Chapter 34
CHAPTER 34
E MILY
It’s been two days since the incident at Charlie’s parents’ house. I’m not sure how to help him, but I know he’s not okay. I tried to get him to talk to me about it that evening, but he asked to be alone, then spent hours at the lake before coming back to the house and falling asleep on the couch after I’d gone to bed. He was at work all day yesterday, so I had to sleep at Ben and Trina’s last night as we all agreed to. Therefore, I didn’t get to see him this morning.
I’ve been nauseous from nerves and I’m going to have to force Charlie to talk to me tonight. I’ve never seen him like this, and I can’t talk to anyone about it, seeing as how none of my friends or family know we’re together. Okay, that’s not true, I guess, since I have a video appointment with my therapist in ten minutes. I glance at the clock on my dash and grimace—I’m cutting it really close as I’m still seven minutes from Charlie’s house.
As I pull into the parking area in front of the house, I see Charlie thirty feet away, chopping wood. It’s still one of his sexiest looks—lumberjack Charlie. I know it’s a stress reliever for him but, my gosh, it’s eighty-seven degrees out. He’s going to get heat stroke if he’s not careful. I put the car in park, turn it off, and climb out. As I jog to the house, I give Charlie a quick wave before I hurry inside, slip off my shoes, and head over to the office to jump on the video call with Annette.
I spend the first fifteen minutes of the call telling her about the events at the Fitzgerald’s house. When I describe Charlie’s father to her, I want to be gracious, but I can’t find it in me. Not after what I saw and how he talked to Marianne and Charlie.
“I can’t even describe how afraid he made me feel. I keep trying to imagine being with someone like that long term. What that must do to a woman. And how do you raise a child with a man like that?”
We spend the rest of our hour talking about my progress since I started seeing her and how I’m feeling about the upcoming anniversary of Teddy’s death. I’m proud of the growth I’ve experienced this year and that I’ve learned how to deal with my traumatic memories. I’m not always perfect, but I know the tools at my disposal. My greatest accomplishment, though, is that I found me again.
When we end our call, I walk upstairs and change out of my work clothes. I peek out the bedroom window, but Charlie is no longer out there splitting wood. Hmm. He’s not up here either.
I skip down the steps to look for him. I long for our usual closeness as these last two days have felt wrong with the distance between us. That needs to end today because I miss him, and I have to make sure he’s okay after everything that went down.
I walk into the kitchen and see him through the French doors. He’s sitting on the deck with a beer in hand, staring out into the woods. Instead of going out immediately, I pause and look at his profile, but I can’t read his expression. It almost looks like he’s in a daze. After I pour a glass of wine, I join him on the deck.
“Hey there,” I say, quietly. When I lean down and kiss him on the cheek, he doesn’t react. He doesn’t try to kiss my lips or pull me into his lap. Disappointed, I take a seat next to him.
“Hi.” He turns his head to look at me and gives me a small smile, but his eyes are flat, and he quickly looks away. I’m hit with a queasiness and an awareness that something is off. Something bigger than just needing to talk about the other day.
“Charlie? What’s going on?” I have to force the words out because part of me is afraid of what he’s going to say.
He’s back to staring at the woods. “Thanks for being so kind to my mom the other day.”
“Of course, she’s lovely. I’m sorry she went through all of that. And that it seems like maybe it’s not the first time.”
Charlie leans forward in his chair and clasps his large hands together in front of him, looking at the ground.
“You wouldn’t know this to look at her now, but my mom was amazing when she was younger. She was a children’s author. Had three books in a series and an offer for a publishing deal to write three more. They offered her a sizable advance for the six books. And the illustrations, God, she was so multi-talented. Did them all herself and they were just gorgeous.”
“Wow, Charlie. That’s so cool.” Who would have thought meek Marianne is a successful author? Shame washes over me for being surprised at that. I guess I judged a book by her cover.
“She turned it down because my father had an issue with his wife having that kind of success.”
“What? I don’t understand. S-she just accepted that?” My voice is quiet, stunned.
“She did. And over time, she lost more and more of herself to him.” He releases a sarcastic laugh. “Hell, it’s like a family curse. Fitzgerald men apparently suck the spirit out of the women who love them.”
My shoulders tense as a gnawing discomfort with the direction this is going overcomes me.
“Charlie, stop it. That’s not universally true. We need to talk about the other day, but not like this.”
He’s clearly in pain and I try to infuse compassion into my tone, hoping it will be like a soothing balm to his hurt.
He doesn’t acknowledge my statement.
“It’s probably why it affected me so much when you told me you felt like you lost yourself to Teddy. I saw that with my mom, so I immediately knew what you meant and I hated the thought of that happening to you. You’re my friend and you deserve to shine and flourish, not have your light and talents diminished because of who you’re in a relationship with.”
“I’m more than your friend.”
Charlie doesn’t respond to that, either. It’s like I’m on mute and he can’t hear any of my words. He looks down at his hands, then stands and walks over to the deck railing, resting his palms on it. I watch him for several long moments until I get the courage to walk over to and join him.
Without looking at me, he says, “I care about you. But we can’t keep doing this. It’s not fair to you.”
I rest my hand on his arm and try not to be hurt when he flinches in response. “Stop and let’s talk about it. I get you’re upset that I saw everything the other day, but that has nothing to do with us.”
Now he turns and fixes his sad eyes on mine. “It has everything to do with us.” He snaps, in a tone he’s never used with me before. “You heard my dad—I’m like him. You saw my anger. And you saw what being with someone like him—like me—can do to a woman.”
“You are not like that man.” My voice is low, but sounds angry, even to me. How could he even think to compare himself to the monster his father is. I narrow my eyes at him.
“Please don’t make this harder than it has to be. We’ve not been able to tell Trina about us yet, and I’m not relationship material.” He looks away from me and practically whispers, “You saw my rage.”
I put my hand on his forearm again and he looks down at it for several long seconds before pulling away.
“You’re not him. You’re never gonna be him. I know you wouldn’t do that to me, Charlie. You help me shine and you accept me just as I am. You’ve always seen me and made room for me to be bigger, not smaller.”
He runs his hand through his hair and grabs a fistful of it, then closes his eyes, taking a deep breath and turning toward me. My heart races as I see determination and hardness settle into his hazel eyes, though it seems like he’s looking through me, not at me.
“This was… nice. But it’s not what I want anymore. I was never gonna be the man to settle down with you. I like my freedom and my space. And I only care about you as a friend.”
At first, I’m stunned, hurt, but then I see this for what it is. He’s freaking out. And I grow angry that he doesn’t trust us enough to try to talk through this.
I poke him in the chest— hard. My blood is boiling, and I guess I’m going to have to practice tough love if I’m going to snap him out of this. “You’re lying. You don’t design your home around a woman’s dreams if you only care about her as a friend. And you told me you wanted me.”
“I’m not lying. I told you before, I don’t lie to you. And the house”—he shrugs nonchalantly, like he’s not breaking up with me after the amazing few weeks we’ve had together—“I built it to your taste just because I’m a guy. I couldn’t imagine it all on my own.”
Moisture builds behind my eyes, and seconds later teardrops fall down my cheeks. “Please don’t do this, Charlie. What we have here is amazing and you’re a good man. You’re just scared you’re going to be like him. I know you want me, us. You’ve told me that.”
“There’s a difference between wanting to fuck someone and wanting a relationship. In case it’s not clear, I only wanted the former. And it’s run its course.”
I’m not sure I could be more shocked and hurt if he physically slapped me across the face. I know my mouth is hanging open and I take several seconds to pull myself together.
“Go to hell,” I whisper.
He looks away, then clears his throat.
“So, listen, I’m gonna head out for a while. If you could move back to the guest bedroom before bedtime…”
When I don’t respond, he spares me a quick glance and I swear, for a split second, there’s a flash of regret in his eyes. But if it was there, it’s quickly replaced with emptiness.
* * *
CHARLIE
Walking away from Emily after I intentionally hurt her with my words and lied to her for the first time since meeting her, an overwhelming nausea hits me, causing my mouth to water, and a painful tightness grips me in the pit of my stomach.
I thought the only way I could convince her to not fight me about breaking up, was to anger her, and when that didn’t work, I knew I had to hurt her. The easiest way to do that was simple—make her think this was more physical than anything else to me. Emily is a romantic at heart, always has been. I know what it meant to her that I designed the house as I did because I wanted her to like it. So, I also knew what it would do to her if I took that from her. It would break her heart. And then she could walk away.
When I get inside, I grab a bottle of water out of the refrigerator and head out the front door, making my way to the tree line and one of the least traveled paths on the property. I need to get away for a few minutes, be out in nature, and as far away from her as possible. Because if I don’t put some distance between us, I’ll run back in and apologize for lying to her and hurting her with my words. I’ll tell her that even though I know I’m not the kind of man she deserves, and that I have the potential to do to her what my father has done to my mother, I love her.
And I do love her. So fucking much. That love gives me the strength to do what’s best for her and that’s ending this now. It’s not risking letting her lose her light because of me.
She’s fought too damn hard this past year to resurrect herself from the ashes of her marriage, and I won’t risk taking that from her. If I have to inflict some temporary hurt so that, long term, she gets her happy ending, then so be it.
As I walk through the woods, I get lost in my thoughts. When we got home from my parents’ a few days ago, I couldn't get past the embarrassment that she saw what my family is like. Fear that she would look at me differently because of how much rage I revealed when I saw my mom bleeding made me avoid her.
It was almost a relief that I had to work yesterday because it gave me time to think about everything and what needed to happen. And I really did plan on trying to talk with her and see if we could salvage this, see if we could figure out a way for her to protect herself from the ugly parts of me. The Fitzgerald parts.
But then earlier today when she got home and basically ran from me into the house, a nervous energy wracked my body. After chopping wood in weather that made me feel like I was going to collapse, I came into the house and went to the kitchen, drank two tall glasses of water, and went to find Emily to check that she was okay before showering.
That’s when I heard it. I wasn’t meaning to eavesdrop on her conversation. I don’t even know who she was talking to. But then I heard her say that she was afraid of me, that I scared her and that she doesn’t know how a woman could be with a man like that, let alone have children with him.
I know I went upstairs and jumped in the shower, but I don’t even remember cleaning my body. I just kept hearing those words on repeat in my head. Emily’s words. My father’s words. They all confirm what I know to be true, Emily Flynn is too good for me and deserves better than anything I can give her.
Sure, I try to be a good man, but what would I be like if I lived with a woman, day in and day out, for years? How would I treat her? Would I notice if I was overshadowing her and if I didn’t notice, would she tell me?
The things I said to Emily, telling her I only care about her as a friend, and that this was just physical for me, they’re lies I told to set her free.
I walk for almost two hours, and when I get back to the house, Emily’s stuff is no longer in the master bedroom and the bedroom door where she had been previously sleeping is closed.
When I wake up the next morning, my head is thick with tortured thoughts and memories of the brief time Emily was finally mine. And my chest heavy is with regret, not regret that I ended it—that needed to happen—but regret that I let it get this far and she ended up hurt. I scribble a note and leave it on the kitchen counter to let her know I picked up sixteen hours today for one of the A shift firefighters, but I’ll be back tonight. Then, I leave.
After I arrive at work, I put my things in my locker, and report downstairs for the morning assignments. Trina’s the A shift captain and she looks at me and says, “What the hell happened to you? You look like hell.”
“Good morning to you, too,” I grumble. “Just not sleeping well, that’s all.”
I want to ask her if there’s been any progress in Ben’s investigation into who’s been harassing her, but she’s private and I don’t want to ask while we’re here at work. If she brings it up later, that’s one thing, but with Trina, I know to respect her boundaries.
I’m assigned to the ambulance today and we’ve had back-to-back medical calls all day, which I’m grateful for because it helps keep me distracted and the sixteen hours fly by. I leave at midnight and get home about twenty minutes later, but when I don’t see Emily’s car in front of the house, panic washes over me.
Once I’m inside, I rush to the kitchen, where I left her a note this morning, to see if she left me one. She did.
Fitz,
I have moved as much of my stuff out as I could today. I’ll figure out how to get the rest of my books and the beds sometime soon. I’m sorry they’re in your space.
Thank you for letting me stay with you. Here’s your key.
Emily
She called me Fitz. She never calls me Fitz. On the day I met her ten years ago, she decided she would call me Charlie and has ever since.
I rub at an ache in my chest, there from the lack of warmth in her note. I get it. I don’t deserve any kindness from her after how I made her feel. Still, it’s painful to read the words and their lack of emotion.
I grab a glass of water and head upstairs. I probably shouldn’t, but I can’t stop myself from opening the door to the guest bedroom and spending the next couple of minutes looking around the room.
Her stuff is all gone; it’s void of any sign of Emily. And she was what made this place feel like a home.
I’m wired now because this makes it all real. This means I don’t get to see her sleepy face and her gorgeous bedhead when she wakes up in the morning. It means I don’t get to watch her as she works in her garden, even though she’s terrified she might come across a snake. It means there’ll be no more pictures in front of the sunflowers.
I won’t have her in my arms as we drift off to sleep or have her to make love to when the intensity of our desire for each other is more than either of us can say no to in the moment.
This was the right thing to do for her but, shit, this aches. It hurts bad. I’ve not only lost my lover, but I probably lost my friend.