Darker Water (37 page)

“She loves you.”

“Stop! Just stop!” I waited until the reverb
of my yell had completely gone away. “I can’t…do this right now.
It’s too much. I need to process it a little but maybe… Is your
phone number the same?” Did I say that because I cared or because
it might get her to leave?

She nodded quickly, encouraged by a few words
spoken with a broken spirit. “I’m going to go see Anna.”

“That’s good.” Maybe they could help each
other. “She has more going on now, and she needs somebody.”

“You do, too.”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you?”

I was silent for as long as I could manage,
not wanting anyone to see how weak I was. Especially not her.

“Are you, Carson?”

“No.”

She stepped forward slowly. “I want to help
you. Tell me what I should do. Anything, please.”

“Why didn’t you send me away like you did
with Hayden?” I stood there stunned that I’d actually said it. Why
now? After all this time, I finally had the balls to ask her. I’d
always been too afraid of her answer to say the words. Now I guess
I didn’t have anything left to lose. I couldn’t feel any more than
I was already feeling. “Why did you make sure he was safe, but not
me?”

Her purse fell to the floor, tears welling in
her eyes, her shoulders sagging. “Because I needed my baby boy with
me. Your father would have killed Hayden. He almost did. But you
were so beautiful and sweet, and you could make him laugh.”

“When he wasn’t beating the shit out of me.
Didn’t stop him from doing that, did it? Didn’t stop the ones after
him, either.” I heard her inhale quickly, as if she was barely
holding it together. Good. “But in all fairness, I wasn’t so
beautiful and sweet by then.”

“Yes, you were.” She lifted her head slowly.
“You still are. I know how wrong it was, but back then I needed you
to take care of me. Like you’ve always done for Anna and like you’d
do for Laney if you let yourself get close enough. But she doesn’t
need you to protect her—she needs you to love her. And you need her
to love you.”

“I can’t—”

“Please don’t let your father be the reason
you lose something else.”

I didn’t look at her or stop her from coming
closer. Or from wrapping her arms around me while she cried. I
didn’t stop myself, either.

I dumped cream and sugar in my coffee and
headed straight for the door, stirring as I moved. Despite what I’d
always believed, apparently you
can
get jetlag flying from
L.A. to San Francisco. My brain was screwed up, but still able to
cause excruciating pain around my temples. Although, it had felt
like that even before I went to L.A.

My weekend of regrouping and coming up with a
plan for the rest of my life had turned into a weekend of sitting
in a hotel room and crying over commercials. Not even sappy
commercials. Paper towels shouldn’t make people cry, they just
shouldn’t.

Now that I was back in S.F. and had my
coffee, I needed to start packing. My apartment would be easy, my
shop much less so. At least I didn’t have to worry about all the
pieces the Bennett Foundation bought. I’d wrap them tomorrow, so
they’d be ready to go for the delivery guys on Tuesday. With so
many pieces going, I wanted to be there to make sure they were
handled properly. But no way would I get within two-hundred feet of
the foundation, not with the chance I’d see Carson again.

It would take me a week to get through all
the refinishing projects I’d already been paid for, and that was if
I worked eighteen-hour days. Long days would actually work really
well, though. If my focus was on anything other than what I was
doing, I’d end up chiseling a finger off or leaving fingerprints in
urethane and having to completely start over.

I saw Carson before he saw me, but only by a
few seconds—enough time to start jogging for the other exit.

“Lane,” he called loudly. “Wait up! A minute,
thirty seconds, whatever I can get. Please!”

I stopped. A minute of my life wasn’t too
much to ask, was it? Plus, like an idiot, I wanted to talk to him.
As hurtful as I knew it would be, I couldn’t help wanting to see
him again.

He looked tired, as if he’d been working too
much. Or not sleeping enough. I didn’t want to read into the
shallowness of his breath or how wide open his eyes were or how his
fingers tapped his thighs rapidly. It didn’t mean anything. With
Carson, there was no reading between the lines. Because Carson
didn’t have lines.

He had walls.

“Thanks for...” He stayed a few feet away,
his hands in his pockets. “How are you?”

Really? How did he think I was? “Been
better.” This was a terrible idea.

“Can we talk somewhere for a couple minutes?
No strings.”

“You get me to agree to a minute and now you
want a
couple
?” I joked. “Seems a little greedy, doesn’t
it?” But I’d give it to him. It was too hard not to.

You never walk away from someone just once.
Sure, the big dramatic one is important, but it’s all the little
ones before and after that really matter. Walking out a door and
slamming it behind you is easy. Getting someone out of your mind
and your soul… That’s the hard part.

Every time you avoid going somewhere, so you
won’t see him and every time you run away if you do. Every time you
switch the song that’s playing because it reminds you of him. Every
time you walk into a room and know exactly why everyone is staring.
Every choice you make to keep yourself from thinking about him.
Those
are the things that wear you down.

“What do you want, Carson?”

“Not here. We can talk at my place.”

“No.” I couldn’t even get a single word out
without my voice faltering. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

He wiped his hand over his mouth, rubbing the
stubble on his cheek. “I want you to take your coffee table back.
And get all the stuff out of your drawer.”

God, I was pathetic. Did I really think he
was going to suddenly say all the things I wanted him to, or even
thank me and tell me how much our time together had changed him?
Unfortunately, yes, that’s what I’d been hoping. But nope, he just
wanted to get my crap out of his life.

“I’ll send someone—”

“I want it out
now
. Not tomorrow or
three hours from now. This second, I want it gone.”

“Fine,” I snapped. I’d dump the table in the
trash, because I didn’t want it either. And the stuff in
my—
his
—drawer? I didn’t even remember what was in there. It
had become so normal so fast, and it hadn’t meant anything for him
to give it to me. Not like now. Now I guess it meant a lot to him.
Fine, he didn’t want reminders of me around his place? Well, I
didn’t want him to be reminded of me. So I’d take my crap and throw
it away somewhere, and he’d never have to see it again.

He walked a step behind me as I stomped to
his place, taking the stairs because I wouldn’t be able to handle
standing in an elevator with him for thirty seconds. As soon as we
were one flight up, I realized my mistake. This was where
everything had started—and continued. I couldn’t do this. Just
before I turned around to tell him he should throw all my stuff out
his fucking window if he wanted, I felt his hand on my waist.

“Don’t touch me.” My voice reflected the mess
I was emotionally—weak, confused, scared as shit that this was
going to make me hurt more or make the pain last longer. “You can’t
touch me.”

His hand disappeared, but I still couldn’t
turn around. If I did he’d be right there, and I’d have to look
into his eyes, and I just couldn’t do that again. So I kept moving
forward, away from him but towards his apartment, trapped on both
sides by something I wanted but couldn’t have.

I waited for him to unlock the door, standing
back with my arms crossed. When I followed him in, I noticed he’d
moved the coffee table and covered it with a sheet. It stung. He
didn’t even want to look at a part of me, and I was so easy to put
out of his life. But mostly it was because all I could think about
was him bringing some woman back here and not wanting anything
around that reminded him of the last girl he fucked. The last one
he—

“My mother came by,” he said, stopping and
blocking my way. Why couldn’t he just let me do what I came here
for and then let me leave? “She said some good stuff.”

“That’s nice,” I mumbled when it seemed like
he expected me to respond.

“I was thinking of going down to Southern Cal
for a few days. Probably rent a car and go to San Diego after
spending some time with her. We’re trying to start over.”

“That’s great.” It was what I wanted, why I’d
gone to see Renee. Sadly, I didn’t feel very successful right
now.

“Your parents still live in San Diego, right?
So you probably know all the best places to go.” He finally let me
step around him, but I didn’t get far. “What would you say if I
asked you to go with me?”

Was he serious? “I’d say no.” Did he think
that I could just forget how I felt and we’d go back to sleeping
together? Take a trip to San Diego so we could fuck on the beach
maybe? I practically ran to his dresser and pulled out my
cosmetic’s bag, a pair of underwear, a piece of paper that—

Oh my god, it was the list, the list of
things I’d wanted to try, with him. I crumpled it in my hand and
dropped it back in the drawer, on top of the black bag of toys.
What was I supposed to do with those?

Fuck it. He could deal with them, because I
sure as hell couldn’t.

“Lane? I know you’re still mad at me, and you
have every right to be.” Even across the room he was still too
close, his voice was too soft and sad, and I didn’t want to be here
anymore because I was just getting more confused.

“I need to go.” Stuff started falling out of
my hands. I bent down to pick it all up, hiding my face.
“Just…um…put the table in the trash or maybe call Goodwill or
something. I think they’ll—”

“I’m keeping the table. It was just an excuse
to get you up here.”

“Why would you do that?” I looked at him and
stood, ignoring everything but him. “Fuck you, Carson! I’m not… I
can’t go backwards.” I couldn’t pretend I didn’t feel the way I
felt or miss him or want him. It was becoming hard to breathe
without crying. “I have to go.”

“You can’t. I know you’re mad at me, but give
me a chance to talk to you.”

Wanna see a grown man jump out of the way so
fast he hurts himself? Five simple words will do it. As long as
they’re the right ones.

“I’m in love with you,” I shouted at him,
hating every word because I knew they were poison to him. “I’m in
love with you. I didn’t want it to happen, but it did. And not
saying it out loud doesn’t make it any less true.” But it sure made
it harder to look him in the eyes. “I can’t be your friend any
more, Carson. It’s too hard, because I’m too screwed up.

“I’m not mad at you,” I continued. “I’ve
never been mad at you, because you didn’t do anything wrong and
you’ve never been anything but honest. I’m disappointed in myself
because I couldn’t stop it from happening. I couldn’t turn it off
or even slow it down once it started, and I didn’t tell you because
I knew you’d leave. It was unfair and selfish. I knew it was the
whole time, but I did it anyway because I wanted to be with you for
as long as I could. So…I’m sorry.” I wiped my face with my sleeve.
“Now, if you don’t mind, I’d really like to go. Because this
hurts.”

“It doesn’t have to.”

“Actually, I think it does.” If there was a
way around it, I’d sure like to know what it was. But I deserved
this. I’d practically begged for it to happen.

“Tell me what you want, Lane.”

“I don’t know,” I whispered.

“Yeah, you do. You’re just afraid to say it
because you don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings.
My
feelings. I can handle it, so just fucking say it.”

“I want
you
.”

“You already have me.” He stepped towards me.
“I’m right here.”

I shook my head. “I want more than you just
being there. I want all of you. I don’t want you to hold yourself
back.”

“Okay.”

“No, you don’t understand. What I want is for
you to accept the way I feel about you and be okay with it. Then—”
I laughed, even though it didn’t sound like a laugh because it
wasn’t funny—it was stupid. “Then I want you to tell me you feel
the same, and I want it to be the truth. But it doesn’t matter what
I want because I can’t have it. It’s not anybody’s fault and
admitting it doesn’t change anything. So, in terms of things I want
that are possible, I guess…I guess I want you to be okay.”

“That’s a lot of things.”

“You asked. I answered.”

“How would you answer if I told you I want to
open doors for you and pull out your chair and bring you breakfast
in bed and spend hours getting pruney in the tub watching that shit
you call television, just as long as my arms are around you?”

“I’d probably say, ‘As incredible as that
sounds’”—my next breath was broken—“‘it’s not enough.’” A
relationship would never work with as much inequality as we had.
I’d always want more, and I’d always be disappointed.

“Then I’d say, ‘Shut up, Lane, because I’m
not done. Because I want to wake up next to you every morning and
make love to you every night. I want to protect you and make you
understand that you’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met.’ I’ve
known you were ever since you told me to fuck off in the coffee
shop, but I was afraid to say it. Because if I said it out loud,
you might realize I was right and that you could do so much better
than me, you
deserved
so much better than me and what I
could offer.”

“Cars—”

“Then I’d tell you to shut up again, because
there’s some stuff I need to say, and if I stop talking now I’ll
chicken out. Stuff like how, at first, it was easy not to tell you
how I felt because I’d never felt it before and didn’t know what it
was or what to call it. Then it was
hard
not to tell you
because you deserved the truth even if it made you run for the
hills. So that means I
did
do something wrong and I haven’t
always been honest. And for that I’m sorry. What would you say
then?”