Five Ways to Fall (Ten Tiny Breaths #4)(116)
I watch this woman quietly, seeing her in a new light for the very first time in my life. A sad, desperate light. “And did you forget about that hurt when you cheated on Jack? When you left Barry for Ian?” There’s no malice in my voice. I already know the answer to that, but seeing her bow her head is confirmation.
Annabelle hasn’t let herself fully love anyone since Hank MacKay. Jack . . . Barry . . . even Ian. They’re all substitutes for him—successful husbands who can fill all the other voids in her life except the one that matters. The one in her heart.
I release the breath I’ve been holding, and suddenly things seem lighter. I came here tonight to put it all out in the open. Not because I thought it would change our relationship. Annabelle and I will never be close. But, thanks to this, I can begin to understand why. It’s nothing I did. It’s nothing I can change. What I can change is making sure I never end up as bitter a woman as her.
When I read that first letter, the one with the “return to sender” stamp on it and the only one that recounted the ways my parents hurt each other terribly, I panicked, my own doom flashing before me.
But since then, I’ve realized that I’m not really just like her. I’m a lot like her. If I had gone back to Jared’s condo with him, had finished what I had started, had hurt him, hurt Caroline . . . then I wouldn’t be able to claim any difference between us at all.
But somewhere along the way, I let myself care again. Maybe even love again. Unintentionally, unexpectedly, I fell for Ben.
And now, I just want to go be with him.
“Here.” I hold out an envelope.
She eyes it warily. “What is it?”
“Maybe some closure for you.” Aside from the initial letter, most of the rest were more like journal entries, about things in Hank MacKay’s life that made him happy—his son with MaryAnn, the modest home they shared, the trucks he restored and sold to supplement their income—and the things that made him regretful. Cheating on Annabelle, having married her when he was young and stupid but knew he was still in love with someone else. But mostly, for ever leaving me.
The last letter was from MaryAnn, and talked about how Hank had contacted a lawyer to better understand the risks associated with the outstanding warrant out for him. While the lawyer thought he could get the kidnapping charges dropped, the child abandonment case would stick. Hank was considering turning himself in, hoping that it might lead to finding me again.
Among those letters, though, there was a heartfelt apology to Annabelle. Whether it’s enough to melt the protective layer of ice remains to be seen. I leave Annabelle with it, the only thing that may ever open her eyes.
And I go in search for what opened mine.
I find him in the grand foyer with a satay skewer in his hand and circled by three young women in Cinderella ball gowns. The oldest one can’t possibly even be legal, and yet they’re all very familiar with the batted-lash approach.
I sidle up to his side and loop my arm through his. “Ready to go, or do you need some more time with your jailbait?”
His grin doesn’t falter with my words. “Sorry, ladies. The boss is here.” Their matching pouts are the last thing I see as I tug Ben out of the house, barely giving him a chance to deposit the remnants of his food onto a tray.
He hands his ticket to the valet and then pulls me into his chest. “Feel better?”
I heave a sigh. “Not yet, but I will.” I haven’t come to terms with any of this yet. Right now, I’m not sure that I’ll ever stand face-to-face with Annabelle again.
“Good.”
I’ve never used the word “dashing” to describe a person but right now, staring up at this blond man in his tux, his dimpled smile and blue eyes twinkling, that’s the only word I can possibly find to describe him. And it’s not even because of his physical beauty. Everything about him is appealing. Even his big, obnoxious mouth.
“Can we go now? Or do you feel the need to cause some chaotic scene to end the night off in Reese style?”
I press my cheek into his chest to listen to his heartbeat as I smirk. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I stare out at that tacky water fountain—a statue of a Greek goddess standing in the center of a small pool, surrounded by three-foot-high sprays of water and illuminated by blue spotlights.
And ask suddenly, “How cold do you think that water is?” Though it’s an unusually warm November for Florida, it’s nighttime now and the temperatures have cooled off.
“I’m guessing ball-shrinking cold.”
“Care to place a bet?” Before he even has a chance to answer, I pull away from him and run down the front stairs, kicking my sparkly heels off and leaving them on the steps. With one last look at Ben, who’s both grinning and shaking his head, I sit down on the edge of the pool, gather up my gown, and spin around to plunge into the water.
“It’s not that bad!” I lie, gritting my teeth as I wade into the knee-deep water until I’m standing next to the statue. “What do you think? Is this Annabelle’s fountain of youth? Is this Aphrodite? Should I beg her to make me look younger?”
The team of valets and a few party patrons watch me with a mixture of shock and amusement.
Ben takes the steps down with a broad grin, my shoes now dangling from his hand. “Nope. You’re not allowed to change a damn thing about you.”