She extracted her hand from the heated cocoon of his. Stepped back. Inhaled . . . a shallow breath, because deep at this moment was impossible.
“Just go,” she choked out, turning her back on him like she had on her father, on her whole charmed life, all those years ago. Only back then, taking a stand had been the first step in Darcy becoming strong. Now, when ten seconds later the door to the parlor clicked shut, she couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so weak.
chapter
9
Coffee shops. The last resort of the desperately single.” Mel cast her critical gaze around the busy Starbucks in Lincoln Square. “They used to be so promising. Now they’re filled with aspiring writers and wannabe day traders, frankly, the worst collection of talent I’ve come across in years.” Sighing, she sipped her skinny latte and eyed Darcy from beneath her golden lashes. “But that’s not why we’re here, is it.”
Darcy poked at the chocolate croissant she had bought in a fit of pessimism five minutes ago. Her third since walking into the aromatic, supposedly calming interior of the popular coffee place with Mel. Between the holiday excess and this Beck business, it looked like she’d be making her grand exit from the city ten pounds chunkier than when she arrived three months ago.
Or maybe all that extra weight could be attributed to her heavy heart.
“Well, I’d love to see you settled before I leave Chicago¸” Darcy said with fake cheer. Her disinterested gaze drifted to a salt-and-pepper-haired professorial type reading an actual newspaper. “Elbow Patches seems nice.”
“Lives with his mother.”
Undeterred, Darcy tried again. “That guy with the hipster hat and the sideburns is cute.”
“There are only so many microbrewery tours and ironic T-shirt shopping trips I can fit into my schedule.” Mel’s pixie features turned kindhearted. “Quit stalling. Time to discuss the man of the hour—or should I say the decade?”
Darcy gave her most Continental shoulder shrug, perfected during her time in Paris. “There’s nothing to discuss.”
“Right.” Mel stared Darcy down. “So how’s this going to end, D?”
The end was a done deal. Seven years ago. Again, two days before when she discovered Beck had cut her out of the decision to take the road to Splitsville. More men taking care of business for their women. Her father, Preston Collins, François, every guy she’d ever dated, really, and now Beck. She almost rolled her eyes at the canyon of self-pity his actions had opened up. Her heart was set to deluded, and now she wanted to wallow in her own stupidity for a while.
“It’s not going to end with me forgiving him.”
“Hmm. Men are just manipulating douche canoes,” Mel said in sympathy.
“Testify.”
“They leave the toilet seat up, can barely walk and chew gum at the same time—”
“Act like they know best,” Darcy cut in, getting warmed up.
“That’s their problem. They think they know best, but in this case . . . I have to agree.”
Darcy was stunned. “I can’t believe you’re taking his side.”
Mel blew out an oh-girlfriend sigh. “It was a long time ago and he was crazy about you. That’s gotta count for something.”
Darcy didn’t doubt Beck’s feelings for her all those years ago, but it was tainted, corrupted, ruined, by his high-handed behavior. What gave him the right to ride solo on such an important decision?
“I’ve spent the last few years building myself up. I can’t be with someone who doesn’t respect me. Who pays lip service to the notion of my strength but wants to pull the lever behind the curtain.”
“Like your dad.”
“What?”
“You know.”
She did. Every man who crossed her path was assessed with the checklist: was he bossy, manipulative, demanding, in any way like Sam Cochrane? One tick was enough to scuttle any potential relationship. But at the same time, she was drawn to decisive, confident men. Men like Beck who knew what they wanted and fought with gloves on, fists raised, to make it a reality.
So sue her for being a girly mass of contradictions.
“You had to give him my address,” she said faintly, not quite ready to capitulate to common sense.
“Gage extracted it from me under false pretenses,” Mel said, as if Thor-lust could excuse her guilt. “Still can’t believe that hot piece of ass is gay. I weep for my fellow Vagina Americans.”
“I really loved him, Mel.”
“When?”
That pulled her up short. She had fallen in love with a serious boy that day in the boxing ring, and two weeks ago, fell right back into the Beck Rivera groove. The when wasn’t a fixed point in time. Her feelings for this man existed on a continuum.
She had never stopped loving him. Not for one second.
Mel gave a short nod as if Darcy had spoken that aloud. “You said you were over him. That you’d moved on and this was just a fling, revenge, whatever, to see you through the holidays. But you never got over him. Not really. And now you want to punish him for breaking your heart all those years ago instead of just accepting that shit happens, people make decisions for good or bad—” Darcy opened her mouth to object but Mel countered with the hand. “And that now he’s a different person. You’re a different person. He wanted the best for you, to make you happy in the long term because he was nuts about you. Best intentions, so-so methods.”
“You think I overreacted?”
Mel broke off a piece of Darcy’s croissant and popped it into her mouth. “Is that what you call it when you pick a fight?” she asked around her chewing. “ ’Cause that’s what you did, babe. All this time you didn’t want to know why he dumped you, but the minute it comes down to the wire, as soon as he pushes you to be brave, now you start channeling Countess Curiosity? You knew you wouldn’t like the answer, and it gave you the perfect out.”
Darcy hated that Mel was right. Damn her.
“I guess I panicked.”
“Yeah, you did. Loving this man is going to turn your life upside down and make you question everything. That’s a lot to take in if you’re not ready for it. I tell my students all the time that fear is often a good pointer to what we really want and need. If it’s outside your comfort zone, it’s going to be so much more rewarding when you pull it off. You have to feel it to heal it.”
Darcy knew that what Mel said made sense, but making sense never made it easier. Bringing her fears front and center was supposed to make the hurt of facing the truth worth the pain, all shit that sounded great on paper. She thought back to Beck’s words, how she needed to figure out where she was going instead of dwelling on where she had been.
Gotta stop running sometime, Darcy.
Was she ready to let down her guard, expose her soft underbelly, and give this man free reign over her heart?
Beck tore off his mask and gulped the cold, pine-scented nighttime air. Even mixed with the acrid smell of smoke and burned wood, it was the second best scent ever because it told him he was back in the thick of it. The best scent . . . damn, thinking of that, thinking of her, would only drive him mad.
“Good job, Rivera,” Lieutenant McElroy said with a clap on Beck’s back as they gathered for the debrief by the pumper outside the four-story walk-up on Sheridan. “You didn’t screw up once.”