Chapter 25
twenty-five
. . .
Vulnerable
Present Day
taven
Saturday, 1:08am
I carry Desiree’s bag and lead her down the glass encased walkway that leads from my garage to the house. I look over and see her taking in the space as I flick on the lights, her eyes wide and roaming as we step into the mudroom area, then through to the kitchen. It’s a warm space with brown hardwood floors, cinnamon cabinets that could probably use updating, but I haven’t had the real desire to do so. The granite is black, the fixtures bronze, and I realize how very bachelor-like the whole place is. Built in the ‘70s, my mid-century modern/farmhouse hybrid has had some updates, and some things left original, like the floor-to-ceiling stone fireplace that runs through the center of the open layout of the living and dining area. I love the architecture of the home, but looking at it now, I can see that it could benefit from some color .
Evelyn had said it would be the first thing she’d do once she moved in. That was before she had made her declaration of wanting to put our engagement on pause. She was having second thoughts. Uncertainties.
I’m sure once she finds out I’ve brought Desiree back here, it will be the final nail in the coffin. I realize I’m relieved at the thought, and I wonder what that says about me. So many years of fighting an internal war with myself, wondering about my purpose or worth. I like to think of myself as well beyond that war now, yet it appears the one piece of self-deception I’ve continued is standing right here, in my home. I wonder if Evelyn somehow sensed that.
I place Desiree’s bag down at the foot of the stairs and follow her to where she’s standing in front of the fireplace, staring at the photos on the mantle. Me and Jacqui as kids, grinning while standing in line for the rollercoaster twisting and turning in the background beyond. A family photo of us with my parents and Jacqui’s husband at their wedding.
Then the photo of me and Evelyn, dressed in cocktail attire, my arm around her waist. It was at our engagement party just last year. I had been sober for nearly three years then. Thought I had everything figured out.
A lie, I realize, given the present company that I’ve invited to stay with me for the weekend. Small lies are a habit I thought I had ceased, but I guess Desiree’s often been the source of the biggest lies I’ve ever told. I’m disappointed to find that I’m still doing it now.
I’m telling the biggest lie when I pretend she’s someone I’m over.
Desiree picks up my engagement photo and glides her fingers over Evelyn’s smiling face. I note that my own smile looks forced, and I wonder if Desiree can tell.
“She’s even more beautiful all grown up, isn’t she?” Desiree says.
I step over to her and remove the photo from her hand, placing it down on an end table beside one of my sofas. I have the urge to place it face down, but I don’t. “She’s a good woman,” I say, because it’s the truth.
We had reconnected four years ago, when I was temporarily living back at home with my parents, after my stay at rehab. Evelyn helped pull me out of my depression, my shame, the overall loss of any sense of control over my life. Within her company, I quickly rediscovered the ease I had with her back when we were kids. That ease seemed like exactly what I needed at the time. I was rebuilding my self-concept, trying to hold onto the goals I had once dreamed of for myself, scared I was about to lose it all. Fears of whether or not I even deserved happiness were threatening to make me turn toward my old go-tos, but I was determined not to let them.
Therapy allowed my soul to let in some light, little by little. To understand the mistakes that I had made, where they stemmed from, and how to love myself as someone flawed and human, afflicted with an addiction that I used to self-medicate. Evelyn had been a friend through that journey, and when I was confident enough that I was never going back to drinking, we allowed our friendship to turn to something more.
Maybe it was too soon. In fact, it was definitely too soon. Not because my sobriety was new and fragile, but because I still hadn’t addressed the one big elephant left in my psyche. My Dazzle.
I try and explain some of this to Desiree, leaving out the part of my continued longing for her. I tell her that I’m sober now and have been for nearly four years. She smiles, and tells me she had a feeling, when she noticed how very obviously not-drunk I was earlier this evening at the festival.
I nod, absorbing the fact that it was something she even assessed for. Of course it was, how could it not be, given how bad things were the last time we spoke?
But there’s a twist in my chest to make Desiree understand how Evelyn had re-entered my world and why. She remains quiet as I do .
When I finally finish my broad-strokes re-cap, Desiree looks down at her hands, twisting them in front of her. “I’m glad you’ve found your peace,” she says. “Before things got any worse.”
“I’m lucky.”
“And,” she starts, then darts her eyes down to the end table and the photo of me and Evelyn. “I’m glad you had her when you needed her.”
“I wish it had been you,” I blurt out, the words escaping on their own volition.
She looks up at me, a frown filling her face and I ache to make it go away. “It couldn’t have been me, though. Could it, Taven?”
I hang my head low, knowing she’s right. It couldn’t have been her because she might have been the biggest trigger to my insecurity I ever had. Which is unfair to her, so what am I supposed to say?
I place a hand in my pocket and look away, back to the photo from Jacqui’s wedding. My father’s kind eyes and my mother’s terse smile. “No, I guess that’s true,” I finally admit.
I’ve always held respect for my parents, even in my more reckless times. They seemed like the epitome of having it all together, and I paled in comparison. I think in many ways a part of me had subconsciously viewed Desiree as that. All put together, always too good for me. That’s the truth.
I turn back to her. “I’ve always felt like you were this mystical creature that I could never live up to, Dazzle.”
“Me?” she asks, pulling her head back in surprise. “How so?”
I take a step toward her. “Because,” I shrug. “You were this cool girl who didn’t put on a front, you were always so comfortable to say exactly what was on your mind, and you have this endless compassion for people, but not in a way that makes you mad when they disappoint you. You can just accept them for who they are. Take Melissa, for example.”
She goes to sit down on the couch, scooting back and folding her arms over her chest. “What about her?” she asks.
“I know she hurt you when she stopped talking to you when we were in college. But then you let her back in. You don’t hold a grudge, unlike me.”
“You make me sound like a doormat,” she says, eyebrows pinched together.
“You’re not a doormat, that’s not what I mean.” I sigh, feeling frustrated that I’m not making this point to her. “Look, what I’m trying to say is that I’m sorry. For everything. For what happened five years ago and the hell I put you through. And for the fact that no, it couldn’t have been you to pull me out of my struggles, because I respected you too much, as fucked up as that sounds.”
She huffs out a laugh. “Sure as hell didn’t feel like respect, Taven,” she says, voice soft as she glances over to the photo of me and Evelyn.
I turn away from her, hating seeing the sadness on her face. I try and collect my thoughts so that I can properly explain myself, or express my regret or something. I want so badly to get her to understand where I was back then, and where I am now. And how sorry I am for all of it.
But then I realize that’s not what she needs. Not yet anyway.
What she needs is a chance to say her piece for once. To not be the quiet one, standing on the sidelines without a voice, trying to keep it all together.
I turn back to face her, saying, “Well then, what did it feel like?” Her blue eyes flash up to me, eyelashes framing them and making her look so beautiful and sweet, it’s crushing. But I need to face whatever it is she deserves to finally say to me. “Don’t hold back, don’t try and sugarcoat or refrain for my sake.”
She crosses her legs and leans forward, arms resting on her thigh, looking down at her hands while she twists a ring on her finger. “Taven…”
I walk over and sit down on the coffee table in front of her. “Come on, Daz. Tell me. You never got any kind of closure, you just walked away.”
She snaps her head up. “You left me no choice, what was I supposed to do? ”
I can see it, the irritation and hurt and anger bubbling up in her. I’m tempted to tell her that I agree, that she’s absolutely right, she had no choice and I understand that.
But I know my Dazzle. I know that if I say that, she’ll just back off again, and I want to see her actually open up and let me have it. Something that’s hard for her to do, so I need to push her.
“I don’t know,” I say, my tone a bit accusatory. “Maybe stick it out and try a little harder?” My words are harsh. Brash. They’re words I don’t even agree with, but she needs the nudge. “Do you think you gave up on me?”
She rises to a stand and takes a step away from me. I can see her body tensing. This is good, it’s exactly what she needs.
“You have some fucking nerve, saying that, Taven Carlisle.”
Now we’re getting somewhere. “How so?” I press.
She spins around to face me. “How so? How so?!” she says, voice rising and eyes wide. “Because I did try! I tried for months! I confronted you about your drinking, remember that? Multiple times! Sure, maybe softly at first, but then not so soft, and guess what?” she says, pushing a palm into my shoulder in a shove. “You didn’t change a damn thing. In fact, you only got worse. Hiding it, lying, staying out, making me feel like I had become second in your life behind alcohol. I had to stand there and watch you blow up everything in your world. Even when you were physically present, you weren’t there mentally or emotionally. You just pushed me away like I was the goddamn enemy while you drank yourself into oblivion.”
“But you were the enemy,” I say, biting back a nervous smile, mainly because I’m in awe of finally seeing her get good and angry, just as she deserves.
“Ha! Was I?” She nods and fills her face with a maniacal grin. “Well, there you have it, then, folks! I’m the problem, just like everyone thinks. Like your drinking buddies said, I can only imagine what they said when I finally left. Like your mom thought for years, I’m sure. The girl not good enough for her son. Or like Melissa thought, I guess, because otherwise, why did she drop me the minute she went away to college?”
She paces around the room, hands on her hips. I want to comfort her, the urge is strong to tell her how wrong she is, but she doesn’t need empty words to placate her right now. So instead, I watch her as she allows the beautiful fury to take hold, little by little. “What I don’t get,” she says, “what I can never understand is why everyone seems to think I’m so fucking hard to be around? Got any ideas on that, Taven?” She pauses, staring at me, and I remain silent. She blinks at me a few times, waiting for a response that doesn’t come, then resumes her pacing. “It’s so fucking frustrating , people just don’t seem to understand that all I do is try and keep a level head, be the voice of reason now and then. Is that so wrong? But I guess that’s boring for some people. So yeah, I walked away from you. Fine. So sorry I’m not okay with a dysfunctional love of alcohol and denial. So sorry I realized I wasn’t okay with continuing to lose myself in order to try and save you.” She pauses her pacing and looks at me once more. “So sorry that you didn’t want to hear some hard truths.”
“I didn’t like your hard truths.”
She widens her eyes at me. “Well guess what? I didn’t like looking at a man I loved , seeing him coast through his days in a haze, making dangerous decisions under the guidance of a bottle, decisions that put my fucking life at risk, Taven!” she cries, slamming her palm into her chest. “Do you remember that? Because I sure as fuck do! It’s taken me a long time to heal from the flashbacks that haunted me from five years ago. Memories I wish I could forget of the things I can’t believe I let slide. Do you know how scary those times were for me? When you were behind the wheel and I thought we would die, or when you were lashing out and slamming your fist into walls, and I’d be standing there wondering what was happening or what on earth I did to deserve this, completely unable to stop you.” She looks at me in earnest, sincerely questioning me, begging for an answer that I don’t have. I see the tears filling her eyes. “Do you have any idea how terrifying it was to be so incredibly tied to you at my very core, yet to know that that tie was slowly dragging me down right along with you?”
I sit up straight, pulling my shoulders back to try and face everything she’s telling me, as painful as it is to hear. But I remain silent.
She blinks, a tear falls down her cheek, and she mindlessly wipes it away. “I was so scared, Taven, it hurt.”
“What were you scared of?” I ask, voice soft. I lean over to the tissue box on the table, handing it to her.
She shakes her head slowly, silent while she dabs at her eyes. “I was scared that I’d never be able to get through to you and make you see the destruction you were causing, which is of course exactly what happened. And I was scared that I was going to lose you. That you were going to get in a car and kill yourself one night, or kill us both,” she says, her words choking on a sob. “Or someone else, and it’d be my fault, because I couldn’t stop you.”
My chest tightens and my breath becomes shallow, seeing her break down like this, knowing it’s all because of me. And while I’ve come to terms with my past and the damage I know I can never undo, seeing the one person that has always mattered most to me fall apart is one of the hardest things I think I’ve ever had to face. It almost feels like too much, and I have to fight through my own inner demons that want to retreat to a place of self-loathing, knowing that’s exactly what got us here in the first place.
But I refuse to do that. Not again.
That was the old me. A false version of myself that hid away and used self-destruction as a comfortable hiding spot.
That me is gone now, I remind myself, and Dazzle deserves to get all that she has been holding in off of her chest, to free herself from the whirlwind of emotions I put her through. So I take a deep breath, knowing I can help piece her back together, and I urge her to continue. “Go on,” I say gently. “What else were you afraid of?”
She sniffles, and at first I think she’s locking back up again, but then she eventually speaks, her tone softer now. “I used to be afraid you might have an accident at work or something. So many times I’d concoct this image of you blowing something up from a mistake, and I’d worry myself sick, completely ill. I’d be all distracted at school, unable to concentrate because I had seen you walk out with a flask you thought I hadn’t noticed. And I felt guilty that I didn’t stop you, because I knew it’d just be a fight, that you’d tell me I was overreacting.”
I push aside the shame that wants to take over in hearing her resurrect those memories. No place for shame in any of this, it does no good. Thinking of that time, those memories, it fills me with disgust. Yet it’s a welcomed disgust, I realize. Because I know just how painful that time of my life was all around, and it feels good to hear it brought back to me through her eyes, and recognize how foreign that version of myself feels now.
It’s liberating.
Desiree tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and sighs. “I was scared that I had made a huge mistake in giving us another chance. And scared that I didn’t even seem to care about your demons, because that’s how much you meant to me. That even though the man I was with wasn’t even himself most of the time—he was completely closed off and unavailable—I was still willing to sacrifice myself and my happiness because I was that desperate to be with you.” She nods her head now, voice more steady as she lifts her chin. “That’s it—that’s what I think I was scared of most of all. Feeling myself getting caught up in the agony and choosing that hurt, because it felt beautifully tragic, to the point of sacrificing myself.”
I rise to a stand, taking the tissue from her hand and wiping away the last of her tears. “But you didn’t sacrifice yourself for me, Dazzle. Remember?” I say with a small smile, brushing a strand of hair back away from her face. “You walked away when you knew there was no way to get through to me.”
“Right. And now you hate me for it. ”
“No, baby” I say, smiling sadly at her. “I love you for it. I love that you walked away, just as you should have. You chose you .”
She looks up at me, sapphire blue eyes sparkling in surprise. “What?”
I smile fully now. “You chose yourself, Dazzle, and I couldn’t be more proud of you or happy for you for doing so. Do you realize that? How much I admire that?”
“But…I thought you were mad at me for that.” She furrows her brows, confusion etched all over her face.
I slowly shake my head and pull her in for an embrace, cradling her in my arms like I’ve wanted to do for so long. I could weep with the relief of finally holding her. “Not even an ounce of me is mad. Not now, anyway. Maybe back then, but that was just misdirected anger that I really felt for myself, not you.”
Her voice is muffled in my chest. “You just said I was the enemy.”
I squeeze her a bit tighter. “I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t actually mean it, I was just egging you on, Dazzle. So that you’d allow yourself to open up and give me the lashing I deserve.”
She pulls back and slams a fist into my chest. “You jerk,” she says, smiling and wincing all at the same time. “You faked me out?”
“I did, yes.”
“But why?”
“Don’t you see?” I ask, pressing a kiss to her forehead. I can’t help myself, I have to kiss the beautiful woman before me that finally let herself do all the talking, messy as it needed to be. “I faked you out because before, I only pushed you away, never letting you get the chance to be heard. It was so wrong of me, and this right here was me making up for that. Because I’m strong enough to listen, now, do you understand?”
“I don’t even know what to say.”
“I think you said all the right things already. I hope you feel that,” I say, trying with all my might to fully convey my pride in her. “You never got mad, back then. You would always be so patient with me, even when I was nothing but a jackass.”
She arches an eyebrow. “I got mad sometimes . Give me some credit.”
I can’t help but let out a small laugh at that. “I stand corrected. You did.”
Her chest heaves in a sigh. “Maybe not often enough, though.”
“No, Dazzle. There was no getting through to me back then, no matter what you did. That’s the truth of it.”
I release her and take a step back, grabbing the back of my neck, scared that if I keep touching her, I won’t be able to stop, and I don’t want to fuck up this moment.
She lets out a heavy sigh, and watching her chest rise and fall like that is stirring up so much within me. The chemistry she and I have always had with one another. A connection that’s been there since we were kids. Call me a selfish bastard, but I want nothing more than to touch her, kiss her, do a whole lot more with her within the next forty-eight hours. Especially with all I just saw her bravely do.
Especially with her standing here in that tiny little halter top and tiny little shorts. One pull of the strings around her neck and she’d be halfway exposed to me. I admit, it’s a tempting thing to do.
Just not right now.
“Look,” I say, running a hand down my face. “I know there’s nothing I can do to erase the past, but I need you to understand that you did everything you could to help me, and I’m sorry I wasn’t ready to accept that help at the time. But none of it is your fault or because of you, okay?” I search her eyes, looking for confirmation that she hears me, that she knows deep down that’s the truth.
She nods. “Okay,” is all she says.
“It’s taken me a while to get to a place of understanding myself, and I don’t just mean in terms of time. ”
“I get it, I think. You mean it takes a while in terms of digging in deep enough. Getting to the things you needed to sort through,” she offers with understanding, and I nod.
“Yes, exactly.” And those kinds of things right there that my Dazzle can say—those are the gut punches to my soul. It’s why my need for her has always been so strong. Too strong. I wonder if I’m finally at a place where that need has been tempered to a better level. A simple want.
When we tell ourselves we need something, it’s dangerous. A want is the healthier thing, because it frees us from the desperations of grasping.
I sure hope my affections for Desiree are more at the want level, because here I am, reaching out for her once again. I run my fingers down her face, unable to pull away from the softness of her skin. “It’s always been you, Dazzle. It’s always been you that’s had my heart, do you realize that?” I search her eyes for some reaction of understanding, or that she feels the same way, but I can’t read her expression.
“Sounds plausible,” she says softly, attempting to joke but her tone betrays her. “I want to believe that,” she whispers.
“Well, then do, because it’s true.”
“Not a little lie?” The corners of her mouth lift, and I smile in return. My Dazzle, always knowing how to call my bluff.
But not this time. This time I’m all raw honesty. My chest tightens as I attempt to go all in. “I’m still in love with you, Desiree. Still completely and madly fucking in love with you,” I breathe out, like there’s a pressure valve being released and the words escape and evaporate with freedom into the air around us.
I take my chance. I lean forward to kiss her, not giving a shit if it’s wrong. I lace my fingers through her hair, cradling her head while my mouth presses into hers, and when she parts her lips for me, I’m greedy as I slip my tongue in to taste what I still think of as mine. This woman, standing before me, once again trusting as she lets me in .
I refuse to let her down this time.
We kiss for a glorious few moments before I feel her hands on my stomach, pushing me. I back off and step away, cursing that I went too far and have now upset her. My eyes are closed, because I don’t think I can stand to see regret or hurt on her face.
Her voice forces my eyes to open. “Taven,” she says, voice shaky and I look to see her hand covering her mouth, the other on her stomach.
“I’m sorry,” I say, weak as the expression is. She’s heard enough weightless apologies from me. “I shouldn’t have kissed you.”
“No,” she says, but her frown has returned. “It’s not that, I’ve wanted to kiss you for longer than I should really admit, it’s just, I don’t feel…”
“What is it, what’s wrong?” I ask.
She runs away from me, and I dart after her as she races past the fireplace and down the hall. She presses open the door to my office, me on her heels, then turns and crashes into me.
“Bathroom,” she huffs out. “I’m going to be sick, where’s the bathroom?”
I grab her hand to guide her to the powder room, just one door over, but it’s too late. A groan escapes her, and she keels over, lifting her pathetic excuse for a shirt and spewing vomit into it, but it seeps through the woven fabric and onto her legs, her sandaled feet, and my floor. I rush to guide her into the powder room and watch as she hovers above the toilet. I pull her hair back and rub up and down her spine as she empties her stomach in violent heaves before finally slinking herself down to the floor.
I crouch down in front of her. “More?” I ask.
“I’m not sure yet. Just give me a minute.” She turns her body, face hovering above the bowl.
I wait a few moments, then eventually flush away the contents and leave her, jogging into the kitchen and grabbing a glass from the cabinet. I fill it with water and head back to her, water sloshing as I go. When I hand her the glass she gingerly sips, then swishes and spits out into the toilet.
She puts the glass down on the floor beside her and leans over, hand walling off the side of her face. “This is the second time this week I’ve been sick,” she says, and my heart pinches at whether or not she’s trying to tell me she’s pregnant.
I know I’m an asshole when I’m praying that’s not the case. Not that it would be a deal breaker for me, but because that meant some other prick had gotten to do what I have fantasized about doing on more than one occasion. Fill my Dazzle with my seed. Watch her belly beautifully bloom with our child.
But no, wait. She had been drinking tonight, I had smelled the sweetness on her breath.
And the doctor said nausea and vomiting might happen. This could be an expected reaction to the lightning strike, right? Maybe I should call him.
I distract myself and open the cabinet beneath the sink to pull out paper towels and a spray bottle of Lysol. I step out to the hallway to clean up the small mess on the floor, then step back into the bathroom, heart pulling at the sight of her feeling ill. I wish I could take it all away.
I quickly wash my hands, and when she finally looks up, eyes tear-filled and swollen, I step closer to her, placing the back of my hand to her forehead.
She smiles at me weakly. I’m scared she’s delusional and I need to call the doctor. “I’m not feverish,” she says.
“You sure?”
“Yes, dummy. Just nauseous. And being exhausted probably isn’t helping,” she explains, and I breathe a sigh of cautious relief.
“You’re a hundred percent positive that’s all? And that it’s normal?”
She nods. “Yes. It needed to happen, I feel better, actually.” Her eyes dart behind me, out to the hallway. “I’m sorry about the mess. ”
“Please. You’ve cleaned up my vomit an embarrassing number of times before,” I say. My tone is light, but the guilt behind it is loud in my head.
She shrugs a shoulder. “Payback.”