Only In Dreams (Stubborn Love Series) (14 page)

Approaching Christian, I feel a lump forming in my throat. He begins waving his arms in front of his face before saying, “Whoa, truce, before you bite my head off again. I didn’t think you’d want to see me, but you might need what was in those boxes. That’s the only reason I sent Colin over, all right?”

I give a half smile, then with a deep swallow, proceed to deliver as sincere an apology as I can, still not fully convinced he hadn’t avoided Henry and I on purpose.

“I may have overreacted the other day.”

“Wait, was that an apology? It’s so hard to tell with you.”

“Funny,” I groan with a glare.

“It’s fine,” Christian says flatly, turning and walking away from me, toward his wood shop. “I shouldn’t have promised to meet Henry and then disappear without notice. That was rude, and I’m sorry,” he adds over his shoulder.

Is he seriously walking away from me while we are having a conversation? I can’t believe what I am seeing. He turns, gives me a short wave, and calls out for me to have a good night before heading inside. There is no way it just went down like that. I’m going to get to the bottom of what is going on with him—sooner rather than later. Walking up the narrow concrete path through the courtyard, I waste no time in pushing open the front door of his studio. Christian is already walking into the back room when I enter.

“Christian!” I yell after him.

“Did I forget one of the boxes?” he calls back, never leaving the room he hides in.

With heavy steps, I cross the long room. “What is going on with you?”

“Huh?” I hear him groan from the other side of the wall.

I rush across to the opening of the back room. He’s looking at me, his eyebrows lifted, distressed by my presence. “Something is up with you. For a month we’re fine, hanging out even, and I thought we were actually becoming friends again. Then you ditch us when Henry comes.”

“So we’re back to this again?”

“No, I mean—I just apologized, and then you walked away. What the hell is your deal?”

Christian looks at the large chunk of wood in front of him. “I don’t have a deal. What I have is a lot of work to do, so if you don’t mind, can you tell me how I should have reacted so I can get back to it?”

Using every ounce of energy I have, I refuse to give him the satisfaction of me losing my temper and shouting at him. “I do mind. I mind that you act like my friend when you’re clearly interested in being anything but. Jesus, are you drinking again?”

That comment clearly gets his attention. He lifts his chin, dropping the chisel in his hand to the floor and races across the room, his jaw clenched tight. “You should really be careful what you say. I haven’t touched a drop since Olivia, and I told you that. You can do a lot of damage to someone with unfounded accusations.”

“Then why are you acting so strange?” I push, remorseful for my words.

He looks away, frustrated.

I reach out and grab his arms.

“Tell me, what’s going on? Did I do something?” I ask.

He hesitates, then says, “I thought I could handle this, handle you, but I can’t.”

“What are you talking about? What did I do?” I beg.

He looks down at the ground, tracing shapes with his shoe in the sawdust on the floor. Then, looking up at me, he says something that changes everything. Something that can never be undone. “I don’t think us being friends is such a good idea.”

“I don’t understand what changed. Is this because I yelled at you? Is it about what happened at the bar?”

He shakes his head, struggling with something he doesn’t want to say.

“Please, just tell me.”

“I did have a rush order when Henry came, that part was true. But … I had time to stay and talk with him before I left.”

“So why didn’t you?”

“I saw you two in front of the inn,” he says. I remember hearing him working in the courtyard, but I hadn’t seen him. I wonder at what point he saw us.

“So?” I continue. “You knew he was coming.”

“Knowing you’re in love with another man is one thing, seeing you in his arms is another.”

“No,” I say, my head now shaking wildly. I raise a finger and point it at him. “You can’t do this to me. You can’t tell me you’re okay with Henry, then get all weird on me.”

“Jesus, Paige, you had to know,” his voice cracks.

“Know what?”

“Why do you think I’ve been over at Colin and Em’s every spare second since you got here?”

“You always are, that’s what you do,” I insist.

He shakes his head. “No, it’s not. I’m there because I feel whole again when I’m around you.”

“No, that’s not right.”

“I thought maybe, the other day, with the way you reacted when we danced, you might have felt it, to0. But then, when I saw you with him, I realized I was wrong.” His voice was quiet as he spoke.

“You can’t do this to me,” I plead. “I thought I was getting my friend back.

“You think I want to feel this way? When I saw him take you inside, and you didn’t come back out, I—I couldn’t think about it anymore. I loaded up my truck and got the hell out of here.”

“What we had is over, Christian. I thought we both understood that.”

Pressing his open palms against his face, he pulls downward, stretching out his expression as he does, clearly frustrated with the situation. “I was wrong. It was never over for me. We were never over.”

And before I know it, we’re having the post break up conversation we never had. “You were the one who told me to leave all those years ago,” I remind him.

“Did you ever even turn around?” he asks with a rattle.

“What?” I can hardly believe we are saying the things we are, but as long as we are here, in this place, there are answers I want, too.

“I always wondered, that day you left, did you ever look back?” he asks again.

“You know I’m not the type to look back,” I answered honestly.

“No, I suppose not,” he says softly, before hanging his head.

“Oh my God, you are so not allowed to act all sad and rejected. You were the one who told me to leave,” I snap, outraged by his reaction.

“I know. It’s probably the biggest regret of my life.” His words make all the hair on my entire body stand up straight. But I know better. Emmie told me all the things Christian was up to since our breakup. He didn’t live like a man who regretted his choice.

“Please, don’t act like you pined after me all these years. I know exactly what you were up to after we split. You forget my best friend is married to your brother.”

“Oh, I never forgot. Half the stuff I told Colin to tell Em was just me hoping all the details would drive you crazy.”

“Are you insane?” I ask, not believing a word he is telling me.

He shrugs his shoulders. “I was a little out of my mind at the time.”

“You said you became a roadie because of a girl.”

“Yeah, you were that girl. I went all over this country trying to forget you. It didn’t work.”

I cross my arms. If he wants to have this conversation, he is going to have to own up to some truths. “I know you were with other women; they weren’t all stories.”

“You’re right. Neither of us has been alone since we split. But why do you think I was never in the same town for more than a week? Why do you think another woman never stuck?” Christian asks me directly.

I turn my head and don’t reply. I don’t know how to reply. These are the things I had wondered since we broke up. “Damn it, Paige. If I stood still too long, all the memories of you, of us, I knew they’d catch up to me. I was afraid if I slowed down I’d have to think about what I’d lost.”

“And what exactly is that?”

He moved in close—so close I could feel his heat near me. “My whole world.”

Instinctively I push him away, but he grabs my wrists, pulling me in close again.

“Let go of me,” I demand, trying to break free.

“Will you hear me out?” he asks, not releasing me. I struggle more, but the more I struggle, the tighter his grasp becomes. “Promise you’ll listen to what I have to say.”

“Fine!” I shout. “Now let me go.”

He does as I request, and I stumble back a couple steps, widening the gap between us to a comfortable distance.

“I always wanted to tell you what was going on with me, but I could never find the words.” I stand silently, listening, trying not to look him directly in the eyes, my heart now racing. “I know I had a problem. I drank to forget what I’d lost, and in the end, I lost more than I could ever have imagined.”

“You’d stopped drinking for so long, and I never understood why you started again,” I say.

“My brother is the strongest man I’ve ever known. I used to think my dad was the strong one, and when he died I’d missed out on life somehow.” His eyes are now wet with the tears he’s holding back.

“But Colin, he helped me so much. He was tough on me, but I always knew I could rely on him. When he got serious with Emmie it felt like losing my dad all over again. I was going to be alone.”

“But you had me. You were never going to be alone,” I say.

“I didn’t realize that until it was too late,” he replies softly.

“I tried to stay, to help you, but you kept pushing me away.” I want to hold him, to convey all those things I’d felt years ago, but I refrain, not wanting to cross any more lines.

A silence lingers between us, before he takes a small step forward, looking into my eyes. “I’m not pushing you away now.”

I feel I might throw up at any second. Christian is saying the things I would have given anything to hear a few years ago. But things have changed, and this can’t be happening now. I’ve moved on. “Sometimes we break things, and they can’t be fixed.”

A silence hangs between us. I try to resist the question on my mind, but it’s plagued me for too long. “Why didn’t you come after me? You had years.”

“I knew you wouldn’t take me back until I got my act together. By the time I figured out all the messed up things in my head, you were with him,” Christian explains.

“You should have tried,” I say, surprising myself.

“I’m trying now. It feels like you still love me, too.”

I shake my head, blinking slowly. “I’ll always love you, but—” I take a deep breath. “I’m in love with Henry, and I want to be his wife.”

“Are you—”

“I should go,” I interrupt. “If you think we can be friends, I’m here. But that’s it.”

I don’t wait for Christian to respond. All I know is that I have to get out of this place immediately. My head is starting to spin. I leave as fast as I can, racing across to the space Henry had secured for me. I can’t look at Emmie right now. She will know something is up, and I’m not ready to answer some of the questions she’ll ask.

I need to work. Work will clear my head. It has to.

I DON’T RECALL actually leaving Christian’s shop. I don’t even remember my walk back over to my temporary workspace. Hell, to be quite honest, the past few hours have been a blur. Holding up a leather vest, I examine the exterior seaming. It’s impeccable. Perhaps I do my best work under duress.

Suddenly I realize my phone is ringing. It’s a repeating segment of an Incubus song, “I Miss You.” It’s Henry. It doesn’t cross my mind not to answer; instead, the thing I want most is to hear his voice. To reaffirm he’s the man I want to spend the rest of my life with.

Answering my phone, I lift it to my ear, and in a daze, I say, “Hello?”

“Paige, hi babe,” he says, sounding tired.

“I want to come home,” I didn’t even know the thought was going through my mind until I say it. But now that I have, it is the only thing that makes sense to me. At home there’s no Christian, no confusion.

“What?” Henry asks, surprised.

“I mean it, I don’t want to be away any longer. I want to come home.”

“Honey, what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” I insist. “I miss you, I miss our home. Please, I just … I want to come home.” Part of me wants to hold nothing back, to tell him everything, but I know I can’t. I can’t tell him that I’ve been having feelings for a man who I just found out is still in love with me.

The line is silent. Why isn’t he saying anything? I just told him that I wanted to be there with him, and he’s saying nothing.

“Hello?” Is he even still listening?

“I don’t know what to say. I miss you, too. But—”

“But what?” I huff. “You wanted me to come down here so I could work on the wedding plans and my show. Well, I can tell you no wedding plans are getting done. I spend half my time helping Emmie with the baby or the gallery.”

“So tell her you can’t,” he suggests.

“Why don’t you want me to come home?” I ask, annoyed by his reaction and not wanting to share my true motivation.

“That’s not it at all. I just think it’s better for you if you stick it out a few more weeks,” he continues.

“I can’t. I need to come home,” I insist.

He sighs heavily.

“What?” I huff.

“Nothing.”

“No, that was a pretty big sigh for it to be nothing,” I argue.

“We just rented out that studio space. Why wouldn’t you have told me this while I was there?”

“Oh, so this is about some rent you paid for a place. I see.”

“No, don’t do that. You know I don’t care about the money. It’s … it doesn’t make any sense. You were fine when I left, and now, it’s suddenly an emergency for you to get back to New York.” I’m not happy with his answer. In fact, the more we talk, the more I want to reach through the phone and strangle him.