The Replacement (32 page)

“We can go together. We should just leave. Get away. Work all this shit out, you and me.”

“What about your job? What about Duke? How the hell would you pay for it? I have some money saved, but I don’t know if it’s enough to cover everything—”

“I’ve never asked my parents for a damn thing,” he says, his eager knuckles massaging my shoulders. “I can ask them for this. They’d help me, no questions asked. I can talk to my boss and tell him there’s been an emergency. I can ask for leave. If he fires me, fuck it. I can be a maintenance grunt anywhere. This is my priority. You. Us. Right now.”

I stare at him hard, my head spinning at how quickly this whole thing took a turn. Just minutes ago I was standing in his home, speaking to Lauren. His ex. His faux fiancée.

His replacement.

I lick my lips and kiss him once more, then let my legs slide down his body until my feet hit the ground. I blink. “I love you, Ryder. But I think…” My hands drop from his shoulders and fall to my sides. “I need to be my something.”

“Be your something?” His brows pinch and he studies my face.

“Before I can be yours.”

Understanding smoothes out his forehead and his eyes go soft, all warm and melting. It turns me to mush.

“I need to see what you see. What Jay sees. What Tee saw. I don’t want to just love you. I want to give you everything…give you all of me. What you deserve. But I can’t do that. Not yet. I’m beyond grateful for the plane ticket. I’ll never be able to express what it means to me. But I need to go to France by myself.” I watch him warily for a moment, hoping I haven’t stuck another dagger in his heart. His lips part slightly, a small smile tipping them up. He slowly bends forward and presses a kiss to my forehead, letting an arm fold casually over my shoulder. He lassoes me back in to an embrace and sighs heavily into my hair.

“You go be your something, baby,” he says, the tone rolling through me like hot, oozing caramel. “When you get back, you can be mine.”

My arms shoot forward and wrap tightly around his neck, my face burrowing into his throat, just beneath his chin. His scruff scrapes at my forehead and I memorize the sensation. I’ll miss it, but it will be here waiting for me when I come home. I don’t know how, but I realize that I suddenly trust that implicitly.

“Thank you,” I whisper, tilting my head to drop a soft kiss on his throat.

“Through hardships to the stars.” His breath tickles my skin and I step back, glancing over at the cabin, deciding at that moment to let all of my worries about Lauren dissolve. I have to let them go. I have to do this. What choice do I have? Duke’s paws pad in the distance as he trots back toward us. It’s time to leave.

I’m most definitely headed for the stars.

CHAPTER 16

My short, choppy blonde cut brushes my shoulders as I tuck it behind my ears. It’s uneven and wild, a spontaneous, thoughtless labor of love. A snap decision made the moment I arrived at my hotel room in the Marais. There I lost myself in the Musée Carnavalet, and found myself in the eclectic crackle of rue Oberkampf. It was a Christmas unlike any other. One that turned my soul inside out and my mind upside down. I was no longer Elise Duchamp, notorious, antisocial home wrecker.

Not in Paris, anyway.

Only one thing was missing. A tatted-up, rugged bibliophile with dimples that could kill and eyes that could look right through you.

Sea-Tac airport greets me and I slide into a cab the second I dart away from baggage claim. I direct the driver to my apartment, telling him to take his time getting to Gig Harbor. I don’t mind spending the extra cash for a longer ride home. I have a lot to process, and even though I’m immediately immersed in my familiar environment, everything feels distant and foreign, as if Seattle is an untouched destination on my itinerary. The sights on I-5 whiz past as we head closer to Tacoma, light dancing against a dark sky. I still see the bustling night life of rue Oberkampf, can picture the sparkling outline of the Eiffel Tower. It’s all there, right here.

At home.

I tip the driver generously when we reach my place, and he helps me unload my luggage before waving me off. My apartment smells stale, like dead air riddled with the faint scent of gingerbread cookies—the ones I baked just before I left for Paris. I flick the light on and sink into the couch cushions, my hand still loosely wrapped around my suitcase handle. I stare blankly into the dim light of the living room, a sad yet sated smile drifting over my lips. It’s funny how home can even smell funny when you’re away for only seven days.

How will I ever explain to Ryder what his gift means to me?

I sigh and stand, wandering over to the kitchen counter.

There is no explaining it to him. Or to anyone, for that matter. Some adventures are only understood in the spirit—your spirit, the one who experienced them. But I can show him. With words and with honesty. For once, honesty.

And maybe, just maybe, a few others will consider that honesty. Maybe they’ll catch a glimpse of the new Elise Duchamp. I’m still me. I’m still broken, but I’m mending. A few days away from home didn’t wash away all of my sins. It didn’t miraculously heal me from years of hurt, and it won’t make the long road ahead any easier.

But it did give me hope, and with time, it will give me peace.

I still can’t make up for the things I’ve done. For the way I’ve hurt people. I know the words I wrote in Paris benefit me more than any of them, easing a weight I’ve been carrying for far too long, but there’s still a part of me that wishes they’ll hear my sincerity, the delicate turning of a leaf.

The Gig Harbor Weekly glares up at me from the counter, its ink fresh and pages crisp. I haven’t touched this issue, but I know what’s inside. Ryder promised he’d drop off a copy the second it released, so it would be waiting for me when I got home. My fingers graze the edges for a moment and I step away, ready to call it a night. Jet lag will hit me with a vengeance tomorrow morning, and I know I need to rest up and brace myself for the transition I’m about to face. I have no idea what to expect. How I’ll be received by the people I left here in Washington.

I only know I have a different reflection.

Unraveling my scarf and slipping out of my coat and tall black boots, I drag my feet into the bedroom and collapse onto the bed, falling fast asleep the second my head relaxes into the cool pillows.

I see stars as I drift off, bright and twinkling and close enough to touch.

***

The familiar jingle of the bells on Stella’s front door warms my ears. It feels good to be home. I grip a trusty cup of coffee in one hand, struggling with the door. My brain is foggy, but the aroma of French toast and frying bacon slams into me as I step inside, snapping my senses into high alert. The breakfast crowd is bustling, as usual, and the second the door closes behind me, a quiet hush falls all around me, sets of curious eyes landing on me from every direction. Soft whispers erupt from left to right, and I look down, hurrying to make my way toward the kitchen.

I feel Natalie and Brad’s eyes on me as I pass by their sections, but I don’t look up, just keep moving. Brad says hey, but it’s strangely weak and hesitant—a tone I’ve never come to expect from him. I wave half-heartedly in his direction and slip through the kitchen doorway, weaving around the kitchen craziness. I’m equally relieved and panicked when I approach Jay’s office.

The door is wide open, and he’s sitting at his desk, thumbing through The Weekly.

My lungs contract, my mind telling my body to push the air in and out, in and out. I clear my throat, adjusting my purse on my shoulder. “Hey, Jay,” I say, fiddling with the lid of my coffee cup. I’m not sure what I expect. Maybe a ‘hey hon, how’ve you been?’ and that friendly smile of his, or maybe some typical questions about the trip.

I definitely don’t expect to see what I’m looking at right now.

Jay’s gaze lifts from the newspaper and lands on me, still with stunned wonder. His jaw is lightly slack and he swallows, eyes finally dropping to the Sorry Secrets column before him. They study the column for a moment, and each second is stretched out, never ending.

“It’s good to see you,” he says, his voice dry with grit. His mouth closes and eyes glaze over with choked-back emotion, so strong it nearly knocks the wind out of me. The expression tears me wide open, and all I can think of is rushing around his desk to give him a hug. That’s all I want from him right now. A big, daddy-like, teddy bear hug that I know he knows how to give. I’ve seen him give it to his children and to his wife. I know he possesses something that I’ve never known but yearn for more than anything in the world.

Well, almost anything. Ryder’s hugs are pretty fucking perfect.

But I remain still, gripping my coffee cup for dear life, and wait.

His eyes narrow and he sniffles, straightening up and shaking off the softie vibe that gives his heart away. He’s suddenly all square shoulders and earnest face, strong and unyielding, like the dependable man I’ve come to know. “Your hair’s different.”

“It is.”

“Did you get in a fight with your scissors?” A smirk creeps up.

“Something like that.” It’s true, I botched the job. But my hotel room had the most stunning antique vanity. It practically shimmered against the cracked damask wallpaper. Its mirror taunted me, highlighting my long, blonde locks. As soon as I stepped into the room, I dropped my bags, moved toward it, took one look at myself, and grabbed a pair of scissors from the dresser drawer.

The rest was history.

“Looks good, hon.”

“Really?”

“Really.” He leans back in his chair and a squeak fills the air, creaking with his weight. “You’ve done a lot of surprising things. I gotta say, this one tops them all.” He taps the newspaper and his brows rise.

“You know me,” I smile, feeling a bit less uneasy, “always dramatic.”

“Oh yes,” he laughs lightly, “always.”

“I hoped it would all blow over by now.”

“This?” he pipes up, pointing to the paper. “Hon, this is all the town will talk about for weeks. Maybe months. Shit, years. But I guess you knew that.”

“Yeah. Guess so.” I specifically chose to write it all down while I was in Paris and e-mail the submission before I came home, just in time for the next issue run. I had plenty of time on the plane ride overseas to think about what I wanted to say. By the time I actually sat to write it down, the words just poured out. There was no controlling the flood. “Sorry if it…caused any commotion here for you.”

He laughs again. It’s not quite as jovial this time. “That’s putting it mildly.”

Shit.

“Elise.” He leans forward to find my eyes, which are everywhere but on him now. “I’m only teasing you, hon. You’re worried about the commotion it’s causing me? All I give a damn about is what you’re about to walk into out there. You’ve got a real set of brass balls, let me tell you.”

A huff of laughter bursts from my lips, a mixture of nervous energy and genuine amusement at his way with words. “Jay.”

“I’m just sayin’, hon. You do. More than any man I know. Hell, more than me, that’s for sure.”

“Um…thanks, I guess?”

He shakes his head and chuckles, finally standing to meet me at full height. I seem to shrink as he rises, restraining my need to bound over to him and ask him for that hug.

There’s no need to.

He moseys at first, hands in pockets as he saunters around the desk toward me. He stops in front of me and lifts his chin, staring down with proud eyes. A father’s eyes. Not my own, but they’re more than enough. Then his arms wrap around me and I freefall, plummet into this man’s affection. The kind I have only ever imagined. It’s not like Ryder’s love. It’s different altogether, and I don’t know if it’s because it’s happening right now, right when I need it—when I’ve needed it all along—or because I understand now.

Because I see what he sees.

A girl who fucked up. A girl who made careless choices—choices she’ll never regret, but consequences she’d never wish upon anyone—and who needed something unconditional. Something safe, something strong. A girl who did not kill her mother. A girl who was not rotten, only broken, like the world she and so many women are forced to walk in. A cruel world. Perfectly imperfect, just like Ryder Jacobson.

My something.

Wetness leaks from my eyelids and Jay holds me tighter, shushing me quietly, his body stern yet comforting. Everything in me lapses into something fluid, something uncontrollable. Sparks fly and sunshine floods my chest like butterflies fluttering for escape. My arm lifts and hooks under his, my hand latching onto the back of his shoulder. We stand there like that, with the office door wide open, for I don’t know how long. This moment is infinite.

“How about we go for a ride?” he asks, pulling back slightly to peer down at me. A sob escapes me when I look up, never wanting to let go of this man.

“You guys are busy. You sure you can leave right now?”

“I’ve been holed up in this office since the crack of dawn. I need some air. Besides, these guys can hold the fort down for a day. They’ve managed before.” He smiles and pats my cheek, moving to grab his coat. He leads me out of his office and through the kitchen, back out into the restaurant, where I’m just as much of a spectacle as I was when I first walked in. This time, as we stroll past each table, I force my gaze up, meeting each stare.