Chapter 17 #2
This time, the voice was clearer, closer. I turned my head to see Vaughn standing in the doorway, his face etched with concern. I didn’t know how he got in or why but it was comforting to know he was here.
“I don’t know,” I whispered, my voice barely audible above the wind.
The world tilted, and my knees buckled as the cold overwhelmed me. Vaughn was at my side in an instant, scooping me up in his arms. I mumbled incoherently, my body trembling uncontrollably as he carried me inside. Warm air enveloped me as the door clicked shut behind us.
“Why would you do such a thing?” Vaughn’s voice was laced with anger, but there was something else there too—something softer, more vulnerable.
My eyes fluttered open, and I found myself sitting on the vanity in the primary bathroom.
Vaughn knelt in front of me, removing my wet slippers and rubbing my feet to restore warmth.
His hands were firm and gentle at the same time, and I couldn’t stop the chattering of my teeth as I tried to form words.
“Joey, why?” he asked again, his tone more insistent.
“I don’t know,” I repeated, my voice trembling. “I just… I couldn’t…”
“You need a bath to warm you up,” Vaughn interrupted, his voice a low rumble. He turned on the faucet, testing the water with his hand before turning back to me, his focus on my frozen feet.
I let out a shaky breath as I watched him, my mind spinning. “Why are you always saving me?” I asked, my fingers finding their way into his hair, tangling in the thick strands.
“Because you need someone to do it,” he replied simply, his gaze steady as he continued to warm my feet.
I leaned back against the mirror, letting the warmth from his hands seep into my skin. The sound of the water filling the tub was soothing, almost hypnotic, and for a moment, I allowed myself to relax.
Vaughn rose to his feet, searching the cabinet next to the vanity until he found a container of bath beads. He tossed them into the water, and the room was soon filled with the sweet scent of vanilla. It reminded me of better days, of times when I wasn’t so lost.
“I don’t…” I started to protest, but the words died in my throat as Vaughn leaned down and pressed a kiss to my forehead.
“I’ll let you get undressed,” he said softly, stepping back to give me space.
I sighed as he left the room, the door closing quietly behind him. Slowly, I shed my wet robe and pajamas, slipping into the bath, the warm water enveloping me like a cocoon. The bubbles rose around me, scented with vanilla, and I felt the tension in my muscles begin to ease.
A few minutes later, there was a knock on the door. Vaughn didn’t wait for a response before stepping inside, holding two glasses of white wine. He handed one to me, his eyes searching my face.
“Feeling better?” he asked, his voice low, almost tender.
I should have felt exposed, vulnerable, sitting naked in a tub with only bubbles to hide me from his gaze. But all I felt was gratitude. Gratitude for the warmth, for the wine, for his presence.
“No,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “It’s my birthday.”
Vaughn nodded, wiping the vanity dry with a hand towel before perching on the edge. “I know. It’s also the most romantic day of the year.”
“Valentine’s Day is a made-up holiday so companies can make money,” I scoffed, taking a sip of the wine. The taste was crisp and cool, a stark contrast to the warmth of the bath.
Vaughn chuckled, a deep sound that vibrated through the room. “Joey, why were you out in the snow?” he asked again, his tone more serious this time.
I stared down at the bubbles, watching as they swirled around me, the scent of vanilla thick in the air.
I didn’t know how to answer him—didn’t know how to explain the emptiness, the grief that gnawed at my insides.
How could I put into words the pain that had driven me out into the cold, searching for something, anything to dull the ache?
“I was trying to feel something,” I finally said, my voice cracking. “Anything other than this… this numbness.”
Vaughn was silent for a long moment, his gaze unwavering. Then he reached out, his fingers brushing against my cheek, wiping away a tear I hadn’t realized had fallen.
“You’re not alone, Joey,” he murmured, his voice so soft it was almost a whisper. “You don’t have to go through this alone.”
I looked up at him, my heart hammering in my chest. There was something in his eyes, something that made my breath catch. Vulnerability, maybe. Or was it something else—something darker, more dangerous?
“I know,” I whispered back, even though I wasn’t sure if I believed it.
Vaughn’s hand lingered on my cheek for a moment longer before he pulled away, his expression unreadable. He took a sip of his wine, his gaze drifting to the window where the snow was still falling, the world outside quiet and white.
“Happy birthday, Joey,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Thanks,” I replied, my voice thick with emotion.
For a long time, neither of us spoke. The only sound was the soft lapping of the water against the sides of the tub, the faint hum of the city outside.
And as the snow continued to fall, I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, Vaughn was right.
Maybe I didn’t have to go through this alone after all.
Vaughn’s voice cut through the haze of my thoughts. “Are you hungry?”
I blinked, realizing I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten. My stomach answered for me, a low rumble breaking the silence. “Chinese?” I suggested, almost sheepishly.
A small smile tugged at his lips. “I can order.”
“Sweet and sour chicken,” I began, the thought of food finally stirring some life in me. “And an eggroll. Maybe some spareribs too.”
Vaughn raised an eyebrow, his expression softening with amusement. “You are hungry,” he remarked, a chuckle slipping from him.
I shrugged, a hint of a smile forming. “I guess.”
He nodded, stepping out of the bathroom to place the order.
I sank deeper into the warm bath, letting the vanilla-scented bubbles envelop me.
The heat was starting to thaw the cold that had gripped me, inside and out.
I felt the tension drain from my body, but it wasn’t long before I was ready to get out.
Wrapping a towel around myself, I was just stepping out of the tub when Vaughn returned. His eyes swept over me, but there was something different in his gaze—less desire, more… admiration. It made my breath catch.
“Ordered. Should be here in twenty minutes,” he said, his tone casual, but his eyes lingering. “Get dressed. I’ll wait for you in the kitchen.”
I nodded, watching as he turned to leave, his presence both comforting and unnerving at the same time.
I dressed quickly in thick sweats, the soft fabric a welcome contrast to the harsh cold of earlier.
When I entered the kitchen, Vaughn was waiting, leaning casually against the counter.
In front of him were two cards—one wrinkled and stained with age, the other in a crisp, royal blue envelope.
“What’s this?” I asked, curiosity piqued as I approached.
He smirked, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “Open them. The old one first.”
I hesitated, then carefully tore at the worn paper. Inside was a card with Vaughn’s handwriting, but the letters were more childish, less sure. My breath caught as I realized this was a card from years ago, one he had never given me. It was signed with love.
Tears welled in my eyes as I looked up at him. “Is this the card?”
“The one I never got to give you,” Vaughn confirmed, sipping his wine as if he hadn’t just dropped a bombshell.
“It’s sweet,” I whispered, my voice thick with emotion.
“I loved you even back then,” he said quietly, his gaze steady on mine.
My face flushed with a mix of surprise and regret. “You should’ve told me,” I murmured, the words coming out before I could stop them.
He let out a bitter laugh. “He did it on purpose, Joey. He knew how I felt about you.”
I pursed my lips, a wave of anger rising within me. “It’s your fault, Vaughn. You should’ve said something. You had so many years to say something, to do something. And the history between our families is so messed up.”
Vaughn’s expression hardened, a flicker of pain crossing his features. “You reminded him of your mother, and he was forced to marry mine.”
I sighed, the weight of his words pressing down on me. “He loved Poppy.”
“But not like Margaret,” Vaughn said, the finality in his tone making my heart ache.
The room fell into a heavy silence, both of us lost in the tangled web of our shared past. The years of unspoken feelings, the manipulation, the lost opportunities—they all hung between us, a silent testament to what could have been.
But as Vaughn stood there, watching me with those familiar eyes, I couldn’t help but wonder if it was too late for us to ever be friends.
Or if maybe, just maybe, we could find a way to rewrite our story.