A Promise of Fireflies (24 page)

Chandler squirmed. “Nat’s been busy, so I guess she didn’t tell you about that either?”

“I’ve been a little busy myself,” she said, and brushed a nonexistent speck of dust from her sleeve. “Tell me about what?”

“She moved to Scottsdale.”

“Gee, that’s too bad.”

“And she’s not pregnant.”

Ryleigh’s head turned swiftly. Della seemed the type to do something unimaginably stupid, and her head swam with ugly thoughts. “What happened?”

“Nothing. She lied about it,” he said, his words colored with self-reproach. “There never was a baby.”

“Should I be sorry?” she asked with little emotion.

“I’m the one who’s sorry,” he said, hands clenched on the steering wheel. “I was a fool.”

“Took you long enough to figure that one out.”

“You sound like Evan.”

She shot him a sideways glance. “God, all men seem to care about is sports and sex and not necessarily in that order. Their brains drop between their legs about the time they turn fifteen. And you’re no exception. I was there.”

“You’re right. I don’t know what I ever saw in her.”

Was it guilt or perhaps embarrassment she heard in the sobered response? Did it matter?

“You saw a pretty face and store-bought boobs and followed your stiff prick. She’s as transparent as those skanky nighties she probably wears.”

“I’m sorry, Ryleigh.”

“A little late.”

“If I could turn back the clock, I would.”

Ryleigh searched his face in the hushed light of the truck. Sincerity lurked behind his words, and it confused her. She quickly shook her head. “Chandler, it’s not just about you. You think in straight lines, like the walls in your blueprints—a precise start and end point. But what about everything in between? So much more constitutes that wall; it’s all jumbled up with wiring and switches, two-by-fours and plumbing,” she said. “You can’t simply apologize and forget about everything else attached along the line.”

“I’d take it all back if I could.”

“Hindsight. Pretty damn easy to go there, isn’t it?”

“I know I can’t—”

“You’re right. The past can’t be changed. Nor forgotten.”

Tension poisoned the air with a stagnant pause. He plowed a hand through his hair. “How was New York?”

She was exhausted and much too close to the man who should have been with her through her mother’s death, walking beside her on foreign sidewalks looking for a man she’d never met, and holding her through Ambrose’s stories, protecting her, consoling her. His arm should have held her when she walked from her brother’s grave and it should have been his hands helping her bridge the gap between past and present at The Wall. Caught somewhere between resentment and just plain pissed off, her eyes blurred. She blinked back the sudden moisture, but she couldn’t fight the lone tear that gathered weight and spilled.

“I don’t want to talk about New York.” Ryleigh groped for the darkness beyond the window and with her head turned, she wiped at a moist cheek. “Or anything. Just drive.”

They pulled into Ryleigh’s drive, the remainder of the trip spent in silence. The light on the front stoop had sparked and died when she’d tried to replace the bulb, and the bronze carriage lights on either side of the garage did little to light the front door. Chandler set the suitcase down and fumbled with the key.

Her teeth chattered. “Why do you still have the house key?” she asked, folding her arms in front of her.

He shrugged. “You never asked for it back.”

“I am now. Leave it on the counter before you go.”

The lock released with a thump. Ryleigh flipped the light switch and tossed her denim jacket over the counter. Kingsley bounded into the room, winding himself around her legs.

“Hey, Kingsley,” she cooed, and stooped to pet him. Purring loudly, he arched his back petitioning for more attention.

“Your key.” Chandler slapped the key on the counter.

When she reached for it, Chandler put his hand over hers. “I’ll let you have it when you tell me what’s wrong.”

“Not a chance in hell. You’ve done your good deed, now please go.”

He tightened his grip. “Tell me and I’ll leave.” His voice was calm, yet his words echoed the same firm resolve his hand held on hers.

Subtle signs of endless days spent in the sun appeared at the corners of his eyes, the lines etched faintly into tanned skin. The contours of the man before her had changed, his smile seasoned. Though the lines had deepened, the edges had softened, become more thoughtful.

“Do you think it was easy for me to admit how foolish I’ve been?” His thumb stroked her palm. “I’ve had a long time to think about what’s important. I miss you,” he said and pulled her against him. “I miss us.”

Ryleigh slipped into his arms with familiar ease, nothing between them but the air they breathed. A tendril of hair had fallen across his eye, his face unshaven. She’d begged him to let his hair grow and allow a few days scruff between shaves, but he never had. Until now.

His breathing quickened. This couldn’t be happening. Not after she’d made the decision to move on and after what had happened over the past few days and weeks. Renewed tears stung her eyes, and she ground the bitter rancor between her teeth. He had defiled their marriage and the hurt and humiliation had gradually subsided. Revisiting what she’d put behind her would resurrect the pain and peel away the fragile layer that had begun to form over the wound. She’d been down that road and the experience wasn’t high on her list of things she ever wished to repeat.

His voice softened. “Ryleigh, something happened in New York.” Chandler took her face in his hands and stroked her cheek. “Tell me.”

“It’s none of your business.”

“I know you better than anyone. Give me a chance.”

She dug her teeth solidly into her lip. “You had your chance.”

“I need you, Ryleigh Collins.” He traced the hollow of her back. “Let me be a part of your life again.”

She straightened and thrust her fists to his chest. “You gave up that right the moment the male part of your anatomy led you into another woman’s bed.”

An emotional air pocket bloated the space between them. Wads of his shirt twisted in her hands. “Say something, you bastard!”

“You’re beautiful.”

“Not what I meant.”

“I know what you meant and I meant what I said.” His sincerity was unwavering. “You’re the girl I fell in love with, the one I want to be with. That hasn’t changed.”

The years had been kind to him; he was more handsome now, etched with the fine lines of age, than when they were kids, and with an instant’s hesitation, she allowed the words to momentarily penetrate a thin bubble of restraint. Her fingers formed around the hard line of his chin and then briefly touched his cheek. The strong features were but a façade to the man inside, and she’d slipped easily into the role of commander in chief. Was it so selfish to want someone to take care of her for a change? She drew a cleansing breath. “You’re right again. Nothing has changed, and yet everything has changed.”

His eyes danced back and forth between hers. “I want to come home.”

“God, Chandler, you aren’t listening—”

He placed a finger to her lips. “Let me finish what I’ve wanted to say for a long time.” He swallowed hard, the tiny muscles in his jaw tensing. “We belong together and I’ll wait as long as it takes to be a part of your life again. I’ve never stopped loving you.”

Chandler lifted her chin. Hesitantly, he leaned into her and kissed her tenderly, the familiar feel of him natural and easy. He pulled her close and the taste of his lips and the warmth of his tongue were shadow-memories of a dream, one she didn’t know how to pull away from. He held her with an intensity she hadn’t felt in a very long time.

He cradled the back of her neck with one hand, the rough stubble of his face newly stimulating against her skin, his touch ingrained. She responded, a feverish excitement as their tongues met and the past disappeared.

They broke apart but she remained pressed against him, his heart thumping against her cheek, the rhythm mercifully conciliate, yet her heart and her head hopped frantically between two different playing fields.

“Let me make love to you.”

Desperately wanting to relinquish and give in, she grasped his shirt and pulled it loose, her hands beneath the soft cloth tracing the outline of muscle, the feel of his skin and his sigh a momentary relapse into the familiar. She breathed deeply. How many nights had she waited for the obnoxious sound of the diesel truck in the late night stillness? Even before Della, was he truly pounding nails and raising walls in the dark? Or was he raising himself and pounding someone else on the nights he’d left her alone? She forced the ugly thought to disintegrate. Her hands fell silent to her side, her forehead against his chest, and she stopped herself before the ridiculous idea that things could ever be the same took root and grew to something unstoppable.

Gently, he lifted her chin and leaned in to take possession of what dwindling resolve she had left.

Ryleigh’s fingers blocked his advance. “This is a mistake, Chandler.”

“Please,” he murmured, “let me show you we can start over, be who we used to be.”

What was it Ambrose had said?
You cannot expect the truth not to exist simply by ignoring it.
“Too much has happened.” She shook her head. “Della may not be carrying your child, but it doesn’t miraculously change the fact you slept with her. You lived with her for a year. An entire year.” She squeezed her eyes to expel the pictures that trespassed across her mind. Paramount to the sickening image was the fact he had betrayed what they once shared as sacred.

Turmoil played across his paled face. “How can I convince you I would never hurt you again?”

A whisper of disquiet seeped into her heart, one she wished she could dispel—one she knew she couldn’t. The truth settled over her in the soft clicking of a closing door inside her mind: the past and all its intrinsic threads had rewoven her path. The path to her future.

She raised her eyes to his and absorbed the grief hidden behind his eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said and stepped away from what could have been a consequential mistake.

Before she could slip away, he traced her arms tenderly, ending at her fingertips. Holding both her hands in his, he squeezed lightly. “Marry me.”

Every ounce of assurance she’d built faded with each of Chandler’s footsteps as he left the house. Coupled with the sequence of events of the past few months, her scrambled emotions were a towering course of bricks, one nudge from toppling. Though utterly confused by his words, the memories and hurt, she savored how easy it had been within his arms.

His words echoed inside her head. Her heartbeat had taken up residence behind her eyes, and she couldn’t shake the insidious feeling of free falling—spinning out of control—the ripcord jammed. The parachute wasn’t going to open.

Part of her remained in the comfortable security of his embrace, and part of her flipped to the pages of the past. Taking him back would be the easy thing to do—a relapse into an addictive habit—easier to give in than try to break. Chandler would provide for her and give her a good life. This needed no contemplation. It was easy. And when life presented itself as a stormy battlefield, she preferred to run for shelter until the thunder passed and the clouds dissipated on their own.

Ryleigh took the journal from her suitcase pocket and retreated to her study. Kingsley followed eagerly, leaped into the chair and curled up nose to tail beside her. With Ryan’s journal in one hand, she stroked the cat with the other, the tomcat’s purr motor in high gear.

She traced the watermarked smudges and skimmed her finger over the ‘R’ at the bottom of the page, the same way she had a few hours ago at her brother’s gravesite and again at The Wall. It seemed an eternity. Surreal. With the story ingrained in her mind, she wondered whether the smudges were raindrops dripping from leaves in the jungles of Vietnam, or the silent tears of a soldier lost in the heady bubble of love halfway across the world.

Sinking into the comfort of the old blue chair, she escaped into the one world she was sure of. Words. She preferred their company, their comforting embrace. Words were constant. Solid. Dependable.