CHAPTER TWENTY
Nia
I blink at the door Evan closed between us, then stare at the envelopes in my hand.
What has he done? I can’t breathe. My heart hurts. I tremble.
But I have to know what he’s saying to me.
Swallowing, I dig into the envelope on top. It’s the plane ticket he mentioned. I set it on the hall table beside me, then reach for the next set of documents. The papers giving me total ownership and control of Stratus. I scan them.
Oh, god.
This is surreal. This is crazy.
“Evan…why?”
But I know why. He’s showing me he trusts me. In the strongest way possible, he’s telling me he doesn’t believe I’ll sell him out to my biological father. And he’s doing it without uttering a word.
I can’t sign this. I can’t take this man’s work from him. He’s birthed it, lived and breathed it for years. As much as I would love for my own father to recognize me someday, I would never buy his affections by selling Evan’s blood, sweat, and tears, then pocketing the cash. Nor would I want Douglas’s affection if Stratus is the price.
If I have to choose between loyalty to the man who helped give me life or the man I pledged my future to, there’s really no choice.
I miss Evan so much. Christmas was awful. I spent the morning with Lorenzo and Guilia. Mateo offered me “comfort” as he dropped his hand to my thigh. I elbowed him in the stomach and flipped him the bird. Stephen picked me up for the evening. We shared pictures and swapped childhood stories. When I refused his offer of wine, he figured out I’m pregnant. Then he asked me what had gone wrong between Evan and me. Sad and lonely and heartbroken, I cried in his arms and explained. As he held me, he promised that Evan wouldn’t give up. He swore that Evan loves me.
My brother was right. I knew it even then…but is love enough? What good is it without trust? If Evan can’t believe I would always be his helpmate and his champion—that I would always choose him—how could we stay together?
I never expected him to prove how much he loves me by tossing aside every shred of his logic and sacrificing his future simply to say he’s sorry. He’s making me rethink my decision to end this and go.
I don’t want to open the last envelope, the one I know holds divorce papers. I stare at it like a snake, terrified it will bite me. The heartache of even holding these documents sears my veins like venom, wrecking me.
With a gasp, I toss the closed envelope on the hall table. I’m not opening it. I don’t want to read what’s inside. I don’t even want to touch the documents.
Now that the opportunity to be free is in front of me, I don’t want a divorce.
Where does that leave me?
Evan hurt me with his wild, awful accusations; I can’t deny that. But to never see him again, never hold him, never share the joy of our baby or our tomorrows with him?
My breath shudders as I close my eyes. I’m not ready to face that possibility. I resigned from my job and changed my number in anger. I cleaned out my desk and refused to answer my door because I wasn’t ready to forgive him. I stayed away over the holidays because I knew that if I looked at him once… Well, I love him too much to hold out.
And now every shred of my anger is gone. A seven-hundred-pound sorrow sits in its place, crushing my chest.
I’m putting everything in your hands, for you to decide.
But what decision should I make?
Things aren’t perfect between us…but I don’t want perfect. I want our push-pull. I want our silly debates about head versus heart. I want to teach him to vacuum. I want him to show me quantum physics. I want to curl up on the couch and watch him grapple to comprehend some of my favorite goofy films. I want to grow old with him.
The tears that began spilling during his heartfelt apology become a wrenching sob. I hold the wall for support, but still feel as if I’ll crumble if he doesn’t hold me.
I first fell in love with Evan James Cook when he glanced at me across his cheap rented desk, my résumé in his hand, and proceeded not to ask boring questions about my work experience or where I saw myself in five years. Instead, he tested my grit by asking about a time I wanted something so badly that I was unstoppable in pursuing it. Then he inquired about my sense of curiosity, wanting to know the last thing that made me geek out. He inquired about teamwork, ownership, and organizational impact. He wasn’t just looking for a cute assistant; he wanted someone with a brain. And he had such an interesting one of his own.
Oh, I dated off and on over the years I worked for him, tried to fall in love with someone who wasn’t already married.
I was utterly, wholly, ridiculously unsuccessful.
I’m still in love with Evan James Cook.
You can have him.
The voice in my head is coming straight from my heart. It’s impulsive. But I need to be rational, think of my future. Can I be with this man? He might always struggle with trust and emotion. He’ll be better at solving Mensa puzzles than sharing his feelings. He will never be an easy man to live with. But I love him so much and he’s come so far to not just tell me but show me that he loves me.
How can I not choose life with him?
My head spins as I lean against the wall and resist the urge to call him back until I’ve thought this through.
As I rest my forehead against the cool drywall and try not to cry, my knee bumps something. My startled gasp is loud in the silence until I realize it’s the package Evan brought with him. The painting he made.
Of us.
I have to see.
My heartbeat slams against my chest quick and hard as I tear into the paper and rip it away with one hand. With the other, I turn on the quirky chandelier in my foyer. When the space is illuminated, I find myself looking at the back of the canvas.
Breath held, I turn it around.
Against a soft gray background, a man and a woman sit facing each other, hands clasped as they look into one another’s eyes, legs twined. They have no color, no age, no identifying characteristics except the devotion in their eyes. They’re soul mates. They’re equals.
Together, their shapes form a perfect heart.
The sight destroys my composure—and my resistance. Suddenly, I can’t stand. I fall to my knees and stare at the couple.
That could be us—Evan and me—for the rest of our lives.
All I have to do is tell him I want, trust, and love him.
My tomorrows, if I choose a life without him, loom before me. I could go to Georgia, get a new job, start over, hope I meet someone who will be half the man Evan is, and probably be miserable for all my days. Or…
Pressing my hand to my shaking chest, I swallow down a sob, collect all the papers he gave me, and lurch for my door. I don’t care that my feet are bare, that I’m wearing pajamas, that any one of my neighbors could see me make a fool of myself.
The only thing that matters is reaching Evan.
My body trembles, heart thundering as I run down the walkway and stare up the street. In the distance, I see his familiar form, broad shoulders slumped as he slowly walks away. He reaches his car and hits the fob. With a listless tug, he opens the door, then pauses, bracing his arm against the doorframe. He lays his forehead on it and hesitates, as if he can’t bring himself to get in the car and drive away.
My heart leaps.
“Evan!” I run after him, screaming with every ounce of my energy, praying to God I’m not too late. “Evan!”
He jerks, head snapping up before he zips his stare in my direction. Cautiously, he takes a half dozen steps around the car, climbs onto the sidewalk, then starts an uncertain jog in my direction. “Nia?”
The closer I get the more my lungs burn, my eyes sting, and my heart feels as if it will explode. But I refuse to give up. I’ll never give up on this man.
“Evan…” My voice catches, wails.
He must hear my pleading, because suddenly, he runs toward me. “Nia!”
The closer we get the harder my tears fall. I can’t reach him fast enough. I can’t live without him another moment. I can’t be whole if he’s not my friend, my partner, and my husband.
Finally, we’re almost within touching distance. I launch straight at him. He opens his arms. We crash together. He lifts me, and I wrap myself around him. Our mouths meet for a long, wet, tear-filled kiss.
Instead of tearing me down, as the last eleven days apart have done, this embrace puts me back together, healing the pain, washing away the anger, blame, and despair. Now there’s just Evan. And I never want to let go.
When he eases his mouth free, he searches my face under the halo of the nearby streetlight. “Honey?”
I wriggle out of his arms and stand, swallowing down my nerves as I flip through all the documents I’m still clutching. I come across the agreement giving me ownership of Stratus. And I rip it in two. Then in two again. I repeat the process until I throw the confetti in his face.
“What was that?”
“You’re not giving your company to me. I don’t want Stratus. I certainly don’t want to sell it out from under you. And you’re not selling it to Douglas Lund. You are Stratus. The company has no heart without you. It belongs to you.”
Evan shakes his head. “You’ve been its heart for a long time. I’ve just been its brain.”
Weeping, I shake my head. “Don’t be an idiot. You’ve made it everything it is today. It will never function right without you. Neither will I.” With that, I take the envelope of divorce papers, holding one end in each hand, and give them it a mighty tug until I hear the most satisfying rip. “So you’re not divorcing me, either. Ever.”
He freezes. “You still want me?”
“I’ve always wanted you. I can’t not want you. I wanted you when I shouldn’t have. I loved you when it was impossible. I can’t unlove you. I’m not going to try again.”
His hand shakes as he raises it to my cheek. “I love you so much, Nia Cook.”
I manage a lopsided smile as I press the plane ticket to my chest. “I’m keeping the plane ticket to Maui.”
A wry grin spreads across his face. “Good. I have the seat next to you. I figured if you got on that plane, there was at least a shred of hope and I could spend the next six hours convincing you to take me back.”
I have to laugh at his crazy, sneaky, kinda brilliant ploy. “You don’t have to convince me of anything. I want to be with you, always.”
He swallows nervously. “You forgive me?”
I nod. “That shit is behind us.”
He lets loose a relieved sigh and pulls me close. “Thank god.”
“C’mon. You had to know I would take you back…”
“I didn’t. I hoped.”
Tsking, I shoot him a skeptical glance. “You’re too smart not to know better.”
“I knew nothing about my heart until you.” He lays his lips over mine as he settles his hands across my stomach. “The day we got married, you said you wanted more than fifty years with me. I want that, too. Just like I want more than this one child with you.”
I melt all over him. “You’re ready to be a father? You’re not afraid anymore?”
“No, I’m still terrified. I don’t know how to come back from the sudden loss of a baby. I’m taking that day by day. But whatever happens, we’ll deal with it together. If I have you and your love, I have everything I need.”
“You do.”
A little grin spreads across his face. “This all started because I intended to put out a personal ad for a wife. If I could go back and rewrite the copy now, it would say, ‘Stupid, left-brained entrepreneur seeks partner, lover, and soul mate. Ideal candidate is polished, intelligent, organized, educated, attractive—and under my nose, but I’m too blind to see it. Children and romance a must. Sense of humor a definite yes. Please relocate with me to Hawaii.”
I giggle through my tears. “Well, if you’re asking me now, the answer is yes. A million times, yes. And the first thing I want to do is hang your beautiful painting in our bedroom. Thank you for that. It touched me more than you know.”
“It was my pleasure. I thought of you with every stroke of the brush and imagined…”
He trails off, looking too choked up to finish his sentence. “Evan?”
“I imagined touching you again.”
“Don’t imagine.” I squeeze his hand. “Take me home and make love to me. Never let me go.”
“Ever.” He seals the vow with a kiss.
The End
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Also look for the next More Than Words novel, MORE THAN TEMPT YOU, coming from Shayla Black in early 2019!