Just One Look - Leah and Lance (Crossroads Book 15)

by Melanie Shawn

  He tried to do just that, thinking that she’d get out of the way. But in true Leah form, she didn’t do what he expected. She stayed in place, lifted her chin high so that she was staring in his eyes and took a deep breath.

  “I know it’s not your home.” Her eyes were searching his and he felt like she could see his soul. “But it can be. I want it to be.”

  Lance was sure his heart couldn’t break any more than when he’d heard that he’d never get the dexterity back in his right hand. But he was wrong. Hearing those words come out of her annihilated his heart. Because he knew he couldn’t stay. He had to leave. He didn’t have a choice.

  It wasn’t Leah’s fault that he’d never be able to tattoo again, but he knew if he stayed there, she would think his anger and frustration was about her. And he knew there was no way that he’d be able to hide what he was feeling. Not from Leah. She saw his soul.

  On top of all of that, he had some serious shit he needed to deal with. His life, the life he’d built for himself, was over. He didn’t even know who he was without tattooing.

  “You might not remember this, but when you got shot, I told you I love you.”

  He remembered. He’d heard her saying it over and over when he was in and out of consciousness in the hospital. He wasn’t sure if it was in his dreams or not. But he clearly remembered her saying it when she’d seen he’d been shot.

  “I mean it Lance. I love you. I want this.” She waved her hand in the air separating them. “I want to be an ‘us’. I want to at least try. I’ve never felt the way I feel about you. I didn’t even think people could feel the way I feel about you.”

  Hearing her pour out her heart, saying all the things he wanted to hear, was a special brand of torture. He wanted to tell her that he felt the same way, but what would be the point?

  If he stayed, he’d just hurt her worse.

  “I have to go.” It pained him to say those words, but he knew that he didn’t have an alternative. Leah was fierce and stubborn in her convictions. If she thought that he loved her, that he wanted to be with her, she’d never let him walk out that door.

  “So that’s it. You’re just going to leave like nothing happened between us?”

  “Look, Leah. You didn’t even want to date anyone—”

  “No!” She pointed her finger and jabbed him in the chest. “Do not put this on me. This is not about me. This is about you being chicken shit. This is not about me!”

  “You’re right,” he stated calmly. “It’s not about you.”

  With that, he grabbed his bag and walked down the hall. He put her key on the table and walked out the door. The door that he’d fixed just that morning because he’d had a gut feeling he wouldn’t have another chance. And he’d been right. He was walking away from Leah, from this house, from the town and he wasn’t looking back. It was the only way he knew how to survive this.

  Chapter 27

  ONE MONTH LATER

  “Look, Trigger. This is going to go a lot easier if you just relax.”

  Leah held the tiny demon dog in place as he tried to spin around and nip at her. His nose twitched, baring his teeth as he growled.

  “I could be done already if you’d just chill out,” she responded, as if he could understand English.

  “If you want me to take over, just let me know,” Bea offered, clearly treading lightly.

  Leah hadn’t been in the best of moods for the past month. She knew her sister was walking on eggshells around her, and she felt bad about that. She didn’t want to be an emotional minefield. But it seemed the slightest thing would irritate or frustrate her.

  “No. It’s okay.”

  Leah took a deep breath and did her best to calm her emotions and get in the right mindset to finish grooming the demon dog. He sensed that she wasn’t in her alpha state and he was taking full advantage of her vulnerability.

  Leah was emotionally and physically exhausted. Her sleep had been sporadic at best. She had no energy and no will to rally.

  Getting over Lance was proving to be much more difficult than she could’ve ever predicted. She’d gone through all the stages of grief since he left. At first she’d been in total denial. She’d truly believed that he would show up on her doorstep and tell her that he was in love with her and couldn’t live without her.

  Next up, anger. She spent a good few days furious. She’d been so mad she could spit thinking about him walking out on her. That had been her favorite stage. She’d done a lot of anger cleaning and organizing. She’d never been as productive in her whole life.

  After that, she’d tried bargaining with God, the universe, fate. Whoever or whatever had brought Lance into her life in the first place. She’d promised to give up wine and murder shows if he would just come back. She had no idea why God, the universe, or fate would give two shits about her drinking wine and watching murder shows, but she was just trying to demonstrate how serious she was.

  When that didn’t work, she spiraled into depression. There was one week that she hadn’t gotten out of bed or showered, and she’d barely eaten. She had no appetite. She’d dropped ten pounds in the past month. She guessed heartache was a good diet.

  But now she felt like she’d moved on to the acceptance phase. She’d been sleeping better, and was getting her appetite back. She was at the point now that she just wanted to get on with her life. She needed to pick herself up, dust herself off, and start living again.

  Lance made his choice and there was nothing she could do about that. She wasn’t mad anymore, or even trying to plot ways to get him back. She didn’t hate him or cry when she thought about him. Now, she just wanted him to be happy, and if that wasn’t with her, so be it.

  But she did miss him. She didn’t think she’d ever grow out of that phase. She missed his smile. She missed the way he looked at her. She missed his hands touching her. She missed the feeling that she got when he was near her. She felt safe, protected, and home.

  She hadn’t talked to him since he left. She’d messaged him a few times and he wrote back one-word responses. She had, however, talked to his nonna, several times. That woman was a hilarious. Nonna said that he was walking around like something crawled up his butt and died. She also said that he’d been doing PT, which Leah was happy to hear. Even if they weren’t together, she wanted him to be able to be the man that he was meant to be, and tattooing was his destiny.

  She just needed to figure out a way to put Lance behind her so she could be the best woman she could be and live her destiny. If only it didn’t hurt as bad as it did. Her entire body ached. It was like she had the flu. Even knowing that her symptoms were psychosomatic didn’t make them easier to deal with.

  Her mind was a million miles away and Trigger took advantage of her distraction. While she was brushing his hind legs, he whipped around and nipped her. This time he made contact.

  “Sss,” she sucked in air through clenched teeth and pulled her hand back.

  “Did he break the skin?” Her sister asked, already reaching for the first aid kit they kept behind the counter.

  “No. But he left a mark.” Leah showed her sister the tiny red indentions.

  “Let me finish him up.” Bea scooted behind the station.

  Leah moved to the side. “I’m sorry, Bea.”

  “It’s no big deal. I don’t mind,” her sister chirped.

  “I’m not talking about Trigger. I’m talking about Jordan.” Going through what she’d been through with Lance had given her an entirely new level of empathy for what her sister had suffered.

  Bea’s forehead creased. “What about him?”

  “When he died, I just…I tried to be there for you but I had no idea how much pain you must’ve been in. That night at the hospital when I was waiting for Lance to get out of surgery…I just…I don’t know what I would’ve done if he hadn’t made it.” Leah felt herself getting choked up, and the last thing she needed was to cry more tears over a man that had walked out of her life and not turned back.r />
  “But he did.” Bea reassured her sister. “He did make it.”

  “I know. I know he did. But I keep remembering seeing that blood. And thinking about what could have happened.”

  “I think you need to talk to someone.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “No, Leah. You’re not. You’ve been through a traumatic event and you need to talk to someone. A therapist can give you tools to deal with what you’re feeling. Look how much better I did after I started therapy.”

  “I don’t know how you did it.” Lance was alive and Leah was having a hell of a time trying to go on with her life. She was doing everything she could to try and move forward, but she felt like her feet were cemented in the past. They’d only spent a few weeks together and she couldn’t seem to move past it. Bea had been with Jordan for over a decade and was planning on spending the rest of her life with him and then he was just gone. “How did you do it?”

  “I had you. You didn’t give me a choice. Remember, about a month after he was gone, you started boxing up the apartment, handed me a map and told me to choose where we were moving. Then you asked me if I could do anything, what would it be. I told you that I always dreamt of us owning a pet shop together. You said okay, let’s do it.”

  She unhooked Trigger from the lead leash that was tethering him in place on the table and set him in the play area. “We moved here and opened this place. It saved me. You saved me.”

  Leah remembered that Bea wouldn’t leave her room, she’d just laid in bed in Jordan’s clothes. She wouldn’t eat. She barely slept. It was like her sister was in a nightmare she couldn’t wake up from. Leah had just wanted to wake her up. “I was just trying to distract you.”

  “Well, it worked. But I’ve been thinking lately, this was my dream. Not yours. What is your dream?”

  Leah sighed. She’d actually been thinking a lot about that question herself. “Actually, rescuing Thor made me start thinking. Remember when we were kids and I was always rescuing—”

  “Everything,” Bea nodded, a wide smile on her face. “I remember the time you had a blind bunny, a three-legged dog, and a cat with one ear. You kept them all in the playhouse until you found homes for all of them. Remember those flyers that you made?”

  Leah’s head fell back and she laughed. She’d totally forgotten about the flyers she used to make. Since it was before kids had cell phones with cameras on them, or computers, she would trace whatever animal it was on twenty or so pieces of notebook paper, and then make Bea color them with her. Then she’d go hand them out at the mall, or random neighborhoods that weren’t close to her house so her parents’ wouldn’t find out.

  She’d do that every Saturday until she found the animal a home or one of her nannies would rat her out.

  “I love owning this place with you.” Leah took a deep breath. “It’s great. But I was thinking, maybe we could open up a rescue that we could run along with this.”

  “Yes!” Bea exclaimed. “I love that idea. Maybe we can talk to Oscar about renting out the top floor since…”

  Leah knew what her sister was about to say. She was going to say since Lance wasn’t using it anymore.

  “I’m sorry!” Bea slapped her hand over her mouth. “I didn’t mean to…we can find another space.”

  “It’s fine. And I love that idea.”

  It was time for Leah to start living for Leah. And what better life was there than rescuing animals, who she knew would really be rescuing her?

  Chapter 28

  Lance was overwhelmed with emotion as he held his tattoo machine in his hand for the first time since he’d been shot. It was hovering over his forearm, where he planned on giving himself a simple cross tattoo. His palms were sweaty and he set the machine down, removed his gloves, and wiped his hands on his jeans.

  He needed to calm his nerves before attempting to pull a straight line, even if he was only tattooing on himself. There was only one way to find out if he’d still be able to do the one thing in his life that had given him any sort of pride.

  Since returning to Florida, he’d immersed himself in rehab. He’d seen specialists who’d all said the same thing at first: he only had about a ten percent chance of regaining the control and dexterity he’d once had. The general consensus was that he would likely regain about fifty percent.

  For most people that would be fine. But not for Lance. He wasn’t going to tattoo again unless he could do so at the level and expertise that he’d achieved before the shooting. There was no point in putting out work that didn’t live up to the Lance James standard.

  But his latest tests had shown that his muscles and nerves were responding as if there was no damage. There was a very good chance that he was part of the ten percent. He knew there was only one way to find out. He had to start the machine and see what happened. He didn’t expect perfection immediately, but if he couldn’t even pull a straight line five weeks after his surgery, the chances of him recovering fully were slim to none.

  He heard Leah’s voice in his head, telling him to suck it up and just do it. He knew if she were there, she would be demanding that he get back up on the horse. She wouldn’t care what the outcome was. If he fell on his ass, she’d be there to pick him up. And if he couldn’t ride anymore, she’d tell him it was fine, and she would walk by his side until he found another horse to ride.

  She’d told him she loved him and he believed her. And then he’d walked out of her life. He hadn’t wanted to burden her with his issues, or make her feel like any of it was her fault. But he was starting to realize, after several lectures from Nonna, and a hell of a lot of soul searching, that what he really should’ve done was stay and talk to her about what he was feeling.

  Nonna had told him that was what a man does. She said that’s what his nonno had done. When his grandfather returned from the war, with a medical discharge he’d thought his life was over. All he’d ever wanted to be was a soldier and he didn’t know what he was going to do with a bum leg.

  He’d tried to leave Nonna so she could find someone who could support her and she’d told him to get over himself. That he was just feeling sorry for himself, and that a man wouldn’t just think about himself. She’d said that she loved him and that he’d made a promise to her that she was going to make sure he kept.

  She’d worked as a seamstress while he apprenticed as a carpenter. It wasn’t long until he opened his own furniture store in Brooklyn, which Lance’s uncle still ran to this day.

  That was love, Nonna said. She said that love was about sharing life’s burdens, not shielding the person you love from them. It was about a partnership. A team. She said that she knew he’d found that in Leah and if he didn’t remove his head from his backside, he was going to lose it.

  She was right. He did have that in Leah. She hated hospitals, yet she’d stayed by his side the entire time he was there. She wasn’t a natural nurturer, but she’d tried her best to cook and clean up after him when he’d been recuperating. He loved her and she loved him.

  He stared down at the machine and realized it didn’t matter if he could tattoo the way he used to. He would figure out what he’d do next. The only thing that mattered to him was being able to figure it out with Leah. She was his partner. His teammate. She was his love. She was his home.

  He just hoped it wasn’t too late. He hoped that he’d removed his head from his ass before she’d moved on.

  “Hello?” A female voice came from the front of his shop.

  Shit. He’d been so anxious when he came in that he must’ve forgotten to lock the door. Lance stood and saw a striking woman who looked to be in her late twenties or early thirties standing at the counter. She had long dark hair, olive skin, and haunting blue eyes. There was something familiar about her but Lance couldn’t place where he’d seen her before. He wondered if she’d messaged him about a session on Instagram. He hadn’t responded to anyone during his rehabilitation, but he’d read the messages.

  “Sorry. We’re closed
.”

  “Oh.” She jumped, obviously startled at the sound of his voice and looked over at him nervously. “Um, I’m not here for a tattoo.”

  Lance waited for her to continue, but she didn’t say anything. She licked her lips and fidgeted with her purse.

  “Can I help you with something?” Lance’s question sounded much shorter and clipped than he’d meant it to. He wasn’t trying to be a dick, but he’d wasted enough time being away from Leah. He didn’t want to waste another second.

  The woman took a deep breath and closed her eyes. When she opened them, she said, “My name is Marisela Ortega, my father was Arturo Ortega.”

  Oh fuck.

  Now he knew why this woman looked so familiar. Marisela Ortega was Arturo Ortega’s oldest daughter. He remembered her particularly because she was fourteen, the same age that he’d been. She’d come to court with her siblings and her mom every day for his trial. She was so young at the time and now she was a grown woman. And her father had missed all of it because of Lance.

  Lance stayed where he was, unsure of what to say. I’m sorry didn’t seem like enough. But not saying anything at all didn’t feel right either.

  “I hope you don’t mind me showing up like this.” Her mouth turned up in a half smile.

  “No!” Lance shook his head. “Of course not. Can I get you something? A soda, water?”

  “Water would be great. I came here straight from the airport.”

  Lance went to the back of the shop. His hands were shaking when he opened the fridge and grabbed her a bottle of water. He wasn’t sure what she had to say to him, but he would take it. If she wanted to cuss him out, call him names, tell him he ruined her and her family’s lives, he would sit and listen and take it. He wished he could take all of her pain, just absorb it and carry it. He knew he couldn’t do that, but he could listen.