Page 98 of A Not So Merry Rescue
Or maybe there’s no more. I’m so in my head, I’m assuming she’s feeling the same as me, but I could be completely off base and out of touch. Maybe I’m hoping she feels the same way so I’m not the only schmuck reeling from our interaction.
“Good plan. I’ll be out of yourhair in an hour or so. I’m going to work out and then head to the shop. I’ve got this one client who needs her car today, and she’s not letting me forget it.” I try for levity, and by Willa’s small, shy smile, I’ve somewhat achieved it.
“Yep, gotta be on my way home . . .” she trails off, a melancholy lilt front and center. Maybe I’m not wrong about how she feels.
“Coffee will be ready in ten minutes, pancakes are warming in the oven, fruit’s in the fridge. I take it you’re capable of washing and cutting it up?”
“You know it.” Another simper, smaller than the last. “Do you have time to eat with me or is that pushing your timeframe? Or we could do lunch before I leave. But you probably don’t have time for that either since you mentioned you’ll be busy today. Never mind. Forget I said anything. Don’t mind me. I’m a bit inundated this morning. Words, the holiday, going home, leaving.” Her voice wavers, and moisture pools in her eyes.
Despite what I told myself this morning—don’t drag out the goodbye, let her leave with clean ties—I’m around the island, yanking her flush against me, my hand on the back of her head. My heart rattles, but it doesn’t stop me from pushing her head against my chest, needing her to hear and feel the way the organ thunders.
I’m such a selfish bastard, needing her to know what I’m feeling when I should be offering her the comfort I’m stealing from her.
For however long, we stand in my kitchen, Willa crying silently against my chest, me trying to hold on to every shard of willpower I possess to not lose it. To not let even one tear fall.
I’m a man, damn it. Grown men don’t cry. Grown men don’t give their hearts away so easily, especially not to women they barely know.
Like a parent narrowly avoiding getting caught by their kids on Christmas morning, I pull away, schooling my features to not let her see how affected I am. Her forlorn expression about doesme in, but I stay strong, battling forces I didn’t know I had the strength to face, erecting concrete walls around my heart to hold back the emotions from springing free.
“I’ll drive your car back here, we’ll pack it up, and we’ll do lunch on your way out of town. I’ll text you later when I have a better estimate on timing.”
For one of the last times, I lean in and kiss the top of Willa’s head. Much as I want to, I don’t linger, escaping to the garage.
Is this what it feels like to have a broken heart? No wonder I’ve avoided them until now.
29
willa
The door slams behind Beckett,and the tears tracking down my cheeks come faster.
This shouldn’t be difficult. Saying goodbye to a man I’ve spent less than a week with. Elias and I were together over three years, and while I’ve grieved him and his death for a while, this somehow hurts more. I didn’t know an already broken—but healing—heart could ache like this. I didn’t know I could hurt like this. But god does it hurt.
I throw myself on the couch, surrounded by Beckett’s scent, tears gushing from my eyes. I have to pull myself together, get over this and myself, and follow Beckett’s lead. He’s not all weepy and devastated by my leaving. Which makes me cry harder.
How can he not be affected by what we’ve shared? Is his heart made of steel?
As much as I shouldn’t, I let myself wallow in agony for a solid fifteen minutes. When the timer I set goes off, I brush away the tears, pick myself off the couch, march into the kitchen, pour myself a cup of coffee, and plate a few pancakes for breakfast. I don’t bother with the fruit—who has the time to wash and cut it—and eat breakfast in silence. AJ is screaming inside my head,demanding me to get her story told, but I’m ignoring her. I’m ignoring everything, my focus solely on drinking the coffee and eating the pancakes.
Once breakfast is done, I go into Beckett’s bedroom and block out everything but my next task: pack up my belongings.
One by one, I toss everything into my suitcase, holding my resolve and stoicism, not letting it crack.
“You’re strong. You’re a warrior. You’ve got this,” I repeat as a mantra over and over. Until it’s Elias’s voice in my ear.
“You can walk away. Pick yourself up and start again. You’ve done this before. You’re stronger now. You’re a warrior.”
I don’t allow the tears to fall, but I hug myself tightly, imagining they’re the arms of a strong male.
Problem is, I’m not sure whose arms they are.
True to his word, Beckett’s gone a little after seven. He whisked in, changed his clothes, and blew back out the door, the sound of the truck’s engine louder than ever.
A final nail in the coffin.
Dramatic Willa is out in full force today. To get rid of her, I drown her in a bath. Over forty-five minutes I soak, my mind listing everything I have to do once I’m home.
Grocery store.
