Legacy (25 page)

Chapter 29

I
t hurt. Corinne didn’t bother denying that it hurt when he rejected her.

And she might have been upset—if she didn’t think she deserved it. But she had it coming. Corinne had behaved as though he didn’t matter to her.

When he did. Maybe he mattered more than anything.

Wes didn’t trust her not to hurt him. He didn’t know that three weeks without him had taught her a great many things. About him. About herself.

So when he pushed her away, Corinne didn’t hold it against him—even though it hurt. So badly. Instead, she cleared her throat and stared at their feet until she could summon enough dignity to look him in the eye again.

“I should probably get back inside,” she said, evenly.

Wes nodded, but he looked miserable. She might have deserved to suffer, but he certainly did not, especially now that he seemed pained for hurting her.

“It’s my big night, after all,” she said, forcing a smile and brushing her fingers along his forearm to reassure him.

A measure of relief came to his eyes, and he turned to pull the door open for them.

“Next time I’m at the gym, maybe we could have lunch,” she ventured, watching his reaction.

When he wanted to be, Wes was a master of the poker face. His guarded look left her no hint about what he thought—except the certainty that he didn’t want her to know what was going on in his head.

“Maybe so,” he said, simply.

This didn’t sound very encouraging, but she wasn’t about to call him on it. Instead, she slipped inside and tried to reassume the sense of confidence that the gallery always gave her.

As soon as they stepped back inside, Ann eyed her desperately from behind the counter. It was time to sell some art.

“I’ve got to go,” she said, quickly to Wes. “Stop avoiding my texts and calls, okay?”

Wes gave a rueful laugh.

“Okay,” he agreed.

It wasn’t much, but maybe they could move on from here. Still, she didn’t want to leave his side. She would have been happier to stay by him all night and try to convince him to come home. Instead, she let herself squeeze his hand again.

“Thanks for coming,” Corinne said, and then she pulled away and darted to the counter to help her boss.

For the next two hours, Corinne didn’t stop. She greeted, toured, poured, sold, and, finally, cleaned up. But the whole time, a nagging anxiety tore at her. A little after 11 p.m., Ann hugged her with tearful pride, and both women walked out to their cars.

Corinne checked her phone as she started the Mazda and found a text from Wes. Seeing his name on the screen was enough to make her heartbeat step up.

Saturday, July 5
9:42 p.m.

Stopped by the house to feed Buck and let him out. Figured you’d be a while getting back tonight
.

His words made her smile, and she texted right back.

Saturday, July 5
11:14 p.m.

Thank you so much! Just leaving Green Door now. Glad Buck is good to go.

The nagging made her stomach tighten, refusing to be ignored now that she was alone. Corinne heard the phone chime as she drove, but she resisted the urge to check it until she got home.

Saturday, July 5
11:16 p.m.

Be careful going home. Lots of crazies downtown. Text when you get in.

This one made her breath catch. He still worried about her. He still cared about her, and he didn’t seem to be keeping his distance anymore. Corinne hoped all of these things were true, and she quickly responded.

Saturday, July 5
11:29 p.m.

Home safe.

It was great to see you tonight. Thank you.

She was kicking off her shoes and unzipping her dress when another text sounded.

Saturday, July 5
11:34 p.m.

Glad I came. Good to see you, too. So proud of you.

Corinne’s hand flew to her heart at this.

“Oh, my,” she whispered to herself. Another message followed right behind it.

Saturday, July 5
11:34 p.m.

Michael would be, too.

She thought it was sweet for him to say it, and she knew that it was true, but Corinne was keenly aware of the realization that—tonight—it was Wes’s good opinion that mattered most to her. She didn’t see how she could tell him that, but Corinne now wished she could.

Before she could text back, her phone chimed again.

Saturday, July 5
11:35 p.m.

Gotta ride tomorrow. Night, C.

An unpleasant and all-too-familiar feeling knotted in her stomach. It warred with the nagging feeling, edging past it in her mind, and she texted back.

Saturday, July 5
11:36 p.m.

Please be safe! Goodnight, Wes.

Corinne changed into her pajamas, let Buck out one last time, and went to the bathroom to brush her teeth. She eyed herself in the bathroom mirror and sighed. The house without Wes felt so empty. After she let the dog back in, locked up, and crawled into bed, she stared at the ceiling in the darkness.

She should have been exhausted. The day had been full and rewarding, and her body should have been tired, but her eyes didn’t want to close.

What if?
She wondered.

What if they had not gone to the Roush’s that day? And Claire had not pounced on her? And Corinne had not said the things she said...?

Would he be just down the hall?...Would he be closer?

He’d slept in her bed that night. Because she’d asked him to. The scraps of memories teased her. Sleeping in Wes’s arms always felt so good
.

Corinne wanted to do it again. She wanted to do other things, too.

She wanted to see him tomorrow after his ride, and she wanted to eat dinner with him, and she wanted to walk Buck with him. And it wasn’t because the house was empty. And it wasn’t because she was lonely. And it wasn’t because she was sad.

She wanted to kiss him again. She wanted to feel the skin under his shirt over his abs. She wanted to lie beneath him.

But she was afraid.

As Corinne lay alone in bed, she let herself feel the band of fear that cinched around her middle. It had been closing in on her for weeks, and to keep it at bay, she had lied to herself. And she had lied to Wes. Because lying was easier than facing it.

If you love him, you will lose him.

This was the language that the fear spoke. And Corinne believed that it spoke the truth. How could she not believe it? It had been truth her whole life. She’d loved her mother. Before anything else, she could remember the love and the loss that seemed to be the very genesis of her life. The unspoken lesson of her childhood was irrefutable: what you love the most and need the most will be taken from you.

And then the love that eclipsed everything, the love that finally seemed to be the answer had found her.

Michael
.

When they’d met, she couldn’t push him away. He wouldn’t go. And so she’d let her guard down and loved him with everything she had. He’d made her believe that the hole in her heart that she could only fill with art or anger wasn’t meant to be a hole at all. It was the place where her love started, where there was and had always been so much more to give.

Then he’d gone and died on her.

And now her stupid heart was asking her to love again. It scared the piss out of her.

If she were honest with herself, her heart had asked her to love weeks ago, and the answer had been and was still yes. She loved Wes. She loved his passion for life, how he lived in his body with so much intensity. How he ate with such joy, worked with real conviction. She loved how he cared for the people in his life. He’d made sure that Chad—someone who needed and deserved it—got Michael’s bike; he visited the Roushes, as devoted to them as their own son had been; he’d upended his own life to watch out for her. She loved how he hadn’t given up on her in the beginning when she’d tried to push him away, too.

Corinne loved how he played with Buck, and joked with her, and sang along to awful hip hop music. She loved how he ran his hands through his hair when he was agitated, the way the house smelled after he shaved.

She loved the way he looked at her.

Corinne loved Wes Clarkson, and she’d allowed him to believe that she didn’t. Denying it hadn’t made anything better. It didn’t make her love him less; in fact, it made her love him more, miss him more.

It didn’t matter that she hadn’t meant to fall in love with him. Six months ago, she didn’t think loving anyone else was possible, but now, looking back on their time together, it was impossible to think that she could have avoided it. Wes was wonderful.

Corinne had denied how she felt not because she didn’t love Wes, not because she couldn’t love Wes, but because she couldn’t face losing him, too. The way she’d lost Michael. The way she’d lost her mother.

Losing her mother had maimed her, teaching her to guard against closeness, prompting her to push people away. Losing Michael had almost killed her. If she let herself love Wes, and she lost him, too...

But lying in her bed, staring up at the ceiling, Corinne saw the irony. By denying how she felt, she’d lost him anyway.

She had to fix things—if Wes would let her.

Corinne sat up against the pillows, switched on the bedside lamp, and started making plans.

Chapter 30

W
es and Chad shouldered their bikes up the stairs to Chad’s second-floor apartment on Sunday, drenched, exhausted, and starving. The 25-mile training ride in 85 degree heat had kicked their asses, and sweat still streamed into Wes’s eyes. He wiped it away so he could focus on the plastic rectangle on Chad’s doorstep.

“What’s that?” he panted, pointing as they reached the landing.

“Don’t know.” Chad set his bike down and bent over with a grunt. He picked up the container and handed it to Wes. “It’s for you. There’s a note.”

But by then Wes could already see the unmistakable golden promise through the Rubbermaid plastic.

“Pineapple upside-down cake!” he gasped, taking the dish from Chad and reading his name in Corinne’s pretty script across the card. He cracked the lid and immediately inhaled the heavenly brown sugar and butter syrup that soaked the top of the fluffy, golden cake.

“Dude, you are sharing that,” Chad declared, making a grab for the container. Wes jerked it safely out of his friend’s reach.

“Hands off, Case,” he barked. “Get the hell inside.”

Chad scowled.

“Asshole, I let you live here for free,” he grumbled, but he unlocked the door anyway, carrying the Pinarello carefully through.

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t share,” Wes leveled, following him. “But, bitch, you don’t get to touch this cake.”

“Fine. I’ll get some plates.”

Wes eyed his friend with disbelief.

“Hold on there, ace. This is Corinne’s pineapple upside down cake,” he explained with indignation. “You don’t just dive into it in a post-ride binge. We’ve gotta eat something to take the edge of first so we can savor it. Make us some turkey sandwiches while I read my note.”

“Remind me again how long you are staying?” Chad griped, but he set his bike in its stand in the living room and made his way to the kitchen.

Wes put up his own bike before sitting on the couch and plucking the note from the plastic lid.

“You’d better not be putting your sweaty ass on my sofa,” Chad called from the kitchen.

Wes shot up and winced at the ass-shaped wet spot he’d left on the microsuede. Wes knew that they both had a case of the hangries after the killer bike ride, but he didn’t want to piss off Chad for real.

He set the cake on the coffee table and tore open the envelope. The surprise of the dessert in light of his mind-boggling hunger had almost overshadowed the fact that Corinne had brought it. That she’d been on Chad’s doorstep that morning. He’d thought about her for 25 miles, arguing with himself over his decision to push her away rather than face more heartache.

And she was thinking about me
, he realized with wonder.

He held her note carefully as he unfolded it, mindful now of the racing of his heart.

Wes,

I’ve been a jerk. And an idiot. And a chicken shit. I want to make it up to you.

Love,

Corinne

He laughed at her short, blunt sentences, but he shook his head. She was still trying to apologize, still believing he was upset with her. Wes knew she didn’t understand why he had to stay away, but he wasn’t going to put it all out there for her, either. Maybe that made
him
a chicken shit, but he couldn’t see the point in explaining to Corinne that he couldn’t live with her anymore because he was in love with her, and he never stood a chance.

He was too far gone to be able to live with her, especially if she kept surprising him with kisses the way she had at the gallery last night and in his truck weeks before. It was too damn hard when he knew she could never love him.

Still, he didn’t want her out of his life completely. He couldn’t stand that either.

He pulled his phone out of his armband and strode into Chad’s spare room. Wes could hardly call it
his
room. Most of his stuff was still at Corinne’s. And in storage. And at his parents’ house.

Living like a fucking nomad,
Wes told himself.

But nomads roamed without a home, and whenever Wes thought about home, Corinne filled his mind. He tapped her number and allowed himself to feel grateful for a reason to call her.

She picked up on the second ring.

“Hey, Wes,” she answered, sounding happy to hear from him.

Wes couldn’t help the smile as her voice tugged at him.

“You made me a cake,” he said, still a little in awe that she’d done it.

“I did,” she said, clearly pleased with herself.

“It wasn’t necessary,” Wes said.

The line went quiet for a moment.

“Oh, I think it was.”

Wes could still hear the smile in her voice, but he imagined that it sobered some.

“Corinne,...I’m not mad at you,” he tried to explain.

“I’m very glad to hear that, Wes,” she answered. “But that’s not why I made you a cake.”

Wes frowned.

“Then why did you?” he couldn’t help but ask.

“Because you like it,” she said before he heard her draw in a breath. “And I like you.”

The words felt good, like the brush of fingertips down his back.

But I
love
you,
Wes thought with a pang.

“I like you, too,” he managed.

She paused again.

“Can I make you dinner tomorrow night? At the house?” she asked, sounding hopeful—and a little meek.

His stomach fell.

“Corinne…” He didn’t want to keep telling her no, but she threatened his composure. He didn’t think he could be in the house with her where he’d last held her as she slept.

“What about lunch, then? At the club?” she stammered, in a rush. “Just lunch tomorrow.”

Wes suppressed a sigh. She wasn’t going to give it up. Wes knew this. As many times as she’d called him or texted him in the last three weeks, he knew she’d just keep at it. This was typical Corinne.

“Yes. Lunch tomorrow.”

“Yay!” she sang.

She wanted to be friends, and he had to allow them some space and time to actually
be friends
, even though it was hard. But he didn’t have to torture himself. He didn’t have to go back to the house or hold her hand or let her kiss him.

Would you actually stop her from kissing you AGAIN?
he asked himself. He shook off the question and decided it was time to say goodbye.

“Well, thanks for the cake, C,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound as low to her as he did to himself. “I’ll meet you in the snack bar at noon.”

“At noon, Wes,” she echoed, sounding, he thought, a little low, too.

In spite of himself, Wes was waiting outside the snack bar at 11:55, less than a minute after he’d finished with his 11 a.m. client. He’d reverently devoured two pieces of Corinne’s perfect pineapple upside down cake the day before, and Wes was convinced it tasted better than anything he’d ever eaten. He admitted to himself that this was probably because she’d made it for him alone, but that changed nothing.

And even though he knew it was foolish and hopeless, all night and all morning, his mind had returned to Corinne, knowing he’d see her again. So the fact that he was only five minutes early for their lunch date was something he regarded as a marginal victory. It was better than watching her finish her yoga class from outside the studio like a stalker.

When he saw her slender, petite frame—stunning in her fitted yoga attire—descend the stairs across from him, Wes silently promised that he wouldn’t make a fool of himself, even though a part of him—a ridiculously demanding part of him—wanted to beg Corinne to give him a chance to make her happy.

I’d do anything.

He pushed the desperate thought from his mind. Wes tried to offer Corinne the kind of smile a friend would—not one from an obsessed loser—sure that he’d look like a douche either way.

But she just smiled back, maddening him even more when she stepped into his space and pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek. It
was
something a friend would do, but she brushed him with the signature of her heat and intoxicated him with her honeysuckle scent, and for a moment, he couldn’t speak.

“How are you, Wes?” she asked, eyeing him carefully.

I’m in love with you.

I’m miserable.

I’m this close to throwing you over my shoulder and bolting for the door.

“I’m...good. You?” he managed.

“Hungry,” she answered, smiling and leading him into the snack bar. “You gonna order for me today, coach?”

Wes gave a rueful grin. That had been their routine. They hadn’t worked out together in almost a month, and he missed it. Maybe she did, too.

“Sure.” When they made it to the front of the line, he ordered two turkey burgers with steamed broccoli while Corinne grabbed them each a vitamin water.

“Thanks for taking care of Buck the other night,” she said. “With all of the stuff going on at the gallery, I didn’t even realize how late I’d be.”

“It’s no problem,” Wes said, shaking his head. “Anytime you need me to look in on him, I’m happy to do it.”

Corinne’s eyes met his, and she gave him a sad smile. He held his breath, ready for her to say something about moving back, but just then their order was called.

He grabbed their plates and carried them out into the dining area, finding a table near the racquet ball courts. Wes busied himself by dressing his burger with mustard and ketchup while Corinne pushed broccoli around on her plate.

This is going to be brutal.

The tension between them felt like a force field, holding them still and silent—and apart from each other.

“I took on a new commission,” Corinne said, finally breaking the silence.

“You did?” Wes asked, relieved for something to talk about, but also surprised and pleased for her.

“Yeah, a guy at the gallery opening wants me to do a portrait of his wife,” she said, looking wistful. “It was so sweet.”

“Yeah, it’s quite a gift to be painted by Corinne Granger,” he said before he could help himself.

Corinne’s brow crimped in worry.

“Oh, Wes,” she sighed, heavily. “I really should have asked your permission before hanging that portrait. I’m sorry.”

Wes felt his eye shoot open in surprise.

“What? Corinne, no,” he said in a rush. “I wasn’t being sarcastic. I mean it. Seeing that portrait was pretty powerful.”

Corinne bit the corner of her lip—adorably, Wes thought.

“Really? If I’d thought you were coming, I would have at least given you a heads-up,” she admitted. “To be honest, I didn’t give it much thought. I just really liked the painting.”

He didn’t have a right to, but Wes felt proud.

“It’s a good painting,” he said, softly. “I’m glad you showed it...Really.”

The worry left her face, and her hazel eyes shone with happiness. Wes felt his insides warm at her look.

If you let me, I’d give you everything.

“Well, I’m sure it’s the reason I got that commission,” she said, looking up at him through her lashes, trying to hide how proud it made her.

“Oh, really?” Wes teased, the tension he felt earlier now forgotten. Finally, he dug into his turkey burger.

“Yeah, really. I’ve had three offers on it,” she said, soberly. “But I don’t think I want to sell it.”

The last words came out softly, and Wes looked up from his plate and locked eyes with her again. Was there something in them he hadn’t seen before?

Wes was about to say her name, when the look on her face changed suddenly to one of alarm as she focused behind him.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my slacker son and the artist who’s out of his league.”

Wes heard his father’s voice drip down on them, and he saw Corinne’s eyes narrow before he turned around.

Harold Clarkson carried a tennis racquet over his shoulder and bore a wicked smile. The sadistic mischief in the man’s eyes made Wes get to his feet, instinctively shielding Corinne with his body. Wes knew that his father hadn’t been drinking, but he recognized the blood-thirsty look in his eyes. It was clear that he’d had a bad morning—in court or in a settlement meeting, no doubt—and he’d come to the gym to best an opponent on the tennis courts and regain some face.