Or punch the men in the face.
This punch-happy side of me is new, but it doesn’t scare me. It’s part of how I feel about Colette. Protecting the person you love is second nature—at least for me—and I’m not going to be able to calm down until I know she’s safe.
By the time I circle the pool house and head for the light of Jed and Nancy’s cottage, I’m running full tilt through the grass. I have to find out where Colette’s gone. Nothing else matters right now—not Chip, not the music, not anything but getting to my girl and letting her know how much I need her to stay.
Hopefully forever.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Colette
My new room is unexpectedly delightful, with a kitchenette decorated with cheerful red-and-white gingham accents, a fluffy bed sporting decorative pillows that read “Her Buck” and “His Doe,” and a picture on the wall showcasing a huge pair of antlers with lettering underneath that insists, “Size Matters.”
A white desk by the window overlooks the lodge’s back lawn, granting a view of the squirrels having a final frolic through the trees as the sun goes down.
After I drop my suitcase in the closet, I sit and watch them, wondering why I’ve never noticed how insane squirrels were before.
One of them spends a solid ten minutes dragging itself on its belly across a wooden picnic table, which must give it dreadfully uncomfortable splinters in private squirrel places. Another grooms its tail maniacally between lifting tiny paws to its face and inhaling deeply of its own, apparently intoxicating, squirrel scent.
Their antics keep me entertained for nearly an hour, but as soon as the last of the twilight glow fades, the critters head to their nests for the night, and I’m left staring at my own reflection in the glass.
I look like hell.
My eyes are haunted, and my hair is a mess from the day spent out in the wind. I’m also still covered in trail dust and in dire need of a shower.
My room has a lovely shower, complete with tiny evergreen-scented soaps that leave a note of Christmas lingering in the air. I should shower, get in my pajamas, and zone out with some trashy reality television to keep my mind off my troubles.
Instead, I sit frozen at the desk, asking my reflection questions it can’t answer.
If this is the right call, why do I feel so awful?
Is there a chance I’ve made a horrible mistake?
Maybe I could have given up my homebody ways for a shot at something more with Zack. Maybe I could have found a way to fit into his world, to learn to love life on the road and exploring a new city every night. As long as I was with him, maybe we could have made it work.
Deep down, a quiet voice assures me you can’t change who you are, no matter how much you love someone, but another voice stubbornly insists that love can conquer any obstacle.
Love is powerful.
But so is fear.
Fear and love, love and fear… I’ve spent my whole life dancing with one or the other, pulled in opposite directions. I want to believe that love is all you need, but I know better. No matter how much I loved my mother, it was never enough. She needed a kind of love I couldn’t provide.
She needed to love herself, but she never learned how. From the outside looking in, it didn’t seem like she even tried. She was too busy running herself ragged, looking for love in a needle or a man or possessions we could never afford.
I made a promise a long time ago that I wouldn’t make the same mistake. I would honor my needs, nurture my spirit, and give myself all the love my mother hadn’t. I knew it was the only way to be the kind of person I wanted to be. You can’t pour from an empty cup, and you can’t make other people feel loved if you don’t love yourself.
All I’ve ever wanted is to have a happy home, a partner I adore, and ultimately, children who know they are treasured, wanted, and supported. But maybe I’ve become too rigid in my quest to make that dream come true. Maybe I need to be open to happily ever after arriving in different packaging than I expected.
I’m still deep in the question cave, breaking down every part of the equation but unable to figure out what to do with the pieces, when there’s a soft knock on the door.
Instantly, I know Jed sold me out and told Zack where to find me.
And I couldn’t be happier. Even an hour out of sync with him is too long.
Bolting from my chair, I cross the room and throw open the door, hurling myself into his arms. He catches me with a grunt, squeezing me tight. “I’m sorry,” I murmur into his neck, burrowing my face closer to his skin. “I shouldn’t have left. I’m just so confused.”
“Don’t be sorry,” he says, hugging me hard enough to lift me off my feet. “It’s okay.”
I swallow, clinging to him as he steps through the door and closes it behind us. “But it’s not,” I say to his neck again because his neck is so much easier than his see-through-me gaze. “I’m so scared.”
“What are you scared of, baby?” he asks, the affection in his tone making the back of my eyes sting.
“That I’ll ruin everything for you. Or for me. That there’s no way forward without someone letting go of a dream.”
“I have lots of dreams. Some more important than others.” He sets me on my feet and pulls back, cupping my face in his hands. “And the dream of you and me…” When his tongue slips out across his lips, I want to kiss him, but I need to hear what he’s about to say even more. “I know this is probably going to sound crazy. I’ve been holding back, trying to wait long enough to have a shot at you taking me seriously, but…” He searches my gaze while I hold my breath, praying this is going where I think it’s going. “But I’m so in love with you, Cee. I don’t just want a baby with you. I want a life, a family, and I’m ready to do whatever it takes to make that happen.”
I blink back tears and shake my head. “No, you won’t. I’ll do whatever it takes to make it happen. I love you too much to ask you to turn your back on your music and your fans and—”
“I won’t have to do that,” he cuts in with a smile. “I can find a way to reach them from Hidden Kill Bay. I don’t have to tour all the time.”
“But that’s how musicians make money now,” I counter, forcing myself to be realistic, no matter how much I want to drag him to the bed and show him how thrilled I am to be his dream all night long. “I know streaming services and pirating have cut into artists’ ability to make a living. And record sales aren’t anything close to what they used to be and no one—”
“All of that is true,” he says, still grinning like there isn’t a cloud on our horizon as he links his hands together at the small of my back, making my nipples tighten as they brush against his chest. “But I have money. A lot of money. Profit isn’t my top priority right now. If it were, I wouldn’t have left a successful band that does very well for itself. I just want to make music I believe in. Music that’s uniquely mine and nobody else’s.”
“And to share it with other people,” I challenge. “That’s a part of it, you know it is. It’s like the tree in the forest. If an album drops and no one listens, did the album drop at all?”