Chapter Twenty-One
Kolby read the handwritten note three times, a sense of unease growing each time his eyes scanned the words.
The fact she’d left before he woke, and without saying goodbye, was worrisome. Even a little hurtful.
Kolby tore his hands through his hair and cupped the back of his neck.
Christ. You’re such a cliché. Hurt because she left without saying goodbye when you’ve literally done the same thing your entire adult life to every woman you’ve slept with.
He had no right to be hurt. He’d never experienced a morning after ritual with any of the women he’d taken to bed.
Never hung around to have a lingering breakfast, or a shared shower.
Usually, once the gal was asleep, he’d dress and slip out.
No goodbyes. No promises of seeing one another again; no sign that their encounter had been anything other than a few hours of mutual pleasure and release.
But he hadn’t slept with Charity, despite wanting to.
He’d done the honorable thing; the right thing, maybe for the first time in his life.
Yes, he wanted her and from all appearances last night, she’d been of the same mind.
If he hadn’t grown a conscience and she hadn’t voiced all their differences, he could imagine just where all the desire would have ended.
The truth of the matter was he couldn’t be the man she wanted, and because of it he couldn’t start something that would lead to her winding up hurt and betrayed.
Couldn’t? Or...wouldn’t?
That was the question, wasn’t it?
He wished she’d hung around so they could talk about it this morning. What did that say about her state of mind? Was she angry? Pissed off? Hopefully, she was as sexually frustrated as he was. In the next second, he berated himself for even thinking that.
Charity’d left something for him to eat, so that was a good sign, wasn’t it? It said she was okay, not upset about what happened – or hadn’t happened – last night, right? Ensuring he had something to eat before he visited his mother was kindhearted and thoughtful. Like Charity.
While he put the breakfast sandwich into the microwave, he thought about how things could have gone if both of them had ignored their misgivings.
The image of them in his bed – the one in his apartment, not the one here because he couldn’t see making love to her on it – was so vivid, his vision actually blurred around the edges as he watched the two of them in his mind.
It would be so good between them. He just knew it. He’d make sure of it.
The persistent beeping of the microwave pulled him out of the fantasy.
While he ate, standing in the kitchen, a cup of coffee in one hand, another fantasy began playing like a silent movie in his head.
One, where he and Charity drove home together every night after work, ate together while dissecting the day, lounged on the sofa holding hands as they watched something goofy and mindless on television.
After a time they’d stand, embrace, and then he’d carry her to his – no, their – bed.
Why did that dream feel so real? And yet, so out of reach?
***
A headache was brewing. The tension in her shoulders and the way the lights flickered around the edges of her eyes like someone was turning them off and on told her she was in for it. She needed to take something to offset it, or she was in for a bad night on top of an already sleepless one.
After Kolby left her room, she’d flung herself onto the bed, tears of frustration and heartache pouring from her like a dam breaching. Throwing herself at him had been the wrong move. She’d known it, but still couldn’t stop herself from begging him to kiss her.
When he’d complied, she’d lost all capacity to think rationally. Until reality burned a hole in her brain and seeped through. Kolby was never going to change, that much was apparent, and Charity wasn’t willing to give up on any part of her dream.
Kolby wasn’t future mate material and never would be. Not as long as the lifestyle he’d cut for himself was working for him. Which it was.
Sleep evaded her as images of them thrashed about in her head.
Erotic, seductive images of them making love everywhere they could.
Finally, exhaustion pounded through her fantasies, and she fell asleep a little after four am, only to wake at her usual 5:30 hour.
She’d never considered herself a coward, but that’s what she was, as she made a hasty breakfast for Kolby and then left with just a quick note.
Too scared to face him after last night. Too scared and too embarrassed.
Driving back to Heaven, she pep-talked herself into quelling the embarrassment and fighting the fear of seeing him, face to face.
Her one hope was that he’d spend the day at the hospital and arrive back in Heaven just as the rehearsal was starting.
That way, she could avoid having to speak to him in any capacity but a professional one.
The dull pounding in her head started just as she arrived at the church and discovered the bride and her maid of honor, who was going to become her sister-in-law once the vows were taken, shrieking at one another like two hungry pigeons fighting over roadkill.
Both their mothers were physically holding them back from ripping the other’s hair and eyes out.
It had taken almost twenty minutes to get to the reason for the fight, after Charity sent the bride and her mom to the church dressing room, the maid of honor and her mother to the children and baby’s bawl room.
While she’d been in de-escalation mode, the rest of the bridal party arrived, the bride’s and groom’s fathers with the throng, the priest who’d be performing the ceremony, and Kolby bringing up the rear.
Charity emerged from the basement stairwell with the maid of honor and the groom’s mother and her eyes had been drawn to him before she’d come up the last riser.
He was smiling at one of the bridesmaids, a girl who looked vaguely familiar.
She had her hand on his arm and was in the process of squeezing his bicep as he fiddled with the settings on his camera, her body flirtatiously close to his.
She’d thought she’d prepared herself for what seeing him again would do to her insides, but she was wrong.
The steely resolve she’d thought herself armed with melted into molten liquid when she saw him in the flesh.
The pain in her head had intensified tenfold as she’d tried to calm the bride, and now beat like a hammer at the base of her neck from the pent-up emotions swirling inside her.
Kolby’s attention zeroed in on her, and his smile immediately flattened.
He started coming toward her, but she countered the move by clapping her hands together to get everyone’s attention.
She moved right into business mode and had them all line up so the rehearsal could begin.
Kolby, knowing what was expected of him, started shooting candid photos of the party.
The tension in the church was palpable and added to the thrumming in her head, so that by the time the rehearsal was, blessedly concluded, a migraine had fully formed.
They still had to get through the dinner, and the groom’s father had requested Kolby shoot some video of the speeches that were planned.
As the party prepared to leave the church, Charity took the moment to dig into her bag for some pain pills.
“Here, drink this.” A can of Pepsi materialized in front of her. “I couldn’t find diet, but this is loaded with caffeine, so it should help,” Kolby told her.
She didn’t have the energy to question how he knew she was suffering or where the soda had materialized from. With a soft thank you, she took the can and downed half of it in one gulp swallowing the pills with it.
“Bad one?” he asked, searching her face.
“They’re never good."
“Want to ride with me to the restaurant so you don’t have to drive? I can drop you back here later so you can pick up your car.”
The thought of being alone with him, even for the mere five-minute drive to the restaurant, was too much for Charity.
“I’m okay to drive,” she told him. “Thanks again for the soda.”
When she turned to move away, his hand shot out and wrapped, gently, around her forearm.
“Charity—”
Charity flinched and tugged it out of his grip with more force than necessary.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, taking a step back and lifting his hands to chest level in a surrender sign.
Get a grip, girl, CarlieRae whispered.
“Nothing. Sorry. My head...” she lifted her shoulders.
After a few beats spent just perusing her face, he asked, “You sure you don’t want me to drive you?”
“No. No. Thanks. It’s fine. I’ll see you there.”
His gaze followed her out the church doors. She was certain of it, but didn’t have the strength to look over her shoulder to check. Secured in her car, she dragged in a breath and closed her eyes.
Give me strength.
Since she was the first to arrive at Euphoria, Charity sought out the hostess to make sure all was set for dinner.
In the private party room, the table settings were perfect, the flowers the groom’s parents had ordered to adorn the tables all in place.
Soft violin music was piped in from above and the doors to the surrounding deck were open, allowing the soft August night air to drift in.
The sweet smell of jasmine and pine wafted through the room.
Unfortunately, the powerful scents added to her head pain.