All I Want Is You Page 24

  She continued to play absently in the sand with her stick, even as darkness swallowed the last light of the day, but he could see the silhouette of her pretty head tilting to one side. “Nicer? How could it be nicer?”

  He had to smile. She really was a down to earth girl, his Alice. And knowing that made what he was about to do easier. Because it made him know everything would be all right. “Well,” he said, “I dig the Crab and Reece and all, but on the next trip we can stay at one of the bigger places with the fancy lagoon pools—­maybe the resort that’s selling your jewelry.”

  She moved back toward him, climbed into the shallow boat, sat down next to him again on the wooden seat. “That’s sweet, Jack, but not necessary. Unless one of us is suddenly rolling in dough or something,” she added, sounding tongue-­in-­cheek.

  And Jack took a deep breath and said, “I’ve got something to tell you, honey. A ­couple of things, actually.”

  Another head tilt—­he could see her a little better now that she was closer to him again, but more the shape of her than her expression. “Really? What?” She sounded interested, curious.

  Jack knew he’d had plenty of time to figure out how to say this, but not having wanted to think about it more than necessary, he hadn’t planned anything out. So now he winged it. “Remember I told you about Candy, who cheated on me?”

  “Of course.” Next to him, Christy sat up a little straighter, and even in the dark, he sensed her eyes widening. She was actually happy he was going to tell her more about that now—­good. This really would be easy.

  So just say it. “Well, the reason I didn’t want to talk about it before now is because . . . I was married. We were married. When she cheated on me. That’s why it was . . . well, pretty fucking devastating, to be honest. It ruined my life. It pretty much destroyed my faith . . . in everything. Until you,” he told her. And then he went quiet. To give her a chance to respond.

  She stayed silent for a long moment, and then finally she said, sounding calm but a little astonished, “You were married?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “For about two years when it happened. It was . . . the worst time of my life.”

  And he was sitting there, still waiting for her to be as sympathetic as she’d been the last time they’d started discussing this—­when instead she said, “You were married. And you’re just now telling me?”

  Jack took a deep breath. Shit. This wasn’t going as smoothly as he’d hoped. He’d really convinced himself it would be simple. Because Christy was so sweet. Caring. Forgiving. So if he explained some more, that would straighten this out. “The reason I didn’t—­couldn’t—­is because ever since then . . . I’ve been pretty sure that, whether she really knew it or not, she married me for my money. So you see why, when I met you, I wasn’t comfortable letting you know about that.”

  He sensed her tensing even further beside him. “Money? What money?” She shook her head, clearly confused.

  And Jack took a deep breath. Keep going—­this will be all right. “Honey, I’m not really a handyman. I really do flip houses—­as a hobby. But I also run an online investment advisory firm. And the truth is, I’m kinda loaded. And—”

  “Wait,” she interrupted, holding up both her hands to stop him. “Let me get this straight. You’re telling me you’ve been married. And that you’re loaded.”

  “Yeah,” he answered softly.

  And after a few seconds, she said, “Oh my God, Jack. I can’t believe you. And . . . I wish I never had to see you again.”

  With that, she got up, stepped out of the little boat, and began to trudge up the beach. And as Jack watched after her, dumbfounded, he realized the heart she’d drawn in the sand was completely invisible to him now, hidden by the darkness.

  “And here I must leave you.”

  Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking Glass

  Chapter 18

  CHRISTY WISHED there were more moonlight so she could see where she was going. Instead she followed the shoreline with the help of the water where it rushed up onto the sand and then flowed back out—­she trundled along recklessly, just wanting to be away from him, as far away as she could get. She walked as fast as possible, in disbelief, her heart beating like a drum in her chest.

  She didn’t know him at all. She’d given herself to him entirely—­she’d opened herself up in ways she hadn’t even known she could—­and she hadn’t really known him at all.

  He’d been married? And he was freaking rich? She could barely even wrap her mind around either one of those concepts at the moment, let alone getting hit with both at once. All she knew was that Jack wasn’t . . . Jack now. He wasn’t the guy she’d come to know. He wasn’t the guy she’d bared her heart and soul to. He was just . . . somebody else. Some liar. Some deceptive jerk.

  “Christy! Christy, wait!”

  Oh Lord. He was following her. Following her up the beach. When she wanted—­needed—­to be alone. She didn’t want to let him explain because how could you explain a lie?

  She kept walking only to hear him call again, his voice closer now. And then a few seconds later his hand closed over her shoulder, stopping her—­but she pulled away from him and continued up the shore. “Leave me alone,” she said.

  “You’re really that mad? About this?” he asked, having the unbelievable nerve to sound perplexed.

  Okay, now she stopped walking. And looked him in the face. It was dark, but she could still see the glint of his eyes and make out the hint of a bewildered expression. Seriously? He was bewildered?

  “Of course I’m that mad! You lied to me! About huge things! You led me to believe you’re some entirely different guy than you really are! And okay, maybe I get why you didn’t come clean about the money in the beginning. But by now?” She stopped, took a breath, rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe you’re actually rich. I mean, the irony of it! And you don’t seem rich.”

  “Because I’m a nice guy,” he said. “A nice, normal, down to earth guy. I wasn’t always rich. I made money by being smart and ambitious. And I really want to tell you about it. I’ve wanted to tell you—­lots of times. But it was confusing to know when.”

  “Yes, that’s one of the problems with lies. They’re confusing. Not to mention hurtful.” She trudged on.

  And he followed behind her, catching up. “Look, it’s not like you don’t know why I lied. It’s not like I’m just some guy who just lies at random.”

  “No, your lies were very well thought out and effectively executed. In fact, I’m guessing you were dealing with more important stuff than social networking every time you’ve had your laptop open, right? You should be very proud of how convincing you were.”

  “Is it really any different than what you were planning to do to any rich guy you dated?” he asked, his tone a little harsher now. “You were going to keep information back. Not let them know money was a requirement and that you wouldn’t be dating them otherwise. How is it you’re suddenly the innocent one and I’m the bad guy?”

  She pulled in her breath. That stung—­because it was true in a way. But there were big distinctions between the two situations. “It’s different,” she said pointedly, “because it turned out I sucked at pulling that off. Because it felt wrong and I figured out I couldn’t go through with it. Because I wanted actual love. And I thought I’d found it. But now I have no idea what I’ve found.”

  “Christy, be reasonable. Just because I didn’t tell you everything doesn’t mean this isn’t love, that it isn’t real. It just means I made a mistake, that’s all.”

  “That’s all?” she repeated back to him. Easy for him to say. And as she stopped for a second, as she weighed it, she knew exactly when he should have given her the whole truth. “You said you loved me, Jack. You said you loved me, but you still didn’t tell me. You kept right on lying even after that. And love is trust. Love is honesty. So this can’t b
e love.”

  She almost felt the large whoosh of breath that left him at the weight of her words and he stood speechless before her for a long, heavy moment. Until finally he said, “It’s not as easy as you’re making it sound. It’s not that cut and dried, that absolute.”

  Which she thought was ridiculous, and so she said, simply, “It is to me.”

  “Christy,” he beseeched her, “you have to understand. I was just so damn afraid to trust anyone after what happened with Candy.”

  “And now you’ve paid it forward,” she explained to him, “because now I’ll be afraid to trust anyone after what happened with you.”

  Next to her, he let out a low, frustrated-­sounding sort of growl. “Don’t be crazy,” he said. “This isn’t as bad as you’re making it out to be, honey.”

  “Don’t call me crazy,” she snapped. “And don’t call me honey, either—­I’m not your honey anymore.”

  Now it was he who stopped walking and she could tell something about that particular reply had knocked the wind out of him. Well, good. Because she’d meant it. Her heart broke a little more with each step she took. She’d actually been . . . happy. And she’d started trusting in that—­believing it was okay to finally feel happy again, after all she’d lost. And now this.

  And to top it all off . . .

  She came to a halt now, too, and turned back to face him. The only sound was the surf rushing in and out a few feet away. “Do you have any idea how foolish I feel, Jack? To have thought you were being generous by paying for our room at the Happy Crab? To have thought you and I were alike, that we were in the same boat in life? And to find out that we aren’t?” There was so much to absorb and sort through, and at the moment, this was the one particular facet of it hitting her. “You must have thought it was so silly of me to be excited to sell that first piece of jewelry for twenty dollars when you probably drop that much on a fancy glass of wine. You must have been laughing at me inside.”

  “Never, Christy,” he said, his tone gone somber. “I understood why you were excited—­I was happy for you. Having money doesn’t make me a snob. And . . . we are in the same boat in life.”

  “How do you figure?” Even though he couldn’t see it, she rolled her eyes.

  And he said, “We both lost what mattered to us most. And with it we lost our sense of security.”

  “Oh . . .” she breathed softly, not liking the fact that the comparison made her unwittingly understand where he was coming from a little better, made her remember that he’d been through something, too—­something painful and hard. She didn’t want to empathize with him right now, though—­she was too angry, too hurt by the deceptions. She thought it easier to forgive almost anything else.

  “And I do know what it’s like to feel foolish—­on top of all the other kinds of pain, I felt pretty damn foolish to find out my wife was having a full-­blown affair with another guy and that I’d had no idea. And I’m sorry. I never thought about you feeling foolish. There’s nothing to feel foolish about, I promise.”

  Still, it didn’t help. It stung too much to think of every single time he’d pretended not to be much better off financially than her. It stung to think of how long he’d let the lie stand between them. And the fact that he’d been through an entire marriage and divorce and thought it was okay to get this deeply into a relationship without telling her about it was upsetting in a whole different way. The result of any lie to someone who trusted you was to make a fool of them—­that simple.

  And as she stood there staring at him, glad the lights of the fishing pier shone in the distance yet also wishing they’d already reached it, wishing they were already back to the more populated part of Coral Cove and closer to the Happy Crab, it hit her what it all boiled down to. “I was real with you. I was honest with you, always. And the better I got to know you, the more honest I got. I opened up to you. I talked to you about things I don’t talk to many ­people about. Because I trusted you. And you . . . you just shit all over that, Jack.

  “You got to see parts of me that are private, special. I gave you parts of myself that I’ve never given to anyone else. And the fact that, the whole time, you couldn’t even be honest with me about the biggest parts of your life . . . well, it tells me how much you really valued me and the time we’ve spent together here.”

  Jack let out a breath she could hear. She felt the heaviness of her words covering them both like a thick, smothering blanket. When he spoke, his voice came out solemn, quiet. “That’s not true, Christy,” he said. “It just isn’t.”

  “It is for me,” she told him. “And it’s nothing you can fix or change. So you may as well not even waste your time trying.”

  And with that, she trudged onward—­both relieved and perhaps a little unexpectedly disappointed when he didn’t follow this time.

  She really didn’t want him to waste his time. She saw no point in continuing to go over this. But maybe, deep down, some tiny part of her had been secretly hoping he could find some miraculous way to change everything and magically make it all right again. And the fact that he wasn’t following, wasn’t trying, made her realize that even he could see that it would take a miracle. And that he didn’t have one to give her.

  JACK hadn’t chased her the second time she’d run away from him. He’d been tired, and out of ways to try to repair this. He knew he’d screwed up—­he’d just truly trusted enough in her sweetness to think she’d understand, and forgive.

  Was it dumb of him to have thought she’d actually be happy to find out he had money? After all, wasn’t that what she’d wanted? Wasn’t he exactly what she’d been looking for when they’d first met?

  But he supposed she couldn’t see beyond his deception right now. And he didn’t know how to show her that he really was a good guy—­even if he didn’t seem like one right now.

  He walked slowly up the beach, watching her jog away from him. The bright yellow tank top she wore showed up better than most things in the dark, but just like that heart in the sand, it grew vaguer and harder to see in front of him until it was completely gone.

  Reaching the pier, quiet and empty at this hour, he walked out onto it, to the very end, then leaned against the railing to peer out over the ocean. And he thought about trust. It came in a lot of different shapes and sizes. He’d trusted Candy and she’d broken that trust. And so by trying to protect himself, he’d been dishonest with someone else—­and ended up losing her because . . . he’d done the same thing Candy had done to him. The offenses were very different, of course, but in the end he supposed trust was trust. And that being sorry didn’t bring it back.

  He’d never actually thought about how his deceptions would make Christy feel. He’d weighed the chances of her being forgiving—­but he’d never stopped to really think about how it felt to learn you’d been fooled, to learn that what you thought you understood you actually didn’t. Maybe if he’d ever really taken the time to consider her part in this instead of just worrying about himself, he’d have been honest a lot sooner. And everything would be fine now.

  But he hadn’t, and it wasn’t.

  He thought of Charlie’s advice to him. Come clean. And have faith. “I had faith,” he said quietly to the sea, “but so much for that. So what now?”

  When the sea didn’t answer—­not a big ­surprise—­he finally turned and began making his way back to the Happy Crab. And he thought about going to Fletcher’s house instead, or maybe seeing if Reece was still up—­he lived in an apartment behind the motel’s office—­but he didn’t actually think talking about this would help anything.

  He used his key to quietly open the door to the room. Inside, all was quiet and mostly dark. She’d left the bathroom light on, presumably so he could see, but she was already under the covers and fast asleep—­in her old bed. She’d been sleeping in his since the first night they’d had sex. And the mere sight of her back in
the other one was like one more blow to the gut.

  “I can’t believe she’s back in her old bed, just like that,” he murmured to himself, then started across the room.

  “Of course I’m back in my old bed,” she said softly, apparently not so fast asleep after all. “We’re over, Jack. You ruined it. You ruined everything. So don’t act like it’s my fault.”

  And since she was awake, he took another stab at talking about this. “I’d fix it if I could, Christy. I honestly thought you’d understand. Because you’re an understanding person. I never thought you’d be this upset.” And then the agonized words she’d shared with him a little while ago came back to him—­and he got real with her, as real as he could possible get. “And what you said about opening up to me, I love that you were open with me. It’s what made me fall in love with you. It’s what made me brave enough to finally tell you all this.”

  In response, she flipped the covers back, sat up in bed. And God, even in the dim lighting, she looked so sad that it ripped his heart out. How had he been so careless with something so valuable? “But you told me too late,” she said.

  Jack sat down on the foot of her bed and met her pretty gaze. He peered into her eyes and wondered if there was anything he could do to make her believe in him again. “What if I opened up, too?” he asked her. “What if I told you everything I should have already told you? I’m not good at being open like you are. But . . . what if I try?”

  He couldn’t read her eyes, even as he looked deeply into them. Yet it was only then that he realized the skin around them was red and a little puffy, and that she’d been crying.

  “I’m so sorry I hurt you, Christy,” he told her, feeling like the biggest clod alive. He shook his head. “I swear I never meant to. And maybe I’ve been selfish here, but I never meant to do that, either. Maybe I don’t know . . . where the line is between selfishness and self-­preservation.”