Chapter 3
MEMPHIS
I still can’t get Cailin’s expression out of my head.
My fist comes down on the windowsill with a heavy thunk. “Shit,” I mutter. “When I fuck up, I really fuck up.”
It’s ironic, really. For months, I’ve wondered what it would be like to kiss her. I’ve stolen glances at Cailin’s full lips and fantasized about tasting them. I’ve sat beside her, aching to pull her into my arms and to feel the swell of her soft curves pressed against me.
Then it actually happens. And I screw everything up.
I stare at the nearly-empty hotel parking lot until it turns into a blur of gray dotted with spots of color. My fist thunks onto the windowsill again.
All day I’ve been twisted up with this. From the first sleepless pre-dawn hours, as I lay awake second-guessing myself, to the endless internal debates between then and now.
When I left Cailin’s apartment, I was so certain I’d made the right decision. It wasn’t a decision I wanted to make—shit, I desperately wanted the opposite—but I thought I’d done the right thing.
The responsible thing.
She was still struggling, after all. Her story about the man at the grocery store was proof enough of that. And then the asshole at the restaurant, who didn’t just scare her. He hurt her.
Of course Cailin was feeling vulnerable, and it was only natural she’d turn to me for reassurance.
And the kiss? The kiss that put all the other ones I’ve shared to shame? The kiss I’ll probably think back to on my deathbed?
She didn’t mean it, I told myself. She was just scared and the kiss was her way of seeking comfort.
Or she was confused, I offered up as an alternate explanation. After the confrontation at the restaurant, her emotions were heightened and she only thought she wanted to kiss me when she really didn’t.
How could she? I asked myself as I lay awake in bed, staring at the uneven blinds and the faint light from the parking lot filtering between them. Cailin is young and beautiful and she wants things from life I can’t give her.
But.
As the hours crept by, so did the doubts. And along with them, guilt and regret.
Maybe it wasn’t a mistake.
Maybe Cailin wasn’t confused.
Maybe I wasn’t taking advantage of her vulnerability by kissing her back.
And all through it, I kept seeing her face and the emotions she was trying so hard to hide.
I didn’t see them last night, because I was too wrapped up in my own. But in the early morning hours with nothing else to distract me, they became all too clear.
She was disappointed. Hurt. Confused. Because of me.
“Dammit,” I tell the scene outside my window. Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t reply. “I need to fix this.”
Trying to fix things between me and Cailin is a given. How is the less certain part.
I have to apologize, to start—for acting like an ass when I left her apartment with a lame explanation I’m sure she didn’t believe for a second.
And if she accepts my apology, then I have to move onto the trickier part, like why she kissed me and if she really meant it.
Oh, and I have to decide if I’m going to tell her the truth about my feelings.
So, yeah. All easy things.
I let out a short laugh of derision. Look at me. A man who willingly put myself into situations where the odds of death outweighed survival by ten to one. A man who flew rescue missions through some of the most treacherous conditions in the world.
But here I am. Too damn scared to tell Cailin how I truly feel about her.
Too scared to tell her the truth and potentially lose her.
With a huff of frustration, I glance at my watch to check the time. It’s eight-twenty-four, which means Cailin should be close to finishing her shift at the restaurant, and it’s time for me to leave.
Turning away from the window, I head over to the dresser to grab my wallet and keys. Once I have them in my pocket, I pick up the gift I bought earlier today and loop the strap of the gift bag over my arm.
No, I don’t think a gift is going to convince Cailin to forgive me. But I figure it can’t hurt, either.
My plans to go home today disappeared almost as soon as I got back to the hotel last night.
How could I leave without resolving things with Cailin?
After a sleepless night, I was tempted to go to her apartment first thing, but then I remembered it was a double shift day, and she was supposed to be opening at Delilah’s Duds, the clothing store she works at downtown.
Technically, I could have squeezed in a quick visit beforehand.
But that would have meant rushing the conversation, and potentially upsetting Cailin before a long day of work.
The afternoon was out, because she had to rush from Delilah’s to Four Seasons to start the dinner shift.
So that left afterwards, which is why I’m heading over there now.
Hopefully, when I get there, she’ll talk to me.
Hopefully, she’ll let me come back to her apartment so we can work things out.
And hopefully—this is the biggest one—I’ll find out she really meant to kiss me.
I’m hit with an unexpected jolt of nerves as I leave the hotel room.
After decades of training myself not to acknowledge fear, it’s an unfamiliar sensation.
The last time I remember being scared has to be, shit, fifteen years ago, when my helo was hit by an RPG.
The engines were failing and we knew we’d have to jump into enemy territory.
Back then, I wasn’t so much scared for myself, but for what would happen to Marian if I didn’t make it.
My dad had been gone ten years at that point, and my mom was getting progressively sicker from end-stage kidney failure.
Thank God, she got a transplant in time.
But had she not, taking care of Marian would have been left to me.
Now, the situation is far less dire. But it feels just as important.
As I cross the parking lot to my car, I allow myself to consider my life without Cailin in it.
Before I met her, I would have said my life was fine as it was. Enough money to live comfortably, a job I enjoy, a house with plenty of privacy, friends, my sister, my cat… Listed like that, it sounds like plenty.
But Cailin brings something different. Something special. Something I can’t imagine losing now that I have it.
And shit.
I’m in love with her.
Not falling, like the people say on those reality shows Marian likes so much. Not thinking about it. I’m all the way there.
Why did I push her away, then?
Why did I leave when every cell in me wanted to stay?
“Dammit.” My voice echoes through the interior of my rental car. As I signal to pull out onto the road, a woman walking along the sidewalk with her dog flashes me a look of alarm. Probably wondering why I’m cursing at myself and worrying I might be some sort of crazy person.
I force what I hope looks like a reassuring, I’m just a normal, harmless guy sort of smile. She eyeballs me suspiciously for a second before hurrying away.
Since I’d rather not have the people of Bakersfield buzzing about some guy driving around town, talking to himself, I keep my thoughts to myself for the rest of the drive to the restaurant.
When I pull into the parking lot, my stomach twists. My pulse jumps.
As always, I’m eager to see Cailin. But this time, I’m nervous, as well.
Will she be happy to see me? Or will her gorgeous smile droop as soon as I walk through the door? Will she make an excuse not to talk to me after, or will she invite me back to her apartment without me having to ask?
A dozen scenarios play through my mind as I walk towards the restaurant. I want to hope for the best, but I’m steeling myself for the worst.
Just before I walk inside, I look at the little gift bag still looped over my arm. The bag is sparkly gold with sequin-covered tissue paper tucked inside. And beneath that is delicate gold and amber bracelet I picked up at the jewelry store in town.
I’ve never given Cailin jewelry before, always categorizing it as a romantic gift and not something one friend gives another. But as I wandered through the stores, trying to kill time, I found myself drawn to the stones so similar to the color of her eyes.
I won’t give it to her right away, I decide. I don’t want her to think I’m trying to buy her forgiveness. It’ll be an after-gift—either a romantic gift after she forgives me, or a farewell gift after she tells me she doesn’t want to see me anymore.
Please, let it not be the latter.
With a steading breath and one last silent prayer, I push the door open and step inside. The first thing I do is scan the dining room, hoping to see Cailin right away. But of the half-dozen uniformed servers buzzing around, none of them are her.
“You’re back,” the hostess chirps; the same one as last night. “Are you here to pick up Cailin?”
“Something like that.” After another quick glance around the room, I ask, “Is she in the kitchen?”
She shakes her head. “No. She went out on a delivery run.” Then she frowns. “I feel like she’s been gone a long time. Maybe she got lost on the way.”
“A delivery run?” My voice rises. “Since when does Cailin do deliveries?”
Never, I thought. First off, because she’s a server. And secondly, she would never voluntarily drive to strangers’ houses. Not after what that piece of garbage Dario did to her.
“Our regular guy called in sick,” the hostess replies. She rolls her eyes, and her voice dips conspiratorially. “Hungover, is what I heard. And the other guy who does deliveries is on vacation.”
And now Cailin’s driving around, alone, knocking on strangers’ doors, probably scared out of her mind while she does it, and possibly getting lost in the process?
I don’t like it. At all.
“How long has she been gone?” I ask. “Why do you think she’s lost?”
The hostess—Regina, her name tag says—reaches into her back pocket and pulls out her phone. After a brief glance, she says, “I think she left around six. And—” She looks over at the bar. “Dillon. Do you remember when Cailin left?”
The man behind the bar turns his attention to her. “For the deliveries? I want to say six-ish.”