So there I was. On my way to tell the girl I loved, I loved her.
It had taken me more than a few weeks to work everything out in my head. Until I realized I was wasting time overthinking everything. Mom was right. I owed the Fairchilds. But not my happiness. And not Valentine’s either.
Today was Valentine’s Day.
It was a little cheesy, but I thought how one day, looking back, it would make my Valentine smile.
As scared as I was, excitement and anticipation moved through me. We’d take it slow. It would be really fucking difficult not to throw her on the nearest bed after wanting her for so long, but we had to do this right. Dates and getting comfortable in a new reality together first. Sex later.
Scowling at the broken building entrance, I made a mental note to talk to her landlord and then hurried up the three flights to Valentine’s apartment. Taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly, I hammered my fist on the door before I could talk myself out of this.
Hearing nothing, I deflated.
I should’ve called first.
But I could’ve sworn that this was the day she worked customer service for the internet start-up, which she did from home.
Maybe she was on a call.
Shit.
Deciding this was too important not to interrupt, I knocked again.
Finally, I heard movement beyond the door. A few seconds later, the door whipped open and a guy stood there, scowling, wearing nothing but a pair of jeans.
He looked like he was in his mid- to late-thirties.
He also definitely looked like a guy who’d just been interrupted having sex.
Summer’s boyfriend?
“Can I help you?”
I bristled at his tone, wondering where the hell Val was. “Yeah, I was looking for Valentine, but I guess—”
“I’m here, I’m here!” I heard her call from the back of the apartment.
My heart plummeted as she suddenly appeared beside the older guy. She’d thrown on a dress, but there was no disguising her flushed cheeks or messy hair.
Fuck me.
It was like someone had stuck a knife in my gut.
At my silence, Valentine flushed. “Sorry. Introductions. Micah, this is Dillan. Dillan, this is Micah. Micah is a family friend. Dillan is …” She looked up at him, her lips twitching with amusement.
The bastard smirked down at her. “Dillan is late for work.” He gave her a quick kiss and disappeared down the hall, out of sight.
I stared at Valentine, trying to mute the betrayal I felt.
Because she technically hadn’t betrayed me, and I would be a hypocritical bastard if I tried to say she had. In my efforts to get over her, I hadn’t exactly been a monk.
We stared at each other, the silence awkward and awful.
Then the bastard returned, fully dressed. He kissed Valentine, longer, with tongue, until I wanted to rip off his fucking head. “Later, baby.” He scooted past me with a knowingly smug expression, and I tightened my hands into fists at my sides to stop from lunging at him.
“Come in.” Valentine broke the silence, stepping back from the doorway.
What I really wanted to do was leave.
And roar my frustration and rage out into a dark sky somewhere.
Instead, like I was on autopilot, I followed her into the run-down space that acted as both kitchen and living room.
“What brings you to my part of town?” she asked, running her fingers nervously through her hair.
I tried not to notice how kiss-stung her mouth was and failed. Clenching my jaw, I looked away. “Just in the neighborhood. Thought I’d stop by. Didn’t mean to … interrupt.”
“Oh, it’s fine.”
“Who is he?” I picked up a book from the side table. A romance novel. I assumed it was Val’s. Pretending to read the blurb, I waited for her to speak.
“He’s my boss. He owns the bar I bartend at.”
Disbelief scored through me.
Was she fucking kidding?
I turned to face her. “Are you insane?”
She flinched like I’d slapped her. “What?”
“Cupid, how could you be so stupid? You don’t fuck your boss.” My anger took over. “Jesus, he looks twice your age. Too old for you. And is he too married for you too? Is that the reason for the clandestine fuck in the middle of the day? Are you really that much of a screwup?”
The color drained from Valentine’s cheeks.
The hurt and betrayal in her gaze was worse than anything I was feeling.
I wanted to take back what I’d said. It was ugly. It was so fucking ugly. Assumptions based on nothing but jealousy and rage.
Tears filled her eyes, and I hated myself.
“Val—”
She raised a palm. “Don’t. Now I know … now I know what you really think of me. I …” She brushed away her tears angrily and huffed, “I always thought you were the one person who really saw me. But you’re just like them. And I’ve decided I don’t need people in my life who make me feel like a failure.” She stormed toward the door and threw it open, gesturing for me to leave. “You can go.”
“Valentine, I didn’t—”
“You can’t take it back.” She shrugged miserably. “It’s out there now. Always between us.”
“That’s not … I was just surprised … I didn’t expect—”
“Just stop, Micah.”
Everything I wanted to say wouldn’t come out.
I left.
And I would curse myself for years to come for not telling her right at that moment that I was in love with her, I was a jealous bastard, and it had made me say things I didn’t mean.
Chapter Five
MICAH
AGE 22
The table, as always, was covered in delicious goodness. Turkey, ham, chicken. Stuffing, mashed potatoes, candied yams, sweet potato casserole, green bean casserole, corn bread. Not to mention the three kinds of pie for dessert: pecan, pumpkin, and chocolate.
The Fairchilds always went all out on Thanksgiving.
But that wasn’t the reason I always came back.
I was a graduate student and had my own place in Boston with a few of the guys I’d met in college. All of them but Wells went home for Thanksgiving. I could’ve stayed with him.
However, I had hope.
That she would be there.
She never was.
Caroline had inadvertently pushed Valentine away as much as I had.
Not that she didn’t stay in contact. We emailed. We texted. It wasn’t the same. But it was something.
She talked with Jim too.
And for some reason, I really thought she’d be here this year. She was turning twenty-one in January … time was slipping away.
Mom was the only one who noticed my disappointment when I realized Valentine wasn’t coming. She didn’t say anything. The one good thing that had come out of the last few years, other than me getting closer to becoming a qualified architect, was my mom. We were closer. We were building trust again.
“Didn’t Valentine say she’d call?” her grandmother asked for the ninetieth time. “A child who feels loved and wanted would have called by now.”
If Caroline came down hard on Val, her mother came down hard on her. She’d been making these little digs at Caroline for the past three Thanksgivings.