I WASN’T A jealous person.
It wasn’t in my nature to feel envious toward another human being. My parents had raised me to appreciate everything I had and not focus on all that I didn’t, and perhaps that, too, was why I enjoyed my job at the food bank. I enjoyed giving back, and I loved helping. There was too much awful in the world to commit to hate. So, the answer was no, I wasn’t jealous when Vanessa—with her long blonde hair and bright blue eyes, her flawless skin and mile-long legs—kissed Sam. I wasn’t jealous when she moved in closer or how he hadn’t introduced me as anything other than Cassi.
I mean, why would he? What was I expecting? For him to refer to me as his girlfriend? We hadn’t given ourselves a title. We didn’t do titles. Titles were stupid and held no meaning anyway, right?
Oh, who are you kidding, Cass? Of course, you’re jealous. Just admit it.
The kiss had been one-sided, that much was obvious, but I still couldn’t help or prevent the emotions and the hurt that flared in my chest as she pressed her Botox-injected lips to his cheek.
Had that been necessary? Was a simple goodbye and a friendly wave not sufficient?
Jesus. She was gorgeous, too.
The moment my eyes landed on her, I’d recognized her as the woman from Sam’s photos, but after seeing her in person, the pictures paled in comparison.
Rubbing my hands together, I glanced out of the car window, watching mindlessly as the leafless trees passed us in blurred shades of mottled brown. We’d been on this empty and dark road for what seemed like hours, which was odd seeing as the drive home was only a little more than two. Light snow continued to fall, and the heat in the car felt stifling. I loosened the scarf around my neck, hoping it’d help me breathe.
It didn’t.
Sam’s hand rested on my thigh, the weight of it comforting as he made slow circles with his thumb, but that was about the only comfort I felt. The entire trip thus far had been spent in silence, and I hated it. I wanted our easy laughs and effortless smiles. Desperate to feel the connection that had been alive and apparent between us from the first moment we met, I turned toward him. I shoved aside the negative thoughts and tried to engage in conversation.
“Vanessa seems nice.”
Vanessa seems nice? Really, Cass? That’s the first thing you say to him?
At my words, Sam glanced at me, his expression narrowing as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard me right. His thumb tapped against the steering wheel, and without warning, he made a sharp right, swerving off to the side of the highway. He thrust the shifter into park, pushed his seat all the way back, and unfastened his seatbelt.
Looking at me, a thousand indescribable things working behind his piercing gaze, he released a heavy sigh. “Come here,” he ordered.
Oh hell. I’d done it now.
Following his command, I undid my seatbelt and crawled over the center console. He immediately took me in his strong arms, pulling me into the warmth of his chest as my knees pressed to either side of his hips.
He brushed my hair away, pinning me with worry in his eyes. “Ask them.”
“What?” I’d like to say my response was feigned ignorance, but it wasn’t. I had no idea what he meant or was talking about.
“You’ve got questions about her. I see them burning in your eyes, Cass. I can practically hear the wheels of doubt turning in your head, and I want you to ask me about her.”
Oh.
“Sam.” I shook my head and turned away, ashamed I allowed my insecurities to get the better of me. “We don’t have to do this.”
“Yes, we do.”
“No, we don—”
“Yes. Yes, we do!” He smacked the steering wheel behind me, his voice raising a few decibels, and I flinched. “Fuck.” He screwed his eyes shut, breathing slowly as his hands moved to my waist. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get upset like that, she just pisses me off, and I don’t want you to draw any ridiculous conclusions on your own about her. She’s in my past, and that’s where I’d like her to stay, so please, ask the questions you need to ask so we can move on from this.”
For a moment, I debated arguing with him, but something told me he needed to talk about this more than I did. My throat moved on a forced swallow, the mere thought of the question I was about to ask burning like acid on the way down. “Were you two together?”
His body tensed, lips pressing firmly together as he nodded. “Yes.”
“How long?”
“Three years.”
“Wow. I was going to ask if it was serious, but three years is a pretty long time.”
Keeping his hands on my hips, as if he were afraid I was going to remove myself from his hold, he dropped his head back against his seat. “It wasn’t serious. I mean, at the time, I thought differently, but looking back now, I realize I’d been wrong. I’m glad we ended when we did.”
“What happened?” I asked, fidgeting with the zipper on his coat. Now that we’d opened this conversation, the questions begged to pour out. “Why did you break up?”
Sam was quiet for a moment, and then his voice came out softly. “She had an affair. When I found out, I was mad and pissed and hurt, but the truth is, I don’t know that I can fully blame her. I pushed her away, not physically but emotionally. I never fully let her in, and I knew as long as my life was on hold I never would. I’d done to her what I had done my entire life: I distanced myself from everyone and everything.”
I understood. After Adam’s passing, I’d found myself doing the same. Sometimes it was easier living as a ghost than walking around feeling only half alive.
“What if I faced the same fate as my mother? Sure, I was on the transplant list, but what if I ended up like her? What if I never got the heart I needed? Then what?”
His questions were rhetorical. He wasn’t asking, he was venting, spilling out his thoughts, his fears.
I pressed my hand to his chest, smiling sadly at the steady beats thumping beneath my palm. Adam’s beats. The beats that had given Sam a second chance, the opportunity to live. “But you did. Which means there is no reason for you not to live your life. If you wanted to make things right with her—”
He gave me a firm shake of his head. “I don’t want her. Not at all.”
I believed him; a part of me just needed his validation. “Why has she been calling?”
He squinted, exhaling a long breath. “When we were together, she handled most of my business contacts. A few bids came in recently, one specifically for a new church being built in Boston. They want me to design the windows and oversee the installation.”
“It sounds like a great opportunity.”
“It is, but it would also mean I’d need to relocate for six months. They want everything created in house. Shipping is too risky, and the deadlines are tight. If something happened, if they became damaged in transit, there’d be no time to recreate them.”
“Six months?”
He nodded. “That’s about how long it would take.”
My gosh, that was a long time. Maybe not in the grand scheme of time, but when I struggled to make it through twenty-four hours with not seeing this man, six months seemed like the worst kind of torture. Still, it was his chance to get out of this town and start fresh. He was suffering from some form of artist’s block and maybe this was exactly what he needed. Clarity. A new beginning.
“You should go.” I fixed a feigned smile on my face. “You should stop putting your life on hold.”
He appeared to consider what I’d said and looked at me with wary interest. “And if I go, if I leave, what happens to us? How do you fit into that equation?”
My expression slipped, a lump settling in my throat because I didn’t want to acknowledge what I was about to admit. “I don’t.”
Sam tensed beneath me, his head shaking from side to side. “No. If that option doesn’t include you somewhere within it, then I’m not going. I’m not leaving you. I’m not going to risk what we could be for something that is temporary, something that—”
I cupped his face, staring at hazel eyes that held me deep within their tender grasp. “Don’t. Don’t do that. Don’t waste your second chance on me.”
This was his life and he needed to live it.
Sam pressed his forehead to mine, inhaling as if my words had punctured some vital part of him. “What if you are my second chance?”
What if I was his second chance?
I didn’t have it in me to tell him what a highly disappointing second chance that would be.
STAYING A STEP ahead of me, his hand firm where it was wrapped around mine, Sam led me across his backyard and through the door of his studio. Like packing up Adam’s belongings, I sensed this was a huge deal for him. Being there, making any effort at reliving his life after surviving the impossible, wasn’t easy. It was hard, so damn hard, but I was proud he’d decided to share this piece of himself with me. Now, all I could do was hope that he remembered why he fell in love with it in the first place.
Sam flipped the switch on the wall, and as the dark space lit up, my eyes scanned over every corner of the room. Boxes full of glass ornaments and figurines lined the walls, and hanging from the ceiling were some of the most magnificent stained glass chandeliers and wind chimes I’d ever laid my eyes on. A plinking orchestra sounded in our ears as a winter breeze blew through the open door, and I couldn’t get over how much in awe I was with his personal space. Shelves full of fine glass vases in various shapes and sizes sat on display, and a large drafting table, one I assumed was used to aid the creation of such pieces, took up most of the center of the floor.
“Sam … this is …” My voice trailed as I rounded the table and edged closer to the shelves, marveled by the artistry and the skill used to craft each trinket and vessel. “These are absolutely beautiful.” My fingers swept delicately along several finished pieces, revealing bright and bold colored glass hidden beneath the thick layer of dust coating their surface.
“You’re beautiful.” Warm breath caressed the shell of my ear at the same time solid arms slid around my waist. The heat of Sam’s chest pressed against my back, and I resisted the urge to fall into his embrace, to meld to the parts of him I already knew fit me so well.
Wriggling out of his hold, I walked a few feet to distance myself before turning around to face him. This large room, and I suddenly felt as if I were suffocating.
Sam frowned, looking as though he was resisting the urge to step forward and pull me back. “Did I do something wrong?”
The forlorn smile on my face wavered. How did I say this without hurting him? How did I make him understand? Maybe it was still my insecurities ruling my thoughts, but after tonight, they were deafening, reminding me of my flaws and imperfections. Reminding me I was human, but more so, that I didn’t deserve him. “Sometimes I feel like I’m not enough for you. Like I’ll never be enough.”
“Never enough?” This time he did step forward but halted, confusion and fear swimming in his green and brown pools. “What are you talking about? Why would you possibly think that?”
I moved over to another shelf, picking up a gold and silver vase. The light reflected off the glass, and I admired its beauty for a few brief seconds before asking, “Is this piece important?”
Sam gave me a cautious shake of his head, and I let the neck of the vase slip through my fingers, watching as it crashed to the floor. The piercing sound of it shattering and the scattering of its pieces hadn’t caused him to flinch, but instead, he stared at me as if I were a cryptic puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out. A mystery he needed to solve.
“That’s how I feel.” I paused, my throat swelling with emotion. “Broken. Irreparable.”
He said nothing.
“You deserve someone who is not only beautiful but whole. Someone who can give you their entire heart and not its broken pieces.”
Standing there, he inhaled deeply through his nose and released it through his mouth. Always a picture of calm confidence. “Maybe I don’t want somebody who is whole. Maybe all I want is you.”
I laughed to prevent myself from crying, because there he went again: being so damn perfect. “I wasn’t always like this, you know. When I lost Adam, everything about my world shattered, especially my heart.” Pacing, I pushed my hair behind my ears, the corners of my eyes prickling with the promise of tears. “I’ve been a mess for the last eighteen months, barely hanging by a thread. Some might even say a few steps away from a psychiatric facility.”
“Everybody hurts after losing someone they love, Cassi.”
I shook my head, looking at him through a watery gaze as I leaned against the worktable behind me for support. He didn’t get it.
God, I wanted him to get it.
“Don’t you see? A heart is like glass: once shattered, it’s broken forever; even if you manage to put the pieces back together, it’ll never be the same. I’ve accepted the fact I’ll never be the woman I once was. I’ll never be who you deserve.”
“No.” An unusual sharpness hardened his tone. Three long, fast-paced strides and he stood in my space, crowding me, strong arms caging me in, not allowing an opportunity for escape. Hazel eyes, deep and dark and filled with fierce determination, penetrated mine. “I don’t believe that, and I’ll tell you why. Glass, no matter how shattered it appears, can be recreated into something new—something just as stunning and equally breathtaking. It’s not always easy to see, but I promise you, there is beauty in the broken.”
I squeezed my eyes closed, tears slipping out and streaming down my cheeks as I struggled to keep myself upright, together. “How can you be so sure?”
“How can I be sure? Open those beautiful eyes and look around you. Is this room not evidence enough?” Gentle hands clasped my face, strong fingers tipping up my jaw as rough-padded thumbs swept away the wet, pain-filled trails. “I don’t want to erase Adam from your life, but I want you to realize the loss of him doesn’t mean the end of you.” Sam inhaled, as if he, too, were having trouble breathing, and dropped his forehead to mine, speaking against my trembling lips. “Let me put you back together. Let me mend every broken piece until you no longer recognize the woman you are but are hopelessly in love with the woman I know you can be.”
“Sam ...” His name came out on a strangled cry.
“Let me love you, Cassi.”
Feeling like I would drown under his intensity, I clung to his shoulders and glanced hesitantly up and into his eyes. “You can do that? You can make me whole?”
He shoved away the strands of hair clinging to my tear-stained cheeks, my head tilting into his palm, his touch. “I’ll sure as hell try.”
One more choked sob passed between my lips before my resistance crumbled to ash and joined the shattered glass at my feet. My mouth took ownership of his, my hands gliding up his strong neck, my fingers threading through his silk hair.
Anxious tongues met in the middle.
I whimpered at the dizzying contact, my heart thundering in my chest as our kiss moved from slow and passionate to desperate and hungry.
He pressed me into his workbench, groaning.
I rolled my hips against his erection, begging.
A beautiful storm picked up outside, mimicking the one brewing between us. Chills rushed. Goose bumps formed. Nerve endings came alive. I broke away from his lips, coming up for air and looking him straight in the eye, praying he understood and heard the whisperings of my heart.
Gripping my waist, he lifted me against him and hauled me out of the studio, his mouth recovering mine.
He understood.
I released a full body sigh.
Thank God, he understood.