Chapter 20 Serena
Ishouldn’t do this.
I should turn my car around and drive straight home.
Forget about Bates.
Forget about the valentines and the mask.
And the feelings …
Forgetting will be easier than facing it head-on. I can go home, block him, find the cameras, and rid my life of every trace of Bates Finnegan.
Anxiety builds in my chest at the thought because, deep down, I know that’s not what I want. But confessing what I do want is far scarier than being a coward and running away.
I’m standing on the precipice of continuing our relationship or ending it. I know that if I get out of this car, walk up the sidewalk to his front door, and knock, he’s never letting me go.
He chose to hold this conversation at his place. He could’ve suggested mine, but he didn’t, and I know why. He wants me to be sure that if I show up, I know the choice I’m making. There’s no going back if I walk through those doors.
Maybe I’m delusional, falling for the illusion of choice when there really isn’t one in the end.
Maybe he never planned on letting me go.
Maybe I never wanted him to.
I exhale loudly, the sigh bouncing off my driver’s window and windshield. I fight the emotions bubbling up inside of me, and I don’t quite understand why.
My phone vibrates, and I see my dad’s name flash on my car’s display screen, and it suddenly hits me. The reason I’ve been struggling to accept the way I feel about My Masked Valentine, about Bates.
What if … what if something happens?
What if Bates is my damn soulmate and something tragic rips him away from me, like the universe did with my mom and dad?
My dad has never recovered. Never moved on. He claims he’s happy. But I know he struggles with loneliness from time to time. I can’t imagine what it would be like to find your person, start a family, and then everything changes when your partner is torn away from you.
Agony, unlike anything else in the world lives within him, and he hides it behind stoic coaching, soft smiles, and a hard exterior. Only I get to see the softness beneath the face he presents to the world.
I wonder if he’s always been that way or if he became that version of himself to survive after losing my mom.
Heaviness weighs down on my chest, a strange sensation that I’ve never understood completely. I have an urge, a need to talk with someone I’ve never met—well, at least, someone I don’t remember.
Movies, shows, and books all depict a mom as being this safe space for a child to turn to.
To get hugs, support, words of advice or encouragement.
To guide their child in the right direction, helping them understand the difference between the wants of their heart compared to their mind.
To support them no matter what path they take.
I’ve never felt her absence so deeply until this moment as my mind races uncontrollably, filling me with unknown grief.
I could use a mom right now.
I miss her, even if I don’t know what that means.
I miss the moments we never got and the ones we’ll never get to share.
I’ve always convinced myself that I didn’t want a big wedding, a big show of dramatics, but that was also because I was in denial about sadness I wasn’t ready to face and I had never met someone who I pictured all of that with, until Bates.
She won’t be there to help me pick out my dress or help me get ready on the day of. She won’t be there in all the moments where mothers are meant to be.
I know that’s okay. I know tons of people don’t have a mom, and they do just fine. But in this second, I wish I had someone to rub my shoulders and tell me it’s all going to be okay because the truth is … I’m absolutely terrified.
I’m not scared of Bates; I’m scared of what I feel for him. Of how intense and absolutely soul-consuming it all is.
My dad always said that when he met my mom in high school, he just knew, then and there, as if love were that easy. But in a way, I understand it.
The first night I met Bates last year, I was drawn to him immediately, like there was some invisible string between us, constantly pulling us toward one another. My denial morphed into hatred and anger because I was fighting the attraction every step of the way.
Instead, I focused my attention on My Masked Valentine and fell for someone I didn’t know, which made the way I felt toward Bates even more confusing.
But they’re one and the same, both sides of the same coin, and I think my soul recognized it, even if I didn’t realize it until now.
Which is why—as I wrap my hand around the handle on my car door, push it open, and step outside—I know I’m making the right decision.
It might not work out; it might end in disastrous flames. But that doesn’t mean that trying still isn’t the right choice.
The cold winter air greets me, and I wrap myself tighter in my thick coat as I quickly stride up the walkway toward his front door.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I ring the doorbell and step back, my heart hammering in my chest.
The door opens almost immediately.
Bates stands in the entrance, wearing that cream sweater he wore that day to Bound-to-Be when he pretended to have interest in becoming a client.
The knit hits just at his waistline, and every shift of his arms tugs it up enough to show the band of his boxers and a sliver of his lower abs, which drives me insane.
No man should look that damn good in an almost-cropped cream knit sweater.
His scent floods my system as the warm air from inside envelops me.
My eyes flutter shut as I breathe him in as deeply as my lungs can manage. It’s going to be impossible to be in his place, saturated in his aroma, and hold on to my willpower, all at the same time.
Nervously, he rubs the back of his neck and hair with his hand, his sweater lifting four inches up his torso, exposing even more of his toned body.
My mouth waters at the sight.
Hold it together.
“I was getting worried”—he smirks, trying to play it cool, but I’m sure he was sweating as badly as I was—“that you wouldn’t even get out of the car.”
He’s different right now than I’ve ever seen him. No sarcastic quips. No aura of arrogance encapsulating him. No sexual comments.
It’s almost eerie.
But I’ve come to learn that there isn’t one side to him. He has many layers, and I hold each one dear to my heart. I have fun discovering new facets that make him, him.
The vulnerable version who no one else sees? This one may be one of my new favorites. Along with the one who hides in my closet with a knife—we can’t forget about him.
“Me too,” I respond honestly, feeling my nerves rise in my throat.
“Come in?” His features soften, his voice so gentle that it throws me off. “Please.”
Nodding, I suck in a breath and lift my heeled boot, stepping through the threshold of Bates’s home and into unknown territory.
Awkward silence surrounds us as the door clicks shut at my back. He walks around me, stopping a few feet in front of me, his eyes glued to mine.
But I glance away, taking in his space for the first time.
The place looked big from the outside, but dear God, the inside … is gorgeous and massive, way too much house for a single person.
My eyes wander hungrily, and I’m pleasantly surprised by the touches of warmth and liveliness in the decor. It’s not as dreadful as I expected.
Pops of color, fake plants, and art bring the space to life. He even has throw pillows on the couch, displayed with a chop indent atop each one.
“Your place is beautiful,” I murmur as he slips my coat from my shoulders and hangs it on his coat rack, along with my purse.
He chuckles nervously. “Thanks. I put a lot of thought into it.” He sucks in a quick breath, and it catches in his throat, like he was going to say something but thought better of it.
Talking about home decor in such a casual way with him … everything about this interaction thus far is throwing me off. I think it might be easier for us to talk if he pulls out his knife and puts on his mask.
“I—”
“We—sorry.”
We interrupt each other and stop, smiling timidly.
How is this the conversation that’s hard for us to have? I mean, for God’s sake, I’ve confessed my darkest fantasies to this man, but we’re struggling talking about our feelings.
His usually hard exterior is soft, the harshness I’m used to nowhere to be found. Sucking my bottom lip between my teeth, I contemplate a thousand things to say, not one of them forming on the tip of my tongue.
He watches with intention, his gaze searching mine desperately. He’s waiting for me to make the first move, letting me lead the conversation how I see fit.
Taking a slow, steady breath, I open my lips and let the truth come out. “You knew my rules, and you didn’t care.”
I can practically see the word but in the shape of his mouth. He stays silent.
“Instead, you went around every boundary I had set, infiltrating my life when I never would’ve let you if I’d known who you really were.
” I take a shaky breath. “You don’t care about the rules.
I know. I can tell. But I did. Kerrigan may be my best friend, but my dad is one of the most important people in my life.
Going behind his back like this was never something I wanted to do.
You put me in a position where I had no choice. ”
This time, his lips part to speak, but I cut him off, feeling the flood that has been building up inside of me finally break free.
“I’m still not entirely sure that this isn’t some game. That your buddies aren’t hiding in another room, listening in and laughing at me.” I glance around at the thought before continuing, “I want to trust you and believe you, but it’s hard.”
I don’t even realize that I never met his stare again until I search for it, finding wetness welling up in his pained blue eyes. My heart pangs at the sight.