“Please?”
Slowly, painfully, she turned and met his gaze. He rolled an inch closer to her, cupped her face in his hands. Still propped on his elbow, he looked down into her eyes, those same eyes he could never quite get out of his daydreams or his nightmares, for that matter, and whispered the truest thing she needed to know. “Your beauty has nothing to do with your appearance.”
She closed her eyes again, swallowed, a tear dripping from her chin onto the shoulder of her hoodie.
He waited, praying, hoping the words would sink in deep. Had they made an impact at all? Had he helped heal even a portion of her pain? He knew that was a job bigger and deeper than any mere man could take on, but if he could even put a single dent in that armor, he wanted to.
Needed to.
She opened her eyes then, but instead of the expected glimmer of relief or gratitude in those baby blues of hers, he saw anger.
Unmatched, unfiltered, unprecedented anger.
She sat up so fast she almost caught him in the chin. “How dare you.”
He scrambled to sit up, too, rubbing his elbow now indented from the hard wood of the stage. Scrambled to keep up. “What are you talking about? How dare I what?”
“How dare you any of it!” Stella stood, then, glaring down at him, arms stiff at her sides. “How dare you do this to me and my sister? Tease us. Love us. Leave us.” Her voice cracked. “I had no idea why you left, Chase Taylor, except for the fact that you left me. You destroyed my relationship with my sister and then vanished before I could even begin to pick up the pieces.” Her voice shuddered with unshed sobs. “You have no idea what you did.”
He froze, paralyzed, unable to move or even comprehend the depth of pain radiating out of the woman he’d never been able to forget.
“Now you’re back, and you’re sweet, and you’re . . . you’re saying all the right things. You’re romantic and kind and yet—you’re doing it again! Rescuing me. Teasing me. Lov—” She stopped short then, cut herself off. “Just stop it. Stop it!”
He slowly rose to his knees, then his feet, hands held out carefully as if he could somehow stop the nonsense flowing from her mouth. “Is that how you see it?”
“I’m seeing it for exactly what it is.”
He shook his head. “False.”
“True!” She shouted then, her voice bouncing off the stage wings.
He tried to keep his composure, but he just wanted to shake her, shake the facts into her. She wasn’t always right. Usually, maybe, but not this time. Not about this. “You have no idea why I left. Or what happened since I left, for that matter.”
“Well I know you didn’t waste much time. You said you were engaged.”
“Are you kidding me? You were married!” He didn’t mean to shout back, but the hypocrisy of it all pushed him over the edge. She was treading on ice now, and had no idea the temperature of the water below that razor-thin surface.
She glared, unable to counter his truth, and he lowered his voice, trying to pull them away from the cracks. “Stella. We both were a lot younger then. We’ve had different lives since then. Why does that have to change anything that’s happening right now?”
“Your whole live for the moment mantra isn’t always convenient, Chase.” She poked her finger at his chest. “Because the past and the present are tied together. Irrevocably.”
“Maybe. But one doesn’t have to dictate the other.”
“Of course it does. You left. You made a mess and you left me to clean it up, and it took years to even begin to get close.” Fresh tears slipped over her flushed cheeks, eyes so vivid against the teal of her sweatshirt he thought he might never be able to look away from them. “I lost my boyfriend and my sister in the same moment.”
“You didn’t lose me, Stella.” He reached for her, needed to hug her as badly as she needed to be hugged, but she shoved him away.
“You. Left.”
Yes. He had. A decision that haunted him for years, a regret he would never overcome. “I know. But I’m here now.”
She didn’t have to say a word—the look on her face screamed that wasn’t good enough. And he didn’t blame her. “Everything that happened with me and you and your sister . . . it was bad timing, I’ll admit. But I never meant to hurt her. Or you.”
The fight returned to her eyes, the rigidness to her posture as she crossed her arms. “But you did. You hurt us both.”
“I was scared!” His voice shattered the stillness of the theater. He yelled again, just for the release of it. “I was terrified, okay? I had made a promise to your sister and thought I was happy with her, and then there you were. You, in all your beautiful mess. You, with your flouncy dresses and shiny crowns, the exact opposite of anything I ever thought I’d like.”
Love, his heart corrected. But he wouldn’t say that word right now, not now.
Maybe not ever.
She rolled in her lips and pressed tight until they whitened, then motioned for him to continue.
But he was afraid he’d already said too much.
“I didn’t expect you.”
That got to her, by the way she quickly looked away. He wished he could touch her again, wipe away the tears hovering on her cheeks.
He needed her to understand. To forgive. Needed it more than he wanted to admit. “Look, I made a mistake, yes. I handled it all wrong. But it wasn’t a mistake to tell your sister the truth, Stella. She deserved to know.” Now, looking back as a man at a situation he’d handled more as a child, he’d probably change the wording he’d chosen. “I’ve grown up since then, realized how I could have done it differently. Done it better.”
He ran his hands over his head, wishing he could shove away his frustration as easily as he could shove aside his hair. “I panicked, okay? Your sister was great. But you were . . . you were . . .”
“What?” She met his gaze for the first time in several minutes, seeking confirmation and affirmation and a dozen other things he couldn’t even begin to identify.
He simply didn’t have the words to explain the feeling that had taken over his heart that first afternoon they talked for hours. Or the day they sat on the benches at the bayou and speculated about the carving in the tree. Or the time he’d caught her doodling designs for her dream house on a sketch pad.
There were just no words.
“You were . . . Stella.”
She sighed with exasperation. “That’s vague and convenient.”
That did it. “Quit hiding from compliments if you’re going to beg for them.”
“Ouch.” She flinched, literally backed up a step, closer to the edge of the stage than he preferred. He reached for her, but she dodged him. At least she eased away from the edge. “I can take care of myself.”
“That’s evident, seeing how you’ve fainted three times now in front of me.” She wasn’t going to play fair, and he was tired of being the only grown-up in the room.
“You can’t save me.” She shook her head, arms pinned tight across her stomach. “No one can.”
“Then why are you waiting for someone to try?” He lost it now, frustrated with the one-eighty in the conversation. Frustrated at himself for somehow screwing it up again. Frustrated with Stella for believing so many lies. “I understand heartache, Stella. Trust me.”
“How is that even possible? You’re always the one doing the hurting.”
“Not always.”
“What do you mean?” Her eyes sparked a challenge, “Did your fiancée leave you? Hit on your brother?”
That hurt. He looked down. Then away. Then at her gaze, shooting out confidence that she’d won. “Actually, she died.”
All traces of victory fled Stella’s eyes. “Chase.” She covered her mouth with both hands, then reached toward him, then covered her face again. “Chase, I’m so sorry.”
So was he. Sorry for starting any of this. For thinking he and Stella could ever go back into the past and create a positive future. For thinking he was capable of ever making a big decision t
hat didn’t lead to a huge regret.
He hopped off the edge of the stage, landed on his feet, and strode up the main aisle toward the doors. The Cameo might not be done yet.
But they were done here.
Her stupid car wouldn’t start.
Stella turned the key again and again and listened as her car attempted to crank and failed. Rain beat incessantly against the roof and windshield, and she pounded the steering wheel with her fist.
Pain shot through her wrist, and she stifled a cry. She’d cried enough that evening, enough to compete with the rain soaking her car and drenching everything else that was unfortunate enough to be outside in Bayou Bend tonight.
How could she be so foolish? The words she’d thrown so flippantly at Chase seemed to grow teeth in midair, biting them both before landing. She’d been so harsh.
His fiancée had died. Died.
And she’d denied his pain. Denied his ability to understand brokenness. Defended her hurt above his own.
No wonder he’d left the theater so fast. She didn’t really want to be around herself, either.
She grabbed the steering wheel in both hands and leaned forward, resting her forehead against the edge. It was just that he’d been so—so right. He’d figured her out exactly, to a T. And on top of that, he wasn’t intimidated by her. Wasn’t put off by her broken pieces.
It scared her to death.
She closed her eyes, pressing her head against the smooth wheel, wishing she could just float away in the rain. She didn’t want to call her dad to come bail her out. Would she ever stop needing her parents to rescue her? Didn’t want to deal with her mom, who would ask about her puffy eyes and quiz her mercilessly.
Stella really didn’t want to give her the opportunity. Not right now, not while she was like this. All vulnerable and exposed and raw and open. Bleeding, again. Over Dillon. Over Chase. Over an entire future full of what-if’s.
Would she ever stop breaking?
Slowly, reluctantly, she reached for her cell phone. Dialed her parents’ number. And then stopped as headlights cut through the rain and parked directly in front of her. She disconnected the call before it went through just as Chase’s number lit up her screen.
Her stomach knotted. “Hello?”
“Why haven’t you left?” His question, rough around the edges, held a measure of concern she couldn’t deny.
“Car won’t start.” If she’d had any pride left to swallow, it would have gotten stuck in her throat for sure. But she didn’t. She felt numb. Indifferent. Too hurt to allow any of the broken shards a place to cut.
“I’ve got jumpers.”
“Isn’t that dangerous in the rain?” She didn’t know a lot about jumper cables, but she knew electricity and water wasn’t the best combination.
“I’ll be careful.” He hung up before she could think of anything else to say, before she could protest that no, she deserved to be left in the rain to freeze all night. That she wasn’t worth risking electric shock for.
She’d shocked them both enough for the night.
A few moments later, a shadowed figure cut in front of the headlights, carrying long cables. She had presence of mind enough to pop the hood, and he lifted the lid, holding an umbrella over the top as he connected the jumper cables. He went back and started his car, then jogged around to her passenger side.
She unlocked the door and he slid in, shaking water off his hair as he slammed the door against the rain. “We’ll give it just a minute to charge. Then you should be good to go.”
But she wasn’t. She didn’t deserve this. Didn’t deserve a knight after she’d practically stabbed him with his own sword.
“You should have left me here.” She didn’t mean to say it out loud, entirely, but now that it had happened, she didn’t regret it. Chase shot her a level stare as he folded up his umbrella and dropped it on the floorboard. “Stella.”
“I mean it. I was awful, and you came back.” Her voice trembled, and she willed a strength into her tone that she didn’t fully possess. “You should have left me.”
Should have left last time, too, if she wanted to be honest. That’s what men did. They left her.
And the only common denominator she could see was the tearstained face in her rearview mirror.
“Stella.” Chase leaned his head against the back of the seat and let out a long sigh. Rain drizzled down the side of his temple, catching in the dark end-of-day stubble lining his jaw. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not going to leave you in the rain.”
She couldn’t stop staring at him, couldn’t stop feeling as if every fractured shard of her heart was being broken again.
He rolled his head to the side to meet her gaze. “In the snow, maybe.” A tiny grin lifted the corner of his mouth. “Or a sandstorm.”
She couldn’t help but smile back despite the ache consuming her insides. “But not rain?”
“Never rain.” Chase reached for the hand that rested on the gearshift, and squeezed it tight. He held it like a brother or a friend would, palm to palm, not threading his fingers through hers like a lover. “Don’t be afraid of the rain, Stella.”
“Are you going to quote me something about dancing in it, instead?” She tried to smile again, but failed miserably.
“I’m more for stomping in the puddles than dancing in ’em.”
She raised her eyebrows. “I don’t get it.”
“Think about it. What did you do as a kid, when it rained and you wanted to play outside?”
She squinted, then nodded as it sank in. “Put on my rain boots and stomped in the puddles.”
“Heard it taught in church one time that God tells us to come to Him with faith like a child. I figure that means with our storms too.” Chase traced his thumb over her knuckles.
“So instead of hiding under umbrellas, we . . . stomp in the puddles?”
“More fun that way, don’t you think?” He cupped her hand between both of his, sending a rush of warmth up her entire arm. “I mean, if it’s going to rain anyway . . . might as well make something out of it.”
She watched the water drip down the windshield. Bead and bunch and collect in the grooves of the windows and the lip on the raised hood. “Every storm runs out of rain, right?”
“Eventually.” Chase released her hand, reached up and pushed her hair back from her face. “But that can’t be the point, can it?”
No. It couldn’t.
“Your battery should be ready to go now. If you need someone to jump your car in the morning before you can get to a mechanic, let me know. I can swing by.” Chase put one hand on the door as if he were about to open it.
“Wait.” She reached for his hand this time, caught it and held it tight. “I’m sorry.”
His gaze lingered on hers. Dropped to her lips. Her stomach quivered. She wanted him to kiss her, wanted him to so badly. More than she had in the truck the other day. More than she had earlier tonight before their fight. This time, she was sure the kiss could heal something. Put a few of her fragments back together.
Even temporary glue would be better than none at all.
He watched her eyes, almost as if he could read the storm brewing inside her, and leaned closer. She closed her eyes, held her breath, waiting, longing, desperate to be made whole.
His breath neared her face, and her heart thudded in expectation. Hope. Eagerness.
He planted a kiss on her forehead and opened the door. “Drive safe.”
And then he was gone. Into the rain. Face uplifted.
No umbrella.
fifteen
The bathrooms were finally done at the Cameo.
Stella stood back from the row of photos she’d pinned to a clothesline in her living room to survey her handiwork. She always liked to view pictures of the spaces she’d decorated, as she would in a magazine, rather than only view the room itself as a whole in person. She noticed quirks and minute irritations a lot more clearly that way.
But this time, so far,
there weren’t any.
The turquoise and gold accents popped against the white tile. The tiny stage lights above the mirror lit up the room and gave it an elegance that hinted at sophistication far outreaching Bayou Bend. Vintage art decorated the wall space near the counters, above the hand dryers. A gold and glass beaded soap dispenser waited beside each sink.
Stella’s favorite piece, a framed collage of leftover fabric pieces, hung by the giant gold-plated oval mirror to the left of the bathroom door.
She backed up another step, tilting her head to view the final photos. Yes. A woman could easily touch up her lipstick in that mirror and like what she saw. Feel appreciated and valued and yes, even glamorous. Be given the spunk and sass to own her reflection, to go back to her date or friends or family with confidence.
It was asking a lot of a bathroom.
But Stella felt satisfied with the final result—more so than with the final result of the other night’s fiasco in the rain. She hadn’t talked to Chase since he disappeared into the storm.
Unwilling to bother him again the next morning, she’d called her dad and had him jump her car and meet her at the mechanic. He had insisted on negotiating with the guy, and since very few folks liked telling local preachers no, she’d come away with a bill a lot cheaper than expected.
Still. She hated having to be rescued. Even when she and Dillon were married, she leaned too much on her parents. Dillon could never be counted on to take care of business, whether from lack of know-how or lack of effort, she still wasn’t sure. But if there was a car repair, she’d had to go to her dad. If there was an issue in the house with wiring or plumbing, she called her dad for advice. A monster bug to kill? Dad.
She’d tried to go to Dillon first. Tried to trust her husband first.
Turned out she couldn’t trust him at all.
She pictured Chase in the scenario of a busted pipe or a leaky faucet or a flat tire, and almost laughed. There wouldn’t be a single task in any house that he wouldn’t be able to repair himself—or, at the least, know exactly who to call to help him out. And probably learn something new in the process.
Chase. She groaned as she began carefully taking down the strung photos. Why couldn’t he have been a hero when she’d really needed him to be? When her family was falling apart and she was seemingly all to blame? He hadn’t been there to back her up, to explain, to convince Kat it wasn’t Stella’s fault he’d broken up with her.
Love Arrives in Pieces Page 18
