The Goodbye Bride (17 page)

Oompfh.
She ran smack into a wall, bouncing backward.

Strong hands steadied her. “Whoa.”

Her hands landed on the firm wall of his chest.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Oh my. I was—I was just coming for you.”

“I was checking on you.” His voice sounded deeper in the dark somehow. The warmth of his hands seeped through the sleeves of her shirt. One of his fingers slid along her skin, awakening every cell.

“Do you—do you have a generator?”

“No.”

“What about the food?”

“It'll keep. The juice'll probably be back on by morning. Might want to throw another blanket on your bed. There's an extra in the chest of drawers.”

“Good idea.”

Silence stretched between them, tension hovering around them. His hand flexed on her arm, and her pulse jumped. She'd always been so aware of him. But it seemed like it had been so long since he'd touched her. And after the way he'd stood up to Morgan tonight, she was having warm feelings—dangerous feelings—toward him.

“Th-thanks again for what you did tonight. With Morgan.”

“I'm just sorry I didn't see it earlier.”

“It's not your fault.”

She wished she could see his face, his smoky eyes. His breath fluttered her bangs, and the movement sent a shiver skittering down her arms.

He cleared his throat. “There's a, ah, flashlight in the kitchen. And candles.”

“All right.”

Neither of them moved. His spicy scent wrapped around her like a warm embrace. She should remove her hands from his chest, but the slow rise and fall was comforting somehow.

Her fingers clutched at the soft cotton. The muscles beneath it tensed.

Oh, how she'd missed being close to him. Missed the way she fit into him so perfectly. His touch was as familiar as an ocean breeze, his kiss as necessary as her next breath.

He couldn't be immune to her, could he? He'd always been so quick to respond to her kisses, often taking over in a flurry of passion. She'd missed that so much. Seven months couldn't have erased his desire for her. His love for her.

Her heart pounded in her chest, but the darkness made her bold. She stepped closer until she could feel the heat of him against her. Her hands moved up the solid wall of his chest, and his heart thumped against her palm.

She worked her way up to his broad shoulders. The tips of her fingers tingled with want. His neck was warm and sandpaper rough, his pulse strong and quick. The stubble on his jaw prickled against her palms.

“Lucy . . .”

His voice was thick, filled with emotion, though whether it
was encouragement or caution she wasn't sure. Maybe he wasn't either. Maybe it didn't matter.

She pulled his face toward hers, stretching up to him like a tulip toward the sun. His breath teased her mouth for an instant before their lips met.

Ah, sweet heaven. She'd missed the familiar fresh and minty taste of him. His lips were as soft as she remembered.

But they were not pliant. They were not moving. Not one bit. His jaw had grown hard under her palm. His hands gripped her arms tightly.

He's not kissing you back, you imbecile!

Her heart buckled. She drew back, glad for the darkness as heat climbed her neck, flooding into her cheeks with mortification.

Way to go, Lucy. Throw yourself at a man who doesn't even want you.

“I'm sorry,”she said on a thready breath.“I—I shouldn't have—”

He pulled her into him, and his lips were on hers.

Her heart lurched in a moment of confusion. Then her legs went soft, and her fingers trembled against his neck. He demanded a response, and she gave it gladly, heady with the familiar dance. Her mouth parted on a breath, and he took full advantage.

She slid her fingers into the softness of his hair, tugging. He wrapped his arms around her waist, drawing her closer until the warmth of his chest seeped through her shirt.

How had she made it these seven months without this? He was her rock. Her home. Her soul mate. Warmth pooled deep inside in a space that had been cold for too long.

She sensed a change, some subtle shift in his kiss, a tensing of his body. And then he pushed her away.

Zac dropped his hands, stepping back. His mind waged war with his heart, and his heart waged a war with his ribs. He was pretty sure his heart was winning both battles. It had never pounded so hard. Her kiss had sucked him right in. He'd held his own for all of two seconds before he'd dragged her back for more.

Way to hold out, Callahan
.

He was glad he couldn't see her face. See the hurt he knew he'd find there. He was glad she couldn't see his either. His cheeks must be flushed with desire, and his eyes would give away his every thought.

And man was he having thoughts.

Their ragged breaths filled the space between them, mingling with the heavy cloud of tension.

“I shouldn't have done that,” he said finally. Was that his voice, all thick and husky? Lord, what she did to him. He'd never wipe the memory of her from his lips.

“Why not, Zac? Why can't we—?”

“No, Lucy. I know you think you love me, but—”

“Don't tell me how I feel.”

“—you're confused.”

“Apparently so are you.” Her voice rose above the patter of rain.

Well. She had him there. He palmed the back of his neck, a long, slow breath leaving his body. “This is too hard.”

“It doesn't have to be.”

He stepped back, putting distance between them before his hands did something he hadn't given them permission to do.

“Yes, it does. We're over, Lucy. It was your decision to end things, not mine. Time didn't stand still while you were gone. I've moved on.” Maybe if he said it with enough conviction, she'd believe it. Maybe they both would. “When your memory comes back—”

“
If
my memory comes back.”

“Even if it doesn't . . . I don't trust you now. You left me high and dry, and it was hard, Lucy. It took me months to even—” A hard knot formed in his throat, and he swallowed past it. “I'm not going there again. Maybe I'm still attracted to you, and maybe I'll always care about you on some level, but it can't go any further than that. It just can't.”

He brushed past her, feeling his way down the hall and toward the kitchen. He tried to ignore the way his legs quaked. The way his heart shuddered. The way every piece of him still screamed to go back and take her in his arms again.

Chapter 20

L
ucy lay in bed listening to the patter of rain on the roof. She'd been lying awake for hours, the memory of Zac's kiss lingering like a stolen dream. She would've been lying here with a smile, but for the way it had ended. The hurtful things he'd said.

Now she only felt rejected. And the roots of those emotions sank all the way to her core, roping around her, strangling.

Lucy's mama had been a beautiful woman, full of energy and laughter, who smelled of flowers and sunshine from tending her beloved garden. Lucy's favorite flower was the starflower with its vibrant blue petals and honey-sweet smell.

“This one represents courage,” her mother had said one day as they gardened together. She ran her fingers through the tiny flowers. “It's beautiful and sweet smelling, and you can even eat it.”

Lucy wasn't sure about eating flowers. But one spring morning when she was fretting over an upcoming math test, she found a starflower in her bowl of Cheerios.

“For courage,” her mom said with a wink.

With a little giggle, Lucy ate the tiny flower. She was surprised by its subtle, pleasant flavor—and by the A she got on her test later that day.

Another starflower appeared later that summer when she had her first dance recital. On the night of the big event, she sashayed across the stage, not missing a single beat.

The starflower soon became her favorite tradition.

Lucy also had tea parties with her mom and grand balls where they danced around the living room while her dolls looked on with adoration. The days only got better when her daddy came home from work. Sometimes he even came home early because he was his own boss.

Her parents were so in love. They snuggled on the sofa, sharing private smiles and quiet whispers. Sometimes Lucy would walk past them, close enough for Daddy to snatch her up and draw her into the hug. She would giggle and curl up between them, feeling so safe and loved.

They took weekend trips to the beach and stayed at seaside hotels. They looked for shells every morning and built sand castles in the heat of the afternoon. They returned home on Sunday nights, sun-tired and happy.

Shortly past her sixth birthday everything changed. Her mom became awful sick. Much later Lucy learned it was a rare brain tumor that had made her so ill. They spent hours at the hospital where her mom lay as white as the sheets. Lucy watched her chest rise and fall, listening to the beeping and whirring of the machines.

Until all of it stopped.

Everything afterward was sad and bewildering. She kept asking Daddy when Mama would come home. Looking back, she
realized the pain her questions must've caused him. But death was the kind of permanence a young child couldn't comprehend.

The house on Oak Street was no longer filled with laughter and music. Daddy wandered from room to room with bloodshot eyes, a cigarette often trembling between his lips. He forgot to turn on lights. He slept in the spare room, the door of her parents' bedroom remaining shut at all times.

He often left Lucy with Mrs. Wilmington, their next-door neighbor—an elderly woman with a lot of rules. Lucy cried when he left her there in the mornings. What if he went where Mama went? What if he stayed away too? There weren't enough starflowers in the world to give her the courage for that.

When her dad stopped long enough to settle on the couch, Lucy would walk slowly by. But he didn't snatch her off her feet anymore. He didn't draw her into hugs or find that ticklish spot at her side.

The weeks and months after her mama's death passed in a lonely blur. There was an overwhelming heaviness that Lucy later learned was grief's calling card. It rolled in like a heavy fog, sinking into everything it touched.

Then one Friday when Lucy was seven, she got off the bus. A cold rain was drizzling from a cloudy gray sky. She was supposed to stay with Mrs. Wilmington until Daddy got home. But his blue car was in their driveway, so she headed that way instead.

Happiness swirled inside. Daddy had been coming home late, especially on Friday nights. Sometimes Mrs. Wilmington tucked her into her own bed and stayed until he came home. He was always quiet in the morning, and Lucy knew he wouldn't be fit for talking until after his second cup of coffee, but by then he had to leave for work.

But tonight she wouldn't have to stay with Mrs. Wilmington.
Maybe Daddy would help her with her penguin project. Maybe they could go out for ice cream later like they used to.

She shuffled through the piles of decaying leaves that carpeted their yard. They used to make huge piles by the porch. She'd jump into them until there were chips of leaves stuck so deep in her scalp that Mama would have to help wash her hair.

She passed the remnants of her mama's garden. Weeds had choked out most of the flowers, and decaying leaves covered the rest. Lucy tried to picture the garden the way it used to be. Tried to picture Mama as she climbed the porch steps, but all she could remember was soft brown hair and blue eyes. These days her mama seemed like a ghost from her past, and she disappeared more and more every day. Lucy was afraid that someday she wouldn't remember Mama at all.

She pushed the thought away before the big, dark fog could swallow her up. Daddy was home, and it was going to be a happy night. The front door was unlocked, and she pushed it open. The house was dark and quiet, the smell of cigarette smoke hanging in the air.

She slid her backpack to the floor and kicked off her ballerina flats. She heard floorboards creaking overhead, so she dashed up the stairs.

“Daddy?” she called.

The door to his bedroom—his new one—was open. He was standing by the bed.

He turned as she approached. “Lucy . . .” His thick eyebrows pulled close. “What are you doing here? You're supposed to go on over to Mrs. Wilmington's.”

Her face fell at his scolding tone. “But you're here.”

Her eyes dropped to the suitcase on the bed. It was filled with
clothes. A lot of clothes. Lucy wondered if the lid would even shut. She remembered their trips to the beach, and a wonderful feeling swept over her. Daddy was taking her to the beach! She suddenly couldn't wait to escape this dark, quiet house.

“Are we going to the beach?” She bounced up and down on her toes, her body unable to stay still.

“What? No.” He took his cigarette from the ashtray and put it between his lips, his jaws going hollow as he sucked on it. He blew out, the smoke swirling into the air.