Harden My Hart Read online

  One look at her face shows me that even if I were to get down on my knees and apologise it would be too late. She’s determined. She’s furious. She’s hurting like hell, because of me.

  ‘In the morning you might regret this.’ Her words are gentle. ‘You’ve been drinking all day. You’re emotional.’ I fight an urge to tell her I don’t get emotional. ‘You might think about calling me, or texting me, maybe even about apologising. You might wake up and want to fuck me, so let me save you the trouble now. Don’t.’ Her eyes flash with warning. ‘Don’t call me. Don’t text me. Don’t think about me. Don’t even remember me. You want to push away the people who love you? Well, congratulations, Holden, you’ve succeeded. I hope you’re happy.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  AS SOON AS I left I regretted my tirade. It felt amazing to shove those words at him, to see a look of surprise on his face as he computed my threat, but before the elevator had even reached ground level I was fighting back angry, hopeless tears. I ignored his car, the driver he’d arranged and instead I walked. It was the early hours of the morning but I didn’t care. I needed to do something mechanical, like putting one foot in front of the other, until I’d got far away from the casino.

  Only then did I pull my phone out and call a rideshare. It arrived almost instantly and fortunately my driver wasn’t chatty, leaving me free to sit back in the seat and stare out of the window. And replay every damned thing he’d said, everything I’d said, everything I’d felt.

  And now I’m sitting here, watching the sky change colour, morning overtaking night, and I feel like I want to curl up in a ball and cry. I feel like I want to go for a run or a swim or lash out. I feel—too many things.

  I feel love.

  Yes, I fell in love with Holden Hart, even though I’ve been telling myself since I met him that this isn’t the time to get involved with anyone. I’ve been saying one thing and doing completely another. I fell in love with him and it’s a disaster because he isn’t capable of making me happy, and I can’t—I refuse—to watch someone else I love destroy himself.

  Does that make my love less valid? Shouldn’t I want to stay and fight for him? To help him?

  Fresh tears fill my eyes and I shake my head in a silent refutation of that. No one person can save another. I would fight his battles at his side, I would stand shoulder to shoulder if he wanted that of me, but I won’t—can’t—stand by and watch him keep going the way he is.

  I should be glad that we’ve only known each other a short time, but the truth is, that makes no difference. I loved him, even a little bit, the first moment I met him. It’s not about minutes shared but the connection built and we connected in the most real sense I’ve ever known. For the first time in my life, for a brief moment, I didn’t feel alone.

  But I am alone, completely.

  It’s a sobering thought but at the same time it galvanises me into action. There are things to do—that new life I wanted is still out there, waiting for me to grab hold of it. I just have to firmly dismantle my old life first. Running away again? my inner voice jibes. I ignore it. I’m running towards my future; that’s not the same thing.

  I pack my things quickly, throwing enough clothes to get me through a week or so into a rucksack, make a coffee and then tidy the apartment, watering the houseplants and vacuuming the dust.

  I’m almost ready to leave when there’s a knock on the door and my heart leaps into my throat. Despite what I said to him when I left, I am filled with hope. Is it Holden?

  I knew it would be, even before I opened the door. Holden bloody Hart, dressed in a leather jacket and jeans, his expression guarded, his eyes watchful.

  And I’m angry again—angry at him and how much I love him, angry at the impossibility of this. I’m hurting again too, my heart pounding painfully in my chest. ‘What are you doing here?’

  He looks past me, to the bag at my side.

  ‘Are you going somewhere?’

  I throw a glance towards it, then back to him. ‘Does it matter?’

  A frown shifts on his face. ‘Can I come in?’

  My eyes narrow, my heart trips. I want, more than anything, to say yes. To offer him a coffee and a hug, to hold him and stitch his hurts back together, but I know the futility of that. His wounds need to be repaired from inside his own heart, not mine.

  ‘Why?’

  He shakes his head. ‘To talk. About last night.’

  But pain is in that prospect, pain and danger, because it’s very possible that he could string together enough of the right-seeming words to make me forget why this won’t work, and I can’t do that. Because I know it won’t. I love him, and he doesn’t love me.

  ‘Honestly, Holden, I meant what I said when I left. If you think sleeping with me was just a way to forget, if you think you were just using me for sex, that sex with me could easily have been replaced by sex with any other woman you just happened to pick up, then I suggest you go and do just that. Run away, just like you have been.’

  A muscle jerks low in his jaw. ‘Isn’t that what you’re doing?’ Again, he looks towards my rucksack.

  Heat stains my cheeks. ‘I’m not running away.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘I’m doing the exact opposite. I’m going home, to Sundown Creek. I’m packing up my dad’s house so I can finally move on with my life. That’s not running away; it’s confronting something I’ve been avoiding for years.’

  I’m satisfied by the surprise in his features, the look of frustration too.

  ‘When are you going?’

  ‘Any minute.’

  His nod is disjointed.

  ‘So you can move on, guilt-free. If you hook up with some other woman tonight, you don’t even need to think I’m in the same city. I won’t be here. You’re free to do whatever you want.’

  ‘I don’t want to sleep with anyone else.’ His words still me. ‘You’re different, Cora, so different.’

  I refuse to feel anything at that admission.

  ‘Sure, but it’s still just sex.’

  ‘No, I’m trying to tell you—’ He shakes his head, his eyes haunted. ‘Fuck, Cora, just give me a break for a second, okay?’

  ‘Why?’ The word is barely a groan.

  ‘I’m trying to tell you that we have to end this.’

  My heart stops.

  ‘I’m trying to tell you that you were right to leave me last night, and you’re right to walk away from me, but before you go I need to tell you that this is so much more than sex. I hate that I said that.’ His admission is raw. ‘At first, I wanted to use you to forget, and Christ, you made me forget even my own name. But then I got addicted to you. Not just because of your ability to push the past out of my head but because I got addicted to everything about you in the present.’

  My heart stands still. My blood stops rushing. My knees feel weak.

  ‘You were right about a lot of things last night.’

  I close my eyes for a second, breathing deeply, tasting him in my lungs. ‘I know that.’

  ‘I can’t keep doing what I’m doing. I don’t want to keep living like this. You were right.’

  ‘So don’t.’ I swallow, wishing I could make him see what I’m offering, what I want. ‘Stay here, get help, let me help you.’

  ‘No.’ His expression is grim. He takes a step backwards, closer to the footpath, and his voice is cold, resolute, as though he feels nothing. ‘There’s a million reasons I’m not right for you, Cora. Not the least of which is I have no idea if I’m ever going to change, and I won’t put you through this.’ His eyes hold mine, as if willing me to understand what he’s not saying, what he feels deep inside.

  ‘But I—’

  I don’t know what I was going to say but he interrupts.

  ‘No. I know what I’m capable of, what I’ve done to my brothers.’

 
I swallow heavily.

  ‘I’m not going to call you again, and I’m not going to see you, but I needed you to know that this was real. That you mean something to me, and always will. You’re the first woman I’ve kissed in a very long time.’ He lifts his thumb to my lips, stroking it across the flesh there, and I shudder because I want to press ‘pause’ and ignore everything that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours.

  My eyes sting, my throat hurts. I have no idea what to say.

  ‘I’m so fucked up.’ The words are like little bullets, shattering against me. ‘But you were—are—the most amazing person I’ve ever known.’ He steps back towards me and hesitates for the briefest moment before pressing a kiss to my lips. So light, so brief, I wonder if I’ve imagined it. Then, a second later, his hand curls around my cheek. ‘Take care of yourself, okay?’

  * * *

  ‘I’m glad you came back.’ Grace pushes out of their door and wraps me in a huge hug—for a tiny person, she has bear-like qualities when it comes to hugs. I’m not generally a hugging type person but Grace doesn’t care.

  ‘You sure?’ The question is laced with irony but she rolls her eyes, her smile filled with kindness—kindness I don’t deserve.

  ‘Yeah, I’m sure. Come in.’ She puts her hand on my elbow and drags me in, as much as she’s able, as though I might back out at the last moment. When I walk in, it’s to see Jagger sitting on the sofa, Felicity in his arms, a bottle up to her mouth. He eyes me warily. His face sports a matching bruise; we did this to each other. It’s not the first time we’ve fought, but it’s the first time I’ve known myself to be almost completely in the wrong.

  I stand there, not knowing what to say, where to sit, what to do. And I look at Felicity and find myself thinking about Cora, about her baby, about her loss and grief, her courage and strength. I find myself thinking about fate and life, about Jagger and Grace and the way they found each other, about this baby they have, so sweet, and such a mix of them, and the darkness creeps back in.

  Darkness at what I don’t have, at what I’ve never known, darkness at what I’ve lost.

  ‘Give me a second.’ Jagger stands up, his skill at doing that while holding a sleeping baby impressive, and strides across to the crib in the lounge. He places the baby in, pausing to press a hand to her chest and then turns to face me.

  ‘Out here.’

  ‘Do you want a coffee?’ Grace doesn’t whisper. Her voice reaches us so I instinctively look towards Felicity—she barely flinches.

  ‘No, thanks. I won’t stay long.’

  ‘You sure? We’re having crab linguine for lunch.’

  My smile feels tight. I could really do with a beer but I don’t ask for one.

  Jagger leads the way to the balcony and closes the glass doors behind us. Once out there, he gives me the full force of his attention, his look difficult to read. But I know Jagger. I know him as well as I know myself. Our experiences in life are comparable. I get him.

  ‘I was pissed off.’

  His lips twist into a grimace. ‘Is that an apology?’

  I look out over Sydney, my eyes instinctively finding the balcony of my penthouse, visions of Cora wrapped in a blanket populating my vision so for a moment breathing is difficult.

  ‘Look—’ Jagger sighs, apparently not waiting for an answer ‘—I get it. You were pissed off. That’s how you live your life now, and Theo and I want to help you but I’m fucked if I know how. What do we do, man? What would you do?’

  I hear the helplessness in his voice. I hear the same tone Cora used with me last night, frustration at their inability to make me snap out of this and stop giving a shit about the fact Ryan lied to me all my life.

  ‘I don’t know.’ It’s the truth. ‘Do you think I want to feel like this?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I want—I’ve always known I was different to you guys, but I thought it was because I wasn’t a Hart from birth. I thought it was because I crashed into your family and pushed your mom away. But maybe on some biological level I knew. And now I have no idea if I’ll ever get the answers I want. Maybe I’ll never know who my dad is. I’ll never know why Ryan took me in.’

  ‘You probably won’t,’ Jagger agrees. But his tone softens when he speaks again. ‘But none of that changes who you are, or what you mean to us. You’re our brother. You’re the guy we grew up with, you’re the one who remembers everything about every single movie we’ve ever watched, who can stay up all night and run a marathon the next day, the one who makes us laugh by refusing to laugh at any damned thing.’

  ‘You don’t get it.’ Though his words do something strange to me, pushing at my insides. ‘I feel like I’m missing this huge part of me. I don’t know who I am. I don’t know where I came from or why I ended up living with you. Everything about my life is either a mystery or a lie. I spend my days working in “our” business feeling like a fucking fraud because Hart Brothers Industries isn’t my birthright. Not like it is yours and Theo’s. I have no idea why Ryan raised me but I can’t keep acting like this is normal.’

  ‘Bullshit. Ryan loved you. He tried to adopt you—that’s the one thing we do know about this. And you want to talk about something being missing? What do you think Theo and I have felt like this last year or so? You’ve checked out, disappeared, and it’s like we’ve lost an arm or something. You barely know my wife, my baby, you’re never around and when you are you’re drunk and aggressive. You’re our brother. Did you even stop to think about what you’re taking away from us by simply disappearing?’

  My chest hurts. I look at him, the earnestness in his face pulling at my senses so I have only grief and regret, and an abiding uncertainty.

  ‘I’m not saying this is easy. We’re all grappling with this, but Christ, man, let’s grapple with it together. Stop running from us, and let us help you. Please. We love you. Grace and me, Asha and Theo—you’re part of our families. Stop disappearing and let us help you.’

  None of this is new. Theo and Jagger have both said this to me a lot in the last eighteen months, and yet when I hear Jagger now it’s in light of Cora’s words.

  ‘I’m doing the exact opposite. I’m going home, to Sundown Creek. I’m packing up my dad’s house so I can finally move on with my life. That’s not running away; it’s confronting something I’ve been avoiding for years.’

  I have been running, and they’ve been calling me on it for years, but it’s Cora’s voice I hear, Cora’s courage that forces me to stop and really listen, to understand. I’ve tried it my way. I’ve run and I’ve drunk and I’ve used every tool at my disposal to ignore what’s happening but now I need to try something different or I’m going to wind up like Cora’s dad, of that I have no doubt.

  * * *

  The plane will always remind me of Cora. I see her everywhere I look. I stare at the beer in front of me, open but not yet touched, and reach for my phone instead. I didn’t save the photo of her—the one photo I have of Cora, that she sent me via text. I load it up out of our message conversation now, making it the size of the screen.

  My heart feels like it’s going to tear out of my chest.

  I zoom in on her eyes; my gut clenches. I drop my head back against the armchair’s headrest, closing my eyes. Her eyes are still there, smiling, teasing. Then hurt, accusing, as I told her we were just sleeping together.

  ‘You want to push away the people who love you? Well, congratulations...you succeeded.’

  The meaning of her words was obvious at the time but it’s only now, ten hours out of Sydney, closer to the States than I am to Cora, that I feel the importance of what she said, the beauty of the gift she offered, and I feel the fierceness of my rejection.

  ‘Don’t call me. Don’t text me. Don’t think about me. Don’t even remember me.’

  As if I could ever forget her. I blink my eyes open and stare at the photo once more
, pinching out to full size so I can see her whole face, and the airline pyjamas she was wearing that night.

  If I’d been punched hard in the stomach it wouldn’t have hurt more.

  I’ll never forget Cora, but will she forget me? Will she look at someone else like this, make them smile, offer them her beautiful, sweet heart? God, for her sake, I hope so. Cora deserves the best, and that’s very far from what I am right now.

  * * *

  For someone like me, who exists partially through the medium of photography, I find it impossible to believe I didn’t take a single photo of Holden. There are a heap of him on the internet. About a week after I got back from Sundown Creek I made the mistake of googling him. Mistake because the sheer volume of photos of him with other women, strolling out of nightclubs, made my skin crawl. I promised myself I’d never google him again.

  In any event, a photo of him that I took would be so different. A photo that captured his eyes specifically as they looked at me, the shadow on his chin, the unconscious shift of his lips when he was lost in thought.

  Why didn’t I take a single photo?

  It’s been six weeks since I saw last him.

  Six weeks and neither of us has broken the agreement we brokered that last day. He hasn’t called me, he hasn’t texted me, for all I know he hasn’t even thought of me. And I haven’t contacted him either, because nothing has changed. I get the futility of it, the uselessness of trying to make this work.

  He has too much to focus on, too much to overcome, and while I desperately want him to be happy, I know that happiness can’t come from me. I think about sending him a message, just to see how he’s doing, but I don’t.

  Am I afraid of the answer? That if he’s gone downhill I’ll blame myself for walking away? Does he have any idea how much I miss him? How often I think about him? Does he know that I love him? In a real way, not just because sex was great, but because he’s moved into my heart and will never vacate it.