by S. M. West
With my phone in hand, I pull up her number. I don’t give a fuck about her jackhole of a husband or even what Finn might have to say. He’s the reason I broke up with her in the first place. Nothing will stop me from getting her back.
I text Pippa my hotel address and room number, my fingers pushing the screen with too much force. Text isn’t a great way to get through to someone but it’s all I’ve got.
Me: I’m not going without you.
Me: You might think you don’t have options or you’re a failure or you’ll be judged, but I swear to you – you do, you aren’t, and you won’t.
The three dots dance up and down. At least she’s read the text. I start the car and wait. The wait is never-ending. The dots disappear, and nothing. I wait and wait and wait, but my texts go unanswered. Finally, I send my last one. For now.
Me: Come home with me.
With my head resting on the steering wheel, I fight the urge to smash something by wrenching the car into drive with an unpleasant sound to the gears. I’ve got to talk to someone. The one person who understands Pippa almost as well as I do. Through the Bluetooth, Paige answers on the second ring.
“Hey, Drew, how’s sunny California?” Her bright voice tugs upward at the corners of my lips.
My call to Paige last night had been deliberately short for several reasons. It had been past midnight in Toronto, and she had work the next day, and it was too soon to tell if Pippa needed help.
So while I promised my sister an update, I told her Pippa seemed okay and I chose not to share any of my niggling concerns. Paige went to bed feeling relieved and now, I was about to undo all that.
“How’s Pippa? She kick your ass yet?” She snickers, loving the dig, and I’m silent, not wanting to kill her good mood. “Drew? Are you there?”
“Sorry.” I clear my throat. “I’m here.”
“What’s wrong?”
“The fucking asshole hits her,” I say, shaking violently.
“What?” she shrieks. “Pippa? Brock? Are we talking about Pippa?”
Guilt bangs around in my chest, doubling as my heart sinks at how careless and unfeeling I am. I should have lessened the blow. It isn’t easy to learn that your best friend’s husband beats her. I’m still reeling from the news and I was able to see Pippa, talk to her. Paige is eerily silent.
“If I get my hands on him, fucking star football player or not, I’m going to make him wish he was dead,” I say.
She screams into the phone and I swerve, her outburst taking me by surprise even though I can’t blame her. This nasty bit of information makes me want to destroy something, or more likely, someone.
“Oh my god! Drew, what are we going to do?” She pauses and then she cries, “She needs us. I want to kill him. I am going to kill him.”
On my way to the hotel, she continues to rant and rage, switching to why didn’t Pippa tell her? Then she pulls her head from her ass.
“Shit, this isn’t about me.” She sniffles. “Drew, what do we do? We can’t leave her there.”
“No shit, Sherlock,” I snap, again too late to curb my mounting anger.
“I’m coming.” Her breathing quickens as if she’s running around, likely throwing things into a suitcase.
The next five minutes are spent talking Paige out of getting on a plane and showing her how getting Pippa away from LA is the smarter option. She finally sees reason.
“The Rockets’ game on Sunday is in Seattle so Brock leaves soon. I’m going to talk to her again with him out of the picture.”
I hand the valet my car key before entering the hotel lobby.
“What if she goes with him?” Paige’s voice wobbles.
“I don’t know, but I’ll figure it out.”
“Drew, bring her home,” she cries, no longer holding back her fear and anguish.
“I intend to.” I slam my hotel room door and cringe as the walls reverberate.
I spend the rest of the day confirming the Rockets leave for Seattle today and driving by Pippa’s house one more time, but her car isn’t in the driveway and no one answers the door, so I send her several more texts.
I don’t know what to do next. Her parents should know, as should Finn. With my phone in hand, I open my texts, staring at Finn’s name. Shit, Finn.
Where do I even begin with him? He’s spent the past several years in therapy, learning how to cope with his unrealistic need to protect his sisters.
While in university and home for a break, a near-catastrophic incident involving his youngest sister, Claire, triggered his irrational fears. My relationship with Pippa, his other sister, stirred things up and it was a long and bumpy road. He’s in a good place now, accepting that he can’t control everything. But what if the news of Pippa’s abuse unravels all his therapy?
As if on the same wavelength, a text from Finn comes in. He’s on his honeymoon and happy. He has no idea that I’m in California and have seen Pippa. Text isn’t the way to do this. I need to talk to him, in person, and most important of all, this isn’t my news to tell. Once I get Pippa home, she should be the one to tell them.
Am I being a chickenshit by passing the buck?
Exhausted and frustrated, I shove those worries to the back of my mind for now, shower and order room service. I hate waiting, but I’m willing to wait and do whatever it takes to get her on a plane to Toronto.
I’ve got a forkful of pasta headed to my mouth, when there’s a knock on the door and I don’t think twice, swinging the door open. My heart leaps into my throat at finding Pippa in the hall with two suitcases at her side.
“Hey.” I smile, happy to see her.
Her tongue licks at her soft, pink lips and her big eyes widen with a sheen of tears.
“I want to go home.”
Her voice is strangled, and she clamps a hand over her mouth as if struggling to hold back her words and her pain.
Tears flow freely down her pale cheeks, and I can’t help myself. I engulf her trembling body and she doesn’t resist, willingly sinking into me.
“Baby, I’ll take you home,” I murmur into her hair, my heartbeat steadied with the feeling of home.
Her fingers curl around my shirt and she buries her face in my chest. With each sob, my body vibrates with her sorrow. My remorse and anguish mingle with hers and my anger with Brock and myself intensifies.
I hold her for what feels like both seconds and days, and it’s over all too quickly when she pulls away, heatedly wiping her tears.
“Are you hungry?” I ask, needing to take care of her.
Shaking her head, she walks further into the room, her hands wrapped snugly around her middle.
“I’m sorry to barge in like this. I was going to do it differently, but—”
“Don’t apologize. I’m glad you’re here.”
“Can we leave tonight?”
I blink at her unexpected question. “Let me see if we can get a flight.” I grab my laptop and our eyes meet.
She smiles tentatively, not fully reaching her eyes, but it feels like I’ve been kissed by sunshine. A ray of sunshine I’ve been denied for years. There was a time when I basked in her glow every minute of every day. Her warmth and beauty would fill me with an indescribable brilliance. I want that feeling back. Again. Forever.
I want her back.
“We’re in luck.” I glance up from the screen. “We’re on the ten o’clock flight. We have to leave now.” I grabbed the last two first class seats.
“Oh, thank you. I’ll help you pack.”
Fortunately, I hadn’t unpacked, and we move quickly through the room, gathering the little I have scattered around. In under fifteen minutes, we’re in a limo headed to LAX and she’s silent as we check in, wait and board the plane.
She doesn’t relax until we’re in the air, on our way to Toronto, by sinking into the oversized chair. With a contented sigh, she breaks our silence.
“Why are you doing this?” She tilts her head to face me.
“What
?”
“Why now?”
Because I love you.
She stares expectantly at me.
“We’re friends. And a little bird told us you were in need of a friend.”
“Who?” She arches an eyebrow.
I don’t dare mention Mason Riggs right now. I will but now isn’t the time. I’m sensing her edginess and this bit of news might only boost it.
“It doesn’t matter. I’m just glad you’re here.”
Surprised, she shrugs, facing forward as if done with the conversation. But I’m not.
“Does he know you left?”
Stiffening, her eyes close and she shakes her head.
“I don’t want to talk about this right now. You have things you’re not willing to share right now and so do I, okay?”
“Okay.” I hand the stewardess my empty glass and wait for her to move on. “For now. But we’re going to talk eventually.”
“Fine,” she sighs. “No one knows I’m coming, right?”
I shift in the seat and swallow. As much as my sister is loyal, she has a big mouth. Pippa’s family might already know everything. I texted Paige in the airport because she’d been blowing up my phone since we’d spoken earlier in the day.
“I told Paige.”
“Son of—” Her teeth sink into her bottom lip and my stomach clenches, feeling her disappointment in my bones.
“Why did you tell her?” she whines and I can’t help but quirk a brow, wondering if she really expects a response. “On second thought, don’t bother answering.” She slaps her hands on her jean-clad thighs.
“You have nothing to be ashamed of, they love you and want to help. You aren’t to blame.”
Her gaze narrows and she leans toward me. “What do you know about how I feel? It’s my marriage that’s a mess.”
Shaking her head, she pulls back, lowering her voice. “You’d think I’d learn. When you left me, for some screwed-up reason, I blamed myself.” Her words are whispers, but razor sharp.
“Spending months wondering what I did wrong, or how I could have done things differently, or prevented it. And now, with Brock, I’m doing the same thing. So, don’t talk to me about shame or blame.”
It takes me a minute to recover. Nothing she’s said isn’t true. We should have had this conversation years ago, but once I broke things off, we fled into our respective corners. Talking to her was the last thing I wanted and if I had, I’d have begged her to take me back.
The second I ended it between us I regretted it, even if my intentions were pure. At the time, Finn needed to heal and seeing us together wasn’t helping. He was hurting Cassandra, pushing her away, and all I could see was the destruction our relationship was causing my best friends.
I was wrong. So very wrong. And by the time I was ready to talk to Pippa, she was in California, getting married. She didn’t want to hear anything I had to say.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” I reach for her, but think better of it, dropping my hand. “I was a fucking idiot. I thought ending our relationship would help Finn.”
“Drew, you don’t need to rehash our relationship, I was there. I remember it all.” She holds my gaze for what feels like forever. “I don’t want to relive it, ever again.”
9
Pippa
My head rests against the car window as Drew merges onto the Gardiner Expressway. We’re headed downtown and the motion of the vehicle reminds me of waking up on the plane with my head on Drew’s shoulder.
His arm was wrapped around my shoulder, cocooning me, and I felt safe. So safe I wanted to both jump from my seat and never leave. It felt too good to be in his arms. Drew is the last man—well, second to last man—I should be cuddling with.
Going to Drew’s hotel room had been a snap decision. I acted on pure emotion, not hesitating or stopping to overthink the urge.
My original plan had been to leave Brock and hide out in a cabin in Northern California. Long enough to serve him with divorce papers and for me to find the nerve to tell my family the disastrous truth about my life.
Having Riggs on my side bolstered my confidence, but when Drew showed up, he rocked my world. Until then I’d been good with doing it on my own. But with one look at him, I realized just how alone I’d been for too long.
The car slows and I’m forced back to the present. The morning rush hour traffic affords me the unadulterated chance to study Drew. He’s the same as always. Tall, athletic, dirty blond hair, kind sea-green eyes. The best man I know. Hands down. Even with how things ended between us, I never could stop loving him.
The longer I stare, the stronger my urge to cry. Not because I regret involving him, even though I’m still not sure it was the smartest thing to do, but because nothing’s changed between us.
And as if somehow hearing my thoughts, his gaze captures mine and I’ve been caught admiring him. We share a look that’s rife with our history, our unrivaled memories and thrown-away wishes, and I blink back the prickling in my eyes. My cheeks heat and now the air is shifting, growing heavier.
I’ve barely said a word since the plane. We trudged through customs and the baggage claim with my one-word answers, then spent the first bit of time in the car texting with Riggs, letting him know what I’d done.
It was then he told me he was the little birdie Drew spoke of. I should be upset with him for reaching out to my family without my consent, but he meant well and look where I am now. It’s all worked out.
At first the silence didn’t bother me, but now, it feels like I should fill the emptiness with my ramblings or something profound or even something as simple as thank you. Instead I opt for the question burning the tip of my tongue.
“Where are we going?”
“Well, we could go to my place to freshen up, or we could see your parents, or Paige.”
I wait for him to mention Finn, but funnily enough, he doesn’t.
My big brother. I love him, I really do, but he’s the reason Drew and I are no longer together.
No, that’s not fair. It isn’t as simple as that. Drew played a huge hand in the demise of our relationship, and my feelings for Finn are complicated and messy. I’m not ready to untangle them.
“I want to go to a hotel.” I slide my shaky hands under my thighs before he notices. “I’m not ready to see anyone.”
“Pip, you need your family. They’ll want to see you.” He signals a lane change. “And you aren’t going to a hotel. If you don’t want to stay with your parents or Paige, stay with me.
“What?” That’s a bad idea.
His lips twist into a wry grin and he arches a blond brow.
“Why? Afraid you won’t be able to keep your hands off me?”
I snort, saliva catching in my throat.
“Yeah right,” I choke out, my sarcasm light. “More like I might kill you.”
“Not a chance.” His eyes glitter. “You love me.”
Oh my god.
My breath sputters at his teasing. It is a joke, I’m pretty sure, and reminiscent of how we used to be. How easily we’ve slipped back into our old ways. But his features tense at the weight of his bold, nonchalant comment. The truth, no less.
“You tell me where you want to go.” His tone is solemn now. “But no hotel.”
My parents would be best, but they don’t know anything about the state of my marriage, and that it isn’t their fault, or for a lack of trying. They met Brock for the first time days before our wedding and only three times since.
The thought shames and saddens me. I’m close with my parents, but I can’t imagine showing up with my bags, saying, “Hi Mom, let’s forget how rude I’ve been the past few years and oh by the way, can I stay here? My marriage is over.”
Who am I kidding? They’d welcome me with open arms no matter what—short of me becoming a mass murderer. I put them through hell during high school—this girl never met a curfew she didn’t break—and no matter what, they were always there for me. This will be no differ
ent, but I’m not ready to face them. I’m so ashamed.
“Your place.” My gaze fixes on the fiery morning sun rising over Lake Ontario.
My heart sinks to the pit of my stomach during the elevator ride up to his condo. He’s living in the same place as when we were together. I practically lived with him. With each step toward the door, it’s hard to separate the last day I was here—the day he dumped me—from now.
I ran after him shouting, crying and pleading for him not to end us. When I realized he meant it and there was no chance that he’d change his mind, I never looked back. We were only ‘together’ for six months.
Six months is so insignificant in the grand scheme of things, even to me and I lived it, but every moment with Drew was life. Even now, with the painful memories of that day—when Drew smashed my heart to pieces—I don’t regret a single moment with him.
We wordlessly enter his place and it’s like stepping back in time—everything is the same. Open concept with minimal walls, high ceilings and a gorgeous view of the waterfront. Deep rich earth tones. Homey but modern.
I glimpse Anthony Bourdain’s Kitchen Confidential in the stack of books on the side table. My book. And if my memory serves me right, it’s in the exact spot where I left it. And there’s the Provençal French country tablecloth with the lavender and lemons on the dining table. The one I bought on our weekend in Ottawa.
Everything is the same.
Exactly the same.
“Do you want coffee? Breakfast? What can I get you?” He wheels in my bags with his old, familiar duffel slung over one shoulder.
He saunters down the hall to the bedrooms, a move I’ve witnessed a million times before when we were together and it hits me again, it feels like nothing has changed.
But I know better, all of this is a lie. Everything has changed and nothing will ever be the same again. I want to cry.
“I don’t have a lot in the fridge. I threw out pretty much everything before I left, but we could grab breakfast at Cora’s,” he says from the spare bedroom.
