Playing With Her Heart (Caught Up In Love #4)(61)
Author: Lauren Blakely

“I wish I’d known, Jill. I wish you’d let me help you get through all that.”

“I know. Me too.”

“But I’m here now. For whatever you need.”

“Thank you.”

“And I want to help you. I wasn’t able to be there when you went through it, but I think there’s one more thing you need to do. To finally put everything behind you.”

“What is it?”

“Sort of like a memorial. A ceremony. A last goodbye.”

“What do you mean?”

He tosses some cash on the table and hands me my coat. “You need to get rid of that letter. You need to stop holding on to it and set yourself free from the past. Set him free too,” he says, softening his tone on the last words.

I balk at the idea initially, as I stand up and slide my arms into my jacket. The letter is like a part of me; it’s been my weight, my debt. “I don’t know, Chris.”

But he nods, resolute with this plan. “Look, I know it seems scary. But it sounds like it’s been haunting you. You carried that letter, slept with it next to you. We need to say goodbye to Aaron and to all the guilt you carried around, okay?”

Haunting me.

He’s right. It has haunted me, and I know that this is how I can finally forgive myself.

* * *

Forty-five minutes later we are in our hometown, the borough of Brooklyn, and Chris is holding my hand as we walk across the cold grass in the cemetery where Aaron was buried. As the wind snaps cold air, I wrap my scarf tighter around my neck. Gravestones stretch far across the hills, row after row of markers, of memories. We find Aaron’s headstone, and I kneel down and trace the numbers of the year he died. My chest tightens, and my throat hitches, remembering the good times. I’m glad to see a bouquet of lilies on the ground that must have been left here a few days ago. From someone who still thinks of him. Still cares for him. I add another bouquet, this time leaving forget-me-nots. Because I don’t want to forget him, and I don’t want him to be forgotten, despite everything that went wrong.

“Goodbye, Aaron,” I say, my heart heavy, but this time for the right reasons. This time because I’m not hiding how I’m feeling.

Rising, I reach into my purse, find the letter and hand it to my brother. It feels like a strange part of me that I’m giving up, but I know I need to let go of those words that I carried around for years like a chain. Just like I had to say goodbye to my ideal of Patrick.

Chris opens a matchbox we picked up at a nearby deli. He flicks a match across the strip on the front, lighting it. Then he brings the small flame to the corner of the paper, and I watch, solemnly, as the paper curls into the orange light, turning black and becoming ash in my brother’s hand. When the flame reaches the final slip of white, Chris flicks his wrist, putting out the match. Then he dusts off the tiny bit of ash in his hands.

And I say a last goodbye to all that I held onto. To all that I don’t need anymore.

* * *

Later that day, we’re in Bryant Park watching some young guys scooter around the library steps when Chris turns to me. “So I have a favor to ask you now,” he begins.

“Sure.”

“McKenna’s joining me here later this week, so we can see your show on opening night. And this might be totally crazy and you can absolutely say no, but I have this idea of how I kinda want to ask her a big question.”

He shares his plan and my eyes go wide, and I punch him. But it’s a happy punch.

“Well, I happen to have an in with the director,” I say. “Let me see what I can do for you.”

Before we part, I reach into my purse and hand him a book. “I thought you might like this.”

“Yes! The new Carl Hiassen. Awesome!”

I smile, knowing the book has found its proper home.

Chapter 23

Jill

As the industrial elevator chugs upward, I watch the numbers on the dial trudge closer to his floor. With a loud groan, the elevator settles onto the fifth floor, and I am so jumpy inside that I think my internal organs are conducting an impromptu musical chairs. I’m a mix of nerves and excitement as the doors open and I step into a brightly lit hallway with four doors. Each loft must have its own corner view.

I knock on his door and ten seconds later he opens it, and I catch my breath. The ends of his hair are wet, as if he just stepped out of the shower, and he’s wearing a gray t-shirt that shows off his strong arms, and jeans that hang so delectably on his hips. His feet are bare. I’ve never seen him dressed so casually before, and it’s yet another look I want to add to the portfolio in my mind of my beautiful man.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” It’s only one word, only one syllable from him, but it is charged. We are both combustible right now.

I quickly scan his loft with its hardwood floors, wide, open spaces, exposed brick walls and windows everywhere. I want to explore every nook and cranny of his home, see what’s on the coffee table, and inside the fridge, but that can all wait, because he is all I want right now. “I’m dying to see where you live, but I can’t get past how hot you look right now,” I say.

Like I’m operating only on instinct, my hands hone in on his midsection, and I inhale sharply when I feel the outlines of his abs beneath his tee-shirt. I slide my hands under the cotton fabric, luxuriating in the feel of his firm stomach. He cups my face in his hands, and gives me a quick kiss. Then he pulls back. “So, the master bath has two vanities,” he says, as if he’s a realtor showing me around, then trails off, shutting the door behind us. “Fuck tours. I’ll show you around later.”

“I missed you today,” I whisper.

“You did?”

I nod. “I had a great time with Chris, but I really wanted to see you.”

“What am I going to do with this new you? This you who actually says what she feels?”

I freeze up for a moment. “Don’t tell me it was all about the chase?”

He shakes his head, then corrects me. “It was all about the prize. It was all about you. I wanted you from the second you stepped onto my stage. But I should be a gentleman and offer you a drink.”

“I don’t want a drink,” I say, and I tip my forehead to the open doorway that leads to his bedroom.

“As you wish,” he says, hungrily, as he takes my hand and leads me into his bedroom.

Though I’ve barely taken a minute to notice any other surroundings, I sure as hell notice the king-size bed, white comforter and chrome frame, and the huge window that runs floor to ceiling. I wish I could say I hope no one notices us, but I honestly don’t care who sees.