He told her he’d painted her every day when he was in Spain. He’d been with her less than twenty-four hours, but he could still remember everything about her. He told her he painted her hands, the curve of her spine, her smile.
“They’re all in my house in San Sebastian. It’s a seaside village on the Bay of Biscay, in Northern Spain, very close to the border of France.”
He inched closer still, taking both her hands in his. “When Jace told me he planned to see you in January, I knew I had to come back. You are the first woman I’ve felt anything for since Rosa. For a while, I didn’t think I would ever feel anything again, especially love. I didn’t think it was possible.”
He stood and she moved over so there was room for him. He gently climbed in and put his arm around her, bringing her closer to him.
“When Bree’s husband died, I saw how you took on all her pain. You swallowed it and carried it for her. Whatever Bree was going through, you felt. I worried that if I told you my story, you would do the same with me. I wanted to tell you, but it was too soon. The funeral was that same day. It would have been selfish for me to burden you with my pain—my damage, as Jace calls it. But I knew, if there was going to be anything more between us, I needed to tell you.”
He was torn, he told her, which was why he’d acted the way he did. He’d wanted to go to Aspen, to think, but he was afraid that if he did, he’d head right back to Spain. Then, the worst thing he could ever imagine happened.
“The accident,” she whispered.
“I woke up. I saw you. Your back was to me, and I couldn’t tell if you were breathing or not. The next thing I knew, I was in a hospital bed. Again.
“Rosa’s mother’s words came screaming back at me. She told me I’d never know love because I didn’t deserve it. You know, I’ve never told anyone else what she said to me that night. I never told my parents or Jace that Rosa’s parents came to see me in the hospital.”
That was why Jace didn’t understand, why no one understood. They thought he couldn’t let go of Rosa, but that wasn’t it. It wasn’t about letting go, it was about believing in the future. That was the part he couldn’t let himself do.
“You have no idea how hard it is for me to believe it now. Every part of me is terrified that if I’m in your life, something will happen to you or the baby.
“That’s why I left. I believed you were better off without me. A couple of nights ago, when they brought you here, I knew something was terribly wrong. I couldn’t stop myself from calling Jace. I had to know what had happened. The only other two times in my life I felt that way were when Rosa looked at me, right before the accident, and again, when you did.”
Blythe shifted so she could get her arm further around him, hold him tighter.
“All Jace said was that I needed to get here, as fast as I could, because I was about to lose my baby. What that did to me, Blythe…I can’t even describe how I felt. Hope mixed with the worst kind of fear I could imagine. If something happened to our baby because of me, I don’t think I would’ve been able to go on. I still feel that way.”
Blythe looked up at him.
“What is it? Ask me, tell me. Whatever it is, I can take it. Even if you say you don’t want me here. I can take it, Blythe.”
“You have to trust me, Tucker.”
He wanted to believe it was that simple. He wanted to let himself love her—but the risk. That was what he struggled with. If he left now, and stayed out of their lives, she’d be okay. She’d raise the baby, find love, and live a full and wonderful life. If he stayed, he didn’t know what might happen.
“I don’t see it that way,” she said. “I see a man who loved someone very much, who was hurt to his core, and then there was a terrible accident. That’s what it was, Tucker. An accident.”
He shook his head, but Blythe put her fingers to his mouth to quiet him.
“What about Rosa? She was with another man. She loved another man. How was that your doing? Whatever she believed, or told her parents she believed, was born of her own guilt, not of who you are. You’re not a violent man. You are deep, and complex, and mysterious—but you’re not violent.
“You’re right; I felt you immediately, Tucker. If you’d told me this story that first night, when we had dinner, I would’ve said the same thing. I would’ve told you then that I didn’t believe you had that kind of anger inside you.”
“I don’t know—”
“I do.”
“How can you be so sure?”
Blythe reached for his hand. “Feel him,” she said, bringing his hand to where hers rested on their baby. “You made him, and he’s perfect. He’s everything that’s good in this world.”
“Him?”
She kissed the tears rolling down his cheeks. “He’s here to prove that you’re wrong about yourself.”
“What if I’m not wrong? What if—”