Fall (VIP 3)
“Ah …” He scratches the back of his neck, biting the bottom corner of his lip. “I mean, I’ve seen the classic Stella shouting bit. Very emotional.”
Despite my best effort, a smile struggles to break free. “He’s shouting for her because he’d hit her in a drunken rage the night before. Later on, he rapes her sister.”
Color drains out of John’s face. “Fuck. Really?”
“Not the greatest guy to pretend to be.”
He sighs and slumps against the door frame. “Fucking hell. Why does pop culture try to make that bit look romantic?” He runs a hand through his hair, mussing it even more. Brown ends stick up wildly as he looks at me with wide, green eyes. “I really suck at this.”
The soft contrition in his voice weakens me, and it’s hard to stiffen my back. But he’s finally addressed the sad gorilla in the room, and it rubs against all the raw and weepy parts of me. “At what, John?”
“I was trying to make you laugh, distract you enough that you’d open the door for me.”
“Well,” I admit, “I did laugh, though it was more from incredulity. And the door is open. So technically you accomplished what you set out to do.”
“I did. But it isn’t enough.”
“No.” My hand is slick and clammy against the cold steel of the doorknob. “What do you want?”
His gaze moves over my face, taking in every line of pain and wariness. “To talk to you.”
It occurs to me that Brenna is somewhere behind me, but a glance back finds the living room empty. I don’t want to bring this into her space.
“Let’s go for a walk,” I tell John. He gives a tense nod and then waits as I find my shoes and keys.
My hands are shaking as I slip on a pair of sunglasses. It’s probably a coward’s move, but I need to protect myself as much as I can, and John is too good at reading me. He gives me a pained but understanding smile as we head out, both of us silent and staying far enough away from each other so there’s no inadvertent contact. All of the ease and the way we’d naturally gravitate closer is gone now. It hurts worse than when I hadn’t heard from him at all.
Chapter Thirty-Four
John
* * *
I can’t stop looking at Stella. She’s rich, hot cocoa after trudging through a blizzard. She’s ice-cold beer after a sweltering performance. Every inch of her enthralls me, from the wispy whirls of her glorious sunset hair to the scattered constellation of her freckles. I’ve spent hours mapping those tiny cinnamon dots, nights curled up on the sofa sliding my fingers through her silky hair, happy to simply pet her as she told me things that made me laugh.
Her jaunty walk has me fighting a smile; only Stella walks with a stride that is both a determined march and a sensual sway of hips and ass. But she’s tense and pinch-lipped, and I know I’m responsible for that. God, I want to see her smile again. I was a jackass for ever thinking my life would be better, safer without her in it.
We walk in silence for a while. It’s awkward, but I don’t mind; I’m simply soaking her in.
I guide her to Central Park. We pass a couple sharing a large shake. Memories of seeing her on a friendship date at the Shake Shack fill my head. I should have known I was a goner back then—the very sight of her smiling at another guy had caused my heart to flip within my chest and a knot of pure, base envy to surge through my veins. I’d wanted to be that guy sitting across from her. I’d wanted to be the one to earn her happiness.
She stops on the Bow Bridge and rests her arms on the balustrade to stare down at the glassy lake. “So.”
I’ve gone over what I want to say in my head, practiced it on the walk over to Brenna’s apartment. Except what comes out of my mouth is not what I’d planned. “I don’t need you.”
Stella recoils as if slapped, and I take a step closer. “Wait. That came out wrong.”
She snorts out a laugh, and then pulls off her sunglasses. Hurt tightens the corners of her eyes. “I don’t think there’s a way to say it that would sound good.”
“I know. Shit.” I rake my fingers along my head. “I would have been here sooner, because God knows I’ve missed you, Stells. I’ve missed you so much, it’s like I’ve lost my hands or my voice. But I had to do something first.
“I’ve been going to see Dr. Allen, talking things out and doing a lot of thinking. I came to the conclusion that you can’t fix me.”
Stella stares at me with hard eyes, but she doesn’t say a word. I know she’s about ten seconds away from walking. My words rush out, desperate to keep her here. “No one can. But for so long, I thought of myself as broken, and I hated that.” Licking my dry lips, I force myself to tell her the bare truth. “But what I hated more was the idea that others wanted to fix me too.”