LOL: Laugh Out Loud (After Oscar, #2)(86)

I looked away, blinking away the sting of tears. I wanted to believe her, but I couldn’t bear to have my heart broken twice in the same day. “Well, it doesn’t matter now,” I said, the words sounding watery.

“That man loves you,” she said.

God I wished it were true. I shook my head. It was too painful to have to deny it out loud.

“He does, Scotty,” she insisted. “You know what being a con artist taught me? How to read people. You have that gift as well; it’s what makes you so good at your job. You know what people need, what they want, and you figure out how to give it to them. You can read Roman as good as I can—better even. You know he loves you.”

I dropped my chin to my chest. “If he loves me it’s only out here—when we can exist in this bubble. But in the real world…” I trailed off, sighing.

“In the real world is where the work begins,” she said. “It’s easy to love someone when life is good, when food is plentiful and money isn’t a concern. But true love—real love, the kind you know will be there through thick and thin—that kind of love is forged in the real world. When you’re hungry and tired and scared and you know that when you reach out your hand, someone will be there to take it and hold you and support you and know you and love you. If you can love and be loved in the real world, you know that love is truth.”

My throat tightened. Tears pricked the backs of my eyes. I wanted to believe her, about all of it, but I didn’t know how.

Her hand still rested on my shoulder and she squeezed. “Now I’m going to go talk to that helicopter pilot and see about hitching a ride back to the city so you can continue to enjoy your man without your mom hovering around.”

She started toward the door, but I reached out and grabbed her hand, stopping her. The kind of love she was talking about, the kind that existed in hunger and fear, I understood that she was describing how she felt about me. And regardless of all the pain she’d caused me in my life, my mother had truly always been there for me.

“Thanks, Mom,” I told her. And I meant it. “I believe you about the tabloids,” I added. I wasn’t quite sure how much I meant that, but there was enough truth to the statement that I felt comfortable saying it.

She pressed her lips together, her chin quivering for a moment before sniffing and forcing a smile. “I mean, I’m not gonna lie and say I didn’t think about selling him out. But you got a good thing going here. You and Roman end up together, I’m set for life, baby.” She held up a finger, wagging it. “But you better lock that shit down, or I’m gonna start getting antsy.”

Her eyes twinkled with that familiar glint, and I laughed, knowing that though she made it sound like a joke, there was still an edge of truth to it. With that, she patted my hand and slipped out of the den, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

I hated being alone with my thoughts. I was used to being surrounded by the hustle and bustle of kids and parents at the park, asking about Nugget and sharing their enthusiasm for adventure with me. At the thought of my big, sweet girl, I knew exactly where I needed to be. The place that always brought me peace and clarity.

I slipped out through one of the den doors. The snow was thick, my boots sinking deep, and I shivered as flurries swarmed around me. It had probably been stupid of me to come outside without a coat, but my winter clothes were in the mudroom and that was practically chaos central. I’d rather brave the cold than Roman at the moment.

My mother’s words still swarmed through my head as I shouldered my way through the storm to the barn. Inside was warmer, but not much. I didn’t stop shivering until I reached Nugget and wrapped my arms around her neck, letting her heat seep through me.

She nudged at my shoulder with increasing pressure until I was forced to let go. “I know, I know,” I told her, reaching for a carrot from the nearby bucket and feeding it to her. The soft fuzz of her nose tickled my palm as she sniffed for any bits of food she might have missed. I laughed and fed her another.

“All I have to do is keep offering you carrots and you love me without question,” I laughed. “If only it were that easy with people.”

I understood what my mother was saying about love and the real world, but what she’d been missing was that sometimes love might not be enough. Roman could love me all he wanted, but if all I did was bring chaos into his life, if all I did was make him more miserable and more resentful of the tabloid scrutiny, what kind of happily ever after would that leave for us?

You could love someone and still not end up with them. That was the tragedy of love that all the songs and movies and books failed to show. And the thought of loving Roman but not being able to be with him was more painful than I could bear.

But at the same time, I had to admit, I was terrified of trying. Of giving my heart away and trusting the other person to care for it as if it were their own. I was used to being alone in my heart. I’d made my peace with it. What if I came to rely on Roman? What if I leaned on him and then one day he wasn’t there? What if I became too much for him: my chaos, my brashness, my over-the-topness?

What if he left and I had to be alone again and I didn’t remember how? What if loving him left me broken and unable to live without him?

Nugget nudged me again, shifting her feet. She was restless. She hadn’t stretched her legs since the morning before, and as the storm grew worse, it would only get more difficult to take her out. I decided I should do it now while there was still daylight and visibility was decent.