Chapter Eighteen
Eighteen
Lane
I wipe condensation from the mirror, a fluffy white towel wrapped around my damp body, and wince when I catch my reflection. My eyes are puffy and red-rimmed. Steam swirls around me, cocooning me in warmth. My damp hair sticking to my neck, still heavy from the shower I used as an excuse to cry.
My fingers dig into the edge of the vanity, as I take a steading breath. There is video proof of what Luke did. Chip thankfully won’t go to the cops, opting to use other methods. But Luke won’t ever come to the bar again.
I refuse to give him any more of my tears.
I also refuse to cry over Jameson.
I just wanted him to leave. I needed to process everything that had happened on my own. Then he dropped a bombshell; his father, the abuse, his mom.
I know I was cold, throwing him out after he opened up to me. I was caught in fight or flight mode.
I tell myself it's for the best. Hurting him makes my heart ache but he deserves someone who can be honest with him. Not someone who only tells half truths.
A sharp knock rattles the front door, echoing through the quiet house. I jump, breath catching in my throat.
I blow out a shaky breath. Get it together.
Jameson probably called Kam after he left, asking her to keep an eye on me. That’s just the type of perfect guy he is.
Grabbing the first t-shirt and pair of shorts my hands touch, I throw them on and pad toward the front door, the hardwood cool beneath my bare feet.
I yanked the door open, my wet hair already soaking through the back of my shirt. “I’m fine, Kam. You didn’t need to rush—” My voice trails, eyes landing on a beautiful bouquet of brightly colored wildflowers.
Jameson.
A young man, in a dark blue uniform, looks around the flowers, his lips tipping up in a warm smile that matches the sunlight spilling around him. “Good morning, ma’am. I have some flowers for Lane Maddox.”
“That’s me.” I thank him and quickly retreat inside before he can see the guilty tears threatening to spill.
The flowers sit on the counter, their scent, sweet and floral, mixes with the stale smell of coffee grounds.
I lean against the counter, the cool edge digging into my palms as I watch the dark liquid drip into the pot. My head feels foggy, the air in the kitchen too still. I pour a mug, fix it the way I like, and turn to stare at the flowers.
Jameson isn’t going to make letting him go easy, but it’s the right thing to do. For both of us. You can’t build a relationship, when one of you is hiding a dark secret, and I’m not willing to reveal mine. I can’t. It could very well cost me my life if I did.
Killing Byron was my only option. He wasn’t going to let me leave. There isn’t a doubt in my mind that he was going to kill me that night. But that doesn’t mean everyone would see it that way, that the police would see it that way. Especially with the donations they receive from Byron’s family.
The front door opens, and Kam’s voice floats in. “Lane?” she calls cautiously.
So he did call her after all. I inwardly groan. It would be great if he weren’t so damn perfect.
“In the kitchen,” I call back, setting my coffee cup on the counter behind me, bracing for the hurricane that is my best friend.
She flies into the kitchen, straight for me, arms wrapping around me tightly. I hold onto her, sinking into her comfort.
I really am okay. Mostly.
Yes, Luke rattled me, but I’m not the same scared woman I was. I was fighting back, and I knew Jameson was on his way.
Jameson.
A few tears fall, landing on Kam’s sweatshirt. I promised myself I wouldn’t cry over him but I can’t hold back the tears. The pain of losing him sits heavy in my chest.
Kam pulls back, her eyes racking over my face. “Are you okay? Jameson called me.”
“Yes and no.” I pull away from her embrace, wiping at the tears. Grabbing my coffee off the counter, I walk around the island, sliding onto one of the stools.
I lean my elbows against the counter, coffee cup tucked between my palms, the warmth doing nothing to warm the cold void I feel inside. Kam eyes me cautiously as she grabs a cup from the cabinet and pours her own coffee.
She says nothing until she slips onto the stool beside me, mirroring my posture. “How do you seem fine right now? Jameson said you were sobbing last night, and you kicked him out this morning.”
I shrug, my voice coming out drained and defeated. “I’ve been through worse, and I made it out.” I take a sip of my coffee, and blow out a breath. “Luke was just being a drunk asshole. I would have fought him off, or someone would have come in. Besides, I knew Jameson was on his way."
“Plus, I know he won’t bothers me again after Chip is through with him. Maybe I should be more upset than I am about what he did, but I’m okay. It’s not the same to me. Luke won’t get away with what he did. He has Chip to deal with on top of the beating Jameson gave him.”
“If you are okay, then why isn’t Jameson here? Why did you kick him out?”
I stare down at my coffee, thumb slowly tracing over the rim. “He somehow knows something happened in my past. That I was abused.”
Kam sets her cup down, with a soft clink, turning to look at me fully. “Why are you so afraid of him knowing?” Her voice softens. “He’s not your ex, Lane. Don’t let your past ruin your chance at something really great. You deserve to be happy.”
I nod my head, a single tear sliding down my face as her words settle into my soul, leaving me more unsure than ever.
Kam spends the day with me on the couch, watching our favorite rom-coms, surrounded by empty candy wrappers and takeout containers.
She doesn’t bring up Jameson again or what happened with Luke.
She doesn’t try to ‘fix it’. Instead, she’s just there, solid and steady.
And sometimes that’s exactly what you need.
After Kam leaves, I crawl into bed, the same bed Jameson held me in just this morning. His scent still lingers on the sheets, masculine and all him. He deserves better than how I treated him, but I also need time to work through my feelings on my own.
I grip my phone in my shaky hands, thumbs hovering over the screen. Straightening my shoulders I type a message I should have sent hours ago.
Lane
I’m sorry I acted the way I did. I just need some time.
His response comes through immediately, almost as if he’s been sitting with his phone in his hand, waiting to hear from me. My heart squeezes.
Jameson
I’m not going anywhere, Wildflower.
Seconds later another text comes through.
Jameson
Don’t talk to Chip about the incident at the bar. It’s taken care of.
His words should send fear skating up my spine but instead they bring relief.
The next morning, I wake up to a knock on the door and another beautiful bouquet of wildflowers. And the next day. And the day after that. This continues for two weeks.
Around day six, a “Good Morning” text started accompanying the flower. I haven’t responded. I’m not ready.
The Monday following the incident with Luke, he was found dead in his truck.
Carbon Monoxide poisoning. It was ruled an accident; he passed out drunk in his truck while it was still running.
The garage door was shut, trapping him with the invisible vapors.
His blood alcohol level was double the legal limit.
Deep down I know Jameson is responsible, but I can't find it in me to feel bad that he’s dead. Or that Jameson is the one who killed him. He violated me and hurt me. Now he will never hurt anyone again.
The front door squeaks open, and I hear Kam’s peppy footsteps against the hardwood as she makes her way through my house. “When are you going to put the poor man out of his misery and call him?” she asks, stepping into the kitchen.
My chest squeezes as my eyes follow hers as they sweep across the room. Vases of brightly colored flowers sit on every available surface, their floral smell hanging heavy in the air.
I’ve opened our chat thread a few dozen times in the past two weeks. Hell, I've even typed out come over more than once, before quickly erasing it and walking away from my phone.
Kam sets her oversized bag on the island with a soft thunk, and braces her hands on the smooth marble, preparing to give me one of her heartfelt speeches.
“I tried really hard to stay out of this, to let you decide on your own. Hoping you would call him on your own. But I can’t sit back and watch this anymore. You’re miserable, Lane.”
Her eyes are sympathetic, voice soft. “You haven’t smiled in weeks, and you won’t leave the house unless it's for work. You are living in oversized t-shirts and biker shorts.” Her nose turns up as she eyes my new daily attire, aside from work.
“You miss him, I know you do. And he’s miserable without you. ”
My brows shoot up, betrayal creeping into my veins. “You’re talking to him?”
She nods, unfazed. “He calls me every day, Lane. Asking how you are. Asking if you are throwing his flowers away or keeping them.” She gives me a sad smile. “I don’t tell him anything more than you’re okay and the flowers look beautiful on your counter.”
She digs into her purse, pulling out two small, shiny objects, laying them beside the flowers.
“He asked me to bring you these. Just call him Lane. At least talk to him. If you want to end it for good, tell him. But right now he’s holding onto hope.
” She hikes a thumb over her shoulder. “I have to go open my shop. Just think about calling him?”
She disappears down the hall, the front door closing softly a few moments later.
I stand frozen, staring at the trinkets Kam left behind. It’s the jewelry I was admiring weeks ago at the fair.
When?
How?
I cross to the island, my fingers brushing over the smooth gems. My phone buzzes on the counter behind me. I don’t have to check to know it’s him.
I grab it with a shaky hand, my bottom lip caught between my teeth. My heart thumps in my chest, a steady beat urging me on, as my thumbs hover over the screen. Quickly, before I can talk myself out of it, I type out a message and hit send.
Lane
Do you want to come over so we can talk?