by Elise Faber
Yet, he’d asked it anyway.
And when she hadn’t been able to make it, he’d been right back in the past. Lying in the hospital bed, the surgery that was supposed to have pieced him back together just complete, the IV still in his arm, the pain medicine making his brain hazy.
Caterina tugging the rings from her finger.
The clink as they’d been set on the faux wood table in the corner of the room.
The pull of his skin on the staples as he’d tried to shove his elbows beneath himself, tried to sit up. The agony when he’d shifted toward her, blasting away any relief from the morphine.
And the look on her face when she’d left.
As though he were the most pitiful creature she’d ever laid eyes on.
That had been in Lexi’s eyes, though she wasn’t cruel, wouldn’t give a promise she might potentially break. Instead, he’d seen the pity . . . and the hurt.
That was nearly as bad as the self-loathing, the feelings of being unworthy.
He’d hurt her.
The one promise he’d made. To not lie.
And though it hadn’t been a direct one, he was guilty of lying by omission, of deliberately avoiding talking about the past and his injury and Caterina . . .
Because it hurt.
But nothing hurt more than seeing the pain in Lexi’s eyes, the pain he’d caused.
So he drove, aimlessly, the grip of dawn firmly yanking the night into day, and he didn’t feel any better. Not as he drove out of town, slowed a bit by the early morning rush hour traffic, nor as he pulled into the gravel parking lot, nor as he walked along the quiet trail, the trees’ branches intertwined like lovers’ hands overhead, nor as the hush of mother nature closed in around him.
He needed to find some way to get Lexi to forgive him, to understand, to . . . terror gripped him, pushing right through the heavy, creeping amber that had dripped over him, encasing his heart, his mind, his limbs in a slow, stifling death.
He’d begged her not to leave.
And he’d gone instead.
Like they had.
So what if she couldn’t promise to stay with him? Who gave a fuck, if she had pity in her gaze, if part of her thought he was pathetic? Yes, it stung. But it wasn’t anything he didn’t feel himself, and if he could compartmentalize it away, then he could do the same with her looking at him that way.
It wouldn’t be easy.
It would burn like the bile scalding the back of his throat in this moment, understanding for the first time in hours that he might have blown his chance with the woman who lived in his heart.
And that hurt with an intensity that made her pity feel like a light spring breeze.
He would take any part of her she was willing to give.
He would crawl. He would beg. He . . . would give up everything for her.
Because some part of him, a quiet whisper buried under the shards of the past, understood that she would never ask him to do that. She, who had been hurt and left broken, who’d stitched herself into something beautiful and wonderful, would never ask that of him.
The realization had his feet stalling, the scrape of his now-ruined dress shoes on the dirt loud in the nearly silent forest.
The wind shifted, bringing a scent he recognized. Or maybe, he caught the glimpse out of the corner of his eye, his gaze moving from his wrecked shoes and up beyond the trail.
Or perhaps, he’d felt it in his heart. Felt her there.
From the moment he’d seen her those two years before. And again, now. And all the time in between.
Because Lexi stood in their clearing.
Run.
He needed to run.
Chapter Forty-One
Lexi
He’d gone so still.
And then he’d moved like the wind, running again.
Only this time, he was running toward her, tearing across the meadow—their meadow—and closing the distance between them almost faster than she could process, skidding to a stop in front of her, bits of grass and moisture flying up around them.
It had taken mere heartbeats, and yet, his chest rose and fell like he’d run a marathon.
“Lexi,” he murmured, reaching a hand up, tentative, almost as though she were merely an apparition, but then his fingers touched her cheek, and she watched the panic slide out of his expression.
“I’m here,” she said, covering his hand with her own. “And I’m not going anywhere.”
His lips parted, a breath sliding out.
“How?” he whispered, and she didn’t think he was referring to how she’d found him—thank you, Find My iPhone, and the fact that they’d long ago linked their cells on the tracking app.
“I love you,” she answered. “More than anything.”
That seemed to unstick him. “I should have told you,” he said, his fingers flexing on her cheek, his body coming closer. “I don’t know why I didn’t. I”—his eyes darted away—“I guess it was done with, and so I just wanted to not think about it and—”
“It hurt,” she whispered.
Another breath, this one grazing her cheekbone.
He nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “It hurt, and I buried it deep. Because . . . I’d trusted Caterina, and she shoved me down when I was at my lowest.”
“I’m sorry,” she said softly.
“You have absolutely nothing to apologize for.” He stepped back and thrust a hand through his hair. “I’m the one who didn’t tell you. I’m the one who ran away.”
“Bullshit.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll give you that you ran.” It wasn’t like she could say he hadn’t, not when she’d literally had to chase him down on the app, but, “I didn’t give you a reason to stay.” She placed her hand on his chest. “You fought for me for two and a half years. Fought to make a space for yourself in my life, fought to be my friend, my best friend. You’ve been there for me, over and over again, and never once did you ask anything of me.”
That was what pained her now.
He’d supported her, had literally held her more times than she could count while she fell apart.
And, never, never had he expected anything in return.
She’d thought it was because he was a generous man—and he certainly was that—but now, she understood that it was more than that.
He didn’t expect anything in return. Not just because he was giving, but because some part of him thought he wasn’t worthy of it.
Her breath slid through her, a slow inhale-exhale.
She’d had her moments of that same despair, of not feeling worthy, and he’d held her tight until she’d found her own value, until she’d stitched herself back together.
Now, she needed to help him do the same, to heal a wound so old he’d almost forgotten about the injury it had done to his heart.
Until she’d shoved it in his face.
So, two things for her to be guilty about.
Two things she couldn’t do a damn thing about now, not really. She couldn’t take it back. She could only do her best to make it right.
“I’m sorry,” she said then added, placing a finger to his mouth when she saw the protest form on his lips at her apology, “Let me say this?”
He nodded.
She took a breath then said, “You give the appearance of an open book, of someone to take totally at face value. And you are that man, in so many ways,” she hurried to say, when a trickle of hurt crept into his emerald eyes. “You are what you seem. Wonderful and kind, on the surface and beneath.” She shifted closer. “You are my friend—the best one I’ve ever had.”
“But,” he said before she could.
“But, you’re also responsible.” She grinned when he blinked, confusion drifting into his face. “And truly, it’s not a bad thing. I just think that sometimes you take on so much responsibility for everything, even things that aren’t your fault, or not entirely your fault, anyway, and I think that sense of responsi
bility . . . does damage.”
He inhaled sharply.
“And I know—I know—that a marriage takes two people to hold it together, two to tear it apart.”
Fury in his eyes. “Caleb—”
“Is an asshole,” she interrupted. “But he wasn’t the only one in the marriage, and if I’d been more honest with myself, I would have understood what wasn’t working before things went as far as they did. I was gripping, holding tight to a happy memory, onto the safety and comfort the marriage brought.” She slipped her arms around his shoulders, leaned against him. “And I wasn’t looking beneath. But it was there,” she whispered. “The fractures were present. I just couldn’t see them.”
“Like the ones inside me,” he said, holding her tight. “It was so long ago that I thought I was long past the pain. I didn’t realize how much it still hurt, how much I’d avoided anything that might be a deep connection with a woman. Until you. Until you became the most important thing in my life.”
“And until you thought that I was going to leave you.” Like Caterina had.
Throat working, he nodded. “She . . . it . . . the breakup was brutal.”
She wanted to ask what had happened, but she was content to wait, content to just know what he’d given her already, to understand what was in his heart, and to be patient for him to be ready to share.
But he gave her the rest without hesitation now.
“I was devastated, my career imploding, my body broken, and she left me right after I came out of the second surgery, after the first one failed. My knee hadn’t healed right, so the surgeons went in again,” he added when her brows went up. “I remember waking up, staples in my knee, and watching her take off the rings, setting them on the table.”
She gripped his hand but didn’t speak.
And he kept going.
“She said she hadn’t signed up to take care of a husband. She’d married me because I could take care of her.”
Fucking. Bitch.
Luc was one of the most caring people she had ever met, and she didn’t think that was a quality he’d developed later in life. His kindness and generosity were intrinsic to his being, and she’d been on the receiving end of that often enough to understand it was just part of who Luc was.
He didn’t think about it.
He just was.
And for that bitch to not be willing to reciprocate that same care had Lexi’s blood boiling.
He went on, “She’d cleaned out our bank account by the time I made it home from the hospital and served me with divorce papers even before the stitches were removed.”
“So, you lost your career and your marriage, all in one fell swoop.”
He nodded.
Lexi burrowed deeper into the circle of his arms. “But you’re not going to lose me, baby,” she promised, leaning back enough to see his face. “I see you for who you are inside, and I love that man.”
His nostrils flared.
His hands tightened.
And the final bit of weariness disappeared from his eyes.
“I love you,” she said again. “And I promise you that nothing you can show me will make me run.”
His lips curved.
He drew her nearer, a glimmer of humor in his eyes. “Nothing?”
She found herself grinning. “Except . . .” A tap of her finger to her mouth as his brows lifted. “If you touch my chocolate.”
Laughter in the air.
A wonderful man bringing his mouth close to hers.
“I promise that if I touch your chocolate, I’ll be the one who’s doing the running.” His smile grew. “To the store.” A beat. “To buy you more chocolate.”
Her hands cupped his cheeks, her mouth close enough to his that she could feel his breath on her lips. “I love you.”
“You’re my heart,” he said simply, and the words sealed themselves inside hers.
“Luc,” she whispered.
Straightening slightly, he brushed back her hair. “What?”
“Now’s the time to kiss me.” She drew him down again. “Chop. Chop.”
A chuckle. “God, I love you.”
“And yet, I’m still waiting for a kiss.”
Luc went still, and then he roared with laughter.
And then he kissed her.
Chapter Forty-Two
Luc
He and Lexi were in the back yard planting when it happened.
And by planting, he meant that he was watching Lexi bend over in tight, ripped jeans, and pretending to dig the occasional hole, when her father appeared.
He held a large bag printed with red bows and paused just inside the gate, halting when he spotted the two of them.
“I’m sorry,” he said, looking older than Luc had seen him appear a few weeks before. His shoulders were bent and curved, his face haggard, his hair limp and askew. “I just didn’t want to leave this on the front porch.”
Lexi had frozen, soil falling through her fingers, the carrot seeds she’d been planting, scattering onto the ground. “What are you doing here?”
A cold question.
One that filled Luc with dread.
Because this thing with her father was eating her up inside, just as much as Caterina and his divorce, the betrayal, the loss of playing hockey had affected him.
And he didn’t want it to continue, didn’t want her to hurt like he had.
God knew, she’d suffered long enough already, hurt enough.
“I wanted to see you,” her father said.
“Well,” she said. “I don’t want to see you. Not yet,” she whispered, low enough that Luc knew the other man wouldn’t hear. She turned back to the soil, started picking up the seeds, voice rising, “You should go.”
“I’m sorry,” her father said. “For everything. I know there’s nothing I can do to rebuild what we had. I know it won’t be the same, but I’ve wasted so much time already, and I-I was hoping we might find a way for us to move forward.”
Lexi opened her mouth, and Luc could see the sharp retort on her tongue, and he knew, even despite the pain her father had caused her, that some part of Lexi would feel guilty for the angry words later.
She was love and kindness.
Not fury and cruelty.
But that viciousness was bubbling right near the surface, readying to explode outward from her lips and tongue . . . it would be cruel.
And she would regret it.
This was the third time her father had shown up without warning, somehow knowing where Luc lived, knowing that Lexi would be here. Watching her, perhaps, or maybe he’d paid more attention to his daughter’s life than Lexi had thought.
Because he was here.
And he’d come back a third time, even though his reception during the previous visit Luc had witnessed had been anything but warm, and despite, presumably, the initial meeting going the same way.
So, maybe Lexi and her dad would never have a father-daughter relationship, not like they’d once had.
But maybe she could find some peace.
Which was why he interrupted before she could snap out her retort, saying, “Have a seat on the deck?”
Lexi’s mouth dropped open, fury in her golden-brown eyes when his own eyes made contact with those scorching depths.
Her father, however, seemed to understand what Luc was trying to do. He moved quickly to the small table on the back deck, its umbrella and cushions already removed and stored away because winter had arrived, and took a seat.
Peace.
Luc wanted it for Lexi.
Frankly, he didn’t give a shit about her father. Part of him would always hate the bastard for what he’d done to the woman he loved.
But Lexi deserved that peace. Resolution. Those final broken pieces swept away, reformed into something changed, but something whole.
Luc didn’t tell Lexi to sit—not that she would have listened anyway.
Instead, he moved to the table, sat next to Lexi’s father.
&nbs
p; And he started a conversation, sticking out his hand and saying, “I’m Luc, Lexi’s boyfriend.”
Cool fingers grasping his. “Sam.” He set the present on the table, his gaze shifting toward Lexi, who’d dropped back into the dirt and was digging furiously. Probably a pit to bury him in.
This was a minefield he hadn’t been prepared to navigate, but Luc would do it for Lexi, for the woman he loved. So, despite the awkwardness in the air, the way that Sam could barely concentrate on the conversation, Luc began asking questions about his travels, his RV, his favorite place he’d visited, sports. Hell, he even asked what Sam thought of the weather.
The. Weather.
It wasn’t scintillating.
It was quite painful, actually, to continue yanking one-word answers out of Sam, but Lexi hadn’t run screaming out of the yard, and even as she continued digging furiously in the dirt, she was moving a little closer. Planting things in the beds near the deck, her head tilted a way that told him she was listening.
Sam seemed to know it, too.
His answers got longer.
Lexi moved closer still. Not looking at her father but standing behind a chair, her dirt-covered fingers gripping its wooden back.
Luc glanced up at her, caught her gaze, expected to see anger at him.
But instead, there were tears in her eyes.
He reached for her.
She allowed him to pull her onto his lap, still not speaking but listening carefully, and that was enough.
Sam stopped the story he’d been telling about a bear that had run in front of his RV in the middle of nowhere in Montana and stared at Lexi, quiet falling around them. He pushed the present closer, near enough that Lexi would have had to be blind to not see it.
Still, she ignored it, ignored her father.
But she was there. In Luc’s lap, three feet from her dad, listening and quiet, the tension gone from her frame.
“I’m going to go now,” Sam said. His eyes went to Lexi’s. “I know you have no reason to believe me, but I’m not going anywhere. I’m not going to disappear again. I’m not going to be that person.” His breath shuddered out. “I will find a way to make these years up to you.”
