Reckless Hearts (23 page)

I
broke my own rules for him. He told me over and over that he was a
man of his word, and eventually, I believed him. I put my heart on
the line, only to find he was hiding everything, keeping secrets
about his other life.

Just
like my father did.

I
drift numbly through my regular routine of client meetings and open
house viewings, paperwork at the office, and shiny new deals. Maybe
it’s the universe trying to repay this massive karmic debt, but
I find myself on a winning streak like nothing else, closing half a
dozen pending deals in a single week. I watch the numbers go up and
calculate my commissions, but I still can’t feel an ounce of my
usual pride. I’m hollow, used up inside.

All
I can think about is Will.

The
night we met, that first electric press of my lips against his.
Splashing in the creek, the heat of our bodies like an inferno,
coming together for the first time. Lying curled and sick in his
arms, feeling like nothing in the world could hurt me as long as he
was there, holding me close. But those memories are too sweet to
bear, and they get poisoned by everything else I don’t know:
his life with Helena, the plans they made and the sweet nothings they
murmured in the heat of the night. I torture myself imagining it all:
his hands on her body, those delicious lips telling her all the same
pretty words.

He
says she wasn’t right for him, and that I’m the only one,
but how can I trust that now? I always knew it was reckless and
impulsive for him to just show up in Oak Harbor the way he did, but
now I know the truth is so much worse: I was the rebound, his revenge
on Helena for cheating. He threw himself into a fresh start here with
me because he was running so hard from her betrayal.

Somehow,
this thought is even worse than what he’s been hiding. It means
what he claims he felt was an illusion, that he never really cared. I
was a distraction all along, not the real thing at all. I may have
fallen head over heels in love with him, but this was always just
about Helena, not me.

Was
any of it true?

*

By
the end of the week, my numb dejection has faded to a heavy grief
that’s knotted, just behind my ribcage. I’m doing my best
to hide it, especially today: I’m up the coast in Beachwood
Bay, where Ash Callahan’s development company is based. Even in
this state, I managed to kill my pitch for his new properties in
town, and now he’s showing me around a plot he has right by the
ocean to discuss the plans to build. I have no idea if I’ve
landed the exclusive on his properties yet, but I’m guessing
being invited back for a second conversation means I’m close.

“This
is a beautiful spot,” I agree, standing at the top of the
dunes. It feels good to be out of town for the day, not worried about
running into Will. “How much is yours?”

Ash
points way in the distance. “From the hill, right up to the
fence there. About five acres in all.”

“And
what are you planning?” I ask. “You know, a plot like
this would be perfect for something commercial, a hotel maybe.”

He
chuckles then, his usually-stern expression lightening. “Don’t
let my wife hear you say that,” he grins. “She already
won the war.”

I
must look confused, because he nods to the property next door, a
quaint little guesthouse I passed on my way here. “She owns the
B&B,” he explains. “Last time I tried to build a
fancy hotel here, she turned the whole town against me. It’s
how we met,” he grins affectionately, clearly not holding a
grudge.

“Ah,
got it. So what do you want to do here?” I ask, looking around.
The land is pristine right now, which is a little weird –
usually developers don’t bring in real estate agents until a
project is close to done.

“I’m
interested in what you think,” Ash says, looking at me
expectantly. “What would you put here?”

Suddenly,
I realize: this is the test. It’s one thing to take a look at
finished home and pitch the usual open houses, brochures and website,
but I’m guessing Callahan wants something more from whoever he
works with.

I
look around again, trying to see what he does in the empty grassland
and dirt trails. The views are incredible, the wide sweep of the bay
unfolding in front of us, fringed in pristine sand and the wild
Atlantic coast. Aside from the B&B and a cluster of older homes
dotted back towards town, there isn’t anything built to ruin
the wild, windswept feel of the landscape.

That’s
it.

“Well,
I’m guessing we’d be working with some pretty strict
planning regulations,” I start, and I’m rewarded with a
smiling twitch of his lips. Bingo! “That means we want to keep
things simple. Sparse. You could try and cram a whole subdivision
here, but that doesn’t seem like your style.”

Especially
if he gave up on a slick ocean-front hotel for the sake of that
rambling old B&B.

“I
would say three, maybe four homes, max.” I point, tracing in
the air, “Use the natural hills of the landscape to make them
feel secluded and tucked away. But none of those modern glass and
chrome monsters, use different designs for each of them to keep
everything rustic and beachy, like they’ve been here for years.
High end, of course,” I add, “but different. Exclusive.
Beachwood Bay has such a great old-school feel to it, it’s like
stepping back in time, and I know a lot of people would pay top
dollar for that down-to-earth feel.”

Rustic.
Down to earth. I’m thinking of Will now, but at least I can
tell from the smile on Ash’s face, we’re on the same
page. “I can’t tell you how many guys I’ve had out
here, telling me to put up condos and a waterpark,” he says,
wry.

“Sure, you’d made a
ton more money that way, but I’m guessing you have enough
already.”

He
laughs at that. “Come on,” he says, starting to head back
towards the B&B. “I’ve got some plans I can show you.
I’d love to bring clients in early, people who want to play a
part in the design, make it their dream home.”

“Does
this mean I get the listings?” I ask, still uncertain.

He
gives me a smile. “Yes, you do. Congratulations.”

I
shake his hand, and say all the right things about how I’ll
deliver just what he needs, but I still feel so detached. I should be
on top of the world, chomping at the bit now that I’ve closed
this deal and come one step closer to taking over the business, but
somehow, all I can think about is how Will is the one who landed me
this break: singing my praises to him, supportive to the core.

I
follow Ash back to the B&B. Close up, it’s even more
charming, with roses growing up the walls, a white picket fence—and
something delicious wafting in the air. “Good timing.”
Ash rubs his hands together gleefully. “It’s afternoon
tea.”

We
step inside, and he makes straight for the back patio area.

“Dee!”
I hear a familiar voice cry. It’s Lottie, gathered around with
a group of other women and their young kids, all about my age. “Oh
my god, what are you doing here?”

“I
just had a meeting—” I gesture to Ash. He’s gone to
greet one of the women with a kiss.

“What
a great coincidence,” Lottie beams. “Come sit, have some
tea. This is my moms’ group.”

One
of the women groans. “Don’t say that, it makes me feel
like I should chop all my hair off and buy a minivan.”

“What’s
wrong with minivans?” another says, laughing. She’s got
red hair and a swollen belly, which she strokes protectively. “I
keep telling Dex, we’re going to trade in his sports car the
minute this little guy comes along.” She turns to me, smiling.
“I’m Alicia, and this is Juliet and little Jenny.”
A dark-haired woman lifts her baby’s hand in a wave. “And
Carina and Sawyer.” The blonde who hates minivans waves, one
eye on her toddler, who is playing in a pen with Kit.

“And
I’m Noelle.” The last woman looks over from Ash. “I’m
just an honorary mom for now, but I have all the best snacks.”

“She
does,” Lottie agrees. “Come join us. You have to try
these scones.”

The
table is laden with delicious pastries and iced tea, and everyone
choruses their agreement, but something in me just can’t face
it right now. Getting through the meeting was enough, but I can’t
pretend to be smiling and happy when my heart hurts like this. They
seem like a fun crowd, and Lord knows I don’t want to be the
buzzkill moping in the corner, so I just give them a smile. “I
wish I could, but I have an appointment back in town. Another time!”

“For
sure,” Noelle insists. “Here, let me give you some scones
for the road.”

I
walk out with Ash—and a bag of scones—and he shakes my
hand again. “Here’s to the start of a great partnership,”
he says, smiling. “Will was right about you.”

But
his words just cut like a knife. I was so wrong about him.

As
I drive back to Oak Harbor, I wonder when the pain will ever stop.
Maybe this is just what it’s like, going through a hellish
breakup. I wouldn’t know, I’ve never cared before like
this, but it must happen to everyone, right? They get up, and go to
work, and meet their friends, even when they feel nothing but hurt
inside. Is everyone just hiding their heartbreak, muddling through as
best they can?

God,
it was so much easier before I met him. I could flit between guys
without thinking twice, and if one of them turned out to be an
asshole, well, so what? He didn’t matter, none of it did. I
just moved on to the next fun adventure, not skipping a beat. I sure
didn’t spend so much time crying I could put Kleenex out of
business, or wake up with a heaviness in my heart that won’t
shift, no matter how many country songs I play about sticking it to
your cheating ex.

Now,
I feel like I’m trapped in limbo, stuck with this broken,
wretched heart. I can’t move on, but I don’t even want
that: I just want to go back to before, when we were together, and I
felt like this chapter of my life was just beginning.

With
him.

I
turn up my street, and then I see Will’s truck, parked outside
my place, like I’ve conjured it out of thin air with all my
obsessive pining. My heart stops, and I get a rush of panicked
adrenaline flooding through my veins. He’s there, bent over
unhitching something from the back, a massive tarp covering what’s
underneath.

I don’t think I can face him again. That night at Dixie’s
is still fresh and brutal in my mind, but I don’t have a
choice. It’s either find a way to deal with him, or move out of
Oak Harbor for good.

You’ve
got this,
I tell
myself,
slowly
getting out of the car.
Just act like you don’t care anymore, and maybe, one day it’ll
be true.

Will
looks up and sees me. He clears his throat. “Sorry, I thought
you’d be at work.”

Pain
echoes through me just looking at him. He looks terrible, too:
unshaven, with dark circles under his eyes, like he hasn’t
slept in a week. But that’s even worse somehow, because despite
everything, I don’t want him to be in pain.

I’m
suffering enough for the both of us.

“What
is this?” I ask, when I trust my voice enough to speak.

“Harold,”
Will answers, and it takes a moment for me to figure out what he’s
talking about. My old rowboat.

“I
thought Sawyer hauled it out of the river.” I frown, confused.
“He said he took it to the junkyard.”

“I
had him bring it to me instead.” Will gives me a quiet smile.
“I was planning to surprise you.”

“Well, thanks,” I
reply shortly, trying to ignore every instinct in my body. It’s
aching to go to him, hold him, close the distance between us somehow.
But it’s too far now, knowing what I do.

He
pauses, like he wants to say something else, then he turns back.

“I
love you.”

What?

Of
all the things I expected to hear, it wasn’t this. I stare at
him, my mouth open in shock—and my traitorous heart beating
faster at the look on his gorgeous face, so intent and sincere.

“I
didn’t want to tell you like this, but you need to know. You’re
the only one,” he says simply. “I never felt this way
about her, not even close. I know I should have told you everything,
and I’m so, so sorry I let you down. But I wanted to start
over, do it right this time.” Will’s eyes search mine.
“My life here, you, it’s where I’m supposed to be.
It’s like I was stuck in this awful bad dream, and then I woke
up, and there you were. The one I was supposed to be with all along.”

Will
steps closer. “I’ll earn your trust back, I’ll do
whatever it takes,” he swears, reaching to touch my cheek. God,
it feels too good, his skin on mine. That intoxicating touch, so
right. I know I should pull away, but I can’t, because I want
more. So much more. And Will must see it in my eyes, because he tilts
my face to his and kisses me softly. So tenderly, it’s barely a
whisper of his lips against mine, but too soon, he’s stepping
back.

It’s
not enough, I want to cry. It could never be enough.

“I’m
here,” Will says, regret so deep in his eyes. “I promise
you, Dee. If you ever decide to forgive me, I’ll be here. And I
swear, I’ll never let you down again.”

He
waits a moment, but I can’t say a word. I’m fighting a
war inside, paralyzed in place with nothing but my racing heart
pounding in my ears. Will finally nods, then turns and walks slowly
back to his truck.

I
watch him walk away, still torn. Part of me is screaming to go after
him, kiss him for real and never let go.

But
that word lingers, the hardest word I’ve ever known.

Forgiveness.

He
starts the truck and drives away. I watch until he’s gone. I’m
alone on the street, arms wrapped tightly around myself; a poor
imitation of the embrace I really crave.