Hold Me (Promise Me Book 1)

by Brea Viragh

  Duncan pointed to himself. “Me.”

  I continued before I lost my courage. “I don’t want to get married. It’s nothing personal, not really. It took me too long to realize I liked the idea of marriage rather than the reality. Do I think you were wrong in cheating? Yes, you were wrong.”

  “We never had sex, Iz. I want you to know that.”

  Despite my resolve, my tongue dried and each time I spoke it was as if through a loofah. “I appreciate your honesty.”

  “I thought about it, I admit.” Duncan linked his fingers through the belt loops on his trousers. “I thought about it more than I should have, but we never, ah, we never followed through. I wanted you to know. And please don’t hold this against Leda. She’s a good girl and had her heart in the right place.”

  “Please, this is hard enough without bringing her into it.”

  “What do we do now?”

  I paused for a moment, then shrugged. “Whatever we want, I guess. You’re free.”

  “This isn’t right.” Duncan shook his head before moving to the foot of the bed. I felt the reverberations through my feet when he sat, leaning his elbows on his knees. “You’re too calm. Too reserved. Too…everything. What happened to you, Isabel? You’re never this levelheaded.”

  I didn’t know what happened to me. The cool resolve from before, learning the truth of my past, and suddenly all those stressors I’d lost sleep over didn’t seem so important. Duncan, my reaction to him, didn’t seem so important.

  “We never should have moved here together,” I admitted. “I’m not calling it a mistake, because I know everything happens for a reason. But the move and the wedding…We weren’t meant to be together and it took a disaster to make me realize. I was too caught up in who I thought I should be instead of focusing on who I am.”

  Duncan cupped his cheeks as he spoke. “I care about you. More than I have any woman before. I wouldn’t have packed up and come to this damn town if I didn’t.”

  “I know.”

  “I was stressed and I didn’t know how to deal with it. And Leda…” Duncan trailed off on a sigh. “She’s amazing. Truly a wonder.”

  I didn’t tell him of the slight smile the mere mention of her name brought to his face. Or the way his eyes lit up. Once upon a time that kind of physical reaction to any woman who wasn’t me would have angered me to the point of a meltdown. Now I pondered their relationship and sent a quick thought skyward.

  Fate. No one escapes.

  “I’ll never be able to repay you for what you’ve done, Duncan. I can’t give you back the time, or the money, or the effort you put into the relationship.” I used my head to gesture toward the diamond he held. “But that should go a long way toward my debt. I hope you’ll accept it back.”

  Duncan stared down at the gemstone, twirled it this way and that between his thumb and index finger. “I don’t know, Iz.”

  “Well, figure it out. Put me on a payment plan for the balance still due, if you want.”

  He shot me a blank-eyed stare and the corners of his mouth quirked into a grin. “Are you serious?”

  “You can go back to Santa Barbara if you want. I’ll make sure to send the check on time each month,” I supplied.

  “This is ridiculous.”

  “No, it’s not! I’ve thought this out extensively.”

  “Not the payment plan, although for God’s sake, put that out of your mind. I mean this.” He gestured to the empty space. “Us.”

  “What about us?” I wanted to know.

  “Five days ago we were getting married. Now you’re telling me to move on and giving me your blessing to be happy. I’m freaking out a little,” he admitted.

  “You deserve some happiness, just like I do.” I rose then, knees creaking. “I’m planning on spending some time figuring out what I want to do.”

  Duncan stopped me with a single tap on the shoulder. “You’re not mad?”

  As hard as it was to believe. “No, I’m not.”

  “You’re in love.”

  A flush rose from the base of my neck upward. “Shut up about it, all right?”

  Duncan chuckled, resting his brow briefly on the crown of my head. “Whatever he did, forgive him. As much as I messed up, I still know you.”

  “Everyone thinks they know me,” I complained.

  “Don’t punish yourself. He loves you, too.”

  Breath stuck in my throat and I couldn’t stop staring at the floor, head reeling. “This is not the conversation I came here to have. It took a lot of effort to act civilized.”

  “And your effort is more than I deserve. Duly noted.”

  My lips curved. “I’m glad you noticed.”

  “Be happy, Miss Cook. Don’t let me or anyone else—” emphasis on any “—stand in your way.”

  I turned to regard him over my shoulder, felt his strength at my back for the last time. With a final pat of those overlarge knuckles, I made my way to the door and closed it behind me.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  When I was growing up, an oak tree fell in the woods near our house and, contrary to the metaphorical riddle, everyone heard it go down. The ground trembled and smaller trees crumbled beneath its might. My father considered cutting up the trunk for fire-wood, but Mom liked the prospect of leaving it to rot. Not a waste, she explained, but a home. A place for little forest animals to hide.

  It lay there still, with vines burrowing in, around, and through the wormy depths and piles of dead bark and leaves on the forest floor.

  I crossed to the log, my private thinking spot, and sat amidst the weeds and vines. The house had come along nicely, I decided, better than I’d dared to hope. Hank took me through each room on his final walkthrough, commenting on projects completed and future work needing to be done. The kitchen, whole and clean, stood waiting for my personal touches.

  Stoneware on the countertop, new knobs on the cabinet doors, and well-placed pops of color would add to the decor. I found myself looking forward to the prospect.

  Hank thanked me for my business and bid me adieu until next time. I pushed the thought from my mind and went for a walk instead. Now I was alone, at one with the silence of the woods and free to do whatever I pleased. My abused but mending psyche loved the quiet.

  And was forced to resign itself to the faint sound of footsteps coming steadily closer.

  “You can stop trying to soften your steps. You walk like a bear; I heard you from a mile away.” I let my chin lean heavily in my palm.

  Twigs cracked as August came closer. “I was trying to be respectful,” he said, keeping his voice low. “I know what this spot means to you.”

  “Then you already know you’re violating it by being here.”

  He looked more handsome than he had a right to be, a fairy king surveying his kingdom. The afternoon light was kind to him and fell on each angle of his face. Basked his features in golden rays.

  August cocked his head to the side. “I wanted to talk.”

  “Obviously.”

  “You’ve been ignoring my calls.”

  “A person tends to ignore a lot of things when they feel angry and betrayed,” I told him, bringing my gaze up to his.

  “I’m not giving up. I’ll win you eventually, Isabel,” he continued.

  “How do you expect to do that? More than likely I’ll scream and have you in jail the moment I can get to a phone,” I threatened weakly.

  “No. You would have done that already.”

  My head reeled from his nearness. “There’s always time later.”

  “Later I plan on kissing you. Again and again and again.”

  I watched him reach for me and stop, returning his hand to his side. “You can’t come here and talk shit. What makes you think I want your kisses? Hmm?”

  “Believe me, I’ve been pondering the situation.” He came up beside me and sat close. Too close. I refrained from scooting away even though I wanted, needed, some space between us.

  “Let me go, A
ugust.” I shook my head. “There’s no hope for us and don’t expect me to change my mind.”

  “I’m not expecting you to change your mind in a few minutes, because I already know how you feel.”

  “Then you know I’m not willing to discuss this any longer.”

  August held up two fingers and waggled them. “I know two things for certain. I love you. You love me.”

  “Those may be true, but thank God I’ll survive them both,” I answered, hiding my shaking fingers beneath my legs.

  “You’re not leaving here until I convince you otherwise.”

  A wave of dry laughter erupted before I could squash it down. “That’s hysterical. We’ll be here until the end of time.”

  “It’s not a matter of hysterics, now, so you hush.” He swiveled onto his knees in front of me, kneeling in the forest debris, and grabbed my wrists before I could react.

  “You better let go of me right now, August McKenney,” I warned.

  He pressed his lips to my skin instead, the scoundrel. “I’m never letting you go again. I never should have let you walk out that day. I definitely shouldn’t have driven you here and left you alone, despite my shortcomings.”

  “Your shortcomings are pretty damn big.” My skin burned where he touched it, as though each caress were made of fire. I’d finally figured out where I belonged, but after thirty-four years of fighting it, now I couldn’t look him in the face. It was a terrible tragedy.

  I tried to push him away but he kept hold of my wrists.

  “I know, and I will spend the rest of our lives making it up to you, Isabel.”

  There he went with the name again, the whole of it drawn out and warm and exotic. I tried again to shove at him, halfheartedly, though he still refused to budge.

  “A stupid pledge,” I told him. “You meddled in my life over a stupid pledge we made when we were twelve.” I managed to jerk free the hand where a slight scar still lingered from the blood pact he and I had made so long ago. “That’s sick. You’re sick.”

  He shot me a devil-may-care grin designed to flip my heart over. “I may be sick, but I’m also empty without you. I should have come right out and told you how I felt, shouted it from the mountaintops, but I was scared. I was a stupid boy with no concept of how to conduct a healthy relationship.”

  I made a sound of agreement. “You still don’t, buddy, because this is not exactly romantic. I can think of several other, grander gestures than confessing your deceit to my boobs.”

  “And what nice boobs they are.” August spoke with a straight face and I couldn’t help but chuckle.

  “We have to be the weirdest people on the face of the planet. You know it’s true, right?”

  August reached up and stroked my hair. “We may be weird, but can we at least be weird together? Duncan was not the right man for you.”

  “Duncan is a great person. Despite his little…mishap,” I admitted.

  “I heard from him the other day. We spoke about what happened. About Leda.”

  “Ugh.”

  “They’re are taking it slow. Seeing how it plays out between them, although she feels like there’s something good between them. A real connection.”

  “How wonderful,” I retorted. “And if you’re trying to seduce me by bringing up my ex-fiancé, I’ll stop you right now. Wrong direction.”

  “I’m letting you know that everyone is okay.” August glanced down at our hands. Somewhere in the course of our conversation they’d combined until our fingers linked together, palm to palm.

  “I want to be furious with you,” I told him. “After the tears dried and I thought of the countless ways to make you hurt as much as I did. I wanted to tell you to shove that job offer right up your ass and be done with everything.”

  “Paul is still waiting on your call. I told him to be patient with you. I told him it’s my fault you’re upset and I got myself in some pretty hot water.”

  “You did, and I’m not sure how to get you out of it.”

  “Just love me, Isabel.”

  My name again, said in the way only August managed. My skin shivered from the sound of it, how it rolled over me with the softness of a whisper and the power of a gale-force wind.

  August placed a chaste kiss on my palm. “Just love me.”

  I knew it wouldn’t be that easy. Life never was, though I could hope—hope for the life we should have led all along.

  My voice wavered. “I suppose I can do that.”

  August’s fingers stayed strong when he raised them to my cheek. “There’s one more thing.”

  “Yeah? I hate to ask.” I tightened my hold on him, never wanted to let go.

  “I want to amend our original agreement.”

  Something in me tilted precariously, but I let go and decided to trust August. “Will we have to go through another blood pact?”

  “Well, it depends,” he replied solemnly.

  “On what?”

  “On whether or not you agree to the amendment.”

  A smile began to blossom before I could contain it. “Which is…”

  “If neither one of us meets the person we want to marry by the time we’re thirty-six, then why don’t we marry each other?” He smiled at me. “What do you say?”

  I wanted to laugh at the strange way it all circled back. To this man, to this place. To everything.

  He drew me close to him, tears burning my eyes and my heart overflowing with love.

  I nodded. “Sure.”

  THE END

  AFTERWORD

  Thank you very much for reading and I hope you enjoyed Hold Me. The story continues with Leda and Duncan’s tale in Touch Me. If you have a spare moment to leave a review, it would be much appreciated! Reviews help new readers find my work, along with providing helpful feedback for my writing. Also, why not enjoy updates and freebies? Join my newsletter to learn about upcoming releases, available titles, teasers, and more! Please feel free to sign up at www.breaviragh.com or follow on Facebook and Twitter.

  You can post your review for this book HERE.

  Click HERE to purchase

  and read on for a peek at Chapter One

  CHAPTER ONE

  “I have a proposition for you, Leda. Hear me out before you say anything.” From the shadows, August McKenney smiled sweetly—more than sweetly. He had one of those few-and-far-between smiles, each inch sweet and encouraging—a smile only seen on the rare individual.

  We’d known each other since my first music festival, the same year I moved from South Carolina into the rural wilderness of the Blue Ridge Mountains. I’d volunteered as a stage manager—a position I’d never accept again because it wasn’t worth the effort—and helped coordinate the acts so the audience remained peaceful. Nothing like a crowd of restless natives who hadn’t showered for days.

  A last-minute cancellation left me in the lurch. Without a backup plan, August and his available band, the Heartwood Harmonics, stepped in to save the day. I’d been out of my mind with joy and agreed to whatever he desired to fill the empty slot and save myself from the frustrated festival attendees.

  The sun blazed high overhead, and sweat formed along my spine, dampening my tank top, trickling between my breasts and pooling in uncomfortable places. Summer. I know children loved the free days and lazy nights, but I was much more of a winter gal myself. Even at our high mountain altitude, the hazy humidity settled in. The air became heavy, with each breath a struggle, a weight pressing down on the lungs. It turned me into a couch potato.

  I could only imagine how the lower states baked. It was too hot.

  But the telephone had chimed and urged me deeper into the country. Along winding two-lane roads with my feet pushing the pedal to the floor. All because August McKenney said we needed to talk in person. More than a friend, he was family. And when family called, you went.

  “You listening to me, woman?” August asked. “Earth to Leda!”

  Leaning against the shed wall, I fired a grin at him, usin
g a hand to block the sun’s devilish rays. My poor, adorable, single friend who was more like a brother than any I’d ever had. We were two old poet souls living in the same small town.

  “I’m here. What’s this proposition about?” I sounded too sweet, too Southern, not enough backbone. The next sentence I tried to rid my tone of its honeyed softness. “I shudder to ask.”

  August sent me another slow, lazy smile that moved his freckles, his hands running a fine chisel over the back of a guitar-in-progress. His fingers caressed the wood as one would a lover, with all the tenderness and care of his profession. A luthier. Was there a great demand for such items anymore, in this day and age? There was in this county.

  “I’m calling in my favor now, Leda,” he said. “Think what you will, but I need your help.”

  Something in his tone voice pulled at my heartstrings. I’d never been able to resist August when he asked for help. Though I couldn’t let him know that.

  My response came at a snail's pace. “I should never have agreed to come out here today. Who knows what kind of god-awful scheme you’ve concocted! You’ll have me running across state lines to fetch you a new tool. Or hauling through the woods for a fallen tree you can’t carry alone.” All this accompanied by a shake of my head.

  Though he laughed, there was tension in the sound. Why, I wondered.

  “You’re thinking too literal. Who has the pea brain now?”

  It was our running joke. I adored teasing him, more often than not because August gave as well as he got. It made for a fun and easy relationship. Unlike the time my grandmother overhead me complaining about a girl at school and made a face. Apparently, according to Grannie Lou, I was unapproachable.

  The silence continued a tad too long. I rubbed my slickened forehead. “Too literal? Now I’m scared. Tell me what you have in mind? Before I make myself sick with anticipation.”

  “My best friend is moving back into town.” August continued to sand, with no indication toward elaborating right away. He enjoyed the expectation and making me wait.

  I melted in the boiling sun. The interior of his shop offered no respite from the heat. The small studio was filthy on the best of days, the four honey-colored walls crowded with half-finished projects and boxes waiting for shipment. At least outside I had a better chance of catching a breeze. Wind whipped around the side of the shed where he created, bringing with it the sounds of birds, bees, and summer creatures, all at home in the fields and brush.