“I can take care of myself,” I reassure her, kissing her on the temple. “Stay. Talk to people about what a creative genius you are.” I give her another nod to sayI’m serious.
She leans in and kisses me, her impossibly high, impossibly sexy heels making it so she doesn’t have to stretch up as much.
“I’ll see you later,” Wren says hesitantly, and I wink at her.
“Go get ‘em.”
When I go back outside, the taxi pulls up in front of me, and I open the back door to climb in. As the cab pulls away from the gallery, and I head back to the hotel alone, my stomach drops further, nearly bottoming out.
Wren and I, no matter how much we fight against it, are repeating old patterns. We haven’t fixed the root of the issue that caused the rift between us in the firstplace, and something tells me time has only caused the valley to deepen, eroding whatever was left keeping us together.
Maybe making sure we don’t repeat the same mistakes isn’t about being smarter or savvier the next time around.
Maybe not falling into old traps is about being able to recognize them from afar, and staying well away from them to begin with.
CHAPTER 38
HUDSON
It started pouringon the drive back to the hotel, cool rain coming down in sheets by the time the cab pulled up out front. The warmth of summer has been replaced by the first chill of autumn, and by the time I get from my cab to the front door of the hotel, my tux is soaked and I’m cold. I peel it off as soon as I get into the room. While it was fun to play dress up with Wren, to see us both looking like the power couple she wishes we could be, my body sags with relief when I get it off.
It isn’t me. It’s me trying once again to change myself for Wren. This is a life she clearly belongs in, but I don’t. The way she fit in at the gallery—everyone fawning over her work—makes me wonder if I’ve ever truly known her.
The Wren I fell in love with, the woman I’ve reconnected with, she’s a denim-overall-with-nothing-on-underneath kind of woman. A barefoot, silver-toe-ring-wearing kind of woman. She’s nothing like the Wren I saw tonight. And while I’m in love with every new iteration of Wren I’ve cometo know, I struggle to see how we could be compatible. Not without her compromising for me. She would have to sacrifice too much. Like she always has.
I didn’t mind it when she gave up on engineering because deep down, it wasn’t for her. She never wanted it. But this … this is different. This is what she wants—what she needs. Art is what sets Wren on fire. What kind of man would I be if I asked her to put out that flame for a chance at a relationship with her?
Loosening my tie with one hand, I unbutton my shirt with the other and take it off. When I throw it down on the bed, the first thing I see is the perfect red lipstick mark on my collar. My chest clenches, tied tight in a knot, desperately trying to secure itself to Wren, holding on for dear life.
When I’m finished undressing, I wander into the bathroom and twist the shower on, stepping under the stream. I need to think. I need to figure out if there’s any way to build a bridge over the chasm between Wren and I. The white noise of the spray allows my mind to wander freely, but the more time I spend thinking about it, the more questions—and fewer answers—I have.
The handle squeaks as I shut off the water and grab a towel off the rack to dry off before pulling on my sweatpants. I grab another towel to roughly dry my hair as I leave the bathroom, and when I pull it away from my face, Wren is staring back at me.
She’s soaked, her dark hair plastered to her face, mascara running down her cheeks. My eyes linger on her form where she’s perched on the end of the bed, the way her drenchedred dress clings to every inch of her body. Goosebumps dot her arms and she’s shivering.
“Did you walk here in the rain?” I ask, striding over to her and picking a blanket up off the bed to wrap around her shoulders. She offers me a shy smile, wrapping it tight around her as I kneel in front of her and rub her arms to warm her up. “You shouldn’t have come back, Wren.”
“You say that as if you don’t want me here.”
“I, um … I just thought you’d stay at the gallery longer.”
“I wanted to come back with you. Besides, all the compliments were getting old. By the fifth time someone told me my art was ‘inspired’, I was done.” She chuckles softly. “I thought I might be able to catch you before you went out to get some food.”
I press the heel of my palm between my eyes and stand again, turning away from where she’s sitting. This is exactly what I didn’t want. Leaving the gallery was supposed to make sure I didn’t get in the way. And here she is, having left early because of me. How many other curators were there like the man I saw outside? Willing to offer her the opportunity of a lifetime by the end of the night. She already turned one down, and now she won’t even be there if any others come her way.
“You should go back,” I say, squeezing my eyes shut. This is not what I wanted, but at the same time … I do. I want more than anything for Wren to prioritize me, but it’s not what’s best for her. And I want what’s best for her more. I always have. That’s why I ended it in the first place.
She missed out on opportunities then, too. She chose to stay in and skip out on a networking event because we weresupposed to have a phone call. The weekend she was meant to come back to Heartwood for Thanksgiving, I found out her engineering program was having a gala, and she decided she didn’t want to attend. All for me. Wren had been so driven, so motivated, she pushed me to be driven and motivated, too, and when I wasn’t … all I did was hold her back.
I had to be the one to end it then, before she turned away from everything she was trying to accomplish. Maybe I have to be the one to end it now, too.
“Why?” she asks, eyebrows pinching together. She stands now, too, and steps in front of me so we’re face to face again.
“Because you need to be there. Not here, in the hotel room with me.” I throw my hands up and bring them down again to land on my hips.
“You should really listen better,” she says, the corner of her mouth ticking upward. “I informed you earlier I won’t be told what to do.”
A sigh escapes from my throat with a huff. I roll my head from side to side, exasperated.
