With that, if possible, I loved her then even more. I loved her as much as I was capable. That was the key word, wasn’t it? Capable.
It wasn’t enough. When I finally broke down and told her what I did . . . what I had become since college, it was over. She could’ve handled just that, I think. Make no mistake; she would’ve dragged me by my ear out of that life and across the country if that’s what it took to break away. Innately honest and stubborn as all hell, she would’ve put my career to bed, for good, and before I could have taken another breath.
But it wasn’t just that. Natalie had known all along that she owned only a piece of my soul. Unreservedly, she had given me all of hers and waited patiently for me to come around.
I never had.
I hadn’t put her first. I was good at the daisies, but I’d never put her first. She wouldn’t have minded that. She would’ve understood. But I had never made her equal to my obligations either—never. It hadn’t even been close. It was one strike too many. She could’ve easily reformed me. I hadn’t ever cared about the business other than how the money from it could help me find Lukas. But while getting me on the straight and narrow would’ve been a piece of cake for Crusader Nat, she couldn’t force me to free up the rest of my heart. And she knew it.
I knew it, too. I hadn’t blamed her then, and I still didn’t. She didn’t leave me; I gave her up. I threw her away. I couldn’t make room for her in my life. There was Lukas and only Lukas. All Natalie ever had from me was the leftovers, the table scraps. Lukas came first, last, and always. Finding him was the only thing that had mattered. I’d made that choice before I had ever met Nat. When she was gone, I tried to tell myself that my only mistake had been to lead her on, to give her hope for a relationship I wasn’t equipped for. Yeah, that’s what I told myself.
I was wrong.
Lukas . . . Michael wouldn’t have begrudged me love while I searched. Generous of spirit and with a basic goodness he wasn’t yet aware of, he would’ve been happy for me. The denial wasn’t his; it was mine.
Jericho had stolen more than my brother on that beach. He’d stolen me too. He had hollowed me out, scooped out the important parts, and left a shell of brittle ice masquerading as a human being. When his man had left me for dead on the sand, he hadn’t been far off the mark. Not far at all.
I missed Nat. I missed her every time I saw a scraggly daisy blooming in the weeds, every time I saw a red kite flying high enough to block out the sun. I missed her when I bought boring white sheets and when I bypassed the dog food aisle in the grocery or when I bought thin, overly sweet fast-food milkshakes. I missed her and hoped she was someone else’s daisy girl.
I missed her and knew I’d never see her again.
So when Michael had asked me about love and relationships, things that were much harder than sex to explain, Natalie was the only place I had to go. It was a painful place, but it was a worthwhile one too. She deserved to be talked about, my girl, and Michael deserved to know there was glory in this life if you weren’t too damaged or too afraid to accept it. I talked long enough that my throat was sore. I didn’t want him to make my mistakes. It was a mistake no one should have to live with.
Michael had seemed to sense how painful a topic it was and thanked me before curling up in the backseat to leave me with my memories and my regrets. The sweet and the bittersweet; that was what life was all about. He slept for nearly six hours. I’d slept for maybe three, but for once my dreams were . . . nice—melancholy, but good.
“I thought your uncle Lev would be happy to see you. I thought you said he would welcome you with open arms and a heated house.” Jarring me from thoughts of kites, daisies, and freckles, a disheveled blond head popped up from the backseat and a sleepily disgruntled face peered at me from a cocoon of blankets. “It’s cold, in case you haven’t noticed, and I have to use the bathroom. This isn’t any better than that tree incident. In fact it’s worse.”
To his confusion, I handed him an empty plastic soft drink bottle I grabbed from the floorboards. “No, kiddo, now it’s worse.”
As comprehension flooded his features, I yawned and turned back around to watch the snow slowly pile on the hood of the car. I ducked automatically as the bottle returned, whizzing by my ear. I’d noticed Michael, like me, wasn’t much of a morning person.
“Absolutely not,” he said evenly. “No way.”
I shrugged and yawned again, rubbing at my eyes. “It’s your bladder. Besides, if you save up, I’ll teach you to write your name in the snow.”