43. End of the Ball
WESLEY
SeeingCeleste materialize in Shirley’s—my—backyard looking like a literal wet dream would be permanently imprinted on my mind until the day I died. I had zoned out completely, mulling over Marla’s advice, and then Celeste appeared like I manifested her into being. She was breathtaking with the rain cascading down her face, long hair trailing down her back, and those tiny damn jean cutoffs that made me jealous for hugging her ass so tight.
Something just came over me the moment I touched her. The same pulse of intensity charged the air between us, more powerful than any storm ever could be. While the lightning might have illuminated the sky above, the real electricity surged the second Celeste and I made contact. I couldn’t hold back any longer. Kissing her was more important than inhaling my next breath.
On the other side of our antics, now that the rush of heat, lust, and serotonin died down, I was terrified of what awaited me downstairs. I didn’t even bother to change my own soaked sweatpants, just grabbed a cotton t-shirt and pair of gym shorts for her. Celeste Hendricks was my personal hurricane, and I would happily drown if it meant being in her presence. I just didn’t want her to hate me for it.
Back in the kitchen, I allowed myself to drink her in as she scrambled into my clothes. The round curves of her body were fuller now compared to when we were teens, sexier, and I loved the change. No model I worked with could ever hold a candle to Celeste’s beauty. It probably creeped her out to see me ogling her like a pizza, but damn it, I was a glutton for punishment.
“That wasn’t why I came here,” she finally said after wringing out her long, wet hair in the kitchen sink. “I need to talk to you.”
I nodded. “Yeah, okay.”
Celeste glanced at me and her cheeks flamed. “Can you please put a shirt on or something?”
Now she was just stroking my ego. “No.” I crossed my arms and leaned against the doorframe. “I’m pretty comfy the way I am.”
She rolled her eyes. “In your wet pants?”
“Lovebug, you don’t have to beat around the bush if you wanna get me out of my pants.”
The pink in her cheeks turned red. Her shy smile, my favorite, returned as she whispered, “Some things never change with you.”
I grinned, loving that I could tease her like I used to. I would take this reaction any day of the week. And it gave me hope that our future together was possible. We could work through this. If I could only convince her to give me a chance.
“What do you wanna talk about?” I asked.
That lit the fire in her. I could tell from the way she bristled, standing straighter and holding her head high.
There’s my girl, I thought.
Celeste stared me down, gauging my reaction. “Are you here because of the deal with The Comfy Cushion?”
“What are you talking about? What deal?”
My father was a savvy businessman, I had to give him that. He could sense a good deal from five miles away and he was typically three steps ahead of the competition. While I knew Madden Enterprises invested as a silent partner in other companies, buying a small town diner wasn’t really something I could imagine on his radar.
Celeste didn’t respond, just continued staring me down. Hostility rolled off her in waves and I desperately wished I knew how to fix it. It aggravated me that she wouldn’t explain. She came here to talk, didn’t she? How were we going to fix anything if she shut me out?
“I’ve been wanting to come home for a while,” I finally told her to break the silence. “I’ve missed you so much.”
“Home?” she repeated. Except it was a loaded question, meant to be used as ammunition. “This isn’t your home. You don’t belong here, Wesley.”
Okay, so we were doing this with the gloves off. “My home is anywhere you are,” I argued. “You’re all I’ve thought about since the day I left.”
“You have a funny way of showing it,” she countered, crossing her arms over her chest. I tried not to smile at how good it looked to see her in my clothes again. Focus, Wesley.
“Do you know how many times I tried calling you at the diner? The number changed and I’m pretty sure mine was blocked at some point because all I ever got was a dial tone?—”
“THAT’S your effort?!” she screeched. “After the way you left, you thought a phone call where I worked was gonna fix everything?!”
I ground my teeth before slamming the palm of my hand into the wall beside me. Red was all I could see. “Maybe if you hadn’t put a fucking restraining order on me, I could have done more!”
To my surprise, she laughed in response. It was a bitter, resentful sound, not her usual soft giggle that softened me. “I had a bit too much on my plate to get a restraining order, Wes. I don’t even know how to do something like that.”
That had to be a lie. We were in court; I heard the judge talking about it…
Except I had blocked out so many memories from that part of my life. It was the lowest I had ever been. One of my psych classes in college suggested that our brain would remove traumatic memories to protect us, which made sense to me at the time. Now that I actually tried to visualize it, I couldn’t recall ever seeing the court papers for a restraining order. Nor could I distinctly remember the judge using the words “restraining order.”
I shook my head. None of that mattered now. “I never wanted to leave you, Celeste. We made promises to each other, promises I’ve done everything in my power to keep.”
Celeste scoffed and paced towards the door before rounding in on me. “Stop doing this! You don’t get to come back here and bringing up feelings and memories that?—”
“So you do feel something for me?” I interrupted. I knew it!
She threw up her hands and stormed towards the back door again. I was right on her heels.
“Why are you running away from this, lovebug?” I shouted. Catching her in my arms, I spun her around to face me, practically nose to nose. “I know you still love me. And if I have to spend every day for the rest of my life making the past ten years up to you, I will.”
Tears streaked her face as she ripped herself from my grasp. “You don’t even have a clue what I’ve been through the past ten years! The way I’ve struggled while you’ve been out living the high life!”
“Lovebug, I was earning that money for you just as much as me! You can take it all, I don’t care! Everything that’s mine is yours anyway!”
She snorted in disgust. “Because that’s always your solution to everything, Wes! Just throw money around, that’ll fix our problems! Take the Benedict Madden approach.”
My comeback died out in my throat. It never occurred to me that I was doing the same thing as my father, but she was right. I might be less of a dick about it—sometimes—than he was, but the results were the same. Money was a means to an end. There was always a dollar amount that was just right and opened whatever doors I wanted it to.
Celeste eyed me sadly. “I need you to leave River’s Run, Wes.”
“You need me to go or you want me to go?” The distinction mattered. This wasn’t the way any of this played out in my head, and I wasn’t going to go down without a fight.
“I don’t have the luxury of wanting anything anymore,” she said quietly.
“What does that even mean?” I asked in confusion. We were talking in riddles and I was missing a big clue.
Outside, the rain started to die down. Thunderstorms never lasted long here. Celeste glanced out the back door. “I should go,” she said, hitching her thumb over her shoulder.
“No, wait! Just tell me how I can fix this!” Defeat was not an option. Now that my addiction was back in full force, the only way I was leaving her would be if she told me directly she wanted me gone. Something about the way she acted made me question what was really motivating her behavior. Celeste wasn’t angry or upset about how hard I just smashed on her pussy, but wasn’t going to talk to me about what it meant for our future?
“I know you were the girl at the hotel!” I called out after her. She was almost to the gate, the rain gone and lighter clouds rolling in.
She smiled sadly over her shoulder. “Cinderella can’t stay at the ball forever, Wes. Neither can I.”