Or maybe the answer doesn’t even lay with Micah and Walsh, but instead lays with Vince.

  I let out a sigh of fatigue and tell my brother, “Okay… thanks for the advice.”

  “What are you going to do?” he asks.

  “I’m going to go talk to Vince, then I’m going to take a drive up the coast and be by myself for a while. I’m going to think things through without anyone chattering in my ear, giving me their opinions, or making me promises. I’m going to listen to my heart, but I’m also going to listen to my brain.”

  “You’ll choose Walsh,” he says confidently.

  “I could choose neither,” I reply calmly.

  He doesn’t have a rejoinder for that, so instead he says, “You’ll make the right decision whatever it is. And Jorie?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I know you say you forgive me, but I’m ashamed I did that to you as your brother. I’ll do whatever I can to make it up to you.”

  “Nothing’s needed,” I assure him. “I know you were caught off guard. We lied to you. I’m sorry for that as well. There wasn’t a good excuse. But next time I see you, I’ve got to tell you some things about Walsh.”

  “From when you were younger?” he asks.

  “Yes, when I was sixteen, and before you get weirded out, it was nothing sexual at all. But something happened that created a bond between us, and I need to tell you about it because I want you to know why I love him so much. I want you to know that what you saw in the club that night… that was just a small part of who we are. It just goes much deeper, okay?”

  “Okay,” he says softly, and I can hear the smile on his face. “And for the record, just one more time, let me say you should choose Walsh.”

  “Goodbye, Micah,” I say teasingly.

  “I love you,” he replies.

  “I love you,” I tell him before I hang up.

  I don’t dally in the arboretum, but make my way back to the house. I consider stopping by the grocery store to make something for dinner, but that smacks of a domesticity I’m not feeling, especially since Vince and I are going to have to talk tonight. I doubt I’ll be able to eat I’m so wrought with emotions over this.

  I park my car in the driveway and walk up to the house I’ve shared with my husband. It’s the same one he kicked me out of over a month ago.

  Part of me is ashamed I’ve come back.

  Part of me knows it was the right decision at the time, given all I was faced with.

  I don’t know that I’ll ever reconcile those in my mind, so I am going to choose to let that go. Besides, in the grand scheme of things, what’s done is done and I need to look forward.

  As I walk up the porch, I pull my keys out of my purse. Before I can even reach the door, Vince is there swinging it open. I can tell he’s relieved to see me, and it makes me feel so guilty.

  Perhaps it was an unwise decision to come back.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask in surprise as I push my keys back in my purse. Vince doesn’t usually get home from work until close to seven.

  “I canceled my appointments for the rest of the day,” he says as he steps back, pulling the door open wider so I can walk in. “Thought it was more important that we talk.”

  I nod as I walk by, pausing to put my hand on his chest as I look up at him. “Thank you. I’d like to talk, too.”

  I choose the living room, and Vince follows me. Putting my purse down on a side table, I take an end on the couch. Vince chooses an adjacent chair, and when he’s settled, I pull my legs underneath me.

  We stare at each other a moment, and then he asks, “Did you sleep with him again?”

  “No,” I say with quiet empathy to how this must make him feel. “We just talked.”

  “You said you needed to tell me things about Walsh. About your history with him.”

  “Yes. But first, I need to tell you that I don’t have a decision made right now. I know what my heart is telling me, but it’s been so battered lately, I don’t know if I should trust it. I want to tell you everything—and some of it’s not going to be easy for you to hear—and then I want you to tell me what you want from me.”

  “Okay,” he returns as he leans back in the chair to watch me warily.

  “I don’t need to tell you how badly you hurt me,” I start by saying. “But when you had me leave our home, I left believing that I wasn’t worthy of a man. You made me doubt myself and my sexuality.”

  “I’m sorry—”

  “Don’t,” I say gently as I hold my hand up. “You’ve apologized already, and you explained what drove you to say that. I get it. I just need you to know what my frame of mind was when I left, and why it led me to Walsh.”

  Vince’s jaw tightens in anticipation of whatever boom I’m getting to lower on him. I decide to just rip the Band-Aid off.

  “I went to a sex club with Elena,” I say, then I wait to see his reaction.

  He grimaces and lets out a rush of air as his gaze darts to the fireplace where he just stares at it blankly.

  “It was a masquerade event, so everyone’s faces were covered. Walsh was there and we had sex, not knowing at first who the other person was.”

  Vince turns back to me, clearly distressed by learning his wife went to a sex club because he’d made her feel like shit. “I’m so sorry, Jorie. I didn’t mean to drive you to that.”

  I shake my head rapidly. “I don’t want you to be sorry for that. That experience… and then later with Walsh… it gave me back my dignity, believe it or not. And I don’t say that to hurt you, but I need you to know it served a very good purpose for me.”

  “And led you to Walsh,” he says somewhat bitterly.

  “I’m not telling you these details to hurt you, but rather to explain my history with Walsh,” I tell him gently. He nods, and I go on. “During that encounter, my breasts were bared and Walsh saw my scars.”

  “The ones you got from that car accident?” he asks, because that’s what I’ve told anyone in my life who have ever seen them.

  I shake my head. “They weren’t from a car accident. I was attacked and almost raped when I was sixteen. It was in a fancy hotel bathroom where a high school party was going on. As I was fighting them off—”

  “Them?” he croaks in horror.

  “There were two of them,” I explain. “And I was fighting them so hard, a huge glass vase got knocked over and a long sharp piece went through my breast. The boys freaked out and ran. Micah and my dad were out of town, so I called Walsh.”

  “That’s how he recognized you in the club?” he guesses.

  “Yes, but that’s not what’s important about that story. Walsh carried me out of that glass, got me an ambulance, and rode to the hospital with me. He was by my side as they stitched me up. I didn’t want to involve the police, and Walsh respected my decision not to do so.”

  “But why?” he asks with his eyebrows drawn deeply together.

  “Because I was drunk. Because I shouldn’t have been there. Because I wasn’t raped, and because those boys went to my school, and I didn’t want it to be public. There were many reasons taken all together; I just didn’t want to deal with it that way.”

  Vince nods with what looks like understanding.

  “Walsh kept my secret all these years,” I tell him. “He promised not to tell Micah or my dad. He stood by my side and was the only one who knew of my trauma, although later, I told Elena. But more than that, Walsh exacted vengeance for me. He promised to keep my secret in exchange for their names, and while Walsh thought I gave their names up reluctantly, the truth is I gave them to him without a second thought. I knew he would hurt them, and Vince… he really, really hurt them.”

  “He was your champion,” he murmurs in understanding.

  “Even before that. For much of my life, he did things that made him my champion. Same as Micah, in a big brother sort of way, but Walsh and I have a bond that most people don’t share because of that one incident.”

  “Add sex into the mixture, and it was easy to fall in love with him,” he says dejectedly.

  “No,” I correct him. “It wasn’t easy to fall in love with him. I told you… our sexual chemistry is almost surreal. But at first, that’s all it was. That’s all I ever thought it would be, and I took it. I took what he offered, and we kept another secret. We didn’t tell Micah about this because a few years back, Micah had told Walsh I was off limits to him. Walsh was respecting those limits.”

  “And Micah found out?”

  “Yes, and he told Walsh to stay out of my life, and so he did,” I tell him with a tinge of remaining bitterness in my voice at Walsh’s betrayal. “He chose Micah.”

  “That was a douche thing to do if he loved you,” Vince points out, striking quickly to make sure I don’t forget the way Walsh hurt me.

  “It devastated me, Vince,” I tell him truthfully. “The pain of that is still fresh to me even now. It’s why when you came to me, it wasn’t hard for me to accept your offer to come back to L.A. I was depressed and couldn’t see any happiness for me. I latched on to you and your promises for a fresh start, really hoping you and I could perhaps make something of the tatters.”

  “And I meant every word I said to you,” he affirms. “There weren’t ulterior motives.”

  “I know that,” I assure him.

  “I guess what I don’t understand,” Vince says, “both of us hurt you, but Jorie… you clearly love Walsh. You don’t love me like the way you love him. It seems to me your decision should be easy.”

  I shake my head. “It’s not. My trust is a little bruised. And Walsh was married before, and it was all about the great sex. I’m not sure I can trust that what we have is more than that.”

  Vince just does that slow blink thing where I know I said something stupid.

  “What?” I ask.

  “You just told me that you and Walsh have a bond that’s unlike any other probably in your life,” Vince points out. “I hate to even give the guy any credit, but Jorie… he made a mistake and didn’t choose you. It doesn’t mean his feelings weren’t real or deep. If he loves you the way you love him—I can’t compete with that. I guess I don’t know why you’re not choosing him.”

  “I don’t know,” I whisper. “I don’t know why I’m so afraid.”

  “You need to decide what to do.”

  “I don’t have to decide right now,” I tell him. “But I do have to make the right decision.”

  “What is Walsh offering you?” he asks me bluntly.

  I hesitate a moment, my throat constricting as if I’m almost afraid to believe what Walsh told me. “Everything,” I whisper. “He’s offering me everything.”

  CHAPTER 27

  Walsh

  I pull my meal out of the microwave—some pre-packaged frozen lasagna my housekeeper keeps stocked for late-night hunger emergencies—as I talk to Micah on the cell phone pressed between my ear and shoulder. He returned to San Francisco today. Some steam escapes out of the corner of container and catches me on my thumb.

  “Ouch, fuck,” I yell as I drop the thing on the counter and bobble the phone. I mutter, “Hang on.”

  I put the phone on the counter, hit the speaker phone button, and say, “Can you hear me okay?”

  “Yeah,” he says. “You were telling me how you left it off with Jorie.”

  Indeed, I was. I called Micah about the trip I just got back from about four hours ago. I came straight home and had been catching up on some work at my kitchen table. It’s only when I looked at the clock and saw it was almost ten did I realize I hadn’t eaten lunch or dinner and I was suddenly starved.

  Now it’s a microwave meal and probably some Sons of Anarchy to cap my evening off. Besides, it will help keep my mind off Jorie.

  “We talked,” I tell Micah. I absolutely don’t tell him about fucking her against the door. “And it was good, I think. She’s confused, and there’s Vince, of course.”

  “She’ll choose you,” Micah says confidently.

  “I want her to choose what’s best,” I return as I peel the plastic cover off the lasagna. “I hope to fuck that’s me, but it has to be what’s best for her.”

  “You’re best,” Micah says again.

  “Just two weeks ago, you were not keen on this idea,” I remind him.

  “And you punched me hard and knocked some sense into me,” he says with a laugh, and I can’t help but join him. It’s like all the bad shit was quickly melting away between us.

  “I talked to her today,” Micah says. “She called me after she talked to you.”

  “What did she say?” I ask with great interest. Especially if it eases my mind a bit.

  “That’s between me and her, but I was vocal that I thought you were the real deal.”

  “Gee, thanks,” I mutter. “I’ve been telling her the same thing.”

  “There is an issue though that’s bothering her,” Micah says, and my heart drops. How can there be an issue? I thought I covered everything I knew was important to her.

  “Come on, man,” I say with a groan. “Don’t do this to me.”

  “That’s for her to bring it up, because maybe it’s ultimately not an issue for her. But I told her she had to talk about it to you.”

  A surge of irritation sweeps through me, and I snap, “Well, that could be days—even weeks—Micah. What am I supposed to do until then? Steal my secretary’s Xanax from her desk drawer?”

  Just then, my elevator doors hiss open and I blink my eyes.

  Jorie is standing there.

  She’s got on a pair of faded jeans, a fitted t-shirt, and flip-flops. Over one shoulder is her purse, and her other hand has a rolling suitcase.

  “Your sister’s here. Gotta go,” I lean down to mutter into the speaker, and I disconnect Micah.

  When I look back up at her, she’s moved out of the elevator but hasn’t come in any further. I stay behind the kitchen island facing her, afraid if I blink, she’ll only be an apparition.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask her, completely befuddled to see her. Not that I’m not fucking over the moon about it, but by my accounts, she should be deep in conversation with Vince about now.

  “It’s you,” she murmurs, and my heart comes to a stuttering halt. “It’s only ever going to be you.”

  Inside, I’m doing a fist pump but on the outside, I’m rounding the kitchen island with long strides. I practically knock her over when I crash into her, hands in that beautiful hair and my mouth fusing to hers. Jorie drops her purse, and I vaguely hear her suitcase fall over. Her arms wrap tight around me. What I’m getting from her is that she’s never letting me go.

  Thank fuck.

  Finally, I pull my mouth of hers, but I keep my face close so I can look at her in wonder. “How? Why?”

  She opens her mouth, but I kiss her again instead. When I pull back, I mutter as I take her by the hand. “No, wait… don’t tell me. I have something else to do first.”

  I pull her toward the kitchen, and Jorie laughs. “Figured it would take you ten seconds to drag me off to bed.”

  I grin but come to a halt by the kitchen table, pushing her down into a chair. “Not taking you to bed yet.”

  “Huh?”

  “Don’t move,” is all I say.

  She watches me in silence as I bustle around the kitchen. First, I pull out a plate, cutlery, and a wineglass. I set them on the table in front of her. I grab wine from the fridge, pour her a glass. Sneaking a glance at her, I can see amused curiosity on her face.

  Lastly, I take my microwaved lasagna that’s a little burned on the edges, and I turn it over to dump it on the plate.

  Jorie snickers.

  “Just a few more things,” I tell her as I search through my cabinets and finally find a pair candlestick holders with candles in there. I think they were Renee’s, but I sure as fuck know I’ve never used them. I forage through a drawer and find matches.

  I set the candles on the table and light them.

  “I’m not hungry, Walsh,” she says with a laugh.

  “Be quiet,” I chastise her with a mock glare. “I need one more thing… don’t move.”

  I run into the hallway that leads off the kitchen, to my duffle bag on the bed, and dig my hand down inside. I’d carried this with me to Los Angeles, but I never brought it out.

  It wasn’t the right time then.

  I jog back into the kitchen and slide to a halt right beside Jorie’s chair. She looks up at me with raised eyebrows, the ring box securely hidden in my hand.

  “What’s all this?” she asks.

  “Well,” I say dramatically as I get down on one knee in front of her. At my obvious movement, a hand comes up to cover her mouth in surprise. “Remember in Los Angeles earlier today, I told you I wanted you to be my wife, and I envisioned us at a romantic restaurant when I proposed on bended knee? I can’t conjure that up right now, and I don’t want to wait another fucking second. I don’t know how you came to the decision you did, but you’re here and I’m asking you to marry me right now.”

  Jorie gasps as I open my hand to present the black velvet box to her.

  She stares at it with wide eyes, so I go ahead and open it.

  Another gasp and her eyes go even more wide. I outdid myself yesterday when I picked this out before I went to the airport to fly to L.A. It’s a Harry Winston, four-carat behemoth sapphire in a classic emerald cut. It’s flanked by trilliant diamonds on the side, each a full carat, set in white gold.

  “Holy shit, Walsh,” she wheezes as she looks from the ring to me. “You’re totally compensating.”

  I smirk at her and pull the ring out. Taking her left hand, I slide it on the finger that will proclaim that this woman is off the market.

  She stares at it in wonder and says, “You know I’m still married, right?”

  “Semantics,” I say dismissively, but we are going to work on that divorce thing as soon as possible.

  Sliding her gaze back up to me she whispers, “Do you want your answer?”

  I smile at her, lean in to kiss her mouth. “I had my answer the minute you walked into my home with your suitcase. But I’d love to hear it from that gorgeous mouth.”