Part 26 (2/2)

Our evening routine is a striking contrast to last night, but comfortably familiar-after a dinner of leftover tacos, I get Nicholas ready for bed while Dean cleans the kitchen.

After I return downstairs, I shuffle through the day's mail. There's another postcard from my friend North, this time from Cambodia: Liv, Sandcastle temples, sugar palms, monks in saffron robes, crowded markets with pungent scents of grilled seafood and fried insects, brutal scars of the past and yet, when you look, evidence of a bright, serene awakening.

My adventure continues.

North I join Dean on the sofa, where he's sprawled out watching the news. He extends an arm and I snuggle against his side, letting the warmth of him ease away the lingering tightness in my chest.

”Postcard from North.” I hold the card out to him.

”Cambodia, huh?” He reads the card and turns it over to look at the printed photo of the elaborate Angkor Wat temple complex. ”I went to grad school with a guy who specialized in Southeast Asian architecture. He spent a year in Cambodia studying Angkor Wat. He invited me to visit any time, but I never made it over there.”

For some reason, I don't like the idea of Dean not having done something. I stroke my hand under his T-s.h.i.+rt to touch the flat, hard ridges of his abdomen.

”Hey, you okay?” Dean pats my hip.

”Yeah, I just forgot I was supposed to do something at the cafe, and it sort of screwed things up. I'll straighten it out, though.”

”What happened?”

I know he'll find out sooner or later, so I take a deep breath and confess my colossal f.u.c.k-up. He listens in silence, his brow creasing with concern.

By the time I'm finished, the tension in my shoulders has eased somewhat. Sharing my burdens with Dean has always made things easier, and I fully expect him to rea.s.sure me everything will work out.

”Liv.” His expression is somber, his mouth turning into a frown. ”I think the universe is trying to tell you something.”

I blink. ”Like what?”

”Like you've been trying to do too much for too long. Sooner or later, something was going to give.”

Though that's exactly what I just told myself, it hurts extra hard hearing it from Dean-especially considering the reason I forgot about Becky's party.

”You wouldn't have said that when we were getting busy in the hotel room,” I mutter, pus.h.i.+ng away from him and getting to my feet.

His frown deepens. ”I won't apologize for wanting you all to myself for one d.a.m.ned night. You've had every other Sat.u.r.day off at the cafe for the past year, and you had it written on the calendar that today was your day off. I'd never have made plans if I'd known you had other commitments, but I can't even remember the last time we were alone together for an entire night. I'm not apologizing for it.”

”I'm not asking you to apologize,” I retort, tossing North's postcard on a table. ”I know I f.u.c.ked up. But I don't need you making me feel worse.”

Remorse flashes in his eyes, but his jaw tightens. ”I don't want to make you feel worse. I want you to stop thinking you have to do everything. You don't have to tackle every single project on your own just because people ask you to or because you feel you have to. You don't have to prove you can do it all, Liv. Everyone knows you can.”

My insides twist. Why don't I know that by now too? Why don't I believe it?

”Look, I know some people over at Edison Power,” Dean continues as he stands and approaches me. ”So does Kelsey. Let me call them and-”

I hold up my hand to stop him. I know-I know-the easiest way to deal with this mess is to turn everything over to my husband. Just like the night when he effortlessly rescued me and Nicholas from chaos, he would do the same thing now. He'd smooth all the rough edges, negotiate the conflicts, make everything right. He would fix it.

But why shouldn't I be responsible for cleaning up my own messes? I'm the one who wanted to do it all, so I'm the one who has to fix it. Yes, it's a rotten leftover of life with my mother-who never took responsibility for a f.u.c.king thing, including her own daughter-but that doesn't give me a free pa.s.s. I won't make excuses for myself.

”No.” I shake my head. ”I'll figure it out.”

Dean exhales a sigh of frustration. ”Liv, it's okay to ask for help. To accept help when it's offered. It doesn't make you weak or irresponsible.”

”I don't think it does.”

”Then let me help you, dammit.”

I look up at the hard note in his voice. He's standing with his arms folded across his chest, his mouth tight and eyes dark.

I suddenly wonder what it has cost him over the years to stand back and not intervene in my problems when there is nothing he wants to do more. Being pa.s.sive, especially in regards to his family, goes against the very core of who Dean West is. He's always been the one to make things happen-to win the game, save the day, find the treasure, lead the battle.

But for me, because I asked him to, he has put himself on the sidelines and watched me try, fail, and try again. He's forced himself not to jump in and rescue me, and because of his restraint, I've grown and changed in ways I'd once never imagined I could.

”Thank you,” I say.

”For what?”

”For letting me make mistakes. For not trying to fix things, even though I know you always want to.”

He's still frowning. ”That sounds like you're going to turn me down again.”

”No, I'm not turning you down. I just need to figure out what the fallout of all this is going to be and talk to Allie. Give me a day or two. I promise I'll tell you if I need you.”

Dean looks at me for a long moment, his expression shuttered. He reaches over to brush a lock of hair away from my forehead.

”I thought you always needed me,” he says.

My heart stutters at the idea he would ever think otherwise.

”Of course I do.”

A faint, resigned smile tugs at his mouth. He turns away, picking up a stack of papers from the kitchen counter before he goes upstairs to his tower office.

I have a sudden, sharp longing to return to the hot intimacy we'd had in the hotel room. I want cherry pie and champagne again. I want lacy lingerie, silk blindfolds, the burn of l.u.s.t. I want to feel Dean's hands sweeping over my naked body. I want to hear his deep voice whispering commands in my ear. I want to close the door and shut the world out so we can focus on each other again.

But even if we could, it wouldn't be the same. All our efforts, both mine and Dean's, to find that place again have either failed or created a disaster.

Maybe because that place no longer exists. Maybe we've been trying to recreate something that can't be recreated because it belongs to the past. Maybe it's now just a memory. And if not even Dean can bring it back to stay...

My heart aches. I'm tempted to follow him to his tower and curl up on his lap. The sensation of my husband's strong arms tightening around me in a warm, secure circle is, perhaps, the only thing in the world that can banish my sense of hopelessness.

Instead, I turn in the opposite direction, walk up the stairs, and crawl into bed alone.

PART III.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

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