Picture Perfect (15 page)

But that’s not you, is it, Dev?
came Brayden’s sarcastic voice in my head.
You can’t be trusted, not after what you did to Darcy.

Every drop of heat in my body vanished, replaced by ice-cold fear.

The door to the greenhouse opened and voices echoed from the entrance. We abruptly broke apart, gasping. Something unknown and scary as hell passed between us in that long moment when we stared at each other, searching one another’s eyes and trying to figure out what the hell happened.

As if stunned, she ran her thumb over the sides of my mouth. “You’re wearing my lipstick.”

I’d wear a whole tube of her lipstick if it meant being kissed like that again. I ran the back of my hand along my mouth, streaking it bright red. A shudder rolled through me and I blinked. When I opened my eyes, the lipstick had turned to blood. The memory of its syrupy thickness slicking my hand sucked me further into the prison of my mind. I was plunged back into my private hell, could feel the putrid taste of vomit and vodka rising up my throat as tears burned my eyes. In the distance, sirens wailed, making the whole nightmare even more surreal.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I found only lipstick again on my hand when
I looked again. Angel stared up at my face with concern. “Are you okay?” she asked.

I backed away from her, running a clammy hand over my face. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

All trace of the ethereal lightness I’d felt earlier was gone, replaced by a liquid fear buried deep in my soul, leeching the happiness out of me like a parasite. “We should go,” I said roughly.

Before I do something to hurt you.

I didn’t look at her face to see her expression. It hurt too much to think I could harm this beautiful creature, this girl who’d made me feel like the world was going to be okay for one minute out of my dark day.

Gathering my equipment as fast as I could, we took the path opposite the group that had come in, neither of us speaking. Our kissing replayed in my mind over and over again, meshing with the sirens that had kept me awake for the past year. The poison of guilt overtook the lightness fighting for control from reliving our first kiss. For a few seconds, hope won out, chasing away my nightmares and filling me with foreign ecstasy. It scared the hell out of me. The last time things had felt this good, this perfect, my whole fucking world had come crashing down in the blink of an eye.

My heart hammered inside my chest all the way to the car, pounding equal amounts of adrenaline and fear into my bloodstream.

You know better. You know not to get this close.

Once inside the car, the tense silence was too thick to ignore.

“I’m -” I started then stopped. What could I say? That I was sorry I’d kissed her? Because I wasn’t. The only thing I was sorry about was that it ended too damn soon.

That nagging doubt, wearing my father’s criticizing voice, reminded me it was dangerous to feel this way. To want things that could easily be taken away. I sat there confused, torn between my desire to feel normal and loved, and the terror of having that love destroy me.

“Don’t.”

I looked at her. “Don’t what?”

That sad smile was back again. “Don’t make a big deal out of it. I can tell you are by the look on your face,” she said quickly when I opened my mouth to protest. “It’s okay. It happened. I don’t expect anything and you shouldn’t either.”

That felt like a knife gutted me, each word a jagged barb twisting further into my heart. I didn’t love her. I knew that. Liked her, yes. What pained me the most was that the tease of potential love - of acceptance - was gone at her dismissal. I hadn’t realized how much I’d craved redemption until it was staring me in the face, rejecting me.

I let out a long breath. It was better this way. Better for her that she didn’t have to know the real me. And better for my heart, since it was barely holding together as it was.

She crossed her arms over her chest as her foot began to bounce. “This is a professional relationship, and we can work at it to make sure it stays that way.”

Yeah, professional. Safe.

I nodded gruffly. “Of course.”

Starting the engine, we drove off, going back to pensive silence.

Professional. I could do that.

At least, that’s what I kept telling myself
the whole awkward, silent ride. I was unable to erase the feel of her lips against mine, along with the sinking disappointment pitching to the bottom of my stomach.

CHAPTER 17

Devin

I COULDN’T SLEEP FOR the rest of the week. If it wasn’t Angel, it was the acrid smell of fresh blood and the scream of the sirens that woke me up every hour. By the time my wretched alarm clock went off Sunday morning and I dragged myself out of bed fifteen minutes later, I felt half-dead.

I squinted as I flipped on the bathroom light and examined myself in the mirror. What the hell happened to the happy guy I saw the other day? If I’d known
he would slip away so easily, I would have taken the time to savor him more. I hadn’t seen him in a while.

Anger built up in my fingers, curling them into a fist as I leaned forward and gazed at the man who carried blood on his hands.

The man who was plagued by nightmares.

I thought I was over this. I thought since the nightmares were a little less intense, I was finally moving on. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I thought Angel could help me, that she could miraculously heal me like some divine power. But getting close to her hadn’t made me feel better.

It had torn me apart, just like it always did whenever I opened up to someone.

My fist shook. With a growl, I pummeled it into the mirror, feeling the glass cut up my knuckles. It cracked with a crunching sound; shards fell into the sink as I stood there, breathing hard, reining in the urge
to destroy what smooth glass remained.

Tremors
wracked my body. I didn’t want this. I didn’t want to feel this way anymore.

So why couldn’t I just be fucking happy?

IT TOOK ALMOST THIRTY
more minutes to calm down, shower, and get dressed, which made me even later getting out the door and on the road for Mom’s party.

The day was gorgeous, with deep blue skies and rolling green fields, the first sign winter was losing its death grip. The Colorado landscape rolled by as I blazed along the highway, letting the cool air from the window blast me in the face in the hope it would distract me from the puke trying to work its way up my throat.

It had been a year since I’d been home. I thought the distance would help me forget what happened and move on. But as I crested a hill and the sprawling countryside mansion came into view, I realized I hadn’t forgotten a damn thing.

I went cold all over as I numbly turned off the road and teetered along the mile-long driveway. Every memory I had as a kid here came rushing back, reminding me of the family I had lost. I hadn’t thought it was much when I left, but looking back on my life then and what it was now, I didn’t realize just how good I had it. It might not have been perfect, but it was something.

The crown molding on the tall white pillars extending from the porch into the roof became visible as I pulled up in front of the five-car garage and put the car into park. Heart beating fast, I took a deep breath, grabbed Mom’s present, and got out. My legs almost turned to jelly as I walked up to the front door. This house used to be my sanctuary, the one place I could find refuge when life got tough. Now it felt like a prison, like the sky was darkening as I drew closer.

Crossing the large expanse of front porch, I swallowed down my nausea and rapped the brass knocker once.

The door opened almost immediately. A pale woman with graying hair swept up in a bun stared at me, the blue dress she had on matching the blue of her eyes. After a moment, her mouth dropped open in shock. “Allen?”

“Actually, I go by my middle name now, Devin.” I smiled at her, wrapping my arms around her in a hug. “It’s great to see you again, Wanda.”

She laughed, hugging me back. It felt amazing to feel wanted, to feel appreciated. “Been working out, I see.” She squeezed one of my biceps as I stepped into the foyer of polished wood and marble, and she shut the door. “I’m sure that pretty blond girl you date will appreciate that.”

I grimaced. “We’re not together anymore.”

She waved a hand. “Oh, don’t worry. A young man as handsome as you will find another pretty young thing soon enough. What would the teenagers call you? ‘Hot’?”

I snorted. “That’s the right lingo, but I don’t know if I qualify.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. Any young woman would be damn lucky if she had you calling on her.”

I smiled sadly. “I don’t know about that either.”

“Look at you,” Wanda scolded. “Is it really so terrible to let people believe the best in you?”

Without giving me a chance to answer, Wanda sidled off, motioning for me to follow. She’d been my family’s housekeeper for years, ever since we moved to Sanhope when I was five. When our parents were away on fancy business trips, Wanda would volunteer to watch us. I always thought she’d done it because she was
lonely. After her kids grew up and “left the nest,” as she’d said, and her husband died of a heart attack, she spent every moment she could with us. Not that I minded. I loved her so much, she was practically a second mom.

“The party’s in the parlor,” Wanda said. “Your mother’s been so excited to see you. You’ve been all she could talk about.”

My throat tightened. I heard the rip of wrapping paper, and I had to mentally force myself not to grip the present in my hands too hard.

The hallway seemed to stretch on forever, at last opening up into the white-washed walls of the parlor. Shelves of books lined the walls, and the floor was scattered with furniture that probably collectively cost a down payment on a small house. Presents sat stacked on a small table, across from a cloth-covered cart bearing trays full of snacks. It didn’t look like anything had been touched.

“Am I early?” I asked Wanda. Where were all the people who usually attended this?

Wanda discreetly leaned in to me. “They were waiting for you. Your father decided to make this one a family-only function.”

I frowned.

Dressed in a cream button-down and slacks, my dad stood looking out the window onto the pastures where the hor
ses grazed. Neither Brayden, Dad, nor I had been much for riding, but Mom loved horses. I had a feeling he kept them around for her.

Mom was reading something in a card, the
crooked smile spreading across her lips making the crow’s-feet around her eyes more pronounced. She sat in a wheelchair, her body frail though she radiated strength, the kind that spoke of a brave soul. Her blond hair had more silver than I remembered. It flowed past her shoulders in streams of curls, gleaming against the lavender dress she wore.

My mother always was a beautiful woman. And my father liked to collect beautiful things.

My face darkened as I stared at my father’s back, who still hadn’t noticed me.

“You should go say hello,” Wanda whispered with a smile.

I watched my mother with caution. What could I say? Sorry for bailing on you? Sorry I never returned your calls?

Sorry I failed you as a son?

Wanda reached down and squeezed my hand, her fingers paper-thin. I squeezed back, smiling at her encouragement. Gathering my courage, I started to step forward.

I looked up as Brayden swaggered into the room, carrying two glasses full of punch. “Here you go, Mom,” he said, handing a glass off to her with a smile.

I went stock-still.

When he straightened, his eyes landed on me and instantly hardened. “Glad to see you could take time out of your busy schedule to join us.”

My face heated as Mom and Dad turned around.

Mom’s eyes went wide, and for a horrifying moment, I thought she was going to scream at me to leave. But slowly, a smile spread on her face and a glimmer shone in her eyes. She held her arms wide. “Allen.”

My throat was suddenly so tight I could hardly breathe, let alone speak. “Hi, Mom,” I choked out, going to her and wrapping my arms around her in a tentative hug.

She squeezed me, and I gripped her harder, inhaling the scent of gardenias. Pure joy shone on her face as I straightened. “I can’t believe you came,” she whispered, touching my arm, as if to see if I were real.
Her words were slightly slurred. I also the noticed the unmistakable tremble in her arms. It had been there ever since the stroke that nearly killed her a year ago.

I forced my lips to stretch into a smile, despite the heavy guilt weighing down my heart. “Happy Birthday, Mom.” I handed her the present
, and she stared at it in wonder, as if a wrapped, cardboard box was the greatest treasure in the world.

Dad smiled approvingly, nodding his head at me once in acknowledgment. The chill of our last encounter hadn’t left my mind, and I steeled myself, looking away from him as Mom carefully undid the ribbon and unfolded the paper. Opening up the box, she gasped softly. “Oh, Allen,” she said, lifting the pearl and diamond pendant. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Thank you.”