Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
WILLIAM (NOW)
Charlotte slips her hands from mine, bringing a chill to my skin. I hadn’t planned to burden her with all of what I said, especially with everything she’s dealing with right now, but maybe it’s good I did. We’ll see.
I get us both glasses of water, then pick up my plate. “We can serve up from here.”
She follows me to the stovetop, where I took out my frustrations on dinner.
“Whose recipe is this?” she asks.
“Barb’s.” I set down my plate and hand her the chef’s knife. “When I moved home, I begged her to teach it to me.”
Charlotte sinks the knife down the middle of the pie, releasing a cloud of flavorful steam. When she cuts herself a big slice, the tension in my shoulders notches back. Her bottomless appetite is just one of the many things I love about her.
“And she did instead of insisting you come visit?” Charlotte asks.
I hold the other side of the pie steady with oven mitts so she can slide her piece out. My mouth starts to water. The crust held up perfectly—despite my mistreatment of it. “She doesn’t have to insist. I’m over there at least once a week.”
Charlotte hands me the knife. Our fingertips brush, and the shift in the air between us makes me want to hit pause so I can savor the warmth crawling up my neck and her gingerbread scent and the hope that maybe I’m not delusional in thinking we could ever find our way back to each other.
“I miss them.”
She grabs the oven mitt to hold the pie dish steady for me while I scoop out my piece. Our hands brush, kicking off a pulse of bright heat inside me. “They’re just up the road.”
I risk a glance, but the soft look in her eyes is so fleeting that it’s gone before I can be sure it was real. “Right,” she says, carrying her plate to the table.
I force my eyes to stay focused on the way her long hair sways between her shoulders and not the way her jeans hug her tight curves. She’s dressed for barn chores. Did she spend all evening at Thunder Mountain? I wish she’d let me help.
We sit across from each other at the table.
“Thank you,” Charlotte says, lifting a bite to blow on it.
Moments like this are everything I’ve ever wanted from her, and it guts me that they’re temporary. She’ll fly out of here as soon as she can. Unless I can convince her otherwise.
“Sure,” I manage.
“Do you and Theo ever have days off together?” She slips the fork past her lips, and I have to force my eyes back to my plate, but not before I catch her moan of pleasure.
I force in a deep breath.
“Every other week or so, yeah.” I reply.
Talking about Theo pushes old memories to the surface.
He’s still my best friend, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t pummel me into the ground if he knew the things I’ve done to his sister and the things I regularly think about doing again.
Not that I would let that stop me—if I get a second chance with Charlotte, nothing is going to hold me back from taking it this time. Not even Theo.
“Did you play with Morgan today?” I ask while serving some salad onto my plate.
Her fork pauses mid-air. I glance up as she blinks hard and licks her lips. “No, I…I’m rehearsing.”
My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth.
“Seattle Symphony is holding auditions next month.”
I nod because words are blowing up in my throat and I don’t want them to leak out.
Getting a symphony gig is a big deal. It means security—she’ll have a steady income, health insurance, a schedule.
Things every conservatory musician dreams of.
Things she deserves. Knowing her, she’s probably been practicing every chance she gets.
But it means she’s prepared to make Seattle her permanent home.
I take a bite of salad but all flavor has vanished.
“What’s happening with Boxcar Doves?” When my head’s clear, I sometimes search my music app for Morgan and Charlotte’s band, curious if they’ve been discovered. As much as I resented the way music put a wedge between us, knowing Charlotte was doing what she loved softened the blow a little.
“Boxcar was more Morgan’s passion than mine,” she replies, her tone brisk.
I sit back, my eyes on her. “Was? As in past tense?”
“That show at The Limelight three years ago…” she swallows hard, her eyes focused on serving herself some salad, “…was our final one.”
Charlotte’s singing is rich like honey. Melodic and playful one moment, powerful and sultry the next. That she’s not using it gives me pause. “Why?”
“We’re both busy with other things.”
There’s a kernel of truth to this—Thunder Mountain has grown exponentially and Charlotte’s got her life in Seattle. I sense there’s more, but Charlotte’s stopped eating and her cheeks are pale, so I dial back my curiosity for now .
“Your dad was supposed to tell you,” I say. “About the sale.”
She scoffs.
I wait, but she just pushes her fork around.
Meaning we’ve stumbled on another land mine.
Charlotte’s relationship with her dad always felt…
lacking. To me, anyway. Though it’s clear Ray loves his kids, he couldn’t always be there for them.
And Morgan needed a steady hand, which meant she got more of him than Charlotte or Theo ever did.
From the outside, it looked like Ray chose The Limelight over being involved in his kids’ lives, but he had three mouths to feed, with no help. Maybe he was doing his best. Not that it discounts how Charlotte felt growing up because I know she got hurt.
“You don’t think it caused Morgan to…” I don’t want to rehash that night, but the possibility’s been gnawing at me.
Her eyes turn serious. “No, Will. Please don’t think that. I think Morgan’s been…struggling for awhile.”
Based on the quick assessment I did in those fleeting seconds inside Morgan’s house before we raced upstairs, this rings true, but it’s a relief to hear it from Charlotte.
“All of her instruments are gone,” she says in a pained voice. “She may have sold them.”
I grimace. Talk about heartbreaking. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m going to the pawn shop tomorrow. Maybe it’s not too late to get some of them back.”
“Let me go with you,” I say in a rush.
She tilts her head, studying me. “You work tomorrow.”
Shit, she’s right. And I can’t call in sick for something like this. “Would Ray go with you?”
Her sigh is heavy enough to bring the roof down. “It’s fine.”
I’m going to at least tell Zach about this, put it on his radar. “How was Morgan today?”
“Emotional after these first few days of trying to hold it all together. But…we talked, even laughed a little.” Charlotte takes a sip of her water. “Jackson’s a really great facility. ”
“How long will she be there?”
“Until they’re sure she’s stable enough to step down. A few more weeks, at least.”
“Will she go home then?”
“Yes, but she’ll participate in an outpatient program a few hours each day. There’s a behavior contract she’ll need to adhere to. Using her skills and tools.”
It sounds like a lot to manage. “Is she…making progress?” I try to slip past the memories of that night, but my mind catches on the edges, drawing them into the light.
She takes a bite of salad and chews slowly. “From the little she’s shared with me, I think so. I know she has it in her…but she’s facing a lot. It’s not easy. Every day she has to choose the hard road of surviving. And she has to keep doing it, even when shit gets hard.”
“Is that what happened this time?” I ask.
She stills, her forkful of salad pausing midair for a moment before she lowers it to her plate. She licks her lips, which have gone pale.
As if to punctuate the abrupt change in the energy, she pushes back her chair. “I…just got really tired. I need a shower, and bed. Thank you for dinner.”
She carries her plate and water glass to the sink, rinses them, and tucks them into the dishwasher. I watch her disappear into the hallway. Moments later, water hums through the pipes.
I clean up and take Ollie out for a quick tour around the yard. While she’s busy, I coax slow, full breaths of the misty night air into my lungs. But I can’t shake the feeling Charlotte is hiding plenty from me. While at the same time, making it clear that she’s building a life somewhere else.