Butterfly Tattoo Read online

  “But there’s a place now,” I suggest gently, touching her face. “A big place is left in her life.”

  “For Rebecca,” she whispers, the tears fresh in her eyes. “You’re making a life with Rebecca.”

  “That’s part of why I’m here,” I answer softly.

  “You plan to marry her.”

  “I hope so.” I hesitate, laughing ruefully since before we can marry, we’d have to actually be a couple again. “But well, we’ve got some problems.”

  “Because of me?” Laurel asks.

  “Nah, Laurel,” I say. “Because of your brother.”

  She smiles—a gentle, sympathetic smile. “Rebecca is special,” she says. “Very special.”

  “She’s definitely that. It takes a special person to walk into a mess like the one we’ve all managed to make, to enter it and embrace us with an open heart.”

  “You’ll marry her,” she predicts, her expression serious. Something about her words feel prophetic—beyond this moment even.

  I give a silent nod of agreement.

  “And if you marry her, Michael, there’s no real place for me,” she continues matter-of-factly. “Not as Andrea’s mother. Not if we really want Andrea to be happy and adjusted and to have the family she deserves.”

  “That shouldn’t be how we reach this decision, Laurel.”

  “I decided it a while ago, Michael. I know that with all the confusion she’s had, all that she’s lost, she doesn’t need me to be her mother. I need to be Aunt Laurel,” she explains. “I need to be a constant. A given. Someone she can rely on.”

  “Oh, Laurel. You’re already that.” Without hesitating, I draw her close into my embrace. And we hold each other, there on the rocky point, feeling the spray of salty ocean, hearing the cries of gulls and surfers and wind.

  Pulling away from me, she makes an agitated gesture, twisting a lock of her hair in her fist. “When?” she asks, swallowing. “When do you plan to tell her?”

  “Soon. Not yet, but soon,” I explain. “I want to talk to her counselor first. But I need to know you’re okay with it.”

  Wiping at her eyes, she gives me a bittersweet smile. “I’m afraid,” she admits. “So afraid, Michael. But somehow…my heart tells me it’s safe.”

  I give her hand a quick squeeze. “It’s never safe to love.”

  The most vulnerable feeling in the world is to be a parent. She knows it and so do I. The only comparable emotion is giving your heart away, like I’ve done with Rebecca, and like I once did with Alex. Love is all about the risk, and very rarely about the guarantees.

  I stare out at the waves, hearing the familiar shouts of the surfers from down below us, charging their boards across sunset-dappled ocean beneath the fading sky.

  “It’s never safe to love, Laurel,” I say, “but I’ve come to think it’s always worth it.” And I can almost feel Alex right beside us.

  Chapter Twenty-Six: Rebecca

  I’m late for a three p.m. production meeting, hurrying between bungalows when I hear a familiar voice. “That Armani suit still looks killer on you.” I turn to find Michael Warner behind the wheel of a golf cart, grinning up at me.

  I keep walking. “Hi, Michael.”

  He slows the cart to match my pace. “Of course, you know how much I like you in black,” he continues, his voice upbeat, flirtatious. He’s pretending nothing’s changed between us—that I haven’t spent the past weeks since we broke up in Malibu avoiding all of his phone calls.

  I counter with my Cool Girl attitude, giving my hair a sassy toss over my shoulder. “What’s going on, Michael?”

  He rakes a hand over his short, spiky hair—shorter than when we were together. “Other than me checking out that suit?”

  “No,” I correct him. “What are you doing around here?” I gesture toward my office.

  “Oh, I reckon it’s just the usual repairs and whatnot,” he reflects softly, staring past me at my building. “Same old stuff I’m always doing round here, Ms. O’Neill.”

  Ms. O’Neill? I’m not sure whether he’s being sarcastic, or trying to put a professional distance between us, but I don’t wait to find out. I begin walking quickly away from him, but he follows behind me in the cart, still chatting.

  “Been thinking of a job change, actually. Maybe getting back into production work.”

  I stop, turning toward him. “Leaving the studio?” If he changes jobs, I’ll probably never see him again.

  “Actually, one of the shows that’s crewing up for the fall, right here on the lot,” he explains, tapping his fingers on the wheel. “I’m on a short list. I figured it was time I got a better-paying job. Made a little more of myself, you know.”

  “What about Andrea? Aren’t those long hours?” I’m wondering about his motivation, and it occurs to me that I’m no longer privy to these thoughts of his. To what drives and motivates him, to the nuances of his world.

  “Hours are pretty good, except on taping days. I can get Inez to stay then,” he explains with an off-handed shrug. “And I need a change. Trying to make a lot of changes in my world right now, Becca. I think it’s time for that. And I wanted you to know that…well, that I’m trying to overhaul myself.”

  He’s pressing in too close, trying to work me back against an emotional wall—open up the silence that’s barricaded between us. “I better go.” I give my watch a nervous glance, backing away from him. “I’ve got a meeting in five minutes.”

  “I’m changing that dark crap inside of me…the stuff that drove you away. I know why you couldn’t see how I feel, Rebecca. I understand. And I’m working to change that in myself.”

  I feel tears burn my eyes. He’s looking at a new job to…impress me? Making big life transformations so I’ll, what, feel wooed?

  I shiver a little, angry at myself that I do feel wooed. That’s exactly what I feel, dang it.

  “How’s Andrea?” I ask. I’ve been worrying about her quite a lot over the past month; I’ve been concerned that she didn’t handle my sudden departure very well.

  He thrusts the cart into park, turning to face me. “She misses you. Talks about you all the time.”

  I step much closer. “But she’s doing okay?” The words come out more urgent than I intend, filled with genuine love for his daughter.

  “She’s doing good,” he assures me. “Really good.”

  I finger my meeting notes nervously. “I’m glad. Tell her I send my love, okay?”

  “I love you, Rebecca.” He swings his long legs out of the cart, rising to his full lanky stature right in front of me. “You won’t take any of my calls, so I’ll just say it here. Right now. I love you.”

  “Michael, we’ve talked about this,” I explain, feeling my face flush. Looking down, I wave my folder. “I’ve got a meeting.”

  He studies me, smiling incongruously in the face of my rebuff: how is it possible that he seems more handsome now than any other time previously? It’s almost like some tension, always there around his eyes before, has vanished.

  “You do realize it’s the third of August,” he tells me, kicking at the tire of his golf cart. “You know what that means, don’t you?”

  Folding my arms across my chest, I say, “No, Michael. I don’t know what that means.” I keep my voice cool—as ordered and controlled as the small group of extras being wrangled by some assistant director over in Chaplin Park.

  “We have plans on August twentieth,” he reminds me softly. “That fan gathering of yours.”

  “Oh, no.” I laugh. “No, we don’t, Michael. You’re relentlessly determined.”

  “You’re uninviting me?”

  “We’re not dating anymore!” I cry, shaking my head at his unbelievable chutzpah.

  “Know what I think would be great?” he says. Stepping into my space—closer than I can endure without squirming—he lowers his voice. “If you and I kept that date. If you put on that little black dress of yours, the one you wore to Cat’s party. And I put on something c
ool. Like my Armani or Kenneth Cole. Whatever.”

  He smiles at me, his golden-brown eyes locking with mine. Seemingly unaware of all the hurt and pain I’ve stockpiled against him these past weeks, he continues. “And then if we went to that gathering and we showed Jake how happy you are. How happy we are together.”

  I stare back at him, incredulous. “Are you nuts?”

  “Yeah, Becca.” His eyes begin to sparkle. “Probably am. But see, after you left me in Malibu, I decided something really important.” He grows very intense in the way he watches me, amber eyes narrowing. “That I would get you to believe me.”

  “About what?”

  “About how I feel for you. That it’s real, and it won’t die just because you’re a woman and Alex was a guy…my love for you won’t die, ever, just like it hasn’t for him. But you’re it for me now, Becca. You are the one. He’s gone and much as I’ll always love him, I’m alive and here. And so are you.” He steps much closer, lifting a palm to my cheek, and I don’t duck away. “And so are you, Rebecca O’Neill. It’s not just me that’s been in the dark for far too long.”

  My eyes drift shut and I savor the feel of his hand against my cheek; I lean into his palm, wanting to cry in relief at being touched by him again. But then my chest grows tight, and the fear surfaces again. The fear that if I take this chance on this unusual, risky man, that I’ll wind up slashed and dying—not physically, not like before—but that my heart and soul will be destroyed.

  “I want to take you to that fan event and show Jake and all your friends that we’re happy together. That you’re alive again and so am I.”

  Slowly, I move his hand away from my face, opening my eyes. “We’re not happy. We’re not even a couple.” Backing away from him, I shake my head decisively. “You’re not coming with me to that gathering, Michael. I am going alone.”

  His voice drops low, becomes serious. “Alone’s a bad way to be, baby. Believe me, I’ve tried it.”

  “Don’t call me that anymore.” My rebuff sounds weak and unconvincing, even to my own ears.

  “What do you want from me, Rebecca? You really want me to let you go? To let you out of my life?” he asks. “I have so much to tell you, so much I want you to know. Things I’ve realized since Malibu…things I’ve realized about you, Becca—you and me—that I want to talk about.”

  I stop in my tracks, my throat raw. “Michael, we did talk about this. The last time I saw you. We agreed you needed to get back out there. That it’s time to start dating again. Not me, but the right kind of…people. You know I’m not what you need.”

  “Only one person ever said that, and it was you.”

  “Michael, I will always be a woman, and you—”

  “Do you want me queer?” he asks, and it strikes me that he’s not looking around, not worried about his boss or his electrician pals. “Is that it, Becca? Does that make it easier for you?”

  “Than what?”

  He seems to gaze right through me. “Than feeling vulnerable because you love me.”

  My mouth opens, but nothing—absolutely nothing—springs to mind for me to overcome what he’s just said. “That’s exactly what I thought,” he answers boldly, giving me a challenging look as he climbs back into the cart. “It’s a whole lot easier for you if I’m gay. The only problem? I love you. I love you, Rebecca, and I’m not giving up.”

  ***

  Several days after running into Michael on the lot, I’m at Whole Foods. It’s a Sunday night and I’m totally depressed because I can’t decide if I’m being foolish to shut down my heart and life to Michael, or if I’m being a smart girl who knows how to look after herself. Seeing the array of fresh spices takes me back to the first night when I went to his bungalow and cooked for them, the first night I found out the truth about his sexuality.

  Is it possible that I really misunderstood everything between us so badly? He says he loves me; he keeps saying it. He called me last night, too late for friends—just late enough to create a familiar intimacy as I lay in bed, trying to tell myself to chastise him for ringing me after midnight on a Saturday night.

  “So, you just in from a big night out?” I asked him, trying not to sound like he’d just woken me up. After all, a hot single woman should have plans, not be stretching her legs and struggling to sit up in bed so early on a Saturday night.

  He blew out a heavy breath. “I should be with you. You should be with me, Rebecca. That’s what should be going down tonight, so no, I didn’t have a hot date.”

  “I told you what I think.”

  “Tell me again.”

  “You need to have a few dates with some men. See how that feels.”

  “If I do that, give it a test run on your behalf, then would you believe that I love you?”

  Tears filled my eyes. “I’ve gotta…got to run.”

  “Wait!” He stopped me right as I was about to click the end button on my cell. “Just hold up, Becca, please.”

  I waited, but said nothing. He stayed silent, too, the only sound his breathing for a long moment. “You tell me what it will take. Tell me how I can make you believe how real this is for me, and I’ll do it.”

  The tears burned my eyes in earnest then. There’s just too much pain in my own past, my own life, for me to ever believe in his love. Not now. And I knew it right then.

  Coughing for a moment to clear my throat I said, “You want to prove how you feel for me? Then don’t call me anymore, Michael. Don’t call me or try and see me. Let this one go.”

  And with that, I flipped my phone shut and wondered if I hadn’t just thrown away something truly precious and rare.

  “Hey, surfer girl.” The husky voice jolts me back to the moment, and I whirl around to find Casey Porter studying me. For a moment, I’m so caught off-guard that I’m rendered speechless, my hand going protectively to the scars along the side of my face.

  He tilts his head sideways. “Thought we’d made friends after Malibu.”

  “Of course. How are you, Casey?” I manage to rescue my common sense and behave more smoothly in his presence. Never mind that this is one of Michael’s two best friends and that bumping into him unexpectedly terrifies me. I’m likely to get a lecture or unsolicited advice, or something else—not even sure what. All I know is that bumping into Casey has my heart thundering painfully inside my chest.

  But Casey’s a direct guy, I learned that the hard way, so he doesn’t waste time and goes right for my jugular. “You ever going to let him make it up to you, Rebecca?” He steps closer, dropping a bag of avocados into his cart. “Mike needs you right now. You know that.”

  I shake my head slowly. “Needing me and loving me are two different things, Casey. We both know that. You called it right in the first place. He belongs with a guy, not me.”

  “You’re wrong.” He takes hold of my arm with gentle force. “Rebecca, I was wrong. He’s crazy gone for you. I saw it in his eyes from almost the beginning. He’s in love with you, and it’s real, and if you don’t fight to make it work, you’re not nearly as strong and smart as I thought you were.”

  My mouth gapes open. Literally. This man was my major opponent, the one who would seemingly never buy into the possibility that a relationship could work between Michael and me.

  “Damn, I hope I’m not that much of a shock.”

  “You were the one who said he couldn’t be with a woman. You were the one who said he was gay, that we were a mistake.” I poke him in the arm pointedly. “You said those things. You put them in my mind.”

  “No, I didn’t. They were already there. Hell, they’ve been living there ever since you met Mike, of course they have.”

  “Don’t tell me what I think or what I feel.”

  “All right, then try this on, Rebecca O’Neill. Is love enough?”

  “Enough for what?”

  “Enough to cover a multitude of sins…enough to work when you find the right person to spend your life with. No matter who they are? No matter what’s i
n their past?”

  I open my mouth, ready to give a snappy, self-protective comeback, but Casey lifts a hand. “Don’t answer that question.”

  “But you asked—”

  Suddenly he smiles at me, a huge, radiant grin that reaches his eyes. “Answer it for you, Rebecca. Answer it for yourself, not for me.” Then his expression grows more somber. “But I can tell you that Mike doesn’t have it in him to keep calling forever. Not if you keep making it clear you don’t want him. His heart’s been too broken for that. So you better decide what you want pretty soon.”

  I tilt my chin upward. “I want him to find a man who will make him happy.”

  Casey’s eyes narrow on me. “You sure about that, surfer girl?” He stares at me a long moment and then turns and pushes his cart away.

  ***

  When the night of the fan gathering rolls around, I find myself towing Trevor there, my best friend fitting neatly into the date proviso slot. While I’m not thrilled with Jake seeing me dateless, it’s still better than attending the party alone. Outside the hotel where the event is happening, we sit in the car. I’m shaking. My whole body quivers, especially my hands which I can’t seem to rein back in, and I’ll never be able to mix confidently with the fans if I can’t compose myself now.

  Then again, maybe it’s just being here in Studio City, only a few blocks from Michael’s home that has me so unsettled.

  “I can’t do this, Trevor.” Fighting to breathe, I pat my chest; as if perhaps I might discover some unexpected air somewhere inside my lungs.

  “You can.”

  “Take me home,” I wheeze, praying I won’t need my inhaler tonight. Thinking about my nerve pills, back on my dresser in my everyday purse.

  “If that’s what you want, Rebecca, I’ll do it.” He eyes the back door through which we’re supposed to enter. There’s a bouncer-type guy—brawny and intimidating—watching us from the doorway. Perhaps he already recognizes me.