Chapter 42
Chapter Forty-Two
Cara
The journey from being Cara Gamble—struggling to tread water while keeping my mother, our home, and my business afloat—to being Mrs. Hayden Reilly, standing in a shiny penthouse apartment in Boston, doesn’t feel real.
Because it’s not real, I guess.
Even the apartment doesn’t feel real. The private parking garage.
The elevator. The very open floor plan and perfectly coordinated—if a little boring—neutral decor.
Honestly, it feels like what I imagine a high-end hotel would feel like, but I can’t be sure because I’ve never stayed in one.
The only motels I’ve ever stayed in had two stars and questionable bathrooms.
I’d expected walking into Hayden’s home to be awkward after all the forced intimacy of going through the wedding motions, but I underestimated how happy Penny would be to see me.
Her joyful spinning and yapping makes me laugh, and Hayden’s mock hurt at his dog cutting their greeting short so she can welcome me makes me laugh.
Once Penny has sufficiently welcomed me and gone to sniff the bags Hayden set by the door, I look around the space he calls home. At first glance, the apartment had seemed impersonal, but now I notice the small pieces of his life on display.
Most of the photos on the wall are candid shots of Daisy and AJ over the years.
There are a few framed Christmas photo cards that include Aaron and Hope.
The largest frame holds a wedding photo, and it takes me a few seconds to realize it’s Colleen and John Reilly.
I want to take a closer look, but I’m aware Hayden is watching me, so I mind my own business. For now.
Seeing artwork clearly done by his niece and nephew taped to the front of a sleek refrigerator makes me smile, and I notice the quilt over the back of the leather sofa looks old and hand-crafted. A family heirloom, perhaps?
What really makes the apartment feel like Hayden’s home—even more than the family touches—is how much Penny’s comfort matters.
There’s a fleece throw on one end of the couch, clearly bunched into a Penny-sized nest. And there’s a set of doggy stairs in front of it to make it easier—and safer—for her to get up and down.
There are several fluffy beds arranged around the living and dining area.
Toys are scattered everywhere, and under her food and water dishes is a mat with Penelope Louise written in a fancy font.
“It’s nice of Penny to let you stay here with her,” I tease, but I’m dismayed to hear the tremor that’s been building in my muscles is also apparent in my voice.
“Have a seat,” he says, nodding toward the sofa. “I’ll get you some water.”
I do as he says, and Penny runs up her stairs to join me on the couch. After letting me scratch under her chin for a minute, she digs furiously at the pile of fleece until it’s just the way she wants it and curls up in the center.
Hayden hands me a glass of ice-cold water before sitting in the leather recliner with his own glass. Penny lifts her head, clearly trying to decide if she wants to join him in his chair. The fleece wins.
“You okay?” he asks after I’ve had a few sips of the water.
I nod, not trusting my voice yet. Even if I did, I can’t really explain what I’m feeling right now.
One night, years ago, I came out of a corner in a forty-five mile-per-hour stretch of road and almost hit a moose.
It had been close, and I’d had to find a place to pull safely off the road until the shaking stopped.
This feels a little like that.
After being caught up in what felt like a hurricane of scheming and planning, it’s done. I’m married to Hayden Reilly, and without the constant voice in the back of my mind screaming are we actually doing this, the sudden quiet is very loud.
Of course, it’s just the eye of the storm. We’ll have to face convincing Gin to sell us the house and then talk her into leaving it. And after that, a breakup and divorce. But at this moment, everything’s calm and I can relax.
Or I could if I wasn’t alone with Hayden, almost a hundred miles from anybody who cares about the Gamble and Reilly families.
“You’re sure you’re okay?” he presses, setting his glass on the table that’s in the corner between his recliner and the end of the sofa.
“I’m sure. Today was just a lot.”
“Yes, it was. I think poor Debbie was disappointed nobody objected,” he says, and we both laugh. Penny snuggles deeper into her fleece blanket.
Hayden stands and tugs the hem of his shirt out of his pants as he walks toward the kitchen. His back is to me, but I can tell he’s working at the buttons.
I can’t make myself look away.
By the time he unbuttons his cuffs, I’m wondering if his expensive apartment came with a cheap HVAC system because it’s uncomfortably warm in here.
Even draining my glass of ice water doesn’t help when he slides the shirt off and drapes it over a chair, revealing a white T-shirt that hugs his body.
My mouth goes dry, and I regret not rationing my water.
It gets worse when he yanks the tee free of his pants and pulls it over his head. I’d barely gotten my heart rate under control from the T-shirt and now I’m being treated to a broad expanse of naked shoulders and back. My hands itch to glide over that skin, and I ball them into fists instead.
Hayden starts to turn toward me, T-shirt in hand and his mouth opening as though to speak. Then he freezes for a second before turning away sharply.
But not before I spot what looks like a tattoo on his chest.
“Sorry,” he mutters. “Force of habit.”
I set my glass on the table next to his and stand, wanting to get a better look. “Wait, was that a tattoo?”
For a long moment, I think he’s going to ignore the question, but then his shoulders drop. “Yes.”
The word comes out unusually terse for him, and combined with the way he’s holding his shirt, I can tell he doesn’t want me to see whatever he had permanently inked into his skin. Which naturally means I absolutely have to see it.
“What is it?”
“Nothing. It’s just an old tattoo.”
I move closer to him and smile when he takes a step back. “An old tattoo that just happens to be on your chest? Does it say Mom in a heart?”
He snorts, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “No, it’s not a Mom tattoo.”
“Can I see it?” I ask, taking another step forward.
He doesn’t say no outright, but he also doesn’t drop the shirt.
It’s obvious he doesn’t want to show me, but he can’t figure out a good excuse not to.
“You know, it would be weird if somebody mentions your tattoo and your own wife doesn’t know what it is. ”
“Nobody you know is aware I even have one, never mind what it is.”
Nobody I know? So he basically means nobody in Sumac Falls, but there have been women in his life who’ve seen it.
Jealousy claws at me, but I don’t let my smile slip.
It’s been a long time since I’ve had the energy to date, but I haven’t exactly been pining for him all these years.
“Show me what it is or I’ll tell your mother how much I love your tattoo. ”
His jaw flexes as the tips of his ears turn pink. “That’s playing dirty.”
I laugh. “Says the man who married me to get my mother’s house. Let me see it.”
Reluctantly, he lowers the shirt, and I step closer as he reveals what looks like a pen and ink sketch of woods, with a boulder jutting out into flowing water.
“It’s our spot by the river,” I whisper, unable to stop myself from tracing the outline of the rock with my fingertip. “When did you have this done?”
“My junior year of college.” His voice is low and raspy.
“I went with some friends to Florida for spring break and there were beaches and women and parties, and all I could think about was how much I missed sitting with you on that rock by the river. I sketched it out on a napkin and carried it around with me until it got tattered. Then I found a way to make it permanent.”
I rest my palm over the tattoo for a moment, feeling his heart beating as hard and fast as mine. And when I try to pull my hand back, he captures my wrist.
“It was the only place I was ever truly happy,” he murmurs softly.
I stare at his fingers encircling my wrist because I can’t bear to look him in the eyes right now. Letting him see how much the memory of that spot hurts me feels too much like letting him win. “You ended it. Not me.”
“It would never work between us. Our families weren’t going to allow it and sneaking around once they knew would have been harder. You would have gotten in trouble. By ending it when I did, nobody knew. If we’d gone to the homecoming dance, everybody in town would have known.”
“Ah.” I jerk my hand out of his grasp and turn away. “Saving me from my own bad decisions. How noble of you. And ghosting me on homecoming night to make sure I got the point.”
“Cara, I—”
“I told you I don’t want to talk about the past, Hayden.
I meant it. I’m exhausted and I don’t have the energy.
” I walk to the windows and look out over the view for a moment.
Then I glance over my shoulder and see he’s pulled his shirt back on, covering the memories engraved in his skin.
“Since this is Boston, do you have that app where we just tell it what we want to eat and it magically appears on your doorstep?”