Change of Heart

by Courtney Walsh

  He had one hand on the door of the truck, the other fidgeting with his keys. “I can’t talk to you tonight.”

  She moved to his side, her back to his truck, and forced him to turn. He didn’t look at her.

  “Trevor?”

  “Just don’t.”

  “I know you played me that song,” Evelyn said. “I remember it now. You played it the night Christopher found us in the music room. He thought something was going on between us, didn’t he?”

  Whit stayed focused on his own feet. “He always thought something was going on with us, Ev.”

  She frowned. “Why?” And why hadn’t he talked to her about it?

  “Because he knew . . .” Trevor groaned, clearly unhappy they were even having this conversation.

  Evelyn waited for him to finish his thought, silent.

  “How I felt about you.” He brought his eyes to hers. “Okay? He knew. And that’s why he asked you out in the first place.”

  Tears clouded her vision. “What are you saying?”

  He inched closer, the bulk of his body shielding her from the cool autumn wind. A foggy memory of the night at the Royal invaded her mind, and that familiar shame along with it. Why had he pushed her away? If he had feelings for her, wouldn’t he have acted on them?

  She could see years of pain locked up in his expression.

  His thumb brushed across her cheek. “Evie,” he whispered.

  She held his gaze. He’d been there all along, hadn’t he? And she assumed he’d been paving the way for Christopher, but what if that was never Whit’s plan?

  She leaned against the truck. He inched closer, hands pressed against the vehicle on either side of her. She lifted her chin, and he studied her for a long few seconds as if memorizing every bit of her.

  “Why didn’t you ever say anything?” The words nearly choked her for the lump that formed in her throat.

  He shook his head. “I couldn’t. Chris was my friend. You were happy. I couldn’t have made you that happy, Evie.”

  She reached up and touched his face. “Do you really believe that?”

  He leaned into her, eyes closed, the weight of his internal battle visible on his face.

  Finally, after a conflicted moment, he replied. “You could never be happy with someone like me.” He shifted her aside and pulled away. “You are out of my league.”

  With one motion, he opened the truck door, got in, and started the engine, leaving her standing in the middle of the parking lot surrounded by cars yet completely alone.

  CHAPTER

  37

  TREVOR SPED AWAY from the store on the edge of town, his mind reeling. Now what? The horror on her face—how did he ever expect her to trust him again?

  He stepped on the gas and cruised toward the lake. When the truck came to a stop, he found himself sitting in front of Chris and Evelyn’s mansion.

  As usual, he sat on the outside, staring at what could never be. Anger flashed through him like electricity, much different from the jolt he’d gotten when Evelyn had touched his face. He’d wanted to kiss her, and he didn’t want to be gentle about it, but he couldn’t.

  She didn’t belong to him.

  In his mind, she was still Chris’s wife. He’d accepted it. He’d wanted the best for them. Wanted her to have the husband she deserved—even if it wasn’t Trevor.

  But Chris had gone and screwed that up, hadn’t he?

  And Trevor could’ve predicted it from the start. Yet he’d said nothing. Some friend.

  Trevor saw movement inside the house. Chris was home. Moving on with his life as if nothing was wrong, as if nothing had ever been wrong.

  He gripped the steering wheel and his knuckles whitened.

  He killed the engine, got out, and trudged up the sidewalk. He didn’t knock on the door, just pushed it open and went inside.

  “Chris?”

  The man appeared from the doorway of the living room, frowning with his whole face. “What are you doing here, Whit? Don’t you have wives to steal?” Ice cubes clinked in his glass as he waved his hand at Trevor.

  Whit slammed the door. “Who do you think you are?”

  He laughed. “That’s rich coming from a farmer who never left his parents’ house. A farmer who had to wait till I was finished with the woman he loved before ever getting a chance with her.” He turned, but before he could walk away, Trevor grabbed his arm and spun him back around.

  “Don’t walk away from me, Chris.”

  Chris looked at Trevor’s hand, still grasping his arm. “Get your hand off me.”

  “Or what?”

  Chris glared at him. “Evelyn thinks you’re such a saint, but we both know the truth.”

  “Shut up,” Trevor said through gritted teeth.

  “You knew all along.” Chris pulled out of his grasp. “How many times did you lie for me? To your beloved Evie?” He snorted. “If you were half a man, you would’ve told her the truth, but you didn’t. You lied. Covered it up. Gave me alibi after alibi. You’re just like me.”

  He walked into the living room and Trevor followed. “I heard what you said to her,” Trevor said.

  “Isn’t it just like you to hide in the shadows and listen to other people’s conversations?” Chris stopped at the center of the room. “Do you want me to tell you what it was like being married to her? What it was like to touch her whenever I wanted?”

  Trevor’s hands trembled. “You never deserved her.”

  “Maybe, but I still had her. Over and over again.” He lifted his glass, but before he could take a drink, Trevor slapped it out of his hand. It shattered on the floor.

  “What are you going to do—defend her honor?” Chris smirked.

  “It’s about time someone gave you what you have coming to you.”

  Chris raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to do that?”

  Trevor responded with a right hook to Chris’s cheek. He stumbled back but quickly found his footing. When he did, he lunged at Trevor, tackling him to the ground. Chris got in a few hits, concentrated near Trevor’s left eye, before Trevor regained control and fended him off with three punches to the gut and two across the other side of his face.

  “Enough!” Chris yelled, pulling away.

  Trevor dabbed his bleeding brow with the sleeve of his shirt. “No, it’s not. Not by a long shot.” He moved toward Chris, who stumbled backward.

  “I’ll leave her alone, Whit.”

  Trevor stopped, eyes locked on Chris.

  “I’m done with her anyway,” Chris sneered.

  Trevor grabbed him by the shirt with both hands and threw him into the entryway, where he crashed into a small table, a crystal bowl shattering on the ground. “You’re not even worth it.”

  He opened the door and strode outside, feeling no better than he had when he arrived. Obviously beating the tar out of someone wasn’t a good remedy for anger. And he was angry. At Chris, yes, but mostly at himself.

  He got back in his truck and, for the second time that night, peeled away, just in time to see Chris stagger forward and close his front door.

  Trevor drove toward home, his head throbbing and his eye swelling. He hadn’t been in a fight since high school when some idiot stole from their table at the farmers’ market. He’d mortified his mother that day, but he wasn’t about to let anyone steal what she’d worked so hard for.

  He’d been protecting people his whole life, and now he wondered why he’d been so careless with his own heart.

  Chris was right. He was pathetic.

  “Didn’t I do what you asked?” He said the words aloud. Unconventional prayers were his specialty. “I honored her vows. I stayed out of it. I even asked you to bless their marriage.”

  No, he hadn’t done so willingly at first, but he knew it was the right thing to do, so he’d prayed for Chris and Evelyn. Prayed his feelings would subside. And they had, to some extent—only to reemerge stronger and more powerful than ever.

  If only he’d told her the truth
in the first place. If only he hadn’t covered for Chris over and over again.

  But he was a coward. He’d let his feelings cloud his judgment.

  “Why didn’t you take these feelings away? Bring me someone else to love? Let me live my life?” He slammed his fist on the steering wheel. It hurt. His hands were already sore from the beating he’d given Chris, something he was sure would humiliate him in the morning.

  “What am I supposed to do now?” The words nearly choked him. He hit the steering wheel again, pulling the truck into his driveway and cutting the engine. “What am I supposed to do?”

  He stilled, the reality of his lack of direction washing over him like a cold shower. He stared at the house, illuminated by moonlight. As he got out of the truck, he saw motion on his front porch. Evelyn stood and moved toward the stairs. She’d been sitting on the swing, waiting.

  And he’d returned, bloody and embarrassed with no idea what he was doing.

  Love without condition.

  The words raced through his mind, but he shoved them aside. He’d been loving without condition. For fifteen years. And what had that gotten him?

  A black eye and a chip on his shoulder.

  He didn’t want Evelyn to see him. Not like this. She’d ask questions and he’d have to tell her the whole truth about his juvenile actions and listen to a lecture about what an idiot he was.

  And he couldn’t give her answers to her questions about those stupid painted hearts either. He didn’t have it in him. Not tonight. He didn’t even know why he’d continued to have the lyrics to that song stenciled and displayed for the whole town to see.

  He’d done his best to force himself to get over her—handed it over to God and everything—but he’d never stopped buying the hearts. Why?

  She walked toward him and he hovered near the truck, unable—or maybe unwilling—to face her. When she reached him, she stopped.

  He was thankful it was dark out, even if the moon did threaten to tattle. He leaned against the truck, trying not to imagine what his face looked like.

  She said nothing.

  After several beats of silence, he lifted his chin, daring to meet her gaze. Yep. She was looking at him.

  Now what?

  “Do you want to see something cool?”

  He only stared.

  “Follow me.” She started walking. When he didn’t move, she turned. “You coming?”

  Didn’t she have more to say? He did as he was told, wondering how long he could conceal the cuts on his face. Or go without aspirin.

  She led him over to the Adirondack chairs, where she’d set out two blankets. “I thought you were going to miss it, but I think you’re just in time.”

  “For what?” He watched as she sat down.

  “Look up.”

  When he did, he saw the chairs had been shifted slightly to face the full moon. “What am I looking at?”

  She grabbed his hand and tugged him onto the chair. “Sit.”

  He did, but when she didn’t let go of his hand, he lost focus. Was she going to let him off the hook? Just like that?

  “You’re not looking,” she said, smiling at him.

  He followed her eyes upward and realized it was a rare lunar eclipse. A blood moon. He hadn’t seen one in years. “That’s amazing.”

  “I thought you would like it.”

  They sat in silence, and the pain in his head began to subside. He’d gone to Chris’s house to fight for Evelyn’s honor. Or maybe just to let off some steam. He was angry and he’d acted like a fool.

  He glanced at her. She knew all about that, didn’t she? Maybe that’s why she offered him grace. When he didn’t deserve it.

  “I have ice cream inside,” she said. “Want some?”

  He nodded, still trying to find some sense of balance.

  When she returned with two bowls, she handed him his moose tracks and studied his face.

  She frowned. “What happened to your eye?”

  So much for the cover of darkness.

  He took the bowl, set it on the arm of the chair, and turned away. “It’s nothing.”

  Evelyn stared at him, waiting for an explanation. “Let me look at it. Inside.”

  He had the distinct feeling his grace had just ended. Why did he act on his anger? Why did he ruin what might’ve been a perfect beginning?

  Trevor walked into the guesthouse and winced when she flipped on the light in the entryway. When she saw his face in full light, she gasped. “What on earth?”

  She rushed past him, and he heard her rustling around in the kitchen. The water came on. “Get in here.”

  Okay, bossy.

  Sheepishly, he walked into the kitchen, where she ran a cloth under the cold water.

  “Sit.” She studied his face. “What happened?”

  She pressed the cold cloth against his eye. It hurt. He didn’t want to tell her what he’d done.

  At his silence, she sighed. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”

  He waited while she dabbed his cheek with the cloth, wincing occasionally because she certainly wasn’t being gentle.

  “I was so mad at you when you left tonight,” she said, cleaning his forehead with the cloth.

  “I’m sorry. Are you trying to take it out on my face?”

  She looked at him. “Does that hurt?”

  “Do you see the blood?”

  “Sorry. I’ll be careful.” She proceeded more gently. “I was mad. If you sent those hearts in, that means you lied.”

  If she didn’t have hold of his face, he would’ve turned away.

  “Lies are the last thing I need in my life,” she said. “You know that.”

  “It’s complicated, Evie,” he said, his voice quiet.

  She stopped dabbing and stared at him. “Is it?”

  He studied her eyes, bold and blue as the color of the dress she still wore. “You said you were mad.”

  She nodded.

  “Past tense?”

  She shrugged. “I started thinking about how rude you always are. Cranky and kind of mean, you know? Like an old man with a No Trespassing sign at the end of his driveway. You put up all kinds of signals that everyone should leave you alone.”

  He said nothing. She couldn’t possibly understand why he acted the way he did.

  “When it first started, I was so irritated. I mean, I always thought we were friends.” She walked over to the sink, rinsed the cloth, then turned off the water and faced him. “But tonight I realized it all started after Christopher and I got married.”

  “You really don’t need to talk about it—”

  “Yes, I do,” she interrupted. “I thought you couldn’t stand me. Because things were different with you and Christopher. He was acting all stuck-up and I was the annoying wife who got in the way.”

  He shook his head. “That wasn’t it.”

  She waited until he finally looked at her.

  Trevor shoved his hands in his jacket pockets. “You’ve always deserved so much better.”

  Her eyes looked glassy, wet. “No, I don’t.”

  He forced himself not to look away. “Evie. Yes, you do.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

  Because I’m a coward. Because you fell in love with my best friend. Because I’m no good for you.

  But he said none of those things. Instead, he simply stared at her, heart racing.

  She moved closer, eyes still on his.

  “Evie, I can’t.”

  She touched his face as if seeing him for the first time. He inhaled the clean smell of her skin. She wanted him to say words he’d never allowed himself to say. Words that tormented him every single day of his life, even on the days he’d convinced himself he was over her. Had he ever truly given his feelings to God? Or was he walking around with this bitterness because the answer had always seemed to be no?

  Regardless, he’d been hiding these feelings for years. How could he dare to speak them aloud?

  She wa
s off-limits. Had so recently belonged to someone else. And Chris was right—Trevor couldn’t give her what she needed. Besides, if she ever found out the things he’d hidden from her, she wouldn’t just walk away—she would hate him forever.

  And yet, standing here, this close to the woman he loved, he felt unable—or unwilling—to move.

  “Tell me, Trevor.”

  “What do you want me to say?” Didn’t she know how hard he’d worked not to say it?

  “The truth. Tell me the truth.”

  The thought of it tortured him. All the truths he’d kept hidden from her. Where did she want him to begin?

  “You don’t want me to do that.”

  She inhaled a soft breath but only spoke with her eyes.

  Slowly he wrapped a hand around her back, horribly aware of his pulse. If she knew how she turned every sane thought in his head into a jumbled-up mess, she’d run the other way.

  But just for a moment, what if none of that mattered? What if he allowed himself the fleeting thought that they could be together? That she could love him the way he loved her?

  “I—”

  She watched him, searching as if daring him to continue.

  “I’m not very good with words.” He drew her closer, stood and pressed her body into his. She didn’t move, only watched as he sorted out this moment for himself. And then, when he couldn’t untangle his thoughts anymore, he took her face in his hands and brought his lips to hers.

  As the realization settled in that it might be okay to kiss her, he pulled her nearer still, held her tighter, kissed her deeper. She tasted sweet like strawberries and she smelled like home.

  The kiss became rushed, years of longing catching him off guard.

  He pulled away. “I’m sorry.”

  She leaned into him, clung to him, desire racing between them. He held her for a long moment, soaking in every ounce of her, allowing himself the fantasy that she could ever feel about him the way he felt about her.

  And while a part of him knew it was just that—a fantasy—another part of him wholly surrendered to the idea because now that he had her in his arms, he wasn’t sure how he’d ever move forward without her.

  But even as the thought entered his mind, another one replaced it. He’d kept other things from her, things that had hurt her. He could’ve spared her so much pain, but he’d been too selfish. He wasn’t any better than Chris.