A Real Live Hero. Kimberly Van MeterЧитать онлайн книгу.
on, Laney...” But when Thad saw her mind was made up, he dragged her suitcase from the room and handed it to her as she waited by the door, eager to get away. “If you’d just give her a chance,” he said in a low voice that only she could hear.
“I’m not here to make friends, Thad. I just needed a place to sleep. I should’ve known that coming home wasn’t going to be that place.” At his crestfallen expression, she softened minutely. Thad was a good kid and had always been kindhearted. She caressed the scruff on his cheek and said, “I’ll call you when I get settled and we’ll go to lunch. I promise. In the meantime, take care of that arm.”
She’d just slammed the trunk closed when the sound of her father’s old truck rumbled down the street. Perfect timing, she wanted to mutter. Another five minutes and she’d have been gone. If she’d been thinking straight, she never would’ve presumed she could stomach staying with her father. She didn’t care if she ran through her savings account like water through a sieve; she wasn’t sleeping one night under the same roof as that man...and his new wife. Hand on the door handle, she contemplated leaving without a word uttered, but a part of her wanted him to acknowledge her—perhaps only so she could refuse the gesture. But when he stopped for the barest moment and gave her a once-over then kept walking, she balled her fists and wanted to scream. Delainey fought the urge to follow him straight into the house to give him what was coming to him. But she didn’t confront him. No, instead she stood like a statue, staring and doing nothing. Nice to see you, too. What a jerk. She climbed into her rental and drove away, not realizing until she was a mile down the road she had tears tracking down her cheeks.
CHAPTER FIVE
TRACE WANTED TO PUNCH something. No, that wasn’t the right word. He wanted to destroy something. How dare Delainey Clarke show up as if everything was peachy between them. That soul-sucker lost the right to show her mug in his personal space the day she’d thrust his offer of marriage back in his face and left town so fast she broke the sound barrier. And at his bleakest moment! He made it a point not to go there, but seeing Delainey again brought the memory front and center.
“You’re the only thing that makes sense in my life,” Trace had said, bending on one knee, his voice breaking as he presented the small diamond he’d scrimped and saved to purchase. He didn’t make a lot of money but he didn’t spend frivolously either, and it had taken a year to save up the cash to make the biggest purchase of his young life. But she was worth it, he’d told himself. Delainey was his heart and soul, and he needed her in his life more than anything. Especially after Simone. “Please do me the honor of being my wife.”
Delainey had stared at the ring as if it had sprung fangs and hissed at her and she actually took a step back, distancing herself from it and him. “No,” she whispered. Her green eyes had misted and widened and she shook her head, almost in horror. A sick feeling lodged itself in his gut and he felt like a fool kneeling, so he climbed to his feet and snapped the ring box shut. “I can’t.”
“Why not?” he asked, confused and hurt. “I know you love me and I love you, so what’s the problem?”
“The problem? If you don’t know, then you don’t know me at all. I have a degree in film production. What kind of job am I going to get here with that?”
“You’re serious about going off to California?” he asked, incredulous. “My career is here. You’ve always known that.”
“And you’ve always known that I have big dreams that aren’t here.”
“Yeah, well, what does that have to do with getting married?” he asked, irritated and defensive. He’d always thought her talk of running off to California was kid stuff, not the kind of real-life aspirations that adults followed through with. He’d assumed she’d use her degree to get a job with the local television studio in Anchorage, certainly not something in Hollywood. But even so, he didn’t understand why she’d reject everything he was offering based on that reason. “I mean, we could still get married, you know. We’d work something out.”
“And if we did, you’d want me to stay here, and I’m not going to stay here. I’ve been saving up for a plane ticket to California and first month’s rent and security deposit for an apartment.”
He stared. “You’ve been planning to leave?”
“Yes. I told you that was my plan after graduating college. I stayed a year past my plan, and I’m not going to stay here another year.” Her eyes, so beautiful to Trace, seemed to harden into green chips of stone as she continued. “You never listen to me, Trace. You’re a country boy and I’m made to be a city girl. I thought we could make it work, but the fact is I’ve been realizing that we’re not meant to be like I thought we were. I was going to tell you...”
“When?” he demanded to know. “After I’d purchased our first home?”
She graced him with a look. “Sarcasm? Is that necessary? This is hard enough to do without you being mean.”
“Forgive me, I just had my dignity stomped into the ground,” he replied caustically, tucking the ring box into his jeans when he really wanted to chuck it as far away from him as he could throw it. “So, are you breaking up with me, too?” At her silence, he swore under his breath, unable to believe this was happening. It was like a bad, bad dream. “You have excellent timing,” he said, happy to use anger as a shield against the pain that was coming. “Excellent timing. I thought I was at my lowest with my baby sister being murdered, but you showed me I had so much further to fall. Thanks, babe. You’re a doll.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, her face flushing. “I should’ve told you sooner, but then everything happened with Simone and...”
“And what? You wanted to wait to rip out my heart?”
“I was trying to be considerate.”
“Well, thank you for your consideration.” He scorned the sudden appearance of tears in her eyes, saying as he walked away, “Good luck in California. I never want to see you again.”
“Trace...”
But he kept walking. Closing his heart for good.
Trace opened his eyes and realized his fists were clenched so hard his knuckles had whitened and he’d carved little half-moons into his palms. Eight years was a long time, but apparently not long enough. Seeing Delainey again brought all the rage and hurt right back to the surface, spilling over the sides and contaminating everything around it. He hated her. God, he hated her. She’d used him, played him, and then when he hadn’t been of any more use to her, she’d left him behind.
So now Delainey needed him for something? She could go hang herself and see if he cared. Whatever trouble she was in, she could just figure out a solution without his help.
And what the hell had she done to her face and hair? She looked as fake as a three-dollar bill with her platinum-blond hair and button nose. Not much of an improvement, if his opinion mattered much. He’d preferred her light brown hair, which had complemented her green eyes, giving her a mysterious air that was almost bewitching. Now, she just looked like every other plastic woman running around trying to be someone she wasn’t. And she was way too thin. He could practically count the ribs in her side when before Delainey had always been a little on the soft side—not thick by any means, but soft and feminine with full, rounded hips and nice, healthy breasts. Alaska was a harsh place, and having a little meat on the bones helped insulate against the bitter cold. At her current frail size, Delainey was likely to freeze to death waiting for a latte.
He groaned when he realized he was still spending way too much energy thinking about Delainey, and he knew he needed to occupy his mind with something else before he lost it. He dialed his sister Miranda and tapped his finger with agitation as he waited for her to pick up.
“Hey, Trace,” she answered with a smile in her voice. Obviously, she wasn’t aware that her former best friend was strolling around town. Should he tell her? He didn’t want her to be blindsided as he’d been, right?