Melt For Him

by Lauren Blakely

  With a trembling hand, she wrote a note.

  Then she left, hopped on her bike, and rode, drowning out the noises in her head and the guilt in her heart as the wind dried her tears.

  Chapter Twenty

  Eleven hours later, Becker was dirty, wrung-out, and sore. The fire in the old furniture warehouse had been a vicious one, tearing across the building, all the tables and chairs becoming kindling that fed the flames. More than thirty men from stations all around the county had been called in to battle the blaze, and still it had taken more than half a day to put out the molten beast.

  As dusk descended on Hidden Oaks, he pulled into his driveway, cut the engine, and rested his head against the back of the seat. He could barely move. The thought of opening the car door and walking up the front steps felt Herculean. But he’d promised himself that he’d call Megan as soon as he was inside, and the prospect of hearing her voice was all he needed to get his tired body out of the truck.

  Just to listen to her for a minute, as he collapsed on the couch and drifted off into sleep, was a balm to his soul, so he held on to that thought as he trudged up to his front door, unlocked it wearily, and yawned once he stepped inside. A yawn that seemed to last for years and threatened to slam his eyelids down. But somehow he made it up his steps as he fumbled through his contacts on his phone, looking for her number. He found it as he walked into the kitchen. He hit dial and waited. Then he noticed a plate of brownies as it rang. And rang. And rang.

  There was a note folded in two on top of the brownies. A sense of peace rippled through his bones. She’d left him a note that first night, and she’d kept doing it. It was her thing, and he loved that he was part of something deeply meaningful to her. Her art; the way she expressed herself. He opened it, expecting to see a crazy drawing of a llama wearing a suit and a few clever little lines about seeing him again soon. But instead, he found only words. They looked terribly naked against the white paper without her pictures.

  Hi Becker,

  You’re off doing your job right now and my head is a mess, and my heart is shredding. My hands are shaking as I write this. But all I can think about now is losing you. It’s all I see, and all I can picture, and this hurts so much. I know what I’m feeling right now doesn’t compare to how you must have felt when you lost your friends. Maybe that’s why I need to go. Because I DO know what it might feel like if you don’t come back. I DO know what it looks like. I lived it for years. The more time I spend with you, the harder I fall. And the worse it will hurt. Because I’m already in love with you.

  Megan.

  His heart buzzed momentarily with happiness, as he read and reread the last sentence, both beautiful and painful. But the joy was far too short-lived. Because what did it matter if she was in love with him if she wouldn’t let herself be with him? He rubbed a soot-covered hand over his jaw and shook his head. He wished the heaviness he felt inside was just from work. That the sadness was from something else. But it was from her. From the way he cruelly learned how a new kind of missing felt.

  He should have known better. She didn’t settle. She didn’t stay. She picked up and left; she’d done it since she was a kid. Moving through life from town to town, from secret hideout to secret hideout, was her way of dealing with life’s challenges. He should have been prepared for this. He’d always known she was bending to the point of breaking with him. But as he made his way to the closest horizontal surface, knowing all that didn’t stop his chest from hurting and his heart from aching.

  He collapsed onto the couch, too tired to move, too worn out to do anything but ball up the note and toss it down the stairs. He could run and find her today. Or tomorrow. Or the next day. Try to convince her. Prove to her they were worth it. That falling for him wouldn’t be the scariest thing she’d ever do. But that would be a lie. Because being with him was scary to her, and he wanted to respect where she drew the line, even though it hurt like hell.

  It hurt worse than his body felt right now.

  That’s why he pushed himself up from the couch, flashing to the night in his bar when she helped him start to let go of the fear that had clutched at him. He didn’t know that she needed help right now, but he knew one thing about himself that was steady and constant—no matter the outcome, he had to try his hardest.

  She might have left him, but she’d also told him something he couldn’t ignore.

  He stood up and grabbed his keys. He knew where she was.

  …

  She swiped away a final tear. She refused to cry anymore. She’d cried enough on the hours she spent riding around on her bike before she returned to the river. She didn’t deserve to shed tears. Sucking in a deep breath to quiet her aching heart, she tried desperately to pull herself together as the water slipped over rocks. The river didn’t care that she’d come here through the years—to escape, to play, to be alone. The river didn’t need her, but it was always here. It never left; it never went away. It was steady and reliable as it traveled downstream, along the bends and curves in the riverbed, cut over the years by time. The one constant in her life—the one sure thing.

  She drew her knees up to her chest, tucking herself in tight against the cold stone of the rock behind her. She stared at the scene before her, the trees curling their branches over the river, the rocks and paths carved through the woods that hugged the water. In the distance, she spotted a squirrel racing along a low branch, perhaps in hot pursuit of an acorn. She pictured him comically drawn, running on two sturdy little legs, arms outstretched and reaching. She’d surely never ink a squirrel tattoo for someone, but she liked to see the real world in caricature sometimes. That had always helped her to deal, to handle the vacancies she’d felt when she was younger—first her dad, then her mom. They had both been gone in different ways.

  Though she came here alone today after hours and hours on her bike, no pens or sketch pad with her, she outlined the squirrel’s image in her mind, shading in his chest, drawing an oversize tail. The image brought a small smile to her lips. Becker would have liked it. She would have liked giving it to him.

  She cringed. Hearing his name in her head brought a fresh wave of shame through her. She was a coward. She’d run because she couldn’t deal.

  She wanted to ask the river all the questions in her heart. She wanted to know the answers to the fears that gnawed away at her. But there would never be any answers. There was only one person who had the answers for her. As the sun began to fall in the sky, she headed in that direction.

  …

  She hadn’t been at the river. Her bike hadn’t been in the parking lot at the foot of the trail, but he’d still scoured all the secret spots she’d shown him by the rocks, and the water, and along the path. The light was fading as the sun crept behind the hills. He’d known, deep in his gut, that she wasn’t there. But he’d had to check because he’d been so sure he’d find her.

  A cruel possibility swooped down as he walked away from the river. Had she left already for Portland? Megan had it in her, but would she really just leave? Then again, she’d told him about leaving her ex and that had been a swift exit. Was this how she ended things? With a good-bye note, and then she tore out of town? She might already be in Oregon by now, settling in somewhere downtown, finding new friends to connect with, a new place to call her own, until she threw her sparse belongings together once more and moved on to the next town, the itinerant artist, picking up whenever she was ready for a new adventure.

  As darkness inched closer, the shadows playing against the woods, he returned to his truck and drove back to town. He tried Jamie’s house, but she hadn’t heard from Megan and promised she’d let him know when she did. He checked out Travis’s place, but there were no signs of her there, either. Maybe he should have gone to her mom’s first, but it was his last hope, so he saved it for last. This was the closest thing she had to a home, and even though Megan had wanderlust, she also loved her home.

  When he turned onto her mom’s street, he was greeted w
ith a beautiful sight. Her bike in the driveway. He pulled up and turned off his truck. He was about to head straight to the door and knock when he stopped himself. What was he going to say? How was he going to convince her to take a chance on him?

  Sitting in the quiet of his truck, he flicked on the light and reread her note, still wrinkled from when he’d balled it up. What was his grand plan to convince her she could give up all her fears for him? He knew himself well enough to know that he wasn’t going to quit the firehouse. Sure, he’d toyed with the idea and had let his imagination run wild with the possibility of just being a bar owner. But his other job mattered too much to him; it was part of who he was, come hell or high water. It was written in his blood, and imprinted on his heart since he was a kid. Megan had understood deeply when he told her that story. He was a firefighter no matter what, and if he wasn’t willing or able to let go of that, how the hell was he going to convince her to stay with him?

  Her note was clear. She couldn’t be with him.

  But he had something to tell her. She’d always left him notes, some sweet, some sexy, some sad. He needed to do the same. He rooted around in his glove compartment for a piece of paper and a pen, and then scratched out a few quick lines. Then he folded it over, wrote her name on the front, and tucked it safely alongside the oil gauge on her bike.

  …

  The sound of the dryer rattling in the nearby mudroom was oddly comforting to Megan as she crossed and uncrossed her legs, waiting for the tea to steep. She’d already helped her mom unpack, started a load of laundry from the trip, and now moved it over to the dryer. Robert was back at work already at An Open Book, and her mom had brewed a pot of tea. Her mom poured the tea, brought the mugs to the table, and handed one to Megan.

  “Tell me everything. Was the cruise amazing?” Megan asked as she wrapped her hands around the warm ceramic.

  Her mom tilted her head and gave her a quizzical look. “Sweetie, you’ve already asked me that about ten times.”

  “Oh. Yeah, I did,” she admitted. She’d thought this would be easy. But it wasn’t the least bit simple to get the words out, so she’d distracted herself.

  “What’s wrong? You don’t seem like yourself. Is it Jason still? Is that whole thing ending getting you down?”

  Megan managed a bitter laugh. “I wish. I wish it were Jason.”

  Her mom narrowed her eyebrows in question. “What is it that’s getting you down?”

  Megan sighed heavily and slumped in her chair. She pushed a hand through her hair. She’d ridden clear up to Tahoe and back, and the cool air on her face and the wind at her back had done nothing to clear her head or her heart of that man. She ached for Becker, and she hated feeling this way. She wanted him out of her system, far away. But running had done nothing to abate her desire for him.

  “You know our hall, Mom? With all the pictures?”

  She nodded.

  “And how it almost seems as if there are a few years missing?”

  Her mom smiled sadly. “I know, sweetie. I was a mess there for some time.”

  “You were. It’s like you were gone,” she said, keeping her voice steady and strong. They’d talked about her mom’s depression before; they’d come to peace with it. But there was more that needed to be said.

  “I was gone. If I could do anything over in my life, that would be it. I was a shell of a person for a few years there, and they were vital years for you. I know I failed you then,” she said, reaching her hand across the table to grasp Megan’s. She squeezed back. She wasn’t mad at her mom. The time for anger had passed long ago. “I’m glad you had Travis, though. You two were amazing kids, and you really took care of yourselves during a time when I wasn’t capable of it.”

  “I wish you were there for us. I do. And there’s nothing that scares me more in the whole world than becoming like that.”

  Her mom quirked up an eyebrow in question.

  “I love you, but I don’t want to be like you,” Megan said and took a sip of her tea. The simple physical act of drinking the hot beverage kept her steady as they talked.

  “Why would you be like me? You’re strong, and you’ve made it pretty much clear to the entire world that you’re not going to make the same mistake.”

  The word pierced her. Mistake. Was Becker a mistake? If he was, she could let him go. She could be on her bike right now, riding to Portland, finishing up the final details of the calendar from the next state. But she hadn’t managed to cross the California border yet. The wings on her feet weren’t working as well as they used to. They were heavier, keeping her rooted here.

  The weight of the admission was heavy on her shoulders as she whispered, “I already have.”

  Her mom squeezed her hand harder, her eyes full of warmth. “Am I to understand that means you’ve fallen for a firefighter?”

  Megan had never been one to lie to her mom or to hold things back from her. When her mom had come out on the other side of depression, Megan had been right there, ready for her. She told her nearly everything about Becker. She spilled the details of her heart, how he made her feel, how he understood her hopes and dreams, how he encouraged her, how he made her laugh, and most of all, how very much he cared. Her mom scooted her chair closer and wrapped a comforting arm around her daughter’s shoulders. “He sounds pretty fantastic,” she said.

  “He is,” Megan croaked out. “That’s the problem.”

  Her mom nodded sympathetically. “I know. Believe me, I know. Your father was magic to me and I loved him with every ounce of my heart and soul. It’s not easy loving a man like that, is it?”

  A lone tear streaked down Megan’s cheek. She batted the mutinous thing away and shook her head in answer.

  “But as heartbroken as I was, as devastated as I was, I wouldn’t have traded a day with your father. You need to know that, sweetie.” Her mom placed a gentle hand on her chin and made Megan look at her. “I know I wasn’t there for you. I know I checked out, I know I wasn’t around when you needed me to be, and I’m so very sorry. But if it weren’t for your dad, I wouldn’t have you and Travis, and you guys are the best things that ever happened to me. Life can’t be scripted and it can hardly even be planned. And you can’t control who you fall for. Sometimes, you just have to take the risk.”

  Her mother’s words were soft and tender, yet they cut her more sharply than a knife, more deeply than all those lonely nights without Jason when he’d been off loving something more than her. But here was a man who was so much more than Jason. Who’d run into a building to fight a fire.

  She let her choices unfold in front of her. Should she take the risk or let him pass her by? She’d felt so certain when she fled from his house, but now after talking to her mom, she wanted to find a way to be okay with the risk, with the choice she longed to make. She desperately wanted to choose him over fear, but she’d spent so much of her life packing ice around her heart so she could avoid pain.

  “You think I should take this risk, then?”

  “That’s entirely up to you. But all I will tell you is this,” her mom added. “Do I wish I had more time with your father? Yes. Do I regret the time we had? Never. Not a moment of it. He was worth it.”

  Funny, how after all her walls, all her rules, all her rigid guidelines about not getting involved with a fireman, it turned out what she needed most was a man like Becker. The fact that she’d been the only one to say “I’m in love with you” barely crossed her mind. She knew he felt the same. She was as certain of his feelings as she was of her own.

  How stupid had she been to run? How foolish did she have to be to leave him a note saying “I love you, but good-bye”? She was going to prove that she was worthy of him too. She couldn’t just show up on his doorstep and say she was sorry. No, she was going to show him that she was done running, and that she was hooked.

  She wasn’t sure how, but she was going to figure it out.

  There was a knock on the door. For a brief moment, her heart beat in double ti
me, thinking it was Becker. But then the knock played in the rhythm of “Shave and a Haircut.” It was Travis.

  “I invited him for dinner,” her mom said.

  “I’ll let him in,” Megan said, as she left the kitchen and headed to the front door.

  Travis stood in the doorway, brandishing a note. “I saw this on your bike. And I think I know who it’s from.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  With shaky fingers, she began unfolding the paper. She didn’t have to recognize the handwriting on the front to know who it was from. She knew. Her heart lodged itself in her throat as she opened the note.

  Megan,

  I thought you’d be gone by now. But you’re still here, and I want to believe that’s good. Only you can tell me where we go from here. Because here’s the thing—I’m in love with you too.

  Becker

  She looked up at her brother and her mom. Her hands were trembling, and she was sure they could read her every emotion that was ping-ponging through her body as fear turned to hope.

  “Well?” her mom asked.

  “It seems I’m in love with someone who’s in love with me too.”

  She waited for Travis to curse or cringe, to tell her she was foolish. But he didn’t. Instead, he wrapped an arm around her and squeezed her shoulder. “What are we going to do about that, Megan?”

  Surprise took over her features. “You never call me Megan.”

  “I know. But I need to start, since that’s what you prefer. And if you two fools are in love, far be it from me to stop it. Let’s figure this shit out.”

  “Travis,” their mom chided. “Watch your mouth.”

  “Sorry, Mom.”

  “Now, come inside, sit down, have some dinner, and let’s come up with a plan.”

  “Yes, Mom,” she and Travis said in unison, and there was something darn near perfect about this moment—the roles in her family were as they should be. Her brother was her brother, her mother was her mother, and she was her own woman. They were going to help her figure out what to do next. They’d been fractured years before, but now they were a family working together.