Chapter 19
I can forgive him. But it will never be enough if he can’t forgive himself.
Time moved too quickly. And he was beginning to resent the passage of it. They had completed almost all their shows, and it was time for the Christmas Eve event, which meant that tomorrow, he wouldn’t have Cassidy anymore. That was the agreement they had made.
The agreement that had seemed perfectly reasonable when he had wanted to get her into bed. But now it was … different. Complicated.
She wasn’t less interesting now; that was the problem. They were reading Butch’s diary every night. Talking, sitting side by side. Their time together never got less interesting. He didn’t wish that he was out riding a bull or doing a stunt of some kind. He had everything he needed. Right there.
She soothed him in a way that nothing else ever had. She was a fixation that wasn’t ending.
The longer they stayed in the house, the more cluttered it got.
The finish work had been completed, and he was on the verge of moving all his things in.
The move was going slowly, but the house was becoming more and more of an honest portrayal of him.
She didn’t seem to get mad when he had clothes on the floor.
Or when he left his toothbrush lying on the sink, or left dishes in the living room.
He always cleaned them eventually. It was just that he was usually on to the next task, distracted.
She seemed to fit around him easily, and that surprised him as much as anything. Not only was he interested in her—all of her—but she wasn’t bothered by him.
He hated the feeling of the ticking clock. But if he didn’t end things as he had said, he would ultimately disappoint her. It was in his blood. It was in his brain. It was part of who he was. He had always known that.
He had hurt a woman before, and he knew how easy it was to hurt someone without meaning to. He knew it because his family did it to him. Because he had done it.
He was a repentant outlaw, in that sense. He supposed that made him a little bit better than Butch Hancock, but how much?
The show went by in a blur, no matter how often he willed time to pass more slowly.
He didn’t want the night to end. She was the only thing that would entice him to return to the show.
Maybe they can make an agreement. To perform together every Christmas.
Until she found the one, he supposed. And she was done messing around with him forever.
She would find somebody. Cassidy was the most incredible woman he had ever known. She was … she was enough to make a man want to change. Really change.
He held her firmly as they went through the movements, felt she was an extension of him. It was intimate now, this performance, an extension of who they were together in bed.
So unlike anything he had ever experienced before.
Was this being in love?”
That question hit him so hard, it nearly unseated him from his horse. But he clung to Cassidy, and he managed to stay in the saddle, if only for her.
Everything felt like a blur, a maniacal, holiday blur, as the show finished. He couldn’t keep that question out of his mind.
Was this love?
More than a fixation, more than a passing interest. More than an adrenaline rush.
Something deeper, more all-consuming. And even if it was love, how could he be sure that he wouldn’t just hurt her?
Because his former girlfriend had been so hurt, so damned hurt.
And he had made proclamations and promises to Cassidy when he had taken her to bed. That he wouldn’t hurt her.
He watched her face as they took their bows, as she smiled and waved at the audience.
This woman who had carried the whole world on her shoulders when she was only a child … Would he be one more person that hurt her?
He had lived his life recklessly, and he had been reckless when he’d seduced her. That was what he had done. He had seduced her and made promises; he had done whatever bargaining he needed to do to get her to give him her virginity. He could see himself clearly for the first time.
All those excuses he had made. He had a little bit of self-awareness, enough to know that his intentions weren’t entirely good, but that hadn’t stopped him from doing what he wanted anyway.
He was … He was such an asshole. Because she deserved the world. And he couldn’t give it to her.
But they had until Christmas. That was the rule he had made, the term he had set. How terribly they had planned this. They were going to leave each other on Christmas Day. Of course, neither of them had imagined there would be feelings involved.
Feelings.
Here he was, big bad West Hancock, taken down by a virgin.
It had been more than obsession from the moment they had met. Much more.
His thoughts were spinning, so much he was completely outside of himself, something he hadn’t experienced for a long time.
He was so overworked he couldn’t stand himself. His hands were practically vibrating with energy.
There was a sadness in her smile when she looked up at him, and they were silent on the drive back to the house.
But when they went inside, they fell on each other with the same intensity as that first time.
Kissing, touching. He wanted to make her promises.
He wanted to hold onto her forever. Instead, he just kissed her jawline, bit her collarbone, moved his hands over her curves—they were familiar to him now, but almost more glorious for it.
He gripped her hips as she stood before him, kissed his way down her stomach, and pressed his face between her legs, parting them with his shoulders as he held her fast and tasted her deep.
If this was the last time he was ever going to have her, he was going to have her thoroughly.
He held her to his face, eating her, devouring her. She clung to his shoulders, and he stood, backing her up against the wall, her legs draped over his shoulders as he continued to feast. “West!”
Yes. That was what he wanted, her name on her lips. He wanted her. Forever. He wanted her so much that he ached with it, but there was something that held him back. Something that told him it wasn’t possible.
Something that told him it was the devil inside him that made him think it might work. Because he couldn’t be trusted. Because he wasn’t good enough. Because he was bad news. He always had been. Born bad.
Influenced by Satan himself. And she was better than that. She was just better than that.
He brought her down to the floor by the fireplace, put on a condom, and thrust inside her. So deep that he couldn’t tell that they were separate entities.
Couldn’t tell where she ended and he began.
She was good. Maybe good enough for the two of them.
Because he could see it. A life like the kind he had never let himself dream of. A love like the kind he had never believed he could have. Now he wanted it. God, he wanted it. But only if it was with her. It had never mattered before. Until her. And now it mattered so much.
She cried out his name again, and only then did he give himself up to his own mounting pleasure. Only then did he let it end.
Afterward, he gathered her up in his arms, lay on his back with her head on his chest, and looked up through the Christmas tree branches at all the lights. Until they went blurry. He was still, but his mind was racing. And she … she was asleep.
He sat up, moved away from her, and went to grab Butch’s journal. But he realized that there were no more entries. Only blank pages. Abruptly. After Butch went out to do a job. He flipped through the book, but encountered nothing but blankness.
And that was when he grabbed the other book.
The diary of Sarah Martin. Who the hell was Sarah Martin? And what did she have to do with anything?
When he started to read, it all became clear.
She … she had saved him. She had taken a villain and made him into something else. She had saved Butch’s life, in more ways than one. He had told her everything, and she had accepted him. A man like him didn’t deserve that. He had been terrible. He had been an awful human being, and yet …
Love had found him. Love had found him when he hadn’t done anything to deserve it.
He could’ve let Sarah down in a hundred different ways.
But instead, he stayed. Instead, they got married.
Instead, they had children. She wrote about a man who wasn’t recognizable from Butch’s diary.
West found himself hungry to know Butch’s perspective on their marriage.
Desperate. Because he’d read Sarah’s point of view on the change in Butch, but what if it hadn’t been real?
What if he’d still felt like the bad guy?
But Butch hadn’t let her down. Not ever.
You’re so afraid of letting her down.
He got up, put on his jeans, put on a shirt and a coat, and stepped outside into the cold.
He stumbled out onto the driveway and looked up.
There was one star that seemed to be shining brighter than the rest. Like a Christmas star, guiding him somewhere.
If only he were a wise man. Maybe he would know what to do. But sadly, he was just West.
What if you didn’t let her down?
His heart started to pound faster. So hard that he thought it might shatter against his ribs.
What if you didn’t let her down? She’s been let down enough. You’re right. What if you just loved her? What if you skipped making a fucking fool of yourself and just loved her?
That felt terrifying. Felt like a risk. He felt his heart was trying to make a desperate escape.
But what if he didn’t hurt her?
Suddenly, he knew exactly where the star was leading him. He got into the truck, and he started to drive. Driving toward his mother’s house, because she was the one who had given him the diaries. She must know what he was supposed to do with them.
She must know.
He could see both of his parents sitting inside Lucinda’s trailer when he pulled up. Sitting beside her perfect Christmas tree, which was in her personal trailer rather than the shared space.