The Stubborn Love Series: Books 1-5 Contemporary Romance Series

by Wendy Owens

  “Did you ever even turn around?” he asks with a rattle.

  “What?” I can hardly believe we are saying the things we are, but as long as we are here, in this place, there are answers I want, too.

  “I always wondered, that day you left, did you ever look back?” he asks again.

  “You know I’m not the type to look back,” I answered honestly.

  “No, I suppose not,” he says softly, before hanging his head.

  “Oh my God, you are so not allowed to act all sad and rejected. You were the one who told me to leave,” I snap, outraged by his reaction.

  “I know. It’s probably the biggest regret of my life.” His words make all the hair on my entire body stand up straight. But I know better. Emmie told me all the things Christian was up to since our breakup. He didn’t live like a man who regretted his choice.

  “Please, don’t act like you pined after me all these years. I know exactly what you were up to after we split. You forget my best friend is married to your brother.”

  “Oh, I never forgot. Half the stuff I told Colin to tell Em was just me hoping all the details would drive you crazy.”

  “Are you insane?” I ask, not believing a word he is telling me.

  He shrugs his shoulders. “I was a little out of my mind at the time.”

  “You said you became a roadie because of a girl.”

  “Yeah, you were that girl. I went all over this country trying to forget you. It didn’t work.”

  I cross my arms. If he wants to have this conversation, he is going to have to own up to some truths. “I know you were with other women; they weren’t all stories.”

  “You’re right. Neither of us has been alone since we split. But why do you think I was never in the same town for more than a week? Why do you think another women never stuck?” Christian asks me directly.

  I turn my head and don’t reply. I don’t know how to reply. These are the things I had wondered since we broke up. “Damn it, Paige. If I stood still too long, all the memories of you, of us, I knew they’d catch up to me. I was afraid if I slowed down I’d have to think about what I’d lost.”

  “And what exactly is that?”

  He moved in close—so close I could feel his heat near me. “My whole world.”

  Instinctively I push him away, but he grabs my wrists, pulling me in close again.

  “Let go of me,” I demand, trying to break free.

  “Will you hear me out?” he asks, not releasing me. I struggle more, but the more I struggle, the tighter his grasp becomes. “Promise you’ll listen to what I have to say.”

  “Fine!” I shout. “Now let me go.”

  He does as I request, and I stumble back a couple steps, widening the gap between us to a comfortable distance.

  “I always wanted to tell you what was going on with me, but I could never find the words.” I stand silently, listening, trying not to look him directly in the eyes, my heart now racing. “I know I had a problem. I drank to forget what I’d lost, and in the end, I lost more than I could ever have imagined.”

  “You’d stopped drinking for so long, and I never understood why you started again,” I say.

  “My brother is the strongest man I’ve ever known. I used to think my dad was the strong one, and when he died I’d missed out on life somehow.” His eyes are now wet with the tears he’s holding back.

  “But Colin, he helped me so much. He was tough on me, but I always knew I could rely on him. When he got serious with Emmie it felt like losing my dad all over again. I was going to be alone.”

  “But you had me. You were never going to be alone,” I say.

  “I didn’t realize that until it was too late,” he replies softly.

  “I tried to stay, to help you, but you kept pushing me away.” I want to hold him, to convey all those things I’d felt years ago, but I refrain, not wanting to cross any more lines.

  A silence lingers between us, before he takes a small step forward, looking into my eyes. “I’m not pushing you away now.”

  I feel I might throw up at any second. Christian is saying the things I would have given anything to hear a few years ago. But things have changed, and this can’t be happening now. I’ve moved on. “Sometimes we break things, and they can’t be fixed.”

  A silence hangs between us. I try to resist the question on my mind, but it’s plagued me for too long. “Why didn’t you come after me? You had years.”

  “I knew you wouldn’t take me back until I got my act together. By the time I figured out all the messed up things in my head, you were with him,” Christian explains.

  “You should have tried,” I say, surprising myself.

  “I’m trying now. It feels like you still love me, too.”

  I shake my head, blinking slowly. “I’ll always love you, but—” I take a deep breath. “I’m in love with Henry, and I want to be his wife.”

  “Are you—”

  “I should go,” I interrupt. “If you think we can be friends, I’m here. But that’s it.”

  I don’t wait for Christian to respond. All I know is that I have to get out of this place immediately. My head is starting to spin. I leave as fast as I can, racing across to the space Henry had secured for me. I can’t look at Emmie right now. She will know something is up, and I’m not ready to answer some of the questions she’ll ask.

  I need to work. Work will clear my head. It has to.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I DON’T RECALL actually leaving Christian’s shop. I don’t even remember my walk back over to my temporary workspace. Hell, to be quite honest, the past few hours have been a blur. Holding up a leather vest, I examine the exterior seaming. It’s impeccable. Perhaps I do my best work under duress.

  Suddenly I realize my phone is ringing. It’s a repeating segment of an Incubus song, “I Miss You.” It’s Henry. It doesn’t cross my mind not to answer; instead, the thing I want most is to hear his voice. To reaffirm he’s the man I want to spend the rest of my life with.

  Answering my phone, I lift it to my ear, and in a daze, I say, “Hello?”

  “Paige, hi babe,” he says, sounding tired.

  “I want to come home,” I didn’t even know the thought was going through my mind until I say it. But now that I have, it is the only thing that makes sense to me. At home there’s no Christian, no confusion.

  “What?” Henry asks, surprised.

  “I mean it, I don’t want to be away any longer. I want to come home.”

  “Honey, what’s going on?”

  “Nothing,” I insist. “I miss you, I miss our home. Please, I just … I want to come home.” Part of me wants to hold nothing back, to tell him everything, but I know I can’t. I can’t tell him that I’ve been having feelings for a man who I just found out is still in love with me.

  The line is silent. Why isn’t he saying anything? I just told him that I wanted to be there with him, and he’s saying nothing.

  “Hello?” Is he even still listening?

  “I don’t know what to say. I miss you, too. But—”

  “But what?” I huff. “You wanted me to come down here so I could work on the wedding plans and my show. Well, I can tell you no wedding plans are getting done. I spend half my time helping Emmie with the baby or the gallery.”

  “So tell her you can’t,” he suggests.

  “Why don’t you want me to come home?” I ask, annoyed by his reaction and not wanting to share my true motivation.

  “That’s not it at all. I just think it’s better for you if you stick it out a few more weeks,” he continues.

  “I can’t. I need to come home,” I insist.

  He sighs heavily.

  “What?” I huff.

  “Nothing.”

  “No, that was a pretty big sigh for it to be nothing,” I argue.

  “We just rented out that studio space. Why wouldn’t you have told me this while I was there?”

  “Oh, so this is about some rent you paid for
a place. I see.”

  “No, don’t do that. You know I don’t care about the money. It’s … it doesn’t make any sense. You were fine when I left, and now, it’s suddenly an emergency for you to get back to New York.” I’m not happy with his answer. In fact, the more we talk, the more I want to reach through the phone and strangle him.

  “Jesus, just forget it,” I snap. Leave it to Henry to dig deeper.

  “Don’t shut down on me.” Ugh, I hate when he says that, because usually because he’s right.

  “What’s going on with you?” I demand, turning the microscope away from me.

  “Huh? What are you talking about?”

  I want to hang up. This is not the conversation I planned on having when I answered the phone. I wish I hadn’t even mentioned coming home at this point. Fighting with Henry makes me feel terrible, and it’s honestly the last thing I need right now. “Never mind,” I grumble.

  “You can’t just throw a grenade out there and walk away,” he says. “What do you mean, what’s going on with me? I don’t understand. What have I done wrong?”

  “It’s nothing. Forget I said anything,” I request, trying to dismiss the comment.

  “No, damn it, Paige! You always do this. You can’t put something out there and just let it linger. Explain what you mean.”

  “Don’t yell at me.”

  “I’m not yelling,” he insists, calming his tone.

  “Well,” I begin. “Maybe you’re not yelling, but you’re making me really uncomfortable.”

  “Then just tell me what you meant,” he presses.

  “Fine. God, I don’t know why you always have to push me so much. But if you want to know, I’ll tell you.”

  “Please, do.”

  “Every time we talk it seems like you’re more and more distracted. It’s like you could care less that I’m gone. I’m starting to think you prefer it that way.”

  “Are you serious? Am I the only one who was there last week? I thought we had an amazing time.”

  “Yes, we did, but—now, when I tell you I want to come home, it’s pretty obvious you don’t even want me there.”

  “Do you really think that?” he asks gently.

  I sit silent, thinking about his question. I don’t believe it. I know he loves me, and I know he’d rather I be at home with him. I also know he just wants what’s best for me, and that’s why he’s pushing me to stay. But on some level, it infuriates me that his desire to not be away from me isn’t overwhelming his desire for me to succeed. Selfishly, I want his world to stop when I’m not there. Granted, then I would probably think he was clingy. Damn it, I don’t know what I want.

  “Well?” Henry asks again.

  “No,” I admit. “I just can’t do all of this without you. It’s too much.”

  “Then how about we hand some of the wedding details off to Grandmother. I could care less what the wedding looks like, as long as you’re there with me.”

  I feel warmth envelop me at his words. I don’t know why I freak out and try to make a mess of things all the time. He will always love me, and I him. “Yeah, that might be good,” I agree.

  “How about you give it another week, and if you want to come home after that, then we’ll get you on a plane right away.”

  “All right,” I relent. I can do a week.

  “Paige?” I hear Emmie’s voice call out as she steps in through the front door. She’s carrying a plate of food; this has become our routine in recent days.

  “Over here,” I yell from behind a pile of boxes. “Babe? I’ve gotta go. Dinner time.”

  “Okay, are we good?” Henry asks, uneasy that the conversation is coming to such an abrupt end.

  “Yeah, I’m sorry I flipped out on you,” I reply.

  “Are you sure we’re fine?”

  “Yes, I promise.”

  “Okay, then go eat. I should probably do the same.”

  “I love you,” I say softly.

  “I love you, too, and goodnight.”

  As I hang up the phone, I look to see Emmie standing directly in front of me. From the expression on her face, I can see she already knows more than I wish she did.

  “He told you?”

  “Huh?” She tries to play ignorant, placing the plate of foil-covered food on the table next to us.

  “Please, you’re a terrible liar, so don’t even try,” I warn.

  “I might have overheard Colin and Christian talking while I was cooking dinner.”

  “How much do you know?” I question.

  “He told you he’s still in love with you?” she inquires.

  “Pretty much.”

  “What are you going to do?” I have no idea how to answer that question.

  “What am I supposed to do with that? I told him I’m in love with Henry now. Then I got the hell out of there.”

  “What did Henry say?”

  “I told him I want to come home, but he … he wants me to stay.”

  “Did you tell him what Christian said?”

  “No!” I exclaim. “Do you think I’m crazy? That will only make him think something has been going on, when it hasn’t. And besides, he’s been weird enough lately.”

  “What do you mean?” she asks.

  “I don’t know. He seems distracted. Every time we talk he has to go because he’s about to take a nap or something else. It just always seems like it’s something,” I explain.

  “What do you think’s going on?”

  “I have no clue. Maybe it’s work or his grandmother. I know she can be a nightmare, and I’m sure it’s worse with the wedding getting so close and me out of town.”

  “So are you flying home?” she inquires, moving closer.

  “Not yet. I promised Henry I’d at least give this another week.”

  “What about what Christian said?”

  “What about it?” I ask, narrowing my brows in puzzlement.

  “Have you thought about giving him another chance?” I can’t believe she just asked me that question.

  “When you were engaged to Colin did you ever consider giving one of your exes another chance?” I ask, not masking my disgust.

  “First of all, I’ve only been with one other man besides Colin, and he killed himself so that really wasn’t an option,” she reminds me. Damn it! She always has the my-ex-committed-suicide card, which makes most of my comparisons completely irrelevant.

  “You get what I mean. I’m committed to Henry. I don’t even know how you could ask me that.” Emmie looks away quickly, and I can tell she’s hiding something. “What?”

  “Huh?” she mutters innocently.

  “No, I know you! Spill it.”

  “I might have heard Christian tell Colin that he’s not ready to give up on you.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” I ask, irritated.

  “I think he’s going to ask you out on a date.”

  “What? Well, that’s too bad. I’m not going,” I say firmly.

  I pull the foil off the plate she brought me. Mashed potatoes, chicken breast, and green beans are placed neatly in even portions. The smell hits me, and I can’t help but moan in delight. I skip the fork and dip a finger into the mashed potatoes.

  “Umm …” Emmie begins, then stops herself.

  I look at her, then demand, “What?”

  Emmie shakes her head, and continues. “I don’t think he’s going to take no for an answer.”

  “He’s just going to have to. Thanks for dinner, but I better get back to work.” I’d had enough fun talking about Christian and his sociopathic behavior. Henry’s right. I simply need to put my head down and get through the next few weeks. The only way Christian is going to distract me anymore is if I let him.

  Chapter Sixteen

  WAKING UP AT six o’clock in order to avoid breakfast with the Bennett boys is starting to take a toll on my sanity. On one hand, I’ve been more productive in recent days than probably ever before, but on the other, I’m getting quite cranky. Th
is morning when Henry called, I actually hung up on him.

  This isn’t normal behavior for us. All morning I hope he will call back, so that I can apologize. Why on Earth I feel like he is the one who needs to call me, I don’t know. Perhaps it’s just another instance of me not thinking rationally when I receive improper amounts of sleep.

  Basically, I can trace all of the blame for the recent argument straight back to Christian. Had he not confessed his love to me, then I would not feel compelled to get up at an ungodly hour, missing precious hours of sleep, in order to avoid him. Damn it Christian, is everything your fault?

  The door to my little studio space opens. I look up and—Jesus—it’s him!

  “What are you doing here?” I demand, disgusted that he would ruin my plans to completely avoid him for the remainder of my stay in Bastrop.

  He walks in, with one hand behind his back, and pushes the door closed with his foot.

  “I’m serious, you can’t be in here. I’m working.”

  He reveals a bundle of fresh-cut flowers. The violets are a soft purple and touches of creams and whites are scattered about, acting as a perfect complement. “Truce?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I come bearing gifts. I’d like a cease fire between us,” he says, walking across the room. I want him to stop moving toward me. Every step he takes, I can feel the heat in the room increasing.

  “Okay, whatever. We’re fine. I just have a lot of work to do,” I say dismissively, hoping he will catch the hint and turn to leave. He doesn’t. In a few more seconds he is now only a few feet from me, looking around at all of the scraps of fabric on the table.

  He pushes the flowers in my direction, but I wave my hands, unwilling to accept the gesture, for fear of what that might say to him.

  “Please. I got them for you.”

  “I appreciate that, but I don’t even have anything to put them in,” I explain, still refusing them from his extended hands.

  He drops his arms, staring at my face silently. I look around at my work, picking up a strip of fabric and trying to seem extremely busy again, in hopes he will leave. Instead, he places the bundle of flowers on the table between us and proceeds to walk around it. There is no longer a barrier between us, and my heart begins to race. I wish we weren’t alone.