The Fixer (Fall River #2)

38. I Am My Own Romance

Chapter 38

I Am My Own Romance

Dressed only in boxers, Charlie explored Joy’s kitchen, on the hunt for sustenance. After yesterday’s travel, last night’s adventures in the bedroom, and their gut-wrenching reveal—capped off by a rousing wakeup call when Joy slipped under the covers sometime this morning—his body was hollow. Among her fridge’s sparse ingredients, he found fresh packages of sausage, English muffins, and eggs she’d probably bought for his visit rather than for herself. As he brewed a pot of coffee, he pondered asking her if she’d lost weight since she’d left Fall River. Her hip bones had been a little pointier and the ribs extending from her sternum more pronounced. In fact, she appeared more sunken in general. No lie, he was worried about her.

His phone chimed, and he picked it up and grinned. Neve had sent him pictures of Sunny and Luna playing with her dogs in her wooded backyard.

He quickly replied: They don’t even miss me, do they?

Neve: They have no idea you’re gone.

Charlie: Thanks for rubbing it in.

Neve: I’m not the one rubbing stuff ATM. Having fun ?

Charlie: Tons. Hey, what’s the etiquette on asking a woman if she’s lost weight?

Neve: Do not, I repeat, DO NOT in any way, shape, or form engage a woman in conversation about her weight. She followed this up with a terrified-face emoji flanked by bloody daggers. Another text quickly followed. Has Joy shed a few pastry pounds?

Charlie: Could be. He didn’t want to mention he was worried, but Neve read his mind anyway.

Neve: Don’t worry. She’s probably in shock and needs to readjust to life in the Big City.

Should she want to readjust to a life that spelled bad health, though? He had little time to ponder because the subject of his texting appeared in a slinky purple robe that was the lone splash of color in the otherwise white-and-gray polished room.

She glided over to him, nestled against his chest, and exhaled a happy little sigh. “Oh, I’ve missed this.”

Then come home with me. Come live with me, his brain instantly responded.

He put down the device and wrapped her up in his arms, closing his eyes and relishing the heart connection he’d been trying to re-establish since he’d arrived. Recapturing that link had been elusive, but now he knew it was intact. He’d been imagining a chasm between them that wasn’t there.

He peered down at her. “I was about to cook up some breakfast. How many eggs do you want?”

She parked her chin on his chest and wrinkled her nose. “No eggs for me. I’ll have some of that coffee, though.”

“You need to eat something sweet—um, Joy.”

“I’m not hungry.” She left his arms to pour herself a mug, glancing over her shoulder at him. “Want some?” Her long eyelashes fluttered, though not in a flirtatious way. Simply a Joy way. Honestly, the woman had no idea how appealing she was.

“Always.” Lunging, he grabbed her ass, delighted when she squealed. Then he pulled her back to his chest and nibbled her neck. “There’s a rumor going around that your robe is hiding some outrageously sexy underwear—or you in the buff. I think I need to investigate for myself.” He tugged on the tie, but it didn’t give. She slipped his grasp and hightailed it down the hallway, her laughter floating back to him. It was a siren’s call, and he had no choice but to take off after her.

Who needs food ?

Stepping into the bedroom, he found her pressed into a corner, practically doubled over in a fit of giggles. He prowled toward her, making ridiculous growling noises. In the kitchen, his phone rang, and he came to an abrupt halt. Each family member had their own ringtone, and this one—“Rescue Me”—belonged to Reece.

“I need to get that.” He sprinted for the device, swiped it off the counter, and answered. “Hey.”

“Sorry to interrupt, but I’ve got some bad news.” Charlie listened while Reece talked, his good mood sinking faster than a high-speed elevator in a Chicago skyscraper. Joy had followed him, and when he hung up, he faced her wide eyes. “I need to tell you about some shit that’s been going on at the Haven.”

A short while later, he had told her everything about the problems at Crystal Harmony Haven all the way up to Reece’s call. He had also rescheduled his flight to leave this afternoon instead of tomorrow.

Joy’s expression gave away no emotion as she watched him over her coffee mug. “What did Reece find that’s making you cut your trip short?”

Charlie puffed out a huge breath. “Back in the early to mid-2000s, there was a ton of defective drywall that came from China. It’s bad stuff, an environmental health hazard that can make people sick. It went into countless houses, especially after Hurricane Katrina, before anyone figured out there was a problem.

“Somehow, some way, a delivery of the shit showed up on Haven’s job site, which makes no sense because it hasn’t been imported since 2009. It’s as if someone had this stuff sitting in a warehouse and they swapped it out for the good stuff—like passing counterfeit bills.”

“Or like trading inferior lumber for premium.”

“Exactly. There’s only so much I can do from here, which means I need to get back before this spirals further out of control. And I’m sorry, but I’m afraid it’s going to slow down the job even more. ”

“We’re partners. Why didn’t you tell me any of this was going on?” She sounded more hurt than angry.

“I was hoping we’d have figured out who the bastards were by now, and I could deliver the bad news along with good news that they’d been caught. Obviously, that didn’t happen. Besides, there wasn’t anything you could have done about it.”

“I could have been a sounding board. You’ve got some powerful shoulders, Charlie Hunnicutt, but I could have worried along with you so you didn’t have to heft that burden by yourself.” She offered him a weak smile.

That simple comment sent an arrow to his chest, and he barely contained the “Damn, I love you” threatening to launch from the tip of his tongue.

God, he didn’t want to leave her today. Leave her at all.

He pulled in a breath to steady the wild thumping of his heart. “Hey? Come with me.”

“You mean, like drive you to the airport?” Her brows knotted together. “I was already planning to.”

He caressed her soft cheek. “Not what I meant. Come back to Colorado. Come live with me.”

Her eyes turned saucer-wide, and he could make out every sienna and caramel fleck in them.

“I … But … We’ve only known each other a month,” she stammered. “And we hated each for half of it.”

He let his hand drop to the counter. “Hate’s kind of a strong word. But are you saying that after we’ve known each other six months, ten months, you would consider it?” Before he could let himself imagine them flying back and forth, taking turns to see each other every two weeks, spending holidays and vacations together, he braced himself for the answer he knew was coming. Because her hesitation was not about how long they’d known one another.

Her face contorted with such anguish he wanted to give himself a whack upside the head for asking. “I can’t. My life … everything I’ve worked so hard for, what I’ve built. It’s here.”

“Do your job remotely.” And now he was shamelessly begging. This woman had brought him to his knees. While he hadn’t been paying attention, powerful, invisible, silken shackles had wound themselves around his entire being, binding him to her.

“That won’t cut it, Charlie.”

“Joy, you made remote work for a month—from a dilapidated building without a working kitchen, for Christ’s sake.”

“And that didn’t work as well as I pretended it did. I know Sterling can be a pompous ass, but he’s amazing at what he does, and he’s a good partner. He didn’t deserve the predicament I put him in.” She put down the coffee cup she’d been holding like a shield and traced Charlie’s lips with her fingertips. “Last night I asked you to consider the impossible for me, to uproot everything and come to Chicago. I see that now, and I’m sorry.” Her eyes were shiny with unshed tears.

“Sorry you put me in a tough spot or sorry you suggested it?” His jaw muscle jumped from clenching it.

“We both have the kinds of jobs that require we physically be there. We could do the long-distance thing, but it’s not sustainable. Unless one of us is willing to give up a vital piece of ourselves, it’s not going to work long-term.” A tear slipped down her cheek, but he made no motion to brush it away.

They rode to O’Hare in stilted silence. While he turned over everything they had said, his brain scrambled, searching out any solution that would keep what they had going. It couldn’t end. Not like this. And yet, when she dropped him off and kissed him good-bye, he knew deep in his soul it was the last time.

Joy stared at the string of texts Sterling had sent her throughout the day. It was Saturday, and nothing was crucial. He was simply being Sterling, vying for her attention, manipulating her every waking moment to focus it on himself. It had always been like that. Why hadn’t she seen it before? Because she’d been so absorbed in her own ambitions that she’d kept blinders on. Yes, he was unparalleled in what he did, and he was a terrific partner. But the other parts of his personality? Not so commendable.

Propped up in bed, she sent him a text saying she was sick and wouldn’t be checking her phone for the rest of the day—her polite way of saying, “Leave me the fuck alone!”

As soon as she had returned from the airport, she had retreated to her bedroom. Here Charlie’s essence was strongest, and she stood a chance of holding her heart together before it tore into fragments. The bed smelled of him, of the love they’d made. The sheets and pillows were heavy with his warm, masculine scent, and she pulled it in and let it comfort her. But it wasn’t enough. She didn’t have his deep, soothing voice caressing her ears, his smile that lit her from the inside out, his strong arms to take refuge in.

His words reverberated inside her. “I don’t want to control you, Joy. Ever.”

Two weeks or two hundred, Charlie Hunnicutt would still be the same person, comfortable in his own skin, cheerful and caring wherever he went and no matter what life threw at him. He was a giver, and she had taken. What had she given back in return?

She swiped angrily at the tears tracking down her face. Oh, to go back to old Joy, whose eyes were always dry. Kick-ass Joy. This new version sucked. She was adrift, a wimp, and she hurt everywhere. She couldn’t even appreciate the trappings that symbolized her hard work.

Where she had once oozed with satisfaction over owning a luxury condo on the Magnificent Mile, she felt nothing but emptiness knocking against her breastbone as she looked around at her clean, crisp walls. She could sit in luxury and contemplate the love she had tasted for a few short weeks. Small consolation.

She wasn’t even sure how much she liked living in Chicago. And her career? It had been exciting once, had made her a lot of money, but as she took inventory with clearer vision, she recognized the sheen had worn off. For years, she’d been bobbing along on the same plateau.

More tears fell, and more questions came at her fast, their edges jagged.

Who was Joy Holiday? What did she stand for? Her identity had been stripped away, but it had been an identity she’d borrowed from images, given to her by others. It hadn’t manifested itself from inside.

What was her motivation to get out of bed these days?

What if she had been chasing after the wrong pots of gold?

When had she felt as safe and cherished as when she’d been held in Charlie’s arms ?

“How’s that working out? Are you happier now that you’re back?”

No. In fact, she was more miserable now than when she’d started out on this journey to button up her mother’s estate. Her eyes had been opened, the blinders were gone, and she couldn’t unsee what was right in front of her: her life had no purpose. She was a rudderless, leaking vessel.

And then there was the physical side of the equation she could no longer shy away from. In Fall River, she had slept more soundly than at any other time in her life. Since returning home, not so much—except for Thursday night and last night, when she’d been curled safely in Charlie’s arms.

Her anxiety attacks had disappeared in the Colorado mountains, along with her need to escape into her made-up stories of romance and unrealistic heroes and heroines. She hadn’t needed to lean on her therapist or Adderall. Maybe there had been something to Helene’s mysticism crap.

Back in Chicago for only one week, all the habits were back in play. Lousy sleep, paralyzing anxiousness, and Adderall, along with the nausea and headaches it caused. The simple pleasures, like gooey pastries and hamburgers, had evaporated. Oh yeah, she was living the dream.

She gathered Charlie’s pillow under her chin and inhaled. Like a lightning bolt, it struck her. “It was never Fall River,” she told the room. “I resented the memories it stirred up. They’re tough to relive, but who says I have to relive them? Can’t I just acknowledge them and leave them in the past where they belong?”

And the urge to write? That had faded too when Charlie had been here. Why waste time living a made-up story when she had her very own that blew make-believe out of the water? Sure, it was messy and chaotic—she couldn’t control the real-life players like she could her characters. The unpredictability was absolutely terrifying, but it also hinted at a thrill around every corner. Why cheat herself out of a chance for adventure?

“I am my own romance!” She threw the pillow in the air, and it landed on her head and bounced off the bed.

Dear God, she had lost her mind! She needed her therapist.

Springing from the bed, she hurried to her home office and turned on her computer. I have to get these thoughts down before they scatter completely and I lose them forever. She pulled up the latest email from her therapist and began typing a long-overdue reply. The words came fast and furious, as though her fingers were a conduit for something altogether unworldly .

“I don’t know who I am, but I can see the opportunity to discover the real me,” one sentence said. And the aha moments continued tumbling from her.

“Besides trying to slay the world,” she typed, “I’ve been compensating for the past by filling my closets. In that regard, I’m not so different from Helene. I collect stuff I don’t necessarily need or use. I’m as guilty as she of trying to fill bottomless holes in our lives.”

And there came another revelation. “Reading those letters was excruciating, but now I understand that Helene lived in anguish too. It was a complicated relationship, and I still have much to understand, but deep down, her heart was in the right place. She thought she was protecting me, and I can show her some grace.”

Joy wrote about confronting Mary and being able to forgive herself and let the relationship go. “My time and energy are finite, and I have more deserving people in my life that I want to devote them to.”

Finally, she wrote about Charlie. “This sounds so corny, but I’m going to say it anyway. I’ve had my head down for such a long time. I was lost in myopia, and being with him has opened my eyes to the possibilities around me.”

Here was this sexy, confident, kindhearted, masculine man who sang and played guitar, danced, was artistic, turned run-down memories from the past into exquisite jewels for all to enjoy now and in the future, who loved dogs and his family, and who cooked nectar and filled hummingbird feeders. Why such an innocuous, tiny act affected her with such potency was beyond what her earthly mind could comprehend.

“Who does that?” she typed. Charlie Hunnicutt, apparently.

“Charlie is like a strong, stable rudder I can cling to until I craft my own. Everything makes sense when I’m with him. I don’t want to lose that. I want more than a career. What exactly would I be trading for a chance with him? Long nights with big egos that annoy the hell out of me. Even if things don’t work out with Charlie, I want to bring balance into my life.”

That equilibrium included Fall River and its quirky characters. It was chaos. It was family. Instead of standing on the sidelines, soaking up the warm, fuzzy vibes, maybe she could find her place on the playing field. Be part of the big, wonderful family of misfits.

Friends. Fun. Family .

She liked the vignette she had painted; it wasn’t unlike her stories. And damn it, she wanted what her characters had. She wanted love. If she could give those gifts to her heroes and heroines, why couldn’t she do the same for herself?

She loved Charlie. God, how she loved him. The feeling had stolen over her, stealthily and completely.

The admission was a jolt of truth that knocked her off the roller coaster track where her ping-ponging priorities had been taking her for a stomach-plunging ride. Calmness and clarity settled over her.

When she looked up from her keyboard, twilight cloaked the city, yet she hadn’t noticed it coming. She sent off the email and dialed Estelle’s number.

“Joy, is everything all right?” Her assistant seemed to be catching her breath. Music played in the background.

“God, I’m so sorry, Estelle. I should have considered … I didn’t mean to interrupt your Saturday night.”

“No, it’s okay. What’s going on?”

“If you wouldn’t mind, tomorrow would you please check my schedule? I know it’s the weekend, and I apologize, but I’m going to need your help rearranging it.”

They hung up, and Joy’s computer pinged with an email. When she peered at the screen, she could only giggle at her therapist’s return message.

“You finally know what you want. Go get it, Joy!”