Chapter Fifteen
Truett
F ive things I could see: Gwen’s lashes batting over concerned eyes; Gwen’s lips as she whispered to me; Gwen’s braids curling over her shoulder; the curve of Gwen’s neck, tense and strained; Gwen’s flushed cheeks, burning with urgency.
Four things I could touch: Gwen’s hands, clutching me desperately; Gwen’s cheeks, pink and perfect; Gwen’s chest rising and falling with rapid breaths; Gwen’s legs, tangled with mine.
Three things I could hear: Gwen’s voice, frantic and soothing all at once; Gwen’s breath, quick and shallow in my ear; the sound of Gwen’s hand gliding over my hair.
Two things I could smell: Gwen’s perfume, a faint hint of lavender and something uniquely her; Gwen’s sweat, a tangible mix of fear and adrenaline.
One thing I could taste: Dear God, how I wanted to taste her.
As my mind cleared and my heart slowed, she filled my every sense, grounding me in a way I’d never been able to master on my own. That calm— her calm —was like a lifeline, wrenching me from the dark, tumultuous waters flooding my mind.
“We’re safe, True,” she repeated, and even as the flashing continued from outside, I believed her. Mind, body, and soul. Because, fuck me, I’d always been safe with her, even if I hadn’t been able to offer her the same.
“It’s Taggart?” I asked, trying to make sense of the situation.
“Yeah. He’s out there taking pictures.”
“Of us?”
“I guess.”
How was it humanly possible for that piece of shit to be an even bigger asshole than he already was? He’d been a nuisance before, but this was something different altogether. I’d called my attorney after his last surprise visit, and he’d sent a letter to Flat Line Productions warning them of our intent to take legal action should the harassment not stop. Either Folly had gone rogue or Flat Line felt like hemorrhaging money in a messy lawsuit.
Flat Line was a successful production company with countless awards and a reputation to uphold, so I was banking on the former. Though the speed in which Folly was changing tactics—from phone calls and emails to stalking and picture taking—was starting to unnerve me.
Desperate men made desperate decisions.
Now that he’d dragged Gwen into his circus, the concern of what he’d try next made my vision flash red.
It had to end, and if it meant keeping her safe, I was all too happy to be the man to do it.
Pulling her up with me, I surged to my feet. “I’m gonna kill him.”
“Truett, no,” she hissed, still clinging to my front.
Soaking in one last moment of her warmth, I hesitated for a beat, and in that brief amount of time, his camera flickered like a strobe light.
Oh, yeah, Folly was long overdue for a lesson on boundaries.
With one arm around her hips, I lifted her off her feet and turned, setting her out of my path. “Stay here and don’t come outside no matter what. Do you hear me?”
She hurried in front of me, her palm landing in the middle of my chest. “You can’t go out there.”
I laughed without humor. “You wanna bet?”
“No, True. You can’t. He’s trying to bait you.”
I cracked my neck, my hands clenched tight at my sides. “Well, then consider me caught. Hook, line, and sinker.”
“Please, just think about this for a second. Yes, he’s a dick. We know that. But we can handle this in a way that doesn’t involve you getting arrested and me having to figure out how to bake a file into a cake.” She waved her free hand out to the side. “I mean, look at this place. I don’t have time for a side quest right now.”
As mad as I was, my lips hitched. Jesus, she was ridiculous—and gorgeous, and sexy, and… everything . “A side quest?” I teased.
She nodded, not a lick of humor showing on her face.
Dammit, she was serious. That was cute too. “A side quest where you’ll learn to bake a file into a cake?”
She shrugged. “I’m not sure if that’s still a thing in prison, but maybe you can use it to pick a lock or something?”
“What, so I’m MacGyver now?”
“If you don’t commit a murder in front of my restaurant, you can be whoever you want.”
Your man again? I managed to keep that little kick in the pants to myself, but I was far from convinced that Taggart Folly deserved to keep the heartbeat in his chest.
“This is insanity, Gwen. Tracking you down and asking for a statement was one thing. I didn’t like it. But that was his right. Just like it was your right to say no. But this…” I swung my arm out and pointed at the front windows, his flash going off again as if I’d summoned it. “Taking pictures of you? This is too damn much.”
Her gaze cut to the side. “I agree, but I don’t necessarily think it’s me he’s taking pictures of.” Apology filled her beautiful face when she looked back up at me. “I hate to say this, but without you, I’m nothing but part of the supporting cast for him. He needs you and he’s going to stoop to whatever level necessary. Drama sells, True. It doesn’t matter to him if he gets footage of you spiraling out of control like a madman or sitting down on a couch, having a civil discussion.”
My whole body locked up tight. “Are you saying I should cooperate with this prick?”
“Hell no!” Her fingertips curled against my chest. Her palm was no longer a blockade to stop me, but a tether holding me close. “But that’s exactly what you’d be doing if you go out there right now. He’s on public property and can take whatever pictures he wants no matter how invasive we think they are. Technically , he’s not doing anything wrong.”
“Bullshit. What he’s doing is wrong in every way. He may not be breaking any laws, but if he’s going to pull a stunt like this, he better be ready for me to break a few.”
“That’s what he wants though. We have to ignore him. Even just telling him to fuck off gives him soundbites to use. You losing your cool is not going to solve anything.”
“It would sure as hell make me feel better though.”
She sighed. “Yeah, it would make me feel better too, but that would only be temporary, and whatever he gets on you will be forever. He wants a piece of you, but he can’t take it unless you give it to him. Don’t give him this.” Her hand slid up my chest, and when she spoke, it was the sound of my every nightmare—and my sweetest dream. “Please, True.”
Her calm iced the rage in my veins. It felt like an out-of-body experience as I stared down at her. Gwen. My Gwen. Her hand on my chest, standing in front of me, my name tumbling from her mouth as if it had been created for no other purpose.
Thousands of days had divided us. Hell, we’d spent more time apart than we ever had together. But in that restaurant with her, it was as if time had collapsed in on itself, seamlessly connecting the past to the present.
God, I’d missed her.
Resting my hands in the curve of her hips, I pulled her toward me. It was only an inch, but my body roared for the whole mile. It didn’t help matters that her eyes heated as they flicked to my mouth. And worse, she arched her back, brushing her full breasts across my chest.
I was not strong enough for that kind of temptation. Or honestly, smart enough, either, because I wasn’t positive the temptation went both ways. When it came to the fine art of reading a woman’s body language, I was grossly out of practice. For all I knew, the heat in her eyes was a burning desire to slap the shit out of me and the arch of her back was a wince of pain from when I’d tackled her out of the booth.
Jesus, how was my dumb ass considering making a move after that giant cyclone of fuckery?
I forced myself to release her. “You’re right. I won’t kill him.”
The joy I felt as her eyes dimmed when I stepped away would have landed me the role as CEO at Asshole International.
I fucking loved that she felt it too. Whatever it was between us, the pull, the need, the desire. It was still there. And with that knowledge, my smile was so big I was going to have to ice my face when I got home.
Misinterpreting my grin for mischief, she shot me a scowl and added, “You also can’t punch him, or kick him, or egg his car, or—”
“Hey! I have never egged anyone’s car, thank you very much.”
She arched a scolding eyebrow. “Or shoot a potato through his window, or put a snake in his toilet, or put Nair in his shampoo, or duct tape his boots to the ceiling right before an inspection, or sneak laxatives into his coffee, or—”
“Okay, okay!” I lifted my hands in surrender. “Do you forget anything?”
“Not after as many times as I listened to you and Nathanial repeat the same stories over and over again.”
Nathanial.
Nutz.
Fuck.
Another flash came from outside, the light punctuated by the sound of Gwen’s palm slapping over her mouth. “Oh my God,” she mumbled from behind her hand before lowering it. “I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I know you don’t like to talk about him—or any of them.”
I didn’t.
I couldn’t.
Especially in the beginning when I’d still raked myself over the red-hot coals with my every breath. However, therapists were relentless and eventually forced me into discussions. Nothing pissed me off more than the old convo starter of, “Tell me about the men you lost.”
I didn’t just lose men .
I lost my best friends .
I lost my family .
And then I lost myself .
It had taken years for me to see past my grief. I didn’t get over it, or forget, or even learn to live with it properly. I simply put a plan into action to control it so I didn’t drown in the sea of self-loathing. Once a week. One hour. Total earth-shattering despair. And currently, I was even failing with that.
So as I stood there, his name hanging like a million arrows frozen in the sky, apologies pouring from her mouth, I braced for the avalanche of pain.
But there was nothing.
No dagger lodged in my heart.
No bile clawing up my throat.
I wasn’t transported to hell at all.
That was until I saw the first tear roll down her cheek. Now that fucking gutted me.
“No,” I whispered, rushing forward to drag her into a hug. “Don’t cry.”
She came willingly, wrapping her arms around my waist, her fingers gripping the back of my shirt. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have brought him up.”
Jesus, how the hell was she apologizing to me ?
I cupped my hands around the sides of her neck, and gently tipped her head back. “Gwen, baby. You never have to apologize to me for talking about him. For fuck’s sake, I should be the one apologizing.”
“I know you don’t talk about them. It just kinda slipped out.”
Using my thumbs, I wiped the salty streaks from her cheeks and offered her a sad smile. “No. I don’t talk about them a lot, but that shouldn’t stop you. He was your brother. You didn’t fail him. I did.”
“Don’t say that.” She shifted, shaking my hands off her neck, but it wasn’t for space. She got closer, her breasts pillowing between us as I wrapped my arms around her midsection.
With her whole body flush with mine, everything inside me relaxed, my mind slipping into a peace and security I’d never been able to give her after my deployment. Knowing I’d gone to war with her brother and had to look her in the eye, break her heart, and acknowledge that I was the reason he didn’t make it home was more than I could bear.
Failing my guys was the heaviest burden I could have imagined at that time, but I couldn’t even escape the guilt at home. I’d listened to her cry, night after night, her tears slicing through me like a hurricane of razor blades. Her kindness rather than hatred burned like alcohol dousing my gaping wounds.
So I’d shut down. Unable to escape the past, impossible to function with her in the present.
And still, when she’d think I was sleeping, she’d curl up behind me, taking the comfort I couldn’t provide her. I fucking hated that, in those moments, I found overwhelming comfort too. One I would never deserve. At least not from her.
It got to the point that I’d felt wrong for being as grief stricken. Nutz and I had been thick as thieves, but she’d lost her only sibling. If she wanted to scream his name from the rooftop, she sure as hell shouldn’t be apologizing to me about it.
Nathanial Pierce, AKA Nutz, loved his baby sister and would have kicked my ass up and down the East Coast for making her cry. He had been as protective as big brothers came. I’d feared he was going to rush the altar when Gwen and I had gotten married.
When someone finally managed to unlock the secrets of time travel, that would be the exact day and time I would program into my DeLorean. Gwen in a white sundress, a daisy in her hair. Me in a pair of khaki pants and a white linen shirt I’d found at Goodwill, more love than I knew possible filling my heart. The two of us standing under a makeshift arch I’d built from scraps of two-by-fours covered in flowers from her grandma’s garden. Our immediate families seated in folding chairs in her parents’ backyard, looking on with a mixture of concern and resigned disapproval.
But it was by far the happiest day of my life because it marked the beginning of our life— together —and everything that I na?vely thought would come with it.
My life started that day when I slid my ring on her finger.
And years later, when she dropped that same ring at my feet, my life ended.
The sweet and the sour.
The beginning and the end.
Happiness only truly existed in the space in between.
“Hey,” she whispered, dragging me back to the present. “Maybe that’s enough talking for today.”
I forced a smile, but it couldn’t have looked any more real than it felt. “Yeah.”
“We should go anyway. We’re sitting ducks in here. I bet he has enough pictures to make a special edition flipbook to go with his stupid documentary.”
I swallowed hard to clear my throat. “I’ll reach out to my attorney again and see what we can do to stop him from coming back.”
“All right. Let me just clean up really quick and I’ll drive you home so you don’t have to walk back with him out there.”
“That’d be great.”
My body screamed when she backed away, but in my life, letting Gwen slip from my fingers was a necessary evil, so I had no choice but to let her go.
As she swirled around the room, unplugging things and turning off lights, I cleaned up the tools on the floor. I glanced up in time to see her toss the club sandwich into the trash.
I never ate them. Hundreds of club sandwiches had met their demise because of me.
But that one? Gwen had made it for me.
And like everything else we’d shared, it would forever be nothing but a memory.