Tangling Hearts (Hearts Series Book 3) Read online

  When he pulls away, I look up into his handsome, rugged face, and whisper helplessly, “Okay.”

  We walk along the park’s path past teenagers smoking with wayward glances, afraid they’ll get caught, friends lying on blankets on the grass, more families, and couples kissing with a lot less weight on their shoulders than we have. My sweater feels not nearly strong enough against the cold that’s in my heart, even though it’s a bright, sunny day, and after a few more steps, I ask Christiano if we can go now. “I need a nap before work.” The fatigue taking over me is so strong I have to lean on him as we make our way to my car. “I didn’t realize we parked this far away.”

  “Let me get the car for you. I can drive it to there and pick you up.” He points to the street where there isn’t a single open parking spot. I nod and slump to the grass.

  “That would be great, thank you.”

  He looks so tall above me now as he hesitates, glancing my way before he leaves. He kneels and looks at me for a long silent moment, so long that my heart feels like it might melt under the sadness of this decision. Can I turn this love away for one that might never happen?

  And then he drops the biggest bomb of all. “What if I stayed here with you until your bar hits success? I do not need to work. I can take as much time as I like. Money is no issue, you know that. I would be here to support you and we could explore the city together, travel to the beach when you have free time. Whatever you like…”

  I blink, shocked. “You would do that for me? But you love your home!”

  He earnestly searches my eyes. “We could go there after the bar is a success. We do not have to think about that now! Stop with that face. I am not offering you help with my money. I know you want to do this on your self.”

  As always, his misuse of the English language produces a small smile. “No more fighting my need for independence? This is a big switch.”

  He frowns and looks to the street. “Even the stubborn can change.”

  Brendan’s face jumps into my mind. “But Christiano…”

  He interrupts me by standing up. “Think on it, Bella. Do not rush, please. I’ll be back with your car.” I nod and watch his steady gate heading for where we parked. When he passes a family, I see him bow a hello. They all smile. How could they not, he’s so elegant.

  With blades of soft grass cushioning my body and thoughts, I stare, dazed, at the scattered, white clouds above me, thinking about what he’s offered. I came back to this city to heal a wound and chase a dream. I got to know Brendan and find out that what I’d felt back then was very real. It may have been a dream, but it wasn’t a fantasy. They say our first instinct is right and that it should be trusted and not fought against. What about our second one? I know that if I accept Christiano’s offer, I’ll be closing the door on Brendan. I can’t imagine running into him with Christiano on my arm. He knows what he looks like…would he even care? The way he looked at me last night was so horrible. There was hatred in his eyes.

  A breeze travels over my body and the clouds shift, bending and fading, their cotton-ball edges calming. As I watch them, hypnotized, I feel more and more certain I could be happy with Christiano. We’d travel, maybe live in both countries, split our time. If we had children they’d be bilingual. He’d be a good father. They’d love him. That would be a life any woman would want.

  “Bella!”

  He’s parallel-parked out on the street, his body leaned toward the rolled down window. I pull myself up and walk to him, staring at his face, considering what I could do, what sacrifice I could make. Because I know I would be sacrificing something if I chose him. There’s love and then there’s true love. There’s happiness, and there’s joy. There’s Christiano, and there’s Brendan Clark… the other half of my soul. Could I wait until our next life?

  “We have to talk,” I say, climbing into the car.

  His face flickers and he nods, putting the car in drive, turning away, and from what he knows is coming.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Brendan

  Drunk Drunk Drunk Drunk Drunk

  The lights are on in her place. She hasn’t left for work yet. I don’t know what I want to say to her, but I drove over here when I was aiming for home. I’ve been at different bars since one o’clock and Tommy’s been good enough to keep me company. He even stopped me from fighting a guy I knocked into on my way out of the last place. I wish he hadn’t. I would’ve enjoyed a fight. I need somewhere to put this fury. I’m pissed at her, but I’m way more angry at myself because I want to see her so badly, it’s fucking killing me. Not even what Tommy said about her and how she was back then, has made me feel like it’s over.

  Can’t we just get past this?

  Fuck. What’s wrong with me? I need to walk away! I know this. How can I trust a liar? But I can’t walk away. When I tried, it just brought me here. I yank my phone from my pocket and stare at it. Should I call her and tell her to buzz me in? My head jerks up to see one of her neighbors walking out with his head down in his phone like most of America, and just like me.

  “Hold the door!” I yell, running up the short staircase, my head swimming from the booze and the endorphins. Startled, the guy looks up at me, unsure of what to do. But I’ve already passed him and am halfway in the door. “Thanks,” I say, and shut it on his face.

  Pacing in front of her door and mumbling a mantra, I try to talk myself into leaving. “She’s just a woman just like any other woman. I’ll get over this. She’s just a woman just like any other woman. I can live without her.”

  The second I hear myself say that, my chest feels like it’s going to disappear.

  Fuck. I ball my hand into a fist and knock on the door. Hard.

  Footsteps inside.

  Deadbolt unlocked.

  Doorknob turning.

  Her ex opens the door wearing only a towel around his waist with water dripping down his chest, his hair in wet chunks falling over a deep, protective frown. He locks eyes with me.

  “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” I spit, pushing him aside. “ANNIE!”

  I hear him close the door behind me as I vault into the bathroom, expecting to see her wet and showered, too, spent from the hard fucking he just gave her. I look around the small room, the window and mirror both fogged, and pull back the shower curtain to see if she’s hiding. There’s nothing there but bath soap and hair crap. Flying out of the bathroom, I launch myself into her bedroom, next. She’s not there, but her bed is unmade and the blankets are all screwed up. I stare at it, seeing instantly them fucking like animals. I flip around to confront the bastard.

  He’s waiting for me in the living room, arms crossed, bare feet spread wide in a power stance. This guy has to be fifteen years older than Annie at least. What the fuck?

  “Where is she? And what the fuck are you doing here?”

  He raises an eyebrow. “I’m here because Annie asked me to be here.”

  I glare at him in shock. “What?!!” Raking my fingers through my hair, I pace again, the couch between us, but I’m considering flying over it to punch him in the face. “Women are fucking evil!”

  “You are drunk. Let me get you espresso.”

  “You Italian fuck, I don’t want your Italian fuck coffee.”

  He stops walking and raises that stupid, calm eyebrow again, regarding me from the side. “So you are Brendan. This surprises me.”

  Pride hits me hard as I realize I must look like a child to this guy. I grit my teeth to hold back anything I might say that would sound immature, and hold my arm in the direction of the kitchen. “Fine.”

  He sucks on his cheek and heads there. Following him, I glance over to Jaco who’s back on the shelf. I go to cross my arms, but the stitches still have another week to come out and I have to adjust, so I shove my hands into my pockets and lean against a wall to watch the bastard make me a coffee. He’s about the same size as me. I could take him. I watch him make the espresso in silence, the muscles of his arms making me a
ngry because I keep seeing them around my Annie. He hands me the cup and I take it with a growl. “She asked you to be here.”

  He regards me for a few beats. “She did. I could have stayed in a hotel.”

  My teeth grit. “You’re her ex. Or was that a lie, too?”

  Both his eyebrows rise this time. “A lie, too?”

  “Did you fuck her?”

  A frown creases his forehead and he turns away to clean the espresso machine as he talks. “I’ve come here to win her back.” He glances my way once, then continues slowly cleaning. “And I can see you are what I thought you would be.”

  Anger flicks at my insides. “And what is that?” I walk and land the cup on the counter, contents untouched. Fuck his fucking espresso bullshit.

  He glances to it and smiles. “A hot head little boy who does not deserve her.”

  I lunge for him and yell out in pain as he knocks me to the side. I hit a chair, crashing to the ground with it. Searing agony tears in from my ribcage. I grab up my shirt and see blood seeping through the middle of the bandage. “Fuck!”

  He’s staring at it, confused. “What is that?”

  Pissed, I mutter, staring at it and poking it with my finger. “I got shot. I think the wound opened up.”

  He walks to me looking genuinely concerned. “Let me drive you to a hospital.”

  “Hang on.” Trudging as fast as my dizzy feet will carry me, I go look at the damage in the bathroom mirror. It looks external only, but what do I know? “Is my lung split open? Shit… would I be able to talk if it was?” I mumble to myself, patting down the edges of the tape to help the bandage to do the best it can. But it’s a lost cause. It’s too wet now. He stands outside the open door, and I cut a look his way. “I think it’s just the staples. I don’t know. My lung was scraped... I don’t know if it’s opened up again.” Even as I’m standing here, the blood is soaking through my blue shirt. He and I both stare at it as I hold my jacket open to watch.

  He leaves for the bedroom. “I’ll get dressed.”

  “Shit.” I push the gauze back on my wound to stop it from bleeding, hold it down like Annie did when I was on the floor. The sting is so painful, but I inhale slowly to see if my lung is filling up with blood. I can’t tell.

  Walking out of the bathroom, I call back, “I’m calling a cab!”

  He emerges wearing expensive jeans and a white button-up, with shiny, black European-guy shoes. “Be a man and accept my help. I am trying to do what is right.” He waits for my answer and I nod. “I will need to drive your car. Bella took hers to the bar.”

  Bella? Ugh.

  I toss him my keys, shaking my head. “I don’t want your help, just so we’re clear. But I don’t want to die either.”

  “Then let’s go.” As soon as we get in the car he launches into a story, while I stare out the window, the wetness sliding down my chest. I only get pieces about how she came to him when he wasn’t looking. How long they spent together. How much he loves her and could make her happy if I would just let her go.

  On that last part, I look at him from the corner of half-shut eyes, my attention grabbed. “Who says I have her? Turn right. You’re going to go four blocks down and then left.”

  He puts his foot on the gas. “She says she has been in love with you since college.”

  My throat closes and a weird sensation floats down my arms. I stare out the window, silent. After the four blocks, I give him the next set of directions. “Two more lights, then you’ll see it. Follow the signs to Emergency. She has a funny way of showing it.”

  Approaching cars lights flash across his face. “She’s a funny girl.”

  I counter, glaring at him, “She’s not a girl.”

  He glances to me, struck, and looks away in thought. Looks like I hit a nerve.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Brendan

  Two Torturous Hours Later. New Sutures: slammed into my chest. Me: drugged and staggering.

  As we pull up to my place Christiano asks me, “Can I walk from here to Annie’s bar?”

  I nod, drugged to the extreme. They didn’t keep me overnight. It was just the outside I ripped open, and the doctor who sewed me up did it without putting me completely under. The dull, numbed pain felt almost good as he stitched, because it made me stay out of my head. This guy Christiano stuck by me even though I told him to go. I guess where he’s from they don’t understand what Leave me the fuck alone. I’m fine means.

  “Yeah. It’s not far.” He comes over to help me, but I shake my head. “I’ve got it. Thanks for your help.” Despite my objections he follows me upstairs and more than once has to catch me from falling. When we get to the door, he struggles with the keys and I’m no help. I tell him the wrong one and insist that it’s right. He keeps trying it until Mark opens the door, confused. He takes one look at me and comes forward, eyes darting to Christiano as he grabs my sagging body.

  “What’s going on?” Mark says, helping me in.

  “I’ve got it!” I tell him, loudly. “Fuck, why won’t everyone leave me alone?!”

  “Okay B-man. You’re looking like a zombie. Shut it.”

  I grumble as Mark holds me up by both of my shoulders. Christiano stays at the door and explains, “He fell and broke his stitches. He will sleep for two days under what they gave him.”

  “You took him to the hospital?”

  “Sí. His lung is fine.”

  Mark nods. “Thanks. What’s your name?”

  “Christiano. I’m a friend.”

  “He’s Annie’s boyfriend,” I mumble. Christiano tosses my keys to Mark without explaining more. He leaves as Mark guides me to my bedroom.

  “She has a boyfriend?”

  “Yeah… and guess… what?”

  “What?”

  “He’s a… good guy.”

  Sweet darkness comes before I even hit the bed.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Christiano

  Elevator: going down.

  Grabbing the address for Le Barré off my phone, I turn right and walk there on foot. That boy has me unsettled in my decision because while he was a hothead, that only showed me how much he cares for my Annie. The sword stabbing in my chest when I think of it is almost too much to bear, but the understanding of what it means, is worse.

  I look around the street and see a gritty urban sprawl that would drive me to long for the beauty of my country were I to stay here. I could stand it, if I thought there was hope. Even after she and I spoke earlier, when she said she had to let me go, I still had hope. But now things are different. The kind of anger and stubbornness he displayed only comes from love. Young love, yes. Love that doesn’t know how to express itself, yes. But he will learn.

  Continuing on, I look back over the years. She is laughing in most of the early memories, but in the ones toward the end, she is distant and rebellious, frustrated and–dare I say–claustrophobic.

  Did I do that to her?

  I step to the left of a gang of young people, hanging my head trying to remember. I did not mean to do that to her, but when two people are close to fitting it’s hard to see where they do not. If I am fair to myself, where has she let me down? Where has she not been enough for me? What do I need that she is not giving me? The answer comes at once.

  She is not giving me a wife to take care of, to have by my side, to grow old with and love.

  A sense of urgency slams into me. Sophia. What have I been thinking all this time? Francis was right–I have not seen what was right in front of me, has always been! Ever since I was a child, Sophia has been waiting for me to see it, too. How could I have been so blind?

  Le Barré is across the street. I stare at it, thinking of the girl inside who does not want me anymore, and of Sophia; how hurt she must be after what I did to her. Her eyes flashing to me at the market fly into my mind. If I were to apply what I have just said about the boy, to her, then I can be sure of one thing. She still loves me.

  There are people smoking
in front of Annie’s bar. Stacks of wood are beside where the patio will be. Right now it is just tables half in and half out, pretending to be ready. The name she gave it–Le Barré–for the first time warms my soul, that she would pay homage to my land and our time together there. Before, all I could see was what it took from me, this place, but now pride rushes into my chest. Releasing my hold on her has released my ability to take in what she’s accomplished. Emotions rush in, so proud of her. I cross the street searching to see her through the strangers’ faces. Quickly her strawberry-blonde hair comes into view as she grabs two liquor bottles to turn upside down into a martini shaker, a smile on her young face. Standing outside the patio, ignored by people in the seats, I watch her, visited by an image with hair all chopped and black, thumbing through a ragged translation book, searching for food to eat with Adolfo blowing smoke into her lost face.

  I head for her. When she sees me her eyes change to discomfort momentarily. The look in mine washes away the look in hers, and she smiles, wondering what I’m thinking, why I look so different, where my need has gone. She points to an empty chair and I know she will be right with me. I’ve done this a hundred times with her in Benito’s bar. She finishes helping two women who might be more than friends, and walks to me, wiping her hands on a bar towel, her eyes searching mine for answers.

  “Hi,” she smiles, cautiously. “You look good.”

  “There is no more desperation.”

  Her eyebrows rise up and she lays the towel down, her hands lying on the edge of the counter. I smile at the familiar sight.

  “Oh? I never saw you as---”