A Brand New Ending (Page 16)

She pounded harder. “Kyle? Open the door. It’s important.”

A low mutter. The clatter of a chair. Then the door swung open. His beard was scruffier, his hair crazily mussed, and his eyes had that sheen that hinted at a bit of madness.

“Sorry. Are you okay?”

She stepped in closer and kept her voice soft. “There’s someone here to see you.”

“Oh. Can you tell them to go away till later?”

“It’s your father.”

His stunned expression ripped at her heart. For just a second, he reminded her of the young boy who had been desperate and happy to take any attention his father would give. It was only later, after being rejected cruelly too many times, that there had been nothing but emptiness when he spoke about Patrick. The rage and pain had numbed over to ice, and Ophelia always believed that was so much worse.

His lips twisted. “Are you fucking kidding me? What does he want? Money?”

“No. Just to talk.”

A vicious curse blistered her ears.

“I cannot believe he actually came here. Damn town gossip must’ve let him know I’m back.” His face hardened with resolution. “I’m going to take care of this once and for all.”

He’d shared his stories with her, and she’d shared his pain. It was as if Patrick’s acts had affected both of them, especially when they ended up falling in love. “Do you want me to go with you?”

He shook his head but reached out to touch her shoulder. “No, I have to handle this myself. But thank you.”

Her heart ached to help him, but she remained quiet. Ophelia watched him stalk down the stairs. She drew a shaky breath. She’d stay right here, out of the line of fire, but close enough . . . just in case.

Maybe he’d glimpse what she just had. Patrick clearly seemed different. He’d stopped drinking. He wanted to make amends. It was a step. Wasn’t the first step always the hardest?

She gripped the banister as their voices drifted upward. No yelling. Just low, murmured conversation. Maybe enough time had passed to scab over some raw wounds so they could communicate for the first time.

Time blurred, but it seemed like a good sign that she still hadn’t heard the door slam. Finally, she heard the shuffle of footsteps down the hall. A click. Then quiet.

She waited for a bit. When Kyle didn’t appear, she made her way down the stairs. He was leaning against the antique writing desk, staring out the window. He shook himself out of his trance when she got closer.

“Hey, sorry. He’s gone.”

She hesitated, studying his face for clues. For a moment, she swore there was a flash of regret in those green eyes, but it was quickly replaced with nothing. “Did you talk to him?”

His features hardened. “Not really. I explained that it was best he stayed away. I told him I had nothing to say to him, and that there was nothing he could say that I’d want to listen to.”

She nodded, but her heart ached. “He looked different. Like he had stopped drinking.”

Kyle lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “Maybe. It doesn’t matter any longer, though.”

She took a step forward, wanting to reach out and touch him, then quickly drew back. Pain reverberated in waves around him, urging her to wrap him in her arms and soothe it away with her touch and her kiss and her words—like she had so many times before. Instead, she swallowed back the lump in her throat and forced her feet to turn away.

“Ophelia.”

“Yeah?”

“Want to sit down with me for a bit? I can grab us some lunch in town. We need to talk.”

An impatient sigh escaped her lips. “Look, I can understand if you want to talk about your dad—”

“I don’t want to discuss Patrick.” Ice flecked his tone. “That subject is dead. What I want is for you to give me a few minutes to have a real conversation about something important. It’s about us, Ophelia. You need to hear it.”

Her emotions roiled close to the surface.

Wasn’t letting him live here for three months enough? Couldn’t he just leave the past and their relationship alone in the locked box she’d safely stored them in? God, any moment she softened he tried to take advantage of her.

Twice now she’d gotten flashes of the man she’d fallen in love with. The one who’d taken comfort in her presence and shared his pain about his dad. The one who’d stepped in to take care of her and the inn without hesitation.

But it wasn’t real.

She couldn’t be misdirected by lingering emotions for a relationship that was over. The man she’d once loved had changed, and he was never coming back. She had to stop letting him sneak past her defenses.

Angry at her own weakness, she clenched her fists with frustration. “No. I don’t need to hear it. I need you to follow the terms of our damn agreement and leave me alone!”

His jaw clenched. He studied her defensive stance, then muttered a soft curse. “Do you hate me that much?”

She jerked. She didn’t want to do this. Once, he’d been her everything, but examining the past too intensely would only lead to more pain.

“No. I could never hate you—it would be like hating part of myself. But I don’t want to talk about us ever again.”

His gaze delved deep. “We may have a problem, then.”

Her nerves tingled in warning. Immediately, she sensed everything was about to change. The trembling began deep and broke slowly apart; the words hovered on his carved lips, and she knew she had to stop him. In sheer panic, she lifted her hands up and shook her head hard.

“I don’t want to know. Keep your truth to yourself, and let’s leave the past where it is—behind us. I have to go. I have a million things to do.”

“Ophelia.”

“Let’s just stick to the plan and move forward. I mean it. I’ve had enough.”

“Dammit, I have to—”

“I’m not listening,” she sang loudly as she whirled around and took off down the hall, focused on reaching the safety of her bedroom. She knew she should be humiliated by her ridiculous urge to run and hide, but she didn’t want to have a deep discussion about the many events that had ripped them apart and broken her heart.

A few steps from her room, she heard his voice bellow through the air and vibrate in an explosion of sound that froze her midmotion.

“For God’s sake, woman! We’re still married!”

She’d been right.

His words had changed everything.

Chapter Eight

Ophelia stared at him from across the dining room table.

Her vision was still a bit shaky, as if the world had tilted. Which it had. At first, she’d attempted to deny his declaration a hundred different ways. He quietly told her to take a breath, then guided her into a chair while he got some papers.

Still half in shock, she accepted the glass of water he brought her and gulped the liquid down in a few swallows. She was sure once she saw the papers, she’d spot an error.

Then they could have a big laugh and get back to ignoring each other.

After all, this was impossible. They were divorced. She’d signed the paperwork, and so had he.

“You must be wrong,” she forced out after her voice began working again. “We have copies from the lawyer.”

He pushed a fat folder in front of her. “Those are my copies of what we signed and gave the lawyer. But did you ever get an official dissolution of marriage form in the mail? Legal documents stating the divorce was final?”