Until Next Time (29 page)

Her own rules had shattered around her by her admittance. It was everything she wasn’t looking for and everything she feared. But she’d owned it—there was nothing else to do. If Quinn had taught her anything, it was to be fair and honest with her emotions—with him. And so she had.

And what did it get her?

Another lost love.

Another broken heart.

To her, it was simple: she loved Quinn, he loved her, and the next logical step was marriage. She hadn’t wanted the love. She hadn’t wanted the marriage, but she’d succumbed to her emotions and faced her fears. And Quinn couldn’t do the same for her.

Piper swiped at the tears, remembering she’d done this to herself. She allowed a man into her life who she knew would change it. She hadn’t stopped it, hadn’t run in the other direction. She’d allowed each kiss, each look, and each touch to affect her in ways she’d sworn off. But she couldn’t be mad at Quinn. He caught her like she’d feared. Impaled her heart and soul without even realizing it.

She rocked back and forth, clutching her knees to her chest. Piper had feared love. Love was selfish. But a much bigger fear became known when Quinn had walked out the door. With everything he had done to break down her walls, with everything she had overcome to allow him into her heart, he wasn’t willing to do the same for her.

The tears came again, the choking sobs racking her chest.

It’s just as well that her question—her need of marriage—drove him away. In the end, she would have lost him anyway. Better now than later, when losing him would surely kill her.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Piper spent the next week in solid haze. She could hardly think, let alone remember to breathe.

She’d had to do the presentation on Quinn’s grandpa’s foundation by herself. She’d had to answer questions from Mitch and Gavin and a gazillion other people about where Quinn had been. She’d had to put up her front and pretend that she didn’t care he was called away on
business.
She’d had to pretend she was okay, smiling and laughing with people she didn’t really know. She’d gracefully ignored their questions, their probing into her personal life. Which she’d found was much harder without Quinn by her side. He’d been her rock, she realized, making her want to do and say things she’d never felt comfortable doing or saying before. And she’d let him go. Because she’d needed more. So much more than he could give.

Las Vegas, the City of Sin, surrounded by all her cohorts living life, had been the last place she’d wanted to be. She’d wanted to be at home, tucked into the bowels of her funeral home, working with the dead. The dead didn’t speak. The dead didn’t feel.

And now, a week after she’d returned from that ghastly place, she was sitting in her living room…alone, clutching one of the
Until Next Time
medals between her fingers. It was all she had left of him. That and the thorny stem still perched in one of her plants on her windowsill. She shouldn’t keep them. They had to go. Every time she looked at them, every time she ran her fingers over the cool metal, all she could think about was Quinn’s calm gaze, the breath of his laughter in her ear, the warmth of his smile, the glitter of his impossibly light eyes.

Two weeks spent without him. And it felt more like a lifetime. How had she managed to screw up her life? Her plans? Quinn had certainly never been a part of her plans. And neither was the radiating ache beneath her rib cage. She rubbed at it, willing it desperately to go away.

Shaking her head, she padded over to the door, tucking the medallion deep into the pocket of her jeans. With her head still in a fog, she shuffled downstairs, past Margo sitting at Jessica’s desk, barely registering the girl’s friendly hello. Piper thought she managed a wave or smile or something, but she wasn’t sure.

She headed to her retreat, as grisly as that sounded. It was the only place she didn’t have to think, didn’t have to feel. She could surround herself in her work, with the dead, and not worry about the living. Maneuvering her way down the stairs, flicking on lights as she passed through the main door to the prep area, Piper breathed a sigh of relief. Her second home. Her sad second home.

Suddenly looking with new eyes, she didn’t see comfort in the chill metal tables, muted walls, tools, or chipping paint. She didn’t see a dead man lying on her table in need of a comforting touch. She saw a room clouded with despair and sadness. A place where people shouldn’t smile or laugh. A place that was dark and dingy. A place where she was achingly gloomy—a feeling she’d never felt in this area of her home.

She tried to snap herself back to attention. She needed her focus, her brain to filter out all the stuff she’d trained it to filter out over the years. But as she gathered up the items to prepare Mr. Williams for his eternal rest, her brain didn’t filter. A heavy mist rolled into her senses, clogging up anything and everything she’d ever known, anything she’d ever taught herself, and brought the feelings of death and loss right down on her shoulders.

Barely able to concentrate on the task at hand, she ambled through the motions, feeling sick to her stomach. She had to wash the body twice, swearing she’d forgotten to add the proper solution to the first water basin. And why couldn’t she find the skin salve? Blinking back tears that pricked her eyes, she hooked him up to her machine and plopped back on her high stool, letting her head crack back against the concrete wall.

Her memories drifted from Quinn to her parents to Steven, colliding in her head like a disastrous train wreck. What she’d lived through, and sadly, what she’d done to herself. The world as she’d seen it spun around her, making her vision crack at the possibilities of all she missed…of all she’d lost.

What would she do if she couldn’t see Quinn again? His bright eyes? That soft laugh that was reserved solely for her? He hadn’t called, hadn’t tried to contact her. Not that she’d expected him to. Her heart thundered beneath her ribs as she gazed down at Mr. Williams. She would end up like this man on her table. No family. No friends. No one who cared.

Isn’t that what she’d wanted in life?

Not to feel? Not to live? It was safer that way.

Yes, she had done herself a favor by admitting her love for Quinn and then requesting he do the one thing she knew he wouldn’t do to keep her. It had been the only way to show him how much she cared, yet allow herself that escape she so desperately needed. Her decision had forced her to push away only the second man she’d ever loved.

It was better this way. The pain of losing him wouldn’t go away, she knew. It would linger, breaking her concentration and thoughts now and again. In time, it would fade. But it would never go away. And she was prepared for that. It was better to deal with losing him now than allowing their love to blossom further and having him ripped from her in tragedy. That would surely kill her.

“Much more time hooked up to that embalming liquid and your guy’s going to look like an overstuffed turkey,” a familiar voice called out.

Piper bolted from the chair, knocking it over. Her head swung to Gavin, standing by the door, his smile careful. Her attention flicked back to the body on the table. Mr. Williams was a good five sizes larger than he was when he’d been wheeled in. Bloated to the extreme.

Mother of chocolate. She’d kept Mr. Williams hooked up too long. Hands shaking, Piper snapped the machine off and then went to clamp a tool around the embalming hose. The cool metal slipped through her gloves, crashing to the floor.

In a blink, Gavin was at her side, his hand resting on her elbow. “Are you okay, Piper?”

She stripped her gloves and apron, tossing it straight to the floor instead of the wash bin. “Yes.” Her eyes darted to Mr. Williams. What had she been thinking? Was she so distracted that she hadn’t realized what an obvious mistake she’d made? She could do this in her sleep, in the dark, or blindfolded. Sweet peas, she was an utter mess.

Gavin stepped in front of her, his hands stroking up her arms, settling on her shoulders. Normally that would have made her uncomfortable, but at that moment, she didn’t care.

“Piper.” His voice was low, somewhat calming. “I’m worried about you.”

A strangled laugh escaped her as she pushed past him, shuffling with stuff on the counter on the other end of the room. “Why would anyone be worried about me?”

“Because of that week at the conference.”

Her hand clenched around a clipboard before she hung it back up on the wall, but she said nothing.

“You can try to hide it,” he said quietly, his steps echoing in the room as he strode over to her. “But we all know it had to do with Quinn. After he
left,
you weren’t quite yourself.”

“You don’t even know me, Gavin.”

“No.” His hand touched the small of her back. “But I want to. I told you that since the first day I saw you.”

Her body went rigid. Steeling herself, she breathed out heavily, allowing the tension to slither right out of her body. She wouldn’t let him see her like this. She wouldn’t let anyone see her like this.

“Other people at the conference mentioned it,” he added, his breath washing over the back of her neck. She suddenly wished her hair was down. “Mitch especially.”

“When did you and Mitch have a heart-to-heart about me?”

“The day after Quinn left. I’d talked with him briefly after a break-out session I held. I’d seen you with Mitch that first day in the lobby when you checked in. It was pretty obvious you two had a history. You didn’t strike me as the genuine hugging type, but when I saw you and him, I knew there was something there.”

Her jaw tightened. “You were watching me?”

“Not on purpose.” His hand moved, curling around her waist. Piper did her best to keep herself calm, her head clear.

“I had checked in and was heading toward the elevators when I saw you come through the door with Quinn. When you breezed through the lobby, you looked different than the first time I’d seen you. And you looked far different than when you and I found that box in your basement. You were, quite simply, glowing. I won’t lie, I like watching you. I think I made it clear that I’ve liked you from the beginning.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose, wishing this wasn’t happening right now. Wishing this wasn’t happening ever.

“And when I saw you embrace Mitch, grinning like a schoolgirl, I knew.” His fingers gripped her waist before he shifted, taking both hands around her hips and twisting her around. Now they were face to face. His steel eyes glimmered with concern, his rueful smile sweet and completely unnecessary.

“Anyway,” his voice went low, his eyes darkening, “I asked Mitch after that break-out session how you were doing.” His inched closer, pinning her to the unforgiving metal countertop. “The look on his face told me everything. Tell me, Piper, how did it work out? Allowing yourself to be with someone who isn’t like us?”

She should’ve pushed him back. She should’ve shoved him halfway across the room. But she didn’t. Because she knew what he was getting at. And he would be completely right.

During her time at the conference, Piper had learned that other people in her field weren’t necessarily like her. They cared, they loved, they lived. That knowledge had been shocking and devastating. But even though they’d talked of their families and their livelihood, Piper could have sworn she’d seen a flicker of concern behind their gazes. She knew, deep down, they worried about losing them tragically. They worried about things they didn’t actually speak about. They had allowed themselves a weakness. They had allowed themselves to be selfish. And they paid for it with happiness and worry.

Which was why from Day One, Piper had seen Gavin differently. Unlike other people, he truly was like her. He truly didn’t want to love, to care, or to feel. He only wanted this…

A touch, kind words, and sex. A casual relationship. What she always should’ve had with Quinn. What Gavin had offered her from the beginning. To protect her from a mistake she had ignored.

“Well, Piper?”

“It didn’t work.” Her voice was cold, flat. “You were right.”

He frowned, his gaze going soft. “I’m sorry.”

They were still chest to chest. Gavin’s hands were still latched around her waist. And suddenly she wondered if she could ease the pain of losing Quinn with something she should have started with in the beginning? Something with Gavin? It was a terrible thought to have, she knew. But Gavin had come first, she wouldn’t be feeling this bottomless pain in her chest. She wouldn’t have allowed herself to be stupid, even for a moment. She should have started with something—
someone
—she knew was truly like her.

“I know what it feels like to care and then lose,” Gavin commented, his head tipping slightly towards hers. “I wouldn’t have done that to you.”

Piper couldn’t help the catch in her breath as Gavin’s lips came dangerously close to hers.

“We can’t afford it, can we, Piper?” he whispered, the mint tang of his breath washing over her face. “Let me help you be…you. Let me help you be what you need to be to survive in this world. That’s all I want, all I ask.”

And with that, his lips landed on hers. Softly, carefully, the same way Quinn had kissed her that first time. But this wasn’t Quinn. As Gavin’s mouth cruised over hers, seeking, searching for a response, Piper realized that there was no spark. There was no warmth that made her want to respond. Her body felt as dead as it had a few moments before, her brain still foggy with emotions she couldn’t understand.

It didn’t even feel like it used to feel with other men before Quinn. At least then she’d allowed herself to
feel
something in a kiss. A tingle, a joy that her body was getting ready to find a release. But there was no joy to Gavin’s kiss. It wasn’t for lack of trying on his part. He massaged her back, her sides, tickling his fingers over her rib cage. His lips slanted over hers, his tongue dipping into her mouth, sweeping and trying to capture a feeling that wasn’t there.

There was nothing there. Absolutely nothing.

Was it because she had a broken heart? Or because deep down she knew that Quinn was the only one who could make her feel? The only person who would ever elicit any response from her? The man she wanted…needed. Ached for. The man whose words were coming back to haunt her
: Feel with me. No one else will ever feel like you do in my arms. No one, Piper. Tell me the same isn’t true for you.

She suddenly realized that she would never
feel
anything with anyone other than Quinn. It wasn’t for lack of trying; it was for lack of him. Of Quinn.

While that thought was terrifying, she had to embrace it—and his love—without demands or a need of anything more. He had woven himself into her heart, into her soul, and no one would feel the same in her arms. She had to
feel
or suffer for the rest of her life. She would be taking a chance, walking out into waters she’d long ago thought were dried up. But they were there, waiting for the right man, the right love…and waiting for Piper to see what she’d been missing.