Chapter Three
Corina
When I wake up a little after sunrise, he’s gone.
I planned exactly what I was going to say to him, first thing, about how he said he’ll ‘not lie to me’ and how that’s utter bullshit and he knows it because that’s what he did to create this whole mess between us in the first place. Last night showed me, after what he said about lying, that he’s not crazy. He’s a liar. So, yeah, we’re done.
But when I open the bedroom door and step out into the hallway, I find nothing but silent emptiness waiting for me. At the sight of the vacant stillness, the absence of Rafe, a little twinge of something—guilt? Loneliness? —pinches in my chest and I suddenly feel weird about how I reacted last night. He was right about one thing, I did want it. Bad.
But it can’t happen again. I closed the door on Rafe a long time ago. I need to get back to my father’s house and bury myself in all the work that’s waiting for me there. I’m determined to make this life work for me. I want that house. I want to make it like it was, long ago, long before my father ruined it. I’ll do it for me and I’ll do it for my mom. She would hate to see it like it is now.
I want a beautiful old house filled with pastel colors and lace curtains and a thriving little farm with bees and chickens and herbs and flowers.
And I’m going to get it. No drama with my ex-boyfriend is going to stand in my way.
Regardless of what happened last night.
Satisfied with my resolve, I shower and dress quickly, anxious as I am to leave. My stomach is throbbing with hunger when I gather up my bags. I should’ve let Rafe make me dinner before I did something stupid and ruined the evening.
It was the damned couch that did it, sitting there, reminding me of things I’ve tried to forget. And when Rafe told me he hasn’t dated anyone else, that I was his last and his only—well, that did it for me. He sealed the deal with that kiss. How the hell was I supposed to resist that?
I’ll stay away from him from now on. He’s my neighbor, so it’s not going to be easy, but I’ll have more than enough on my plate now to keep me distracted and away from him.
I finish packing and I make a hasty exit out of Rafe’s bedroom. The rest of the cabin is still empty. Good. This is good. No awkward tension to deal with at the moment.
I drop my luggage next to the door and prepare to lift the latch and get out before Rafe can show up and try to stop me, when something on the kitchen counter catches my eye.
A note. With my name. The shortened version, the one only Rafe uses. I can’t help myself. I ought to walk away and forget it. But it’s calling to me, a folded piece of creamy paper with his handwriting in black ink, resting innocently enough on the butcher-block countertop.
It will only take another second. Besides, he’s not here. He probably went into town to put some hours in at his family’s machine shop. He said he’d help me today, but I don’t expect him to and I don’t blame him for hiding from me, not after last night.
Damn it. Do it and get it over with.
I cross over into the kitchen and pick up the note.
Ina,
Breakfast is in the oven, iced tea in the fridge.
Love, R
Not what I expected. He made me breakfast? I open the oven door and sure enough, a stack of thick, fluffy, blueberry pancakes waits for me, the oven on a low setting to keep them warm. There’s even a yellow pat of butter melting in the middle of the top one, trickling golden streams of happiness down the edges of every pancake.
Oh, Rafe. My favorite. No one else but my mom knew or cared that my favorite thing in this world was and still is blueberry pancakes and iced tea for breakfast.
Screw leaving. I’m not letting this go to waste.
I grab a plate and fork, pour some tea, and tuck in, allowing myself a few moments of unfettered, guilt-free, unbridled joy.
And then I look at Rafe’s note again. It’s sitting there, in front of me.
Love, R
Since when does he sign with ‘love’? In all the years I’ve known him, I’ve yet to hear the word from his lips. I gave up, long ago. I’d always meant to tell him myself, but a persistent, prideful part of myself always insisted on waiting until he said it first.
Honestly, I think it’s one of the reasons our fight got so out of hand years ago, and one of the reasons I hadn’t tried getting in touch with him before now. So what is this note? Some attempt at a profession of love? An apology?
Does it matter, after last night?
A memory of Rafe’s face flashes within my mind, the crestfallen, disappointed defeat in those hazel eyes of his just before I shut the door on him.
A sharp tang of bitterness rises in me and it’s all I can do to finish breakfast. I scramble to clean up and leave, my earlier resolve returning with a vengeance.
I grab my stuff and haul ass out the front door, and I don’t look back.
****
I’m not prepared for what I see when I re-enter my father’s house. I walked into the kitchen, armed with a box of trash bags and a pair of gloves I had stashed in my car, but I’m not going to need them.
The place is clean.
I blink, then blink again, waiting for the mirage to disappear.
I’m standing on waxed hardwood, smelling bleach and lemon cleaner, gaping in shock at the polished table and clutter-free countertops.
And then I see the silhouette of a man, almost as tall and as broad as Rafe, pass by the doorway leading into the living room. A shriek of surprise escapes me and he freezes, his face too shadowed for me to see it.
“Who are you and what are you doing in my house?” My voice is shaky, high, alien to me. But I persist. “Whoever you are, you get the hell out right now. I’m calling the police.”
I pull my phone out of my back jeans pocket, ready to make good on my threat.
“Corina. Wait.”
He knows my name? My thumb hovers over my phone’s keypad.
“It’s me, Weylin.”
The man comes closer to me, revealing a familiar, easygoing smile that shows off his perfect teeth and a dimple in his cheek.
“Channing is here, too. Rafe asked us to come over.”
Rafe’s younger brothers. More Ulric boys. That’s all I need. We were all friends when we were kids, but Weylin and Channing are duplicates of Rafe, though a few years younger.
I give a little wave, shifting my feet from one to the other before I jam my phone back into my pocket. “Hi Weylin,” I say, forcing a smile. What am I supposed to say to him? Hey, here I am again, the chick who dumped your brother and didn’t bother to send a single word to him for three years?
“It’s nice to see you again, Corina,” he says, setting aside the roll of paper towels he’s holding so he can wrap his arms around my shoulders in a quick, friendly hug.
And then I realize what he’s doing here, why he was holding paper towels, and why Rafe asked him to come by.
“You guys are cleaning my house?”
I know it’s a dumb question, because obviously, they are, but for the life of me I can hardly imagine anyone, let alone these young, insanely attractive men, spending their Saturday cleaning up this shit-box disaster for me, instead of doing something, anything else with their time off.
He nods and shrugs, like it’s no big deal to him at all.
“Thank you,” I whisper, my throat suddenly gone so tight it’s all I can do to speak.
“No worries,” he says, shrugging again. “We’re happy to help. Rafe told us you’re back and asked us to come out here and see what we could do for you.”
Awkward tension starts to settle in. I know he’s got to be wondering what the hell is going on between his brother and me. God only knows what Rafe has told him.
“He started in on this”—he gestures to my newly made-over kitchen—“pretty early last night. He had a lot of it done before we even got here.”
I take Weylin’s hint. Rafe spent the entire night, while I was sleeping in his bed, cleaning up the disgusting mess my father left behind—in order, no doubt, to surprise me.
“How did you get in?” I blurt, desperate to steer the topic of conversation away from Rafe.
Weylin glances over his shoulder at the door leading down to the basement, his cheeks reddening. “The basement door outside wasn’t locked. Neither was the one in here. We fixed it though, put locks on both doors. No one—else—will break in.”
I nod and try not to smile at his obvious discomfort. “I’m grateful, Weylin,” I admit, reaching out my hands, clasping his. “Thank you.”
“What’s this, now?”
I jump and let go of Weylin’s hands at the sound of another voice, an all-too-familiar voice, materializing from behind me.
“You making a move on my Corina, little brother?”
Rafe.
Despite my current, constant state of confusion, of anger, guilt, regret, and resentment when I think of him, my heart does a happy little leap at the sight of his smile and the sound of his voice, saying ‘my Corina.’
“It’s cool,” Weylin says, picking up the paper towel roll. “She was thanking me, is all.” Then he winks at me and walks out of the kitchen, leaving me alone with Rafe.
I suddenly don’t know what to do with myself. This is not how I thought the day would go. I’m not armed with the right words, the right feelings for all of this.
“I appreciate what you’ve done for me,” I manage, meeting his eyes without blinking. “And breakfast this morning was—”
The thought of breakfast abruptly reminds me of his note to me and the way he signed it. Whatever I planned to say next freezes on my tongue. Should I mention it?
“Was no problem at all,” he finishes for me.
I exhale deeply, a sigh of relief.
We’ll talk about it. We will. Just not yet.
“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, Ina.”
His breath hitches when he says my name. His eyes are brimming with emotion, the hazel a bright, vivid amber in the morning light. What is it? What does he mean by this?
I assume he’s referring to what he’s done here, staying up all night to give me a livable home. “I cannot tell you how much this means to me.”
He nods, and somehow, I know, by the look in his eyes, that something is going unsaid from him. Something big. Maybe it’s the note? The big ‘I love you’?
I don’t get the chance to find out. Channing, the middle Ulric brother, barrels into the kitchen and knocks me off my feet in a bear hug, spinning me around until I’m dizzy.
“Hey, Corina!”
No awkward silences with this brother, no way. Channing is a force of nature.
He finally releases me, but then he stares me down, his gaze raking over my body. If he were anyone but Channing, I’d punch him.
“You look amazing,” he says, glancing over at Rafe to make sure, I’m certain, that Rafe is watching. “Can’t believe you’re not married by now, Corina.”
Rafe’s entire body tenses. No one but Channing is foolish enough to goad Rafe like this. “Yeah, um.” I hesitate, unsure of what to say. “How about you? Any wedding bells in your future?”
A darkness passes over Channing’s eyes, and a hardness settles in his face. Then, as quickly as it appeared, it’s gone. “No, not for me,” he answers, smiling again. “Rafe’s my boss now, he runs the shop since Dad and Mom retired and moved up to Alaska. Rafe runs us into the ground. These days, we don’t do much of anything, except work.”
Rafe’s glare intensifies. “Keep it up, man. You can find yourself without a job at all, if that’s what you’re gunning for.”
Channing laughs and delivers a solid punch to Rafe’s arm while Rafe’s muscles bunch visibly under his skin. The man is a coiled spring and I feel a sudden stab of concern for Channing’s well-being if he doesn’t back off.
“Later,” Channing says to me as he turns, and then walks out the front door, the aluminum shutting with a clang behind him.
“What the hell was all that about?” I can’t help but ask. I know I haven’t lived here in years, but I don’t remember witnessing any conflict between Rafe and his brothers before.
Rafe shrugs. “Channing didn’t take it well when Dad retired and made me alpha—”
Alpha? “Made you what?”
“I mean.” Rafe swallows visibly, like he’s choking. I grab a newly washed glass from the dish-drying rack, fill it with tap water, and hand it to him. He takes a quick sip and smiles at me. “I meant to say, Dad retired and put me in charge of the shop, making me my brothers’ boss.”
“Oh.” I guess I can see why Channing would bristle at listening to Rafe’s orders. Rafe’s the eldest, sure, but unless he’s changed from what I remember, Channing doesn’t like to listen to anyone.
“I’m sorry, Rafe.”
And I am. Regardless of what’s transpired between us, and regardless of what lies ahead of us, I care about him and his family. How can I not? A pang of remorse rises within me, and I wish, with overwhelming intensity, that I could go back in time to the minute I stormed out on him years ago, and not leave. What if I would’ve tried harder to hear him out, tried harder to understand whatever it was he was attempting to communicate with me with his shapeshifting lie?
Three years. Gone. Wasted.
The thought makes my stomach lurch, flip, and finally settle, heavy as a stone.
I close my eyes against the onslaught of discomfort.
“Ina? Are you all right? You’re pale.”
His hand rests gently on my forehead, his eyes wide with concern.
I nod. “Yeah,” I lie. “Fine.”
His hand moves to my cheeks, my neck. He checks my pulse. “Been a rough couple of days,” he says, his voice low and calming. “We’re pretty much done here. The rest of the house is in decent shape. I’ll get the guys out of here and you can settle in, get some rest.”
He slides his hands into his pockets and I immediately miss the feel of his touch upon my skin.
“Thank you, Rafe.”
“Anytime, Ina.”
He disappears into another room, calling for Weylin. I stand alone, trying to regain my composure, wondering how I’m going to live with myself for breaking his heart along with my own.