“You let me down, Mum. You let her down.”
“I know. I wish I could make it up to you, but I can’t. I assumed you called to tell me good-bye. I’m rather surprised you’ve stayed in town this long.”
After the revelations Cal had shared with Monica, he should be throwing everything he owned in a bag and hightailing it to the airport. Don’t get attached. He’d lost sight of the one lesson that had served him well, and become smitten with Monica. He didn’t know how long he’d stay, but he wasn’t ready to leave her yet.
“No, but I’m flying to L.A. with Jules next week. She has her court appearance.”
“Oh. Wish her luck for me?”
“I will.” Cal hesitated, didn’t know what to say. Dealing with his emotions—it was all slightly embarrassing. “I’ll talk to you when I get back?”
“Thank you, Calum.”
He ended the call and turned to see Monica standing at the entrance of the French doors. The lights from the living room silhouetted her. She still wore his shirt. It hung over her trousers, making her appear tiny. She’d draped the jacket over her forearm.
“Sorry to interrupt.”
“You weren’t. I was talking to Pix. You were right this morning, I’ve been avoiding her.” Cal wiggled a finger at her. “You didn’t have to get dressed on my account.”
“I’m leaving.” She said it with such finality, it was a punch to his solar plexus.
“What?” With long strides, he walked to her. Her eyes were still red, her face free of makeup. She looked younger and more vulnerable than she had five years ago. He brushed a stray hair from her cheek. “I ordered a vast amount of food. I wasn’t sure what you wanted.”
She shrugged. “I’m still not hungry.”
Cal wrapped his hand around hers and laced their fingers together. “I thought we agreed you’d stay.”
Monica tugged her hand from his and took several steps backward. “Cal.” She swallowed and rubbed her palm over her hips. “I really… I care about you. A lot.”
“I care about you too.”
“That’s why I have to leave. I think we should end this. And I’m serious. I don’t want you calling me or sending me gifts. Let’s just make a clean break.”
“What are you on about?” With narrowed eyes, he took a step forward.
She didn’t back up. Instead, she extended her arm to keep him away. “I know you can’t stay in one place for long. It’s not who you are. But that’s what I need. I need someone in my life who won’t leave.”
“Because I can’t give you any guarantees, you want to end it altogether? In typical Monica fashion, you’re running scared.” His harsh tone dared her to deny it.
“Yeah. That’s it in a nutshell.”
“The truth. How novel.”
“If I get in any deeper with you, I’m going to wind up hurt. I’m protecting myself. You of all people should understand that. That’s why you never settle anywhere—so you don’t have to get close to anyone.”
“Don’t do this, Monica. We have a connection, you and I.”
She dropped her arm. “Can you promise you’ll be around next month?”
Cal turned away and looked at the urn full of bright red flowers. He glanced back, met her eyes. “No. But I’ll fly back to Vegas at regular intervals. We can still be together.”
“You’ve had me pegged from the beginning. I have been afraid. Afraid of making stupid mistakes and letting Mom down, letting Allie down.” Monica’s eyes darted away as she cleared her throat. “I’m not sure about much in my life right now, but I know I want more than regular intervals. I don’t deserve it. I know that, but I want it.”
“Monica, I’ll give you everything I have, darling.”
“On a part-time basis. When it’s convenient for you.”
Cal couldn’t argue with that. He couldn’t promise her tomorrow, let alone forever.
“Before she died”—Monica crossed her arms and glanced away—“my mom told me to follow my heart. She said it wouldn’t let me down. I thought it was the morphine talking, because my heart leads me in the wrong direction every time.” Nibbling her lip, she sniffed. “But I don’t think I’ve been listening to my heart. I’ve been listening to my fear.”
His steps ate up the distance between them. Placing his hand beneath her chin, he raised her face until she looked at him. “That’s what you’re listening to right now—fear.”
“No.” Tears filled her eyes. “Look at me. I haven’t cried in years, and now I can’t stop. You run from everything too, Cal. It’s who you are, and I’m not judging you, but I don’t want to be a part of it either.” She grabbed his hand and kissed his palm. “I have to go.”
He stood silent as she walked away. Cal opened his mouth to call her back, but what for? He didn’t have anything lasting to offer her. And she did deserve more. More than an uneducated sod like him.
Not for the first time, Cal wished he were a better man.
He’d never felt so utterly alone. Not even when he’d lost Babcock. And he had no one to blame but himself.
* * *
Sitting in her car, Monica ran her hands over the fuzzy steering-wheel cover and glanced at the pink dice Cal had bought her. Had she made a terrible mistake?
She was tired. Mentally. Emotionally. Monica had never been so open with anyone the way she had been with Cal. It sucked her dry.
Walking away from him was the hardest thing she’d ever done. The easy thing would have been spending the night in his arms. Every night, as long as he decided to stick around. And Monica would do whatever it took to keep Cal happy, to keep him by her side, because that’s who she was. Today had been chock-full of revelations, none of them particularly pleasant, but she’d learned one thing—she was tired of making herself over to please other people.
Cal tortured himself because he’d wanted to leave Babcock. But he’d stayed because the woman who raised him had been sick and dying. Australia was a onetime deal. Monica couldn’t depend on him. He’d admitted it himself.
She needed to figure out who the hell she really was, without worrying about Cal leaving or when he would come back. If he’d come back. So Monica ended it, and shattered her own heart in the process.
She wasn’t sure what to do next, where to go. She couldn’t go home and lie on the bed where she and Cal had had sex this morning. God, was it only this morning? Today seemed like an eternity.
She reached into her purse, grabbed her phone, and speed-dialed. “Hey, can I come over?”
Twenty minutes later, she kicked on Evan’s door, juggling a bottle of Patrón, a carton of ice cream, and her computer bag.
When he answered, Evan’s gaze bounced over her, then he snatched the bottle from her hand. “I’ll get you a spoon.”
Once they’d settled on his sofa—purple suede—he swirled the tequila in his glass and raised one brow. “I have fortification. Now spill.”
Monica blew out a breath. “I hate my job. I’m in love with Cal—I didn’t get vaccinated. I got the disease. Your advice is the worst. And the ballroom flooded, so the gala’s off. My life is a shitpile.” She scooped a spoonful of Chocolate Therapy ice cream into her mouth. It wasn’t therapeutic and would probably go straight to her ass.
“My God, it’s you,” Evan said before leaning over and kissing the side of her head. “Monica Campbell, my best friend. She’s back, ladies and gentlemen,” he said to the muted actors on TV. Then he toasted her and took a sip.
“No, Ev, I’m not the same. I don’t even know who I am.”
“Self-awareness is completely overrated. So, you’re in love with Cal. He seems like a decent guy.”
“He’s not forever material, but damn, I wish he were. He’s so funny and he’s smart and his smile is lopsided. He’s an artist with cars. But I want it all, Ev. I want the ring and the ’til-death-do-us-part crap. How can I be happy, wondering when he’s going to bail?”
“You’ve got it bad.” Evan scrunched farther down on the sofa, propping his yellow-socked feet on the glass coffee table. “Why do women need forever?”