CHAPTER NINETEEN

Carson

I woke with my head clear, the sky darker outside, and decided to go and find something to read; a certain way to ease my distracted thoughts. I walked out of the study and past the door of the attic, a book Brett had recommended in my hand. My head had just started to clear, and I was feeling awake now. Even though it must be fairly late at night, I noticed the light was still on in the attic. I paused. The kids were in their room—I could hear the excited chatter drifting along the hallway.

I guess they forgot to turn off the light.

I reached around the door, feeling for the switch. Someone drew in a breath.

“Amelia?”

I moved to stand before the door. My guess was correct: Amelia was still up there. She turned, blue eyes huge like I’d surprised her. She looked so lovely that I would have found it impossible to look away.

“I…” she looked at her hands, unsure what to say. Her chest was heaving and there was red in her cheeks. I winced, wanting her overwhelmingly. Everything about her, from her pale skin to the sweet rise of her breasts, made my body long to hold her and take her downstairs.

“I didn’t know you were in there,” I said with a weak chuckle. “I thought the kids left the light on.”

“They’re in bed,” Amelia said quietly, as if that answered anything.

“I know,” I said.

We stood there, facing each other. I looked at my hands. I had no idea what to say. I knew I should just go, but something about the look in her eyes—cautious but not frightened, hesitant but not assessing—drew me onward.

“I guess I should apologize,” I said. It was something I had wanted to do all day. The aim of my exercise in intoxication was to show her myself at my worst, not necessarily to inspire her to hate me.

“No,” she said, her voice with that brittle lightness that I knew showed hurt. “You don’t need to. Why should you? What for?”

“I…” I sighed. “Amelia, you know me.” I cleared my throat. “You saw me, in the kitchen, the other day. I’m messed up.” I looked at my hands, not sure what to say. “I’m sorry you had to see that. And not sorry. You see…you had to know. You had to know I’m messed up.”

I had to tell her. Had to be sure she understood, after all, why I had to do what I had to do.

She contemplated me for a moment, then turned away. “Yes, and no,” Amelia said.

When she looked at me, those eggshell-blue eyes held a tenderness that took my breath away.

“What?” I asked, not wanting to say anything that would shatter things, would break the moment.

“You are wounded, Carson. It’s true…but you are healing.”

I sighed. My palms pressed into each other, fingers gripped tight. “I dunno, Amelia.” I didn’t want her to think that. I knew myself, lived with myself every day. I knew that some days were really bad, when the way she’d seen me behave would look like a walk in the park.

“It’s true,” she said softly. She walked across the laminate and looked up at me. “I know you.”

“You did know,” I corrected harshly.

“No,” she insisted, interrupting me. “I know you and I know how stubborn you are.”

I laughed. “Well, that’s true.” We were on familiar ground, at least. She always teased me about being stubborn.

She smiled. “Yes. And I know that you are stubborn enough to do whatever you want.”

I laughed again. “I don’t know what I want or if I can have what I want.”

Her eyes looked into mine and my heart melted as she read the message I sent her. I want you, I said wordlessly. I want you so much. I cannot have you because if I do I might break you and then I would never forgive myself.

“Oh, Carson,” she sighed. “I…” She shook her head, swallowing hard, and she reached for me. I rested my hand on her shoulder as she took my wrist between her fingers, sliding her hand on mine.

“I can’t,” I whispered sadly. “You know me…And I think you know how I feel.”

She laughed, a sweet, sad, hiccuping laugh. “Is it how I feel?”

“I don’t know.”

We looked at each other, not sure what to say. We were on boundless waters now, both of us cautious as to how to proceed. My body was shouting at me, every nerve screaming for release. I needed to bend forward and thrust my tongue between the petal-soft lips and hold her crushingly to my chest, my cock leaping as it felt her body near me. But my heart was hesitant; not wishing pain. I loved her and I didn’t want to hurt her. Nor did I wish pain on myself—the pain of having to say goodbye again.

“I…” she licked her lips and I looked abruptly away, feeling my body shudder. “I care for you,” she said.

It was a neutral statement compared to the words I would have liked to use myself, but it was a safe one, a wise one. I nodded.

“I care for you.”

My voice was harsh and I cleared my throat, making myself move my hand. I walked to the window and looked down out of it onto the sleeping garden below. As I looked out, fighting for calm, all the words I would have liked to say clamored in my mind. I love you. I want you.

“Carson?” she asked. She was standing just beside me, a melting hesitance in her voice.

“I care for you,” I resumed, my voice still harsh in my throat. “And that’s why I can’t. Can’t you see, Amelia?” I turned and she must have read the desperate gleam in my eyes, for she stepped away. “I can’t do this. Can’t go here, no matter how much I want to.”

She faced me, warily. Her eyes level. “I understand,” she said in a very tiny voice.

“You must know how much…how I want you?” I said.

She looked at me. Stared at me. It seemed, awfully, as if that was a surprise to her.

I laughed. “Amelia, you torture me!”

She smiled, a sweet, watery expression. “I do?”

“Have you no idea of how much I want you?” I asked. “Amelia, sweetheart. I dream about you every night. But I can’t!” My voice was urgent again and I saw her gaze open at the harshness of my words, instantly regretted.

“Carson…”

“Listen,” I said quietly. I had managed to get a grip on myself now and I decided to press ahead, get it all out of my system while I could. “I’m not good for anyone. I couldn’t risk a full-time job because of my unpredictability. Why would you want to end up with me?”

Amelia sighed. She turned away and looked out of the window. Her back was straight in the darkness, the pale sweater she wore gleaming in the dark shadow by the end of the room. I went to join her and she tensed, so I walked away.

“You say so,” Amelia said, her back still toward me. “But yet you are kind. Thoughtful. Capable of much.” She turned to face me as I cleared my throat, about to argue that.

“Amelia…”

“You think you are broken,” she said, quiet but angry. “Yet you think of others, and wish not to hurt them. You are still whole, Carson.”

I stammered. “I have trauma,” I began, honestly.

“Yes,” she nodded. “But that’s okay. People you love can understand that.”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. For some reason, I didn’t want to hear that. “I don’t even understand,” I added, laughing.

“Maybe not,” Amelia said firmly. “But all I have to do—all anyone has to do—is know that they don’t know. That they can’t know. That’s enough.”

“Amelia…” I sighed. I reached out a hand to her but she brushed it away, startling me.

“No,” she said crossly. “You are so stubborn, Carson,” she accused, angrily. “You set your feet on a path and then you stick to it and it doesn’t matter to you how true it is or right it is or how much you hurt people. I could hate you for it.” She was clearly angry, for she stood back, chest heaving. I felt worried.

“Amelia…” I paused. Perhaps it would be best if I let her hate me. It was where I wanted her to be, after all. I turned away.

“You can walk away,” she said harshly. “It seems to be what you do best. But know this. You are not a lost cause. The only person who lost you is yourself.”

I turned and stared at her. I thought about what she was saying, but it made no sense. It made me confused, and angry. “You think that,” I hissed. “You can’t know that.”

“I know the man I have loved for years,” she snapped back. “I know the man who was always kind, always thoughtful, always noticed the little things and made them easier.”

“That man died, Amelia!” I said urgently. “I’m not him now.”

“Oh?” her voice was quiet now, and cold. “And so who was it, then, that paid for the Peterson’s broken window?”

I stared at her. “What? How?” I shook my head. “Amelia? You guessed it?”

She sighed. “I guessed, but it was obvious. Carson Grant, you’ve always cared that way.”

I shook my head, a tired grin on my face. “Amelia Carlyle,” I said. It was all I could think of saying. I reached out a hand to stroke her soft, curly hair. I let it drop, uncompleted, at my side. I sighed.

“It’s late,” I said softly. “I should go to bed.”

“Maybe,” she agreed quietly.

We looked at each other. I walked closer. Put my hand out. Touched her shoulder. We stayed where we were. We could have been statues, each lost in the moment.

I cleared my throat. “Thanks,” I said roughly.

“What for?” she asked. Her voice was soft. Her hand took my wrist and I didn’t move away.

“For knowing me. For telling me. You’re right.” I sighed.

“I didn’t do anything, Carson,” she said and her voice sounded gentle and tired both.

“Yes, you did,” I said. My own voice had almost disappeared, all tight in my chest.

“What?”

“You loved me when I thought I was unlovable,” I managed to say. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“You don’t need to thank people for love,” Amelia said quietly. “It just happens. I’m thankful for it too.”

My heart actually bruised. I knew it couldn’t, not really, but it ached inside me as if someone had punched me in the chest.

“Amelia,” I said roughly. My whole body longed for her, my heart pining.

“Carson,” she said.

We looked at each other for another long moment and a strange understanding communicated itself. She turned away.

“See you in the morning.”

I nodded, swallowing past the lump that pained my neck. “See you tomorrow.”

It was only after I had walked from the attic, turning the light off behind me, and down the hallway to my bedroom, that I remembered what tomorrow was.

Tomorrow was Christmas day.