Chapter 35
Eliza’s head felt like a battlefield where a thousand tiny soldiers waged war.
Groaning, she attempted to pry open her eyes only to be met with a searing pain that made her regret the attempt.
Too bright.
The morning sunlight streaming into her room was so damn bright it made her miss the time her window had been covered by a tarp.
Her tongue was sandpaper. Her stomach was a cauldron of sloshing foulness. And she had the absolute worst taste in her mouth.
The memories of the night’s indulgence flooded back, how she’d cracked open a third, fourth, and fifth beer despite knowing better.
You idiot, the voice of reason chastised. What were you thinking?
The answer was simple. She’d been thinking she needed oblivion, just a few minutes of not feeling like she would shatter if someone looked at her the wrong way. Just a few hours of being numb instead of raw and exposed.
And now I’m paying for it. I feel just as raw and exposed as ever. Plus, I have the world’s worst hangover.
Brilliant plan, Eliza! Top-notch decision making!
Through the haze of her hangover, she heard the familiar sound of Fisher’s harmonica drifting in from the room next door. A Taylor Swift melody trilled through the air, all happy and upbeat. Which was a stark contrast to the way she felt.
Seriously, Fisher? she thought with annoyance that quickly morphed into anger. You’re over there as happy as a clam while I’m over here with a heart broken into a million irreparable pieces?
Well, fuck you very much!
With a furious growl, she grabbed the nearest pillow and buried her head beneath it, attempting to drown out the noise and, simultaneously, her spiraling thoughts. She wanted to scream into the pillow, thinking it might help release some of her pent-up anguish and frustration. Her already aching head kept her quiet.
Eventually, the futility of hiding became unbearable. It wasn’t helping anyway. She could still hear the music.
With a heavy sigh, she threw back the covers and climbed unsteadily out of bed, her limbs protesting every movement.
First order of business, toilet. Second order of business, toothbrush. Third order of business…maybe death.
She wobbled her way to the bathroom and only realized she’d failed to change out of her clothes and into her pajamas when she had to work the zipper on the fly of her jeans. She sat on the toilet with a groan and then closed her eyes when the room began to spin.
She kept her eyes closed while washing her hands and running a makeup wipe under her eyes where her mascara had smudged two black stripes that made her look like she was trying out for the NFL. And when she brushed her teeth—or, more specifically, her tongue—she found herself bent over the toilet depositing what was left of the night’s tomfoolery into the porcelain bowl.
She was shaking by the time she’d emptied her stomach. But when she straightened to make a second attempt at brushing her teeth, she was gratified to find the room no longer doing its best impression of a whirligig.
After popping two Tylenol, she made the return trip to bed while cursing the weakness of her limbs and the incessant throbbing of her head. She’d just pulled the covers back over her head in an attempt to block out the light when Fisher switched from “Love Story”to “You Belong with Me,” and she’d had enough.
Was he intentionally torturing her?
“Sonofabitch!” she hissed as she tossed back the covers and clambered out of bed. She was across the room, down the hall, and pounding on Fisher’s door six seconds later. Each time her fist made contact with his door felt like a cathartic release.
The music cut off immediately. A handful of heartbeats later, the door swung open and Eliza was momentarily struck my Fisher’s tousled hair and soft eyes. Memories of the handful of mornings she’d woken up to find him in bed beside her, looking just like this came crashing back and tried to soften her resolve.
Cue the butterflies.
Then she remembered the pain he’d caused her when he’d unceremoniously called it quits, and the hurt he’d been inflicting ever since by becoming the world’s biggest ball-bag. And she mentally pictured taking a BB gun and shooting the damn butterflies one by one.
With a glare she felt could have cut through steel, she demanded, “What the hell are you so happy about?”
He cocked his head. Humor tugged at the corners of his mouth. That mouth that was too pretty to look at. That mouth that she now knew was too talented for his own good.
She wanted to punch it.
She also wanted to kiss it.
But mostly punch it.
“Good mornin’ to ya, too, Liza.” His deep drawl was smoother and more melodical than his harmonica playing had been. And the fact he’d used her nickname made her knees wobble.
She staunchly firmed them up and continued to glare at him.
“What makes ya think I’m happy?” he asked, his tone far too cordial for her liking.
“Taylor Swift. You play Taylor when you’re happy,” she declared, hands on hips. “And you’re doubling down today, which means you must be doubly happy. But I can’t figure out why that should be because you just got back from a failed mission and your best friend is in a cast.”
He shrugged and stepped back to swing an arm wide. “Would ya like to come in? Or do ya prefer to keep havin’ this conversation in the hall?”
She blinked. They hadn’t stepped foot in each other’s rooms since the breakup—or whatever one called it when one person in a FWB scenario decided to end things.
Hesitantly, she crossed the threshold and turned to frown at him when he closed the door behind her.
“Take a seat.” He motioned to his bed. It was unmade. And a flurry of images of what the two of them had done atop those very sheets flipped through her mind.
She took a tentative step in that direction and then stopped. “You know what? I think I’d rather stand.”
She already felt vulnerable. She didn’t want him towering over her to exacerbate the situation.
“Suit yourself.” He breezed by her and sat on the edge of the bed.
She hated the way he nonchalantly leaned back on his hands. She hated worse the way he let his eyes roam over her face.
When confronting an ex-lover, she figured it was pretty normal to want to look amazing. But she knew she looked as bad as she felt.
He confirmed it by asking, “How are ya feelin’ this mornin’?”
“About like you’d expect,” she snapped back, her fingers automatically seeking the comfort of her locket.
When his gaze tracked the move, she immediately dropped the necklace.
His expression turned sympathetic then. He glanced slowly around the room before returning those golden eyes to her face. “Ya sure ya don’t want to sit?” He patted the space next to him.
“Nope.” She crossed her arms. “I’m happy where I am.”
“Okay.” He nodded. “So, ya asked why I’m so happy this mornin’. And I reckon my answer is I’m happy because I realized last night after talkin’ to Boss that all the reasons I’ve been denyin’ my love for you all these years don’t hold water.”
Her knees wobbled again. This time there was no firming them up.
Fisher hopped off the bed and caught her before she could crumble to the floor. He gently escorted her to the bed and only resumed his seat once he was assured she was settled.
Her heart raced. The air in the room was still and warm and smelled faintly of his smoky aftershave. It all combined to have her head spinning as his words echoed in her mind.
Had she heard him correctly?
Nah. Couldn’t have, she told herself. Her hangover had caused her to hallucinate.
“I’m sorry.” She shook her head, her voice straining to rise above a whisper. “I’m not sure I caught that last part.” She lifted a trembling hand to her temple. “I think my hangover is screwing with my auditory processing.”
He took her hand into his and she marveled at how small her fingers looked in comparison to his. How pale her skin was next to his.
His callused fingertips brushed her palm and she realized just how much she’d missed his touch. How much she’d been craving it.
“Which part?” he asked. “The part where I said I had a conversation with Boss last night? Or the part where I confessed to lovin’ ya?”
His grip tightened when she swayed.
“Whoa there.” He pulled her close so he could throw an arm around her waist and keep her upright.
His confession hung in the air like a fragile promise. But she still couldn’t make herself believe she’d heard him correctly.
It was obvious he read her bewilderment because he said patiently, “Let me put it in no uncertain terms. I love you, Eliza Meadows. The first time I saw ya, my heart stumbled. The second time I saw ya, it fell right at your feet. And there it’s stayed for four years.”
Her breath caught. Her heart stopped beating. And despite feeling as dehydrated as a raisin, she burst into tears.
“All right.” He pulled her into his lap and held her as she tucked her face into the warm crook of his shoulder and wetted the collar of his T-shirt.
Why am I crying? she wondered when the tidal wave of emotions had finished washing over her, leaving her limp and drained.
It was the voice of reason that answered. Because when dreams come true, sometimes tears are the only way to express the enormity of one’s euphoria, one’s relief, one’s gratitude.
Right.
She pushed back so she could look into Fisher’s beautiful, beloved face. “Why did it take you so long to admit it?”
“Well…” He twisted his lips. “For one thing, I didn’t think I was worthy of ya. I mean, you’re you, and I’m me. I figured ya wouldn’t look twice at a murder’s son from Nowhere, Louisiana.”
“Fish—”
“No.” He shook his head. “I know how ya feel ’bout that. I still think you’re too good for me. But somehow ya don’t see things that way. So I’m goin’ to stop questionin’ my good fortune and just enjoy the fact that ya seem to have real dubious taste when it comes to who ya decide to go and love.”
Her breath caught again, and he smiled that smile of his that had always made her heart skip a beat. “Yeah.” He nodded. “I know ya love me. I heard your confession that night.”
She shook her head. “But you were sound asleep.”
“I was fakin’.” He winked and then smiled even wider when she slapped his arm.
In her head, the puzzle pieces fell into place. “So that’s why you broke it off the next morning.”
“I was scared.” He nodded.
“Of me?” She blinked in disbelief.
“Of myself.” When two lines appeared between her eyebrows, he explained. “My father ended up killin’ my mother for the very things that drew her to him. For her beauty, for her laugh, for her soft manner. She was desirable in every way, and he knew if he wanted her, other men did too. He couldn’t stand the thought of that. And the only way he could truly keep her to himself was to destroy her.”
She nodded. Then shook her head. “But what does that have to do with you?”
“I was never crazy ’bout anyone ’til I met you, Liza. I never felt possessive of a woman or jealous of the other men who talked to her or touched her until you came along. And then bam!”He snapped his fingers. “Suddenly all those things I’d hoped I hadn’t inherited showed up and that terrified me. I didn’t want to be like my dad.”
“You’re nothing like your father,” she declared staunchly.
“I realized that last night. Or, rather, Boss talked me around to the idea. He told me it’s normal to feel the way I do ’bout ya. Normal to want to break the legs and bash the heads, as Boss puts it, of the men I see lustin’ after ya. But what matters is the way I act when I’m feelin’ that way. I would never think to try to isolate ya from the world the way my father did with my mother. I would never be so afraid of losin’ ya that I’d…” He shook his head, unable to even say the words aloud.
“I know you wouldn’t, Fisher.” She framed his face as the air hung heavy with the meaning of all he’d shared.
His words were more than she’d ever dared dream of. He’d laid his heart bare before her, and she’d spend her life safeguarding it.
“I’d like to give ya that great, big BKI love ya been dreamin’ about, darlin’.” His deep voice was filled with quiet determination. “If you’ll let me.”
If I’ll let him?
If I’ll let him?!?
Was he crazy? It was a dream come true!
“I’ll let you.” She nodded, thinking of Charlie and the opportunity he’d given her. Because of him, she was going to have a chance at something amazing. A great, big BKI love, as Fisher called it.
I promise to love with everything in me, Charlie,she swore. I promise to live a life big enough that it’ll make what you did for me worth it. I promise to be happy enough for both of us.
When the tears standing in her eyes slipped over her lower lids and trailed down her cheeks, Fisher thumbed them away. He searched her gaze before his attention drifted down to her trembling lips.
“Tell me again that ya love me, darlin’. I want to hear the words when I’m not havin’ to pretend not to hear them.”
“I love you, Fisher.”
His Adam’s apple worked in the tan column of his throat.
“I’ve never been the best at anything,” she continued, her voice shaking with the weight of her emotions. “There has always been someone smarter, someone prettier, someone funnier. But when it comes to loving you? There’s no one better than me.”
He kissed her then. Kissed her like she was his whole world. And it dawned on her she’d found in him more than just that great, big BKI love she’d been looking for. In him, she’d found her person.
Finally…