10. WithWithout You
With or Without You
Charlotte
M y heart pounds in my ears. Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me.
Nothing about this is a good idea. If I were thinking at all, I’d step away. Instead, I stretch up on tiptoe, and my eyelids drift closed.
The warmth of one big hand clasps the nape of my neck.
Our lips meet, cool from the November breeze, then warming on contact. Arden presses, searching, and I open to welcome him in.
His tongue glides against mine, and his scent fills my lungs. A thrill ignites with something I haven’t felt in a very long time. A bubbly combination of trepidation and excitement and sexual arousal stir together in my bloodstream into a fizzing cocktail of need.
I want to sink into this kiss and take it as far as we can go.
Other than our mouths, we’re barely touching. My palms rest against the expensive fabric of his lapel. One of his hands remains wrapped around the back of my neck. The other rests on my hip, squeezing me gently through the layer of denim, but there’s space between our bodies.
He draws back, then rests his forehead against mine. “Sweet Charlotte. Be very sure what you want from me. If small-town gossip bruises your heart, my world could tear you to pieces.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I know.” He runs a gentle thumb over my bottom lip. “But if you crave a quiet life, I’m the last person you should be kissing.”
My throat aches. I stood here and told him I was happy with my little world. What I want doesn’t matter.
If I date again, I’ll choose someone boring. Not too interested. Not too smart. No one I’d ever obsess over, or who would want too much from me. Arden is a man who would demand everything. He would want a partner with an open heart. He’d expect trust and give it. He’s told me as much.
I’m not that person anymore. Besides, the situation with RealFreedom and the demolition proves how tenuous my situation really is. There’s no guarantee my past will stay buried.
I take a step backward. “Did I ruin our friendship?” Please say I didn ’ t.
Arden frowns. “We’ve ruined nothing. We’re exactly the same as we were.”
A thirty-second kiss under a theater marquee is probably no big deal to a man like him, but it’s changed everything for me.
Before he smiled and touched my face—before he laughed and put his arms around me—before Arden kissed me—my feelings were a vague, unanchored thing.
He was nothing more than words on a screen. It’s the only way I could have gotten to this place where I allowed someone like him to get close to me.
Feelings snuck up on me. Arden sucked me in, hook, line, and sinker, but I refuse to drown.
The sun drops lower in the late afternoon sky, disappearing behind the RealFreedom sign that shielded our kiss from prying eyes. Now in full shade, I shiver when the wind cuts through my poly-filled jacket.
Arden removes his cashmere scarf and wraps it around my lower face and neck, tucking it around me.
I’m the caretaker of my own life, and I can’t let him come in waving a magic wand to fix my problems and start thinking of him as my fairy godmother or my prince.
“ You need to avoid lying . . . You have too many tells.”
I know where I stand with him. He isn’t a man who lets “ sentiment get in the way of common sense.”
I slide the fantastic-smelling fabric beneath my chin. “I have my own scarf in the car.”
“Perfect. I’ll trade mine for yours,” he says.
“Mine is homemade. In a Tunisian stitch with acrylic yarn.”
“Even better.”
“Arden, it’s cheap.”
“I have it on excellent authority that not everything of value should be measured by how much it costs.”
“Arden?” The driver who introduced himself as Reese pokes his head around the sign. “We’ve got a report of press en route. Time to roll.”
I startle, adrenaline coursing through me. “What?”
Arden’s demeanor changes in a flash, the warmth draining away to leave someone imminently practical in its place. “I knew stopping in town first was risky. Head for your car, Charlotte. If we leave now, no one can prove either of us was here, let alone together. If word gets out and anyone asks, this meeting was in reference to the future of the theater only. Direct all questions to my office. Tell them you and I have a professional relationship, not a personal one.”
With his hands on my shoulders, he guides me toward the lot, before pressing a kiss to my temple. His voice, this time, is gentle. “Go, honey.”
I lurch toward my hatchback as Arden strides away.
The other driver, the man whose name I don’t know, joins me, steering me with a light touch on my elbow. “Into your vehicle, ma’am. Mr. McRae will take care of everything else.”
I hustle inside, slamming my door shut as he heads toward Arden.
I’ve barely got my key in the ignition before the driver jogs back and taps on my window.
Drive away. You do not need to get involved in whatever this is. Go, Charlotte.
I roll down the darn window and peer at him cautiously. “Yes?”
“Ma’am, Mr. McRae says you owe him a scarf.”
He cannot be serious. I unwind the one Arden put on my neck, but the driver shakes his head. “He said he wants the homemade one.”
Okay, then. Through the open window, I pass him the royal-blue scarf from my passenger seat. “What is with the whole chauffeur thing?” I mutter.
The man’s eyes widen, and he appears to suppress a smile. “I’m not a chauffeur, ma’am. You don’t know who you were talking to?”
I frown. “He’s Arden McRae. A lawyer.”
“Yes.” He stretches the word out, as though I’m missing something.
At my confused expression, he whistles under his breath. “To be a fly on the wall when you figure it out.”
Same Day
T he computers at the university are slow, but they’ll be faster than my clunky dial-up internet at home. If Arden is as rich or important or as whatever his driver was implying, there’ll be something about him online. Right?
It’s not too late for a Saturday, and my parents don’t have any set time that they expect me to pick up Bronnie.
I sling my red JanSport bag over my shoulder and set out from the parking lot behind the Russell Hall dormitory, heading for the library. The buzzing streetlamps create pools of light that cut through ominous darkness. I should have parked in the main lot. It’s a longer walk in the cold, but it’s better lit and more public. I pick up my pace and clutch my keys between my fingers. There are too many places for someone to hide here.
You ’ re being paranoid. No one followed you. No one is lurking on the path from the dorm to the library on a Saturday night.
“Charlotte? Charlotte, wait.” A woman’s voice calls behind me. I freeze, then close my eyes.
Bianca Polford catches up to me with a breathless gasp of exertion. Dressed in a purple velour tracksuit, a long white coat she’s left unbuttoned, and sneakers, Bianca doesn’t have a hint of makeup on her face. Her hair is in a ponytail, and I can’t decide if she’s dressed for a workout at the university gym or if she’s ditched the high heels and high-maintenance look altogether, along with her loser husband.
She looks good . . . healthy, though I don’t ever remember thinking she was sickly before.
“What do you want, Bianca?”
She presses her lips together and picks at the cuticle on an unmanicured fingernail. “I saw you. And I’ve wanted to apologize to you. For not standing up for you back then,” she says haltingly.
Of all the things I thought she could possibly have to say to me, this didn’t make the list. “It’s a little late now, isn’t it?”
She swallows hard but lifts her head to look me in the eyes. “I’ll be ashamed of myself for the rest of my life.”
“Why did you call me a liar when you saw what he did?”
She drops her eyes to stare at the asphalt under her feet. “I distracted him enough for you to get away, but I couldn’t . . . He’d have killed me. He was dangerous. His temper . . . I know how that sounds. No one would believe it, but it’s true. I had to wear a turtleneck sweater in the middle of summer for three weeks afterward.”
Oh, I believe her. Transitioning to the idea of her being a victim is like a puzzle piece snapping into place. Of course, she was.
“The police wouldn’t help you.” I know exactly how unhelpful our police department is when a woman has been hurt by Jeremy Polford.
She rubs her eyes, then shakes her head. “I’d have had to be dead or in the ICU before they would have arrested him. And a restraining order is nothing but a piece of paper to men like him. You got away before . . . It could have been worse.” She hesitates, then in a broken voice says, “I hoped that was enough.”
I squeeze her cold hand, our breaths vaporizing in the frigid gloom. “He’s gone now.”
“Your lawyer scared him, I think. He was the one wasn’t he? Who hired the private investigator?”
I nod.
“The sheriff told Jeremy that a private investigator was setting him up to think he was talking to a minor online. My husband got scared and ran. I told the sheriff if he had kept quiet and done his job, Jeremy wouldn’t have taken off. He didn’t like hearing that.”
“Good.” Very, very good.
She nods, then hesitates. “Jeremy was planning to find you. He said he was going to make you call off the investigation. I was afraid for you. I tried to call, but your mom said you were at the hospital and had just had a baby. I figured that was okay. He wouldn’t do anything in public. Then he disappeared.”
The adrenaline surging through me makes me lightheaded in a way I’ve felt before. Fight. Flight. Or Freeze. I always, always fight. “Did you tell the sheriff your husband was planning to confront me?”
Bianca shakes her head. “It’s none of his business, is it? I don’t care how or why Jeremy is gone. But if I told them he was planning to come after you, they’d have thought you had something to do with it.”
My stomach turns, and my pulse pounds in my ears. “It’s not like I don’t have an alibi. Like you said, I’d just given birth.”
Bianca chews on the corner of her lip. “I didn’t recognize your lawyer at the funeral. I was afraid for you when he looked like he was going to follow you outside. You found someone more powerful than Jeremy to defend you. When this”—she spreads her arm—“is the only life you know, it’s easy to forget that Jeremy and the sheriff only seem like big fish because we’re in such a small pond. You were smart.”
Heat curls up my neck at the unwarranted praise. I had nothing to do with Arden’s decision to investigate, and his poking around sent Polford out looking for me.
I get the impression Arden always does “what’s right.” He wasn’t wrong to want to see justice served, even if he did kick a hornet’s nest into my life. I would have done the same thing.
“There are people in this town who still believe the lies you told about me. They treat me and my child like shit because of it,” I say.
She flinches at my crass language but doesn’t call me on it. “You want me to tell them the truth.”
“What’s stopping you now? Your husband isn’t here.”
She hesitates. “I . . .” Her gaze skates away and she wrings her hands. “He could come back.”
“If you need help, I’ll call my lawyer for advice.” It’s weird calling him “my lawyer.” He’s been my Arden for months, but that’s none of her business.
“I don’t have money to pay Arden McRae. You had Steve’s life insurance. I’m struggling to keep up with my mortgage.”
I’m not surprised she knows about the life insurance payout—everyone is so damned nosey and gossipy around here—but the way she keeps using Arden’s first and last name irritates me.
I could tell her what he ate for dinner last night, but she obviously knows things about him that I don’t. I force myself to speak gently. “I’ll pay him for you if that’s what it takes. If you’re worried about coming forward, he could help you make a statement. If you’re worried your husband could come back, he could—”
“I can’t.” Bianca shakes her head, her brown eyes pleading.
I nod. “Thank you for helping me get away back then and for trying to warn me when he was going to come after me. I don’t blame you for what happened. You were in an awful position.”
She presses her lips together. “Everyone knows Jeremy and Calvin Marsh were best friends. He hasn’t let Jeremy’s disappearance go, and I don’t know if he ever will. If I start saying negative things about Jeremy, Calvin won’t like it. He might decide I had something to do with it. He could come after me, Charlotte, and I have a four-year-old child. I can’t do this.”
In my head, I can hear the sheriff calling me “Charlie” the same way Polford did.
If I were half as nosey as the majority of this town, I’d have already known the two of them were close. But when it comes to Polford, I prefer to think of him as little as possible. I definitely don’t chat with people about him.
They say curiosity killed the cat, but burying my head in the sand keeps leaving me with an exposed backside ready and waiting for someone to take a bite.
If he told his wife he was coming after me, he probably also told his friend.
Fighting back the surge of nausea I feel anytime I think of Polford, I drop my backpack to the asphalt and pull out a notebook and pen, scribbling my name and number on a piece of paper. I hold it out to her. “My lawyer will know what to do about the sheriff. You’re an innocent woman. If you’re afraid, he’ll help you.”
She darts a belated glance around us to confirm we’re alone and speaks quietly. “You have a lawyer who follows the rules. Calvin doesn’t, and he has too much power in this town. Do you honestly believe someone like Arden McRae is going to believe us? He’s not a defense attorney. He and Calvin are on the same side.”
Lifting her hand, I press the paper onto her palm. “Marsh is a bully. If he causes problems, call me. You’re wrong about my lawyer. He’s a stickler for the rules, but he’d do anything he could to help someone he thought was a victim.”
“If we made him angry enough, Calvin could manufacture evidence against us. If the so-called facts say we’re lying, Arden McRae wouldn’t think we were victims . He’d throw the book at us. Why would he believe you and me over law enforcement?”
“We could warn”—I nearly forget not to use his first name—“Mr. McRae that it could happen.”
“Don’t. He’s the reason Jeremy took off in the first place. He’ll make things worse.”
“I could tell him you needed advice but ask him not to do anything.”
Her expression melts into bemusement. “Where did someone like you find the nerve to ask Arden McRae III for anything at all?”
“He’s a person, not some mythical god,” I say, frustrated on his behalf.
Her eyebrows lift, then she snorts. “Bless your heart.”