Safe at Last (Slow Burn #3) (4 page)

And so, instead of simply portraying a gnarled, sprawling tree, weathered by time, its limbs thin at the ends as if no longer offering protection beneath its awning and an empty landscape with the lake beyond looking gray and stormy as though it were angered by the betrayal the title represented, she’d painted herself—alone—a survivor. Standing beyond the once-protective shelter of the limbs and intricate roots of the huge oak, only her back presented as she stared over the lake.

It was a sunny day, not even one wispy cloud to mar the canvas, and the blue of the water sparkled like tiny diamonds that had been scattered by a playful child. And the tree, while showing its age, looked more of a timeless guardian, spreading its arms outward, ever watchful and mindful of those in its protective embrace.

Escape. Freedom. Once it had been those very things to her. And now things had come full circle because the finished painting represented her freedom from her destructive past.

Now she only had to hang it. The final step in her metamorphosis from hopelessness and helplessness to strength and optimism.

“Have you changed your mind about displaying it?” Wade asked.

There was a note of hope in his voice, almost as if he knew that putting it out there was . . . acknowledgment. Baring all the things she’d hidden for the last twelve years. And he was afraid she wasn’t yet ready. He was worried she’d revert to the woman she’d been when they’d first met. God only knew why he’d persevered. Why he’d shaken off the countless aloof and cold rebuffs from her and dug persistently through the layers of numbness, fear and paralysis to the heart of her. Then settled for the only things she
could
give him. Friendship. And finally, inexplicably, her
trust
.

No, he didn’t think she was ready at all.

He was wrong.

She
was
ready. It was something she should have done so much sooner. She’d spent so much time numb, refusing to allow herself to feel . . . anything. Because emptiness was preferable to the overwhelming pain and grief she’d long ago resigned herself to, as though she had no choice but to suffer such a barren existence.

No, she didn’t feel desire for Wade. Not the kind of the lover he’d referenced. But she
did
need him. His friendship and unwavering support. She needed those things more than she was comfortable admitting, but she was also done lying to herself and living in constant denial that she was okay, that everything was fine, and she was all right. Normal.

Because she wasn’t. And she’d likely never be. But she’d finally accepted that and opted to make the best of what she
did
have and stop dwelling on all she’d lost.

She looked at him again, this time not masking any of the vulnerability she knew he could read in her eyes. There was a time when she would have died rather than allow anyone to see her so weak and . . . fragile.

His face softened and his eyes warmed with the friendship she’d come to define their relationship by. The very thing she needed most but had never embraced. Until now. And in the lines of his face, a face that could in fact be quite hard, unyielding and even dangerous, she saw
his
acceptance of the only thing she could ever offer him.

She knew he’d accepted it long ago, but perhaps had never truly
seen
until now. Or wanted to see. Because she feared his giving up and her losing the one steadfast thing she now had apart from her art.

Her shoulders sagged imperceptibly, and she realized she’d been holding her breath, harboring the fear she’d vowed to no longer live with, because she’d been afraid of his rejection and of being alone. Again. As she’d been for so very long.

He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, easing the painting down with his free hand until its edge rested gently against the wall. He gathered her close, offering her the warmth and strength of his hug, something she’d come to cherish rather than dread for the physical contact she’d always avoided at all cost.

“You’re ready,” he said, as if having read her thoughts and answering his own question in the process. “I’m proud of you, Anna-Grace.”

“Don’t you dare make me cry,” she warned, already feeling the betraying sting of tears.

He gave her another affectionate squeeze and then relinquished his hold on her.

“So where do we place the guest of honor?” he asked, his gaze sweeping the gallery and the other paintings of hers that were artfully displayed to their full advantage. “I think center stage, don’t you? This means something, Anna-Grace.
You
mean something. And it—like you—needs to be celebrated.”

Okay, so he
was
going to make her cry. She wiped the corner of her eye with the back of her hand in disgust and glared accusingly at him. He merely smiled back, and she marveled at the feeling of closeness—a connection—to another person. So what if she wasn’t ready for a romantic relationship? Maybe she never would be. A woman didn’t need a man to be whole, and she was more than happy to prove it.

But a friend? Everyone needed a friend. And she realized, not for the first time, that part of the reason her grief, her piercing and gut-wrenching sense of betrayal over what Zack had done, was so sharp, unrelenting and . . . life changing . . . was that he hadn’t just been the man she had loved, had adored beyond reason, had planned to spend the rest of her life with, and have his children. The man who had shared her hopes and dreams and every secret she’d never dared expose to another living person.

He’d been her best—and only—friend. The one she turned to for comfort. Love. Acceptance. The very best part of her very being, her heart, her soul. He’d been her confidant. The one person she trusted never to let her down, as so many had in her young life.

And yet those past betrayals paled in comparison to Zack’s.

She shook her head, furious with herself for going back. Again. And she set her lips firmly, sending Wade a determined look he couldn’t possibly misunderstand.

Zack had been her entire world, and he’d turned it completely upside down, discarding her like the trash she’d been called by the people of their town. By his own father, for that matter. How could she have thought he would be different from anyone else in a place where she simply didn’t exist or matter?

But now her world was what
she
made it. And she had no liking for the world she’d previously lived in, one of her making. Only she could change it. Create it. Make it better—
perfect
even. And it was high time she got on with doing just that.

Impulsively, she slipped her fingers through Wade’s and squeezed his hand, startling him. She could understand why. She never initiated any sort of intimacy, even in the capacity of friendship. She had a carefully constructed protective barrier that surrounded her and she allowed no one to breach it, nor did she ever venture beyond it out of self-preservation.

But as she’d already acknowledged, everyone needed a friend. And losing one friend didn’t preclude the existence of another, as stupid as it was for the time it had taken her to have that particular epiphany.

Wade was safe. She was safe
with
him. And she wanted him to know she . . . trusted . . . him. She inhaled sharply at merely allowing the word
trust
to drift through her thoughts.

Because after Zack, and until Wade, she’d trusted no one. It was a lesson learned the hard way, and one that had been repeatedly taught, but it had taken the most devastating lesson of all to finally make her realize that giving her trust was akin to taking a knife and thrusting it through her own heart.

Her chin trembled slightly, but Wade, ever observant, saw it and reached his hand to cup her chin, holding it between his thumb and fingers.

“Don’t ever think it, Anna-Grace,” he said softly, reminding her once again that he wasn’t harmless, despite her observations to the contrary.

He was a dangerous, tightly controlled man whose vision of the world differed from most others’. The artist in her saw in bright colors—colors that had been dimmed for a long time until finally she’d set them free. But Wade’s world was steeped in gray and shadows. Much like the initial rendering of her
Dreams Lost
painting.

She shivered at the intensity in his gaze and swallowed nervously, because she wondered if she’d finally lost her mind. Befriending a man like him? Trusting him when she’d sworn never to trust anyone—
especially
a man—again? A man, who like her, seemed to have no friends, not to mention had the same trust issues she herself suffered. It could well be the second-biggest mistake of her life.

Or? Perhaps . . . just maybe . . . it was her first
smart
move in twelve years and in Wade she’d found not a lover, husband material or romantic interest, but a kindred spirit who was offering her what she needed the most.

Simple friendship and the opportunity to reimmerse herself in the real world, where trust and friendship weren’t bad four-letter words and were a normal part of everyday life—for most people.

But she could change all that
now
. He was offering, unconditionally. All she had to do was what she’d
already
resolved to do. Accept. Make peace. Move on.

Let go
.

Free herself from her self-imposed prison of isolation and loneliness, and embrace the future that awaited her with hope and optimism, two emotions she’d once taken for granted but which were now completely alien to her.

She was in control of her own destiny and she could make it damn well whatever she wanted it to be.

Hatred. Grief. Betrayal. Hurt. Despair. Sorrow. Regret?

Those things no longer had any place in her life and she refused to live her life that way a single moment longer.

This showing was her moment to shine. She was stepping into the sun after avoiding its rays and any semblance of warmth for the first time since she was but a young girl with all the enthusiasm and naïveté that only belong to the innocent.

She was living her dream.
Finally
. And she was poised to share that dream—her talent—with others. People who might reject her. But she was no stranger to rejection, and having been through the worst, she could honestly say that nothing could ever hurt her more than she’d already been hurt.

The only direction for her to go was up. There was no other option when you’ve hit rock bottom. She knew it. Wade knew it. And God only knew why he stuck with her. Why he reevaluated his wants and needs once she’d made it clear that she wouldn’t—couldn’t—return his romantic interest. And why he then compromised and accepted only what she
could
give him.

It was on the tip of her tongue to
ask
him why. But when she looked his way once more, he wore the same determined, piercing gaze, one that had always made her uneasy, because she knew what it was like to have the gift of reading others’ minds—their innermost thoughts. And Wade had an uncanny knack for always knowing precisely what was going on in hers.

FOUR

ZACK
pulled into the parking lot of an upscale art gallery on Westheimer Road, on the opposite side of the interstate from the Galleria, an area known for its chic boutiques that catered to the fashion-conscious and wealthier crowd, or at least those who wanted to maintain the façade of wealth.

He wasn’t impressed with the outer trappings of wealth. He could be considered wealthy in his own right. He had a million. Ten of them to be exact, managed and invested by his financial advisor, Wes Coyle, who worked in the Woodlands, a suburb north of Houston that had quickly become a haven for the privileged.

With the guaranteed signing money from his contract when he’d been drafted in the first round of the pros, and then walking away after an injury in his second straight playoff year instead of getting rehab and continuing to quarterback, he’d been guaranteed financial security, even though he lived frugally, choosing to stash the money instead of running through it in just a few years.

His truck was used when he bought it a few years ago and he still drove it. He lived in a modest one-bedroom apartment and preferred jeans and T-shirts to designer clothing. The
GQ
look didn’t suit him and he felt fraudulent even contemplating the lifestyle of someone considered wealthy.

So his money was secured, gaining interest in moderate-risk investments instead of sitting in a bank drawing a measly .01 percent interest rate, and he lived on the salary he drew from DSS. It was more than enough for his modest needs. It wasn’t like he had anyone to share it with anyway. No one to lavish gifts and surprises on. A matter he intended to rectify soon.

After his come-to-Jesus meeting with himself two days earlier, he felt at peace for the first time in more years than he could count. He had a sense of purpose. Direction. One that didn’t have a lost cause at the heart of it all.

Gracie was gone. Lost to him. She wasn’t coming back. He’d never have his dream. So it was time to get the fuck over it and deal. Find a new dream and live it.

He wasn’t surprised to see Dane already there, parked two vehicles away. Dane was punctual to a fault. Well, not even punctual. His idea of being on time was to show up well in advance of the appointed time. Zack was pretty much the same. He liked to size up the situation. Get the lay of the land and a feel for what they were signing on for. He suspected Dane’s reasons were similar.

Dane got out of his SUV along with Isaac and Capshaw and started toward Zack just as Beau pulled in beside Zack. Eliza was with him and Zack turned to open the passenger door for her. She smiled and gave him a saucy thank-you as she slid out of the seat.

Eliza was an exceptionally beautiful woman. Not that she had the distinctive look of a woman that most men found stunning. Nor did she have the carefully cultivated look of a woman who went to great lengths to enhance her looks. Not that he had an issue with women who did. He was all for whatever made them happy and confident—he had a healthy respect for all women, in all their shapes, sizes and looks, natural or not. After all, it was what was beneath it all that mattered—at least to him.