by Wendy Owens
“I understand,” I replied softly.
“No, you don’t, and that’s the problem,” Colin said, his voice shaking slightly.
I looked up at him, his eyes moist, but no tears. “What?”
“Let me get through this before you say anything,” he began. I swallowed hard, preparing for the goodbye. “You know that scar on your chin? It’s the most beautiful looking scar I have ever seen. I love that when you say you want black coffee you really mean you want one sugar. Your smile, your style, and all the things about you that make you into the girl I love are among my favorite things in this world. I still remember the look on your face when we first met, that disgust for the warehouse, not to mention me. It makes me feel alive to think of those things. I need you, Em. Without you my heart would break.”
“Don’t say that!” I exclaimed, a flash of Ashton’s plea playing in my mind.
“I have to say it. I’m sorry your husband did what he did. I wish I understood it. But honestly, I can’t, because with or without you, the only place I want to be is in a world you’re a part of. If I lost you, I would fight every day to have you back. I wouldn’t do something I know would hurt you. I love you too much for that. I may not be able to eat or sleep, but I would go on breathing if it meant one day I might have you back. I wish he had loved you enough to not hurt you, but he did hurt you. I would never do that to you, Em, and all I ask is that you give me every day to try and take a little bit of the pain away that he caused.”
“Damn it, Colin,” I mumbled through the stream of tears.
He laughed, scooping me into his embrace. “Does that mean you won’t leave me.”
I nodded. He lifted my chin, wiping away my tears with his thumbs as he gripped my face.
“I thought you were going to break up with me after this trip,” I confessed.
“What?” he scoffed. “Never. It took too much work to catch you just to throw you back.”
“Nice…” I huffed.
Leaning closer his lips met mine; it felt like he was kissing the pain, numbing it for now. Pulling away he stepped to the side, allowing me to slide in. I looked toward the grave one last time. “Goodbye,” I whispered, hoping I might be able to leave the ghost behind that had been haunting me for the past few years. Colin made his way around the car, taking his proper place next to me.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Your eyes are closed?” Colin yelled from across the room.
“Yes,” I replied impatiently. “I told you they were before I even came in.”
“Okay, hang on.” I could hear Colin’s footsteps bounding toward me. In a few seconds his warm hand took hold of mine, my fingertips brushing over the bandaid on his pinky. “This way… just hold my hand and follow my voice. A little closer… we’re almost there. All right.”
He halted and I stumbled slightly. “Can I open them?”
“Oh yeah, sorry, open your eyes.”
I actually gasped when I did. The room was open and bright, the new furniture complementing the industrial feel. “Oh Colin, it’s amazing!”
“Look behind you,” he instructed, pointing over my shoulder. Hanging over a bench on the main wall, just before you entered the master bedroom was my painting. I painted it after our trip to Ohio and called it ‘The flowers in her hair’ after The Lumineers’ song. A woman began in the fetal position, and in the painting you could see the motion of her standing, and leaping high, a few flowers in her hair.
“Wow, right in the entry, you must like it.” I smiled.
“Not just me,” Colin grinned, his arms wrapping around me and coming to rest at my lower back.
“What do you mean?” I asked, puzzled.
“The investor I’ve been talking to was here today. He said he loved it. It was pretty amazing to tell him my girlfriend painted it,” Colin explained.
“Wait! What? Back up!” I exclaimed. “You had an investor here? What did he say about the place? Did you show him the master bath? I mean, that is amazing… you had to have shown him. Right? And the kitchen, now that the marble is in… it’s perfection. Are you going to tell me what he said?”
“If you let me get a word in.” Colin laughed.
“Sorry,” I said, lifting my hand up to my mouth and pressing firmly.
Colin pulled it away, kissing my fingers. “Well, he said the last minute decision to change out the concrete and add the wood floors was definitely the way to go.”
“Well, duh, any moron can see that,” I snapped. Colin stared at me, lifting his eyebrows. “Sorry, keep going.”
“He told me it’s obvious I have an understanding of what high end buyers are looking for.” Colin paused, his eyes not shifting from me.
“And?” I pushed.
“And… he would be happy to go into business with me. I’ve got the funding,” Colin said, his mouth hanging open, waiting for my response. I squealed, a wave of pure excitement washing over me. Colin lifted me off the ground hugging me so tightly I thought for a moment he might crack my spine.
He set me down, the bliss of the moment washing over us both. “You did an amazing job, Colin—you really should be proud. Although, my paintings do make the space look that much more fantastic.”
“Is that right?” Colin laughed.
“Yes, I mean, I think so,” I replied, flashing a mischievous grin.
“I happen to agree, and so does your professor. Which is why we need to get moving or we will be late for your show opening,” Colin reminded me, placing his hand on the small of my back, and ushering me toward the door.
“Paige and Christian will be there for sure?” I inquired, my head now swimming with excitement.
“That’s what he told me,” Colin reaffirmed.
I twisted my body as we neared the door causing Colin to stop. He glared at me with a puzzled gaze. “Hold on.”
“What is it?” Colin asked, a nervous tremor in his voice. I wasn’t surprised after everything I had put him through in the recent months. The on-again off-again status had to be hard on him. After we got home from Ohio, the break up conversations ended, but I think he still worried I might relapse, slipping back into the suit of despair I had grown accustomed to for all those years.
I closed the space between us, my face hovering only inches from his. My body began to move with his breathing. I slipped my arms around his body, clasping them together at his waist. He leaned back slightly, pulling his face away and looking down at me, a slight smile on his lips.
“I wanted to take a second, together, before tonight. I know it will probably be crazy,” I explained, my cheek warm from his breath as he sighed in relief.
“I want you to know something, Em. I think you know I wasn’t looking for this when we met, and honestly, I never thought something like what we have would find me, but—”
“I know,” I interrupted. Colin always felt like he needed to tell me how special I was to him. Ashton had always done the same thing—a lot of words to say how amazing I was. But that was the thing—they were just words. Colin was different. “You show me everyday, babe. I know.”
“Move in with me!” he blurted out, staring into my eyes for some sort of response.
I hesitated, shocked by the statement. At last I asked, “What about Paige? I can’t do that to her.”
“This isn’t spur of the moment. I was going to ask you later tonight, after the show, but I can’t wait. I already talked to Paige and Christian, and they said they would be happy to live together at your place, and you can move in here with me.
My heart started racing. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I didn’t take my eyes from him as he took a stray strand of hair and tucked it behind my ear. I leaned forward and kissed his chin, then the spot just to the right of his smile.
Pulling away, he gazed into my eyes, slipping his hands up to my cheeks, cradling my face. “Is that a yes?”
I nodded, all the hair on my neck standing up. “Yes, Colin Bennett, I’ll move in with you.
” He knew me. That was obvious. If it were up to him he would be proposing marriage, but he knew me. He loved me for all of my broken pieces, and he was willing to put all of them back together one by one, for as long as it took. It may have taken time, and it was definitely a stubborn love. But it was real. And it was ours.
Acknowledgments
Thank you to the many bloggers who are on the front lines every day, helping authors like me reach readers. I can’t thank you enough for what you do.
One of the biggest thanks goes out to my editor, Madison Seidler. You put up with my incessant rambling, questions, blatant misspellings, and basically allowed me to pester the living hell out of you. Without your feedback and hard work this book wouldn’t be what it is. Thanks as well for the final read through Chelsea.
To my husband, who helped me with my Stubborn Heart. Without him this book would not exist. He made several late night trips to grocery to get me five hour energy or my coffee fix, he played Mr. Mom on the weekends to allow me the time I needed to write, and his encouragement kept me going when self-doubt crept in. Most of all he was the one who helped me learn that I could love again after divorce.
For my three beautiful children: I lost track of how many times Mommy said she needed quiet time to write, but you all always did your best to oblige me, even if you didn’t always succeed. During this book I discovered you are amazing at helping with chores, and I should have started you all cleaning years ago apparently. Seriously, though, all three of you were the best helpers any mommy could ever ask for. I love you all to the moon and back.
ONLY IN DREAMS
Prologue
I LOOK AT the clock again. I’m not sure what secrets I expect it to reveal. I’ve looked at it at least a hundred times in the last hour. 3:46 AM. Next, I look at my phone. This has become my ritual this evening. I have somehow become the girl I swore I would never be—the one waiting at home for the phone to ring.
When Christian and I moved in together three months ago, I thought the things that had been haunting him would somehow disappear. But, if anything, he has gotten worse. Even Emmie knows something is wrong. Though she does her best not to flaunt her and Colin’s love fest in my face, I can’t help but look at them and be reminded of all the things that are wrong between Christian and myself.
I’ve tried talking to him about his behavior. I tell him I can see that he’s hurting; this approach only makes him angry. I know he’s been drinking again, but every time I try and discuss it, he tells me to quit mothering him. Christ, I’m twenty-two years old. I shouldn’t have to worry about this stuff. Yet here I am. I look back at the clock. Damn it Christian, where are you?
The most horrible and terrifying things a person can imagine have been going through my mind. I’ve tried calling his cell several times, but now the mailbox is full. I mean, come on, a full mailbox? He would be furious if I treated him this way. When my agent called me earlier today and told me about an opportunity in Paris to model I turned him down flat. But now, with each passing minute that Christian disrespects me, without so much as a call, I am reconsidering my choice.
I love him; I know that much. And I used to be pretty sure he loved me. All of my model friends float from guy to guy and can’t seem to understand what Christian and I have. It just doesn’t make sense to them. Of course, it’s not making very much sense to me either right now.
My mom was always in competition with me. First, with my dad, she would do everything she could to make sure he saw me as worthless. Eventually he couldn’t stand being around her anymore. That was when she tried to use me as a weapon against him. I never blamed him, or maybe it was just that I no longer cared enough anymore about either of them to give a damn. But when my mom started making fun of me and telling all her boyfriends what a loser I was, I decided I wanted to be anywhere except in her house.
Then Christian walked into to my life. I wasn’t looking for a man to rescue me; I was never that kind of girl. No, the great thing about him was that he was just as messed up and broken from the death of his parents, but somehow, we made sense together. At first we partied, and then when Christian realized after graduation that he didn’t seem to know when to stop drinking, we simply fell into our next phase of life together. We could go out with all our friends, and because we had each other, Christian never needed to get wasted. He just liked being near me.
I’m not kidding myself. For the most part, I know he has always been about himself. He likes to look good, he likes to hang out with a certain crowd and attend the important events. When life gets to be too much you can find him at the gym, working on his massive muscles. Even Colin, his brother, is constantly teasing him about his manscaping. But even though he likes himself a lot, he’s always managed to make me feel important and loved … until now.
I know if I could just get through to him, figure out what’s causing all of these feelings he has been having, I could help him. But … I hear the key in the lock. I shift in my seat multiple times, unsure how I should handle this confrontation. My heart begins to race. Without thinking, I leap from the chair I am perched in and flop onto the couch, laying down with my eyes closed.
What am I doing? I think. Am I really going to pretend like I’m asleep? Apparently so.
I hear the door open, and Christian grunts as he fumbles with the lock, trying to remove his keys. Once the door is closed I listen for the lock to latch, but it doesn’t happen. Instead I hear footsteps stumbling toward me—dragging across the floor. From the smell assaults my senses, I can tell he is extremely intoxicated.
I wait silently, assuming he’s now staring at me, but I can’t be sure. It’s too late not to continue with the charade. Then I hear more footsteps, and the bedroom door bash into the wall. Quickly I sit up and turn around, watching Christian stumble into the guest room. I can’t believe what I’m seeing. Why on Earth would he be going in there?
I’ve had enough of the game. I want answers. I deserve answers. I hop to my feet and rush across the living room, poking my head in through the doorway Christian passed through moments ago. He is passed out, still fully dressed, including his shoes. Lying sideways across the bed, drool leaks from his mouth.
“Seriously?” is the only thing I can think to say. I want to cry; I want to throw things at him, and scream horrible things at him. But I don’t do that. The last time I cried was when my dad left, and I decided nobody would ever get to see me do that again.
Christian mumbles an inaudible response, which then trails off into a snore.
“Christian? You’ve got to be kidding me.” I try again, but I know he won’t be waking up. Our talk will have to wait until morning. Unfortunately, sleep won’t come as easily for me.
THE HOURS TICK by, and just as I suspected I’ve been unable to sleep. I lay in our bed at first, my face growing hot with anger. Then I clean, but I hate cleaning, so that doesn’t last long. I think about calling Emmie around six o’clock, but that seems whiney and desperate. Not to mention the fact that I know most of what I tell Emmie she will tell Colin. If Colin knows Christian is getting wasted every night, it will start a huge fight between them, just giving him more ammo to use against me.
No, this is my problem, and I need to deal with it. By seven, I have come to the conclusion that maybe Christian isn’t taking me seriously. I am always happy to clean up his messes, and it seems that he is well aware of it. Maybe now what he needs is some tough love. Maybe he needs to know I’m not going to be taken for granted anymore.
I waffle on this decision for sometime—I’m not one for idle threats—and before I make the ultimatum, I need to be certain I’ll follow through. Poking my head into the guest bedroom one last time is all it takes. The room smells like a distillery. I realize now I love him enough to leave.
Packing my suitcase is harder than I thought it would be. I keep telling myself, he won’t let you leave, seeing your packed bags will be enough. Going through the drawers, one by one, folding up my favorite thrift store tr
easures or photo shoot take home items, my mind drifts to Emmie.
She was a wreck when I met her. She didn’t have any friends and was clearly suffering when it came to her fashion sense. I was the one who encouraged her to see how things would turn out with Colin. I was the example of happiness … wasn’t I? How did I end up here? I missed my last two modeling jobs because Christian needed one thing or another. Now my agent had warned me that the calls would stop coming if I didn’t start putting my best foot forward.
I gather the essential hair and makeup products I cannot live without and strategically place my suitcases against the wall, so that Christian will see them first thing when he wakes up. Then I wait, and wait, until I refuse to wait any longer.
Grabbing a wad of cash and my keys, I shove them into the pockets of my jumper and head to Ninth Street Espresso to grab a coffee. After a night of no sleep I need it, especially if I am going to have anything left in me for the shit storm that I know is going to happen when I get home. I keep having these moments where I think perhaps I’m overreacting, but as I recall the recent months, I quickly dismiss these notions.
“Hey Bill,” I grumble as I approach the counter.
“Paige, where’s Christian this fine morning?”
I debate how to answer. Christian and Colin are the owners of the space the coffee shop rents. While a huge part of me wants to unload on Bill and tell him exactly where Christian is, and exactly what my boyfriend can do to himself, I worry how this might affect their business relationship.
“Sleeping in.” I decide to play it safe.
“Boy, he’s got it rough, doesn’t he?” Bill laughs. I feign a smile as I watch him prepare my latte.
“New tat?” I inquire, trying not to think about my good-for-nothing sloth of a boyfriend who is still passed out at home.
