Carry You Home (Carry Your Heart #2) (32 page)

It wasn't until I was back in my apartment and sitting at my kitchen table that it really sunk in.

To my left sat a shoebox full of unopened letters. To my right, the file folder stuffed with opportunities. My past and my future lined up right next to each other.

I blew out a deep breath and flipped open the folder. Dr. Jacobs had been thorough. Raleigh. Chicago. Los Angeles. New York. Washington, D.C. Boston.

New York called to me in all its art-scene glory. I could already imagine myself walking through Central Park with my sketchbook and trekking through fresh snow to get to a gallery. New York was a place where this thing inside me, this passion, this creativity, could thrive and grow and maybe even make me some money if I was lucky.

Then, as if my fingers had a mind of their own, they trailed over the top of the shoebox and pushed it off. They dipped inside the box and lifted one off the pile. It was like clockwork—a new letter came every Monday and Thursday and he called every Friday at 3:00 on the dot. I always let it go right through the automated message asking me if I wanted to accept a call from an inmate at the North Carolina Department of Corrections and that was always when I hung up.

I just couldn't let myself go there. I couldn't give in. If I read one letter or took one phone call, that would be it. I'd forgive him. I wasn't sure if I could ever do that even if I wanted to.

So, with a heavy sigh, I opened up my laptop instead and Googled the first gallery in the folder.

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Six Weeks Later

Hey Iz,

Two weeks. That's all I have to survive now. Just two weeks. I made it this far, so this should be a walk in the park, right?

I just have one more test to take and I'll officially have an associate's degree in business. I still can't believe I actually did it. I guess I still don't really know what I'm going to do with that when I get out, but I'll figure it out. If anything, I'll probably be able to earn my keep a little more at the shop. It's crazy to think that I started out working on this degree just because I needed more things to do to pass the time, not thinking any of it would ever matter, and now I feel like I really did something worthwhile with my time here.

Maybe Dom was right. Maybe the only way I was ever getting to college was by going to prison. But I didn't waste these two years. I read a lot. I learned a lot. I definitely never thought I'd ever actually like school. So it wasn't all bad, not like it was really all that good either.

I have a plan, Iz. When I get out, the first thing I'm going to do is corner Lex and I'm not moving until she tells me where you're living now. I'm sure you live on campus, but I still need the address so I can get to you. I know my mom won't tell me, but I'm hoping Lex will tell me just to get me off her back. Then I'm getting on my bike and I'm coming to you.

I don't care where you are or how far I have to go, I'll get there. I don't care if all I get to do is walk you to class. I'll take it if it means I get to see you. I'll walk you to class every day if it means I still get to be part of your life. I know I don't have any right to do that, but I just need to see you, Iz. I can't wait any longer.

I really hope you're reading this.

Love you always,

Caleb

Isabelle

I blew out a deep breath and glanced at the digital clock above my stove. Another half hour and I'd have to leave for work. On any normal day, I wouldn't be just sitting here, staring at the clock and swallowing back butterflies in my stomach, but this wasn't just an average day. Today was the day Caleb got out of prison.

Today was also the day I knew I'd have to see him.

I didn't know how and I didn't know when, but I knew he'd find me.

Even I knew those thoughts were along the lines of
Sleeping With The Enemy
meets
Fear,
but this was Caleb. Finding me today wasn't about anything other than groveling. I knew this because even during this last week, his letters and his calls still came like clockwork.

All I had to do was make myself scarce today. Go to my studio space on campus or even just get in my mom's car and drive. If I wasn't here, I wouldn't have to see him. Even if he somehow figured out where I worked, I doubted he'd show up there unannounced and uninvited. But instead of doing any of those things, here I was, fidgeting at my kitchen table and waiting.

The whole thing was just so pathetic. I just spent the last two years trying to find a way to move forward, but on the day I really needed to be strong and show some backbone, I couldn't move. Sure, if we missed each other somehow today there'd always be tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that until we finally reconnected, but that was exactly what I was afraid of.

Reconnecting. Seeing if we could reclaim a little bit of what we lost. Picking up where we left off.

That just couldn't happen. Life just didn't work that way. My eyes fell to the small stack of envelopes sitting on the table in front of me and I sucked in a harsh breath. A few of them I'd opened. The rest were the last ones I'd gotten from Caleb. My fingers itched to rip them open, but I'd held out this long. I couldn't break now when it mattered the most.

But when that telltale engine roared down my street, all the hairs on my arm stood on end. Reason told me it could be anyone because plenty of motorcycles had driven down this street before. Instinct told me something else. My body, my senses, my heart...they all knew.

Everything was on high alert and working overdrive as I raced headfirst toward the inevitable, listening for the buzzer, and skating dangerously between feeling like puking and darting around the room like the crazy person I'd become.

Two seconds later, the buzzer rang out through my apartment.

My chest heaved and tightened, but I froze. I could still ignore him, couldn't I? It would be so easy to just pretend I wasn't here. He'd never know. But then he'd just keep coming back and keep calling.

So against my better judgment, I hit the talk button on the intercom.

"Hello?"

Not even a beat later and I heard the voice I'd only heard in my dreams, the same voice that could elicit emotions in me I'd rather keep buried.

"Hey, Iz. It's me," he paused for a moment, his voice a little breathless and a little deeper than I remembered. "Can I come in?"

My hands twisted into knots at my waist, hesitation weighing me down. I took a breath and hit the button to unlock the main door in my shared entryway. No going back now.

He sure as shit didn't waste any time and I could hear him bounding up the steps right before the hard knock at my door. If that wasn't a harsh dose of reality then I didn't know what was. I stared at my door, swallowing tightly and finally, I had to squeeze my eyes shut just to keep the room from spinning as I reached for the door handle.

The door opened and there he was, crowding my doorway with his presence, which right about now, felt bigger than my whole apartment complex and the neighborhood combined. He seemed taller somehow, leaner yet brawnier at the same time and his hair was tied back behind his head. All his tattoos, including the upside down compass I'd designed for him, were on display over the sinewy lines of his forearms. But once I recovered from the initial shock of being so close to him after all this time, my attention never waned from his face and the way his lips curved up into a hopeful grin.

I sucked in a tight breath and it was all I could do to keep my feet planted a safe distance away.

It was his eyes that nearly did me in. Relief. Happiness. Exhaustion. Anticipation. Worry. Apology. Love. It was all there in those gorgeous blue eyes I saw every time I closed my eyes.

"Hey, Iz," he smiled softly and leaned forward a little, wanting to be asked inside, but trying not to overstep.

It was right on the tip of my tongue to ask him not to call me that, but I couldn't deny the way my heart leapt into my throat at that name on his lips. I hated and loved that name all at the same time.

"Hi, Caleb," I whispered.

Pure elation spread across his face the moment I spoke like it was the sweetest sound he'd ever heard and in that moment, I imagined it was.

He gestured with his head towards my apartment. "Is it alright if I come in? We can talk out in the hallway if you—"

"No, it's okay," I cut in before I could stop myself and opened the door a little wider so he could step inside. "You can come in."

After he took a few hesitant steps inside, an awkward silence permeated the air between us. Neither of us really knew what to do, what to say, or where to even begin.

"So, um," I tried to smile, but I couldn't decide whether smiling at him was good or bad for me. "When did you get out today?"

His eyes trailed over me, drinking me in, and I felt it almost as if he'd actually reached out to physically touch me. It singed my skin and left me gasping for air, desperate to touch him back.

Then his lips curved up in a knowing smile. "A little over an hour ago."

There was a part of me, the same part that refused to go ignored, that was thrilled beyond belief that the first thing he did when he got out was come see me. That he'd literally gotten to the clubhouse, interrogated someone for my new address—I felt really bad for Lexie right about now—and raced through the 45 minutes it took to get here from Claremont. Then the other part of me remembered him telling me to move on, to go out and live my life without him, to find some guy who could give me all the things he couldn't all because he'd gotten himself sent to prison.

"Okay."

I didn't know what else to say.

He shoved his hands deep inside his front pockets and chewed nervously on his bottom lip. "So, um—"

"I have to go to work," I butted in. "I just wanted to let you know I have to leave soon."

He nodded immediately, undeterred. "No problem, Iz. I just wanted to see you."

Another awkward moment passed and he ran a hand over his head, a gesture I was well-acquainted with.

"Where do you work?"

I glanced down at my usual work uniform, just a black pencil skirt and matching peplum tank top, and bit my lip. "I don't know if I want to tell you."

Alarm flashed across his face and I jumped to clarify.

"I just mean," I pushed out a rough breath and laughed unsteadily. "You're gonna make fun of me if I tell you."

That initial alarm vanished and relief flooded his face as his lips curled up into that crooked smirk that always had the power to make me weak in the knees.

"Come on, Iz," he tilted his head to the side a little as he grinned. "You can tell me."

I knew I could tell him anything and that was what scared me. Pushing that aside, I laughed again and lifted my eyes to the ceiling.

"I work at one of the makeup counters in Macy's."

His lips twitched in amusement and he had to bite down on his bottom lip just to keep from laughing right in my face. "Of course you do."

I shook my head and smiled right back at him. "Shut up."

Even as his smile seemed to grow even wider, Caleb took a tiny step closer to me. "I'm sorry. I won't say another word about it. Promise."

I wanted to reach for him and I didn't. Instead, I found myself gravitating toward him, letting myself get drawn back in like a stupid, masochistic moth to a flame.

"Did you get my letters?" his soft voice called out to me as he took another step closer.

"Yeah," I nodded.

"Did you read them?"

In spite of everything, I didn't have it in me to lie to him, especially not to his face. So, I shook my head, unable to bring myself to say the words.

He nodded slowly, rubbing his mouth with one hand and stared at the floor for a few moments. Then his eyes snapped back up to mine with new determination. "That's okay. I'm glad you got them at least. That's all that really matters."

His fingertips grazed my arm and my eyes flitted shut at the contact. I inhaled suddenly and the words sputtered out in a desperate attempt to give myself a little more time.

"I got some internship offers."

His fingertips just kept their exploration of my forearm as he closed the distance between us and he beamed a proud smile my way. "That's great, Iz. I bet they were all just biding their time until you finally graduated, huh?"

"I guess," I laughed, breathing in that familiar scent of musk and gasoline and feeling a little light-headed. "So, um, I got offers from galleries in Raleigh, Boston, New York, and Washington, D.C."

His face was an open book of raw emotions and with each turning of the page, a new emotion—pride and happiness for my success, dejection and grief, and finally, acceptance.

I didn't tell him that I hadn't even bothered to apply to the galleries Dr. Jacobs had suggested in Chicago and Los Angeles simply because L.A. was too far away from my dad—and Caleb if I was being completely honest—and the lure of New York's art scene was just too great. My heart wanted to choose Raleigh just as much as it wanted to choose New York. I just wasn't ready to talk about that yet.