The Beauty Within (28 page)

couldn’t help the flush she felt at the realization or the butterflies of happiness

that took over her belly whenever she thought of him. Gunnar had the ability

to make her feel like the only woman in the world, the only woman who had

ever been deemed beautiful and perfect. She was bowled over by the fact it

hadn’t taken her long to fall completely in love with him, and she’d had the

desperate need to get in touch with her mother to ask for advice. She would

know about speedy love stories, since she’d been a part of one.

“Oh, no, she
di’n’t
!”

“Damn…”

Wendy’s and Damon’s simultaneous exclamations made her look up to see

what the fuss was about. What she hadn’t been prepared to see was a buxom,

curly-haired brunette with her hand in Gunnar’s hair and her mouth fused

with his. Nor had she been prepared to see Gunnar’s hand cup the woman’s

face in return. Tyler felt as if all the wind had been knocked out of her, and that

malignant thought of
Not again!
traipsed through her mind.

“Tyler—”

Tyler didn’t look anyone, simply grabbed her purse and jacket as she

blinked furiously to stave off her tears. “Could you take me home, please?”

“Tyler…”

Her back went rigid as Gunnar’s voice reached her ears. She ignored him.

“Damon and Wendy, please?”

“Tyler, let me explain—”

She held up a hand to make him stop talking. She didn’t think she could

handle listening to what he had to say, not when the image of him in a heated

lip-lock was firmly branded into her brain.

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151

“We have to talk,” Gunnar said firmly. She still couldn’t look at him. “She

means nothing to me.”

“I need to go home,” Tyler repeated. Maybe after she had a few hours to

herself she could be more sane and rational about what she’d just seen, but

right now, all she knew was someone else had dared to put her hands on him,

and it appeared he had enjoyed it.

“I’ll take you home.”

“It’s your party—”

“Do not fight me on this, Tyler. I’ll take you home, but we have to talk, and

we
will
talk.” His tone was firm.

Tyler clenched her jaw before she flashed a smile to the others. She kissed

Wendy and Damon on the cheek and shook Valerie’s and Victor’s hand before

walking out of the restaurant, knowing Gunnar was following. She refused to

speak to him, but did say her thanks when he opened the door for her.

The drive was silent and tense. Tyler didn’t look at him, though she felt his

glances whenever they stopped at red lights. In her mind’s eye, all she could see

was Gunnar kissing that woman, his hand cupping her face, which was the

very expression of lust. Tyler’s heart constricted painfully. She didn’t think

he’d been cheating on her while they had been together, but she’d thought she

and Quincy were going to be together forever; and just as she’d begun to

entertain the same thoughts about her and Gunnar, this had happened.

She sat straighter when they reached her street, but instead of getting in

the left lane to turn, Gunnar remained in the current lane.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

It was his turn to give the silent treatment, his jaw clenched and his hands

tightening on the steering wheel.

“Gunnar—”

The engine revved as he put his foot on the gas, the red light turning green

and Gunnar going straight. Tyler pursed her lips, now knowing they were

going to his house instead. Rolling her eyes, Tyler looked out the window

again, irritated that she wouldn’t be able to sulk and bemoan her existence in

the privacy of her own home.

“I thought you were taking me home.”

“I am,” Gunnar said, and fell back to silence.

Tyler couldn’t help her heart from fluttering at that. She didn’t ask him to

explain further, though, and her eyes stung with tears. She was so confused,

hurt. She didn’t know what to think or how to feel anymore.

Gunnar pulled into his driveway and turned off the Jeep. Both of them sat

there, neither making a move.

“Ty—”

That did have her reaching for her seatbelt, and she got out the vehicle. She

heard Gunnar disembark and slam the door behind her.

“Where are you going?”

152

Savannah J. Frierson

Tyler had just reached his mailbox and was about to go left down the

street, towards his neighborhood’s entrance. “Home!”

“Tyler Marie Carver!”

No this brawny Norwegian
did
not—
!
“
Excuse you
!”

“No, Tyler,” Gunnar said, his eyes flint-like in the streetlight as he ap-

proached her. She’d backed up slightly, but his hand was quick as he yanked

her to him. Her traitorous body responded by molding itself to him. She closed

her eyes and focused on her breathing and not crying, especially when he

cupped her face.

Just as he had that woman’s.

“Please…”

She didn’t know what she was asking. Maybe reassurance she was blow-

ing things out of proportion, maybe for him to make this breakup as painless as

possible. At least he would do it to her face instead of over the phone, right?

“It meant nothing to me, Tyler. Do you believe that?”

Deep down she did, or else she wouldn’t have let him take her to his house.

Still, the wound was too fresh, and she would need time to patch it up.

“I’m tired, Gunnar,” she murmured.

He nodded, his thumb light as it drifted over her cheek. “All right.”

He grasped her elbow and they walked to his door, Gunnar unlocking the

door without releasing her, as if afraid she’d go tearing for the street again. He

led her upstairs, but instead of taking her to his bedroom, he went into a guest

room down the hall from it. Tyler stood there as he left briefly and returned

with fresh linens, and watched as he re-made the bed. He left again and

returned with some bedclothes for her to wear, placing them on the foot of the

bed. Her eyes began to sting again, and she touched by his care and willingness

to give her space. Just before he went to his own room for the night, he ap-

proached her, shoving his hands in his jeans pockets instead of touching her

like she knew he wanted, knew she wanted.

“Have a good rest, Tyler. Hopefully tomorrow you’ll be willing to talk and

listen to my side of things.”

She didn’t say anything, and he waited a beat before sighing and leaving

the room, closing the door softly behind him.

Only then did she allow herself to sink on the floor and sob.

Fifteen

Tyler woke up the next morning with a headache and dry eyes. She had, at

some point, made it to the bed, but she was so cold despite the fact it was

nearing April in North Carolina. Knowing Gunnar was just down the hall

added to her chill, and she slapped her forehead repeatedly.

What an idiot!

Why did she have to indulge her melodramatic side last night? The dinner

had been going so well, and all it had taken was one kiss from some floozy for

her to have it in her head Gunnar was turning her in for the sex kitten! Yes, the

kiss had looked intimate, but the early morning had brought with it clarity,

common sense, and a swift kick to her behind. She needed to
stop
looking for

cracks in the veneers, or worse, putting them in, for it would only leave her

miserable and alone. And if she really wanted to be honest with herself, and

she should, it had less to do with Gunnar and the kiss and more about her and

the fear that eventually he
would
find someone else and give that someone a kiss

that
would
mean something. She was waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop;

her experience with Quincy, despite the fact she no longer had any real

romantic feelings for him, had left her so shaken and gun-shy that she couldn’t

help but be on her guard, couldn’t completely surrender her heart to a man

who seemed willing to protect it.

Pursing her lips, Tyler got out of bed, hiking up the shorts she wore as they

were a little loose on her, and shoving up the sleeves of the too-big sweatshirt

only for them to fall back over her hands again. She found her bra and slipped it

on, feeling a little weird to go flopping around Gunnar’s house despite the fact

they had been intimate. She didn’t even bother to run a self-conscious hand

through her unruly hair, her only mission to find Gunnar and apologize for

overreaction.

154

Savannah J. Frierson

She went to his room, the carpet soft underneath her sock-covered feet,

and knocked on his door.

“Gunnar?”

There was no answer and she knocked again. “Gunnar?”

Silence.

Biting her lip, Tyler opened the door to see his bed unmade but empty. She

listened for sounds of him in his bathroom, but nothing caught her attention.

Her face falling a little, Tyler went downstairs, but didn’t see him anywhere.

She peeked out one of the windows in the living room and saw his Jeep was

there, so she figured he had to be somewhere. Her last stop was the home gym,

but as before, it was empty.

“Where is he?” Tyler asked herself, sitting on the treadmill’s conveyor belt.

Why didn’t he leave her a note or something? She felt restless, wanting to see

him, to talk to him, to beg for his forgiveness. Maybe he’d done some thinking

too. Maybe this discussion…

“No,” Tyler said, standing and looking around the room. She needed to dis-

tract herself, and since it was a Saturday…

A tiny part of her thought it was a bad idea to do this, but she got on the

treadmill and turned it on anyway. She started easy, merely walking, but soon

she picked up the pace. At first she winced at the impact of hitting the belt

without her sneakers to cushion it, but soon she ignored the pain and started

to go even faster. She was mindless as she ran, her mind wondering what she

would say to Gunnar once she saw him, wondering what he would say to her,

wondering who that woman was who had the audacity to kiss him. She

thought about what had made her act so irrationally and why she still hadn’t

fully gotten over the hurt she’d harbored for the past six years. She thought

about her mother and her father, and was afraid of ending up like them—in

love, but not able to be together. Internal forces were sometimes worse than

external ones, after all, and if she couldn’t break though hers, she could lose

Gunnar forever. She ran and ran, not caring that spots were starting to form in

her vision or that her mouth was overly dry. She ran until her calves burned, a

stitch formed in her side, and her heart beat frantically into her chest. She ran

until she couldn’t anymore, and when she finally turned off the treadmill, she

collapsed onto the belt and sobbed.

She’d become one of those women on trash television, on soap operas, the

ones who saw first, spouted off at the mouth, and asked questions later. She

and her clients at the shop would berate these women for jumping to conclu-

sions, and here she was, doing the same thing. At least she hadn’t created a

scene, but she hadn’t let Gunnar explain.

Was it too late?

She hated Quincy. She hated herself more. Her scabbed heart hadn’t fully

healed yet because she kept picking at it, and wasn’t willing to let anyone else

The Beauty Within

155

heal it for her. She was willing now, however, so very willing, but it wasn’t fair

to Gunnar. He deserved someone whole, not patched together like she was.

“I’m sorry,” she croaked into the silent room. She rested against the bar of

the treadmill, raising her knees to her chest and resting her forehead atop

them. “I’m so sorry…”

She would do better, she vowed to herself. She would be a better girlfriend,

the kind he deserved. Someone who was beautiful and put together and

confident. She would work on all of those things. She would cast off the doubt

Quincy had planted inside of her and others had nurtured until she fed it to

herself. She would—

“Tyler!”

His voice sounded frantic, but she could barely call to him. She felt ligh-

theaded and her throat was so very raw. She began rocking and whispering,

“I’m here…I’m here…I’m sorry…”

“Tyler!”

The panic and relief she heard made another round of tears stream down

her cheeks. Suddenly, she was in his arms, his lap, and was being rocked as he

whispered in soft tones, vacillating between English and Norwegian. Tyler

clutched at his sweaty tank.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered again. “I’ll do better. I love you. I’m sorry—”

“Shh,” Gunnar said, holding her so tight she could barely breathe. He

wiped the sweat from her hairline and the tears from her cheeks. “Shh…”

“I swear, Gunnar. I’ll be good for you. I’ll do better—”

“Shut up, Tyler,” Gunnar said firmly, setting her on the treadmill before

standing. He helped her to a standing position, and to her horror, her legs

started to give out.

“I’m—”

He kissed her mouth hard. “Shut up.”

To her shock, he lifted her in his arms and carried her all the way up to his