibility that Preston was treating my heart like another one of his possessions. Like one of his sports cars. It was his to do with what he wanted, when he wanted, and then park it in his climate-controlled garage until he felt like firing it up and taking it out for spin.
But I wasn’t a thing to be owned and played with.
After our last fight, Preston had sworn it was over with Suzanne. And I, of course, had believed him. But if he was telling the truth, what was the other night about? It had to be difficult for a girl like Suzanne to come into Blondie’s and confront me, even with her entourage. And the fact that she’d obviously had a few too many cosmos told me she needed the liquid courage to do so. But would she have done it—drunk or not—if she and Preston weren’t together? Possibly. Maybe it was a way to scare me off, make me think they were still together so I would break it off with him and she could sweep back in and claim him.
It was a pretty elaborate and risky thing to do on her part, but if there was one thing I’d become certain of in the past eighteen months, I didn’t know shit about rich people.
And that included Preston.
I hadn’t seen him since before the incident with Suzanne. I called him the next day and left him a voicemail telling him what she’d done and told him not to contact me unless she was completely out of his life. I didn’t want to hear about social circles or clubs or family ties.
That was a week ago, and I’d heard nothing back. I don’t know if that meant he was with her or mad at me for not believing him. Or too busy with work to answer.
Maybe all of the above.
As stressed out as I was, it was no surprise that I ended up with a wicked upper respiratory infection. After I begged and pleaded with her, my Aunt Donna, who worked for a doctor, was able to get me a prescription for antibiotics and cough medicine, saving me a visit to the urgent care center.
I was so sick I missed two days of work. I went back Thursday but came home after prepping for the lunch rush and spent the rest of the day in bed, only getting up when my mother brought Izzy home. Not long after I’d put her to bed, I crashed on the sofa.
I opened my eyes feeling fuzzy and confused, especially about the steady tapping on my door. The apartment was dark except for the ghostly blue light from the television. The clock on the cable box said it was almost eleven.
I grabbed the hammer I kept nearby and crept toward the door.
“Who is it?” I whispered, not wanting to wake Izzy.
“Me.”
“I don’t know who ‘me’ is,” I said, although of course I did.
“You know damn well it’s me, Rain. Open up.”
I unlocked the door, still holding the hammer. I didn’t step aside to let him in.
“What?”
“C’mon. Let me in.”
“Look, I don’t feel well. Unless you have something new to tell me, then there’s no reason for you to come inside.”
“I have to talk to you. I have something to give you.”
“Preston, please. Don’t do this to me.”
“Baby—”
I started closing the door.
“I won’t leave until you let me in and talk to me.”
“Fine.” I tried to close the door the rest of the way. “You can sit there all night if you want.”
H
e pushed his way inside.
“Preston!” I was practically hissing, which triggered a fit of coughing. He waited patiently until I stopped. “I want you to go,” I croaked.
“Marry me.”
My heart slammed against my rib cage, then plummeted down into my stomach. “It’s really over? No more Suzanne?”
“Tell me you’ll marry me.”
“Get out.”
“No.” He pulled me into his arms. Mine hung limp at my sides. “I love you, Rain. If I can’t see you anymore, it’ll kill me.”
It was déjà vu all over again. It might be a cliché, but it was true.
“You know,” I said, beginning to cry even though it angered me to do so. It may have been more related to being tired and feeling sick than it was to matters of the heart. “I think there’s something seriously wrong with you. If you love me so much you can’t live without me, why the fuck can’t you break it off with her?”
“Because I’m weak,” he whispered into my neck. “Because I can’t risk angering my father, or I could lose everything. When he retires, everything becomes mine. We’re talking millions, Rain. I can’t take a chance. But once he steps aside, and everything is signed over to me, it won’t matter who I disappoint. It’s complicated. I’ve told you that. My parents? They’re all about their clubs and the way things look, and they expect me to marry Suzanne.”
He kept kissing me, tugging at my nightgown, determined to have me. He begged me to change my mind, forget my ultimatum. But his words, even in my foggy, weakened state, solidified my decision—and broke my heart. I would be no one’s “disappointment.” I deserved more.
I pushed against his chest. “I can’t, Preston. Please. I won’t do this to myself anymore. It’s over.”
He snatched me up and carried me to the couch.
“No,” I whispered, thinking of Izzy in the next room. “Please go.”
I was in tears, but he kissed them away until I gave in. He made love to me quickly and quietly, and if it was to be the last time for us, it was hardly a flicker compared to the fire that had once consumed me.
It was more than fitting.
While he dressed, I lay naked, wrapped in a quilt, sneezing and coughing, my head throbbing. Disgusted with myself for caving.
He sat on the coffee table across from me and pulled a small blue velvet box out of his pocket.
“I’ll stay away. Give you space. For now. But I want you to wear these every day until you change your mind.”
When I didn’t take the box, he opened it. Inside was a pair of round diamond earrings. They were huge—so big that no one I knew would ever believe they were real. And proof that his “proposal” had been nothing more than a way for him to buy time. Had he been serious, there would have been a ring in that box. And I still would have rejected it.
“I don’t want them.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, pushing them toward me and bumping his hand into my breast.
I slapped his hand away.
“I said I don’t want them!”
“Do you have any idea what those are worth?”
I sat up so quickly the room began to swim. “I know exactly what they’re worth: more than a year of my life, my self-esteem, the hurt feelings of some very special people, and the loss of someone who might have made me very happy.”
I grabbed my nightgown off the floor and yanked it over my head.
“I’ll still make you happy, baby, I promise.”
“You asshole! I didn’t mean you!”
I walked to the door and held it open. He set the box on the coffee table. As he passed, he leaned down to kiss me. I pulled away.
“Suit yourself,” he said, no longer sounding as desperate as he had when he arrived.
I snatched the box off the table and waited by the door as he made his way back to his precious Stingray.
“Preston,” I called as he opened the car door.
When he looked up, I aimed the box at his head and threw it as hard as I could. It glanced off the roof and bounced into the parking lot. Horrified, he ran his hand over the spot where the box had struck the car. I would have loved to have left a dent in that damned Corvette, but I didn’t have that kind of luck.
The only thing cracked and dented, was my heart. And my self-esteem.
Dents could be fixed. I just hoped mine weren’t too deep.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Diane showed up at my door a few days later.
“You okay?”
“If you mean the head and chest cold from hell, then yes, I’m feeling better. If you mean the man who stole eighteen months of my life only to break my heart, then yes, also fine. It was time. If he can’t make a commitment to me, I’m done.”
I filled the basket in the coffeemaker. I hadn’t been sleeping well, other than a few naps here and there, and while I already had enough caffeine in me to last a week, I had things to do.
Diane grabbed two mugs from the cupboard and settled in at the kitchen table.
“I’ve got to go grocery shopping today, so I don’t have anything to snack on other than animal crackers.”
She shook her head. “I’m good. I didn’t come to eat.”
I grabbed the creamer from the fridge and joined her at the kitchen table while we waited for the coffee to brew. “What’s up? You hiding from Wally?”
She tucked a strand of flame-red hair behind her ear. “You don’t know, do you?”
I hadn’t noticed it when she came in, but I did now. She looked sad and a little nervous.
“I don’t think so. What are you talking about?”
She linked her pinky with mine, something we hadn’t done since around the time my father had died. Whatever it was, it had to be bad.
She inhaled deeply and then spoke rapidly, like she was pulling off a Band-Aid.
“Preston and Suzanne are getting married. He gave her a ring and everything.” She searched my face. “I’m sorry, Rain.”
I stared at our joined fingers. Numb. That’s what I felt. I’d pushed him away, and he’d gone right back to Suzanne. Or maybe that had been his intention when he showed up the other night. He wanted to solidify my spot on the shelf while he went on with his life.
I should feel devastated. I should be crying. Ranting. Cursing him. But I wasn’t. Other than a pinch in my chest, I was numb.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I think so. I just feel . . . kinda weird, ya know? And maybe a little empty.”
“He’s a jerk. I’ve always thought so, and this is just proof. Wally said that girl is a bitch. If that’s who he wants, they deserve each other.”
She was probably right. But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt—but shouldn’t it hurt more? Maybe the antibiotic was affecting me mentally.
Diane rose and grabbed the coffee carafe, then filled our mugs. When she returned to the table, she covered my hand with hers and squeezed. “Do you want to go shopping? We could go look at shoes. That always makes you happy.”
“Thanks, but I just want to be alone. I think I need to lie down.”
“You want me to take Izzy?”
“That’s okay. My mom is picking her up later. She and my Aunt Donna are taking her to the Bloomsburg Fair.”
“Well, let’s get her ready, and I’ll take her home with me. She can play with my nephews, and then I’ll bring her to your mom’s after she closes the shop. This way you can rest. Okay?”
I finished getting Izzy ready to go, made her promise to be good, and told her I’d see her in the morning.
Although my plan had been to spend the day catching up, I was fresh out of energy. With Izzy gone, I would have an entire twenty-four hours to wallow. I had a pile of dirty clothes and hardly any food in the house, but I had plenty of wine, my favorite tearjerker movies, and a stack of magazines. I wanted to cry Preston out of my system, once and for all.
After a long, hot bath, I slipped into my favorite pair of yoga pants and a T-shirt, grabbe
d a bottle of wine and a blanket, and curled up on the sofa.
When I was finally able to cry—which only started during P.S. I Love You, when Gerard Butler kept sending Hilary Swank all those letters after his death—I was hard pressed to put my finger on exactly why. Was I crying because Preston had proposed to Suzanne? If he were to show up at my door today, tell me he’d made a huge mistake, would I take him back?
For as much as I believed I’d loved him, the answer would be no. I’d been hurt and strung along, but while I’d once loved him, I was no longer in love with him.
The realization stunned me.
And if that was the case, why was I crying?
My heart and my head leaped to Chase. I’d surely blown it with him. If Preston hadn’t been in the picture, things between us could have been very different. The times I’d spent with him had been some of the best I’d ever had. Chase made me feel special in a way I hadn’t felt since my dad died.
Thinking of my father made me cry harder. What a fucked-up life I’d been living.
Between the crying and the wine, my head was pounding. I took some aspirin and climbed into bed.
When I woke, the pounding in my head was gone, only to be replaced by a muffled pounding in my ears.
Shit. The possibility of Preston standing outside my door frightened me. I couldn’t do this again. I didn’t want him. I just wanted him to go away.
I pulled the blankets over my head, but the knocking grew louder.
A male voice called through the door. A voice that did not belong to Preston. “Rain?”
I tugged the comforter off the bed, wrapped it around my shoulders, and went to the door.
“Who is it?”
“Chase.”
I unbolted the door and pulled it open to find Chase standing on my deck holding a bottle of tequila, a bag of limes, and a pizza.
“I thought you might want some company. Is that okay?”
It was more than okay, but before I could answer, the tears were back.
