Lone Hearts (Lines in the Sand Book 6)

by Lindsay Detwiler

  I bury my head in the pillow, shattered and pissed that I’ve let them crush me. I shouldn’t be surprised. So many things about my parents, this house, this family, are a façade. I guess just knowing the depth of the façade is a bit depressing.

  Everything is a lie. They are a lie. The kisses, the midnight strolls on the beach, the summers in Manhattan exploring the city—it’s all a lie. Dad’s having an affair, and Mom’s letting him. How sick is that? I might not know a lot about love, and I might be young, but I know that isn’t what love looks like. And for what? Her image? Her money? The family legacy? What legacy is that?

  I cry myself to sleep that night, mourning over a family, a truth that was never mine to have. And when I wake up, I shake it off like I have so many other things. I look myself in the eye in the mirror, studying my frizzy locks and smeared makeup.

  I make two promises.

  I, Sage Everling, will not depend on my family for my success. I will do it myself. I will find pride in who I am and pride in chasing my passions while standing on my own two feet.

  I will not let love take hold of me like it did my mother. I will not let my pride be shattered by a man. I will own my passions but not let them own me.

  From that day on, the end of my relationship with my parents began, the fast unraveling of a thread that was always fraying. And, from that day on, Sage Everling, the woman who relied solely on herself, began her trek into the foreboding world, determined to make her mark in her own high heels and never settle for a life lived for someone else.

  That fourteen-year-old girl would be proud, I think as I stare at the cover of a popular magazine. My photograph is on it, a sultry, serious pose I’ve become known for. The headline reads “Ocean City’s Bachelorette Strikes Again With New Line.” I should be thrilled to have a headline in a magazine, to have snagged this opportunity. I think my fourteen-year-old self would be proud of the confident, independent woman on this cover who did it all on her own.

  Still, sitting here staring at the cover, thinking of all that’s transpired, I see something I haven’t quite detected before.

  Loneliness.

  Since that revelation in my mother’s kitchen that night, I’ve been terrified to lean on another. I’ve been terrified to give up my passions like my mother did. I’ve been terrified of becoming a dependent housewife willing to look the other way and destroy her pride for the man she married.

  Looking at the cover, I know I haven’t done that. I’ve succeeded in avoiding those fates. Still, I wonder what I’ve sacrificed to earn that accomplishment—and how will that sacrifice affect me going forward? Have I failed to strike a balance between the two sentiments and, thus, done the very thing I was afraid of doing—selling my life out and losing out on a sense of fulfillment?

  Maybe the convictions we settle on at fourteen aren’t necessarily the beliefs we should shape our entire adult life around. And maybe that’s on me and not my parents, I realize, the thought shattering any sense of confidence I had that I’m living the right way.

  Twenty-Three

  Sage

  “There will be time for celebrating after this launch,” I argue into the phone, balancing it precariously between my ear and shoulder as I try to type up some emails.

  “Sage, everything is ready to go. We’ve all done our part, and this launch is going to be fabulous. Now come on, let’s go celebrate,” Harper argues into the phone.

  “I just want to do a few more things. We have a lot invested in this, and I want to make sure it’s a success.”

  “It will be, but you’re not going to be able to enjoy it because you’re going to be burned out.”

  I sigh. Harper’s probably, as usual, right.

  For the past four days, I’ve been a whirlwind of business activity, essentially locking myself away in my condo to send more emails, reach out to more magazines, and just pour myself into this line. I tell myself it’s because I want to make sure the line is successful, but if I’m being honest, there might be more at play.

  “So what about Cash? Have you made any exceptions to your work-only rule for him?”

  “No, he knows I’m busy.”

  Cash stopped by yesterday with coffee and wanting to play, but I politely declined. I could see the worry in his eye that I was regressing, but I reassured him I just needed time. Time and distance while I get this all sorted out.

  “You’re crazy.”

  “He knows work comes first.”

  “But maybe it shouldn’t,” Harper argues.

  “Harper,” I warn, shaking my head at the conversation we’ve had dozens of times.

  “Okay, okay, I’m done. Now listen, I’ll let you stay in your workaholic hole for the next few days, but once this line comes out, that’s it. You’re getting out and celebrating. I might make you take a whole month off. So enjoy your crazy little ways now.”

  Before I can argue, she hangs up, and I put the phone down, staring at the half-written email on my screen.

  What am I doing?

  I exhale, the question I’ve always known how to answer now seeming like an enigma. I look around my condo, which is stuffed full of fashion items and fabrics and files. I’ve built this online empire. I’ve created this brand, this success—but what’s it all for? If, at the end of it all, I only have these emails, these files, and a silent condo, was it all worth it? The money, the public accolades—it’s all great, but isn’t there something more to all of this? Instantly, my mind goes to the one person who has stirred things up, who has made me wonder if, in fact, this life I’ve chosen is actually the right life for me.

  Cash Creed.

  I’ve spent my life priding myself on the fact that I don’t need anyone to lean on, that no one gets my full commitment. But what if I’ve had it all wrong? Would leaning on someone be so bad? Would leaning on Cash Creed, building a life with him, really take away from all of this? And even if it did, would that be such a bad thing?

  I stand and trudge over to my window, staring out at the tourist town below. I think about all that’s happened to get me to this point, all of the decisions I’ve made. I think about that fourteen-year-old girl staring into the mirror and vowing to be nothing like her parents. But in this posh condo, all alone, with only money and business driving me, maybe I haven’t succeeded at that very goal. Maybe I’ve, in a roundabout way, turned into a version of them.

  And that terrifies me.

  Then again, is Cash Creed really the one who can change it all? Is he the one to put trust in? I’ve seen what happens when trust is violated in a relationship. When the player decides to play for keeps, is she really all that wise to choose another player, a man who is a self-proclaimed commitment-phobe?

  My head swirls with questions and confusions. How did things get so messy? How did I get to this point?

  Monticello rubs my leg, startling me out of my self-deprecating stupor. I take a deep breath, glance around the apartment, and decide it’s time.

  It’s time to try something new. If it doesn’t work out, well, I guess I’ll just have to pick myself back up. After all, I’ve learned how to stand on my own two feet. What’s the worst that can happen?

  Twenty-Four

  Cash

  After a long day at the apartment office dealing with all sorts of renter debacles, it feels good to sink into the sofa. Dammit, I must be getting old or losing my touch because usually on a Friday night, I’d be going out. Yet, here I am thinking about nothing but drinking beer and falling asleep. Shit, I’ve lost my touch. I’ve lost my sense of game.

  Of course, I know it isn’t just about energy levels. It’s about a sexy, infuriatingly smart woman who won’t let go of her grasp on me.

  It’s been a week since I’ve seen her, but she still lays claim to all of my thoughts. God, it’s like I’m under some freaky spell of hers, one that makes me simultaneously yearn for her and fear her and her witchcraft-like ways. I feel like a lovesick teenager, and it’s not a feeling familiar to me. />
  I’ve tried calling her, tried to make plans to see her, but she’s busy with her upcoming line. While I find her workaholic drive sexy, I also find it worrisome. Maybe she’s having second thoughts. Maybe this whole “let’s get to know each other” vibe was just a trick, another one of her love traps. Falling in love with a player isn’t advisable because you just never know when her heart can be trusted.

  Still, I have to admit there’s a rush there too, of knowing she’s not easy to tame but trying my hardest anyway. I’ve never been one to shy away from a challenge, so why let this get the best of me?

  I flip on the television as Killer jumps on my lap, ready to tuck in for the night. I’m starting to let my explicit thoughts of Sage take me off to dreamland, when there’s a knock at the door. Killer emits a growl, and I sigh as I stand up, wondering who the hell it could be. When I fling open the door, though, confusion and excitement set in.

  “Can I come in?” Sage says, her sultry voice reigniting the life in me.

  “Sure,” I murmur, rubbing a hand over my two-day stubble, wishing I’d have known she was coming over. She’s in jeans and a simple T-shirt, but she still looks phenomenal as she struts into the kitchen, a six-pack of beer in her hand.

  “So, I know flowers are typically the protocol, at least from what I’ve seen in movies, but I thought you’d appreciate this more,” she says, handing the beer over to me. I set it on the counter and raise an eyebrow.

  “Protocol for what?”

  “A date,” she says, her bright lips curving into a nervous smile. “I know, I know, dates are against your rules. Mine too. But, you know, with this whole getting to know you thing, we’ve kept it so informal and all of that. We haven’t used labels or whatever. So Cash Creed, I want to shake it up. I want to officially take you on an honest date, you know food, small talk, the whole thing.”

  I stare at her, shaking my head.

  “Is that a no?” she asks, concern creeping in.

  I cross the floor, closing the gap between us, and take her into my arms. I plant a kiss hard and fast on those bright red lips, silencing any doubt. It feels good to have her in my arms again, to be close, to feel her. I’ve been starving for her, in truth.

  “I’ve missed you,” I reply simply.

  “I’ve missed you, too,” she says. “Which is why I thought it was time for a date. No bars or hot sex or any of the stuff we’re used to. Just you and me, some food, and some real date-like behaviors.”

  “I’m in. Let me change,” I say, looking at my scuffed-up jeans and T-shirt.

  “No, don’t. Let’s keep it simple,” she replies, and I can’t resist agreeing. This woman’s got me hooked so bad, I’d do anything. Almost anything she wanted.

  “So where to?” I ask.

  “I have a plan,” she says, leaving it at that.

  “Whoa, hold up. I don’t like surprises,” I respond honestly.

  “Is that because you have power issues?” she asks coyly as I follow her out into the sticky night air.

  “No, it’s because I like to be prepared.”

  “Well, Cash Creed, tonight, I’ve got the reins. I’m taking the lead. Can you be okay with that?”

  And for once, I think I can.

  The sun is setting when we get to the sand, both of us loaded up like pack mules with chairs, the picnic basket, and the blanket. We get organized, plopping the blanket down as I weight it with the chairs, the night breeze from the ocean threatening to lift it away.

  “Nice night,” I say, honestly, as Sage sits down and begins to unpack the basket. It’s filled with takeout from different local haunts—seafood, cheeses, crackers, cheesecake from the little bakery down the street.

  She grins at me, shrugging. “I’m not a fantastic cook,” she admits. “But it’s the thought that counts, right?”

  “To the thought,” I say, holding up a bottle of water to toast her.

  “So what’s new in the world of Cash Creed?” she asks after we’ve both taken a sip.

  Nothing. Thinking of you. Pining for a woman against my better judgement. These are the things I should say. But I don’t. I simply shrug, setting down my drink.

  “Work. That’s about it. You?”

  “Same. Jesus, we’re turning into rather boring people, huh?”

  “Speak for yourself,” I tease.

  “Well, I am. I’ve spent the week locked away working like crazy.”

  “I mean, I assume running Evermore does take a lot of time,” I offer, and she glances at me.

  “It does. Not that I’m complaining. I’m proud of what I’ve built. But doing it all from the ground up alone wasn’t a walk in the park. I guess that’s why I work so hard now. I know what it took to build it. I don’t want to slip off, to let it crumble.”

  I study the sexy entrepreneur sitting on the blanket beside me, and I see something I didn’t see that first night. Vulnerability. Talking about her fear of failure, I see a softer side to the confident woman she projects. And I recognize it. Because I think deep down, in every confident woman or man, there’s a bit of a fearful side, too.

  “Tell me about it. About how you got started,” I say, leaning back on my elbows now as I stare at the waves crashing.

  “I’m sure you don’t want to hear all about my fashion company.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean? I’ve clearly got mad style. What, you think I’m not into fashion?”

  She raises an eyebrow. “Not my kind of fashion.”

  “Well, I still want to hear about it. Come on. Isn’t that what tonight’s about?”

  She takes another sip of her drink. “Well, I grew up in a bit of a lavish lifestyle. Not that I’m bragging because well, I hated it. I had basically everything I could’ve wanted, material wise. We went on extravagant vacations, and I saw more of the world by the age of eight than most people our age. Still, I never liked what we had as a family.”

  She takes another sip of her drink, pausing before continuing. I sense this isn’t easy for her to talk about. Regardless, I don’t interrupt her, letting her get her bearings before continuing on.

  “My parents always expected me to just carry on the family legacy, the family business, but I knew by my teens I wanted nothing of the sort. I didn’t want to be my mother, depending on a man who clearly wasn’t trustworthy. I felt like my family was just a lie, a fraud. I wanted to get away and do something on my own without them. I wanted to show them that I wasn’t them.”

  “Why was that so important?” I ask, hesitating after the words are out. Maybe I’m prodding too much.

  She turns and looks at me, those eyes I’ve come to appreciate showing a lot of pain. “I’ve never talked about this.”

  “You can trust me,” I whisper, covering her hand with my own, our skin electric at the touch. She inhales, and I can tell she’s holding back tears.

  “My dad had an affair on my mother. For most of my life.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say, seeing Sage, the hurt woman instead of Sage the powerful businesswoman before me.

  “Well, she wasn’t. My mom knew about it. All of it. She stood by, playing at the façade because she was too afraid to lose the life she had. She depended on my father for everything, and she was so addicted to their lifestyle she was willing to push her pride down for him. When I found out about it, I vowed that would never be me. I wouldn’t let a man or anyone do that to me. I would build myself, my life, on my own. I would find the confidence and pride she didn’t have. That’s why I started Evermore. It’s about me building my life, but it’s also about giving other people confidence in theirs. My pieces are bold, and I want them to be. I want people to be unapologetic in their fashion and in their lives. It was part of my mission.”

  “That’s… wow,” I reply, feeling like an idiot but not knowing what to say. So much of her makes sense now.

  “I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean to dump on you.”

  “It’s okay. I’m glad you did. It makes s
ense now.”

  “What?” she asks.

  “Everything. You. Your rules about love.” I reach up and tuck a wayward strand of her hair behind her ear, studying her face. She swipes at her eyes, trying to brush away the tears ready to fall. I grab her hand and pull it away.

  “It’s okay to be vulnerable. It’s okay to admit you’ve been hurt, Sage. That doesn’t take away any of your strength.”

  She studies me for a long minute. “Says the man who has just as much of a wall up as I do.”

  The words cut into me, coming from her beautiful lips as her eyes pierce into mine.

  She’s right. She’s so right. Sage’s walls, her rules, her attack on love makes so much sense now. It comes from a place of protection, thanks to a past that has haunted her. It comes from a place of devotion to her mantra.

  Where the hell does mine come from? I have nothing like Sage’s past to blame. I came from a loving family that was nothing but supportive. Mom and Dad might not be perfect, but they certainly raised me with more love than material things. They are the epitome of unconditional love, not just for their kids but for each other. They’ve been the best example of what love could be. So what’s my excuse? Why do I put up these walls? For so long, I’ve said it’s all about fun. But is it? And, more importantly, can those walls ever come down?

  “You’re right. You’re so right. I don’t have a good reason for it, either. I’m just fucked-up when it comes to love, I guess. Maybe I’m just an asshole. I don’t know.”

  Now it’s her turn to comfort me. She puts a soft, delicate hand on my jaw, raising my head to look at her. Her eyes are smoldering, fiery, and unapologetic.

  “You’re not an asshole or fucked-up. You’re just you, Cash. And well, maybe you just haven’t found the person to change your mind about love. Maybe she just hasn’t come along just yet.”