Second Chances: The Bold and the Beautiful (5 page)

She leaned forward and kissed her sister’s headstone. It felt rough and warm against her lips, and even this seemed like a message. She was alive.

“But no more. I am going to live well, and fully. I am going to live a beautiful life, for both of us.” Steffy reached across and adjusted the roses where she had laid them, making sure they were beside the bouquets from her mother and father. As she did, she thought about the flowers Liam had brought her when she had lost her baby: perfect pink camellias. And she remembered his face when she had told him. The devastation there.

Perhaps she had been too harsh to judge him for what he was feeling. It was natural that he would look for someone to blame—wasn’t blame one of the stages of grief? And she knew he didn’t need to look too far. She was rocked by a sudden and overwhelming need to connect with Liam, to tell him that she understood his sadness.

She had been so angry at him for not being there for her.

But had she really been there for him?

Perhaps making things right with Liam was all part of growing up, learning to embrace life. Not so they would be together again. Perhaps that would happen, perhaps it would not. But because it was the right thing to do. He had lost something too.

She stood up again, and adjusted her clothes. “Goodbye, darling Phoebe. Until next year.”

As she began the slow walk up to the car, she saw Rick notice her and step out of the car to walk toward her. They met halfway.

“Are you okay?” His eyes were a very dark blue, and she noticed he had put his jacket back on for his visit with Phoebe. He was standing close to her with the bunch of daisies and a strange, desiccated daisy chain in his hands. He was so close she could hear his breaths. He reached out and touched her gently on the shoulder, rubbing it a little with his hand.

She considered the question, her head on the side. “Yes,” she said, nodding. “I think so. I’m—I’m still feeling a bit fragile, but I feel a lot better.” She motioned to the daisy chain. “What’s that?”

He smiled sadly at her. “Closure.” Then he squeezed her shoulder again and motioned toward Phoebe’s headstone. “I’ll just take a few minutes,” he said. “Why don’t you wait in the car?” He smiled at her, and she smiled back.

“Rick.” She held out a hand to touch his upper arm as he went past her.

He looked back at her, his eyes creasing in concern. “Do you need me to stay with you?”

“No, it’s not that.” She lowered her eyes, worrying that it would sound trite. But she meant it more than she had meant anything she’d said to a man in a very long time. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you for being here today.”

Rick wrapped his hand around her fingers where they rested on his arm. “No, Steffy,” he said. “Thank you. Thanks for everything. For letting me come with you today. For the sketches. For sharing how you felt with me. And for not telling me to go to hell, and never come back, as you had every right to.”

She nodded at him. “We’ve both done things we regret,” she said. Then she swept her eyes down the hill to the headstone. “Go be with Phoebe.”

*

Steffy paced back and forth out the front of the little French bistro, waiting for her call to connect. The bistro was the perfect place to regroup after the emotional turmoil of the cemetery. Rick had suggested they stop for a drink and some food, and Steffy knew food was a good idea after feeling faint earlier in the day.

But first, she had to speak to Liam. She had to make it right with him, like she had decided at Phoebe’s graveside.

She’d told Rick she needed to make a couple of calls.

He’d grinned at her. “Okay, but if you’re not there to order, I’m making yours a cheeseburger with everything.”

She’d laughed, pointing at the rustic little sign near the entry: Le Chat Noir. “I don’t think this is that kind of place,” she said. But she didn’t doubt that he would do it. He had been looking at her with protective concern ever since her spell in his office. She would not put it past him to order her an enormous meal, and hand feed it to her.

As Rick had retreated, she’d tapped Liam’s image on her smartphone and held it to her ear, her fingers shaking.

The signal bleated in her ear and she felt her heart rage in her chest. Why was she so nervous? Her mind replayed the scene the night before.

Finally, the familiar message greeted her. “Hi. You’ve reached Liam. You know the drill.” His voice was so soft and authoritative, so sweetly familiar, that she felt tears spring to her eyes as she listened to the message. She blinked them back as she almost lost the ability to leave a message of her own. She took a deep breath. A new day. A fresh start.

“Liam, it’s Steffy. I wanted to talk to you. To say sorry, for last night. Maybe you can call me when you have time? I’m near the cemetery, at a little French place—” Her voice broke on the word, but she ploughed on, swallowing hard. “I’m taking some time, having a rest, but I’ll be back at the apartment later tonight. Perhaps you can call me then?”

As she hit the end call button, Steffy felt a lightness fill her. Yes, it was right that she connect with Liam, so that things did not end badly between them. Life was short, and you never knew what might be around the corner. She and Rick knew that only too well. Neither of them would ever have imagined the last time they had seen Phoebe that they would never see her again.

She stuffed the cell back in her tote and walked back into the bar, seeing Rick sitting at a corner booth, sipping a red wine and looking out the window.

This felt right too.

*

Rick was enjoying watching Steffy eat; it was as though she was making up for lost time. They had started with wine and appetizers—some escargot and bread. But they’d now been sitting and talking for over an hour, and she was now attacking a bowl of aromatic vichyssoise with gusto. It wasn’t a cheeseburger, but it sure looked like it was hitting all the right spots.

“What are you grinning at?” Steffy raised an eyebrow at him as she wiped the corner of her mouth delicately with a starched white napkin.

By tacit agreement, they hadn’t discussed Phoebe. Not yet. Rick wanted Steffy to have a moment to relax, after all she had been through. He knew better than most that there were few relaxed hours when you were a Forrester, let alone on day like today. So he asked her about her time in Paris—what she had seen, her impressions of the shows, the food, the people. He had forgotten what a good storyteller she was.

Relaxing on her second glass of wine, Steffy seemed to come alive talking about the country. “Monsieur Duchamps and his wife were the caretakers of the little hotel Dad set up base in. They’re so sweet, treated me like their granddaughter.” She paused, her soup spoon en route to her mouth. “Maybe a little too much, you know?”

He shook his head, wanting her to continue. He just liked listening to her. “No. How do you mean?”

“Well …” She wiped her mouth delicately with the napkin. “They couldn’t cope that I wasn’t there with some man. They made it their life mission to find me a good French boy. Apparently I was—” Steffy pursed her lips and affected a very decent French accent, “‘—a beautiful girl badly in need of a French lover.’” She rolled the last R authentically. “They proceeded to trail a procession of eligible young men through the bar, hoping to catch my interest. It was sweet.” She took another sip of her soup. “Until the day they introduced me to one particularly charming comte who tried to lure me back to his castle in the French countryside. When he realized I wasn’t so keen, he was outraged. He said: ‘Mon Dieu, don’t you know who I am?’” She threw her head back and laughed and Rick found himself greedily drinking in the sight of her long white neck. She looked good when she was relaxed like this.

She looked good any old way.

“Did you tell him who
you
were?” Rick didn’t want this to stop. Not her laughter, not the story, not the day.

“You know,” Steffy said, finally sighing and pushing her soup bowl away. “I really don’t think it would have mattered. The French just aren’t that impressed by Americans, whatever they’ve done. I’m pretty sure his castle would have trumped Forrester Creations any day. At least in his own mind.”

As they laughed over the anecdote, Rick leaned forward and grasped Steffy’s hands. “She would have loved to see you laughing like this.”

There was a moment of silence between them. They both knew what he was doing—it was time to discuss the elephant in the room. But he didn’t want to press her. “It’s okay, Steffy,” he said, reaching over to stroke one of her hands. “We don’t have to talk about Phoebe. Not if you don’t want to. We have all the time in the world. I’m not going anywhere.”

She nodded at him. “How was it?” She squeezed his hand as she said the words. “How was it for you today, at the cemetery?”

Rick hadn’t expected this. He had wanted to be there for her, to give her some support. Let her talk. He had carefully tucked away his own grief as he had walked back from Phoebe’s grave after giving her the perfect daisy chain.

He looked at her carefully. “It was … confronting,” he said. “I’m not like you, Steffy. Maybe not as strong as you. Usually, I avoid this day. I keep busy, or I get drunk.” He gave a small smile. “Often both.”

She nodded, and squeezed his hands again. “But this time I decided it was going to be different. I was going to be different. I was going to be better.”

“Tell me,” she said, widening her eyes to encourage him to continue.

He wasn’t sure how much to tell her. Would she understand? But everything about this day—seeing her at the florist, going to the grave with her—it was like it was all building to this. The bar was dark and intimate. He could see that she had relaxed from the place she had been earlier in the morning. Her cheeks were rosy and the dark shadows under eyes had faded a little.

“I always felt like I had no right to grieve.” He shrugged. “Because I was responsible. This year I decided I needed to. To move on, to get better. To grow up, I guess. I knew I’d never be able to give myself properly to anyone else, or live the life Phoebe would have wanted me to live, if I kept myself wrapped up in this armor of self-hatred and guilt.” He looked down at his hands in hers. “I guess it was just time.” He didn’t want to look up at her, lest he see recrimination in her eyes. Or worse, see that he pricked her own grief with his indulgent outpouring.

But when he looked at her, he saw only warmth and understanding in her eyes. And maybe something else.

Recognition?

Slowly, she stood from her seat and walked to where Rick was sitting. She slid wordlessly in next to him, then reached up her arms and wrapped him in them. He was enveloped in the candy-sweet warmth of her.

“I get it, Rick,” she whispered in his ear. “I can honestly tell you that I really do get it.”

She pulled away from him, and Rick felt himself sigh at the loss of her. But she stayed close, and began speaking into her drink. “I wanted to call her Phoebe,” she said.

At first, Rick was confused. Then he saw that gesture, her tell. Her hand went to her stomach, and she could not meet his eyes. Of course, the baby.

Steffy went on. “If she was a girl, I’d planned to call her Phoebe,” she said. “But I didn’t know that of course …” Rick felt his chest constrict at the raw grief in her voice. “I still don’t know. They couldn't tell me.”

Rick went to put his arm around her again, but she shook it off. He knew that she was not rejecting his offer of comfort. He could feel from her gaze, directed at her glass, and from the set lines of her shoulders, that this was something she had to get out. “I loved my baby, you know. From the moment I knew about it, I loved it. But I was too foolish, too—” Her voice broke.

“Steffy.” He couldn’t bear it. “You don’t need to do this.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I do. I was too selfish to protect my baby properly, like a mother should. I got on that motorbike and it died. And you know what?”

Finally, she looked up at Rick and he could see that her eyes were wet with tears. He shook his head. “No,” he said. “What?”

“I never let myself cry for my baby. Not really. Just like you never let yourself cry for Phoebe.” She shrugged, looking down at her glass again and swirling the fine merlot around and around. “I cried out of bitterness, and I cried out of self-recrimination and I cried out of self-pity, and self-hatred.” She looked up at him again, and now the tears were coursing down her pink cheeks. “But it was only today, at that grave, that I really felt sorry for me. And for my baby. For what we lost in each other. I lost my baby. And I also lost the chance to ever,
ever
be a mother.”

Rick felt his sharp intake of breath as she said it. He hadn’t realized. But he didn’t say anything, because he could tell she wasn’t finished.

“I know I’ve done bad things. I know I probably deserve only bad things. But I never, ever dreamed that I deserved that.” The words seemed dragged from the deepest, darkest place in her. Her voice was low and ragged, and her face was creased with pain.

He took her hands from around the wineglass, very gently, feeling like she might break. He turned her toward him in the wide booth seat. She was still looking down at their hands, so he put one finger under her chin and lifted it up so she would meet his eyes.

“No,” he said. “No you did not, Steffy. You did not deserve any of it. And if I could take it away for you, I would.”

As he said the words, he enfolded her in his arms again, bringing her very close to him, almost pulling her into his lap. He wanted to shield and comfort her. There was something primal and terrifying about the force of his need to make it all okay for her.

He felt her melt against him.

Steffy inhaled deeply as she leaned against Rick’s shirt. He’d changed out of the one ruined by her mascara and unshed tears and he smelled like the outdoors, as he always had—the sea, salt and a faint trace of earthiness. A very light cologne overlaid the other scents and Steffy found herself breathing deeply, enjoying the comforting but sensual fragrances.

Rick’s arms were tight and warm around her. For the first time in a long time, her muscles completely relaxed. It had been an exhausting day and one she was almost sure she could not have survived without Rick. His quiet, solid presence had held and comforted her. Without it, she was not sure she could have even made it to the cemetery.

And now this.

The little bistro was the perfect choice—quaint and dark, intimate without being romantic. The dark wood paneling and low ceilings reminded her of a place she had stopped with her father when he had insisted they take a drive to the Loire Valley one weekend.

As she felt herself melt against Rick, something shifted between them. Again. His arms, which had been firm but relaxed, tensed a little, and he shifted in his seat. She felt his nose press down lightly into her hair. He picked up one long, loose curl and wrapped it around his finger, seeming to enjoy the silky length of it. The soft tug on her scalp galvanized her senses, awakening her skin and lighting a trail down her neck to her spine.

This sweet, comforting hug seemed to be turning into something else entirely, and while Steffy was pretty sure she should stop it in its tracks, her body didn’t seem to agree. Ten more seconds, she promised herself.

But it was ten seconds too long. Because as she leaned against the hard length of the man who had been caring for her all day, a familiar voice broke into her reverie.

“Steffy!”

She sprang from Rick’s arms as though Liam had caught her in his bed, not his embrace.

Liam looked furious and wild. His well-cut gray suit was askew, his tie flipped causally over one shoulder. Steffy registered dark shadows under his eyes and tense lines around his mouth. His gaze was thunderous, looking from Steffy to Rick as though they were teenagers and he was the father who had discovered them necking in the back of a car.

“Liam?” Steffy’s brain hurried to catch up. “Why are you here? How did you know where I—”

“Feeling guilty?” Liam’s voice could have sliced through diamond. If Steffy thought he had been upset with her the night before, it was nothing on the freeze he was laying down now. He stood close to the edge of the booth and Steffy wriggled out to stand in front of him. Rick followed, his hands held up in front of him in a calming gesture.

“Liam,” Rick said. “This is not what you’re thinking.”

Liam stepped toward Rick, his face closed and his brown eyes darkening almost to black. “Oh, and you’d know all about what I’m thinking, wouldn’t you, Rick?”

Steffy watched Liam and Rick standing close to each other. Rick, who had been so careful and gentle with Steffy all day, was suddenly poised for action. She had thought this morning that he seemed more powerfully built than she had remembered, and the thought came to her again as she watched him, his fists bunched and his body braced in the stance of a boxer.

Steffy’s head swam. No. This was all wrong. She did not need this. Not today. It was ridiculous. She and Rick had been doing nothing wrong. Okay, she had felt the subtle shift between them as Rick hugged her, but thoughts were not deeds. Rick had been giving her a comforting hug. He knew better than anyone what she had been through today. And she had gripped him like a lifeline. She was not prepared to feel bad about that now, not when Liam had so continuously refused to acknowledge her pain, or even her right to grieve. He had been pretty clear last night that things were over between them. Who was he to come here now and start scowling and growling at them both?

Steffy carefully inserted her body between the two men, feeling the air thicken around her. She faced Liam.

Liam’s brown eyes shifted from narrow and dark to wide and uncertain. That little-boy-lost look that she knew so well and loved so much. When he was like this, there was a vulnerability to him that touched something inside her. “Why? Why did you ask Rick to come to the cemetery with you? I would have come. You only had to ask.”

Steffy’s head swam, and the tight pull of a headache drilled at the back of her neck. She swallowed hard on the lump that rose like a stone in her throat. “I don’t want to have to ask,” she whispered.

And she realized it was true. She had never consciously thought that she wanted Liam to talk to her about her sister, and about what this day did to her every year. But after today, after Rick’s comfort and concern, she knew she had been missing something. It felt good to have someone ask about her, care about her, wonder if she was okay on this awful day.

When she saw Liam’s eyes narrow again, she rushed to fill the silence. “I mean, I didn’t plan it.” She stepped back and turned to Rick, imploring him with her eyes. “We didn’t plan it. I just ran into him, at the florist. It’s something we share. It’s—”

Liam held up a hand. “Well, that’s Rick, isn’t it?’ he scoffed. ‘Mr. Convenience. Always in the right place at the right time.
A swell guy
.” Liam’s mouth twisted into a wry line.

“Liam!” Steffy was shocked by the bitterness in Liam’s voice. She wondered what else this was about. Last night, they had both been clear that things were over between them. He had been furious with her, and she with him. Why did he think he now had rights to her? And why was he so incensed with Rick?

“Don’t ‘Liam’ me,” he growled, and she could feel his fury growing. “I suppose it was just convenient to stop off at this nice little place on the way back. Have a drink and a bite to eat to soothe your souls after a hard day.”

Rick stepped forward, looking like he had had just about enough of Liam’s accusations.

“She’s tired, Liam,” he said, putting a hand on Steffy’s arm. “Look at her. Can’t you see? All she’s been through in the last few months. And then today.”

A low growl slid from Liam’s mouth. “Don’t talk to me about all she’s been through, Forrester,” he said. “I’ve been through it with her. We went through it, together. And don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, what this is all about. You’ve never been crazy about my personal life. And my choices.” He said the last word slowly and deliberately.

Steffy looked at Liam carefully, shaking her head as she tried to process what he was saying.

“You didn’t much like it when Hope and I were happy either,” Liam said, making sure Rick knew what he meant. “You had to be the disapproving brother. And now Steffy. Once again, it’s as though you’re determined to get in my way.”

Steffy felt Rick’s hand tighten on her arm and the world seemed to slow down. The small, dark bar suddenly seemed very close. The lights swam in her vision.

Oh my God. Hope.

This was all about
Hope
.

And Liam. Liam not getting what he wanted. Liam being thwarted. It wasn’t about her at all. Not about wanting her. Not about caring for her.

She remembered how Rick hadn’t liked the thought of his sister being with Liam, had worked to come between them.

“You didn’t like me with Hope,” Liam pushed, oblivious to the effect his words were having on Steffy. “It’s like you can’t stand for anyone else to be happy.”

Happy? Steffy felt like laughing. Yet again, this was all about Liam and his happiness, his desires.

Her gaze settled on the elegant silver candelabra in the center of the booth. She wanted to pick it up and hit Liam over the head with it. How could he not see what he was doing? How could he not understand how his words would make her feel? Steffy’s eyes flicked from the table to Rick’s face. She expected it to mirror Liam’s closed fury, but he was looking at her, his eyes locked onto hers, blue and sad and careful. He squeezed her arm again.

“This is not about you, Liam,” Rick said, and Steffy could tell he was working hard to keep his voice even. It sounded strained and unnatural, so different than the warm, laughing tone she had been enjoying for the last couple of hours. “This is about Steffy. And—” Steffy saw Rick swallow quickly. “And Phoebe. It’s their day.” Rick’s face changed. His blue eyes darkened and the red mark on his cheek stood out sharply in the dim light. “For once, it’s not about Liam Spencer and all his women.”

Liam stepped forward and grasped Rick’s shirt with his left hand, drawing back his right arm like a crossbow string, tensed for flight. His scowl deepened, his mouth open in a snarl of fury, and his eyes shot fire at Rick. Then his right hand shot forward, the fingers curled into a fist. It was like every bar brawl in every bad movie Steffy had ever seen.

Rick was not expecting it. He barely had time to try to step back and raise his own arms before the blow landed. Steffy heard the sickening crunch of fist on flesh and bone as Rick went down, crashing against the booth behind them. A woman sitting a few tables away screamed as Rick’s head crashed against the wood.

“Stay away from her, Forrester,” Liam snarled.

But Rick was not down for the count. He lurched up, advancing on Liam. “Why, Liam? I thought that was your job. To stay away from her when she needs you.”

Steffy tried to get her body between them again, but it had gone too far. Liam rocked back onto his heels as Rick pivoted forward, the left side of his face now sporting a bloody cut close to where Caroline had left her mark. He shoved Liam hard in the chest, knocking him off balance, before drawing back his own fist and smashing it into Liam’s scowling face. Before Steffy could blink, Rick had landed another blow, this time with his left fist. Steffy was astonished at the power behind it. She had never known him so fit and muscular, and she could see that Liam was hurting as he fell back.

“Rick, no!” Steffy launched herself at Liam, lying on the floor, trying to cover him with her body. This was an uneven match. Liam was angry, and filled with righteous indignation, but Rick was a formidable opponent. And he was not a man who liked to be pushed.

Steffy dragged Liam up and stood between them. “Stop it,” she begged again, seeing two more men advance on the little group from the corner of her eye. “This is ridiculous. I’m not some prize for you to be fighting over.”

Rick held up his hands and his face cleared. “Hey,” he said. “I’m not interested in fighting. But I’m not going to let him push me—or you—around.”

As Rick said those words, Steffy knew he was right. There was something so determined and hard in his voice. She felt hot and sick at the violence that had erupted, but she also knew that Rick had been left with very little choice. He had been helping and defending Steffy, and then he had been left with no option but to defend himself. She didn’t really understand it, and she loathed the violence, but a part of her also felt warm and safe, knowing that at least one person had her back today. And that person seemed to be someone entirely different from the Rick she had known before. Someone who was growing up, thinking about his actions and his responsibilities.

Her head swam as she tried to make sense of it all.

Liam’s face was red and a bloody cut slashed the edge of one eye. He opened his mouth to retort as the maître d’ interrupted. The man was dressed in an elegant back coat and he was a picture of restrained discretion.

“Is everything under control here?”

Steffy knew that anyone else would have been thrown out at this point, but she had seen the manager’s eyes light up as they’d entered. Both Steffy and Rick were well known in Los Angeles, and he would have been thrilled at their patronage. The thought made her feel a little dizzy. The Forrester name again, opening doors and gaining advantages no one else would ever know. Even when they were having a fight in a bar.

“We’re fine,” Liam said tightly to the maître d’. “Just a little disagreement. Show’s over.”

“Thank you, sir,” the manager said, appraising the bloodied faces of the two men. “Perhaps it’s time to call it a night?” He raised an eyebrow and retreated.

Steffy stood uncertainly between the two men, trying to think through what she needed to do. Rick put a hand on her arm again, and the heat of his fingers burned through to her skin.

“I’ll go and fix up the bill,” he said and smiled wryly. “And clean up.” He pointed at his bloody face. “Will you be okay here, Steffy?” He motioned in Liam’s direction, not looking at him. “I’ll give you some time, but I’ll come back and get you, take you home.”

Liam growled again. “That won’t be necessary, Forrester,” he snapped. “I can take Steffy home.”

Steffy’s skin prickled. “No, Liam,” she said. How could he think she would do that? Leave Rick here, after all he had done for her today? After Liam had punched him for nothing more than supporting Steffy. The thought made a warm flush creep up her arms and neck. Liam was so used to Steffy wanting him, being there for him, he really thought he could do anything he liked, to anyone he liked, and she would still be his.

Well, things were different now. She was not some possession, least of all Liam’s.

“I came here with Rick and I’ll be leaving with him. Get the check, Rick, and I’ll talk to Liam.”

Rick gave her a last, searching look, as though checking she really would be okay if he left her, and then headed toward the bathroom. Steffy slid into one side of the booth, waving her hand at Liam to slide in the opposite side. Liam hesitated, then sat, reaching across the table for her hands. She handed him an elegant white linen napkin instead.

“Hold this to your eye.”

Liam picked it up but didn’t put it to his eye. The cut was bulging and angry, and the love and concern Steffy had always felt for him rose to the surface.

“I think we should get you some attention,” she said. “That looks nasty and it’s very close to your eye.”

Liam shook his head, finally pressing the napkin to his eye to wipe the blood away. “It’s nothing,” he said. He carefully placed the cloth down, and Steffy was distracted by the dark red stain on the white linen. The sight of the blood made her tummy swim again. She had been on the edge of nausea all day, and now it threatened her again. So much to take in. This was such an important day for her; it was about Phoebe, and it was about her baby as well.