Chapter 17 - Donovan
Donovan
Istand there in absolute shock as Stella tears out of the parking lot, tires screeching like a warning shot straight to my ego.
Make a grand gesture, Mac said.
Women love grand gestures, Mac said.
What the hell does Mac know about women and love, anyway?
He’s just a lonely ranch hand whose only real talent is making women orgasm—and even that, I’m starting to question.
I drop into my car and scream, full-throated and raw, slamming my palms against the steering wheel like it’s personally responsible for the disaster I just caused.
The fury needs out.
The guilt, too.
When I finally look up, an older couple is standing in front of my car, mouths agape like they’ve just witnessed an exorcism. Honestly? That’s not far off.
I pick up my phone and call Stella. It rings, then goes to voicemail.
I call again. This time, it goes straight there.
She’s ignoring my calls.
I pull out of the parking lot and make a left across traffic, heading home. But before I’ve gone more than a block, I’m making a U-turn. I need to see her. If she’s home, maybe we can talk this out face-to-face.
If she really doesn’t want me to move to Virginia, I won’t go.
Ten minutes later, I turn onto Stella’s street and pull through the driveway gate. Her car’s parked in its usual spot, but her bedroom light is off.
I head for the kitchen door, about to knock, when I hear something crash in the garage, her studio.
I turn on instinct and walk quickly to the door. Light leaks from the crack at the bottom, a soft glow warming the concrete. Music filters through, low and steady, familiar.
I pause.
I can almost see her in there. Standing in front of a canvas, paint streaks on her cheek, brush moving in those slow, practiced strokes. Crimson paint. Always crimson when she’s trying not to feel too much.
I don’t knock. I let myself in.
The sight nearly knocks the breath out of me.
She’s sitting on the floor in front of her easel, hands covering her face, tears pooling around her like she’s unraveling from the inside out.
My heart pounds as I cross the room in two long steps. I drop to the floor beside her and pull her into my lap without thinking. My own tears are dangerously close.
She clings to me, arms wrapped around my shoulders, legs curling around my waist like she’s holding on for survival.
I just hold her.
She sobs harder, her body trembling against mine, and I don’t rush her. When her cries finally begin to slow, I pull back just enough to cradle her face in my hands. I kiss the tip of her nose gently.
“Baby, I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you like that. I wasn’t trying to make decisions without you. I swear, I’m not trying to control anything. An opportunity came up that would bring me closer to you, and I didn’t want to lose it. I didn’t want to lose you.”
She meets my eyes, and the tears come harder all over again.
“I’m sorry too,” she whispers. “I shouldn’t have lashed out at you. Elaine made me feel so small with her comments, and then you hit me with the move out of nowhere… I just—I panicked.”
Then she kisses me. Feverish. Desperate. Like she’s trying to punish one of us. Maybe both.
When she finally pulls back, her voice is shaky but sure.
“I want you, Donovan. It’s always been you. It’ll always be you. Of course I want you to move to Virginia, but… You do realize my class project runs until December, right? That’s months of still only seeing each other every two weeks.”
“Stella, it’ll be different,” I say, brushing a piece of hair off her cheek. “We’ll be living together. It won’t feel so horrible when you leave, because you’ll be coming back home to me.”
Her expression tightens. “Donovan… I live with Ansel. We have a lease. And honestly, I don’t think we should rush into moving in together.” The devastation hit me like a whirlwind. She doesn’t want me—at least not how I want her.
I am desperate to make up for the time lost with her; it’s been two years now. If she hadn’t been such a stubborn woman, we could be married and on our way to having kids by now.