Just This Once, page 25
Part of that felt so right, all the while I actively ignored the ping of warning bells at the back of my mind. The same ones that reminded me of this familiar pattern. But something shifted the other night when we’d made love. He hadn’t told me he loved me, but there was an intensity to him that was unmistakable.
Would he still care about me if I had to leave? Why in the world wouldn’t he replace me with something—someone—easier and closer to home?
I wanted him to beg me to stay. If he only said the words, I’d do it.
The pleading that seeped into my eyes was uncomfortable. I wanted to scream at him that I loved him. Terrified of being that vulnerable, I held back.
Maybe it’s not enough.
I worried that carving out a piece of myself, leaving behind everything I had worked for would only rot us from the inside.
Whip sighed and held my hand, not saying the words I so desperately needed to hear. He shook his head. “Turns out I can make a mess of things just like Dickie Johnson.”
My brows pinched together. “What?”
He shook his head in dismissal and headed toward his truck. “Maybe he was the better choice after all.”
He winked but instead of feeling the playful zip, my chest hollowed. “Why would you say that?”
He didn’t look my way. “I was just kidding.”
“Fine.” I scoffed, feeling wrung out and annoyed. “Just make a joke to avoid the mess.”
When we reached his truck, he wrenched the passenger-side door open. “It’s no joke. You just haven’t realized it yet.”
A rush of emotion washed over me, too tired to beat the feelings back down. Tears swam in my eyes as I stood in front of the open door but didn’t get in. Understanding of the man in front of me finally came into focus. “You know what? Fine. I think I do finally believe you.”
His hand dropped, but his defenses were visibly rising as he crossed his arms. “And what’s that, Prim?”
I bit down to keep from crying. After a steadying breath, I finally looked him in the eyes. “I can’t make you want to see the good in yourself. Sure, I might not always be the best at showing my feelings, but I would be the best at caring for the man you hide from the world, and I can only do it if you stop hiding.”
His arms spread wide. “I’m not hiding. I’m right here. Maybe you just don’t like what you see.”
I scoffed as hurt morphed into anger and bubbled inside me. “Somehow it always boils down to me, doesn’t it?”
“I didn’t––” Whip sighed. “Prim, come on.”
I shook my head. “No. As soon as things get hard or ugly, you’re pulling back.”
His eyes reflected dismay and irritation. “I’m the distant one?”
His words were a slap in the face––too close to accurate for me to not feel hurt.
And next thing you know, he’ll find someone less closed off.
Gathering my courage, I brushed past him. “I’m going to stay at my apartment tonight.”
“Why?” It was impossible to ignore the annoyance and panic in his voice. “Look, I’m sorry I said that––I’m just having a bad night.”
I sniffed and hated myself for it. “It’s fine. I just need a little space to think. Don’t make this a big deal.”
Whip slammed the passenger door closed. “It is a big deal. If you haven’t noticed, you’ve become my whole deal, and now you’re acting like I’m some needy boyfriend.”
My control was slipping, and my voice cracked into the night. “Look, I am trying so hard here!”
He shook his head as sadness seeped over his handsome face. “That’s the thing, Prim. You don’t have to try.”
I angrily swiped under my eyes and let out a frustrated groan. “Do we really have to do this on the sidewalk? We both knew what this was.”
He settled his hands on his hips and frowned at me. “I thought I did. Do you?”
“We’re having fun. Casual, right?” I forced a smile, but it didn’t reach my eyes.
Please, Whip. Tell me I’m wrong.
Tension vibrated between us. Whip raised a hand to point in the direction of his house. “Have you completely forgotten about the past few days? The past few months? I had hoped I’d have a little more time before you pulled the rug out from under me, but apparently this is it. You know what? Fine. If you want to run, run.” He scoffed in dismissal as I shrank in on myself. “Your exit was overdue anyway.”
I shook my head as hurt seeped into my bones. “What are you talking about? I am right here!”
I could physically feel him pulling away despite the mere feet that separated us. A knot twisted in my stomach until I felt sick.
“Why are you doing this?” His voice was broken.
“Doing what?” I pleaded. Why was asking for space to think so wrong?
His molars ground together. “You know what I’m asking. You’re the one pulling away. I can see it happening.”
My emotions were stacking—one slamming on top of the other—and I could feel my control slipping.
He gestured between us before I could speak. “Why are you acting like you don’t feel this?”
I desperately needed to get this conversation under control before I completely lost my way and threw myself at his feet. A deep part of me needed to prove to myself that I didn’t need anyone, that I could stand on my own, but my world was crumbling. I was grasping, desperate to control the unraveling of my life.
“I got a job offer.” The words came out flat and unemotional.
“What?” He softened. “That’s great. Why didn’t you tell me?”
I clenched my jaw. “It’s near Ann Arbor. If I take it, I would definitely have to move—there’s no way I could make that commute work.”
His gaze was steely as hurt flashed across his face. “Oh. I see.”
“I have to figure out what to do.” I swallowed hard against the bitter truth that was rattling in my brain. “We talked about this, right?” I paused, willing the words to not sound as hollow as they felt. “We both agreed it was just sex.”
I bit back the words, but it was too late. Old Emily had reared her head, and instead of leaning into what I was feeling, I hid behind my walls. Sure, the words were true, but they weren’t true.
For the briefest moment, his eyes bounced between mine as if he was searching for the lie—confirmation that whatever was between us was far from casual.
“You should have told me about the job offer.” His anger bubbled over at my dismissal as he rounded the truck.
I lifted my chin. “I wanted to find the right time. I wasn’t planning on doing this here.” My arms spread wide to make a point that standing in front of the Sugar Bowl and airing our issues was less than ideal.
Whip shook his head and yanked open the driver’s-side door. “Trust me, Prim, I wasn’t planning on falling in love with you!”
Realization of what he said jolted through me. I was dumbstruck at my own ignorance, but I knew in my bones his words were true. Despite my sharp tongue and shoving down my feelings, Whip was fighting for me anyway.
He was in love with me, and I knew I would do anything I could to keep him.
Shock overtook my face as my eyes went wide and my mouth dropped into a little O. “Wait, what? Whip. I haven’t decided—I . . .”
Frustrated, Whip dragged a hand through his hair. “Look, I get that you’re leaving. I hate it, but you were bound to leave eventually. Just don’t treat what we had like it was only some summer you fucked a firefighter behind your dad’s back.”
And without looking back, Whip closed the door and drove away.
THIRTY-SEVEN
EMILY
Whip King was in love with me.
So in love with me that he yelled it at me and then left me on the side of the road.
I sighed and dropped my head into my hands.
What. The actual. Fuck?
He was in love with me, and I took the coward’s way out by tucking tail and running to my lonely apartment rather than finding a way to fix things with him. After turning off my phone, I cried myself to sleep and woke up feeling like total shit.
No part of me wanted that job in Ann Arbor, but what choice did I have?
I lightly banged my head on the tabletop of the window seat at the Sugar Bowl and groaned.
The bakery buzzed with the low hum of conversation and the clinking of coffee mugs. I sat alone at the window, anxiously stirring my latte. The air was thick with the aroma of freshly ground coffee beans, and soft jazz music played in the background.
A soft hand at my back drew my attention, and I sat up. Sylvie stood beside me with a warm smile. Her eyes held a genuine kindness, and though we weren’t friends quite yet, there was a certain understanding between us.
We’re Bluebirds.
An aching warmth passed through me.
Sylvie set down a triangular slice of cheesecake in front of me and gestured toward it. “You looked like you could use a pick-me-up. This one’s white chocolate with raspberries—personal favorite.” Her voice carried the warmth of a friend as she winked. “On the house.”
I smiled and slid the plate closer. “I didn’t realize you still worked here.”
Sylvie leaned a hip on the counter beside me and sighed. “Now you sound like my husband.” Her hand wiped across the white countertop. “I enjoy watching life unfold in this town.” She leaned down and lowered her voice. “You see a lot when no one thinks you’re watching.”
A shameful blush heated my cheeks as I wondered how many people had seen our little public meltdown last night. “Did you see us?”
Her laugh was breathy and light. “Of course I did.” She gestured toward the large picture window. “There’s a lot you can see from this window.” She tapped her nose. “But I know all about keeping secrets.”
I smiled, remembering the story of how she’d begun a relationship with a Sullivan and hidden it for nearly a year before getting pregnant. A tiny seed of hope burrowed into my chest.
Sometimes impossible things worked out, didn’t they?
I sighed and dug my fork into the cheesecake. After the delicate flavors exploded on my tongue, I let out a soft moan. “Oh my god,” I mumbled around the delicious bite.
“Told you,” she singsonged.
I frowned down at my dessert as I swallowed. “This is hard, Sylvie.” I couldn’t look up from my plate as I confided in her. “I know he wants me to stay, but I don’t know what to do. My whole life has been working hard and being the best teacher I could be.”
Sylvie softly nodded, giving me the space to ramble on. “On one hand, I’d do almost anything to stay—not just for him but all of it. My parents, this town, and yeah . . . for him too. But what does that say about me if I give up everything that I’ve worked so hard for?”
She shrugged. “I don’t think it has to say anything. The only person you have to answer to is yourself.”
The door chimed open, and in walked Russell King. His commanding presence was like an ice storm brewing on the horizon, zapping any warmth from the bakery. I tensed, feeling a shiver run down my spine. Sylvie noticed my discomfort and squeezed my shoulder as we both tracked the man’s movements in the small bakery.
Russell exuded an air of authority that drew people in like a magnet. Townies and curious onlookers alike flocked to him, as if he was the most important person to walk through those doors. The bakery became a sea of excessive adoration, and I couldn’t help but feel a sense of discomfort. Whip’s father had a way of commanding attention, and it did nothing but make my skin crawl.
As Russell made his way through the smiling crowd, his eyes locked onto mine. I could see a flicker of recognition, but it was quickly overshadowed by his apparent disinterest. From my side, Sylvie shot him a subtle glare of thinly veiled disgust. She knew better than anyone the emotional scars he’d inflicted on his children.
How many tiny cuts had he inflicted on Whip to cause so many scars?
I hated him.
I observed Russell, seemingly oblivious to Sylvie’s disdain, as he continued his regal march through the bakery. His eyes scanned the room, and when they finally met those of his daughter, he simply looked away, as if she were invisible.
Sylvie’s gaze lingered on her father for a moment, something swirling in her eyes. I couldn’t help but feel an ache for her—the daughter yearning for acknowledgement from a father who seemed too wrapped up in his own world to notice. Sadness washed over me when I realized Russell King didn’t even acknowledge his own daughter’s existence. But when I looked up at her, she didn’t look all that sad about it.
Sylvie was content with her choices. Maybe I could be too.
Just as Russell was about to leave, coffee in hand, our eyes locked in a tense confrontation. The room seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of us in a silent standoff. It was a battle of wills, a clash between a father’s indifference and a loving woman’s determination.
I maintained eye contact with Russell, refusing to let him intimidate me. His harsh, cold stare bore into mine, but I held my ground, my gaze unwavering. I could sense the tension building, the unspoken challenge lingering in the charged air.
Seconds stretched into eternity, and I wondered if I had dug my heels in too far. But then, ever so subtly, Russell’s stern expression wavered. A crack in his facade appeared, and his eyes dropped first, breaking the intense connection.
I felt a surge of triumph. It wasn’t just about me silently defending Whip. It was about standing up to a man who had wielded control as a weapon for far too long. As Russell walked away, a sense of empowerment washed over me. I turned to Sylvie, who met my eyes with a mix of gratitude and admiration.
“Jesus.” The words whooshed from Sylvie in an exhale. “I hate when he comes in here.”
In quiet whispers and secrets shared only in the dark, I had come to learn the difficulties of being raised by a man like Russell King. I could imagine how profoundly Whip’s mother’s absence only deepened those wounds. Sadness wrenched in my chest for the little boy who lost his mother and the passionate, giving man he’d become.
The man I am head over heels in love with.
“You know,” Sylvie said and bumped her shoulder into mine, “it’s just my opinion, but I think you’re exactly what this family needs. I hope you figure it out.”
I swallowed hard as tears pricked behind my eyelids. “I will.” Sylvie turned to leave, but I stopped her. “Can I ask you something?”
She nodded.
“Was it worth it?”
Her brows flicked downward before a smile bloomed on her face. “I can’t imagine my life without Duke and Gus. Nothing will ever make me regret my choices.”
I stood, wrapping Sylvie in a hug that had her letting out a surprised Oh!
“Thank you.” I squeezed her harder. “Thank you.”
Loving Whip was worth the risk.
Sure, a part of me was terrified that I was repeating the same mistakes with Whip as I had before—giving up pieces of myself to satisfy someone else. But he was nothing like Craig. He had never once asked me to change. I had been the one to place that chip on my shoulder and pressure myself into being perfect. I refused to let bad memories of my ex ruin what I could have with Whip.
Somewhere along the line Whip helped me realize that when you allow yourself to truly feel, good things happen. He had faith in me, and I had faith in us. We could get through the storm.
Together.
I was done being afraid. Whip felt things deeply, in a way that I had learned was terrifying. But I was done with feeling afraid.
Whip was offering a version of himself reserved solely for me.
“I’m sorry, Sylvie, but I have to go!” A sense of urgency propelled me forward, and I left behind the plate and coffee.
“Good luck!” Sylvie called out with a laugh.
I didn’t look back but shot an excited goodbye wave into the air. I needed to make a plan, tell Whip everything, and finally make this right.
THIRTY-EIGHT
WHIP
I didn’t know it was possible to feel so low. I’d checked, and rechecked, my phone for what felt like the millionth time, and there was still no contact from Emily.
How had things gotten so far off track so quickly?
After I drove off, it took only a minute to come to my senses. I’d circled back to beg for forgiveness for losing my temper, only to find her already gone. Worried, I drove past her apartment, and when I saw her safely climbing the stairs and entering, I decided I needed to give both of us a little space.
I spent the night staring up at my ceiling and replaying our argument over and over in my mind.
We both agreed it was just sex.
I knew the moment she said those words that they were a challenge. She needed me to fight for her, and yet I was the stubborn prick whose feelings got hurt because I was scared she would leave. Instead of calmly talking with her and working out a plan, I got defensive and screamed in her face that I loved her.
Real smooth.
The next morning, still irritated and uneasy, I went in search of the only person I knew could set me right.
My knuckles rapped against the door to the Martin home, and I shifted in my boots. The front door pulled open, and Mrs. Martin smiled at me. “William. This is a pleasure.”
She widened the door and gestured for me to enter.
I stepped inside, tail tucked and shoulders slumped with shame. “Thank you, ma’am.”
Her laughter was gentle and quick. “Marilyn, please.”
I nodded and cleared my throat. “Is the chief in?”
A sly smile spread across her face. She tipped her chin toward the long hallway that split the center of the house. “He’s in his office.”
“Thank you.” I had turned to leave when her hand stopped me.
“Thank you.” My shoulders shifted to face Emily’s mother. She was beaming up at me. “Thank you for really seeing her and caring so deeply for her.”
