Second Chances: The Bold and the Beautiful (3 page)

He was pressing weights on a long, low bench. The barbell seemed to be groaning under the weights stacked at each end of it. Caroline realized she had never seen him lift so much. He seemed to be doing it almost effortlessly, raising and lowering the bar with ease and grace. He was going so fast he looked like a man possessed. She caught sight of his face in the mirror; it was red, but calm. He was a study of intent focus and the thought took hold again.

Possession
.

What had driven him mad in his dreams last night? And driven him down here? What was taking him away from her? Was it Maya? Again? She had been sure they had laid that particular demon to rest.

Caroline could not understand his continued fascination with that girl. The whole family seemed to be fooled by her. She was a nothing, an outsider, but she seemed to have something that drew people in.

It was time Caroline found out exactly what was going on inside Rick’s head. He had been quiet and distant for weeks now. They needed to talk. And she needed to find out once and for all what he was feeling. It hurt so much to be distant from him.

She wrenched open the glass door into the gym, and Rick swore at the sudden noise, dropping the barbell back into its rests with a loud clang.

“Caroline,” he barked. “You startled me.” He stood up but didn’t move toward her, mopping his face and neck with a thick white towel that had been hanging over the side bar.

“I’m sorry,” she said, surprised as ever by the effect his boyish good looks had on her. Like this, dressed only in sweatpants and a drenched T-shirt, his face flushed and his muscles taut, she well remembered what had first drawn her to him.

She wanted to go to him, put her arms around him and kiss him on the mouth, right here in the gym. Her heart rate was still elevated from her ride, and she could see the rapid rise and fall of his chest through the T-shirt. The movement emphasized the broadness of him. She pressed her fingernails into her palms to stop herself from going to him and wrapping her arms around him.

“We have to talk,” she said.

*

“What’s wrong?” Rick considered the cool, blond beauty standing before him, looking like an ad for polo and the good life. She may have been born with everything, but she was also truly lovely, and she had been so good to him.

But today all he could think about was Phoebe.

Phoebe, who had grown up with everything but managed to stay sweet and sunny and innocent, unaffected by the wealth and power all around her.

His thoughts turned to Maya. Also so different from Caroline. It had been Maya’s empathy with the poor and hurting that had drawn her to him.

Caroline was a good person, and beautiful. But he wondered now if they had ever really been the right match for each other. He struggled to understand how they had ever come together. Sure, looking at her he could appreciate the obvious things: her startling good looks; her poise and grace; her kindness; her elegant fashion sense. But there was nothing real between them any more. It was all an illusion. He knew it, because he knew that he was hurting and he didn’t want to tell her—she was the last person he would choose to talk to about this, the last person he felt would really understand.

He approached Caroline, feeling a sudden spike of guilt lance his heart. None of this was her fault. She had only loved him, and tried to do the best she knew. They were just … different.

“Caroline, I …” Rick said, wondering where to begin.

But she was one step ahead of him. “What happened last night?” Her eyes were bright and glittering and he was sure she could see the distance in his face. Just as he was sure it was hurting her. A wave of self-disgust rose in him.

“Last night?” He’d had wild dreams about the accident again. Always the accident. Dreams where he had done things differently, tried to take a different course, but it always ended up the same. Phoebe lying by the roadside. Rick running wildly, to get help, to find Ridge. And Phoebe dying in her father’s arms.

“Was it Maya?” Caroline’s mouth was a tight line and her face was closed. He could see she was steeling herself for what he might say. “Was it Maya you were dreaming about?”

“Maya?” This was so far from the truth that he couldn’t stop himself from laughing. “No, Caroline,” he said, as gently as he could, trying not to communicate his frustration. This was not Caroline’s fault. He had no right to feel irritated with her. “This is not about Maya.”

As he watched her face relax a little, he realized he owed her an explanation.

She had tried so hard to love him, to be with him and understand him. She deserved to understand.

“It’s Phoebe.”

Caroline shook her head, mouthing the word he had just said like she was trying to make sense of it. “Phoebe … Forrester?” Her face was frozen in confusion. “Your ex-fiancée?”

Rick nodded. Hearing the name hurt. It was like all the demons in his head became real as he heard the name on Caroline’s lips.

“What about Phoebe?”

He took a breath and put a hand on Caroline’s shoulder. “Sit,” he said. He ushered her over to a small sitting area at the back of the gym. He sat in an easy chair next to her. “Today is the anniversary of her death,” he said, feeling his voice thicken at the words. “The anniversary of the day I—”

Caroline’s eyes were wide and waiting.

“The day I killed her.”

Caroline’s mouth formed a shocked line at his words.

“You’re sad,” she said finally. “You—you’re feeling guilty.”

He nodded. “Yes.” But he knew it was more than that and he knew he owed it to her to tell her. He took a breath and squared his shoulders.

“Oh my God,” she breathed. “You’re still in love with her. You’re still in love with your dead ex-girlfriend.”

Rick swore under his breath. This was not going to be easy. He knew he didn’t have a great track record when it came to the women in his life, and he really had done the wrong thing with Caroline in the past. He’d been trying hard to make it work, but he realized now that the reason he had been attracted to Maya, and become so distant from Caroline, was that Caroline simply was not for him.

Rick took Caroline’s hands. They felt small and cool in his, which were still warm from the exertions of a moment before.

“I’ve done a lot of things wrong in my life, Caroline,” he said.

She looked up at him, her brown eyes narrow and wary.

“I’ve spent my life trying to prove something, who I was, what I was. That I was good enough. That I—that I was as good as Ridge, better. He seemed to have everything, even though I was Eric’s real son.”

Caroline nodded. Rick knew that she understood this about him. She had seen him battling Thomas for control of Forrester Creations, and for her heart. Rick felt his stomach churn as he wondered if she, too, had been all a part of his need to win. It was a hard thing to admit about himself, but he saw now that it could be true.

He dragged in a breath and went on. “In all of that, all that jealousy and fighting to prove myself, I hurt a lot of people. Taylor. Steffy. And, worst of all, Phoebe. I’d made such a mess of everything that she died really believing that I’d never loved her. That I had only become involved with her to hurt Ridge.”

He held Caroline’s hands firmly. Somehow it was very important that she understand what he was saying. He stood, pushing his chair back brutally and hunting down the right words. Caroline said nothing. She sat like stone and stared at a spot on the wall.

He was hurting her, he could see it. And he wanted to stop.

But he couldn’t. Stopping would be the easy thing to do. The thing he had always done before. He needed to make different choices now. And from now on.

“But that wasn’t right, Caroline. I
did
love Phoebe. She was so sweet and funny. And, looking back, it was as though she was always destined for sadness. There was something about her that you could never quite grab hold of.”

Caroline rose and moved to where Rick was standing, holding out her arms to him. She, of all people, would know how much it was hurting him to admit all of this. Even now, she was being kinder to him than he deserved. But Rick could not step into her arms. He could not give another woman a message he did not mean.

He would not do that any more.

“In all that time, playing with people, I never met anyone like Phoebe. And I killed her as much as if I had pointed a gun at her.”

He ran his fingers through his hair, closing his eyes and replaying the scene in his mind. “She was so worked up. I should have pulled over. I just wanted to get to the rehearsal dinner, to get away from her. But I should have known it couldn’t go on like that, that we would have an accident.”

With the words out, he was still. He finally met Caroline’s eyes. “And now, every year, on this day, I think about her. And I think about what I am. Well, that ends today. I’m going to the cemetery. I’m going to talk to her, make my peace with her. And then I’m going to go and see Taylor and Steffy as well. I’m going to ask their forgiveness for all I’ve done to them, over the years.”

Caroline shook her head. She held out her hands to him, as though pleading with an irrational child. “You don’t need to do that, Rick. No one blames you—everyone knows that Phoebe was crazy that day. You don’t need to open all of this up again—you with Steffy.”

Rick saw the fear in her face. This was what she was most concerned about. Rick and Steffy, all over again.

“I do need to, Caroline,” he said gently, walking over to her and placing a finger under her chin. He lifted her face to his. “I need you to hear what I’m saying. I know this is hard for you to understand, but I need to be a different man, starting today. That is what all these years have been building to. This is the time for me to change—change everything.”

Caroline looked hard into Rick’s eyes and he knew in that moment what she was going to ask him. “Including us?”

He wanted to say no; the old Rick would have. The old Rick would have strung her along, made it easy for himself, let her believe he was just having a moment. But he wasn’t. This was not about Caroline, and not about Maya. And yet both women, and his inability to commit, to decide between them, were symptoms of a past he had not resolved.

He knew now, after his time at the top at Forrester Creations, that he really was good enough. That he could win hearts and cut deals and do all that he needed to be the man he wanted to be. Now he just had to stop telling lies, to himself and everyone else, and face the future with dignity.

“Yes,” he said. “It’s over, Caroline. I’m so sorry.”

Caroline’s hand reached out before he registered what she was going to do. The slap had all the pent-up power of her distress driving it. Rick’s cheek stung and his eyes watered as her hand connected.

As soon as she did it, Caroline’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh my God, Rick,” she breathed. “I’m sorry, I can’t believe I—”

“I deserved that,” he said.

Caroline’s eyes filled with tears. “Go,” she said. “Go see your precious Phoebe, and comfort your precious Forresters.” She raised her beautiful chin defiantly, and Rick admired her for gathering herself when she was so obviously in pain. “But don’t you think for one moment that you will ever be with someone who understands you the way I do. This is the end, Rick.”

He nodded. “Yes, Caroline,” he said. “It is.” Even with his cheek stinging, the urge to wrap her in his arms and comfort her was almost overwhelming.

But he resisted.

As Caroline turned and walked gracefully from the gym, Rick knew that he should have felt sadness and the stark bite of loneliness that he always so feared about being alone, but instead he felt only a cool wave of relief wash over him.

*

Rick had one more thing to do before he left.

He pulled the small leather case out of his wardrobe, setting it on the bed.

He had changed into a formal black suit, one of his favorite Italian pieces, and a crisp white shirt. He had showered and fixed his hair. He knew, looking in the mirror, that anyone seeing him would see a study of wealth and privilege, the consummate businessman. But the angry red welt on his face would take a couple of days to heal. And it would be a longer time before he would forget the look of dignified pain on Caroline’s face as she had stormed out of the gym.

He sat down beside the small leather case, and reached inside for a folded piece of tissue paper. He unfolded it carefully, his fingers feeling thick and clumsy with the delicate thing. As he did, a tiny, pressed daisy chain fell out of the paper and slid onto the cover of the bed.

The sight of it made something cold and dark squeeze his heart. He remembered the day so well, a day from the beginning of his time with Phoebe. When life had been easy and sweet. They had been picnicking and she had made the daisy chain for him, settling it lightly on his hair and then kissing him on his mouth, saying, “My sweet prince.”

He had laughed and put it in her hair. It looked beautiful on her, perfect—made her seem even more like the fairy princess she had always brought to mind for him. When they had packed up later, he had grabbed the silly thing. A romantic gesture, perhaps, certainly one unlike him, but he had simply known at the time that he wanted to keep it, to keep that moment alive.

But now it was time to give it back and to say goodbye properly.

He held the little ring of dried flowers carefully in his hands. He could almost hear Phoebe’s musical laugh as he looked at it.

Then he carefully wrapped it in the paper and put it back in the leather pouch.

The warm sun kissed the back of Steffy’s hair as she leaned down to consider the bouquets lining the sidewalk. The shop was a riot of color at this time of year. There were roses, of course; scarlet and vermilion and yellow and the most delicate shade of pink. There was something sad about them, their perfect faces straining to the sun, not knowing that they had only such a brief time to enjoy it, that their perfection would soon be dust and memory.

Then there were daisies, always Phoebe’s favorite. The sunny round faces peering optimistically at Steffy. Her hand reached for them, brushing one delicate petal, but then the lilies caught her eyes. White, elegant and ghostly. They transported her back to her sister’s funeral. She and Rick staring at each other over the casket, caught in a shared bubble of grief and guilt.

Nothing had ever been the same.

The elderly florist who had been hovering in the background surprised Steffy by suddenly appearing above her. “Do you need any help, sweetheart?” Her voice was soft and her eyes kind.

Do I need any help?
Steffy thought about the tumult of emotions running though her brain and assailing her heart. Yes, she needed help. She needed her mother. She needed her father. But neither of them could be there for her today. She knew her mother had her own demons, and that today would be difficult for her. She also knew Ridge would be a mess in Paris, reliving the moment his daughter died in his arms, over and over again. She felt her heart trip at the thought that soon she would be back there with him.

“I’m … I’m okay.”

“You don’t look okay, dear,” the woman said, guiding her over to chairs situated in a little patch of sun under a pretty awning on the pavement. “Sit for a moment and I’ll fetch you a glass of water while you collect yourself. There are plenty of gorgeous bouquets here, but I promise you none of them are going anywhere.”

Steffy allowed herself to be fussed over. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the quiet moment with the sun on her face.

Before long, the woman was back with a tall glass of water with ice and a tiny slice of lime floating in it. She was wearing a simple calico apron and blue jeans. Her silver hair was pinned in an elegant bun at the base of her neck, not unlike the style Steffy had chosen today, and the woman had lively dark blue eyes that twinkled through the concern etched in the lines around them. She squeezed Steffy’s shoulder and looked at her with concern. “You would be surprised, my dear,” she said, and Steffy noticed the very slight Southern accent for the first time. “People think flower stores are all about joy and love. Sometimes they’re the hardest places to be. You just sit as long as you need to and give me a holler when you’re ready to start again.”

Steffy nodded and smiled her thanks. The woman’s unexpected kindness had touched her, and she felt her eyes beginning to mist over. The woman slipped away, and Steffy could see her making a show of keeping herself busy over near a large stand of greenery.

Steffy was grateful for the moment of peace. She picked up the long, cool glass and ran it over her forehead. She felt suddenly hot and scared. Going to the cemetery was always difficult, but this year it seemed especially so. She took a slow sip, and felt better as the cool liquid settled in her throat. Then she leaned back in the comfortable chair again, to catch her breath and settle her thoughts before returning to the flowers.

She closed her eyes and thought about her plans. She would not think about Phoebe, not yet. There would be plenty of time for that today. For now she would simply sit here and make plans. Firstly, she needed to drop her sketches in to Forrester Creations. She would deliver them to Thomas, and talk to him about what was needed next. It was strange—she’d had such high hopes of launching this new line when she returned from Paris, of starting fresh. But now she knew she was not ready. She would give the sketches to her brother; he would know how to work with them to ensure they shone. She would also let Thomas know that she was taking more time out, and ask him to deal with the administration of it.

And the fallout.

Then she would head to the cemetery, get this over with. Her mind skipped over that part; it would be here soon enough. She didn’t need to dwell on it in advance.

There was much to organize. She needed to make some more arrangements to go back to Paris. Sort out the penthouse, let her father know that she was coming back, to spend some proper time with him. That she would stay with him until she was ready to come back. If she was ever ready.

And then there was Liam.

She shut that thought down. Like so much else, she would deal with thinking about Liam later.

After she’d done what she needed to do.

Steffy made a mental to-do list, and felt her sanity and self-possession return. This day was always hard, every year. She just needed to get through it. She decided to sit for one more moment in the sun, eyes closed, before tackling the current task—selecting exactly the right flowers.

*

Rick’s breath caught when he saw Steffy sitting in a patch of sun, her dark hair pulled severely back from her face.

She looked thinner than he remembered. And very beautiful.

His hand shook, and his fingers froze on the enormous bunch of daisies he had just selected. Daisies, for Phoebe. And here was her sister, still and serene like a moment frozen in time.

He wasn’t ready. He needed to talk to her, needed to make things right with Steffy, and with her mother. But this was not the moment. He had wanted to go to Phoebe first, make his peace, then seek out Steffy and Taylor, see if he could make them understand that he was different. He had changed. And he was sorry.

But now Steffy was here, in the same florist. Surely it was some kind of sign?

He shook his head, realizing that it was logical that Steffy would also choose the florist next to Dayzee’s, close to Forrester Creations. She was probably going in to the office to get some work done, and had stopped off here on the way.

But there was something about her face, captured in that yellow shaft of sunlight. He could not take his eyes off her. That bone structure, so delicate and captivating, like Phoebe’s, and yet such a different look. She was like a sculpture from a far away time. Even from this distance, Rick could see the full pinkness of Steffy’s sultry lips. He tried not to remember what they tasted like—candy and musk. The tiny indentation above her top lip looked like some god had placed his little finger there and created it as a work of art. Like this, her eyes closed, Rick could see the full thickness of her dark lashes, resting lightly in her cheeks.

Yes, she was beautiful.

But he knew more as well. He knew that she was not the person everyone thought to her to be. In the wake of Phoebe’s death, they had been drawn together, moths to the flame. Everyone had been outraged, thought it was so wrong. But it hadn’t been a game, not that time. It had been the yearning of two souls who recognized something in each other.

Of course, it hadn’t worked—could
never
have worked. Not then, with the critical eyes of the world on them, and with all their own grief to manage as well.

Rick knew that Steffy was not the woman the world saw. He knew she could be hard and wild. But he also knew she was soft and caring, and that she yearned to prove herself.

Like him, he thought with a start, wondering why the thought had never occurred to him before.

Then Steffy opened her eyes, and he was rooted to the spot by the power of that blue gaze.

*

“Rick?” Steffy blinked twice, sure she must have napped in this little patch of sunlight after her sleepless night. “Rick?”

It had been some time since she had seen him but as she shook her head to clear it, he was still there. And it was definitely him, Rick Forrester: the last person she needed to see today.

She felt her lip curl as she watched him clutching the huge bunch of flowers, and wondered who he was trying to impress this time. She tried to ignore his boyish beauty. He was wearing a sharp black suit that she recognized as Italian, and it sat well on his muscular frame. She could not remember him looking so fit before she had left for Paris, but the suit showed off his broad shoulders and tapered waist to perfection. His hair was styled boyishly and skimming his collar, and he was very blond too. He must have been making the most of the warm weather, taking the yacht out. His skin was brown, and it showed off his blue eyes.

A red mark stained one cheek.

“Steffy.” He nodded. She noticed the haunted look in his eyes, as though he’d seen a ghost. She felt like she’d seen one too.

Was it just because of the significance of this day that she was remembering their time together in such vivid detail? She knew that the world saw Rick as a cad, and she knew better than anyone that he could play the game. She thought about how he had moved from Phoebe, to their mother, to her—all to get to Ridge. The memory made her shudder.

But there was more to him, too.

Or maybe she was just feeling generous because she was tired and emotional.

She sighed. “Sit down,” she said, motioning to the chair beside her. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m buying flowers,” he said. “For Phoebe.”

Steffy felt as though a knife had been driven into the center of her. “Phoebe?” Hearing him say it, seeing him here, knowing what he was doing, made it somehow all so much more real. “Me too,” she said, and then her voice broke and she bowed her head. She would not let Rick see her cry. She blinked hard to control the prickly tears that burned behind her eyes. “I’m doing the same. But …” She willed her voice to stay strong. “I’m still choosing. I just needed to … take a minute.”

“I get it.” Something about Rick’s face as he said the words gave Steffy pause. She really believed that he did get it. Up close, she could see that he, too, looked tired. And not just more fit than she remembered, but harder too. Older.

Grief had left its mark upon them all.

Steffy’s hand went to her stomach again. She saw Rick notice the gesture, and waited for him to change the subject in some smooth segue to lighten the mood. But he didn’t.

“Steffy,” he said, and this time it was his voice that broke. “I heard your news. I‘ve been wanting to tell you I’m sorry, so sorry for you. But I didn’t know you were back. It must have been awful.”

Oh my God. Could he really mean the miscarriage? Her baby? She was so used to people not mentioning her baby, the unspoken elephant in the room. Her father. Liam. It felt strange to hear someone say it so simply, and so carefully.

He reached out and touched her hand, very lightly, then grasped it in his. “Steffy.”

She couldn’t look at him. It was so hard to hold it together, and if he was nice to her, she might dissolve. The last thing she needed today was to throw herself at Rick Forrester.

“Steffy. Are you okay?” Rick turned Steffy’s hand over in his, and stroked his thumb lightly across the sensitive skin of her inner wrist.

“No,” she said finally, looking into those clear blue eyes. “No, I don’t think I am.”

He nodded, then stood and shrugged out of his jacket. She watched his broad shoulders ripple through the lush cotton of his white shirt. He sat back down, this time in the chair beside her, and picked up her hand again. “Is this okay?” He looked right into Steffy’s eyes. Up close, she could see that the angry red welt on his face was fresh and raw.

He was clearly having a bad day too.

Before she knew what she was doing, she reached up a finger to trace the mark. A nerve jumped in Rick’s cheek. “What happened?”

“It was my fault,” he began.

Steffy surprised herself by laughing. “You did this to yourself?”

He laughed too, and shook his head. “No, no. It was Caroline.”

“Oh.” Steffy should have realized. There was a time—perhaps many times—when she could have happily shredded the skin from Rick Forrester’s face too. But somehow, that all seemed long ago. Suddenly all that mattered was that Rick was sitting here with her, holding her hand, and knowing that this day mattered to him too; hurt for him too. She appreciated that he had asked about her baby. Not in any way that implied she should somehow be over it, or it shouldn’t have mattered, but in a way that seemed to understand that she would feel especially vulnerable about her baby today, when she was remembering the other great loss in her life. “What did you do to her?”

Rick sighed and ran his hands through his hair, leaning forward to put his elbows on his thighs and place his head in his hands. “I—I’m not sure really. Well, I ended it.” He smiled at Steffy, a small, self-deprecating smile. “That never goes down too well with women, in my experience.”

“Oh,” Steffy said again. “No. We don’t like it much.”

Steffy turned Rick’s words over in her mind. She had assumed Rick and Caroline were strong. It just went to show you could never really know the inner workings of other people’s lives.

Rick turned to face her, and she felt blown off course by the powerful searchlight of his hot blue stare. He took a deep breath, then blew it out slowly. “Honestly,” he said. “I don’t think that was the biggest problem for her today.”

Steffy nodded. He wanted to tell her something. Something abut this, this bubble they were sitting in together, he wanted to talk. Really talk. She could see it in his face, in the taut lines of his body. “Go on,” she said.

“I told her I’d been thinking a lot about Phoebe. About the past. About … everything.”

Rick’s eyes darted away from Steffy’s at these last words and Steffy was sure he had more to say, but she didn’t want to push him.

“We certainly have some past,” she said, smiling gently at him.

She closed her eyes again, trying to capture this moment, the sun, the unexpected companionship with this unlikely friend, before she had to get up and do the hardest parts of this day. Then something occurred to her. Somehow she felt sure, in this moment, that he would understand.

“Can I show you something?”

Rick nodded and Steffy reached for her tote. She retrieved the sketches and passed them over to him.