by S. M. West
“He is.” She stomps her foot and scrunches her face in exasperation. “He knows Pippa. He told me things that only someone who knows her would know. He saw her two days ago and she told him.”
“What did she say?” I’m a demanding jackass.
But I’m having an out-of-body experience, watching myself from the corner of the room, unable to stop the warped, overzealous need to not accept what Paige is saying. Lies. They are all lies. I want to destroy this version of Pippa’s life that I can’t bear to believe.
“She told him she needed his help. Her marriage is over, and she wants to get away.” She runs her fingers through her already-tousled hair. “Why are you doing this?”
“What?”
“Being a dick. Fighting me. I thought for sure you’d help.” She licks at her now-dry lips. “At first, I was going to tell her parents, but I just couldn’t. They already feel like shit, missing Pippa and not understanding why she’s been so distant. Dammit, I didn’t even understand until now.”
“You think this phone call now explains everything?” My tone is incredulous and, dare I say, dismissive. The lawyer in me has come out and I’m treating my sister as a witness who needs discrediting.
“Yes.” She’s emphatic and a bit of hurt surfaces in her scathing gaze.
Unable to look at me, she starts to pace. I’ve derailed her thoughts and potential calm floats through me. Maybe she’ll drop this. Although I’m not sure that would be the best thing either. I don’t know what the best thing is right now.
Stuck in my head, searching for something, anything, to throw back at her, I remain silent, but Paige eventually finds her footing.
“Then I thought about telling Finn.”
“Fuck, no,” I snarl, and she growls in response, baring her teeth.
“I know. I wouldn’t do this to him. I’d only be creating a mess. Besides, he’s on his honeymoon. I thought for sure you were the best one to help. You still love her.” She pauses, looking up at me as if she sees into my soul, and I avert my gaze. “You do love her, don’t you?” Now there’s a hint of doubt in her voice.
“Yes,” I clip, never ashamed to admit how I feel about her best friend but also feeling too raw to linger too long on it. I turn my back to her and rake my shaking hand through my hair.
“I could go alone. I will go alone if I have to,” Paige says.
“You’re not going anywhere.” I turn violently around to face her.
My hands clutch at my hair and pull, needing another kind of pain to take away the unbearable pressure mounting in my chest. Why the fuck am I so unsettled by this information that is sketchy at best?
Rounding my desk, I push down on the button for my assistant.
“Mr. Hayes?”
“Linda, there’s been a family emergency and I need to go to California. Get me on a flight to LA for…” I pause, glancing at my watch while quickly calculating how much time I need to tie up loose ends. “Early this afternoon at the earliest.”
“Certainly, sir. Um, you’re due in court in forty minutes. Are you still—”
I cut her off. “I’ll brief Ms. Baker and get her to do it. Thanks.”
Ending the call, I collapse into my chair and rest my elbows on the desk, staring blankly at my sister, who is now sitting at the small conference table in the corner.
“I want to come with you,” she says.
“No. We don’t know what we’re dealing with and you’re right, I’m the best one to go.”
She wrinkles her brow and cocks her head to one side. “What does that mean?”
“Pip and I haven’t spoken in years and while we aren’t fighting, we’re basically… nothing.” Like a punch to the gut, anything further I have to say is severed by my poor choice of words.
Nothing.
Is that what we are?
“Ooo-kay? I’m not following.”
“Shit, I’m not making sense, am I?” Sweat trickles down the back of my neck beneath my blue dress shirt. “What I mean is, if this is bullshit and we have it wrong or this Mason guy is an asshole, playing some fucked-up game, she can lose her shit on me. I’m the best person for her to take it out on. This way no one has to be unnecessarily alarmed and we can forget about it if it’s fake.”
“Why are you so quick to think this is BS?” Paige now stands, tucking a few errant locks behind her ear. “I spoke to Mason, I believe him. You don’t believe me?”
Blowing out an exasperated breath, I push back my chair. “Nah, it isn’t that. I, just...” Not wanting to get into it, I switch gears. “If I’m going to make this flight, I’ve got stuff to square away. I’ll text you with my details and keep you in the loop.”
Shaking her head, she heads for the door. “You better, or else I’m getting on a plane and will see you in LA.”
“Don’t do anything foolish. I promise to let you know what’s going on.”
“Fine. But Drew.” She peers at me over her shoulder, the door now open. “This doesn’t feel like bullshit. He was concerned and while he didn’t know for sure what was wrong, he was without a doubt certain that she needed us.”
“All right.” I swallow past the lump in my throat. “You did good by coming to me. I’ll make sure she’s okay.”
Paige nods, smiling weakly before shutting the door behind her.
Alone, my insides vibrate with uncontrolled emotions. All this time, one question keeps running through the back of my mind: why am I so quick to reject this news? And if it’s true, why am I so goddamn scared?
Because it means pushing her away led to another fuck-up. She’s in another kind of nightmare. Or because, selfishly, if her marriage is over, it could mean there’s a glimmer of hope in hell for a second chance with the love of my life.
5
Pippa
I rest my forehead on the cool hard metal of the front door, closing my eyes, and I wrestle to get air back into my tightened lungs. Not too much longer and I should be able to breathe again. All I need now is something to eat, a bath, and then sleep. Tomorrow is another day, and a big one at that.
Riggs has already come through for me with finding a divorce lawyer, Rachel Danvers, even though I only just saw him two days ago. He also pulled some strings and Ms. Danvers fit me in for our first meeting this afternoon. It went well. I like her and I’m feeling good. Hopeful.
More importantly, so far, Brock doesn’t suspect a thing. We’ve had no more arguments or incidents since Matt, and he’s focused on his upcoming game. Only one more day and then he’s gone. I can do this.
I’m not sure how long I lean against the door before there’s a knock. Shit. Who is it now? My plans were dinner and then solitude. I hope whoever is on the other side of this door doesn’t mess with my night.
I open the door and at first sight, the fine hairs on the back of my neck rise and my mouth dries.
Dark blond hair. Sea green eyes. Handsome, tall, and lean. And that smile.
“Drew?” I choke back warring emotions of horror and elation as I stare at the man who shattered me into a zillion little pieces that I’ve been unable to piece back together again.
He’s smiling, and his twinkling eyes stab me square in the chest like a stake driven through my heart. I pinch my arm, unsure I can trust what I see.
I dream of Drew all the time, even when I shouldn’t, so this could be my mind playing tricks on me. Perhaps I’m already asleep and, like always, have sought the one person who still brings me happiness and peace, if only in my dreams.
With a tentative step toward me, his arms open and he leans in for a hug. Still not believing what I see, my arms remain fixed and stiff at my sides. He must read my shock as aloofness since he straightens and steps back at the same time I realize he is real and lift my arms to accept his embrace
Our gazes lock, my heart skipping to an erratic and dangerous beat, and we laugh nervously at our awkwardness. The sound of his deep, honeyed chuckle jolts my senses and I can’t deny this is real.
Drew is he
re, holding out his arms for me and despite any misgivings, I want this. I want him.
“C’mon here.” His voice is gruff and rumbles through me like hot chocolate as his arms engulf my body.
My heart stops beating.
This can’t be real.
Even in my wildest dreams, Drew didn’t feel like this.
I tighten my hold around his middle, my ear against his chest, and the strong, steady beat of his heart makes all feel right with the world.
His firm, soft touch and citrus and spice smell drag me back to the sweetest time of my life, when Drew was my everything.
But what I’m feeling now, here, is real. Sighing, I sink further into Drew.
6
Drew
Sweet mercy.
Pippa.
My heart lurches and deep within me something unexpected but welcomed and consuming blooms as her sweet, soft body melts into mine. We’ve been apart for years—no sight or sound from her—and now, she’s in my arms.
I’m here, breathing in her honeysuckle scent, feeling her perfect frame against me and blinking back my joy. I don’t want to believe she isn’t happy.
The last time I laid eyes on her, she was moments away from vowing to love and cherish another man. Breaking up with her broke me but witnessing her waltz down the aisle, toward another man, another future, killed me.
Despite coming with the intention, I didn’t stop the wedding and vowed to stay away because I believed she was happy. And if that’s true and she is living her best life, then I shouldn’t be here.
Fuck. I’m going to drive myself mad.
It’s too soon to face the reality of why I’m here. Relish the moment, that’s what I need to do, and that starts with not wanting to let her go.
I tighten my grip, but my movement breaks the spell and she pulls from my hold; I groan in protest. Her eyes of ocean blue stare at me, wide and incredulous, drawing me into her. Her flaxen hair frames her tense, pretty features.
“What? What are you doing here?”
She looks the same but different. Thinner, too thin, and her pallid complexion is so far from the golden glow I’m used to. Her normal, brilliant smile is missing, and her eyes are dull. Is she sick? Is that what Mason picked up on? The thought is so unexpected and terrifying that it kicks me in the gut.
“Drew.” My name comes out terse. “What are you doing here?”
A grateful smile pulls at the corners of my mouth. “Hi,” is all I can say. So grateful to have another chance to see her in the flesh.
I had ample time during the flight to mull over how best to play this. I mean, how does one just waltz back into an ex’s life, claiming you’re here to help without knowing how or why?
Not to mention that Pippa would castrate me if she thought I was playing knight in shining armor. She doesn’t need anyone to save her.
I’m here because of Mason Riggs and his supposed claims. I thought about contacting him and pushing for more details but decided against it. Because if I did that, then I’d have no reason to see Pippa, so screw that. I figure I’ll watch and learn at first before I say anything. And above all else, whether Mason is lying or not, I’ll make the most of this visit.
For starters, I’m not going to let the past dictate our future. Our future. I say that like we have one. I’m not going to let this encounter be uncomfortable or heated. I’m not going to let the past prevent us from finding our friendship. I’m not leaving until it feels right.
Complete.
“Drew.” She folds her arms tightly across her body and her lips thin.
“Mrs. Sullivan?” An elderly woman nears the door.
She glances back, allowing me a longer look at her. My Pippa.
My Pippa.
“Mrs. Clyde, it’s okay.” Her gaze flits from me to the older woman. “You can put that in the kitchen.”
Her chin dips to the tray in the woman’s hands filled with a serving of chicken Caesar salad. Mrs. Clyde hesitates, then nods and returns the way she came.
“May I come in?” I don’t wait for a response, pushing past her into a large foyer.
“You haven’t answered me.” She’s agitated and I barely contain the smile spreading at the emergence of her familiar fire.
It’s nice to see her burning spirit, even if her fury is directed at me. But my amusement goes undetected; her gaze is fixed beyond the front door, peering into the dark. What is she looking for? Her expression morphs to apprehension, her annoyance no longer in sight.
“I’m starving. Do you have more of that chicken salad? May I have some? Is the kitchen this way?” I unleash my specialty: rapid fire questions as if in a courtroom cross-examining a potentially hostile witness. Bombardment usually gives me the upper hand.
Her mouth gapes wide open at my boldness before she snaps it shut. Then finding her wits, she says, “Fine. But where are you staying? You can’t stay here.”
With one last look outside, she shuts the door and walks down the hall. I follow, unfazed by her unfriendly welcome, silently perusing the finely furnished rooms. The décor doesn’t suit her, and from the little I know of her husband, this place doesn’t seem like him either. It’s like the house is for show. Something you’d see in Architectural Digest.
The kitchen is large and bright with more of a homey feel than the rest of the house. Mrs. Clyde is gathering her things when we enter.
“I’m off now unless you need me.”
“No, we’re good. This is an old friend.” Pippa points at me.
An old friend. I’ll take it. At least she didn’t say asshole or something worse.
“Drew Hayes, Mrs. Clyde.” She pulls another plate from a cupboard.
“Good evening, Mr. Hayes, pleasure to meet you.” The woman firmly shakes my hand. “I could set the table and serve. It won’t take long.”
“No. Thank you.” Pippa makes a shooing motion with her hands. “Go. Hubert’s waiting and we’re fine. Drew isn’t staying long.”
She shoots me a meaningful look and this time, I let my grin loose. Message received, Pip.
“Yeah, I’m not staying long.” I slyly add, “Tonight.”
Pippa releases a long rush of air and shakes her head. I sigh, relieved at her exhale. I wondered how long it would take her to realize she was holding her breath.
“Good night,” Mrs. Clyde says.
Then it’s just the two of us with our deep scars, dashed hopes, and love lost. If she could hear my thoughts, she’d tell me I wasn’t a casualty of our time together and that I don’t get to lament anything, I was the perpetrator. She isn’t wrong. If only I could turn back time and do it all over again.
She rests her hand on mine like she’s done countless times before, not thinking or remembering our time apart, and I love it.
“It’s great to see you,” I say genuinely, and our eyes meet. I can see her in there, the lively woman, buried deep within the almost shy, reserved—unrecognizable—woman in front of me.
Remembering our past or something else, she quickly snaps out of her fog and with trembling hands, pulls away as if burned by fire.
“It’s good to see you too.” She turns to fix a plate for me, placing the salad in front of me. “Sit.”
She averts her gaze and fidgets before raising her head and looking me straight in the eye.
“I’m sorry. I’m just... I’m nervous.”
She might as well have hit me over the head with a bottle because I’m stunned and I don’t know what to do with her stark honesty. If I open my mouth, I may never stop telling her how sorry I am, how much I love her and want her back.
“I make you nervous?” I force a steady tone. “There was a time when I was the only one to calm your nerves.”
“Things change.” She shrugs. “How long has it been since we last saw each other?”
Her question stings. I could tell her down to the minute how long it’s been, and to think she can’t recall. But really, what else should I expect?
&n
bsp; “Too long,” I barely say.
I may still be hung up on her, but she hasn’t stood still. This house is proof of that. She married a football star and lives thousands of miles away, on the other side of the continent.
“Smells good.” My stomach growls and she snickers, lighting a fire in my chest. “How are you?”
Pausing with the fork in mid-air, she brushes a few strands behind her ear. “Fine. You?”
I hate this chit-chat. Our conversations used to be real. I need real, to understand if she isn’t in a good place.
“Better now that I’ve seen you.”
She rolls her eyes, biting back a hint of a smile. I sound like a Hallmark movie and I’m giddy as we ease into a more comfortable vibe. She can poke fun at me all day long if it means things will get easier between us. More natural.
“What are you doing here?” she asks again.
“We miss you.” I swallow thickly. “I miss you.”
She hangs her head and a curtain of gold tumbles forward, blocking my view. “Drew.” My name is a faint sob striking my chest and I guess that she’s getting ready to shut me down.
“Cass and Finn’s wedding was amazing,” I say before she can twist the blade further in by telling me to stop or leave. “But it would have been perfect if you’d been there.”
Straightening, her eyes flutter closed, and her lips press together like she’s holding back. Holding back everything. Her light and spark are nowhere to be seen. Is it me? Or is this a different Pippa? Is this what Mason was talking about?
Her eyes open and she stares blankly, silent.
“Things would be better if you came home once in a while.” I’m relentless but she needs to hear the bitter truth.
“Please stop,” she whispers, shutting her eyes again, and this time it’s as if she’s left the room.
A chill sets in. The void of her.
I curl my fingers around her hand, lying flat on the countertop, hoping to make a connection. She’s lifeless in my hold and it’s kind of how I feel about this conversation. I’m present and giving, trying to reach her but she’s… sad.
