PROLOGUE
Dear God, I swear never to drink again if you let me get through this without choking on my own vomit.
It was a promise she was almost certain she would keep, simply for the fact that the previous night had been a unique situation captained by memories of days when she actually knew how to have fun, when it hadn’t been a chore.
For a moment, there was nothing but the grinding shrill of a cement chipper chiseling away at the cavity of her brain and her own miserable suffering. Then there was a grunt, a low, husky grunt that, any other time, would have been damn sexy. But in that moment, in her bed, it was so very out of place.
Calla’s eyes popped open. She stared at the ceiling, ignoring the screams of her eyelids and retina. It was incredible that even her eyelashes hurt. Yet that didn’t stop her from sliding her eyeballs ever so slightly to the left in hopes of glimpsing her bedmate without looking directly at him.
As subtle as her movements were, her partner shifted. The pressure on her chest eased as the weight was lifted. Something long, hard, and unmistakable prodded her hip. And that was the last straw.
Calla wrenched free and gracelessly tumbled out of bed, taking the sheets with her.
“Get up!” she shrieked. “Whoever you are, get up and out of my bed!”
By the time she had shoved tendrils of lank, blonde hair out of her eyes and straightened the sheets securely around her aching body—not all the aches bad, she noted—her partner had flopped onto his stomach and lay sprawled across the mattress like he owned the whole damn bed.
He was naked and he was fucking hot from what she could make out. Everything from the taut globes of his behind, to the long, corded lengths of his legs and the enormous, muscular width of his back was designed to make a woman purr. The arms he’d bunched around her helpless pillow strained with unrestricted bulges and thick corded veins. The head nuzzled into her pillow was capped with a mop of neatly trimmed, sandy brown hair and there were claw marks, long, jagged welts along the back of his neck and down the entire span of his spine. There were even little half-moons gouged into his ass cheeks.
Dear God, she’d owned him, or he’d owned her. It was impossible to tell, because with the way her body was thrumming, like it had just run a very insane, very satisfying sex marathon, they had done some serious damage to each other.
“Okay.” Forcing a tongue over her suddenly dry lips, she shoved four fingers back through her tangled hair and ogled him a moment longer. “You need to leave. Like now. Before my husband gets home and beats the hell out of you.”
For several long seconds, there was nothing. Not even a twitch to indicate he hadn’t passed right out again. Then there was a sound like a snort, followed by a quiver that ran down the back she was watching. It took her alcohol violated brain a full minute to realize he was laughing.
“Husband?”
Long arms unwound from their death grip on her pillow and strained as they anchored into her mattress with bunched fists. The ropes along his back bunched and rolled as he heaved all that magnificent-ness onto one side. And Calla’s whole world dipped.
“You?”
CHAPTER ~ Calla
ONE WEEK EARLIER…
“Are you even listening to me anymore?” Calla jabbed the big toe on her left foot into her sister’s ribs, right where she knew she would get the most reaction. “Earth to Willa! Come in, Willa. Earth needs you.”
Giving an ungraceful yelp, Willa slapped at the appendage. But at least her focus was no longer on the front door.
“What?”
Calla arched a brow at the sharp bite in her sister’s tone. “I’m sorry. Was our sisterly bonding cutting into your busy schedule?”
Instantly, the scowl was gone and regret softened Willa’s almost pixie features. In that moment, she looked most like their mother. They both shared the delicate chin and narrow nose. In a past life, with their sheet of silky blonde hair and fine attributes, they could have been fairies, Calla thought. Willa even had their mother’s tiny stature whereas Calla towered over both by a full head. She guessed she got that from her father and her Uncle Sloan.
“I’m sorry,” Willa said hurriedly. “It’s just…” She ripped up the sleeve of her sweater and peered at her watch with dismay. “They should have been back already,” she muttered. “I think my watch is broken.”
There was nothing wrong with the watch. The problem lay with the owner.
“Your watch is fine. Why don’t you give it a minute to tick before checking it again?” She paused as her own words replayed through her mind. “Ha! Get it? Give it a minute to tick?”
Willa was not impressed by her sister’s wittiness. She sighed with aggravation and peeked at the glass face of her timepiece again.
“They’re never late,” Willa went on with her one track mind. “You don’t think something happened, do you?”
Calla rolled her eyes. “Seriously?”
“Well, it’s snowing and the weather report said it was supposed to get worse later tonight…”
“Yeah, later tonight. It’s not later tonight. It’s…” She let her words fade into the silence.
There was just no point arguing with the younger girl when her mind wasn’t even in the present, never mind in the same room. She wouldn’t be able to focus no matter what was said to her, or what happened. It was like ADHD, but in reverse; all Willa cared about was that door opening. It was the only thing that mattered once four o’clock struck. There was just no getting through to her after that.
Calla sighed. She peeled her exhausted body up out of the sofa and set her coffee mug down on the coffee table with a clink. She strained the kink out of her lower spine and started across the room.
“I’m going to find something to eat,” she grumbled. “Since my only sister won’t even talk to me.”
Willa seemed to bring herself to hear that. “We are talking.”
“Grunts and mumbles are not conversations, unless you’re a caveman … or Damon,” she said over her shoulder.
Willa bristled. “Damon doesn’t grunt.”
“Maybe not to you, but that’s only because you’re the fabulous and wonderful and darling Willa. The love of his life.”
Pink flags rode high on her sister’s cheeks. “Stop that.”
Calla laughed. “When are you going to put that boy out of his misery?”
“It’s not like that,” Willa mumbled quietly.
“Uh huh.” She paused and turned to face her sister, who was now giving Calla her undivided attention, especially since the topic was on a subject she actually loved. “So, if he were to walk through that door right now and tell you he had a date with another woman, you would…”
Willa hesitated and it was all the answer Calla needed.
Damon Comb was an enigma wrapped in a mystery wrapped in Willa. The broody, dark-haired pain in the ass had all but been glued to her sister’s side since they were children and, oddly enough, that hadn’t changed an ounce once they’d grown up. Damon was still all about Willa and Willa was all about Damon. The only thing that made Calla want to hit them was the fact that they were madly in love with each other and were both too stupid to see it.
“He can go out with anyone he wants,” Willa murmured at last, her gaze never quite touching on Calla. “We’re only friends.”
My. Ass! Calla was tempted to blurt.
“So, it wouldn’t bother you?”
Willa sprung up off the sofa and began to do the thing Willa did best when she was upset: she began to clean. Her small, pale hands moved restlessly over the stack of magazines on the coffee table and set the remotes in a neat row. She was fluffing the pillows when she finally spoke.
“No, why would it?”
“Not even if he married this person and had babies?”
The moment she said it, she wished she hadn’t. Willa’s fussing stilled and her face morphed into one of heartbreaking sadness. She drew one of the pillows into her abdomen and cradled it close.
“Aw, Will.” Calla went to her. “I’m sorry, sweetie.” She pulled her sister into her arms and held her. “I’m such a bitch.”
“Does he like someone else?” The words were a muffled mumble into Calla’s shoulder.
Calla laughed. “I don’t think he knows other women even exist. I’m pretty sure he thinks you’re the only one.”
Willa sniffled. “But what if he does?”
“Then you need to step up to the plate and let him know you want to be the one to have his babies.”
Will jerked away and smacked her with the pillow. “You’re such a loser!”
Chuckling, Calla grabbed the pillow and wacked her back. “Me? I’m not the one who’s been dating the guy for the last fourteen years.”
“Calla!” Willa snatched the pillow back and sat with it hugged to her chest. “We’re not dating.”
“What do you call it when two people only ever see each other?” She narrowed her eyes. “Have either of you even dated, or been with other people?”
Willa frowned, guilt turning her bottom lip into a pout. “No … I mean, I haven’t.”
“Trust me, I’m pretty sure Damon hasn’t either, which is a bit strange considering he’s twenty-one.”
“Do you think he wants to?” The uncertainty was back in her sister’s big eyes. “He does, doesn’t he? He’s a guy. They always want sex.” She nibbled anxiously on her bottom lip. “He’s going to find someone to…”
The front door opened before Calla could respond. Light punctured the shadowy corridor, followed by raised voices, stomping feet, and then figures ambling into the sitting room.
Willa was on her feet so fast, she was almost a blur. Her big eyes moved straight past her father and the second figure that moved in after him to rake over the empty space beyond.
“Where’s Damon?”
Shaking snow off his scarf and toque, Sloan McClain glanced at his daughter with a wiry grin.
“Hello, Willa.” He yanked down the zipper of his coat. “Why, yes, I did have a long day. Thank you for asking.”
Jared Dumont chuckled low over the thud of his boots hitting the mud catcher.
Willa didn’t seem to be listening. “Is he parking the truck?”
Uncle Sloan sighed. “Yes, he’s parking the truck.” He shook out of his coat and hung it up. “Where’s your mother?”
“She’s not home,” Calla answered as Willa hurried to the window and shoved back the lace curtains. “It’s just me and Miss Antsy-Pants over there.”
Shaking his head, Uncle Sloan stomped into the kitchen. Jared followed, but not before drilling intense gray eyes into Calla in passing.
Damn the man was big. Almost seven feet of insane muscles and a face that made women’s nether regions weep. He even moved like a man not to be trifled with, with a grace that was laced with warning. Calla’d had more than one earth shattering orgasm at the mere thought of him. Not that that was something she would ever tell him. While he was delicious and she was more than happy to lap him up like a strawberry sundae during a heat wave, she wasn’t good for him and he deserved someone not as damaged as she was.
“Calla,” he murmured in that deep, husky rumble of his that skated along her spine in rivulets of pure, unadulterated lust.
“Jared.” Months of practice kept her voice smooth and absent of the turmoil raging inside her.
He moved into the kitchen after her uncle. Calla carefully watched the slow amble of his legs, the shift of his wide shoulders beneath his coat and his ass … dear God, the man had one hell of an ass.
“Damon!”
Willa’s enthusiastic gasp nearly sent Calla out of her skin in fright. She whirled around just as her sister hurried away from the window and the sound of the front door slamming shut echoed through the room. A moment later, Damon stood stooped in the doorway, breathing hard. His cheeks were flushed from the cold and he looked exhausted, but he broke into a wide, lopsided grin that sparkled in his blue eyes when he spotted Willa.
“Fucking cold out there,” he said as she undid his scarf and yanked off his wool toque to reveal a mop of unruly black hair. All the while, he watched her like she was some incredible piece of art he couldn’t tear his eyes away from. Willa was smiling, clearly delighted he was home. Yet he saw straight through to the lingering shadows darkening the corners of her happiness. “What’s wrong?”
Willa stilled. Her smile slipped and she stood before him, small and vulnerable. Big, blue eyes peered up into his face with an uncertainty that tugged at Calla’s heart.
“Will?” His large hands reached for her before he realized he had them encased in thick gloves. The gloves hit the ground at their feet and his bare fingers cradled her sister’s chin, smoothed back her hair, and tipped her face back. “What is it?”
Willa’s mouth opened and Calla held her breath, wondering if this would be the moment Willa finally told the guy how she really felt. Willa’s throat muscles moved rapidly in a swallow. Her gaze darted to Calla, pleading for help.
Damon followed the line of her glance and his eyes narrowed. “What did you say to her?”
Calla’s jaw dropped, thrown completely for a loop by the sudden accusation. “Me?”
“No, she didn’t say anything!” Willa planted her hands, still bunched around his scarf and hat, against his chest. “Damon—”
But Damon had no reason to believe either of them when it came to Calla, and Calla didn’t blame him. She’d spent many of their younger years terrorizing her sister just for kicks and Damon had spent the same number of years standing between them, because Willa was too much of a gentle soul to retaliate. His reaction was really no surprise. Plus, it really was kind of her fault for bringing the whole thing up.
“She’s leaving the day after tomorrow,” Damon snapped. “Why are you upsetting her?”
“I wasn’t!” Calla retorted. “We were only talking.”
Damon shook his head. He started to speak, but Willa cut him off.
“It wasn’t her. Damon.” She waited until she had his full attention. “It wasn’t Calla. I promise.”
Calla wondered if either of them noticed they were pressed together, or that his arm had slid around Willa’s tiny waist and she was leaning against him like she could stay there forever.
“What is it then?” he demanded. “Something’s wrong. I can feel it.”
Calla decided she’d leave them to sort it out. If Willa was about to declare her undying love for him, the last thing the younger girl needed was an audience.
“I’m okay,” Willa whispered.
And the last thing Calla saw before she ducked into the kitchen was Damon lacing his arms around her sister and tucking her into his chest.
“Come on.” Willa drew back and took his hand. “I want to show you the new pictures I took today.”
Most men who moved furniture for a living would have told the pint-sized blonde to give him a minute. He didn’t even have his boots off. He only just walked into the house after moving and lifting things for the last six hours in freezing cold weather. But not Damon. Willa could have asked him to build her a stairway to the moon and he would have moved heaven and earth to make it happen. Their absolute love and adoration for the other was the kind every romance junkie begged for.
Together, the pair crossed the room and disappeared down into the basement that had been converted from a toy room into Damon’s bedroom after Uncle Sloan had hired him on as a mover in his company. Calla had a suspicion part of that reason was Willa, to be closer to her, but she never said as much. She liked that her sister had someone like Damon. She liked knowing he would protect her and keep her safe. More than that, she liked that Willa had that kind of unconditional love. It didn’t even bother her anymore that it was Damon. It had for a long damn time. He had been the boy who had ruined her life at school, had made her the laughing stock and made it impossible for her to find any friends. He and Jared. She had hated them both. But like a wart, they had grown on her until one day, it was just normal to see Damon at the breakfast table. It was normal to see him huddled on the sofa with Willa. It was even normal to have Jared practically move in with them. Being Damon’s best friend, the two were as inseparable as Damon and Willa. Yet despite the tight bond the trio seemed to have, they never neglected her. Maybe that was Willa’s doing mostly, but Calla had always been dragged along to join them on their crazy and sometimes stupid adventures. She used to make a big fuss about it, but she had always secretly liked being part of their little group. There were days she still missed it, missed the simplicity of being a kid.
She missed being whole.
“Cal?” Blinking out of her thoughts, Calla turned to the voice. Her uncle stared back at her, the lines around his blue eyes crinkled with concern. “All right, sweetie?”
It took all her restraint not to walk over to him like she used to as a little girl and have him cuddle her. He may not have been her biological father, but he had always been there to chase away the bad dreams and kiss her fears away.
“Yeah, fine.” She twisted a smile over her breaking heart. “How was work?”
“Good. Fine. Just a routine move.”
Calla watched him closely while he spoke. His rugged features that had only grown more handsome over the years were weary, and slightly grimy. He’d taken to not shaving during the winters and his scruff was flecked with strands of gray that were nearly invisible amongst all the blond. He scratched them now as he stared absently at the fridge. He straightened his back, rolling his shoulders as he did so. It was a gesture she recognized as one that his back was acting up again.
“Mom’s going to kill you if you don’t make that appointment with the chiropractor again,” she warned him.
He grumbled something like, not a stupid pretzel, but it was hard to make out. Nevertheless, probably out of fear of his wife’s wrath, he marched to the fridge and yanked out the chiropractor’s card from under a strawberry magnet. He held on to it like it was the cause of all his problems. Then he shoved it into his back pocket.
“Want anything, Jar?” he asked, jerking open the fridge door and rummaging inside.
Calla noticed he didn’t bend all the way forward, but stooped with his knees bent.
Jared shook his head as Calla wandered her way toward the sink and propped a hip against the worn countertop. She didn’t peer at the man taking up so much space in the tiny room just by sitting at the worn table. But his gaze followed her. She could feel the full, hot weight of his attention like the brush of flames at an open campfire. Fear of what she would see in his eyes kept her focused on her uncle.
“No, thanks, Mr. McClain. I’m just waiting for Damon. Then I gotta get home.”
Uncle Sloan straightened and drew back with a bottle of water in hand. He shut the fridge door and turned to the other man in the room.
“Got a date with Denise?”
Jared hesitated for a split second before he nodded. “Yeah.”
Uncle Sloan unscrewed the top off the bottle and took a swig. He wiped the condensation off his mouth with the back of his hand and focused on Calla.
“What about you? Got any plans for tonight?”
Calla shook her head. “Not really. Probably going to go see how Mom’s doing at the shop, but otherwise…” She let her words trail off to nothing.
Seemingly satisfied with that, he mumbled something about taking a shower and ambled out of the room, leaving Calla alone with a man that liked to hog all the oxygen.
“How are you?”
While his question was polite and normal, it reverberated with an undercurrent she was too afraid to decipher.
“I’m okay.” She forced herself to look at him, to drink him in and ache with so much need to touch what she had no right wanting. “How are you?”
“Tired.” He offered her a lopsided grin that still filled his eyes with weary shadows. “Didn’t sleep much last night.”
It killed her to think he was with Denise, tangled and lost in her naked limbs. But she reminded herself how stupid that sounded, how stupid she sounded, even in her own head. He had offered her the option to be his. He had even spelled it out for her so there was no mistaking that he wanted her. But how could she be what he wanted when she wasn’t even who she wanted most days?
“So things are getting serious with Denise, huh?” she said at last, needing to cram her pain with words.
“No.” The rickety chair beneath him creaked beneath his large frame. “I know she wants them to be.”
“Why don’t you?” It was a stupid question. So stupid.
“You know why.” Sparks ignited behind his eyes. “But I’m fucking trying.”
There was no reason for it, but her heart picked up in tempo. Her breathing increased and she wondered if he noticed.
“You look nice together,” she lied. “I’m really happy for—”
“Don’t.”
Her chest ached under the brutal thundering of her heart slamming into her ribcage. “What?”
Gray eyes rose and found hers. The intensity behind them twisted something in the pit of her stomach.
“I don’t want you to be happy for me being with another woman, not unless that woman is you.”
“Jared…”
Calla could think of nothing to use as argument. Not because she had nothing to say, but because nothing she said would matter. It wouldn’t change anything. As hot and bothered as Jared made her, as much as she would have loved to get a taste of him in bed with those delicious arms banded around her, it would never work between them because he would give her everything and she had nothing to give in return. If Denise made him happy, then that was where he belonged, even if she was left dying inside.
He rose to his feet, taking over the entire room with the single gesture. A tremor coursed through her, making her painfully aware of the three strides separating them. He could cross that in one. He could easily move into her space. He could easily take her waist, lift her against him, and kiss her.
No! Stop it! The scared, rational part of her brain begged. He’s with someone. And that was all the reminder she needed; the fire was immediately smothered.
His low, almost taunting chuckle brought her mind back to focus. He was watching her with something like irony.
“How do you do that?”
“What?”
“Look at me like I’m the only thing keeping you alive and still manage to walk away.” He shook his head slowly. “I look at you and I feel like my soul is breaking and I can’t even function through the pain.”
His words punched her in the chest.
“Stop.” It wasn’t even said. The single word was a mute movement of her mouth.
He sighed and shook his head. “Maybe I’m a masochist, or out of my mind, to love a woman who wants nothing to do with me.”
He had no idea how wrong he was. She loved him with a desperation that kept her up at night. But it was because she loved him that she needed to protect him.
“I need to go.”
Damon walked into the room before she could escape. Willa was pressed into his side, her arm laced through his, her head pillowed on his shoulder. She was laughing at something he was murmuring into the top of her head and Calla wondered if maybe she had finally told him.
“Sorry,” Willa said to Jared, grimacing sheepishly. “I know you guys had things to do, but I got carried away showing him my new shots.”
“I swear they just keep getting better each time,” Damon piped in; the pride and amazement in his voice rang like a bell. “They’re incredible.”
Willa flushed and bumped him playfully with her hip. “You always say that.”
“’Cause I always mean it.”
When Willa finished high school and announced she wanted to take photojournalism and Fine art photography in university, no one was surprised. Like their mother, she had the eye and talent for seeing things no one else saw through a camera lens. A talent Calla did not share. Her love lay in fashion, in the creation of taking something ugly and making it beautiful. She loved matching clothes with accessories. She loved dressing people. It was why she co-owned Libellule, a classy boutique offering the tiny town of Willow Creek more than overalls and floral printed dresses. It was Calla’s baby. It was all she had left after everything had been torn away from her. Her entire heart and soul had gone into building and running her tiny empire. Albeit it would never have happened if her mother and Beth hadn’t offered to co-sign with her. In return, Calla had offered her mother one half of the shop for a studio, somewhere families could get their portraits done.
Occasionally, Beth helped, but they never forced her to. She kept her position as nurse at the hospital and worked insane hours. She took a year off to stay home with Toby after he was born, but went back to work once he was old enough to be put into daycare. She was more of the silent partner than an actual participant. Plus, she wasn’t all that into fashion, or photography.
“I’ll leave those things to the professionals,” she always teased.
Once a month, they had a meeting to discuss how things were progressing and if anything needed to be changed. Beth usually didn’t have much to say, but she did what she could. Willa helped when she was home, but mostly in the studio part. Her photos were hung on the walls next to their mother’s and the contrast was always astounding on that side of the room.
Their mother liked scenery and abstract while Willa liked portraits, mostly of people. She had an eye for capturing the essence of the person, the true soul inside. Calla remembered the Christmas Damon got Willa her first camera. That same Christmas, their mother had gotten Willa a camera as well, but Calla suspected that was only to keep Willa away from her expensive equipment. Willa had kept them both and used both frequently. Each year since, Damon added something new to her tools, as she called it. A lens. A bag. A tripod. It sucked for the rest of them, because that limited the number of things they could get Willa that she would actually like.
“It’s fine,” Jared told Willa. “I have to run anyway. We can get it done tomorrow.”
Damon frowned. “You sure?”
With a nod, Jared started for the door. “Text me later.”
Calla hesitated a second, knowing he would be there and there would be very little room in the foyer for both of them. She wondered if she should just wait until he was gone. It certainly seemed like the better idea then being confined in tight quarters with him.
Yet her feet drove her forward. She left the kitchen, crossed the living room and stopped at the narrow opening that gave a sharp turn down a tiny hall to the front door. Jared was drawing his boots on, his back to her as he bent forward. Her gaze was inadvertently drawn down to the taut curve of his bum pressing against the fabric of his jeans and she bottled back a sigh. Her body warmed just at the sight of it. Her hands twitched with the urge to skim over the hard lines of his back, to tuck downward and cradle him in her palms.
Calla had never taken herself as an ass person, but fuck she loved his.
“Am I in your way?”
Flinching at nearly being caught, she darted her gaze upward, hoping he hadn’t noticed. His head was still turned away from her as he did up his laces.
“No, it’s fine.”
Saying nothing, he straightened. The floorboard creaked beneath his weight as he faced her. Gray eyes bore into hers and she wondered if he could see her blush. Gingerly, he unhooked her coat off the wall and shook it open for her. The gesture momentarily surprised her before she caught herself. Her insides fluttered with nerves and an anticipation she knew was wrong. Her hand trembled as she pushed it through the sleeve. Following the motion, she turned her body and hooked her other arm through the second sleeve. The material was settled gently on her shoulders by hands that stayed like hot weights. His front brushed her back and she felt it all throughout her body. Long fingers hooked her hair and freed the blonde strands from the collar. They skimmed her neck and Calla shuddered as a flood of heat rushed to her core from the simple and innocent caress. In the silence, her choked gasp echoed like a scream.
“Jesus, Calla.” The husky growl burned the crown of her head where his mouth grazed. “Why are you doing this to me?”
Aroused, lightheaded, and disgusted with herself, Calla tried to edge away, but there was only so far she could go without coming up against him. In the end, all she could do was turn and corner herself with her back against the wall and face the wolf looming over her.
His eyes were hard chips of flint. His face was set in a dark, almost hungry line that made her insides quiver. Her heart cracked in sharp claps that seemed to resonate helplessly between them.
“Denise…”
The other woman’s name burst from her lips like she was throwing up a shield. It was meant more as a reminder to herself than to him that he was taken and off-limits. But it seemed to work for both of them.
He straightened and released her from his scrutiny. His nostrils flared once as he sucked in a breath. Calla watched him try and pull himself together and something dawned on her, something that washed away the hot river of lust pounding through her.
“Would you?” she asked.
His gaze dropped down from the spot just above her head to fix on hers. “Would I what?”
“Kiss me.” She searched his eyes. “Touch me.” It was a dangerous game she was playing and the spark behind his stare warned her to stop, but she had to know. “If I asked you right now to take me back to your place, would you?”
“What are you doing?” he half growled, half hissed.
“I want … I need to know.”
His shoulders lifted, expanding his chest with his sharp inhale. A muscle coiled in his jaw. Against his sides, his fingers bunched.
“No.” His gaze never wavered from hers. “I wouldn’t.”
“Why?”
He pushed away from her, giving her a chance to finally breathe and slumped against the wall opposite her.
“Because as much as I want you, and God knows how much I fucking want you, I wasn’t raised like that. Denise might not be the woman my heart belongs to, but I wouldn’t disrespect her.”
His answer wound around her heart like a velvet robe and squeezed.
“Will you ever love her?”
His gaze dropped to the floor between them. “No.”
As much as his confession relieved her, it hurt to hear him say it.
“Then why are you with her?”
He rubbed a hand over his face. “Because I need to try.” He lifted his face and peered at her with eyes that cut into her very soul. “I would wait forever for you if you tell me there’s even a small chance, but you told me there wasn’t and I need to try and see if I can ever love someone else the way I love you.”
Without giving her a chance to catch her breath, or calm the rampage of her heart, he reached for the doorknob and wrenched it sharply. The door opened under his grip and swung inward. A sharp sheet of bright light spilled into the corridor. Calla expected him to charge through and leave her. Instead, he held it open and motioned her out first.
Dusk was setting in across the snow blanketed fields straining for miles. The world was a faint blush of light that glimmered faintly like some magical kingdom. Calla remembered all the times she and Willa had played fairy princesses in the snow, twirling around and pretending the falling snowflakes were fairy dust. Jared and Damon would watch from the front steps, never interacting, but always close enough to be forced into playing. Jared would always get nominated as the villain and Damon would be the poor, kidnapped prince that needed rescuing. He’d hated it, but Willa would ask and he would submit and let himself get captured and imprisoned. It had always been Calla’s favorite game.
“What?”
She hadn’t realized she’d been grinning until she found Jared watching her with a wary frown.
She chuckled. “Nothing.”
He looked like he wanted to press, but seemed to think better of it.
“Are you going to be okay driving into town?” he asked instead.
Ice cracked beneath their feet as they descended the front steps. Calla kept a firm grasp on the iron railing as she maneuvered to the bottom without breaking an ankle.
Calla eyed her little blue Volkswagen Beetle and shrugged. “I think so.”
“There’s a storm coming tonight,” he told her. “It’s supposed to be real bad. Why don’t you let me drive you?”
She chuckled and her breath plumed out in front of her in a white screen. “That makes no sense. There’s no storm now so if you drive me, I’d be stuck at the shop when the storm hits. Who’s going to drive me home?”
He mulled over her logic and huffed. “I hate your fucking car.”
Calla laughed at the familiar agitation darkening his scowl. “I know, but it’s the only one I have, so…”
“Get another one!” he snapped. “That tiny piece of crap isn’t safe, especially during the winter.”
“It’s fine,” she assured him as she had a million times before. “I’m not staying long. I just want to make sure Mom’s okay.”
He looked like he was prepared to argue, but she was already turning away and making her way to the object of his fury. Her keys jingled in the wintery silence as she flipped to the right one.
The inside was cold. The leather was crisp beneath her. She gritted her teeth to keep them from chattering as she got the engine started. In the halos of her headlights, Jared’s dark silhouette seemed larger than life a few feet away. He was watching her with his hands on his hips and his feet shoulder width apart. The irritation was a neon sign across his face. Finally, he gave up his showdown with her car and ambled to the massive gray truck parked off to the side. She watched the several tons of metal and machine bow to his weight when he heaved himself into the driver’s side. The door slammed shut behind him and the taillights splashed crimson stains across the snow. His window wheeled down and he thrust out an arm. He waved her on ahead of him.
Her tiny car grumbled in protest as the snow mounds grew higher than the frame. The roads that far out of town were seldom ever plowed. Most normal people bought trucks for that purpose, to avoid getting stuck. Her car was illogical, as Jared constantly reminded her.
“It’s death waiting to happen!”
His concern was endearing and sometimes amusing. She liked her car. It was the first big item she’d bought as an adult. She was proud of it. But, if she were honest with herself, she really needed a bigger car. At least for the winter months. Not that she would ever tell him.
Jared followed her all the way to the outskirts of town, completely out of his way, just to where the snowplows had done their job. He did a U-turn and drove back once she was safely on clear pavement. Calla watched his taillights disappear from sight through her rearview mirror and felt the familiar pang of loneliness in her chest. She hated that he brought it out in her when she fought so hard to keep it suppressed. It hadn’t done her any good in the past. It was that singular feeling that had destroyed her in the first place. She could never allow it to bloom again.
Bottling it back up, she steered her way to the heart of town and the only reason for her sanity.
The shop was brightly lit when Calla reached her usual parking spot in front. The bay windows shone in the setting gloom, giving the place a warm glow. Willa had stapled fairy lights around the glass, framing the mannequins in their pretty outfits and it only further drew the eyes when dusk fell.
The sign over the door swayed with the wind. The chains creaked in the silence as Calla cut the engine and stepped onto the sidewalk. A few people spotted her and waved. She waved back before ducking inside just as the first sprinkle of snow began falling from the inky heavens.
Her mom was behind the gleaming glass counter tucked just beneath the window. Her sleek, blonde hair was pulled back in a pretty French braid that Willa must have done for her. It left her small, round face bare and made her seem remarkably young. Her blue eyes lifted and widened in surprise when she spotted Calla.
“Hey sweetheart.” She lowered her head back to the photo album she was organizing. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
Stomping the snow off her boots onto the mat, Calla shrugged. “I didn’t either.”
Her mom stopped her rifling and looked up again. “Something wrong?”
It took her a moment to answer. She stalled by unhooking the buttons on her coat and shrugging out of the heavy wool. She walked around the counter and speared the coat up next to her mother’s fiery red one.
“No.”
“Calla.” Her mom straightened and folded her arms. “Talk to me.”
“It’s nothing!” She insisted, turning away and marching deeper through the maze of clothes.
There weren’t many. They carried a very small selection of each item, two or three at the most. Not because they didn’t have the room or cliental for it, but it made each article feel like one of a kind and that was what drew people; everyone wanted to be the only one in town with that pair of shoes, or that purse. Women were selfish like that and it was what kept Libellule in business.
“Was Jared at the house again?”
Calla straightened a row of skinny jeans, putting one finger width of spaces between each hanger.
“Yeah.”
“Did you talk to him?”
“No!” she grumbled, voice dripping with agitated sarcasm. “I ignored him and crawled under the table.”
“You know what I mean.”
She did know.
“He’s seeing someone,” she mumbled. “There’s nothing for me to say to him.” She scowled at a t-rack of cashmere sweaters in soft pastel colors. “I don’t have anything to say to him even if he wasn’t.”
“If you’re worried he might not love you back—”
“That’s not it.” Calla turned away from the sweaters to face her mom. “I know he does.”
Hadn’t he been telling her as much since they’d been sixteen? She hadn’t believed him then, not until the day she returned a year ago, a ruined shell of the girl she used to be and saw it in his eyes. It was too late then.
“So what’s the problem?”
What was the problem? That was the million dollar question. There were days she knew the answer and days when it made no sense even to her. But one thing was always for sure: a guy like Jared deserved someone who wasn’t broken. And that was an answer she couldn’t give her mother. It was a secret Calla would take to her grave
Title: Be My Baby
Series: The Baby Saga
Book Order: 3
Release Date: March 28, 2015
Genre: Contemporary
Pages: 250
