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But she wasn’t independent. She was the exact opposite. She was a joke. He’d turned her into a joke—
“Why do you do that to yourself?” he asked, his voice deep, rough. “I know what you’re doing. You’re beating yourself up. Torturing yourself.”
“I left Argentina as a thirteen-year-old because I had a dream for myself, and I was determined to be successful and independent. And after I was hurt, I was again determined to be independent, and I thought I was. Only now I discover everything I thought I achieved is fake. You pulled all these strings and orchestrated all the events so that it would seem like I was successful—”
“That’s not how it was,” he interrupted harshly.
“No?” Her voice cracked and she struggled with her composure. “Because it sure looks that way. It seems I must be hopelessly damaged if my former lover must create an elaborate charade to give me a sense of purpose and identity—”
“Stop it. You’re twisting things, making my support into something ugly.”
“If it’s not ugly, what it is? What do you call your manipulation?”
“Concern. Love. Protection.”
“Love doesn’t hide and deceive. But that’s what you’ve been doing with me.” Her voice broke again, and this time she couldn’t continue, not when she was battling back the tears. She pressed her nails to the tops of her thighs, determined not to cry. Emotion wasn’t her friend. She couldn’t let herself lose it.
“You wanted to return to work, but you weren’t strong enough to get to and from the school and theater, so I made sure you could go, and not tire yourself. And I don’t regret it. I’m glad I did it, and I’d do it all over again because you needed someone to help you, someone to take care of you—”
“Yet you let me believe I’d earned the job and found the apartment.” Her gaze locked with his. “You let me believe I was coping with life again.”
“Because you are. You have been. You are clearly healing. If you weren’t better, I wouldn’t be pushing for you to come home.”
“Your home is not my home, Malcolm. Your home has never been my home. To be honest, I don’t know why we’re even here, doing this.”
He arched a brow. “I know you have memory issues, but Ava, is it that easy to forget you have a son?”
She ground her teeth together. “And I hurt him. I remember that, too.”
“You have forgotten so many things. Why can’t you let yourself forget that one day?”
“Because I can’t afford to forget that I abandoned a two-year-old. I walked away from him without a second thought, and thank God nothing tragic happened that day, but it could have.”
Colm said nothing for a long moment, his lashes lowered, gaze narrowed as he studied her. And then he shook his head. “You’re wrong, Ava. Something tragic did happen that day. We lost you, Jack and I. And this time it sounds like you’re not coming back.”
Chapter Five
‡
Colm watched as she swiftly averted her head, her teeth sinking into her lush lower lip. From the back of her head with the tightly pinned chignon, he couldn’t tell if she was fighting tears or angry words, but either way, he didn’t care.
He was so frustrated right now.
He was so frustrated with the doctors and the therapists and all the experts who told him to give her space. Let her heal in her time. They’d said she’d need to grieve the loss of her old self as she came to terms with her new self.
But they’d never said she’d walk away from them.
They’d never said she’d give up.
What happened to her fire? Her conviction? Where was her backbone?
Ava Galvan was the strongest, most passionate woman he’d ever known. She was fierce and funny and so very loving. He understood she’d been hurt—terribly, terribly hurt—but she was making huge strides in her recovery and then that day in Florida had turned it inside out.
Turned all of them inside out.
“What has happened to you?” he demanded lowly. “Where’s your courage? Your fire? Where is the Ava I know? You aren’t a quitter and yet you’ve quit. You’ve quit on all of us—”
“I was hurt.” Her head jerked up and her dark gaze clashed with his. “I would think you’d remember. Your memory is supposed to be intact.”
“Yes, it is, and I remember how even after the accident you wanted to dance again and live again and love again but that’s all gone. You’re a shell of yourself, and brittle as hell.”
She jerked her chin higher even as her dark eyes turned liquid. “I’m sorry I can’t be the woman you want me to be. But there was an accident. I was hurt. End of story.”
But that wasn’t the end of story, he thought, barely hanging onto his temper. It wasn’t close to end of story. He didn’t want to be angry with her. God knows, the accident hadn’t been her fault. She’d suffered, terribly. He’d vowed to stick by her side and he had, until the doctors demanded that Colm step back and give Ava space. They’d said he was starting to do more harm than good by pushing her so much. The doctors thought she needed peace and quiet…a chance to heal.
And so he’d backed away during the first year of her rehabilitation, focusing on the baby, but when she’d reached out to him at the end of a year, he turned his world upside down to accommodate Ava. He bought a house in Palm Beach that was all one level so she wouldn’t have to deal with stairs. He’d turned one of the garages into a special gym so she could continue her rehab work. For a year, they tried to make it work, and he’d been hopeful that she was doing better, but it was always a struggle for her. She would get upset and her tears frightened Jack. Sometimes she’d look at Jack and not know what to say or do, treating him as if he were a stranger, but still, Colm hoped.
He refused to give up on her, and to show his commitment, he married her. It had been a small private service at Thanksgiving, just the three of them, plus the necessary witnesses, and he’d married her to cement their relationship.
Ten days later, Ava took Jack out and walked away from him, and just kept walking.
She was found five miles from the shopping center, lost, disoriented, unable to provide the police any information. For twelve hours she didn’t even remember her name, and then when she did remember, she wasn’t Ava McKenzie, but Ava Galvan.
She didn’t remember marrying Colm. Didn’t remember taking Jack out. Didn’t remember the year in Palm Beach at all.
In her mind, she was still living in New York. Still hoping to return to the ballet.
And so he did what the doctors and specialists told him to do. He let her return to New York, and the ballet, and the life she wanted.
But, all the while, he was raising a little boy who didn’t understand where his mother had gone, and Colm didn’t know how to put all the pieces together.
What was the right thing to do? What was the smart thing to do?
He didn’t even know if he loved Ava anymore. But he still felt responsible for her. He was loyal. He was determined to do what he had to do. It’s how he was raised. It was who he was.
But it was confusing. For all of them.
“It’s not too late to tell your flight crew to turn the plane around,” she said softly. Her gaze met his and her expression was painfully grave. “We could probably still land in Teterboro.”
For a moment, he didn’t speak, too b
usy trying to process his wildly conflicting feelings. He wanted her. He didn’t want her. He missed her. He was exhausted by the struggle to get close to her. He’d never give up on her. He didn’t know if he should give up on her.
Just looking at her, he felt connected to her. When near her, he knew they were still meant to be together.
But if she didn’t feel it? If she didn’t believe it?
Was it time to let her go? Or was it time to break through this wall and reserve she’d constructed around her following that incident last December?
He didn’t know. He needed to know. He needed clarity, as well as peace.
As if reading his mind, her lips curved sadly. “Someday you have to accept facts.”
He stared at her for a long moment, then shrugged. “I’m not there yet.”
“But what if I am?”
His chest tightened, a pinch that made him hold his breath and count to ten.
“Then you have to be patient with me,” he said lowly. “Because I still want to try.”
Emotion flickered in her eyes and her full lips quivered then compressed. She was fighting to hold back tears and it was like a blow to his heart. He clamped his jaw, bottled the emotion tighter.
They’d been through so much.
They’d been through hell and back.
The fight couldn’t have been for naught. There had to be hope. A future. A happy ending.
“You’re a miracle.” His deep voice was pitched so low it was nearly inaudible. “And you need to remember you’re a miracle. I do.”
Again, her lips quivered and tears filled her beautiful dark eyes. “You’re going to make me cry. I don’t want to cry.”
“Don’t cry. You’re too pretty to cry,” he said, struggling to keep his tone light.
And it was true. She looked like an exquisite butterfly perched on the butterscotch leather seat across from him—slender, delicate, mysterious.
The accident hadn’t marred her beauty. She still turned heads wherever she went. How could you not want to look at her? With her a perfect, oval face, full pink lips, high cheekbones, and wide intelligent eyes, she attracted attention and interest.
