Audrey's Promise (26 page)

“Now there’s a story, Mr. Journalist.” Audrey returned from the kitchen holding two glasses of water, wearing a short purple bathrobe. Ethan had already pitched the last condom and cleaned himself up, now trying to find his briefs among their heap of clothes scattered across the floor. He took a glass from Audrey and gulped it down, planning his escape from the conversation. Interesting that he wasn’t planning his escape from her apartment, like he normally would with other women. Somehow, the way Audrey relaxed across the covers on her bed, thigh revealed in the opening of her robe while she cradled a cup in her hands, so open, casual, comfortable—made him want to stay. An hour. A night. Or maybe…

He set the glass down and continued to fish for his clothes. “Did you hide my underwear?”

Audrey laughed. “Right. ’Cuz I long to cuddle up against your dirty drawers at night and think of you.”

The sound of her laugh, hearty, full and easy, filled his brain with…something. Like the froth off the top of a freshly poured beer. The kind that tickles your nose on the first sweet sip.

He pulled on his briefs, which he found hiding underneath Audrey’s jeans. Then he climbed under the covers with her, leaning against the headboard studying her inquisitive face. So trusting, with flawless freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose.

“I thought a qualification for all writers was a drinking problem,” she smirked and took a sip of water.

“Ha! I don’t think there’s enough liquor in the world to satisfy all writers, in addition to the drunken frat parties.”

“Why don’t you drink anymore?”

Ethan shrugged and took a sip of his own water.
Change the subject, pal. You’re gonna regret this.

“Nuh-uh, playboy. We’re turning the investigative inquiry on you. Spill.”

“Just didn’t like the way I felt afterwards. I’m not twenty-two anymore and I’ve abused my liver enough.”

“Dad mentioned you kept refusing drinks.” Audrey kept her tone light, and unobtrusive. Ethan noticed. Her sapphire eyes in the dim light pulled at his heart. God, she was beautiful. Why did she have to make this personal?

“You were right. Your family has a big heart. Underneath everything, they’re very good people.”

Audrey blanched and stared at him. “Nice to know Ethan Tanner approves.”

“No, really. I can see where all your determination comes from.”

“And yours?”

“What?”

“Your determination to get the story at any cost…where does that come from?”

Ethan scoffed. “My father, I guess.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Not a quality I’m fond of.”

“But that’s what makes you a good journalist, right?

Ethan shrugged.

“What does he do in Chicago?”

Holy shit. How in the hell did we get here?
Ethan fidgeted under the covers and took another sip of water. He should put the rest of his clothes on and run. He asked the questions, not the other way around. But why won’t his heart let him stand up and walk out?

“He’s a banker,” he bit out. Even he noticed the bitterness in his voice.

“Your mom?”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“Asking about my family. It doesn’t matter.”

“We’ve spent the whole weekend talking about me and my family,” Audrey cooed. “You’re getting bent out of shape for me wanting to know more about you?”

“I’m not bent out of shape.”

“You don’t need to get defensive with me, Ethan. I’m not writing an article. I’m not recording this or planning to use anything against you.”

You might later,
he thought with a grimace.

“How did your mom pass?”

“Cancer.” Ethan’s throat tightened and no matter how many times he cleared his throat, it wouldn’t let go.

“I’m sorry,” Audrey whispered as she laid her hand on his arm. Her skin was still warm, glowing. “What did she used to do?”

“Elementary teacher.” The edge in his voice faded as he traced her fingers across his skin. “English and reading.”

“That’s where you get your penchant for writing.”

Ethan heard the smile in her voice without looking at her. “When I told her I wanted to be a journalist, she used her savings to buy me a laptop. She was so excited.”

Audrey squeezed his hand, a silent gesture of support and to keep him going, he figured. And for the first time, he felt like it.

“When I was accepted to Brown University for my Masters, she cried. Went into her room and brought back an envelope full of cash. She’d sold her wedding ring. Wanted me to use it for tuition.” He cleared his throat again, the lump in his esophagus growing larger with every word. “My first semester, she was diagnosed with breast cancer. I wanted to come home and take care of her, but she wouldn’t let me. That Christmas was the first time I ever asked my dad for help. It took every ounce of humility I had to pick up the phone. Just something to help cover some of her medical bills or groceries. Instead, he offered me a job as an intern at his banking firm.

“When I refused, he refused. Told me I’d waste my life as a journalist. Wouldn’t give my mother a dime. The man has 600 million dollars to his name, and wouldn’t spare groceries for the mother of his only child.”

Audrey’s hand now gripped his fingers, her smile gone as she watched him tell his story. The story he refused to repeat to anyone for years. Feelings that raw needed to be buried. They hurt too much.

“Mom died shortly after. Her church donated most of the funds for her burial. I finished grad school with a mountain of student loans on my neck, but I managed to buy back her wedding ring that she’d pawned for my education. It’s the only thing I have left of hers.

“After Mom died, I turned to alcohol as my coping mechanism. Years later, after burying myself in the bottle and countless drunken fights, I woke up one morning to an empty fridge, a trash bin full of empty liquor containers and a cracked jaw. I switched to coffee and haven’t touched it since.”

“Have you spoken to your dad since then?”

Ethan scowled. “Graduation day from Brown. Announced he wanted to run for Congress and offered me a job on his campaign. I threw it in his face and hung up. Best and worst day of my life.”

“Whoa. Congress? After he refused to help your mom?”

Ethan sneered. “Yeah. But he lost the primary. Even his 600 million couldn’t help him. Serves the bastard right.”

Audrey pursed her lips. “Now I see where you get your thirst for destroying politicians. Hard to argue with that logic.”

“Not all politicians,” he replied softly. “Not anymore.”

Audrey’s smile lit up his confidence.

“I’ve been striving for this job in New York, proving to myself I can make it despite him. And I’m almost there.”

“
New York Times
?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow, Ethan. That’s incredible.”

The look in her eyes—pride, amazement, affection—bowled him over. Is this what encouragement felt like? It had been so long since he’d recognized it. “My mom and you are the only ones who’ve ever said that to me.”

“I’ve read your work, Ethan. Aside from the investigative dirt you dig up, your writing is excellent. You’re not afraid to ask the difficult questions.”

“Neither are you.”

Audrey laughed and picked a piece of lint off her robe. “That’s just politics. Not the part I like best.”

“No one likes the politics. But
you
get to the heart of every issue, unlike most others in your profession. You’ve overcome probably the biggest obstacle than anyone I’ve ever known.” Ethan laid his hand on her exposed knee, letting her warmth fill him up. “You keep pushing so hard to make a difference, but you don’t see that you already have.”

They looked at each other, long and unmoving. Their connection unending and unreserved. It scared the shit out of him. But he wasn’t ready for it to end.
I’ll be damned. The real thing. I never thought it existed.

“You’re pretty charming when you have your eyes set on something you want.”

“You’re right.” He fixed his gaze on her irises. “And when I’m grateful for something, too.”

Ethan leaned forward and touched his lips to hers, slow and tender. When he pulled back, Audrey suckled his bottom lip. He rested his forehead against hers and breathed in everything. Her skin, her breath, her shampoo, even the fabric softener of the comforter. “I’m grateful for you.”

Chapter Thirty-One

After another round of showing how grateful he was for Audrey, Ethan watched her even breathing and luscious lips as she slept, tangled amid the comforter and sheet. He wanted to add his own body to the entanglement, envisioning his legs wrapped around her silky calves and nearly-edible feet, but he had one more important thing to do before he felt redeemed.

Rewrite his article.

He’d already tried to call Bose again as soon as Audrey crashed, but since it was close to 2am, he wasn’t surprised there was no answer. So now he crept out of the bedroom in the darkened apartment, yet still cozy and comfortable as home. The streetlights a few floors below cast a warm orange glow through the living room blinds as he curled up on the couch.

The flow of words from his mind couldn’t keep up with his fingers and he tried to keep his typing quiet. The half-smile reflected in the screen didn’t distract him, but only made him grin wider as he wrote. This was an entirely different writing experience.

It was happy. Exhilarating in a self-fulfilling way. There’d be no threats or nasty-grams from readers on this one. Probably the first one in his entire career. But it was no puff-piece, either. Honest, factual, with an undercurrent of hope. Much like Audrey herself.

Bose would claim he’d gone soft, found a conscience in the little backwoods town, and now was useless as an investigative journalist. But only until he read this.

In less than thirty minutes, his rewrite was done and resubmitted to Bose via email. Which he’d receive when he woke, no doubt. Sunday morning’s paper would have one of the highest circulations in the publication’s history. Ethan just knew it.

Stretching his muscles, he reached back and his hand hit something on the windowsill.

He set his laptop on the coffee table and looked back. A notebook, larger than a journal with worn leather, dangled off the ledge. Her diary? No. Not left out in the open like this. The binding creaked as he opened it, skimming through the first few pages.

Exquisite. Mostly black and white sketches of faces, quaint street facades and landscapes. A few in color. Particularly several of one he recognized. The pond in Mackineer. Each season depicted in explicit detail, with both spring and fall in full color.

The way she’d spoken about her art before gave him an idea of her passion, but these sketches were breath-stealing. Seeing her work revealed he had no idea the true depths of this woman’s capabilities.

If she’d wanted to make a career out of this, Ethan knew at least a dozen people who’d line up for these prints alone. Including himself.

He paused at a gray and black sketching of the graveyard. From the bottom of the hill, Jackson’s black marble headstone drew the viewer’s eyes to the center, the slightly exaggerated size of the marker made everything else seem faded, and loneliness crept over him.

A true artist. Every feeling visible with each pencil line or brush stroke. Her heart wasn’t worn on her sleeve. It lived on every page.

He flipped through the final few sketches and froze. The last one was his face.

Was this a mirror?
The close-up of his eyes almost made him turn around to check. Each vein in his irises, the shadows in his pupils, and the varying lengths of his lashes couldn’t possibly be this accurate otherwise.

But the emotion throttled him most. Somehow, in the mixture of shades she’d captured the frustration and torment he’d tried to cover beneath determined ambivalence. She
saw
him.

A small inscription on the bottom of the page caught his eye.

The date.

Four days ago. The day he met her.

She saw him this clearly on day one?

Ethan closed the notebook, trying to slow his heartbeat.

Fuck, he was
scared
. Like a boarding school kid, he felt like running into his bunk bed and throwing the covers over his head.
Where did that come from?

Ethan had lost count of how many women he’d sported with. He used to consider each a little badge on his shoulder. None of them gave him more than a few minutes of indigestion.
Why was this so nerve-wracking?

If he could punch himself in the face without waking Audrey up, he would. So yanking on his hair was his only comfort in the silent room. He put the notebook back on the windowsill and slipped his laptop bag in his bag.

He moved back into the bedroom, leaning against the doorframe and watched her sleep. Relaxed, secure. He’d give anything to sleep that peacefully.

When she smiled and moved her head on the pillow, still fast asleep, his heart skipped.

Good dreams.
How he hoped it was because of him.

Shit. I’m in love with her.

Chapter Thirty-Two

The shrill ring of her cell phone made Audrey want to bury her face deeper in the covers. A squint at the clock from under her pillow showed a bright blue 6:56 a.m.

Audrey groaned.

Then a warm and strong hand slid across her shoulder and wrapped itself around her waist. And squeezed.

Ethan.

He’d stayed all night. With her.

She held her arms around his and the phone stopped.

Even first thing in the mornings he smelled like cologne. Or was that just his natural manly scent? She pushed her hips further back into the spoon their bodies formed and smiled. The rock hard member was at attention. Ready for more.

“Good morning,” she murmured through a grin and swayed her hips against him.

A deep moan from his pillow sent prickles across the back of her neck.

“That’s a nice wakeup call.”

“Yes, you are. But I’m all out of condoms,” he replied.

“Aww, shucks,” she teased. “You’ll have to reel him in yourself. Coffee?”

“Wait.” Ethan rose up and pressed on her shoulder, turning her face into his. He pressed his soft lips against hers, slow and gentle. “Mmm, yes please.”