Some Like It Hopeless (A Temporary Engagement) (20 page)

“What are you doing?”

“Planting new flowers.”

“. . .Why?”

“Because these looked sad.”

She watched him another long minute, then went to turn the hose on enough for a trickle. She crouched beside him, watering the flowers he’d planted.

She looked at his hands, lightly touching his bruised and raw knuckles, and he said, “I was thinking.”

When he glanced at her, she was fighting a smile. “That’s my kind of thinking.”

He took one of her hands in his, twisting it back and forth. “Then how come I don’t see any signs.”

“Because I think with dishes, not my hands.”

He dropped her now muddy hand. “Smart.”

“Sometimes. Most of the time, no.”

He popped another pansy out of its little black container, pulling at the roots gently. “My wife loved to plant flowers. She loved making her world beautiful. Said it gave her a little glow, and I never understood what she was talking about until now.”

Cassandra stood up, turned the water off, and went inside. Shutting the door behind her so quietly that Brady knew she wanted to slam it.

He said loud enough for her to hear through the window, “Okay. I’m starting to get a glimmer of what you needed to think about.”

He heard an inside door slam, and it made him feel better. Better enough to smile at his little purple flowers.

Good enough to plant the rest of his flowers, to water them, all the while looking forward to doing a little thinking
with
Cassandra.

They could probably do some pretty good damage between the two of them.

When he was done, and as clean as he could make himself, he followed her inside, sitting down on the couch when he saw it had been the bathroom door she’d slammed. Just sat, and waited.

He closed his eyes, cataloging all the protests his body was making. Hands and knuckles. Thighs. Even under his fingernails where some dirt was stubbornly clinging.

He was sore, and he felt good. At peace, once again. His monster chained back up.

He’d fought and he’d won. And he was grateful for it.

He heard the bathroom door open, and then Cassandra was curling up beside him on the couch. Not touching, but right there next to him.

He listened to her breathe and thought about taking a nap, and she said, “I didn’t care about your perfect wife when I wasn’t in love with you.”

Brady’s eyes blinked open. Then because he didn’t know what else to do, he blinked again.

“. . .Love?”

She laughed, short and bitter. “Sucks, huh?”

He picked his head up to look at her, and her skin was washed clean, her hair slightly damp in a ring around her face. Her eyes bright with tears.

He said again, “Love?”

She sniffed. “I don’t want to love another man who can’t love me all the way back. Another one whose heart can’t be all mine. Another man I have to share.” She closed her eyes, leaning her head back and whispering, “I’m tired of sharing.”

Brady looked at her. Looked at the sad turn of her mouth, the freshly scrubbed pinkness of her face.

Love?

They were fun. And she was right, they were need.

But love?

She turned her face toward him and slowly opened her eyes.

Another short laugh escaped her lips and she closed her eyes again. “I need a picture of that look. For my scrapbook.”

Brady shut his mouth with a snap and tried to say something that didn’t sound horrified.

And out came, “
Why do you love me
? And why are you
telling me
?”

She shrugged. “It’s love, Brady. Why hide it? You don’t have to love me back.”

He gurgled and she patted his hand. “And I love you because.” She tipped her head. “Why do I love Shane? There’s things about him that I like. And there’s things about him that I hate. Why do we decide to love who we love? I don’t think it’s a decision; it just is. But you do decide what you’re going to do about that love.”

“There has to be a why.”

“Does there?”

“Yes.”

She opened her eyes, meeting his straight on and saying, “Do you want to know my why?”

He was shaking his head before he’d even thought about it.

She smiled slightly. Like she’d been expecting him to say no but still a little sad at it.

She sighed. “I don’t want to tell you why anyway. I haven’t decided what to do about this love yet.” She flicked her eyes at him. “I
wanted
to think about it.”

And next time she shouted at him that she needed to think about something, he’d let her do it without chasing after her.

She lifted one hand, weighing her decision in the palm of her hand. “I can have part of your heart and be happy.” She lifted her other hand. “Or have none of it and be miserable. That’s my choice.”

He said, “I don’t want to hear this.”

“I know. This is your punishment.”

He put his head in his hands and tried not to laugh. Tried to figure out what he was feeling here.

Horror? Wonder? Disbelief?

She said, “At least I can have mind-erasing sex with you. A possibility of children, if you can ever look at one without cringing.” She grinned. “Oh, now, please let me get my phone so I can take a picture of you looking like you’re going to faint.”

She gripped his thigh, using it to push herself up, and he said, “I can’t have anymore children. I had a vasectomy.” He squeezed his fists. “I don’t want anymore children.”

Cassandra stopped. She stood there, one step from the couch, and stopped. Stopped smiling, stopped breathing.

All the blood drained from her face, and Brady stood, wrapping his arms around her. Taking her weight as she drooped.

He didn’t love Cassandra. Wasn’t sure how he felt about her loving him, but he hurt watching her. Hurt seeing her take this final blow.

He’d taken away the possibility of making a family and home with him. Taken away all hope.

He whispered, “Baby, I’m sorry. So sorry.”

And he was. He wished he could give her everything she wanted. Wished he could give her
something
, just one thing, that she wanted.

And he couldn’t give her anything. He didn’t have a heart to give. Didn’t have a way to give her a child even if he one day wanted to.

He picked her up, ignoring his aching muscles. Carried her into the bedroom to lay her gently on the bed.

Brady climbed in beside her, curling around her and whispering over and over how sorry he was. Stroking her hair and trying to heal a hurt he’d just dumped on her. Without thinking.

He’d been surprised. Surprised that she was thinking of children with him.

She’d surprised the truth out of him.

He’d surprised the hope out of her.

Brady called Shane. Because who else did you call when you needed to be taken care of except the person who loved you.

“Can you come to Cassandra’s? I. . . I hurt her.”

“
Excuse me? You did what!?”

“I don’t want to leave her alone. Please come.”

“I’m coming right now. But believe me, we will be having words.”

Brady hung up. He deserved words. Wasn’t sure how scary words from Shane were going to be, but he deserved them.

He sat down on the bed beside Cassandra. She hadn’t spoken to him. Hadn’t looked at him.

He hadn’t known that she’d wanted children. Hadn’t known she might want children with
him
.

He’d lain with her all day and all night. And all day and all night.

She’d hardly stirred. Hadn’t eaten.

He’d stopped saying sorry when his voice had given out. Stopped trying to get her to eat, to drink when she turned away from him.

Brady heard the key turn in the door and he whispered, “Shane’s here now. He’ll know how to heal your hurts.”

Shane came running into the room, crawling into bed without bothering to kick off his shoes and scooping Cassandra up in his arms. “Oh my God, Cass. What did the big, scary man do to you?”

He crushed her to his chest, flicking a finger between him and Brady and saying, “Words.”

Brady nodded. “I told her the truth.”

Shane squinted his eyes. “What truth?”

Cassandra croaked, “Don’t. I don’t want to hear it again.”

Shane looked between them. “You didn’t touch her?”

“Only with the truth.”

“Fucking truth. Why can’t people just lie. White lies say I love you.”

Cassandra sniffed, snuggling into Shane’s arms, and Brady said, “I’ll come back after my meeting. I just can’t miss this one.”

He’d missed a handful already, and if he could miss this one, too, he would.

Cassandra shook her head. “I have to think.”

Brady opened his mouth and she turned her head to meet his eye.

She had to think about what to do with her love
, and he was suddenly glad. Glad she knew he couldn’t give her anything she wanted.

He nodded. He turned away, stopping at the door to her bedroom and gripping the casing. Wanting to turn around and say something that would help her make her decision.

Except he didn’t know what he wanted her to decide.

So he left.

Shane at least got her to eat a little soup.

He wrapped her up tight in her blankets, pulled a chair in next to the bed, and read the celebrity gossip to her.

She didn’t sleep, just lay there, her eyes open and dead.

Shane had thought, when he’d heard Brady stutter that he’d hurt her, that perhaps their sex play had gotten a little too rough.

Completely understandable if you asked him. Considering.

He’d thought he’d find Brady looking embarrassed, and Cass alternating between laughing and groaning.

He hadn’t expected to find her destroyed. Destroyed with words. Destroyed with the truth.

The truth. Oh, the truth.

He didn’t know what truth had knocked his Cassandra to the ground, wasn’t sure what truth
could
knock her out.

She’d tell him when she was ready.

And until then, he would sit by her side.

And think about how the truth could only destroy when it came from someone you loved.

Shane took a few days off from work, and when she wasn’t better, still wasn’t talking, not even smiling at the celebrity feud article he’d read to her, he called for reinforcements.