by Mia Asher
“But—”
“No. I don’t want any of it. I want you. Just you. Anyway, I just got to Carl’s. I’ve got to go. I’ll see you at the hotel. Love you.”
After hanging up, I stare numbly at the elegant writing on the expensive paper. As Jackie’s words beat me down over and over again, I think of Ronan and our future together. I know that Ronan said that he doesn’t care about the exhibit and how close he is to achieving his dream, but will he still feel the same way when he’s starting all over again, struggling between jobs? Could I look Ronan in the eye and live with myself knowing that I stopped his career because I was selfish?
I’ve lived all my life thinking about no one but myself. My needs and my wants. I never once stopped to consider the consequences of my actions. And because of that, I’ve hurt so many people.
But I can’t do that anymore.
Least of all to Ronan.
I love him too much to let him sacrifice his dreams for me.
I stand by the door and take one last look at my apartment. Every memory, happy and sad and somewhere in between, will remain behind. I need them to stay here, if I am to survive the next few hours, the next few days, the next few months, the next few years—the rest of my life. I must try. I must try for him.
I press a hand to my chest, making sure that my heart is still beating. It feels broken past remedy. But it does. It beats. It beats for him.
It always will.
Ronan
About an hour late, I arrive at the hotel. It took a little longer than I expected to explain to Carl that I wasn’t going to be part of the exhibit. The man wasn’t happy. But he mellowed when I mentioned that he could keep all the photographs and sell them for however much money he wanted. As I was leaving, he told me that I was a fool to throw it all away for a woman. I laughed, not at him, but because life was so fucking sweet. I looked him in the eye and said that I would rather be a fool than to live a life without her in it, and then I left.
I run to the room. I can’t be bothered with patience. Not when my body is vibrating with energy—with love for the woman waiting for me behind those doors. Happiness, need, and the yearning to be reunited with her propel my every step.
I get off the elevator in a rush, bumping into an older lady who appears to be my grandmother’s age. Once I apologize, I impulsively take her by the arms and waltz with her, making her smile and blush rosily as we glide across the hallway. I’m so damn happy, I want the entire world to share the moment with me. I twirl her slowly as we both laugh. She calls me a crazy boy. I tell her that I am crazy—crazy for a woman.
“Oh my goodness,” she says, fanning herself. “It’s been many, many years since I last danced with a handsome stranger such as yourself.”
“The pleasure is all mine, ma’am,” I say, letting her go, and smile shamelessly. “Now if you excuse me,” I take her hand in mine, bowing over it, and kiss it. “My woman is waiting for me.”
I open the door expecting to find Blaire reading in bed. Instead, I’m met with a room bathed in darkness. Odd. Frowning, I reach for the switch and turn the lights on. The bed is empty and so is the room. “Blaire? Are you here, babe?” I ask, heading to the bathroom. Maybe she’s taking a shower. She isn’t in there either.
Slowly, I walk back and look around for any signs that Blaire was even here. As I’m scanning the furniture, there’s a knock at the door. Relief floods me, making me dizzy. There she is. She was just running late. Like me.
There’s a man dressed in the hotel uniform staring at me. “Mr. Geraghty?”
“Yes?”
“A lady dropped this letter for you. She asked me to give it to you personally.”
I shove him to the side and swiftly step outside. “Is she here? Where is she?” Panic rises inside me. No … this can’t be happening. Not again.
“Where is she, man?” My voice sounds desperate. “Where is she?”
“She left, sir.” He swallows, measuring his next words. “I helped her get in a cab.”
My ears begin to ring as I retrieve the letter from his hands. After tipping him, I close the door and attempt to open the envelope. It takes me a few tries because my hands won’t stop shaking. Cursing, I close my eyes tight and breathe deeply.
Ronan,
I want to lie to you and tell you that I don’t love you and that we can’t be together anymore to make this easier for both of us, but I can’t. You deserve more than that. You deserve my honesty.
I love you so much it hurts. It hurts not to be there with you right now. It hurts to know that our dream won’t ever come true. And it hurts because I finally had you just to lose you all over again. My love for you is the only thing that is pure in this tarnished body of mine. And I refuse to taint it with my selfishness. It is because of that love that I’m letting you go, my eternal summer.
I’m setting you free.
I can’t let you sacrifice your career for me, Ronan. Not when you’re so close to achieving everything that you’ve dreamed of.
You were meant to soar, to be adored.
You deserve all the success that you have coming your way, and the last thing you need is someone like me holding you back. Our short-lived daydream painted such beauty, such hope, but I would never forgive myself if you gave it all up to be with me. Eventually, you would grow to resent me, maybe even hate me, and I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if you did.
I hate to say good-bye to you like this, but I’m weak. I don’t think I would be able to let you go if I saw you again. I would fist fight through the pain and all the righteous reasoning to keep you close to me.
Maybe one day we’ll meet again, but if we don’t, know that I will always be waiting for you in that place between sleep and lucidity where dreams come alive. That’s where our love will always exist.
Don’t look for me, please. Move on. Live. Love again.
Yours always and forever.
Blaire.
Something falls out, catching my attention. Bending down, I pick up Blaire’s paper ring. I grip it tight in my fist as I sit down on the bed and will myself to feel something. Anything. But there’s nothing left inside me.
It is all gone.
Blaire
Two months after…
NUMB.
How can I go on?
Will I ever be able to?
Blaire
Six months after …
THERE’S A FOG THAT HAS settled around me. Grief holds me back and I can’t break past it. I panic. I breathe in and exhale. Tell myself that it will get better. It must. So I keep walking, with my arms outstretched, hoping to eventually find my way.
Blaire
A few years later …
“HOW ARE YOU DOING?” my mom asks on the phone. “Are you excited?”
I throw the rest of my breakfast away and wipe the counter of my small kitchen clean. Gripping my cell tighter, I smile. “You have no idea. I can’t believe that I’m going to Paris in a few days.”
“Don’t forget to buy a nice gift for Joanna and Jacob, honey.”
“Already got it, Mom. And I also called them yesterday to thank them for giving me the job.”
A couple years ago, heartbroken and unsure of what to do with my life, I went back home and spent the rest of the winter and spring with my mom. It wasn’t easy at first, but every single argument was worth it in the end. Together we found forgiveness and eventually love.
As the days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months, I came to the realization that somehow, unbeknownst to me, a part of my core had changed. My mom had told me that if I wanted change, it had to start from within, and she was right.
I couldn’t go back to sleeping with men for money. The thought alone made me sick. There was a time when I could have given my body to a man who I didn’t love. He would finish, I would go home, sore between the legs, numb, my pride in shreds and with a bank account full of money. I wasn’t happy. However, I was safe. But how could I go back after every
thing that I had shared with Ronan and when every part of me still belonged to him? It was unthinkable.
Change doesn’t happen overnight. But the hunger, the thirst to make something of myself bloomed like a flower in early spring. And suddenly the barren landscape that my life morphed into wasn’t so barren anymore. That’s when I decided to go back to New York City, enroll in school, and get my art degree.
It hasn’t been easy. Far from it. But for once in my life I can say that I’m proud of myself. Learning to forgive and love myself came later … and that took a lot more work than I expected. It’s no easy feat to let go of a lifetime full of hang-ups. It’s a daily battle.
“Are you sure that Elly’s husband won’t mind you staying in their apartment while you work there?” my mom asks, concern embedded in her voice.
I pick up my bag and keys, locking the door behind me. “Nope. Alessandro is the sweetest man. He told me that his parents own another apartment that they can always stay at. It doesn’t matter, anyway. I’m hoping to save enough money working at Joanna and Jacob’s art gallery to be able to afford my own place.”
“Well, that’s good.”
We chat some more about what my plans are for the rest of my belongings that I can’t bring with me to Paris, and the cute barista who took me out on a third date the other night. When she asks me if he spent the night over at my apartment, I decide to quickly end the conversation. We’ve grown extremely close, but I’m definitely not going there with my mom. Besides, how could I explain to her that yes, he did come back and it felt lovely to be touched again, to be wanted, to be kissed. But the moment I tried to be physically intimate with a man for the first time in years, I panicked and broke down in tears. Poor Phoenix—cute barista, actually, mega-hot barista, who happens to make a killer latte—just held me in his arms, rocking a massive and very painful erection while I cried.
I give my head a little shake, feeling myself blush with embarrassment. Yeah, I was definitely not going there with my mom.
Getting off the train, I make my way to the deli outside my subway stop and buy flowers. I take my iPhone out of my purse, check the time, making sure that I’m not running late for work, and then walk into the coffee shop next door. I spot Phoenix immediately. It’s impossible to miss him—tallest guy around, tatted, and drop-dead gorgeous. His electric blue gaze lands on me as soon as I walk in. I blush under his roving and appreciative eye.
He walks toward me, cocky smile in place, as he pushes some of his black hair away from his face. “Mornin’, gorgeous. I didn’t expect to see you today.”
I laugh. “You should have more faith in me.”
“I do, that’s why I haven’t stopped asking you out for the past two years.”
“Two years.” I scrunch up my nose. “It really has been that long?” I do the math in my head and grimace. He’s right. Thing is, for most of my life I had always been in a relationship with a man, or dependent on one. I didn’t know what being single was. I didn’t know who I was outside of a relationship, and it felt nice to get to know myself.
“Yep.” He leans down to kiss me on the cheek, but his mouth lands on the corner of my lips. I tell you. He’s smooth. “Anyway, I figured you needed some space after the other night.”
“Here,” I say, handing him the flowers I just bought. “My apology.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “Well, this is a first. No one has ever bought me flowers before.”
I place a hand on top of his arm. “Do you have a few minutes? I need to talk to you.”
He turns to look behind us, toward the counter where a very pretty and dainty girl with blue hair is preparing some drinks. “Winter, I’ll be back in a few. Give me a shout if you need me.”
When we step outside the coffee shop, he reclines his back on the wall while he crosses his muscled arms across his even more muscled chest. “All right, gorgeous. What is it?”
I stare at the pavement, noticing that my shoes have seen better days. “I just wanted to explain to you what happened back … you know … the other night.”
“Blaire,” the teasing tone in his voice is gone, “you don’t have to explain anything to me. We got carried away and you weren’t ready. End of story. Now, question is when do we get to try again?” he asks cheekily.
“Seriously?”
He grins. “Can’t fault a man for tryin’.”
“You’re a brave man for even thinking about it, Phoenix. I pretty much lost it. Like, total psycho move.”
He chuckles, and even the chuckle is sexy, but that’s Phoenix for you. “Can’t promise you that one day I’ll look back to that night and think of it as one of my fondest memories.”
“You’re too much.” I laugh. “So am I forgiven?”
“Always. But can I just say something?”
“Go ahead.”
“Eventually you’re going to have to let his memory go, Blaire. You’re young, smart, beautiful, and so much fuckin’ fun. A memory won’t warm your bed at night. Not like I could anyway.”
Phoenix is right. I know that, and that’s why I finally agreed to go out with him. But what happens when your heart is deaf to reason and blind to every man who isn’t a world-renowned photographer with brown eyes?
“I know, Phoenix.” I take his arm in mine, patting his hand, and walk inside the coffee shop. “I’m trying, I promise.”
“Every time I see an article written about how fucking talented he is, my hands itch to punch his pretty face,” he says angrily.
“Don’t say that. I’m proud of him.” His success makes the pain worthwhile. I recline my head on his arm since I’m too short to reach his shoulder. A long time ago, the mention of his name alone would have been like a knife to the heart. Not a day goes by when it doesn’t hurt, but at least I can look at his pictures and read about him without falling apart. “I’m going to miss you, Phoenix.”
“I’m going to miss you, too, Blaire.”
Back at work, I’m folding some dress shirts in the men’s department when a customer asks me to look up a sweater in a particular size. I take the item from his hands and head to the register. Distracted with my mind in Paris, I bump into a solid chest.
“Beg your pardon,” I apologize as I look up, beginning to move away.
The moment my eyes land on the man standing in front of me, I swear my heart stops beating momentarily. The world feels as though it stops spinning, and everything hangs in complete stillness.
“Blaire?”
Weak in the knees, I feel like I’m about to pass out. “Hello, Lawrence.”
Lawrence
STANDING IN FRONT OF ME is the woman who still haunts me in my dreams.
“Hello. I see that some things haven’t changed,” I say, attempting to smile but even that smile tastes bitter on my tongue.
She flinches as a blush rich in color spreads across her porcelain skin. Blaire, enchantress and tormentor, remains so beautiful even after all this time. “Actually, I work here.”
Surprised at her response, I begin to notice small changes in her appearance that at first didn’t register in my mind. Her long black hair is out of place, her clothes a little shabby, the color faded, and a pink watch on her wrist. But it’s the soft light in her eyes that arrests my attention. The hard, cynical look is missing.
And she takes my breath away.
Gone is the girl with the embittered smile that never quite reached her eyes. There’s no hardness left in her womanly body. She’s a stranger who is far lovelier than her counterpart ever was.
“Forgive me for assuming that—”
“No need to apologize, Lawrence.” She lowers her gaze to the floor, depriving me of seeing her face. It makes me want to rage, to take her in my arms and beg her not to ever look away from me again. I’ve gone so long without it already.
“You haven’t forgiven me, have you?” she asks sadly, the words almost whispered.
Instinctively, I reach out to touch her but stop myself just in time. I lowe
r my hand, burying it in my pocket. “The past belongs in the past.” I’ve forgiven you, but I haven’t been able to forget you.
She remains silent.
“Have lunch with me.” The words come out unbidden from somewhere deep inside me as I stare at her profile, willing her to make eye contact with me.
She looks up then. Her eyes widen in surprise. “I can’t.”
I’m a fucking fool. What did I expect? That she would come running into my arms? “I see … Well, it was great seeing you. I better go—”
“But I can do dinner,” she adds quickly.
Blaire
I arrive at a small Italian restaurant of Lawrence’s choice. There can’t be more than ten tables. I stand on my tiptoes and look for him, finding him sitting all the way at the back, away from the crowd. When our eyes connect, we both smile at the same time. He stands as I make my way to him. Even after all this time, my heart still skips a beat at the sight of his rare smiles.
Lawrence places a hand on the small of my back as he leans in and kisses my cheek. The moment his mouth comes into contact with my skin, a shiver runs down my spine. Funny how my body hasn’t forgotten what it’s like to be touched by him.
“Sorry I’m late … I had to unpack some of my suitcases to find something decent to wear.”
A waiter comes over to take my coat, but Lawrence dismisses him. “Allow me.” His fingers brush my bare shoulders as he helps me. He takes the chair in front of me and pulls it out. “You look beautiful,” he says, his voice a caress as I sit down.
“Thank you.” Suddenly feeling extremely nervous, I reach for the menu and go over it. It gives me the perfect excuse not to look him in the eye.
He pulls the menu away, his hand settling on top of mine. “Don’t be afraid, Blaire. Not of me,” he adds huskily.
Swiftly, I lift my eyes and meet his stare. “It’s not that … I’m nervous.”
“Why?”
I focus on his tanned hand on mine, and it’s turns out to be a mistake. Because as I do, memories of how intimately that hand has touched me, how well it knows every part of my body, flood my mind. “Why am I nervous, he asks?” I repeat incredulously. “Do you really have to ask?”
