by Shandi Boyes
Snubbing the shake encroaching my hands, I shift my eyes to the sky, which is as open and as beautiful as my wife’s heart used to be. “I hear you,” I whisper to the glistening night sky. “I hear you loud and clear.”
Chapter 20
“Can you feel it?”
Reluctantly, I tear my eyes from the spectacular view of Bronte’s Peak gracing every window of the two-bedroom cabin Destiny Records rented for Wesley and me. His eyes are bright and full of life, no doubt also overwhelmed by the beauty of a town that has managed to capture my soul in less than three heartbeats. This town is picturesque, but it is the people inside that take your breath away.
“The magical feeling?” I ask, my words laced with sentiment.
Wesley nods. “Like something marvelous is about to happen.”
“Is happening,” I correct, my brows inching as high as the excitement in my voice.
I pull my lightweight cardigan in close to my body before burrowing my nose in Wesley’s neck. I barely hear the sound of waves crashing over the furious beat of his heart. I can understand his excitement. I’m still reveling in the high of an awe-inspiring day. Wesley had a meeting with a man who had no hesitation in recognizing his god-gifted talent, and I spent my afternoon with my mouth gaped open, drinking in the world-class studio Destiny Records set up for me. Clearly, money is no object for a man like Cormack McGregor. In the five days following me accepting his offer to shoot Rise Up’s commemorative cover, he turned a run-down warehouse into a studio any photographer would be proud to call their own. A place I’m going to struggle to give up when my assignment is complete.
The only dampener on my entire day was my encounter with Carey this afternoon. During our brief conversation in the parking lot of the warehouse, I wanted to tell Carey the truth—that Wesley and I are nothing but friends—but my loyalty to Wesley saw me continuing with his lie. Normally, nothing affects me when I’m backing up Wesley and any decision he makes. But guilt made itself comfy in the middle of my chest today. It is so strong, every time I caught the quickest glimpse of Carey from across the room, the desire to tell him the truth nearly crippled me.
You’d figure a month of silence would have lessened the spell of intrigue Carey cast on me from the moment we met. It didn’t. Those three little words he mouthed when he sat across from me in the limo were the final nails in my coffin, pushing my fascination with him from awkwardly uncomfortable to creepy and skin-crawling. I’m now not only intrigued by him; I’m in complete awe.
Every beautiful thing in Carey’s life was cruelly snatched away from him. He has suffered more loss than any man should ever have to go through. That alone would warrant him the excuse of being a heartless and callous man. But seeing him have enough compassion that he was concerned for my welfare shows he is far from being callous. There is a man inside that shell dying to break free. I want to help him do that.
“We need to tell Carey the truth,” I mumble into Wesley’s chest. My hot breath bounces off his cologne-scented neck and fans my heated face.
Wesley inhales a large breath of air that expands his chest. “I already have,” he slowly breathes out, shocking me.
I pop my head up and peer into his eyes. The truth in his wholesome gaze instantly clears the guilt off my chest.
A new type of unease churns my stomach when Wesley asks, “Did Jenni tell you he threatened me today?”
“He did?!”
A smug grin curls onto Wesley’s lips. “Not in so many words, but the premise was there.”
“Why would he do that?” I ask, shock evident in my tone.
“Because I provoked him,” Wesley admits, his voice crammed with shame. “I pretty much said he was heartless.”
“Wesley! Why would you say that?!” I squeal, mortified.
“Because it’s my job to protect you, Poppet. If he reacted badly, I wouldn’t let him within sniffing distance of you.”
“Again. Within sniffing distance of me again,” I correct. My lips twitch as I struggle to hold in my smile. Although mortified that Wesley feels so obliged to protect me, I also love it. It is nice having someone other than my dad in my corner.
Wesley’s growl vibrates through my chest. “Again. Although I’m glad your sexual rut was finally taken care of—as you get a little bitchy when you’re horny—I still can’t believe you let a stranger into your hotel room. What’s wrong with a little nookie in the backseat in the middle of suburbia?”
I slap his chest. “Umm… cops for one?”
A girly giggle parts my lips when Wesley’s eyes roll skywards. “The only reason they would interrupt you and the gladiator getting hot and heavy is because they want a better angle.”
“And popcorn,” I add on. “Even the best movie in the world is crap without popcorn.”
I gag. I need to limit the amount of time I’m spending with Jenni and Emily. They are wonderful girls, but one afternoon with them has already dragged my maturity back to an unacceptable level for a woman approaching thirty.
Ignoring the cringe crossing my face at the recognition I’m inching closer to the flirty thirties era of my life, I rest my head back onto Wesley’s chest. “Why did you come clean with Carey if he threatened you? Wouldn’t that set off your alarm bells, not appease them?”
Three lengthened heartbeats pass before Wesley confesses, “He came and saw me at the studio tonight.”
Even beyond curious as to what occurred at their meeting, I can’t get my mouth to cooperate with my brain to fire a range of questions at Wesley. Thankfully, I don’t need to speak for him to hear my pleas.
“He has an odd way of showing it, but even hidden by the remorse in his eyes, I can tell he cares for you,” Wesley eventually fills in. “It’s clear he isn’t a fan of mine, but he was man enough to push that to the side to ensure your safety was our utmost priority.”
My heart stops beating. “Does that mean he knows what happened to me?”
“No,” Wesley replies with a curt shake of his head. “I wondered the same thing when he was so pedantic about everything. But his desire isn’t to take away your hurt, it is to ensure you don’t get hurt. That’s something only a man who assumes you haven’t already been hurt would do.”
Sweet relief engulfs me. It is short-lived when Wesley warns, “I still don’t think he is the right man for you, Poppet. You have dreams you’re striving to achieve. He is waiting for the day he can return to his family.”
I tug my cardigan in tighter, pretending the chill running down my spine is from the pleasant summer breeze blowing off the ocean and not from Wesley’s unease. “I don’t believe that, Wesley. Yes, he is a man living with an immense amount of grief, but there is something in his eyes that begs for me to look deeper.” I lift and lock my eyes with him. “If you had met him the night we shared, you wouldn’t think the way you do. Carey’s life is far from over. He just needs someone to show him that. He needs someone to believe in him like you believed in me.”
“Like we believed in each other,” Wesley corrects.
A stretch of silence passes between us. Although uncomfortable, words aren’t needed to express what we are feeling. I understand Wesley’s hesitation—wholeheartedly—but that doesn’t lessen the overwhelming urge deep inside me to stand in Carey’s corner as strongly as Wesley stands in mine. Wesley also understands this isn’t something I’d undertake lightheartedly. I used to believe the only way I could protect my heart was by keeping it locked up and guarded. Carey has proven that isn’t true. The only way I can keep my heart safe is by opening it, because sometimes the greatest lessons in life begin by taking a chance.
Reading the determination beaming out of me, Wesley says, “If you can look me in the eyes and tell me you're strong enough to take on a man with as much baggage as Carey has, I will support you, one hundred percent.”
“You’re assuming Carey wants me, which means you’re forgetting he didn’t return any of my calls or messages the past month.” I loathe that my word
s come out needy. If I want any chance of forming a relationship with Carey, I need to be at my strongest. Not just for me, but for him as well.
Wesley smirks. “There is no cure for idiocy, but that isn’t what we’re discussing here. Carey wants you, but like half the male population, he let his ego steer him in the wrong direction.”
Even with my brows stitching in confusion, I manage to jest, “Half?”
Wesley rolls his eyes. “Alright, most of the male population.” He adjusts his position so he can see my face without needing to remove me from being glued to his chest. “This kills me to admit, but my hottie radar was on the blink last month,” he confesses, sending my heart rate skyrocketing. “Carey was outside your apartment that afternoon.”
“Then why didn’t he come in?” I ask, my voice laced with confusion and a smidge of excitement.
Before Wesley can reply, my own idea formulates. “He saw us together…” I feel the blood draining from my face. “And he assumed we were a couple.”
“Bingo,” Wesley confirms.
I grit my teeth before slapping his chest.
“Hey!” Wesley wails. “He is the one who fucked up, so why am I getting slapped?”
I slant my head to the side and cock my brow. “He saw us together and thought we were a couple.”
Wesley nods like I'm asking a question. I wasn’t.
“Then you went and added salt to his wounds by saying we were a couple.”
Wesley chuckles. “Salt to his wounds? It was one night, Poppet. That’s not long enough for wounds to be inflicted. From the cute little moans I’ve heard coming out of your room the past three years, I have no doubt I’d put a big tick next to your name in my little black book. But open wounds? Please.”
I slap him again. He laughs even louder.
After laughing so hard, little tears form in the corner of his eyes, he gathers me back into his arms. His heart is racing even faster now than it was earlier. “Are you strong enough to handle this, Gem?” he asks, his voice the sincerest I’ve ever heard.
“If he’d give me a chance, yes,” I respond, speaking directly from my heart.
Wesley pinches my chin and forces my eyes to his. “The rejection when his memories become too great for him to ignore? The wondering if he is only with you because you were his second choice? Sharing his heart with another woman? Are you sure you’re strong enough to handle that?”
“Yes,” I reply again without pause for hesitation. “A broken heart never mends, but it can swell to accommodate more people in it,” I quote, referencing a book I read during our plane trip to Hopeton. “Carey will never stop loving his wife and son, but that is one of the reasons I’m so drawn to him. Imagine being loved by someone so fiercely they’ll never forget you. I want that.”
“You deserve that,” Wesley says, drawing me into his chest. My heart squeezes when he adds on, “If this is what you want, I’ll support you, Gem. But, if he destroys you, I’ll take him down. He may be big, but that don’t mean shit when it comes to protecting my Lil Lady.”
I tighten my grip around his waist. “Oh, Wesley. If I didn’t want the neighbors to get the wrong idea, I could kiss you right now.”
“When have the opinions of others ever bothered you?” Wesley questions before smacking his hands on the side of my face and planting a big sloppy kiss directly on my lips.
Pulling back from my gapped mouth, Wesley snickers, “Good luck explaining that,” with a waggle of his brows.
Before I can request an explanation for his odd behavior, the noise of tires crunching under gravel sounds through my ears. My pulse quickens when I swing my gaze sideways and spot Carey’s Camaro rolling down the driveway. From the heavy groove between his eyes and his hard-lined lips, I’m certain he witnessed my exchange with Wesley.
Snarling, I return my eyes to Wesley. “You’re a butthole.”
Wesley grins. “Hey, I said I was going to support you; that doesn’t mean I’m going to make it easy on him,” he advises, not the slightest bit intimidated by my furious scowl.
After winking cockily at Carey exiting his car, Wesley walks into our rental cabin, disgracefully leaving me to clean up his dirty work.
The wooden stairs of the cabin creak, protesting about Carey’s well-built frame when he climbs them. “Hey,” I greet him. Just like earlier today, my one word expresses way more than it should.
“Hey,” Carey replies, his word as ruffled as my nerves.
Leaving my dignity somewhere between New York and Ravenshoe, I observe, “We can pretend we’re strangers, but that’s pretty pointless. I’ve seen you naked.”
Goddammit! That came out sounding way more like a creepy peeping tom than the witty sophisticated lady I was aiming for.
I loosen the invisible noose around my neck when Carey’s beautiful laughter fills the awkward silence between us. Now instead of my cheeks being flamed with stupidity, I'm flustered with desire. Carey can fill a suit like no man I’ve seen, and his face is the type sculptors dream of carving, but his laugh, my god, it hits every one of my hot buttons. Everything is better when it is surrounded by laughter, even a gladiator-sized man with a locked-up heart.
When Carey’s laughter simmers, I question, “Can I get you a drink? I have beer, wine. . .” My words trail off when I spot him shaking his head.
“I’m not here on a personal level,” he admits, his tone low and unsure.
I try to mask my disappointment. I miserably fail.
“Oh,” I mumble, “umm… then what can I do you for?” My words come out shaky and hindered with unwarranted bitchiness.
I should have known Wesley’s admission wouldn’t change anything between Carey and me. He made it very clear last month that our night together was a one night only affair, so I have no reason to be annoyed. But I can’t help it. How can he not feel the connection between us? The earth moves under my feet every time he is near me. Is it not the same for him?
Carey coughs to clear his throat before saying, “Cormack mentioned that you want to photograph the band in a more natural setting than your studio.”
I nod. “Staged shoots aren’t my style. I work with natural light and textures. Props hide a person’s soul. By placing someone in their natural habitat, I expose not only their shell, but their insides as well. You can’t hide who you truly are when you’re naked and exposed.”
Most of my statement refers to my photography career. The last sentence was for Carey.
“With the band’s success, organizing an event like that takes time. It’s not something their security team could organize on short notice,” Carey replies. Although his tone is the same deep timbre it always is, there is more roughness to his words that reveals he knows part of my declaration was for him.
I pat the seat next to me, offering for him to sit. Even beyond riveted by him, photography is one of my greatest loves. It is so strong, I can set aside the feeling of rejection maiming my heart to ensure the vision I’ve conjured for Rise Up doesn’t suffer.
Once Carey takes the seat next to me, I explain, “I don’t need to have the band in public; I just need them in their natural environment. A place they feel comfortable in. Where they can be the men they were before they were famous.” I tuck my feet under my bottom and swivel so I'm facing Carey front on. “I want to see their world through your eyes.”
Carey’s brows bunch together.
“That bad?” I quip.
Carey smirks. “It’s been a rough few months.”
I'm tempted to ask if his statement is referring to himself or the band, but I don’t need to. I know whom it refers to. His honest eyes expose the truth. He was referring to himself.
“I’m sorry for what I said to you at brunch,” I blubber out before I have the chance to stop my words.
The color in Carey’s face drains as he briefly nods his head.
“But I’m not sorry for kissing you. Or for the night we spent together. I’ll never be sorry about either of those things.�
�� My words come out in a frantic rush, like I’ve suddenly been engulfed with a bad case of verbal diarrhea. “That night gave me back portions of myself I never thought I’d see again. I’ll never regret any time we’ve spent together.”
A small cluster of hope forms in my heart when Carey faintly murmurs, “Me neither.”
Acting like he didn’t just spark a flame in my aching womb, he stands from his seat and peers down at me. Even with a vast range of emotions taking away the effervescence of his eyes, they are still breathtakingly beautiful.
“I’ll have to discuss it with Cormack, but I think I have a solution for your predicament,” he advises.
I issue him my thanks with a smile.
“I’ll call you later if everything works out?” The unease in his voice makes it come out sounding like a question.
I leap up from my chair. “That will be great. Let me grab you my number.”
My brisk pace to the door stops when Carey sheepishly admits, “I already have it from when you texted me last month.”
Although I can appreciate his honesty, it doesn’t ease the brutal sting of rejection. The twisting of my stomach calms when he leans into my side and presses a kiss to the edge of my mouth. “It is not the environment that makes a picture, Gemma. It is the person standing behind the camera. You forcing me out of my natural environment exposed the real me, and you didn’t have a camera wrapped around your neck.”
Not waiting for me to reply, he spins on his heels and ambles to his car. Just before he enters, he lifts his fired-with-hope eyes to me. “I’ll see you around?”
Biting on the inside of my cheek to hide my smile, I nod my head. “But only if I don’t see you first.”
I wait for the taillights of his Camaro to disappear from view before walking into the cabin. My steps are sluggish, weighed down by the conflicting array of emotions swirling in my stomach. Although Carey said he wasn’t here on a personal level, it felt like a personal visit. Everything he discussed could have been handled over the phone. A fourteen-mile trip wasn’t necessary. . . unless he wanted to see me?
