Chapter Fifteen
Chase
Ihad a date with Annabelle. Finally.
Except it wasn't really a date. Did that count as progress?
I'd take what I could get. Obviously.
I'd never put this kind of time into wooing a woman. I hadn't needed to.
In high school, I was the dangerous rebel type. Not really, not on the inside, but on the outside the girls ate that shit up.
I never had a girlfriend. None of the girls in my private school were willing to risk their parents’ wrath if they brought me home. Since I wasn't angling to sit at the table for Sunday dinner that worked out fine for me.
In college, and after, all my energy went into my projects. There were women here and there, but no one serious.
I'd never met a woman who made my soul go still, just so I could soak in everything she was. I'd never met a woman I simply wanted to be near.
To hear her voice.
To see her smile.
Annabelle drew me in. Her honesty. Her boundless energy. She had a light inside her, and I only wanted to bask in her warmth.
Okay, no. I didn't only want to be near her.
I wanted her naked.
Wanted her in bed, wanted my hands, my mouth, all over her until all that limitless energy was focused on me and me alone.
Did that make me a selfish bastard like her ex? No. No, I refused to think that might be true. I wanted Annabelle for herself. I wanted Annabelle to have her dreams, wanted to help her make them come true.
I didn't want to take from her any more than she would take from me. I wasn't her ex, but I was starting to wonder how long it would take her to see that.
I cranked up the speed on the treadmill in the workout room at Winters House, going fast enough that I couldn't think about much more than the burn in my legs and a desperate need for oxygen—one of the side benefits I’d discovered in exercise.
I started to stay in shape because I liked my brownies, but exercise was one of the few things that quieted my racing mind. Sex worked, too, but that wasn't always an option. With Annabelle firmly warding me off, exercise was it.
I ran until my legs felt like jelly and I was soaked with sweat. The house was quiet as I wobbled my way upstairs. Violet was in Athens for a long day of classes. Aiden and Gage were already at the office. Sophie and Amelia had left early for an appointment on the other side of town.
In the stillness of the mostly empty house, the murmur of voices from the kitchen hit my ear like a shout. I caught the sound just before I pushed open the door and froze, my fingertips pressing against the wood.
Abel and Mrs. W.
I let out an inaudible sigh and dropped my hand to my side. I could go back down the stairs, traverse the hall of the lower level and come up the secret staircase into the library, but by the time I did that, Abel and Mrs. W might be done talking.
I didn't want to eavesdrop, but I'd wait a minute, maybe two, before I gave up and tried a different way.
I couldn't hear exactly what they were saying, only snatches of words and the tone of their voices.
Abel's was drawn tight, frustrated. Almost angry. He spat out, "Helen, tell me what to do. Tell me what you need, and I'll give it to you."
They could have been my words, my thoughts for Annabelle, and the love in them made my chest ache.
Mrs. W replied, her voice low and indecipherable through the heavy wooden door. I couldn't make out what she said, but her anguish came through loud and clear.
The kitchen went silent, and I stood there wondering if they'd left or if they were doing something other than talking. Breath held, I waited, and jerked back, startled, as heavy footsteps stomped past the door and down the hall.
Abel, clearly not happy with the result of their conversation.
I knew how he felt.
Slowly, I pushed open the door to the kitchen to find Mrs. W leaning over the sink, brushing beneath her eyes with her index fingers, drawing in a little hitching breath.
She was crying. The indomitable Mrs. W was crying.
I needed Sophie. Or Violet. Both of them were close to Mrs. W. They'd know exactly what to say.
I had no fucking clue. I barely knew her, but I knew enough to understand that she'd hate for me to see her in a moment of weakness. I turned my back on her and opened the refrigerator, giving her another moment to compose herself.
From the corner of my eye, I watched her banish her emotions, a mask of cool, professional competence descending over her face.
"I didn't see you there, Chase. Can I get you something for breakfast? Abel—" Her voice cracked, and she broke off, sucking in a breath of alarm at the way her pain had spilled over, washing away her facade of control.
Letting the door swing shut, I turned to face her. "Sorry, I didn't mean to eavesdrop. I didn't really hear anything, but I know you and Abel were having an argument."
"Well, I apologize. We should keep our personal business—"
"Don't apologize," I said. "There's nothing to apologize for."
"It's not appropriate to discuss personal matters in the house. Now, can I get you anything?"
"I'm good. I'm going to make a protein shake."
I hesitated, knowing I was about to be incredibly rude. But I had to know.
"Look, this is not my business, and if you want to tell me to go to hell, feel free. But I need to know. Why won’t you marry him?"
"You're right," Mrs. W said stiffly, "it isn't any of your business."
I shifted uncomfortably. "It's just that I know how he feels. Annabelle—" I stared at my feet. I didn't need to say more than that. Mrs. W had known Annabelle since she was a little girl
Letting out a long breath, Mrs. W's shoulders slumped forward the tiniest bit. She shook her head at the floor before she gave another sigh and said, "Would you like a cup of coffee?"
"I'd love one, thanks." I settled back to lean against the counter and waited, watching as she pulled mugs from the cabinet and doctored my coffee exactly the way I liked it.
Mrs. W knew all about the denizens of Winters House, even the temporary ones like myself. I kept my mouth shut and gave her time to pull her thoughts together.
Handing me the heavy stoneware mug, she said almost conversationally, "You know, I came to Winters House when I was only twenty.
I was engaged. He was in the Army. He wasn't career.
He wanted to go to college and we didn't have the money.
It seemed like the best plan. He'd serve his country, go to school, and when he got out we'd be married. I only planned to be here a few years."
"What happened?" I asked, knowing that whatever it was, it had been life-changing. Catastrophic. All these years later, and Helen Williamson still had not recovered.
She drew in a deep, slow breath to steady herself.
"He died when I was twenty-two. We’d been married for only a few weeks.
I wanted to be a June bride, so we went ahead with the wedding, even though he wasn’t out yet.
He was in a jeep accident on base. An everyday errand.
He wasn't in combat. He wasn't doing anything dangerous.
The tire blew on a soft shoulder and flipped his jeep into a ditch. It never should have happened.
"I came to this house a young woman with a ring on my finger, expecting to stay only until I became a bride. Instead, I never left."
Mrs. W paused, staring down into her coffee mug. After a short breath, she put it on the counter and busied herself arranging squares of shortbread on a small, round plate.
Her fingers lingered over the cookies, giving the coarse grains of sugar on top a caress. Shortbread was a Winters family tradition, but I'd learned from Violet, who'd learned from Sophie, that Abel didn't make the treat for the family.
He made the shortbread for Mrs. W because it was her favorite.
Neither of them were openly demonstrative people, but these cookies were his love letter to her, an everyday way to show her she was in his thoughts. In his heart.
Her dark eyes stared at them with remorse before she pushed the plate toward me. Remorse for their fight? Or remorse because she wouldn't marry him?
If Mrs. W’s story was any example, I was in big trouble. Thirty years later, and she was still afraid to risk her heart. Annabelle's scars were only a few years old. What chance did I have?
"Is it the memories?" I asked. "Is it that you can't love someone else the way you loved him?"
Mrs. W let out a sad laugh. "No. I loved Peter. I loved him with everything I had. We would have had a good life together, but he’s been gone a long time, and I'm not that girl anymore."
"Then what's holding you back?"
Mrs. W picked up a piece of shortbread and held it to her lips, inhaling the buttery, sweet scent. She bit into one corner thoughtfully.
"I'm afraid of change. When I say it like that I sound like such a coward. I buried my grief for Peter in this family. All the love I had for him, I gave to these children. To their parents. I don't regret a moment of it.
"My grief might have drowned me, but Jacob had just been born and Olivia had her hands full. She needed me. They all needed me. I found a family when I'd lost the one I wanted. The Winters were a blessing."
"They see you the same way," I said crunching into my own piece of shortbread. "That doesn’t mean they don’t want you to have a life."
"I know that," she said shortly, glaring down into her coffee. "I’m old and set in my ways. All I’ve done is here. This is all I know how to be. I don’t know how to be a wife.
What if I can’t put him first? What if I’m too old to change and I ruin it?
Abel is—" She cut off, her eyes going soft and a blush rising to her cheeks.
"Abel is in love with you," I said quietly, knowing I spoke the truth. I’d heard it in his voice. His love and his anguish that he might not win the woman he needed more than life.
"He says he is, but he’s lived so much more than I have. He’s traveled all over the world. What if he gets bored with me? What if it doesn’t work and he leaves and the household is disrupted—"