Chapter 21
Sweat dotted the space between Reid’s shoulder blades, and he rubbed the back of his neck. Eve’s wide, earnest eyes bored into his, waiting for a response. He’d gotten so caught up in the fantasy of being with Eve, he hadn’t stopped to think about what she’d expect from a future together.
Continue a legacy?
Hell no, he didn’t want to pass on his family’s legacy to children. He’d run as fast and as far as he could to make sure that legacy didn’t stick with him—drown him in a sea of addiction and bad choices.
He needed some space. Some distance. Some air to breathe that wasn’t clouded with his intense feelings for Eve. Standing, he grabbed his plate and cup then forced a tight smile. “That sounds nice, and I’m sure if it’s what you really want, you’ll find a way to get it.”
Her face fell, but he couldn’t let her disappointment stop him from escaping this conversation faster than a striking rattlesnake.
He rushed into the kitchen, tossed his paper plate in the trash can and shot back the rest of his wine in one big gulp.
The bitter liquid burned his throat and he winced.
He shoved the empty cup aside and gripped the edge of the counter. Inhaling deep breaths through his nose, he struggled to center himself. To smooth the rough edges of his life that had plagued him for years.
“Everything all right?” Eve asked.
Working his jaw back and forth, he spun around to face her. “Yeah. Fine. Just cleaning up.”
“That’s not what it looks like.”
“And what does it look like?” He regretted the harsh snap of his words the moment he spoke.
Eve stood her ground. “Like you’re running away. Did what I said scare you?”
“Yes,” he said, tunneling his hand through his hair. “Just not in the way you think.”
She snorted. “You mean not in the ‘oh, shit, I’m scared of commitment and need out of here’ kind of way?”
Her smart-ass remark coaxed a smile. “Exactly.”
“Then what? If it’s not a fear of commitment, is it me?
I mean, maybe I’ve misread what’s been happening between us, and if I did, I’m sorry.
But I thought after last night…after this morning…
” Her voice cracked, and she pressed the back of her hand to her mouth as if to keep her emotions from leaking out.
Eve’s tears twisted his gut and reminded him why he’d stayed away from her for so long in the first place. No matter how hard he tried, he was bound to hurt her. He couldn’t give her what she wanted, so why start a journey that was doomed to fail?
“You didn’t misread anything, Eve. The time we’ve spent together has been amazing. It’s only reinforced everything I’ve tried so hard to fight since meeting you.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
He let out a long, frustrated breath. “I’m a casual guy. I like to keep things nice and simple, and things between me and you can never be simple. We’re too good of friends for this not to end up messy, and I don’t want that. Do you?”
“God forbid things get messy. I mean, how could two consenting adults who have strong feelings for each other ever deal with cleaning up a mess?”
He winced at the sarcasm dripping from her words, masking her anger. “That’s not what I—”
“Mean? Seriously, I’m tired of the excuses and the bullshit. I can help you clean up whatever mess is pinning you in this god-awful place of fear.”
He squeezed his eyes shut as the need to fully confide in her clawed at his chest. But he couldn’t speak, couldn’t make himself unload the ugliness that had been his life.
The sound of something falling to the floor snapped open his eyes. “What the hell are you doing?”
Eve stood behind her plate, which she’d tossed on the floor. Food splattered off the side, bits of potato clinging to her pant leg. “Life’s never tidy. Not the bad parts, not the good parts.” She strolled over to the tub of butter sitting on the counter and dipped her finger inside.
“Eve, stop.”
“Stop what?” She smeared the butter on her forehead and down her nose then crossed to him and dotted what was left on his chin. “Stop being messy?”
“Damn it, Eve. This isn’t funny. My life isn’t something to laugh at and make light of. If I say I can’t handle this—” He waved a hand between them. “Then just walk away and know I’m trying to do the right thing.”
“So chivalrous, but you don’t get to tell me to stop or to walk away or to forget all the beautiful things you said to me. Because if there’s one thing I know, it’s that you’re not a liar. And you wouldn’t have told me we should see if we could make things work if you didn’t mean it.”
He wanted to argue, to push back, to claim he’d spouted nonsense earlier to make her happy, but he couldn’t get past the butter smeared across her cute little nose. Snagging the dishrag, he wiped her face clean. “You really want messy?”
“I really want you.”
An internal war waged inside him, but he was tired of fighting. Tired of holding back. And more than anything, he didn’t want to hurt Eve. Not ever, and certainly not like this—by hiding the broken pieces of himself.
“What brought me to Cloud Valley isn’t pretty. You’re right. Running away is something I’ve done for years. Not because I’m scared, but for survival. I don’t want to run anymore.”
She took the cloth from him and wiped off his chin then set it back on the counter. “I don’t want you to run, either. I’m here waiting for you, Reid. That doesn’t mean you have to tell me everything you’ve buried, but I hope you know you can.”
The kindness in her tone cracked his last walls of resistance. A lump lodged in his throat, and he rubbed the base of his neck in an attempt to loosen it.
“Are you okay?” she asked, frowning. “Do you need something to drink?”
“Water’d be nice.”
She reached behind him for a clean plastic cup and hurried to the faucet. “For this conversation, maybe we should stick with the wine.”
He winced, the silly joke another twist of the knife that never left.
Eve stilled, the sound of the water echoing off the sink. “You never have more than one drink, do you?”
“No.”
Shutting off the water, she carried the cup to him and waited until he drained the water to speak again. “I assumed you didn’t want to overdo it in public, not when you were trying to establish your business. But even at my house, you didn’t touch that second beer.”
He set the cup down and took her hand, leading her past the mess on the floor to the sofa. He’d deal with cleanup later. For now, this wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have standing in middle of the kitchen.
Once settled, he kept ahold of her hand. She grounded him, soothed those rough edges with her nearness. Made him want to unload his burdens so maybe, if he was lucky, he could finally set them aside and move past them.
“You’re right,” he said. “I never have more than one drink. Ever. My dad is an alcoholic.”
She rested her free palm on his thigh. “I’m sorry.”
The side of his mouth ticked up. His father’s disease was just the tip of the damn iceberg. “Thanks, so am I. He’s battled with his addiction for as long as I can remember. Well, battled isn’t the right word. More like ignored. Refused to acknowledge he has a problem.”
“That had to be tough on you and Tara.”
He nodded and steadied his nerves. “My mom tried to shield us from most of his issues. She took the brunt of his anger when he was drunk or would take us to stay at our grandparents’ when he’d disappear on a binge.
For us, it was just normal. That was life.
He gave me my first beer at thirteen. I thought he was so cool.
We’d sneak into the garage and toss a few back. He’d laugh at me when I had too much.”
Memories of his father’s harsh words and quick fists attacked him, and nausea swam in his gut.
Clearing his throat, he forced himself to keep speaking. “As I got older, it got worse. I tried to intercept his anger, always stepped in the way if he went after my mom or Tara. I tried to protect them. Tried to keep them safe. I failed.”
Emotion welled up, misting his eyes and constricting his airway.
All the pain and fear and guilt crashed over him, threatening to pull him under a wave of despair.
This was why he kept his past buried. Kept everything under lock and key, refusing to let it see the light of day.
Because it was too much to relive. Too much to remember.
Eve wrapped her arms around his middle and held him. “I’m sure you did everything you knew how to do, and I’m sure your mom and Tara would agree.”
“He killed her. He killed my mom and never even paid for it.” The words fell out of his mouth along with all the pent-up tears and sadness he’d held inside.
And now that they were out, he couldn’t hide them any longer.
“I tried to stop him from hitting Tara one night, and my mom intervened. He screamed. Raged like I’d never seen.
My mom begged him to leave us alone and to just go.
He got behind the wheel—dragging my mom into the passenger seat—and ran into a tree. ”
Rawness scraped against his throat, and his heart shattered all over again.
The ache he’d carried around since his mother’s death grew into a gaping hole.
Trapped sobs stole his breath, causing his chest to heave as he struggled not to choke on his sorrow.
“I couldn’t save my own mother, couldn’t stop my father from hurting everyone he claimed to love.
I don’t want to fail again. I wouldn’t survive failing Tara, failing you.
Every single day is a battle against control.
Controlling my choices, my decisions, my actions.
If I slip up, if I do the wrong thing, there’s no telling who could get hurt. ”
She held him tighter, and he crumpled against her. He was wrong. Unleashing this burden didn’t lighten the load, it clarified what he needed to do. He had to keep his distance from Eve. She was too important to risk.