World Enough and Time (30 page)

Sometimes I swore my horses could see right through me. I could hide it from the rest of the world, but they knew. Just another reason I couldn’t let them go. They knew me better than almost anything that walked on two legs.

Jester nuzzled me again, the closest a horse could get to “what’s wrong?”. I slung his halter over my shoulder, put my arms around his neck, and buried my face in his mane.

He rested his head on my back and let me cry.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Connor and I finally made it to that steak restaurant on the waterfront.

It was, as he had said, fantastic. It had five-star restaurant ambiance with the kind of spectacular, perfectly cooked steaks I usually found in those roadhouse-style places with peanut shells on the floor.

We sat by the window with an incredible view of the sun sinking behind the Olympic Mountains beyond Puget Sound. This was the perfect place for a romantic dinner.

The perfect place for us to eat together when we’d first started seeing each other, not now. Not when we were getting close to the end credits, just waiting for one or the other to finally say “this is it.”

All through dinner, that heavy cloud hung over my head, dulling all my senses. I was distantly aware of how good the food was. Vaguely picked up on the dimly-lit, intimate atmosphere. Even the sunset was muted, as if viewed through dingy, tinted glass.

The only thing that came through with crystal clarity was what hadn’t been said. A decision had been made, and it was just a matter of one of us saying it was time to implement it. The opportunity presented itself a few times—a pause, a comment about his upcoming move, a suggestion of “next time” —but each such opportunity passed unclaimed.

I sipped, but didn’t taste, my wine and masked a resigned sigh. In a week, he’d be gone, so I knew that conversation was inevitable. It had to be done and I promised myself over and over that I would. Soon. I just wasn’t ready to miss him yet.

And so we kept talking about this and that and nothing in particular. It was the kind of conversation that existed only to fill a void, to postpone the unavoidable. Speaking, but saying nothing. Eventually, it dwindled into silence.

No words passed between us after dinner while we walked along the waterfront, not even when we slowed our pace near the lot where his Jeep was parked. Where it was parked the first night we went out, the first time we tried to come to this place but didn’t
quite
make it.
Back when
, I thought, swallowing the lump in my throat,
dinner could wait because we couldn’t
.

Though the Jeep was much farther down the long expanse of asphalt, we stopped beside the railing. We didn’t speak, just stood in the same place we’d stood that night when we’d coyly danced around the subject of what we both wanted until he’d finally said it.

I only hoped he would find the words again tonight because I didn’t think I could.

Side by side and a million miles apart, we watched one of the ferries disappear into the night. When it was gone, the lighthouse across the water on Alki Point held my attention.

Below us, the tide lapped lazily at the rocks with gentle, rhythmic splashes. Behind us, the city hummed with the subdued sounds of a day that was winding to a close.

And still, we didn’t speak.

That is until Connor put his hand over mine on the railing and released a breath. “Listen, Dani, I—” He paused, watching his hand gently squeeze mine.

I chewed my lip and waited for him to speak again, suddenly unsure if I wanted him to say it after all. The silence had been unbearable, but now I wasn’t so sure I could take this.
No, no, it has to be done
. Sadness tugged at my heart, but relief was already starting to creep in.

Lacing our fingers together, he lifted our joined hands off the railing. He put his other hand over mine and his palm was cool and damp with perspiration. His thumb moved back and forth across the back of mine and, drawing a deep, unsteady breath, he met my eyes.

“I know we’ve talked about California. I know we’ve—” He paused.

My heart pounded.
No, no, don’t. Please. You know I love you, but I can’t. I just can’t
. “Connor—”

“Let me finish. Please. Dani, I love you. I love you and I—” Another pause. “When I said I wanted you to come with me, I meant it.” Another deep breath.

He dropped to one knee and my heart dropped to my feet.

Panic surged through my veins. I hadn’t seen this coming. I couldn’t believe it was happening. Blood pounded in my ears, thundering so loudly it almost drowned out his voice when he spoke:

“Dani, will you marry me?”

No poetry. No memorized verse. Nothing but the simple words of a complicated question.

I couldn’t speak.

I couldn’t breathe.

I
couldn’t
.

His thumb ran along the back of my hand again. That gentle, affectionate touch, underscored by a hint of unsteadiness, brought tears to my eyes.

“Connor, I—” Our eyes met and his held a heartbreaking mix of hope and fear. I swallowed hard. “Connor, I can’t.”

His lips parted, but he said nothing. Disbelief was etched into every line and contour of his face, his wide eyes pleading with me to clarify what I’d just said. Clarify or retract.

“I can’t do it. I’m sorry, Connor.” My voice was flat, almost to the point of cold as I bit back my emotions. I forced myself to appear calmer and more collected than I was. Maybe it was cruel, leading him to believe this was easy, but even one tear would be a crack in the dam, and I wouldn’t be able to stand this ground if my emotions brought me to my knees.

With no expression on his face, he released my hand, opening his fingers but otherwise not moving. Leaving it to me to break contact. Leaving it to me to pull away.

Tightening my jaw to keep myself together, I gently freed my hand. He put his on the railing to steady himself as he stood. When his knee lifted off the pavement, I knew the offer was off the table. I expected some sense of relief, but there came none. All that came was a sick feeling of finality, that this was really and truly over.

Connor looked out at the water, furrowing his brow as if something required intense concentration. Cleared his throat. Then again. Without looking at me, he said, “I guess I should take you home then.”

Cold water rushed through my veins. No. No, this had to end now. If it was going to end, it needed to do so now because it hurt too much to be this close to him.

There was only one thing I could do.

“No,” I said. “I’ll, I—”

He looked at me, eyebrows raised.

Go on, Dani, twist the knife a little harder
. I dropped my gaze and took a step back. The first step. The hardest step.
They should all get easier after this, right
?

Chewing the inside of my cheek, I said, “I’ll get a cab.” And before I lost my nerve, I turned to go.

I took the next step.

And the next.

And kept going.

He didn’t call after me.

I’d only gone a few yards when footsteps behind me echoed in a faster rhythm than my own, and I hoped to God he wasn’t trying to follow me. There were only so many times I could make myself say no to him before my heart sided with him and outnumbered my better judgment.

I looked over my shoulder in time to see him disappear into the shadows as he walked away from me. A few spare beams of light reached him from elsewhere in the lot and hinted at his silhouette, and I watched him until my vision blurred.

Choking back tears, I turned and continued in the opposite direction.

It wasn’t supposed to be this hard to let go. This wasn’t supposed to happen. But it was. It had.

I walked on. Faster. Further. Past the restaurant where we’d dined. Past people who murmured words of concern that drowned in my heartbeat. Past the windows and faces of this city that I couldn’t call home but still chose over Connor.

And every step I took was just as hard as the first.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

I didn’t sleep that night.

Crying myself to sleep didn’t work. Physical and emotional exhaustion were no match for regret, confusion, and heartache. Over and over I relived the scene down by the waterfront.

Connor dropping to one knee. The tremor in his hands while he waited for my answer. The hurt in his eyes when he got it. Walking away from him. Watching him walk away from me.

Of all the things I’d anticipated and dreaded, his proposal had come out of left field. I didn’t see it coming, but there it was.

In a perfect world, I’d have said yes before he finished the question. I’d never loved someone like I loved Connor. But this wasn’t a perfect world. This was a world in which loving him meant taking a thousand mile gamble, a gamble I’d already lost once. This was a world in which I had two horses that I couldn’t afford to move and wasn’t about to sell.

This was also a world in which another woman had worn his ring just a few months earlier. If he could so easily leave her behind, then he could do the same to me.

It wasn’t a perfect world, so this was how it had to be, but I’ll be damned if it didn’t hurt like nothing else I’d ever experienced.

Even though I knew it was futile, I tried to sleep, but gave up when the sun rose. Sitting up in bed, rubbing my eyes, only one thought rang clear in my muddled, foggy mind: There was no way in hell I could go to work today.

I picked up my phone and stared at the keypad, trying to remember who I was supposed to call and how to do it. Muscle memory kicked in, and I scrolled to Leslie’s number and hit send.

“Hello?”

“Leslie? It’s Dani,” I said. “I’m, um, I need to call out today.”

“Oh? Are you okay?”
“Yeah, yeah,” I said. “I just, my back’s been giving me some trouble.”

“I’ll have Susan cover your lessons today, then. Will you be back tomorrow?”

Tomorrow. Oh God. There’s another day after this one
.

“Dani?”

I cleared my throat. “I should be. I’ll let you know.”

After I hung up, I got out of bed and shuffled into the kitchen. There, I poured what I was certain would be the first of many, many cups of coffee.

Several times throughout the day, I considered staging a miraculous recovery and going to work. At least that was something to do besides wandering around my apartment, clinging to a coffee cup while last night ran through my sleep-deprived mind like a broken record. Maybe I needed a trail ride to clear my head. Or a few runs through the jump course on Xena.

At this point, I doubted even that would be enough to distract me though. The last thing I needed was to be thinking about walking away from Connor when Xena decided at the last second not to go over a jump. Frustrating though it was, steering clear of the horses right now was probably my
safest
choice.

When my phone rang that evening, shortly after the time I’d normally be leaving the barn, I half-expected it to be Susan. She knew I wouldn’t call out sick unless I was in Intensive Care, so I had no doubt she’d want to know what was up. But deep down, I knew it wasn’t her.

The letters on the caller ID had a split second to confirm my fears before tears blurred my vision.

Connor
.

Though I couldn’t turn him away, I wasn’t so sure I could talk to him either. Swallowing tears and pride, I flipped my phone open.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” He was quiet for a second. “Can we talk?”

No. Please God, no
. I took a breath. “Yeah, we can talk.”

“I’d like to—” He paused, and I imagined him closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose, frustration knitting his eyebrows together. Then he let out a long breath. “I’d like to talk in person.”

It was my turn to close my eyes and press my fingers against my nose as I’d imagined him doing. I wasn’t sure I could face him after I’d turned my back on him last night. But I owed him that much.

Taking a deep breath, I said, “We can do that. Do you, um, do you want to come over?”

He hesitated. I thought I heard him swallow hard. His voice was flat when he said, “Yeah. Are you home?”

“Yes.”

“Want me to come over now?”

Not now. Not now. Please, not now
. “Now is fine. I’ll be here.”

He cleared his throat. “Give me about twenty minutes, then.”

After we’d hung up, I went into the bedroom and occupied myself with my appearance. I wasn’t concerned with impressing him. I didn’t care what I looked like at this point. Fixing and re-fixing my hair was something to occupy otherwise idle hands. Changing my shirt three times over helped.

I was midway through my fifth ponytail when a knock at the door turned my blood cold. Looking at myself in the mirror, I took a deep breath and steeled myself. I tossed my ponytail holder on the counter and left the bathroom.

When I opened the door, my throat closed.

He wasn’t dressed the same as last night and had a few more hours of lost sleep under his eyes, but otherwise, he looked exactly like he had the moment I’d turned him down. Hurt. Confused. Probably more than a little humiliated.

I stepped aside, gesturing for him to come in. He walked past me and I couldn’t decide whether or not I was imagining the sudden chill in the air. Closing the door, I followed him into my living room.

And there, we faced each other. We were a few feet apart, well out of arm’s reach. There was a silent, invisible barrier between us, a line carved in ice that neither of us would have dared to cross even if we’d been standing closer together. All those times we couldn’t keep our hands off each other, and now this.

Connor was the one to break the silence, but the ice remained firmly in place.

“I don’t even know where to start,” he said softly.

“Neither do I.” I folded my arms across my chest to ward off a phantom chill. “Connor, what happened last night?”