More Than Words
Page 42
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He ran a hand through his hair, sighing before dropping his arms to his sides. “I’ll still never learn to read, Jessie.”
He was wrong, but I let it go for the moment. He’d have to find the courage to try. I couldn’t do that for him. I stepped forward again, placing my palms on his chest, tilting my head to look into his face. “Then write me love letters with your music. Write me songs that make my heart ache and my soul feel full. If you … If you have feelings for me, express them through your songs. I don’t care. But don’t live a life you don’t want to lead. Don’t become something you don’t want to be. Don’t throw away what we have because you don’t feel worthy of me.”
“I’m not worthy of you. How will you feel when you have to constantly read things to me? How boring will it be for you to be with a man who can’t discuss history, or any politics other than those I see on the evening news, or, hell, even the meme everyone laughs at except me because I have no fucking clue what it says?”
I sighed. “Callen, there are books on tape, or documentaries, if you’re really interested in history. I think you probably know that, and you would have listened or watched before now if you really wanted to. If you’re not compelled to learn about history, don’t do it for me. I don’t care about that. I want to hear what you think about the colors of the sunset coming in our window and what your ideas about fate are. I want to hear about the things in your heart and the way you see the world around you.”
“Ah, Jessie,” he breathed, his eyes soft as he gazed at me. He pulled me to him, and for a few minutes we stayed just like that, my ear to his chest as I listened to the steady beat of his heart, his lips on the top of my head.
When we finally pulled apart, he sighed. “I just … I don’t know. You deserve everything, and I want to be the man who can give it to you, but I … I’m not.”
My heart beat dully in my chest. He was wrong. I loved him, and I didn’t care that he couldn’t read, didn’t care that he’d lied about it. I understood my broken prince so well now. It had all fallen into place. But none of what I felt mattered. What I knew, what I believed, didn’t make a whit of difference if he didn’t believe it himself.
“Please don’t look so sad, Jessie. We still have a little time. Let’s not waste it.”
A little time.
We were back to that. It was all he was willing to give us, and I wanted more. I wanted him, but I was suddenly so confused. I’d hoped we could work something out, but now I couldn’t see the picture clearly. It was misty and full of roads that suddenly ended, fading into nowhere. Oh God, how would I say goodbye when I didn’t want to, when I wanted him in my life and he still didn’t believe he belonged there?
A little time.
A handful of days.
It wasn’t enough.
It was all I had.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CALLEN
The burn of the liquor was a welcome distraction from my thoughts, if only a momentary one. If I drank enough, it would dull them completely, but that would mean I’d likely pass out and miss a whole night with Jessie when we had so few left: four to be exact.
I was still completely sickened by myself, by the up-close view Jessie had into the life of debauchery I’d been living. Annette. Fucking Christ. I felt like I’d sullied Jessie’s purity just by her witnessing that horrific scene. Not only that, but I’d stuck a knife into the very spot she’d confided to me was the most tender place inside her. I knew what that felt like, and I hated myself for doing it to Jessie.
I sighed, raking my hands through my hair, going over what we’d said to each other in her room the night before. Jessie knew I couldn’t read, and she hadn’t immediately rejected me. The knowledge sang in my soul and yet … the familiar shame still clanged in the background, drowning out the relief. I had lied for so long, I didn’t think I had the courage to live the truth openly, couldn’t even imagine what it would feel like not to have to cover for myself in a million small ways that I could never anticipate until they actually happened.
I’d become a master at deception, had honed my ability to lie on the spot, to distract, to deflect. And it was fucking exhausting. I’d grown used to the lies at this point, but now that Jessie knew, what would it feel like to lie in front of her and know she understood what I was doing? What kind of shame would that inspire? To constantly lie in front of someone you respected who knew you were lying? And if she saw the skill with which I did it, would she understand, or would it eventually whittle away any trust she might be able to have in me? How could you trust in someone who reminded you of the person who had hurt you the most?
I took another sip of alcohol, frustrated and confused by my own aimless thoughts.
I’d been tempted to stay in my room for the day, waiting for Jessie, but I’d felt cooped up. The music wasn’t playing in my head. No writing would get done, and I’d wanted a drink. I’d called Nick, and he’d been working, but he’d said he’d meet me at the bar at five. I’d come down at four and had been nursing the same drink for the past forty-five minutes. Someone laughed loudly from the other side of the bar, and I glanced up at the older couple and then around, hoping to God Larry wasn’t anywhere nearby.
There really hadn’t been much to say to him the day before and there wasn’t anything to say now. What was the purpose of saying sorry when it didn’t erase the betrayal? And as for him, apparently he’d decided there was no reason to waste his time yelling at me or Annette. Who would want the facts of when and how often anyway? Fuck.
I knew Annette had left on the first flight out of France, and Larry was leaving the next day. I had no idea of the state of their marriage after what had happened in my room. Of all the revolting moments in my life, that one had to take the cake. I blew out a breath, the memory causing another flash of disgust to reverberate through me.
I didn’t even know if I still had an agent at this point, or if I even wanted Larry’s representation. Or anyone else’s for that matter.
Larry was very good at what he did and had the best contacts in the business, but I’d seen him stab enough people in the back to know I couldn’t fully trust him either. Just as he couldn’t trust me, obviously. Unfortunately, I’d gotten sucked into that whole lifestyle because it was easier for someone like me to hang around people who easily looked the other way, who didn’t ask deep questions, who smiled and nodded at flimsy excuses and flimsier behavior. And so I’d become one of them.
On his way out of my hotel room, Larry had told me about an interview with a French TV program, one that I would be incredibly moronic to attempt to get out of. The final look of disgust told me that moronic was putting it mildly. That he’d scheduled me to work while I was on vacation sucked, but I wasn’t in a position to say no. Not after what Larry’d walked in on.
“Well, look who’s returned.” Nick slid onto the barstool next to me and raised a brow as he glanced at my drink. “I thought it was happy hour. And if it is, why do you look so damn unhappy?”
I bared my teeth in what I hoped was a decent smile. “How’s that?”
He shuddered. “Not good.”
That elicited an actual laugh. But then I groaned, taking another sip of my drink. The bartender came over, and Nick ordered a beer before turning back to look at me again.
“What’s wrong, Cal? I hoped you would return from your romantic weekend with a spring in your step and a smile on your face. All that research into wine tours and museums, French gardens and breakfast spots … All that planning and it didn’t go well?”
I stared into my drink, allowing myself to relive the weekend, just for a moment. Jessie and I had never made it out of bed long enough to do half of what I’d planned. And it’d been … incredible. “It went too well. Everything’s … suddenly complicated.”
Nick’s drink was placed in front of him, and he took a long sip. “Ah. I see.”
I tipped my head, looking at him sideways. He did. He always had. It was why I’d first begun pushing him away when I’d started bringing people into my life like Larry and Annette. I turned my head, staring down at the bar, collecting my courage. “Nick, why don’t you ever text me?” That and a hundred other little things I’d pretended not to notice.
He was wrong, but I let it go for the moment. He’d have to find the courage to try. I couldn’t do that for him. I stepped forward again, placing my palms on his chest, tilting my head to look into his face. “Then write me love letters with your music. Write me songs that make my heart ache and my soul feel full. If you … If you have feelings for me, express them through your songs. I don’t care. But don’t live a life you don’t want to lead. Don’t become something you don’t want to be. Don’t throw away what we have because you don’t feel worthy of me.”
“I’m not worthy of you. How will you feel when you have to constantly read things to me? How boring will it be for you to be with a man who can’t discuss history, or any politics other than those I see on the evening news, or, hell, even the meme everyone laughs at except me because I have no fucking clue what it says?”
I sighed. “Callen, there are books on tape, or documentaries, if you’re really interested in history. I think you probably know that, and you would have listened or watched before now if you really wanted to. If you’re not compelled to learn about history, don’t do it for me. I don’t care about that. I want to hear what you think about the colors of the sunset coming in our window and what your ideas about fate are. I want to hear about the things in your heart and the way you see the world around you.”
“Ah, Jessie,” he breathed, his eyes soft as he gazed at me. He pulled me to him, and for a few minutes we stayed just like that, my ear to his chest as I listened to the steady beat of his heart, his lips on the top of my head.
When we finally pulled apart, he sighed. “I just … I don’t know. You deserve everything, and I want to be the man who can give it to you, but I … I’m not.”
My heart beat dully in my chest. He was wrong. I loved him, and I didn’t care that he couldn’t read, didn’t care that he’d lied about it. I understood my broken prince so well now. It had all fallen into place. But none of what I felt mattered. What I knew, what I believed, didn’t make a whit of difference if he didn’t believe it himself.
“Please don’t look so sad, Jessie. We still have a little time. Let’s not waste it.”
A little time.
We were back to that. It was all he was willing to give us, and I wanted more. I wanted him, but I was suddenly so confused. I’d hoped we could work something out, but now I couldn’t see the picture clearly. It was misty and full of roads that suddenly ended, fading into nowhere. Oh God, how would I say goodbye when I didn’t want to, when I wanted him in my life and he still didn’t believe he belonged there?
A little time.
A handful of days.
It wasn’t enough.
It was all I had.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CALLEN
The burn of the liquor was a welcome distraction from my thoughts, if only a momentary one. If I drank enough, it would dull them completely, but that would mean I’d likely pass out and miss a whole night with Jessie when we had so few left: four to be exact.
I was still completely sickened by myself, by the up-close view Jessie had into the life of debauchery I’d been living. Annette. Fucking Christ. I felt like I’d sullied Jessie’s purity just by her witnessing that horrific scene. Not only that, but I’d stuck a knife into the very spot she’d confided to me was the most tender place inside her. I knew what that felt like, and I hated myself for doing it to Jessie.
I sighed, raking my hands through my hair, going over what we’d said to each other in her room the night before. Jessie knew I couldn’t read, and she hadn’t immediately rejected me. The knowledge sang in my soul and yet … the familiar shame still clanged in the background, drowning out the relief. I had lied for so long, I didn’t think I had the courage to live the truth openly, couldn’t even imagine what it would feel like not to have to cover for myself in a million small ways that I could never anticipate until they actually happened.
I’d become a master at deception, had honed my ability to lie on the spot, to distract, to deflect. And it was fucking exhausting. I’d grown used to the lies at this point, but now that Jessie knew, what would it feel like to lie in front of her and know she understood what I was doing? What kind of shame would that inspire? To constantly lie in front of someone you respected who knew you were lying? And if she saw the skill with which I did it, would she understand, or would it eventually whittle away any trust she might be able to have in me? How could you trust in someone who reminded you of the person who had hurt you the most?
I took another sip of alcohol, frustrated and confused by my own aimless thoughts.
I’d been tempted to stay in my room for the day, waiting for Jessie, but I’d felt cooped up. The music wasn’t playing in my head. No writing would get done, and I’d wanted a drink. I’d called Nick, and he’d been working, but he’d said he’d meet me at the bar at five. I’d come down at four and had been nursing the same drink for the past forty-five minutes. Someone laughed loudly from the other side of the bar, and I glanced up at the older couple and then around, hoping to God Larry wasn’t anywhere nearby.
There really hadn’t been much to say to him the day before and there wasn’t anything to say now. What was the purpose of saying sorry when it didn’t erase the betrayal? And as for him, apparently he’d decided there was no reason to waste his time yelling at me or Annette. Who would want the facts of when and how often anyway? Fuck.
I knew Annette had left on the first flight out of France, and Larry was leaving the next day. I had no idea of the state of their marriage after what had happened in my room. Of all the revolting moments in my life, that one had to take the cake. I blew out a breath, the memory causing another flash of disgust to reverberate through me.
I didn’t even know if I still had an agent at this point, or if I even wanted Larry’s representation. Or anyone else’s for that matter.
Larry was very good at what he did and had the best contacts in the business, but I’d seen him stab enough people in the back to know I couldn’t fully trust him either. Just as he couldn’t trust me, obviously. Unfortunately, I’d gotten sucked into that whole lifestyle because it was easier for someone like me to hang around people who easily looked the other way, who didn’t ask deep questions, who smiled and nodded at flimsy excuses and flimsier behavior. And so I’d become one of them.
On his way out of my hotel room, Larry had told me about an interview with a French TV program, one that I would be incredibly moronic to attempt to get out of. The final look of disgust told me that moronic was putting it mildly. That he’d scheduled me to work while I was on vacation sucked, but I wasn’t in a position to say no. Not after what Larry’d walked in on.
“Well, look who’s returned.” Nick slid onto the barstool next to me and raised a brow as he glanced at my drink. “I thought it was happy hour. And if it is, why do you look so damn unhappy?”
I bared my teeth in what I hoped was a decent smile. “How’s that?”
He shuddered. “Not good.”
That elicited an actual laugh. But then I groaned, taking another sip of my drink. The bartender came over, and Nick ordered a beer before turning back to look at me again.
“What’s wrong, Cal? I hoped you would return from your romantic weekend with a spring in your step and a smile on your face. All that research into wine tours and museums, French gardens and breakfast spots … All that planning and it didn’t go well?”
I stared into my drink, allowing myself to relive the weekend, just for a moment. Jessie and I had never made it out of bed long enough to do half of what I’d planned. And it’d been … incredible. “It went too well. Everything’s … suddenly complicated.”
Nick’s drink was placed in front of him, and he took a long sip. “Ah. I see.”
I tipped my head, looking at him sideways. He did. He always had. It was why I’d first begun pushing him away when I’d started bringing people into my life like Larry and Annette. I turned my head, staring down at the bar, collecting my courage. “Nick, why don’t you ever text me?” That and a hundred other little things I’d pretended not to notice.
