by Ace Gray
“Kevin.” Laura’s voice was undeniably pouty but playfully so.
As soon as she said his name my brain clicked. For some reason I found it even funnier that Kevin, of all people, was at my front door. Particularly now.
Guess I never took him off my approved guest list.
I burst out laughing. Hard.
My unearthly cackle triggered Laura’s giggles and when she threw her head back, she stumbled and fell with a loud, heavy thud.
“Oh shit. You guys are beyond wasted.”
He picked a still-laughing Laura up from the floor and carried her to the couch.
“Stay,” he ordered as he held up his hand. “I will get you pizza. Apparently you need it.”
I vaguely remember Kevin righting the love seat and what was left of the coffee table before bending down to collect me.
“Jesus, Kate! Is there glass down here?”
For some unknown reason, I found that even funnier than his arrival and laughed hard enough to launch the empty bottle from its balance point on my stomach. He bent down and swept me onto the couch next to Laura.
He ordered pizza and arranged with my doorman to have it brought up. He cleaned up the glass and rearranged the living room. He put on crappy TV and poured two waters. When the pizza came he set us up with plates. When I pushed mine away, he sat down and pulled me into his lap.
“You really should eat, Kate.”
I shook my head. The mere thought of food made me sick. Kevin didn’t have to coax Laura; she was ripping her pieces apart like a savage.
“Babe, I’m just trying to make tomorrow a little better.” He waved it in my face.
“Tomorrow will suck regardless,” I mumbled as I swatted the pizza out of his hand and onto the floor. Of course it landed face down.
“You just threw pizza on what I’m sure is an incredibly expensive rug.”
His chuckle rumbled through his chest. He’d accused me of being too uptight on more than one occasion.
“You’re fault,” I taunted.
Laura started laughing, making her pizza-filled cheeks plump like a chipmunk.
“I think it’s time for you two to call it an evening.”
He may have been arching an eyebrow at me, but I couldn’t make the room stay still—I wasn’t a reliable source for anything. I tried to stand. As soon as I was on my feet I staggered, Kevin had to jump up to catch me.
He picked me up and carried me to my room, trying not to get handsy as we went. His laugh was light when he set me down and watched me try to get out of my T-shirt. It proved to be a Herculean effort. I gave up with it wrapped around my head and only one arm out. A whimper escaped my lips and Kevin chuckled.
“Oh babe, are you stuck?”
“Yes.”
My voice was pitiful, trapped behind the cotton. Wordlessly, he pulled my top off. I caught him appreciating the view. If I’d been in a decent state I would have slapped him. When he removed my bra he sucked in a breath. That’s when he would have been backhanded. If only I could have found any semblance of motor skills.
He quickly pulled one of my clean shirts back over my head. He took the time to remove my shoes and socks and then pulled off my leggings. He was obviously turned on but managed to swap my thong for boyshorts in a gentlemanly fashion. Kevin helped me lay back then slid off his shoes, socks, and pants before climbing in.
“Why are you so drunk?”
“Because when I smile, Laura knows it’s tequila time,” I mumbled into my pillow.
He snuggled up to me and tried to pull me to his chest. I had enough presence of mind to try to stiff-arm him. I failed.
“I’ve seen you smile plenty with no tequila involved.” He kissed the top of my head.
“Not when my heart is ka-boom.” I made an explosion noise and added hand motions.
“Is this about the guy? The one in the paper?”
Kevin had seen everything. Everyone had seen everything and that stung even with tequila numbing the pain.
“Is he out of the picture?”
“Yup.” I popped my P dramatically. “He fucked me over. You never fucked me over.” Absentmindedly, I shook my head into his armpit.
“Never did, never will, babe.”
He kissed my forehead and then bent lower to my lips. In a moment of complete and utter drunkenness I grabbed his face and kissed him. Hard.
“Kate,” he sighed into my mouth.
Something about the moment pulled me up short; Bryant was the one who whispered up against my lips. Not Kevin. Not anyone else. Ever. I jerked away, leaving Kevin hanging.
“I’m gonna be sick.”
And that was the truth. Only I knew it was because of Nicholas Bryant and not Don Julio. I bolted to the bathroom and clamored against the doorframe. Kevin jumped up and reached for my hair as I bent over the toilet.
After I batted him away and slumped to the floor to hug the porcelain, Kevin brought me a pillow and comforter before returning to my bed. After one last round of miserable dry heaves, I passed out on the cold tile floor rather than the down.
I woke to someone kicking my foot, and I was going to kill whoever it was. Or rip their goddamned foot off.
“What the fuck?!”
“You feel as crappy as I do?” Laura grumbled at my feet
“Shittier. I don’t know if I can breathe right.” I bit my lip, and closed my eyes.
“I’m guessing that has nothing to do with the booze?”
I shook my head gently against the tile and pushed a single tear aside.
The next few days were a blur. There was crying and working and tequila and more crying. Laura would have me cheered up and then wham! Something would remind me of Bryant and I’d fall apart all over again. I kept up a poker face at work, but I couldn’t focus.
Part of me hated that I was a wreck over a man. The other part of me insisted Nicholas Bryant was far more than just some man. Cell phone photos of us fighting in his lobby had surfaced and the photogs followed me mercilessly. They made me want to give up and hide the way I had in college. Just like college, Laura kept me going.
Throughout the week Kevin was in and out between gigs and press events. I’d been able to tell him that I wasn’t capable of having a relationship. I couldn’t feel my heart, let alone give it to someone else. He let me speak, and insisted he was simply a supportive friend, but it was obvious he was biding his time. He would try to sneak kisses here and there. I found every way imaginable to duck, dive, bob, and weave away from his wanting lips.
I kept telling myself that maybe if I faked it long enough, one day it wouldn’t feel like faking anymore.
And in the spirit of faking it, a week or so later, I agreed to a real date with Kevin. On the outside I smiled, nodded, and even held Kevin’s hand, playing my part perfectly. Inside, everything was off. I wasn’t sure if I was distracted, or numb, or both. I hoped he didn’t notice.
“I get the feeling you’re somewhere else tonight,” Kevin said as he loosened his hand from mine and shoved it into his pocket.
Shit. He noticed.
“Kevin…”
We’d made it all the way back to my building before he brought it up, but my heart sank all the same. I hated hurting his feelings, and not having a rebuttal was even worse. I looked down at my hands and played with the thin gold ring on my middle finger. The only sound on the sidewalk was clicking shutters and paparazzi questions.
When I stayed silent, his lips set into a hard, thin line and his brow crinkled. I watched him, studying his face, hoping it would tell me what to say or how to fix this. I was desperately deciphering when he lunged at me, mashing his lips to mine. Kevin bound me to him. Heat emanated from the shower of flashbulbs that rained down on us. I tried to push him away but couldn’t get any leverage against his body.
“Stop. No!”
My words made him pull back, shocked, as if I’d slapped him. He dropped his hands and turned to walk away. No words came to me that would console hi
m. My heart still beat—albeit raggedly—for Bryant. All I did was bite my lip when he spun on his heel to face me.
“I feel like I’m going to lose you. No, fuck that. I feel like I never had you!” He bellowed from a few feet away.
I cringed, but not at his words, just at the scene we were making. Every muscle in my body was tense as I walked to him, I forced my arms around him to try and pull him toward my building entrance. I wanted to convince myself I was trying to salvage our friendship. Deep down, I knew I was simply hoping to keep my life out of the paper.
He shoved out of my grip and away from me.
“I…look…I…I thought you understood.”
My resolve cracked and a ball welled up in my throat. I hung my head and couldn’t help when my shoulders slumped and tears pooled in my eyes. Kevin saw me break but didn’t take the two steps to hold me.
“I didn’t mean to upset you, Kate. I’m just lost. The woman I love refuses to let me in. Refuses to love me back. I don’t get it, and I don’t know what to do.” He began to pace, swatting at encroaching paparazzi. “I’d gladly fight for you, but this isn’t a fight. This is just you, on an island.”
He threw his hands straight up and I gulped. He was right. I was an island. A lonely, sandy, shitty, deserted island.
“I’m broken, and I’m sorry,” I said softly.
“No, that’s not…”
I interrupted him mid-sentence. “I know that’s not what you said, but it’s the truth. You don’t want to hear it, and I don’t want to admit it, but he broke me. I can’t eat or sleep or breathe right anymore. I know it. I can see it. You’re nice enough to pretend you don’t.”
I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to keep the splintering feeling at bay.
“I’m trying so hard and nothing is working. I hate that I’m hurting you, Kevin.”
A giant sob wracked my aching chest. He closed the distance between us and finally threw his arms around me.
“You aren’t broken. I’m sorry if I made you feel that way.” His tone was suddenly soothing.
“That’s the thing, though. I am.”
This time, I let him hold me.
The following morning Laura was aimlessly flipping through the paper at the kitchen island.
“’Businesswoman, Socialite, Kate Elliott in New Relationship or Breaking New Hearts?” I almost choked on my coffee when she read the headline. “God, they love plastering pictures of you across this paper. There’s, like, six photos of you and Kevin.”
“Don’t they have anything better to fucking do?” I swore under my breath.
“Language.” She eyed me. “At least Bryant will feel awful.”
My heart stuttered when she said his name. “Don’t.” I sucked in a deep breath. “Can we talk about something else?”
“Sure. Are we going to opening night at the Met tomorrow? You always get tickets, right?” Laura leaned her elbows on the counter.
“You know I do. You usually balk at the invitation.”
She shrugged her shoulders. “People change.”
I eyed her suspiciously.
This is a ploy to get me out of the house.
“You know what we’re seeing?” She asked seamlessly.
“L’Elisir d’Amore.” My face contorted when I recalled the plot.
“It’s going to be OK, ya know?”
“Right now, even deep down, I really don’t think it will be.”
18.
I sipped my second Americano of the day as I threw on cream, high-waisted art deco pants and a black sheer shirt. I almost tripped over my emerald Gucci heels as I grabbed a garment bag and took my last gulp.
I sighed as I tucked my scandalously short little back dress for tonight’s opera into a bag. It hung loosely and had beautiful matching deep Vs in the front and back with gorgeous subtle ruffles trailing down the shoulders. It showed chest, back, and legs but still managed to be classy. My thin-strap purple Tom Ford heels had enough gold on them to match my long pendant necklace. I packed it neatly even though the outfit, and the evening, would be a waste.
These days—the ones when I put effort into the facade—were taxing. More often than not I felt like my bones were made of lead. They had me contemplating a vacation, which I hadn’t done since taking a family trip to Italy after my high school graduation. Or at the very least a long weekend at my house in the Hamptons, which I hadn’t done in almost a year. For a fleeting moment I debated telling the driver to cross the bridge to Jersey and keep going until we couldn’t anymore.
Instead, I trudged to work, sagging against the glass of the lobby doors before pushing in.
By the time 4:30 rolled around I was ready to get dressed and move mechanically through another evening. I pinned my hair up in a messy bun at the nape of my neck. It was loose and romantic with a few tendrils that wound down around my thin golden rod earrings.
I looked in the mirror and muttered, “This is as good as it gets.”
The dark puffy circles under my eyes countered with, there isn’t enough makeup in the world. Gemma buzzed Laura up and I had to accept there was nothing else I could do. Laura swept in wearing an almost floor length, elegant polka dot dress with a high slit that appeared to originate somewhere at the waist, deep in the ruching. She paired it with yellow Manolo pumps. I recognized both.
“You look fantastic,” I said sarcastically.
“Thanks. Your closet was happy to oblige.” She winked, genuinely happy tonight. “You look pretty amazing yourself.”
“I feel like hell.” I sighed and rolled my eyes. “Shall we?”
We hooked elbows and headed out. I didn’t have to pretend with Laura. She accepted I was tired but trying. Once we slid into the backseat, she filled the silence easily with stories. I listened with my head resting against the window of the car. The cool glass felt good against my forehead.
Laura’s phone rang, interrupting her random thought mid-sentence. When she stayed silent, I pulled away from the glass and cocked my head.
“It’s Malik. I don’t really want to hear what he has to say.”
I understood that well enough and nodded. At the last moment she answered anyway. She clipped, “What?” just before I zoned out again.
We pulled into the car line for the gala and I shook my head against the glass. I was not looking forward to an evening at the opera; particularly because I’d be watching the story of a couple that couldn’t get their shit together or admit they actually loved each other. Instead, they played games of indifference and tried to find solace in the arms of others.
Too close for comfort.
“Kate, you’re going to kill me.”
I never liked it when Laura said that. I shot her a sideways glance before she continued.
“Malik has a moving truck available tonight to get my things out of the apartment.” She scowled at her phone.
“You can go if you want.”
Breaking up in New York was undeniably difficult. Separating belongings and finding a new apartment was almost worse than the split itself.
“I don’t want to, but with his schedule I have no idea when I’ll get another chance,” she whined slightly.
“Go. It’s completely fine.” I kept my tone light but my face twisted involuntarily.
“Are you still going to go?”
Fake it until I make it, Right?
“Sure. All dressed up aren’t I?”
“Ladies?” The driver indicated we were up.
“Well, I guess I’ll see you later.” My smile hung wrong on my face. “Take the car wherever, on me of course. And remember, no phone, so if you need anything…” I shrugged without finishing the sentence.
I slid off the leather seat and onto the sidewalk. I handed my coat to the assistant on the red carpet and strode in front of the cameras. I smiled slightly, but it didn’t touch my eyes. After a few photos I grabbed my coat and darted inside.
Honestly, I was too fragile to be there, particularly witho
ut anything or anyone to distract me. I had to nod, wave, and force simple conversation as I hauled myself to my box. I tried not to slam the door behind me or let out a massive breath as I turned and slumped against it.
It took forever for the lights to dim. I feigned interest at first, but by the end of the first act I was exhausted. I couldn’t watch Nemorino and Andina pretend to hate each other or play their games anymore. Hoping the halls would be empty, I planned to bail the moment intermission was over.
Again the lights dimmed and singing began. I grabbed my coat and slipped out the box. I was part way down the hallway when I heard it.
“Kate?”
I froze. That voice could beckon me from the depths of hell.
“Why haven’t you returned my calls?”
Bryant.
My heart thudded painfully in my chest.
“I didn’t really feel like it,” I said without turning to face him, then started off toward the stairs. My knees wobbled.
“Stop right there,” he commanded. “Look at me.”
I pulled up short but refused to turn.
“Kate, if you won’t hear me out at least have the decency to tell me to my face.”
Like a violent wave, my temper churned in my chest. He wanted to talk about decency? The bastard obviously had a poor understanding of the word. I turned and narrowed my gaze, telling myself not to look anywhere beside his shoes. My body disobeyed immediately.
So many emotions tumbled through me as I drank him in. As upset as it made me, want was chief among them. He was decked out in highly polished shoes to match his shiny black suit. His charcoal vest and tortoise cufflinks paired perfectly with his gray, gold, and green paisley pocket square. The build of his muscles showed slightly underneath the fine tailored fabric. I lingered at his collar, remembering his scent. His hair was slicked back, which made it far sleeker than the unruly mess it could be.
He was still perfect and painfully gorgeous.
Every fiber of my being screamed, look into his eyes, but I couldn’t. Instead, my gaze swept along his jaw, remembering what it felt like to brush my lips against his smooth skin or his barely there stubble. I even tortured myself with a glance at his lips; my mouth watered at the memory of their sweet taste.
