Page 137 of Counting On You

“Absolutely not. You can’t be trusted. You’ll do something stupid.” In spite of her protest, she does as requested.

I find the blue box hidden between my clothes and place it into her hands.

“What’s this?” She turns the box around, then looks up to me.

“A gift. I wanted to give it to you after finishing therapy, but I guess it’s my parting gift now.” I gesture at it. “Come on. Open it.”

She takes her time looking at the box, turning it in her hands. I can sense her hesitation, as though she can’t make up her mind whether to open it or not. Eventually, she puts it on the bed beside her, ignoring the small note that’s attached to it. I tense, unsure what to make of her reaction.

Why does every moment I spend with her feel like it might be the last?

“I’m going to miss this. You,” Vicky says. “I’m going to miss every little thing that we have.”

“I’m going to miss you, too. More than you’ll ever know.” I brush her hair back from her face and plant a soft kiss on her forehead. She closes her eyes, breathing hard.

“I’m sorry that you have to leave. It’s too soon, unexpected.”

“Don’t be.” I kiss her cheek, my lips brushing gently over her skin. “You, Victoria Sullivan, don’t need to be sorry for anything. Every moment we shared was worth it.”

“Yeah. We had a great time.” As she nods her red hair falls into her eyes, and I realize she isn’t just incredibly sexy. She seems haunted. There’s so much about her I want to know. She isn’t any woman; she has become a part of my existence.

“I keep wondering what would happen if things were different.” This is it: that one step I’ve been wanting to take but didn’t dare. I suck in my breath, waiting for her reply.

“Different how?” Vicky asks.

I look into her beautiful hazel eyes and notice how deep they seem. If her eyes were her soul, I would want to lose myself in them. Her soul. Her mind. Her heart. I’d take them all to hold and guard forever.

“I can’t imagine you not being in my life anymore, Vicky. Now that Bruce is out of the picture, I want us to have a fresh start.”

“Bruce was never really in the picture. He was never much of competition to you. Not now. Not four weeks ago.”

“I wouldn’t have cared either way. I want to see you again. Meet me at the Four Seasons in Portland on August the fourth.” I fight the urge to repeat myself to make sure she won’t forget the date.

She looks at me, open-mouthed. “For real?”

“For real. A real date outside this place.”

Her body stiffens, as though the word ‘date’ doesn’t resonate well with her. “Sounds like something that might violate at least one of those rules of yours.”

“True. But the beauty of rules is that they’re made to be broken.”

Her expression softens a little, but the mistrust doesn’t completely disappear. “Why do you want to see me?”

“I think I’ve made myself pretty clear. I want to continue things.” I wrap my hand around hers, forcing her to really look at me. “Even if we hadn’t been found out, one more week together wouldn’t have been enough. We would have wanted to find a way to see each other again.”

“I don’t know.” She shakes her head and lets out a long, drawn-out breath. “It’s probably not a good idea. We’ll never work out.” There’s regret in her eyes, but also hope. Her feelings don’t match her words, which ignites more determination in me. I want her. I want this.

“My therapist says that relationships and friendships formed during rehab don’t last. They’re a temporary phase that’s not real. Whatever we have, whatever we think is real, it’s short-lived.”

My eyes narrow. “I don’t believe that.”

“But I do, Kade. Why should we be the exception?”

“Because to us, their rules never applied. I might have needed a bit of straightening out, but I was never an addict. Neither were you.”

“Look, Kade. For the first time in my life I feel free. Free from worries. Free from expectations. As much as I want to claim that I didn’t learn anything from this place, I can’t because it’s not true. While I still want a relationship, marriage, kids, I don’t want to go back to a place where I can’t trust myself, where I’m repeating the same mistakes over and over again.”

“You wouldn’t,” I cut her off.

---