Ready to Fall (10 page)

Another long silence. He could hear Helen and Wes whispering to one another.

Finally, Helen spoke again. “People screw up, Chris. God knows Wes did the first time he took me home.”

“No fucking joke,” Wes said with feeling.

“You can't guarantee not to hurt her again. All you can do is try to make it up to her, work on getting past your issues, and deal with her more carefully in the future.” She paused. “What you have to decide is whether you think a possible future with her would be worth that effort. Whether you think Sarah is worth that effort. And that's not a question Wes or I can answer for you.”

Shortly afterward, the three of them said good-bye. Chris found himself alone again in his depressing front room. And he still didn't know what the hell to do.

Not because he was questioning whether Sarah deserved everything he had to give. Without a doubt, she did. She deserved all the effort he could possibly pour into her and into their potential relationship.

But she also deserved a man who trusted her. Who treated her with understanding and respect, and who'd always give her the benefit of the doubt. Who'd lavish her with all the affection and love in the world. Without reservation. Without suspicion.

And he just didn't know whether he was too fucked up to be that man.

A
s Sarah pulled into a parking space near the C & O Canal, she tried to convince herself that attending the bike retreat was still a good idea, even after everything that had happened with Chris.

Forget him
, she told herself
. Today is for you. A celebration of all you can accomplish when you set your mind to it and an exploration of what could happen between you and Ulysses. Use the prospect of imminent death on the bike to distract yourself from thoughts of... that other man.

There was no way that was happening. She was doomed. She already knew it.

She got out of her car and braced herself for a rendezvous with Ulysses, Mother Nature, and her bike. Her odds of survival: marginal. Her odds of finding true love with Ulysses: vanishingly small. Her odds of successfully distracting herself from thoughts of Chris: zero.

But she had to try. For her pride, if nothing else. And really, how bad could it be?

As it turned out: really fucking bad. After two hours in the saddle, she was kind of hoping her bike really would explode. Or devour her. Or steer itself into a tree. Anything to put an end to the Longest Goddamn Bike Ride Ever Recorded.

To be fair, other people had probably biked longer physical distances at some point in world history. But they certainly hadn't taken a ride that
felt
so fucking long. If she had to admire another fucking tree, marvel at another fucking vista, or coo over another fucking bird, she was going to lose it. Big-time. Her patience was gone, as were her remaining electrolytes. Her body hurt. Her heart hurt. Her vocabulary had shrunk to grunts, one-syllable words, and various obscenities. Mostly
fuck
, in all its useful forms.

Nature sucked. Sweating sucked. The bruises from her fall sucked. The lingering tenderness between her thighs . . . well, she kind of liked that. But on a bike ride? It sucked. And finally getting Ulysses's undivided attention . . .

Yeah. That sucked too. Because Ulysses was boring as hell.

“I can identify over fifty species of birds by their calls alone.” He smiled at her. “By sight, I can identify over two hundred. And trees .. . don't get me started on those. I've made a lengthy study of all the local flora, and I've found—”

“Wow,” she panted. “Fascinating.”

Keeping up with the group biking along the C & O Canal had proven challenging for a cycling beginner and exercise avoider. So far, though, she hadn't fallen. Not even when a squirrel darted right in her path. Sure, she'd shrieked and wobbled a bit, but that was to be expected. So were a few unflattering words for the squirrel. She hadn't appreciated the dirty looks from her colleagues after she'd called it the Devil's Rat-Faced Minion.

“I was surprised to see you here this morning,” Ulysses said. His breathing was slow and steady. He hadn't even broken a sweat. The bastard. “You don't seem like the . . . um, outdoorsy type. But I'm glad you came.”

He smiled at her, his white teeth gleaming in his attractive face.

Ulysses Bollinger, it seemed, was a diamond of many facets. He loved fitness. He loved nature. He loved reading about fitness and nature. He loved watching television programs about fitness and nature. He loved going to movies about fitness and nature. He loved talking about fitness and nature. He was friendly. Handsome. At long last, he even seemed interested in her.

Too bad, then, that she didn't want him anymore. At all. For possibly the first time in her life, she wasn't willing to settle. She knew exactly what she wanted, and she wasn't going to accept less.

She wanted a man who caused that elusive zing of electricity when she saw him.

She wanted a man who would push her to take chances, but one who also understood her. One who wouldn't try to change her fundamental character.

She wanted a man who was gentle and protective.

She wanted a man who, despite that gentle protectiveness, would still throw her down on a bed and fuck her senseless.

She wanted a man who was intelligent, funny, and sexy.

She'd met a man like that three days ago. Chris embodied everything she wanted. Everything . . . except the last item on her list. The most important item of all.

She wanted a man who wanted her in return, enough to fight for her.

No reservations. No mixed messages
.
No running away when things got tough. Because they would. She knew exactly who she was and who she wasn't, and she could guarantee some rough seas ahead for any man ballsy enough to claim her as his own.

But she deserved a little effort. Hell, she deserved a
lot
of effort. From now on, she was going to demand it. She was going to demand everything she wanted. If Chris thought so little of her that he would hand her off to another man, she could do better. If Ulysses bored the yoga pants off of her, she could do better. And if neither Chris nor Ulysses could give her everything she wanted, screw them both. She'd do just fine on her own until the right man came along, if he ever did.

So why was she still biking along the damn canal? She hated nature, at least when it got up close and personal. Looking down from the heights of her bike made her woozy. Her body still ached from the fall and . . . other assorted activities.

Fuck this. She was going home. The next time the bike path neared a road, she was stopping and calling for a cab on her cell phone. The driver could put her bike in the back seat and take her to retrieve her car from the canal parking lot easily enough.

“Ulysses,” she said, “you're right. I'm not outdoorsy. In fact, I hate nature. And since I see a few cars through the trees over there”—she nodded to their right—“I'll be heading out now. Thanks for keeping me company today. See you in a couple of months at school.”

She pedaled backward, just as Chris had shown her. Her bike slowed to a smooth stop. She put her feet back on the ground. And as Ulysses looked back at her, his mouth open, she gave him a little wave good-bye.

So long, sucker
, she thought.
Enjoy the mosquitos and sunburn. I'll be enjoying a cool shower, a soft bed, and a couple of enormous muffins. I might be alone, but at least I'll be alone with my self-respect.

* * *

Someone had apparently delivered a package to her at some point during the morning. A big one. And she had no idea what it contained.

Sarah unloaded her bike from her SUV and cautiously approached the enormous box on her front porch. No shipping label or return address. Someone had delivered this package by hand. Or by dolly. As far as she could tell, it wasn't ticking. So what in the world was inside the box, and why had someone left it outside her door?

She supposed there was only one way to find out.

The box weighed too much for her to lift it inside, so she brought a pair of scissors out to the front porch and sat down. Seam by seam, she opened the huge package. Only to find . . . something.

Honestly, she wasn't quite sure what it was. But it was bright yellow. It had three wheels, one in front and two in back. It sat low to the ground. The large seat looked cushiony. Comfortable. It had pedals and what she assumed was a handbrake. Was this a bike? Because if so, it resembled no bike she'd ever seen before. If she'd seen a model like this in the store, she'd have chosen it for the stupid bike retreat today. It seemed less likely to fling her to the ground than the one she'd bought for herself.

She looked more closely at the wide-set handlebars. Someone had glued streamers to them. Purple, sparkly ones. That's when she realized: Her dad must have done this. Only he would know that Sarah was learning to ride a bike
and
that she loved streamers. Dad had probably gone out and bought the contraption out of concern for his daughter's cycling safety and in congratulations for learning how to ride a bike at thirty-two years of age.

She smiled at the sweet gesture and began to dig her cell phone out of her pocket. Her dad deserved a thank-you call for this gift. But her smile faded when she noticed a note stuck between the spokes of the front wheel. The handwriting on it didn't look like her father's. It looked like . . .

It looked like the handwriting she'd first seen yesterday morning.

She unfolded the paper with trembling fingers.

She dropped the note on the porch. The recumbent bike sitting next to her looked sturdy, and she rested her cheek on its padded seat for a moment. It didn't budge. Chris had done this for her. Chris. The man who'd said he wasn't even ready to date. The man who'd been unwilling to talk about his past, except in the most general terms. The man who'd left her bed yesterday morning with only a brief note to say good-bye. The man who'd basically flung her into the arms of another man.

This gesture changed everything. Almost everything, anyway. She mentally ran down her list one more time, already knowing what she'd discover.

Was he someone who triggered a zing of electricity? Check.

Was he someone who challenged her, but also understood and respected her? Check.

Was he someone gentle and protective? Check.

Was he someone who'd fuck her senseless?
Check.
Holy God, check.

Was he someone intelligent, sexy, and funny? Check, check, check.

Was he someone willing to fight for her and make an effort? Apparently. . . check.

She still didn't know, though, why he'd abandoned her yesterday. If he couldn't make her believe he wouldn't do it again, she'd have to walk away from him. For good.

But he deserved a chance to explain. And she wanted to hear that explanation as quickly as possible, since it could change the whole course of her future.

She sprang to her feet, grabbing the note along the way. Her front door opened easily, and she kicked it shut behind her. She stuck the note on the kitchen counter, ready to be read again later. Striding to her shower, she flipped on the water and didn't even wait for it to get warm before ducking inside. Urgency gripped her as she shampooed her hair and soaped her body.

She didn't know what he'd say to her when she came to his shop. She didn't know if his explanation would persuade her to open her heart to him for a second time, or whether their conversation would end up being the last one they ever had. She didn't know if a long-term romantic relationship was in her future—with Chris, or with anyone else.

She just knew she couldn't wait to see him again.

C
hris finished attaching the new decoration to the wall of his shop and descended the stepladder. He took a good look, making sure it was straight and secure. It was. But it was also completely out of place in his grim little front room.

He'd removed the handlebars and basket from a purple children's bike and mounted them on the wall. It looked like the bike was emerging from the plaster, its streamers gaily fluttering in the breeze from the air vents. The yellow flower on the front of the basket looked cheerful. He guessed. Honestly, he had no idea. He just wanted to show Sarah he was willing to make an effort. To change. He knew she'd understand when she came.

If
she came.

He could only hope Ulysses hadn't ceased his idiocy and made a play for her. Or if the gym teacher had, Chris hoped Sarah had resisted him. That the memory of her night with Chris had proven too compelling for her to ignore. That she'd realized she was worth more than a man who hadn't noticed her for months and wouldn't value her as much as Chris did.

He also hoped she hadn't managed to skewer herself on her bike frame. Knowing Sarah, it was a distinct possibility. The woman just wasn't meant to ride a traditional bike. But maybe the recumbent bike he'd delivered to her doorstep would prove more to her liking.

He'd knocked on her door at nine that morning, his heart in his throat. When she hadn't answered, that heart had fallen to his feet. He'd known exactly what she was doing, and with whom she was doing it. The thought of her smiling at Ulysses had ripped through him, making his skull pound and his jaw clench.

But he didn't blame her. No, he blamed himself. If he'd stayed with her until morning and not allowed himself to be swayed by old pain and fears, she'd have been smiling at
him
. Laughing with
him
. Holding
him
. Not that idiot Ulysses.

In lieu of camping out on her front porch, he'd left the bike and a note. That note had taken him almost an hour to compose. He couldn't even count the number of drafts he'd written, reread, crumpled, and thrown away. Some had seemed too distant and formal. Others just made him seem like a lovestruck kid, which he kind of was. But she didn't need to know how far gone he was after just one night together. Not until after they'd talked.

He'd thought the final version of the note struck a good balance between sincerity and humor. Between that and the recumbent bike, he hoped she understood how he felt about her. About a possible future for the two of them.

Now all he could do was wait. And it was killing him, minute by minute.

He wandered back to his workroom, eyeing its contents for anything else he could disassemble and make into a wall decoration. Maybe a display of wheels? He had a few rusty ones he didn't really need anymore. Or he could put some old wrenches into a square or something.

The little bell he'd placed on his front door jingled. He froze in place, his heart racing. For a moment, he couldn't even bring himself to turn around and face the open door leading to the front of the shop.
Please let it be Sarah. Please
.

A loud female voice came from the customer service area. “It looks like you hunted that bike down, shot it, and mounted it on your wall as some kind of sick trophy. Like a moose head. And I'll be honest with you, Chris. The streamers and flower make it even creepier, since you apparently killed a baby bike.”

“If you were trying to make this place look less like the den of a serial killer, you failed,” Sarah continued. “Now it just looks like you prey on bikes
and
people in here. When you're not busy with violent gang initiations and drug deals.”

A relieved grin spread across his face. That was his girl. And she'd come to him.

He turned around to face her. “I tried.”

“I know. But it still looks terrible.” Sarah stood behind his counter, leaning into it with both arms. She was wearing a gray T-shirt and leggings. Her hair formed a halo of wet curls around her face, and she wasn't wearing any makeup or jewelry. But her blue-gray eyes shone with wary hope, and she was here.
Here.
With him. Despite his idiocy.

He'd never seen a more beautiful woman in his life.

He walked slowly toward her, stopping on the opposite side of the counter. “Are you volunteering to help me decorate? Because I need someone.”

“Do you?” She leaned closer to him. “Just for decorating?”

“No. Not just for decorating.” He took a deep breath and laid it out for her. “I need a woman in my life to love. One who makes me laugh and busts my chops. One who brings me drama and fun and brutal honesty. One who's a lot more kind and vulnerable than she seems on the surface. I need
you
, Sarah.”

She looked at him without responding for a minute, her face as solemn as he'd ever seen it. He tried hard to control his breathing. To stop himself from begging.

“Why did you leave yesterday morning?” She didn't sound angry. Just . . . cautious.

He thrust a hand through his hair, blowing out a slow breath. “I'm so sorry. I misunderstood what you said right before you fell asleep. I thought you were telling me the various reasons you'd decided to keep pursuing Ulysses. The reasons you didn't want more than our one night together.”

She didn't say a word. Just kept watching him.

“I know I should have asked you if that's what you meant. I know I should have given you the benefit of the doubt. I can't apologize enough for not doing either.” He placed his hands on the counter, sliding them to within an inch of hers. “I got scared, Sarah. I didn't want to care about a woman and have her choose another man a second time. Not after Rockville. What happened there fucked me up, and I'm still working through it.”

“If you felt that way, why did you leave me the bike and the note?” Her eyes remained steady on his. Calm.

“Helen called to yell at me, and we realized I'd completely misinterpreted what you said that night. And the reason I didn't find you right away and beg for forgiveness . . .” He sighed. “I needed time. Time to figure out if I was too screwed up to be the man you need. But then I realized I wanted you too much not to fight for you. So I'll work hard on getting over what happened to me. I'll work hard to earn your forgiveness for what I did to you.”

Half expecting her to pull away, he took her hands in his. When she didn't flinch from his touch, a tendril of hope grew within him.

“I don't want to hurt you again, and I'll do my best not to,” he told her. “But if I do, I'll make it up to you. I'll bust my ass every day to be the best man I can be. For you. Because you deserve the world. And I want you too much to let you go because I'm scared of getting hurt again or scared that I won't be able to get over my past. I want to take a chance on you, Sarah. No risk, no reward.”

He'd spent the hours since Helen's phone call in a daze, unable to think of anything but Sarah. Reading hadn't driven her from his mind. Television hadn't distracted him. Even tinkering with the bikes in his shop hadn't done the trick. The only thing that had lifted the oppressive weight from his mood had been writing that note and readying the bike for her. Just the prospect of seeing her again had sent a wave of relief and joy flooding through him.

He squeezed her hands tight. “You know, I didn't ever fight for my ex. I just let her go. On some level, I think I knew what we had together wasn't worth saving. But us—what we could have together—it's worth the effort to me. It's worth a fight. If Ulysses wants to try for you, tell him to bring it on. I'll make sure I'm the one with you in the end. I'll be the one in your bed and in your life. You can count on it.”

Her lips quirked. “You seem very confident.”

“I am,” Chris said. “Ulysses might be a very nice guy, but he doesn't stand a chance against a giant mutant-man who adores you.”

When he began to head around the counter, eager to hold her in his arms, she lifted a hand. He stopped, his heart dropping to his feet. Did she need time to forgive him for leaving her alone that night? Had he hurt her so badly she wasn't willing to give him another chance?

Her shoulders squared, as if she were bracing herself. “For how long?”

“Huh?” He wanted to answer her, but he had no fucking clue what she was talking about.

“You said you adore me, and I believe you.” She took a deep breath, her gaze open and vulnerable. “My question is whether you think you'll still want me in a week. In a month. I need you to be honest with yourself and with me, Chris. Because I care about you too much to find myself kicked to the curb after you get tired of all the drama and the teasing. After I've worn you out and you want someone easier in your life.”

This. This was the heart of her insecurities, just as he'd realized the other night.

She'd tugged her hands from his, and they were twisting around and around each other. His answer was obviously important to her. To them both, really. He didn't want to rush it or say the wrong thing, so he thought for a minute.

Then he reached for those twisting hands again, gently stroking them until they relaxed. “I can't predict the future, Sarah, so I can't guarantee forever. Not without lying to you. But demanding, high-energy women don't exhaust me, and I have some damn good evidence to back up that claim.”

Letting go of one of her hands, he dug his phone out of his pocket. With a few quick swipes of his finger, he called his younger sister, Claudia, and put her on speaker.

His sister greeted him as she always did. “What's up, Gigantor?”

Sarah went very still.

“Nothing much. Just saying hi,” he said.

Claudia snorted. “You? My mute mountain of a brother? You're not just calling to say hi. You have an ulterior motive. Probably a dark, secretive one.”

He caught Sarah's eye and raised his brows, nodding toward the phone.

“Spill it.” Claudia paused, obviously considering the angles. “Are you trying to establish an alibi before committing a terrible crime? Or hoping to find out what Mom and I got you for your birthday? Because I'll never tell, no matter how much you torture me in that fucking depressing shop of yours.”

Sarah giggled, and her smile lingered as he kept talking.

“I need you to confirm something for me,” he said. “When I decided to leave Rockville, I could have settled almost anywhere, right?”

“Yes.” Claudia sounded suspicious. “What's your point?”

“And I chose to move near you, Candace, and Mom and Dad. Tell me, Claudia, how often do I talk to you?”

“Pretty much every day. Of course, you hardly say anything when you do. But why—”

He didn't let her finish. “Would you say you wear me out? That you're too demanding for me?”

“Nah.” She chuckled, the sound of her amusement warming him as it always did. “You love it. Always did, even as a surly, overgrown teenager.”

“And are you the biggest drama queen of our family?”

“I resent that term,” she informed him. “Especially since Mom and Candace deserve it much more than I do. And you shouldn't call your younger sister a drama queen. A queen, yes. A drama queen, no.”

“Thanks, Claudes. That's all I needed. Love you.” Then he hung up on his sputtering sister.

Sarah's smile spread, widening into the beaming grin he adored. “I'm convinced. Brace yourself, mutant-man.”

Letting go of his hands, she dashed around the counter and launched herself into his arms without any warning. He staggered under the impact, but managed to catch her. The press of her curves against him . . . God, he couldn't even describe how good it felt. How right. Like he'd come home after years of wandering alone.

“You don't have to worry about Ulysses,” she said, her voice muffled by his chest. “Turns out he's the most boring man on the face of the Earth. He kept going on and on about nature and fitness. I wanted to run him over with my bike. Or at the very least, shove an athletic sock down his throat.”

He closed his eyes in gratitude and squeezed her tighter. “I can see how those conversational topics might not suit you.”

His hands stroked up and down her back, relearning the round, pliant feel of her. She hummed in pleasure at his touch, and the sound vibrated through him, tightening every muscle in his body. God, he wanted her. In his bed. On the bench in his workroom. In her car. He didn't really care. He just wanted her naked as quickly as possible.

“God, Chris.” She nuzzled into his chest with a heartfelt sigh. “I had the suckiest morning in the history of humanity. I caught a cab partway through the ride when I couldn't take it anymore, and I almost proposed to the driver in abject gratitude for rescuing me and taking me back to my car.”

His brow furrowed in a frown. “What was so bad about the ride? Did you fall again? Are you okay?”

He backed up to take a good look at her. He couldn't see any new injuries, but that didn't mean they weren't lurking beneath her clothes. Maybe he should offer to check her over for additional bumps and bruises? Just for the sake of thorough medical care?

She tugged him close again. “No falls. Although a demonic squirrel did attempt to assassinate me.”

The statement was so typical of Sarah that he couldn't help but grin. “I see.”

“Even before the squirrel incident, though, I was miserable,” she said. “Partly because listening to Ulysses made me wish the squirrel had succeeded. Partly because I don't enjoy riding my bike, even when I'm not worried about killing myself on it. But the main cause of my misery was you. I missed you. I was so hurt when you left me that night.”