Show Me How (19 page)

 

Chapter Twenty-­One

Charlie

July 31, 2016

I
WAS THAT
girl.

On the rare occasion that I was in the house by myself, I was that girl who lay on her couch watching sappy love movies and eating chocolate because of a bad breakup.

Except we hadn't technically broken up because we'd never actually been together.

And instead of a sappy love movie, I was watching
Beauty and the Beast
, and still wondering how my life hadn't turned out the way I wanted it to.

And my hands weren't covered in melted chocolate, or holding a spoon that dipped in the tub of ice cream over and over again; they were holding the book I was simultaneously reading.

That. Those two things. I blamed them for why my life was the way it was.

Once upon a time
and
happily ever after
. . . words I grew up hearing from Disney and children's stories, and words I'd always believed in. As I grew up and my reading material grew with me, my standards for my Prince Charming morphed, but never lessened. I was so sure I would find my Prince Charming, even if he wasn't as
princely
as I'd dreamed when I was a little girl.

I glanced down to the book in my hands . . .

As I said, my reading material had grown with me.

I'd always thought every event in our lives—­major or otherwise—­was just another part of our story that made us who we were meant to be for our Prince Charming. I knew my story would never be found forever engraved on the pages of a novel—­only woven within the songs in my notebook—­but still I waited for my love story to put all other love stories to shame. For my happily ever after . . .

Only to find out that none of it was real.

“He's not really changing for you or falling in love with you, he's lying to you to get what he wants. He just wants the curse to be broken,” I mumbled, and looked back at my book. I froze when I realized what I'd just done.

Oh no, I'm also that girl.

The one who tries to stop a fictional character from making a mistake with another, even though there is no mistake to be made. I was trying to stop my favorite Disney ­couple from being together. That would be pathetic any day. After almost a month? It was depressing.

At least I wasn't in three-­day-­old pajamas, and I had still gone to work that day, as I had every scheduled day that month. Because I refused to let Deacon Carver see how he had broken me with his words and when he'd walked away.

Not that he'd seen me, but this town talked.

“That's right, Belle. Run home.”

My head snapped up when someone knocked on the door, and I quickly searched for my phone so I could check the time.

Grey and Jagger had taken Keith today instead of having me take him to the babysitter's, but they'd said they had something planned and wouldn't be back for another ­couple hours.

My arms tingled as goose bumps covered my skin, and my heart steadily beat faster and faster as I slowly stood from the couch and walked toward the door.

No one else ever came over here, and I knew it was stupid to dream it could be him, but I wasn't able to stop it.

Irrational, betraying heart.

I'd spent so much time during the past month agonizing over my heartache, and even more time thinking of where I had gone wrong. How I'd kept expecting Deacon to revert back to his old self. And, most important, how I'd continued a relationship—­for lack of better word—­with Stranger even though I'd known deep down that it was wrong, once Deacon and I had taken a turn in ours. But no matter how much blame I put on myself for our downfall, Deacon had betrayed me just the same. Because as Deacon had said, he was there for every conversation, as was I . . .

Stranger had known the way to my heart, and had very clearly needed Words the way I'd needed him.

Stranger had told me he didn't know if he'd be able to walk away from me, from our conversations, and I'd known what he was saying was true.

And while Deacon was subconsciously falling in love with me, Stranger had fallen for Words.

Stranger had taught me how to trust someone with my heart by taking the small pieces of it and putting it back together, one conversation at a time. Our conversations and his words left their mark; I would never deny that. But he and I knew that what he was doing was preparing me for someone else. And once my heart had been made whole again . . . I gave it freely to Deacon.

Deacon had told me that he wanted a life with my son and me. He'd made me believe he was giving me his heart in return.

He'd made me believe it was only me for him, when in reality—­or depending on how you looked at the situation—­I wasn't.

I never had been.

Another knock sounded, and I held my breath as I reached out for the knob.

I opened the door, and the breath I'd been holding rushed out as disappointment flooded me.

Irrational, betraying heart.

“Graham. Hi.”

“Hey, how are you?”

“Uh . . .” I had just realized how devastatingly depressed I was a few minutes before, and had foolishly hoped I would open the door to someone else. But Graham was Deacon's best friend, and I couldn't allow him to see my pain. “I'm great. You?”

“Good, good.” He looked pointedly at me. “Can I come in?”

“Oh, right.” I quickly backed away, and opened the door wider. “I'm sorry.”

Graham stepped inside my house, and smirked when he saw what was playing on the TV. After turning around in a circle in the living room, he faced me, and just stared.

“What are you doing here?” I finally asked.

“What, can't I just come visit?” Something in my expression must have answered him for me, since Graham hadn't been to the house since he'd helped me move in. He sucked in a quick breath through his teeth, then released it. “Yeah, all right. Uh, I'm here to get Deacon's phone.”

It felt as if my entire body fell through the floor at the mention of his name. It was the first time I'd heard it said out loud since the night he'd walked away. I swayed on my feet before I was able to steady myself, and shook my head to clear it. “You what?”

“Deacon wants his phone,” he responded. “He asked me to come get it.” At least he had the decency to look embarrassed.

I turned my head slowly toward my bedroom when I heard something come from that direction, but my eyes stayed on Graham as long as they could before dragging to look blankly down the empty hall.

“Hey, and no hard feelings, right?” he said on a rush.

“What?” I breathed, my voice sounded pained.

“About Kate.”

I looked back at Graham, my brow drawn together. “Kate? Kate . . . that you grew up with, Kate?” When Graham nodded, I asked, “What about her?”

Graham stuffed his hands in his pockets and lifted his shoulders to his ears. “We're dating now.”

I think I looked shocked. I felt it, but I was still reeling from hearing Deacon's name, and the fact that he'd sent Graham to come pick up something he'd left at my house weeks ago.

I hadn't expected Graham to date anyone, ever. Then again, I hadn't expected Deacon to, either. “That's great. Why would there be hard feelings?”

“Well, considering I almost got my ass handed to me because you thought I was some stranger, or something.” He placed a hand on his chest, and ignored the way my cheeks reddened. “I'm flattered, Charlie, really. But, I've been waiting for Kate to give me the time of day my entire life. I'm sorry if you wanted me to be some guy on a phone, but—­”

“Wait, what? No.” I cut him off, and made a face. “Graham, I didn't
want
you to be the guy I was talking to; I just
thought
you were him. Every time I saw you, you ended up saying something that was nearly identical to what Stranger had said.”

“Huh, well this is embarrassing.” He brought his hands together with a clap. “How about that phone?”

Right. The phone. Deacon's phone, which had randomly gone off with messages over the first week from girls I didn't know who wanted a night with him. I guess he would miss that phone.

I gestured down the hall, and started walking that way. “Yeah, it's in my room.”

Graham's mouth suddenly pulled into a wry grin. “Perfect.”

I faltered at his look and tone, and said uneasily, “I'll bring it to you.”

He held up his hands. “I'll wait here.”

I hurried down the hall and into my room, and tried to hold back the angry tears that welled in my eyes as I searched through my nightstand for his phone. The fact that he wanted this phone back, the fact that he had been avoiding me for the better part of a month, the fact that he was gone . . .

It hurt, it made me angry, it made me want to beg him not to be that guy.

I gripped the phone in my hand and pulled it out of the drawer, but had taken only a step away when I noticed my notebook lying open on my bed. The same notebook that was supposed to be inside the drawer I'd just been searching through.

I reached for the notebook, but paused halfway there. My heart skipped, then painfully took off when I saw the page it was on.

It was lists of names of guys I knew in Thatch. Guys I worked with at Mama's. Guys that I knew for sure had come into Mama's the days the notebook had been passed back and forth between Stranger and me. Guys that could have possibly been Stranger.

Nearly all of them were crossed out. Deacon's included.

Graham's name was circled a few times with question marks following it.

On the very top of the page was a note in a messy scrawl I had memorized, and knew as well as my own. A note that hadn't been there before.

Words . . . I told you I didn't know if I'd ever be able to walk away from you. Turns out I was only able to after you broke my heart and I tore out the pieces to leave with you. Hardest fucking thing I've ever done. Second hardest was staying away. . .

A shiver moved slowly down my spine when I heard my bedroom door softly click shut, but I didn't take my eyes off the note when I felt him move toward me.

“You aren't supposed to sweep me off my feet, Stranger,” I whispered.

“Third hardest,” he began in a low, rumbling voice, and stepped up behind me. “Not being able to stop myself from telling Keith that I love him after seeing him for the first time in four weeks—­”

My chest hitched with a silent sob. One of my hands covered my mouth while the other pressed firmly against the bed to help me stay standing.

“—­and realizing that I might not ever get the chance to tell you that I love you.”

Deacon's large hands slid around my waist and shoulder to turn me, and my first glimpse of him after all this time made me want to crumble into tears and scream at him and kiss him and apologize and a dozen other things.

“I couldn't figure out why it felt impossible to walk away from those conversations. But it's because it was you. Always you, Charlie. Only you.”

All I managed to get out was a weak “Deac—­” before my voice gave out, and he pulled me into his arms, his mouth crashed down onto mine.

“We can't. I can't,” I said against the kiss, and pressed against his chest.

He pulled back just enough to look into my eyes. Fear swam through his light brown ones as they bounced back and forth, taking in mine. “Don't say that.”

“How do we trust each other after this? How do we get past this?”

“One day at a time,” he said with all the confidence in the world. “We both fucked up by not walking away from those conversations long ago. I hurt you that night I walked away, I know.” He pressed his forehead against mine, and asked, “Charlie Girl, did you give me your heart?”

The tremor in his voice, as if he was afraid of what my answer would be, made my chest ache. “Yes, but—­”

“Do you regret it?”

I stared into his eyes for long moments, then slowly shook my head. No matter how much I wanted to, I couldn't. “You caused so much chaos in my shattered heart for years, and I always shied away from it, and then hated you for it when I moved back. But you—­
Stranger
—­put my heart back together so I could give it to you. It was always meant to be yours.”

His eyes seemed to burn, and his hands moved to curve around the slope of my neck and tilt my head back until our lips brushed. “An hour ago, I was still so sure that I didn't know what love was. That it didn't exist. Then Keith . . . that kid . . .” He trailed off and his chest moved with his silent laugh before the amusement suddenly left his face. Almost absentmindedly, he shook his head. His thumbs brushed along my jaw. “Things can change in just a ­couple minutes when you think you're losing everything . . . yeah?” he asked, bringing up our conversation from our last night together.

I nodded slowly.

“Funny what suddenly becomes clear in an instant when even half of what you've lost comes running back to you.”

I didn't know where he'd seen Keith, but I was thanking God for that reunion.

“We have a lot to get through. We have a lot of trust we have to build back up, but I won't give up until we do. Because I want my days to consist of superheroes and powers, and ladybugs and Darth Vader, even though the last two have nothing to do with Marvel comics.”

A muted laugh escaped my lips as I attempted to contain my smile.

He backed me up until my legs hit the bed, and laid me down as he crawled on top of me. “I want my mornings to begin with you in my arms, and my nights to end with me inside you.” His mouth brushed against the base of my neck, then my jaw and both of my cheeks. “I can't promise I won't hurt you again. I can't promise I won't fuck up. I can't promise I won't say something wrong. But I promise I'll take care of your heart for the rest of my life, Charlie Girl. You've shown me what it means to love someone, and I swear to Christ I love you.”