Chapter 17
Sheridan
Ugh! “What is it with men and views?” I dropped Luke’s hand and reached into my pocket. I found gum there and popped it in my mouth. “Do men ever grow up and start realizing there’s more to life than a nice view? When are they ever actually going to get involved? When are they going to stop just staring at life and start experiencing it, instead of observing from some grand, ethereal height?” I stomped past an observation telescope and kicked the bench as I stumbled into the trees off the path.
“Sheridan!” Luke was at my side instantly, touching my shoulder, slowing me down, calming me. “What is wrong? Hey.” He took me in his arms, where I collapsed against his chest, the sobs coming hard. “Hey,” he soothed, “it’s all right. You’re safe with me.”
Was I? I wanted to think so—I wanted to be safe in Luke’s arms, safe with my heart and feelings. I shut my eyes to think, to decide. I haven’t told him about Case. I haven’t told anyone the whole truth about Case, why I married him, why I wasn’t devastated when he died. Why I’m a horrible person for that.
Guilt rolled like the waves during a squall, crashing against the rocks of my soul’s shore. Luke held me close, drawing a circular pattern on my back until I could breathe again. He didn’t press me for information, he just let me ride out the storm.
Finally, I was able to pull myself together.
“Don’t worry. This isn’t something you did.” I took him by both hands, looking up into his troubled but sincere countenance.
“Okay.” He didn’t press me for details, just held me.
After a minute, I was calm again.
Luke deserved an explanation, even if it hurt to give it. “A while ago, I told you my husband died in a plane crash.”
“Yeah. I remember.” His face showed no trace of pity, bless him. That was the one reaction I could never stand, but which I always garnered. “It doesn’t take much of a Sherlock Holmes to connect dots and figure out that your late husband hated a view.”
“Hated it! He loved it. He loved a great view more than anything else on earth.” Including me. “He was a view junkie, which I knew when I married him, but I guess I thought …”
“That he’d change?” Luke grimaced. “Men don’t really change that way.”
“No, that he’d love me more than the view.” There. That was the nugget. My throat went into spasms and made the most embarrassing hiccupping noise as my crying warbled through. “He didn’t love me more.” I drew in a long sniffle and swatted my face. Wet. Drenched with tears—which I hadn’t planned at all when I left home tonight.
Something about Luke Hotwell broke open my hard candy shell, made me face the facts and realities I always buried, forced me to examine them and—worst of all—tell him all about them.
“You probably can’t stand the sight of me now.” I scrubbed at the tears, and my fingertips came out black with running mascara. “It’s fine if you just want to go.”
“Is it fine if I just want to stay? If I just want to hold you until you realize that your ex-husband was the biggest fool who ever flew above the face of the planet?” He pulled me tight, tighter, until I melded against his hard chest, until my breathing steadied and I closed my eyes peacefully.
I could’ve fallen asleep in the safety of his arms. I really am safe with Luke. It was the safest I’d felt since the firefighter pulled the beam off me and carried me out of the collapsing building. In fact, Luke’s words were the emotional equivalent of lifting the beam off my soul, and his embrace now was the transport to emotional safety.
I’ve always had that gut feeling though. The one that said I am supposed to find the one who rescued me. I owe it to him—or at least to my gut—to find him. I can’t fall for Luke in the meantime. I can’t let myself.
I needed to find the firefighter.
I looked up, my breath coming in shudders, and said, “I’ve decided to give the speech.”