Bungalow Nights(66)

“So she said.”

“Oh.” Her head bobbed up and down. “That’s right. You’re, um, patched up with them now, aren’t you? Did I tell you how great I think that is? It’s great. Really, really great.”

“It is,” he agreed, “though it’s only half of what I want.”

Her brows pinched together. “I’d think you have everything now. Is something wrong with the job at Smith & Sons?”

“No.”

She studied his face with her big brown eyes. “Well, I would have thought you’d be in a better mood then. Is it Fitz and Blythe’s engagement—”

“I’m ecstatic for them.”

“You don’t sound like it,” Layla said, frowning. “Though I can imagine it’s hard to get over—”

“If you mention another word about Blythe I’m going to strangle you.”

“Well, you were the one engaged to the woman,” she said in a snotty voice.

Her tone made him ease a little more. “I was stupid about that,” he confessed, and figured he owed her a better explanation. “I didn’t care about her for herself...I saw her as my ticket back into the family—and also as a poke at Fitz.”

“Oh,” Layla said.

“And I’ve apologized for it.” He smiled a little. “All’s forgiven, even though she’s signed herself up for a lifetime with my f*cking perfect big brother.”

Layla made a face. “You don’t fool me. You love him.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. Then they stared at each other for another long minute. His nerves cinched again, going so tight he heard a high whine in his ears. “So—”

“I’ve got to be going,” she said.

“No.” He cleared his throat. “I mean, I have something to give you. Don’t take a step.” Not trusting her to do as bid, he hurried away.

And she did move. His stomach swooped at the sight of the empty kitchen, but then he found her in the living room, her gaze focused out the glass slider. The sun was hovering at eye level in that odd, breathless manner it had of seeming to stay glued in place before taking its last precipitous dash for the horizon.

He came up behind her, close enough to smell the sweetness of cupcakes on her skin. “Layla,” he said, putting a hand on her shoulder.

It made her jump and before he could stop her she was out the door and onto the deck. Gritting his teeth, Vance stalked behind her, following his prey until her belly was pressed against the railing.

Impatient now, he grabbed her by the arm and turned her to face him. “Here,” he said brusquely. “This is for you.”

She glanced down at the frame he pushed into her hands and then her gaze came back to his. “What?”

Was she blind? “It’s the Helmet List. The one your dad gave to me. I had it framed, along with a couple of photos. One is the picture of you he always carried.”

Her head bent again as she studied the item. The art shop had mounted the simple lined notepaper on a special backing. It took center stage, the crease marks and smudges of dirt and sweat still apparent. On the upper left, he’d had them place a photo of her father, something he’d taken from Griffin’s stash. On the lower right was little-girl Layla, the child he’d expected to host at Beach House No. 9.

The woman he’d fallen in love with looked up. “I...” She lifted one hand from the frame and made a helpless gesture. “Thank you. I...I’ve got to go.”

All his muscles and tendons seized. He opened his mouth, trying to recall a single one of the speeches he’d rehearsed during her absence. Not a word of them came to mind. Hell, he thought. What now?

A seagull swooped low, and his eyes shifted, his gaze once again landing on the sun. “We haven’t ticked off the green flash yet,” he said quickly. “Don’t you think—”

She shook her head, her refusal emphatic.

Vance’s mouth dried. It was like waking up to that empty bed all over again. The alarm he’d felt upon opening his eyes and discovering her gone had turned to dread when he’d read the note she’d left. Thank you, thank you so much for everything, she’d written, but now it’s time I go. Goodbye.

Maybe she’d really meant it, after all.

“Why did you leave like that?” he asked baldly. Those few words had felt a thousand times worse than Blythe’s long-winded Dear John. He swallowed, then forced out the question that had to be asked, though it put his pride on the line. “Is it because that night I told you I loved you?”

Her Bambi eyes flared wide. “What? That was me.”

He frowned. “No, I said it. I wasn’t sure you heard me before you fell asleep.” His heart started thumping, hammering in his chest, his throat, at the ends of his fingers, for f*ck’s sake. Had she just implied she loved him, too? “I’m in love with you, Layla.”

Her knuckles went white on the frame, and then she shook her head again, clearly panicked. “I thought we were clear we didn’t want that.”

He laughed a little, trying to ease his anxiety. “Yeah, well, sometimes it just happens, remember?”

“That was chemistry,” she said, edging toward the stairs leading to the sand.

“Layla, stay put.”

Instead she kept moving. “I didn’t plan for anything like...like love.”

He held himself still, worried about frightening her away. “Well, it’s not something you plan,” he said. “Just ask Baxter. Or Fitz. But if you’re ready, and in the right place—”

“I’m not ready!” she cried out. “I’m not in the right place.”

“Sweetheart, what’s the matter?” Concerned by her distress, he took a careful step toward her. “Would the two of us...would love be so bad?”

“Yes.”

He blinked.

“Because it’s weakness,” she said. “And dependence and...and...”

“And what, honey? And what?”

“And heartbreak!”

“Heartbreak?” He blinked again.

“My mother didn’t make it to my third birthday.” She swallowed. “My father was in and out all my life and now he’s gone forever.”

Oh, sweet girl, Vance thought, as a crack crawled over the surface of his heart.

“So how do I know that what you say you feel will last beyond...beyond the next moment? Or the one after that? I can’t trust it.” Her brown eyes were as big as he’d ever seen them, and so, so serious. “Because the fact is, Vance, I’ve only ever been loved in very small doses.”

Oh, God. The fracturing organ in the center of his chest made him slow to react, so slow that when she whirled and leaped down the steps and onto the sand, he missed his chance to catch her. Keep her.

And this time he worried he might have lost her for good.

* * *

LIKE THE OTHER TIME SHE’D run from the beach house, Layla sprinted northward, frantic to outdistance herself from Vance and the confusing and conflicting feelings he’d provoked. He said it had been his whisper in the dark. He said he loved her.

The idea of it terrified her even more than knowing she loved him. If it was true, how could she ever leave him? And if she didn’t, how could she ever be safe from pain? Attachment is the source of suffering.

Her eyes and lungs were burning when she finally dropped to the sand, all breath gone. Her resting place was at the base of the same dune where she’d stopped before, the night he’d danced with her on the beach house’s deck. Air heaving in and out of her chest, she tried directing herself to calm, but the order wasn’t working. Realizing she still clutched the frame Vance had given her, she dropped it to her lap and buried her face in her hands.

“Layla? Are you all right?”

Her head jerked up. So unnerved was she by her confrontation with Vance, she hadn’t noticed that Jane Pearson was sitting on top of the dune, beside Skye. The brunette’s focus was out to sea, her arms wound tightly about herself.

“What are you two doing?” Layla asked, picking up the frame so she could clamber to her feet.

Jane glanced at Skye’s set face then looked back at Layla. “We’re getting some fresh air.”

“Something’s happened to Gage,” Skye said, her voice colorless.

“What? Your pen pal Gage?” Layla looked to Jane for confirmation. “Isn’t that your fiancé’s brother?”

“Twin.” Jane grimaced. “And his twin-sense has been tingling for several days. Then Skye called and said it’s been too long between letters from him.”

“Mail can be erratic from that part of the world,” Layla said. “Believe me. Even the military postal service isn’t always reliable.”