His to Love (Fireside #1)

by Stacey Lynn

  I slipped my cheek in between my teeth, worrying it, while she stared at me with wide, pale eyes. Slowly, she slipped her hot pink glasses off and set them on the desk, pinching the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger. I thought I had made a huge mistake when she began shaking her head back and forth.

  “Do you have any idea how much you’ve just saved my hide?” she asked, lifting her head back up.

  My stalled heart began beating again. “Yes?”

  Laughing softly, Simone held up the notes I’d just delivered to her along with assurances, in writing via email, that the new glasses would be delivered Friday afternoon by two, and the florist would make up the shortage as well.

  “If it had been my last assistant, she would have been scrambling until Saturday morning, trying to fix her own mistake.”

  I shuffled on my feet, uncertain if I should reveal the complete truth.

  “I don’t believe your assistant had my last name working in her favor,” I admitted, looking away from her. “I didn’t mean to, and I apologize if I shouldn’t have—”

  “It’s fine,” Simone said, pulling my gaze back to her. “Sometimes it’s more about who you know than what you know, and you’ve clearly proven today that, well, you know people.”

  I doubted she meant to end on such an ominous-sounding note, but I still flinched.

  “Well, in the future, I’ll try not to use my name.”

  “Use whatever works, Gabriella. You’ve done your job and that’s what I asked.”

  She dismissed me with a nod, and I went to my desk and grabbed my purse, intent on heading out for a quick bite of lunch before returning for the afternoon.

  “Would you like anything from the sushi place around the corner?” I asked Simone.

  “California rolls,” she said, covering the mouthpiece of her phone. “And thank you.”

  I tried my best to put the morning behind me and headed outside, quickly putting on a pair of sunglasses when the warm, spring sun temporarily blinded me. We were in the middle of a brief heat wave and it was gorgeous outside, signaling summer—and the humidity that accompanied it—was quickly approaching.

  It was late for lunchtime so the sidewalks were pretty empty and the traffic relatively light. Due to the quiet outside, I decided to take my lunch, spicy crab and yellowtail scallion rolls, to a park just a block away from Hajime, the sushi restaurant, and my office.

  Once I was seated at a picnic table and had begun eating and taking sips of iced tea, I picked up my phone and called the one person who’d been on my mind since yesterday. Perhaps Eleanor could help me make sense of the mess I seemed to find myself in with Tyson.

  The phone rang three times and I began to lose hope, assuming she was out working with her goats or tending her garden. Then an out-of-breath Eleanor quickly said, “Hello?”

  Tears instantly stung my eyes. For ten years, Eleanor had essentially been my mom, and I truly hadn’t realized how much I missed her soft and kind voice until I heard it again.

  “Hey, Eleanor,” I said, fighting off the tears and trying to stop my chin from trembling.

  She noticed immediately. I could practically feel the warmth of her arms wrap around me through the phone. “Oh Ella, what’s happened? Is it your mom?”

  I sniffed and shook my head before I remembered she couldn’t see me.

  “No, it’s just…life.”

  “Do you have time to tell me about it?” Her voice was soft, almost melodic.

  I explained everything to her. I told her about running into Tyson on the plane, which caused her to make a startled gasp. I told her about how poorly my mom—her sister—was doing, which left us both choking back tears. I told her about Malik and my father’s insistence that I marry him, which made her growl, which in turn made me laugh. And then we cheered and smiled and laughed when I told her about my new apartment, shopping for furniture, and my new, hopefully soon-to-be-permanent job with DPA. I spilled everything. I tossed every emotion, every fear, every concern, and every hope I’d had since I returned home into her lap because I knew I could trust her with all of it.

  Especially the parts about Tyson.

  “Tyson,” she said, a little breathless, still surprised. “Wow. And you say you ran into him on the plane, right?”

  “Yeah.” My fingers found their way into my hair. “Imagine the odds, huh?” I laughed but it was stilted and rough.

  “Do you trust him?”

  Her question made me pause. Did I?

  With my body? Definitely.

  With my heart? I wanted to.

  But sometimes there was this distance he put between us, even just that morning. It made me question if he was holding himself back.

  “As much as I possibly can,” I finally admitted, feeling that sinking weight return to the pit of my stomach.

  “Be careful.”

  My eyelids fluttered closed at the concern in her voice. It was full of love and kindness…but worry, too.

  “I will,” I promised her.

  I went on to further promise that I would call her more often, and that of course I would keep her posted on everything, especially my mother’s health.

  By the time I arrived back at work and dived into a socialite’s wedding plans that Simone had dropped on my desk while I was gone, I realized that while I felt better after talking to Eleanor…I was not sure if any of my uncertainties had been alleviated, or my questions answered.

  —

  “How is she today?” I asked Claude as I stepped into the entryway of my parents’ home.

  His soft smile tilted down at the edges. “Awake now, I believe. But…” He drifted off, looking away from me, and I fought the urge to wrap my arms around him as he fought for composure. My own emotions threatened to overwhelm me when I saw him looking so heartbroken.

  “I know.” I rested my hand on his forearm and squeezed gently. “You don’t have to tell me.”

  His fragile, aging hand rested on top of mine. “She’ll be filled with joy to see you, bella.”

  With a quick nod, I let go of him and placed my hand on the banister, heading up the stairs. My journey was long and slower than normal, most likely because I knew the end was coming closer. After my talk with Eleanor today, my emotions were still raw. I knew I didn’t have much time with my mom. Every time I saw her, her skin was paler, her voice weaker. She slept longer due to meds the home nurse continued to pump into her at an increasing rate.

  Sometime soon, my mom was going to drift off into a drug-induced sleep and never return. I blinked the tears out of my eyes at the thought and forced my way up the stairs and into her room.

  Brianna, my mom’s nurse, turned her head toward me and smiled as I entered. She stood with a washcloth in her hands and placed it in a bucket of water.

  “She’s cool.” She whispered, not because my mom was sleeping, but because, as I was learning, that’s just how people talked around people who were dying. “I was just washing her face with some warm water. Would you like to help?”

  No. It was the last thing in the world I wanted to do.

  “Sure,” I said anyway and walked to my mom’s side of the bed, slipping into the chair next to her.

  “I’ll leave you alone.” Brianna gestured to the alert necklace my mom wore. With a simple push of a button, an alarm sounded on Brianna’s cellphone. “Call me if you need me.”

  “Hey, sweetie.” My mom’s voice was gravelly and barely audible. I hated it. Hated that her breast cancer had metastasized to her brain where it was slowly killing her.

  I leaned forward and brushed my lips against her cool cheek. She shivered and I leaned back, tucking in the blankets around her more firmly. Then I took the warm cloth out of the water, wringing the excess water out. With slow and tender movements, I gently brushed it along my mom’s forehead and over her exposed hands. They were bone thin.

  “Having a good day?”

  “Every day I open my eyes and see someone I love is a good day.
” She struggled through the sentence, pausing to cough.

  I couldn’t stop the tears from falling, tiny streams running down my cheeks.

  She pressed her cool hand against my right cheek, running her thumb down and wiping away the wetness. “Don’t cry for me.”

  “I need to tell you something.” My chin wobbled. She waited patiently for me to compose myself, only dropping her hand from my cheek to cover my hand on top of her blankets. “I can’t marry Malik.”

  Her eyelids fluttered closed and a strangled breath left her lips. “I thought you’d say that.”

  I turned my hand underneath hers so our palms touched and I could wrap my fingers around hers. “I don’t love him.”

  She laughed softly. I hated the hoarseness in her throat. The end was coming. I could feel it taking her breath by breath, smile by smile. I wanted to run screaming from the room and demand justice for her.

  “You are stubborn. Like Eleanor.”

  She winked, teasing me. I choked out a laugh through the lump in my throat. “You raised me,” I accused.

  “So I did.” She leaned forward and coughed so hard I reached for the wet rag and held it over her mouth. With one hand on her back, I tried to soothe her through the coughing fit that made her flinch in pain. When she settled again, both of us had eyes filled with more tears. She pulled me to her, her palms on my cheeks, and pressed her lips to my forehead. “I love every minute I spent raising you,” she whispered, her breathing now ragged and spent. “Don’t ever doubt that. Even when I was here, and you were away, there has never been a moment when you haven’t been on my mind.”

  God. I lost the final thread of my self-control, the final barrier holding my emotions in check. Like a little girl, I scrambled from the chair I had been in and climbed into the bed next to my mom.

  “Let me hold you, my darling daughter,” she whispered, her lips pressing against my forehead again. Her arms were frail and lacked the strength, but it didn’t matter. We lay like that for several minutes, our soft cries the only sound in the room, and her love the only thing I felt. “Marry a man you love, Gabriella. If that man can’t be Malik, make sure he loves you fiercely and would risk his life to keep you safe.”

  I shook my head, unable to answer. Her weak grip tightened around me.

  “Promise me,” she said, her voice suddenly firmer than it had been in weeks. “Promise me this so I don’t worry about you.”

  “I promise.” I nodded frantically. I’d promise her anything in that moment. If she asked me to marry Malik again, I might have agreed.

  This was her dying wish for me. “I promise,” I said again, over and over.

  But she never responded. She had already fallen asleep, pulled down by the drugs and disease.

  I stayed there forever, too afraid to move out of fear that I would lose the feel of her arms around me one last time. Because neither of us had to say it. We both knew.

  This was our goodbye.

  Chapter 16

  I was completely emotionally drained by the time I arrived back at the hotel for one of my last nights there. I couldn’t wait to get into my apartment.

  A month in a hotel was way too long.

  After finally being awoken by my father, who didn’t seem to understand why my mom and I were curled around each other, I fell into another sob fest, that time on Clarissa’s shoulder.

  Later, I drove away, tears drying on my cheeks, and I couldn’t force myself to return to the hotel. Instead, I parked in the parking ramp and walked along the riverfront. The spring breeze did nothing to calm my turmoil or my heated skin.

  I had no idea how far I walked. How long I was gone. I only briefly remembered sending a text message to Tyson before I left my parents’ house saying, “I need you,” before I slipped my phone back into my purse and forgot all about it.

  I forgot about everything as I walked, everything except the memories of a woman who had always been strong. A woman who fell into a life she knew nothing about and embraced it as if she belonged. A woman who married a difficult man who somehow softened at her smile and her touch. She might not have baked. She might not have volunteered at my elementary school like so many other people’s parents, but there had never been a day when I doubted her love for me. I desired to be as strong as her, as graceful as her, as determined to be my own person as she was.

  I used to think about her when I was in Colorado, on dark quiet nights when I was alone, and wonder how in the world she was so easily able to walk away from her comfortable and enjoyable life to something that had to make her constantly feel dark and dirty. I never understood how she couldn’t see my father for who he was.

  But now I realized, she saw him clearly. She did then and she did now…and what she saw in my father, was what she wanted for me. Someone who loved me regardless of our vast differences, someone who would protect me.

  Someone who would die to keep me safe.

  I couldn’t help but wonder, as I strolled back to the Apollonio Hotel, my energy fading with every slow step, if I had found that with Tyson.

  I wondered if I had found a man who loved me as much as I loved him.

  “Blue.”

  His voice calling my name made my head jerk up. Tyson stood up from a bench outside the hotel. His hands hung loosely at his sides and he was dressed in a well-tailored, all-black suit and dress shirt. He could have looked just like one of my father’s business associates if any of them ever managed to look concerned or worried. The line between his brows dug deeper as he took a hesitant step toward me.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked, my throat and voice dry and scratchy. I had cried too many tears.

  He cocked his head to the side. “You texted me. Said you needed me.”

  I had done that. I blinked twice, as if having to force the memory to the forefront of my mind. But as soon as it hit, my shoulders sagged.

  My chin trembled again and I nodded. “I did,” I said, as I began to cry again.

  I didn’t take another step before Tyson was in front of me. He wrapped his arms tightly around me. “You okay?”

  “No.” I shook my head, sniffing against the lapel of his suit. “I’m not.”

  “Shh. Let’s get you to your room.” His firm grip on me, the softness in his voice…it was too much. My knees quivered and I collapsed into him, losing the remaining strength I had before I saw him.

  “Shit,” he cursed and bent down. One of his hands went to my knees and then he hauled me to him, carrying me with one arm behind my back, the other beneath my legs. I burrowed into his chest, fisting his suit in my fingers. I didn’t say anything as he carried me through the hotel lobby, or when he adjusted his hold just enough to hit the button on the elevator for my floor.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered when the doors shut behind us.

  “Nothing to be sorry about. I’m just glad you’re okay, I’ve been waiting here for hours.”

  Hours. Had it been that long since I sent that text? I had no idea. Time passed by while I’d been lost on the riverfront but it didn’t matter.

  Because I needed him—and he came.

  He waited for me.

  “I’ve been calling you like crazy,” he said as the elevator doors opened. “I was starting to freak the hell out when you didn’t answer your phone.”

  “It’s in my purse,” I answered. “I think I turned it off.”

  I shifted in his hold when we reached my door, signaling that he could put me down. Once on my feet, with his arm still wrapped around my back, I dug through my purse and grabbed my keycard. I inserted it into the lock with minimal problems and opened the door.

  I stepped through it, knowing Tyson was following me, and just as I set my purse down on the table next to the door, I was swept back into his arms and once again being carried down a hall. I was too exhausted, too wrung dry to insist I could walk by myself. I didn’t want to. It felt good to be in Tyson’s arms and be cared for by him.

  When we reached my bed,
his arm at my back tightened as he bent down to pull down the covers. Then he placed me on the bed and I curled to my side, not wanting to take my eyes off him.

  “Want to talk about it?” he asked and ran the back of his knuckles down the side of my face. His thumb wiped away my tears.

  I shook my head, but murmured, “My mom.”

  It was all I could say before I felt his hands at my ankles. He dropped my shoes on the floor, and shifted my body, lifting my hips while he removed my skirt. Then he pulled me to a sitting position so he could remove my top. I let him undress me like a rag doll, too exhausted to move my limbs. As he reached around to my back to remove my bra, my forehead fell to his shoulder. “I can get undressed,” I told him, even though he’d already done most of the work.

  His hand grazed my back up to the nape of my neck. His lips pressed against my ear. “I want to take care of you.”

  A shudder rolled through me as he laid me back down, disappearing for only a moment before he came back with a tank top I’d slept in before. He quickly slid it on me.

  “Do you need to brush your teeth?”

  I shook my head, no. “I’m too tired.”

  He chuckled, and it made me smile. With another lift, I was in his arms, carried to the bathroom, and then gently set down on the vanity. I did nothing while he put toothpaste on my brush and handed it to me. Then he filled a cup with water and held up an empty one so I could spit in it.

  “I feel foolish,” I admitted, once I’d spit and rinsed my mouth.

  “Don’t. We all need someone to take care of us, and while you’re there for your mom and your family, I want to be the one you lean on.”

  Another warm shiver rolled down my spine as he lifted me again.

  Then I was back in my bed, curled to my side, but this time facing his side of the bed. I was too exhausted to open my eyes, but I reached out toward him when he pulled away.