Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
ELIZABETH
Stay
Figuratively throwing him into the deep end of the pool, I don’t stop Charlotte when she manhandles a stunned Fallon up the porch steps and into the house.
My grin is enormous as I send Julien a quick text to let him know I’m back.
Me: Home.
He replies immediately.
Julien: Want to come over for dinner? You can tell us about Italy over beer and burgers.
I chew the inside of my cheek. Meredith is the only person I told about Fallon showing up in Venice.
Me: Tomorrow? I’m tired and just want to spend a quiet evening with the kids.
Julien: Is that the only reason?
My mental groan is huge. Meredith and her big, gossipy mouth. She can’t keep a secret to save her life.
Me: That was fast.
Julien: Morning run. Meet up at the park tomorrow morning.
More like I’m going to get grilled for the entire five miles.
Me: Fine.
Julien: Your fridge is stocked. We stopped by the grocery store on the way back from Topsail.
Me: Thanks. I owe you.
Julien: Yes, you do, and I expect payment tomorrow morning in the form of a full confession. Love you.
I’m going to strangle Meredith the next time I see her.
Once inside, I kick the door closed with my heel and toe off my sandals.
“Hello?” I call out when I’m met with silence. No one answers me. Knowing my boys, they’ll be out back in the garage tinkering with something.
The house smells good. Charlotte must’ve put out the water bowl of magnolia blossoms.
Rolling my suitcases into the bedroom, I take my time changing out of the clothes I wore on the plane and put on my favorite pair of jean shorts and a short-sleeved blouse, then throw my hair up into a messy bun.
After dumping a load of laundry in the wash, I make a beeline straight for the coffee maker in the kitchen. I wasn’t expecting jet lag to hit me so hard, so soon.
Popping a pod into the Keurig, I add water to the reservoir and set it going just as the French doors from the back veranda burst open with a thud.
Chris storms in first, followed by an indignant-looking Charlotte.
“You need to apologize.”
“No, I don’t.”
She pushes on his back, and he stumbles forward. “Yes, you do.”
Lovely. I’m not home five minutes, and they’re already going at each other.
“What’s going on?”
Not missing a beat, Charlotte aims an accusatory finger at her brother. “Chris was being rude to Fallon.”
“I was not! You’re just a suck-up,” Christopher fires back.
Lord, give me strength. I’d blame Ryder for our children’s pigheadedness, but I know full well they get it from me.
I abandon my much-coveted coffee, refusing to let the unfolding sibling drama spiral any further.
Leaning a hip against the counter, I give my son the “mom” look. “What exactly did you say to Fallon?”
Christopher gears up to argue his case but snaps his mouth shut. Suddenly, both my children turn mute, neither answering, not even Charlotte, who is usually the first to rat out Christopher and get him into trouble.
Gathering him into a hug because I’ve missed him, I tell him, “You’re cooking dinner tonight. Fallon is eating with us.”
“What?” Christopher’s eyes widen in disbelief. “But?—”
“No buts.” I kiss his forehead and pat his cheek. “And you’re on kitchen clean-up duty afterward, too. In fact, you get to do it for the entire week.”
Charlotte is unable to hide her glee.
“And you can help him.”
Her jaw drops. “Why? I didn’t do anything!”
“You pushed him.”
Christopher groans loudly, dragging a hand through his mop of dark hair. Charlotte huffs and mutters something about “how this is so unfair.”
Taking my mug of coffee with me, I go in search of Marcus and Fallon in the garage.
Ryder’s black Hellcat now lives at Randy’s Custom Auto in town.
It became too painful for me to see it every day, so Marcus took it to the shop.
My red Hellcat is parked in the bay to the right.
The last time I drove it was with Ryder.
He had become so frail and weak during that final month.
The boys would help me carry him to the car, and I would take us for long drives through the back roads.
My footsteps slow as I get closer. For a few seconds, everything goes blurry, and a wave of dizziness hits me. I swear the other man next to Fallon, hunched over the hood of the car, is Ryder.
When I realize it’s Marcus, the anguish that engulfs me at that moment of clarity is crippling.
This isn’t the first time I’ve mistaken him for Ryder.
My confusion was the worst right after Ryder died, and it got to the point where I couldn’t be in the same room with Marcus without breaking down and losing my shit.
I have so much to make up for with my children.
They lost their father, but at the same time, they lost their mom, too.
I became a shell of myself. Sad. Depressed. Broken.
Marcus and Fallon are focused on their work, so they don’t notice me walking up. Not wanting to interrupt them, I lean a shoulder against the jamb and quietly observe while I sip my coffee.
“Your dad used to test drive all my cars,” Fallon says. “I loved watching him race. That’s how I first met him. I saw him on his dirt bike and thought he was the coolest badass I had ever seen.”
Marcus chuckles, his voice deep and baritone like his father’s. “Dad would tell us some crazy stories about the two of you,” he says, handing Fallon an Allen wrench.
“Ry and I got into a lot of trouble when we were younger. He was the only true friend I ever had—other than your mother and Elijah.”
Ryder loved me with his whole heart. When I lost my memories, he never tried to fit me into the mold occupied by Old Elizabeth, the girl I used to be.
But Fallon was probably the only person who really understood me.
Our broken pieces were the same. The friendship we forged during our time together changed my life.
“You always told me that I would wind up hating you. You said that you were my nightmare, the villain in my story. You’re not, Fallon. You’re my hero.”
“Dad would be happy you’re here now. Do you mind turning the engine on for me?”
Fallon slides into the front seat and starts the car. The rumble of the engine is low and loud.
Marcus peers around the hood and calls out, “Press the gas a few times.”
Fallon revs the engine, and I’m thrown back in time to third grade, to the first day I met Ryder at school.
“I think we got it.” Marcus holds his thumb up, and Fallon shuts off the engine.
Getting out, Fallon helps him carefully lower the hood and push it closed.
“Thanks. Chris is usually my wingman. I appreciate the help.”
Fallon smooths his hand lovingly over the hood. “Ry was always the maestro with cars, not me. My talent was buying them,” he says with a diffident chuckle.
My boy’s face lights up like Christmas. “Do you still have the Radical?”
Fallon nods, a grin spreading across his face that does wonderful things to my heart. Fallon’s smiles are rare and a sight to behold. They transform his face from drop-dead gorgeous to devastating-to-a-woman’s-health.
“Yeah, and a whole hell of a lot more. I have a private garage at the Montgomery estate. Ry used to call it my vintage car museum. You, Chris, and Charlotte will need to come by soon and check it out. We can take some out to the Fields and play around.”
It’s like a wish bomb just exploded. “Are you fucking with me?”
I haven’t seen Marcus so excited about anything in a long time.
“Think we can convince your mom to join us? She was one kickass woman behind the wheel.”
Marcus’s dark head bows, and he shoves his hands deep inside his back pockets.
Again, it shocks me how closely he resembles Ryder.
Not just his build and general features, but also his posture and facial expressions.
Even the way he dresses—faded jeans, a black Randy’s Custom Auto logo T-shirt, and work boots, just like Ryder used to wear.
Marcus glances over at my car. “Things have been hard for Mom since Dad died. She’s given up a lot for us.”
I hold my breath as tears begin to well. Fallon wraps his arm around my son’s shoulders, giving him comfort like a father would his child. Marcus soaks it up, leaning into Fallon, and the beating organ in my chest cries for my children.
I hastily turn away before they see me. Needing some privacy so I can allow myself a few minutes to fall apart, I quickly cross the backyard and head toward the pond.
Tiny grasshoppers startle and jump away as my feet swish through the long grass.
Several skipper butterflies flit from clover to clover.
A ladybug lands on my arm, and I transfer it to my finger, holding it up high in the air until it opens its elytra, exposing its softer wings underneath, and flies away.
Once I get to the small clearing surrounded by a grove of trees near the edge of the water, I lower to the ground, resting my back against the trunk of a thin willow, and pull my knees to my chest. The willow’s branches are long and spindly, arching over my head and drooping down until they touch the ground.
The whip-like appendages sway gently in the muggy summer breeze.
As they bump and rub together in the wind, the sound created is musical, like nature’s wind chimes.
This is my and Ryder’s quiet place. We would spend hours out here, talking, dancing, laughing, making love.
“I miss you so much,” I tell him, closing my eyes so I can picture him right there next to me.
I miss you too, my sweet Elizabeth. I’m always here, sweetheart. You’re never alone.
I glance across the rippling surface of the water. It’s so beautiful out here. Peaceful.
Propping my chin on my knees, I sigh. “I don’t want to be sad anymore.”
The hairs on my arms raise right before I sense anyone is behind me, and I instinctively know it’s Fallon. The same thing happened in Venice. I can always feel him when he’s nearby. The air charges with an intense crackling energy. That’s the only way I know how to explain it.
“How did you know I was here?”
“You know I have my ways.”
I smile. It’s like him finding me at the café all over again.
“I followed you,” he says.
He must have seen me at the garage. Of course he did. Nothing slips past his attention.
I gaze up at him when he comes to stand next to me. He’s got a small grease stain on his shirt, and his hair is sticking up at the top, endearingly ruffled. He takes my breath away.
I’m so flustered by him and his effect on me, I blurt out the inanest thing.
“You have the most stunning blue eyes,” I remark, watching the sunlight play across Fallon’s face, causing his eyes to appear almost clear.
“Nordic ancestry.”
I can believe it. Fallon could easily slip into the role of a Norse god from mythology. Part Odin, the powerful ruler of all the gods, part Magni, the god of strength, and part Loki, the god of mischief.
Not done with the dumb questions, I ask, “When did you stop chewing gum?”
When Fallon quit smoking, he started chewing gum all the time to stave off cravings. He was constantly popping sticks of gum in his mouth all the time.
“That’s a really weird question,” he replies, giving me an amused look. “And not what you really want to ask me.”
The way he is able to decipher my innermost thoughts should freak me out, but it doesn’t. It’s nice having someone who is so attuned to you and your feelings.
He folds his long legs and sits on the ground beside me. “What’s going through your mind right now, Kitten?”
Things I shouldn’t be feeling. Things I shouldn’t be wanting.
Fallon grabs my hips and settles me in front of him, fitting me between the outstretched V of his legs. My spine presses intimately to his chest, his arms circling me and holding me tightly to him.
Fallon’s thumbs trace soothing circles over my wrists where our hands are clasped together in my lap.
It’s been so long since anyone has touched me like this, since I’ve felt the comfort of a man’s arms around me.
I absorb every sensation, knowing all too well that the Fates can be cruel and could take Fallon away at any moment, just like they took the love of my life from me.
His soft lips find the curve of my shoulder and linger there, his breath fanning across my goose-fleshed skin.
“Talk to me.”
I can’t. I’m not ready. I’m scared.
“What did Christopher say to you?”
“He loves you and just wants you to be happy.”
“That’s not an answer.”
Apparently, that’s the only answer he’s going to give me.
We sit quietly in nature’s ambiance, listening to cardinals chirp their happy songs, my senses hypervigilant because the little brushstrokes of his thumb are driving me out of my mind.
Turning slightly, I look into his aqua eyes. They have always mesmerized me. I remember first seeing the blue water at Noreurljósavegur in Iceland with Fallon, and I likened the unusual color to his eyes.
“Secret for a secret.”
We’re supposed to tell each other our secret fears. Most of the time, we make up stuff just to see the other’s reaction.
“I’m terrified of Pop Rocks,” he says.
He can come up with the most bizarre things.
“Do tell.”
I feel the curve of his smile against my shoulder. “Ry challenged me to see who could eat the most. We were bored, and teenage boys do stupid things.”
Yes, they do. I don’t know what Christopher said to him yet, but he and I are going to have a very long talk about it tonight.
“Who won?” I ask.
“Me. I think I ate about twenty packets at one time. I became a human version of the Coke and Mentos experiment. It was not pretty.”
I chuckle, sharing the same memory. “I lost. But I did win the marshmallow challenge, the one where you have to say ‘bubbly bunny’ after each marshmallow. Not the tiny ones, either. The jumbo-sized ones.”
Fallon drops his head and rests his cheek in the bend of my shoulder. “God, I fucking miss him.”
I do, too. So damn much.
“Do you want to go see him?” I ask.
Ryder wanted to be buried here, on our land, so he could be close to us. We chose the wildflower field down the hill from the house where a lone magnolia tree grows. I visit him every morning to watch the sunrise.
“I’d love to.”
Grasping his forearms, I take a shuddering inhalation. “Fallon?”
“Hmm?” he hums against my skin.
The thump of my pulse counts down the seconds it takes for me to say, “Stay.”
That one word is steeped with so many nuances. Stay for dinner. Stay with me. Stay forever.
His chest expands when he breathes in deeply. “Not going anywhere.”