Page 125 of Crossing the Line
CHAPTER THIRTY
Waverly wallowed in grief for another two days. Her heart bled worse than the knife wounds, and she wondered if this anguish was what would kill her. She loved him. For the first time in her life, she’d opened herself to someone, given him free rein with her heart and her body. And he’d betrayed her. And she was dumb enough to be surprised.
She couldn’t think about it, about him. Couldn’t think about the aftershocks that Xavier Saint would send through the rest of her life.
Her world had been reduced to her bed and the couch in the pool house. The usually outspoken Kate stood stoically by her side, a sentinel to Waverly’s endless tears. Mari and Louie took their turns plying her with food she didn’t eat. She knew they meant well but wished they would all leave her alone so she could let her grief swallow her.
Her body hurt, and her heart ached, and she didn’t see an end to her pain. If this was what love did, her mother had been right to close off to it.
Waverly was wiping silent tears away when her father knocked on her bedroom door. She didn’t even try to paste on a smile. What was the point? “Hi, Dad,” she offered flatly.
Robert entered holding a brown paper bag with twine handles. “I brought you something, sweetheart.” He settled on the edge of her bed and handed her the bag. When she didn’t make a move, he dumped the contents on her duvet.
“Hot dogs?” Waverly asked listlessly.
“Do you remember when you were little and thought it was the biggest deal to roast hot dogs outside in the fireplace?”
She did. The memory hit her like a warm embrace. Her mother and the chef before Louie had made them all vegan for a few weeks. Robert and Waverly would sneak out onto the patio and fire up the massive stone fireplace and roast hot dogs.
It had felt… normal.
“You want to roast hot dogs?” she asked him.
Her father nodded. “I want to roast hot dogs and talk. Also, just in case you’re wondering, I’m not taking no for an answer.”
Waverly raised her eyebrows. Her father being firm? What had the world come to?
“Well, then. Let’s go,” Waverly said. He helped her out of the room, Marisol was in the kitchen and gave Robert an approving nod when he opened the front door for Waverly.
It hurt to move, and she realized that it wasn’t necessarily the wounds that hurt the most, it was the rest of her body that had atrophied.When had Waverly Sinner turned into a woman who could be destroyed by the capriciousness of a man?she wondered with the first flush of embarrassment. Feeling anything besides pain was a relief.
Robert pulled two loungers up in front of the massive outdoor fireplace and produced a pair of brand-new roasting sticks. He glanced at her, studying, and then nodded. “You look hungry,” he decided and speared two hot dogs on both sticks.
She offered him a sad smile.
On the side table between them was a bag of rolls and a collection of mismatched bowls and spoons. Ketchup, mustard, chili, irregularly diced onions. “Did you do all this?” Waverly asked incredulously.
Her father glanced at the hodge-podge of toppings. “I hope I didn’t forget anything important.”
She looked at him for what felt like the first time. He was dressed in casual shorts and a three-hundred dollar polo that was going to end up with ketchup on it. And he was present. His phone wasn’t clutched in his hand. There wasn’t a beautiful girl he was making eyes at. He was sitting with her, being present. He handed her one of the sticks and sat next to her. They stuck the sticks into the gas flames and Waverly focused her attention on slowly rotating her hot dogs.
“We’re overdue for a conversation,” Robert began.
“Sinners aren’t big on talking,” Waverly said evasively.
“I think we should consider changing that,” he said. “Your mother is coming home this weekend. And there are a lot of things that are going to change.”
“I’m glad you’re feeling hopeful, Dad. But you can’t count on her recovery,” Waverly reminded him.
“I know that. And I’m going to support your mother in her ongoing treatment, but I can’t control the outcome and neither can you. What we can do is be more honest with each other.”
Waverly spared her dad a glance. “Uh, Dad? You sound like a therapy session.”
“Good. That means it’s working.”
She bobbled her hotdogs and barely rescued them from the marble of the patio. “You’re in therapy?”
“I started after Greece.”
