True Divide (32 page)

22

C
losure isn't all it's cracked up to be. Especially when you're the only one participating. I stayed awake last night until nearly two in the morning, waiting for him to respond. I waited for the ping of my email, the sound of my phone ringing, but everything in my house stayed silent.

When Kate called me this afternoon, she sounded odd, asking me how I was doing in a weird way that made my skin crawl a little. A few days ago she asked me what my plan was. She mumbled something about selling the building, all the options I might have if I did, then she narrowed her eyes at me and waited for my answer. I shrugged my shoulders and told her that having options sounded a little petrifying. I spent a long time thinking I didn't have any. Just deciding what color swatch to pick feels like a lot for now.

Today, though, her tone was too inquisitive, too hopeful, as if she thought I would be all better now. I wanted to tell her I was working on this little thing they call closure, and I would let her know when I found it. Instead, I simply said I was fine. It was easier that way.

At the end of the day, I start to sweep the long aisleways and consider locking up early. But the sudden sound of the front bell forces that hope away. Before I can even make my way to the front counter, I hear the lock clicking on the front door. I stop and try to calm the race of my heartbeat.

When I shuffle out and turn, I have to consciously avoid letting out a near-involuntary moan at the sight of Jake standing a few feet away, clenching his fists up at his sides, a few days too many of stubble on his face, and tired little bags under his eyes.

“That was a dumb question, Shoelace.”

Standing there dazed, I'm capable of nothing beyond a little shake of my head.

“You asked me if you were worth it. Dumb question. Every second with you has been worth it. Every second loving you has been worth it. Even when you're ripping my heart out of my goddam chest and stomping on it with your pretty painted toes, you are worth it.”

My chin twitches at the instinct to cry. I clench my fists up and mirror his posture. Email closure is one thing. But Jake Holt standing here in front of me only makes the idea of ever being able to close the door on him, at all, seem like an impossibility.

“What are you doing here?”

“You opened the door with that email. I called Kate, asked if I could fly in and land at her place. Figured I should come shove my foot in the door, in person, before you tried to slam it shut again.”

“Why didn't
you
open the door? You didn't even try.”

Jake shakes his head and then looks at the ground. “I've been busy. Being pissed at you and wanting to die is time-consuming. Also,
I
didn't want this. I stood there and asked you to pick me. You told me to go to hell.”

I want to say I'm sorry, and simultaneously tell him to go to hell again because he's still making it sound like the answer should have been obvious to me. If anything, the bright neon lesson learned here is that the two of us haven't asked the right questions about what it might take to do this thing for real. Like grown-ups.

“No. You asked me to give up everything. Pick you over myself. That's a lot to ask, Jake.”

His jaw opens, readying a response, but then he shuts it again. I close the distance between us and stand as near as I can without touching him. Jake looks down and traces his tongue across the edge of his teeth, then clenches his jaw together.

“I know. I get that now.” A pause, long enough for him to let his shoulders relax. “And you know what? It hurt like hell that you didn't just say yes. Is that selfish? Probably. The selfish asshole inside me still wants that. But I'm here to choose
us
, Lacey. However you need me. Whatever way you'll take me.”

I take a deep breath. “Ruth Ann died. I wanted you so much I couldn't see straight. I needed you then.”

He shakes his head slowly. “All you had to do was ask for me. Even if I knew you wouldn't run away from Crowell with me, I would have swallowed my pride and been here.”

Every word from his mouth comes out too flat, nearly emotionless. Christ, this isn't going well. He's standing there declaring all the right things, but his tone says we aren't on solid ground. Nowhere near it. We're standing six inches apart, but unless one of us gives, the divide between our lives will be too much. The very idea of knowing he's out there in the world, possibly making a life with someone else, makes my heart ache in a way that I won't easily be able to bear.

Jake breaks first. “I'm willing to try living here in Crowell, if that's what you want. I did some checking around, put out some feelers, and I think there are enough outfitters around here that I can make it work.”

I start to shake my head to stop him but he keeps going, looking around the store, and flails his hand about. “If you need some part-time help here, I might be able to learn enough about makeup and nail polish to fumble my way through it without ruining some poor girl's self-esteem. Just please don't make me talk to anyone about waxing or any kind of hair removal. I can't do it. So fucking weird.”

“Jake.” He continues to gawk around the shop, almost as if he's never been here before. I tug on his shirt to get his full attention. “You can't work here.”

His face falls. “OK. I just want—”

“No.” I cut him off and press my hands to his chest. He's warm and he's here, and all I want is for us to fix this thing, together. “You can't work here because you would suck at it. No question. You. Would. Suck. Possibly ruin my entire business single-handedly.”

Jake visibly relaxes before me, then laughs with a shrug that concedes the obvious. He lets his gaze move across my face, searching, waiting for me to say more, but I'm a little stuck for what should come next. His hand comes up to thread the hair back from my face, but before he does, he falters a bit. Maybe because my eyelids flutter a little, or because he can tell I'm panicking, he gives in and lets his hand trace through my hair and fall to grasp lightly at the back of my neck.

“Don't hold back on me, Lacey. I need you to tell me everything you're thinking.”

A small trembling exhale leaves me, the release of every hesitance I've been bottling up. “I think we need to be together. I'm not sure where, or what it looks like exactly. I just know it has to be the two of us. We start here, in Crowell, until we figure out what's next. Can you handle that?”

“I can absolutely handle that. What I can't handle is this.” Jake waves his hands between us. “I can't handle doing this again if you aren't sure. Don't fuck with my head or my heart. Not much left of either at this point.”

“I'm positive. No question.”

Jake groans and cups my face in his hands, mouth coming to meet mine in a kiss that feels like homecoming and absolution all in one. My hands come to part his coat and slide along the ridges of his torso. I immediately want to pull his clothes off but stop myself; we just reconciled two seconds ago, after all. I still my hands abruptly. Jake groans.

“You still sure about this now that you've grabbed on to me there? I've been eating my feelings since I got home. You may not be as enamored with the results on my physique.”

A long snort of a laugh leaves me and I drop my forehead to his chest.

“Come on, you'd have to have spent the last month laying in bed and eating nothing but things that involve the words ‘super-sized' to have any effect on this body. Is that what you did?”

Another groan. “Not exactly. But I ate my weight in doughnuts from that café I like. Boysenberry glazed, toasted coconut, strawberry vanilla. These ones with caramel icing and bacon. All of them. My stomach was starting to feel a little shell-shocked under the sugar assault.” Jake pauses and runs his hands down my back. “I missed you so much. So much.”

All I can do is whisper the same. Jake urges me back a few inches and starts to walk, pushing me along with him, arms wrapping around my waist, before laying his hands firmly against my ass.

“I happen to know there is a perfectly sturdy, spacious desk in the back here. And you own this place now, so let's go break it in and christen your new business-owner status. We have tons of making up to do. As in, we should stop by the store on the way home to stock up on supplies. MREs, rations, bottled water, shit like that. Maybe some Advil. I don't plan to let up until we're both unable to walk or form complete sentences.”

A few hours later, Jake is standing on the sidewalk in front of The Beauty Barn, waiting for me as I pull the door closed and lock it. When I turn around, he's smiling softly, his hand outstretched and ready to take mine. The few streetlamps in town are flickering to life and I can't stop grinning because for the first time, there isn't any hesitation in my heart.

I take his hand, but step in front of him and turn my face up to see his.

“Tell me where you'd take me. If you could choose—which, for the record, you don't get to do—but, if you could, tell me where.”

“Aw, hell, Shoelace.” Jake tilts his head and puts one tender kiss to my lips. “Anywhere. Everywhere. Home.”

“But where's home?”

Jake shrugs and pulls on my hand until we're walking down the sidewalk. “Hell if I know. Wherever you are.”

A broad grin covers his face and I realize that, with him, I'll never quite know what lies ahead. We might end up in Tasmania or Tucson. Baltimore or Bali. We might stay in Crowell forever and build a love story to rival Ruth Ann and Vernon's. Or we very well could land in some town I've never heard of. The only certainty will be him.

And us.

Holding hands on Main Street, somewhere.

Acknowledgments

T
hank you to Victoria Lowes of the Bent Agency for taking on
True North
and working to find the right place for it to land. To Elana Cohen, not only for guiding this particular book to a better place, but also for shaping the entire series in a way that made it so much stronger.

When this series started, I didn't have readers or, honestly,
anyone
who knew anything about my writing. But I've been lucky enough to discover a wonderful group of readers, bloggers, and reviewers who have been tremendously generous with their love for these stories. A simple thank-you probably isn't enough, but it's the best I can do from behind a laptop. Hugs and cupcakes if I ever meet you on the street.

Warren: I've got your pedestal built, your halo is on order, and I've poured you a Yeti. You've been a rock
and
a soft place to land. Thank you.