Reckless Hearts (Oak Harbor #2)(42)
“I can’t believe it, you were about as New York as they come.”
“What can I say? I traded the suit and tie for jeans. I’ve never been happier.”
Declan chuckles. “I can’t imagine Helena’s too happy about that.”
I tense. Even her name is enough to turn my blood to ice, and it seems even more wrong to hear it here, where she’s supposed to be a distant memory. “I’m not really concerned how she feels about anything,” I say shortly. “She’s still in the city.”
Eight hundred miles away and still finding ways to cause some damage, cluttering up my voicemail and calling at all hours.
“Oh. Hey, sorry man. My mistake. It’s been a while,” he says apologetically.
“No worries, it’s OK.” I take a deep breath, then change the subject to the reason I reached out to begin with. “Listen, do you still have that showroom?” Declan runs a great spot in Charlotte, showcasing all kinds of high-end furniture design.
“Sure do,” he answers proudly. “We’re opening up another store in Atlanta in the fall.”
“That’s awesome, man. Congratulations. Listen, I’ve been getting back to design, and I’d love to figure out how to start selling some pieces.” I trace the pockmarked lines of the old wooden table. “You think I could get your expert opinion some time over beers?”
“Why don’t you just bring a few pieces by next time you’re in the city?” Declan suggests. “I’d be happy to take a look.”
“You sure?” In my former life, I made million-dollar deals without blinking, but somehow, the thought of showing my work to a professional like Declan makes me pause. “How about next week?”
“Absolutely. I’m always looking for new designers to carry. Who knows, maybe we can take some pieces for you, see what the market’s like.”
“That would be great, man. Really. And I mean it about the drinks, it’ll be great to catch up.”
Declan chuckles. “Just as long as it’s not like last time. Man, what was that club we all wound up at? I couldn’t look a tequila bottle in the eye for months.”
“Nothing but beer this time,” I promise. “I’ll see you soon.”
I hang up, already looking around the workshop trying to figure out what to take. I won’t need much: just the table, and some chairs I’ve been working on, maybe—old vintage leather and a raw hewn frame—but it should be enough to show him what I’m working with, and figure out if maybe, just maybe I’m not kidding myself to think my designs are worth anything.
I get back to it, my new deadline looming. It’s easy to lose myself in the work. It feels good, the physical labor, sanding the grain until it’s smooth to the touch, unloading another cord and sawing at the wood by hand until I’m sweating. I spent so many years sitting at a desk, doing nothing but move numbers around on a screen, getting my workout at a fancy gym on hi-tech machines. But there’s nothing like the feeling of real work like this: seeing my efforts take form in the wood, knowing that every hour I spend here will produce something real. Something useful.
It just makes sense.
Like Delilah.
I can’t stop thinking about her, all those wild memories from last night keeping me high, on-edge, counting down to seeing her again. It wasn’t just the sex, even though, damn, I’ve never known anything like that. For the first time, I saw her open up to me, let down her guard, and just be: her gorgeous, sweet, tender self. I didn’t know why she was keeping me at arm’s length, but learning more about what her father did, I understand it now. She’s scared of being hurt, and having her heart betrayed.
So why won’t you tell her the truth?
I push back the guilty voice in my mind. I know there’s too much I still haven’t told her, but there’ll be a time for that later. I won’t let my past interrupt this new beginning, not when I’m still earning her trust. She’s too damn skittish; I knew that the minute she sneaked out of my bed and high-tailed out like I was some mindless one-night stand.
Still, I knew she’d be back.
Maybe I was kidding myself, but somehow, I just had faith. The connection between us is so strong, I knew she couldn’t stay away for long. Hours, days, weeks—I’d give her all the time she needs, but instead, it was barely twenty minutes before I heard the door click, and her footsteps on the stairs again.
That’s when I knew she felt everything too.
Mine.
She belongs to me in a way that nobody else has, and I’m not going to risk that, not for the shadow of a world that’s behind me now for good. This is supposed to be a beginning, and I’m not about to go digging through the wreckage of the past. Still, I can’t shake the feeling haunting me, those old damn ghosts. Bitter mistakes, and even more painful memories. I built a life from scratch here, but the shadows still linger, the scars I thought would take forever to heal.
Right on cue, my phone rings again. The number I would have blocked long ago if she wouldn’t find some other way to call. I haven’t said a word to her in weeks, but finally, today, I snap and pick up the line.
“Don’t call me,” I order harshly. “Do you understand? I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to see you. There’s nothing in the whole goddamn world that can take back what you did, so for f*ck’s sake, stop trying!”