Page 66 of Reckless Desires

Bordeaux leans his head against the cushion of his seat, looking up at the ceiling of the car.

“I’ve never dealt with losing someone before. My mom, sure. She bolted but she didn’t die. Flynn was going through some shit, Isla. He was hurting and Declan, Miller, and I… we tried to be there, but we should have done more. And when Flynn’s mom came in and talked to us and tried to prepare us for what we all thought was Flynn’s impending death, I fucking lost it. There was hope, sure, but I didn’t see that. I had tunnel vision. I saw death and destruction and fucking funerals and caskets; I saw my life without one of my best friends. In those moments I became a person I’m not proud of. I shouldn’t have said that about you or about Cynthia. I can’t blame how I acted on my parents, Isla. I shouldn’t, at least. But my family wasn’t like yours. I didn’t grow up with my parents in love and making cutesy heart-eyes at each other. I grew up very differently, and I only know how to push people away because of it. You told me you finally realized what my downfall is,” he says, and my heart beats like a snare drum in my chest. “You were right when you told me I ruin people. But I also lash out and it’s not fucking pretty. I can be ugly and reckless and a downright disgusting human, and it’s all in some fucked-up attempt to protect myself from anyone seeing me as weak. I didn’t want you to see me like that, and I didn’t want to be around you when I was feeling the way I felt. The only thing I knew to do was to push you away so you’d leave, and I could be alone. And I have regretted it since the second you left that room. I wanted to go after you, but I knew we needed time to breathe. I am so, so fucking sorry.”

Tears streak down my cheeks as he finishes the apology I’ve pushed off for the last month. I cry silently, my eyes on the floorboard of his car to avoid his sadness and mine mixing because I swear to God, it would be too much for me to handle right now.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, and I feel the magnetic pull of his body like it’s beckoning me, calling me, tempting me to reach out, to touch him, to cling onto him and never let go, to make everything in the world right again.

But that would be too easy, wouldn’t it?

I turn to face him; his eyes are on the lake, and it makes it easier to say what I know I need to say. “I’m sorry, too, Bordeaux. I shouldn’t have pushed you to let me in. I don’t even know who that version of me was, screaming in the hotel hallway, demanding to be let into your room like you owed me your time or an explanation about your grief. You didn’t owe me that. You deserved space, and I completely and totally invaded any sliver of alone time or space you actually have in this world. I was terrified. It doesn’t make it right, and I have no right to feel any kind of way because Flynn wasn’t and isn’t my best friend… he’s yours. I didn’t have the right to insert myself into that situation, and as much as what you said was fucked-up and really uncalled for, I wasn’t a saint during that conversation, either.” Admitting I was wrong tastes easier than I thought it would. Actually, it feels freeing in a slightly odd way.

Bordeaux looks at me and reaches his hand across the center console. I press my palm to his and we interlock our fingers. It feels right, like our hands were meant to be laced together. But as much as it feels right, it hurts.

It hurts knowing that this will be the last time.

“Neither of us handled that situation right but honestly, I’m not sure who would have. You were scared and hurting, and I was afraid I was losing you and not understanding why you were shutting me out. I was only seeing it as a ‘you and me’ problem; I wasn’t seeing the bigger picture.”

“I didn’t write the article, Isla. I would never hurt you like that. I can’t even think about hurting you without feeling physically ill. I can honestly say that what I said to you that day about put me in an early grave. And I mean that. I would never expose your past. That wasn’t my story to tell, and I have so much more respect for you than that.” Bordeaux shakes his head, his Adam’s apple bobbing before he continues, “I didn’t write it… but I know who did and in an indirect way, it’s still my fault.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and pulls something up on the screen.

Bordeaux,

I can confidently tell you that my source was Carleeta Timmons. She sent me the story, along with an article link and photos from Google Images. She also sent me the quotes, not citing her source. I’m assuming now, from what you told me, that the source was herself.

I usually don’t apologize for the gossip we run because it’s just that. Gossip. We aren’t out to hurt anyone, but it’s clear we hurt you, along with Ms. Robles, and for that, I’m sorry. The piece we ran on Ms. Robles was much heavier than our usual content, and we should have taken that into consideration before blindly running with the information Carleeta sent our way.

The email goes on for a couple more paragraphs, but I don’t need to read anything else. Of course, it was Carleeta. I don’t know how I didn’t automatically assume it was that bitch from the start. My mind immediately went to Bordeaux because of what was happening.

“I was pretty sure the minute you showed me the article.” Bordeaux slides his phone back into his pocket. “But I wasn’t in the right frame of mind to argue with you.”

I squeeze his hand in mine, feeling like the world’s biggest asshole. “I don’t know why I even accused you. I never really thought, deep down, that you’d do that to me. I think it was a combination of everything going on and how I was feeling in that moment. I just used it to get you to open the door and I ran with it.”

God, we’re a total mess.

“You stood up to her, Isla. You weren’t about to let her try to get us back on the road and pull Flynn back into the lifestyle that almost cost him his life. She didn’t take well to that and probably had her people immediately dig something up on you. Indirectly, you were right. Your past was sold to those people because of me. I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you.”

He blinks, turning away from me, shaking his head again. The amount of hurt that radiates off this man is mind-blowing. It’s almost like I can feel the emotions coming off him and sinking deep down into my core.

“I know that, B. I know. You’d never hurt me, not intentionally. And I know that now. I think I’ve always known it, but I just couldn’t believe that any man actually had good intentions for me. It felt so farfetched, so implausible.”

We sit together in front of the lake for a long time, not speaking, letting the silence linger in the space between us fill the car. I tell him I need to get to work, and with our hands still intertwined, he drives me to the shop without speaking a word.

When I make a move to get out of the car, he comes around to my side of the car and opens it for me. Sadness explodes in my chest. He is perfect. No matter what he thinks, he’s perfect.

But he’s not mine.

And he never will be again.

“I’m so in love with you, Isla.” Bordeaux tilts my chin up as people swarm around us, flashing cameras blur my peripheral vision and my heart races. Everyone standing around us knows every detail about my sordid past. They probably think I’m the world’s worst person for what I did. “Isla,” Bordeaux says my name again and the only thing I want to do is have him drive us back to the lake where everything felt so much safer than it does now.

Bordeaux claims my mouth, pressing his lips to mine hard, kissing me like he will never have me again. He knows. I know. And my heart is in fucking pieces. He pulls away from me and searches my eyes.

I can’t deny how I feel inside. I look away from him and at the ground because what I’m about to say is going to kill us both. “I love you, Bordeaux. But I can’t live this life. I can’t be shoved into the limelight. I don’t want this for me. You’re used to this.” I motion around and his fans scream words that I block out, not wanting to know if it’s insults for me or just genuine love toward Bordeaux. His security team surrounds us, having followed Bordeaux to the studio and to the lake, but staying in their own vehicle. I feel protected physically, but emotionally, I feel like I’m about to shatter into a thousand pieces. “You need someone who can handle the life you’ve created, that you deserve. And as much as I want to, as much as I will always want to, I can’t be that woman for you.”

“Isla…” Bordeaux shakes his head, his hand falling from my chin, “please, don’t do this. I am so fucking sorry.”

I turn and walk away from him, the crowd parting for me as I walk toward Frankie’s shop.

“We could have been perfect,” Bordeaux calls out over the shouting fans. “You know that, right?” I stop just before I reach the door handle and turn back to face him before I can think better of it. The moment my eyes meet his, I wish I had just kept walking.

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