His Town

by Ellie Danes

  I’d gone over the scenario in my head hundreds of times — but none of them could have compared to what had just happened.

  I just stood there like an idiot.

  I watched her leave with what I could best describe as a heavy heart. It was probably a full minute after she left that I was still standing there, staring at the spot I’d last seen her at the door. A lump had formed in my throat a long time ago, and in all honesty, it was probably a miracle I was able to speak at all.

  I hated that I’d just stood there, though.

  It hurt to see her walk away.

  I sighed, sadly, feeling emotion well up again, and tears threaten to strain at the brims of my eyes as the burned like hot coal. I hated emotions. I hated feeling. So much that I knew I needed to get upstairs, completely out of sight from others. I didn’t want anyone see me cry if it got to that point.

  I walked through the shining double doors of the elevator and took a deep breath, trying to choke down as much pain as I could.

  How did she feel nothing?

  I slammed my fists into the wall of the buttons, making sure to hit the one that read, “P” for penthouse as I did. I barely even noticed the pain from the impact. I shook my balled fists, cooling them down and punched it again. This time, I felt the edge of the button bad tear at my skin.

  Compared to the emotional pain of it all — knowing that I caused it; knowing that today could have been completely different had I just had the balls to tell Ben Murphy to fuck himself — the physical discomfort seemed almost inconsequential.

  I wanted her back. That was the truth.

  But I knew it’d be a bad idea to try after how I’d treated her. I’d thought — before actually seeing her face-to-face — that I’d probably caused her pain. Not to mention a whole lot of confusion and anger.

  I hated that seeing her — not just from afar, but face-to-face, and hearing her voice— no matter how cold it’d felt, was the highlight of my past couple of weeks. What I hated even more, though, was that even if I wouldn’t admit it, every time I saw her, I felt more and more drawn to her.

  I wondered if that feeling would ever go away. Especially now that there clearly wasn’t anything left between us — not from her side, anyway. I felt the tears burning again.

  She had felt the same way.

  She meant it when she’d said it. I knew that she did. And this was my fault. I fucked it up. I was the reason she didn’t care anymore.

  Her words echoed in my head. She had plans with someone. I just wondered who the hell she was going on a date with. I wished more than anything that I would have asked her; that I would have found out who it was.

  I raised my fist to attack the elevator’s wall again, feeling the need to express some of my frustration through the only means that seemed available at the time.

  What place did I have to ask though? She’d moved on. Rightfully so.

  Chapter 4

  Kate

  I sighed with relief as soon as I made it outside. I hated the cold, but it almost felt pleasant compared to the heat rolling through me standing face to face with Ian. I’d felt like the walls were about to close in on me and I was losing my grip. Like I was suddenly claustrophobic and unable to breathe.

  He had that effect on me.

  Just as I stepped onto the sidewalk, out from under the safety of the roof to my building, I felt it. The icy sting of wet snow.

  I hated the winter. I hated it too much for words. And I didn’t have time to deal with Ian — or snow. I was already late for a meeting at Claire’s school.

  “Damn it!” I growled. Around me, dozens of people were rushing around in the rain and snow mix. Cabs were picking them up one after another. Which meant that I was in competition to find one — against all the other people also wanting get out of the weather.

  There was a particular skill needed to hail a cab on a shitty-weathered day in New York City. Fortunately for me, after my successful confrontation with Ian, I felt like Liam Neeson. If only for a second. “I have a particular set of skills,” I muttered with a sly smile as I held my hand up.

  “Taxi!” I shouted as a cab rumbled past me. “Fuck!” I growled, as I watched it continue to drive on and pick up people a few yards down from me.

  And I watched it happen again. And again.

  I was starting to get pissed off. I was usually so good at this. And it was becoming less and less about getting into a cab to make my meeting, and more about the fact that I was supposed to be channeling Liam fucking Neeson.

  In fact, I’d long ignored the fact that I was already completely soaked through, shivering. It’d even come to the point where I was using my damn purse to shield my eyes from the wintery mix so that I could see better to catch a cab.

  “Fuck, I should have just gone to the Subway!” I bellowed to myself, not caring who heard it. At least I would have been underground and out of the elements. I cursed my luck again, and really contemplated just throwing myself straight off the sidewalk. Not to die, but because I felt I’d get better attention that way. At least if I was out there, in traffic, flailing my arms around and screaming like an idiot, someone was definitely sure to see me. Possibly run me over in the process, but at least see me, right?

  “Ohh, screw it!” I growled as I turned to start walking to the subway. At this rate, I would be a year late for the meeting and poor Claire would have to get herself back from school.

  I’d barely made it a few steps when I heard the slowing of tires just next to me. My head whipped, in caution, and honestly a little fear when I realized that there were no meter-parking spots there, and I knew that whoever it was, was pulling up next to me.

  I felt my heart tighten — just like it had earlier when I’d seen Ian — before I finally laid eyes on what it was.

  A taxi.

  A fucking taxi.

  The passenger side window rolled down and a man’s voice sounded, “Hey! Do you need a lift?”

  I turned and sneered. “Nah, that’s just why I’ve been waving my hands in the air for twenty goddamn minutes!”

  I usually wasn’t so blunt; and I sure as hell wasn’t usually that mean, but my buttons had probably been pushed enough for the day.

  “Chill out, Lady!” he yelled out. I couldn’t really see his face through the soaked window and the continually falling snow. It was almost blinding. “I saw you when I was down a ways but it’s not exactly quick-moving traffic!”

  Maybe everyone in New York wasn’t an asshole, after all.

  “But you should probably hurry up!” he called. “It’s raining, you know!”

  “As if I hadn’t noticed!” I yelled, rolling my eyes, with a smirk. I was genuinely impressed with how nice the guy was. I popped the back door open and hopped in.

  “Thanks…” I said, settling myself a little bit in the backseat. “And I’m sorry for the tirade.”

  “It's no trouble, you'll catch your death out there,” he laughed, waving over his shoulder.

  “Oh, so this was just a kind gesture and you don’t accept Visa?” I laughed.

  “Oh, Visa is very much appreciated,” he grinned into his rearview mirror.

  He was young and pretty attractive if you liked the rugged look. He had a full beard and short, wavy brown hair — and a jaw line for days. Not only that, though, but his cheek was laden with the most adorable dimple I’d ever seen in my life.

  If I hadn’t been in such a shitty mood, and just laid eyes on the man that could cause even the deadest of fires to erupt into a sea of flames, I might have been attracted to him. But I was and had . . . so . . . at that moment, he was just a cabbie — and I was just a lady in need of a ride.

  I flashed him one more grateful smile just before he glanced away from his rear-view and started up the meter.

  “I caught pneumonia once by standing outside in weather like this,” he laughed. “So, where are you headed?”

  I sighed, and told him to take me to Claire’s school. I felt like I’d
basically lived there at that point. And just like that, a long, tense thirty-five minutes passed. The nice cabbie had long stopped talking, and I was thinking more and more about Ian, hence the tension.

  Strange thoughts seemed to travel with musty-smelling cabs, I mused, as the driver kept adjusting the radio. It seemed like it was my thinking spot. No mountaintop. No riverbank. But a nasty, rolling tin can with thousands of people’s sweat and smells trapped inside.

  I needed to stop. So I started focusing my attention on what was happening in the outside world, rather than just staring blankly at it all. When we came to a red light, I took extra care to glance around and when I did, my gaze fell on the sidewalk just beside us. A mother with a small toddler in a stroller, stood waiting to cross the street in front of us, and few high school girls decked out in uniforms joined just a second later. I smiled, realizing that it was working. I stared off at the distant shops lining the busy street before glancing back at the mother and toddler.

  He was grabbing the high school girls’ skirts, hiking them up for the whole world to see. Not like there was much there. They all had thick tights on, but I could do nothing more than laugh at the sight.

  The cabbie swiveled his head to look at me, and then to where my gaze was set.

  I’d seen the girl turn around looking horrified and the mother make apologizing gestures, almost in a panic.

  And just as the cab was pulling away, I saw a mischievous grin on the toddler’s face.

  I cleared my throat. “That little rascal,” I mumbled.

  The cabbie glanced at me again, through the rear-view mirror. “What did he do?”

  “Kept raising the girls’ skirts up,” I smiled.

  “Yeah...he'll probably be a ladies man,” he chuckled. “The kind of man that similar school girls will be chasing at the end of the day!”

  We darted looks at one another and I smiled, despite the thoughts edging on in my head. The only thing I could think about was Ian, and I lamely wondered if he was like that little boy when he was a child. I hated that I didn’t know anything about his childhood. What I hated even more than that was that I cared that I didn’t know.

  I turned my gaze to focus back out the window, trying to hide the fact that I was almost in tears.

  I hated thinking about him.

  And I sure as hell hated how much I’d wanted him to touch me when I saw him, even with all the anger I’d felt. I hugged myself, knowing that I could pass it off as just trying to warm up.

  “I can’t wait for Spring,” the cabbie said, glancing back in the rear-view mirror again. I wondered if he might have caught a glimmer of sadness in my eyes, and that was why he was suddenly changing the subject.

  I had to admit, as refreshing as it was to find a nice cabbie, I almost wished he had been quiet. I actually had gotten pretty used to not speaking when I was in cabs. And, although it was probably good that he wasn’t leaving me completely to my own thoughts, I was finding it hard to make conversation — and that made me feel almost a little awkward.

  “So you’re heading to a private school. Have a kid?” he asked, clearly not feeling the same way. But as soon as he spoke the words, I almost choked.

  How would I have a kid in high school?

  But then I thought about it; and I knew women my age with kids in high school. They’d had kids while they were in school; but it did happen.

  I cleared my throat and choked out a, “No. My little sister,” I continued.

  There was almost what seemed like a ghost of a smirk that seemed to linger on his lips.

  “So not a mommy?” he asked, his brows rising. I couldn’t help but blush.

  “I just made a ginger blush; is that an accomplishment?” he asked, lightly.

  I rolled my eyes. “No, but you get a point for being so nice,” I said as we approached Claire’s school.

  When we were completely stopped, I noticed that the rain and snow had lightened up since when we’d passed the mother and her toddler.

  I sighed, realizing what I had to do now. I had to somehow compose myself in the few seconds it took to pay the cabbie and get out of the car. I had to come off as an involved, loving sister. Not a nervous wreck.

  I had no idea what I was even doing. I had no idea why I was still so damn trapped by Ian, by his devilishly beautiful eyes. I had no idea how he had so much power over me. He was like a fucking drug I couldn’t quit. I hated it.

  I reached into my wallet, and swiped my card in the backseat’s card reader before I popped the door open and thanked the cabbie for coming to my rescue.

  As I began my march toward the overwhelming double doors that led into Claire’s school, I felt as though I was walking into a lion’s den. I halfway expected ominous music to begin with every step I took closer to the entrance. It suddenly dawned on me how exhausted I felt. I was tired and, quite truthfully, sick — sick physically and emotionally worn out. Not to mention, sick of this.

  Seeing Ian took an emotional toll on me, but I didn’t think that was the only reason I was dragging my feet. I loved Claire, but all of her stuff was starting to take a toll on me, too. It was starting to almost suffocate and smother me with its constant intensity.

  I continued to trek closer to the doors until I was finally there. I took a deep breath of the cold air and pushed the doors open. I couldn’t help but think of Ian again as the warm air surrounded me. I even felt a little guilty for the way I’d treated him earlier. I could see that he was hurting. But he hurt me, too, and I guess a part of me wanted some sort of retribution.

  I honestly even felt guilty about the way I’d basically lied about having a date. I mean, I did have plans. And it was with someone. But it was far from the date I led him to believe I was going on.

  It was simply a meeting at school to talk to Claire’s school psychologist, Dr. Richards. And Craig, Claire’s personal therapist, or should I say, Dr. Furhman, was also scheduled to be there. Claire had seen him so much we were on a first name basis.

  It was basically a meeting where we would try to develop an effective plan for Claire. An educational one. An emotional one.

  I removed my soaked coat and hung it on the coat rack as I entered the office and greeted the two men already seated and waiting for me. Naturally, I was late. Thank you, Mother Nature.

  I offered my apologies and suggested we get right to the matter at hand so that I didn’t hold them up any longer from their own schedules.

  As we discussed the issues on hand and each doctor suggested ways to not only support Claire, but also help her get back on track, I faded. My mind kept wandering back to stepping off that elevator and finding myself face to face with Ian. I kept trying to snap myself out of it, and it would work long enough to nod in agreement, or ask a simple question, but it didn’t last.

  An hour later, we had hashed out a plan. Well, they had hashed out a plan. I was barely even listening if I was being honest. Dr. Richards’ advisement had been to get Claire a tutor. Someone one-on-one. And Dr. Furhman recommended additional counseling options. And that was about all I remember of the meeting. To be honest, I was so wrapped up in my own self-pity, I couldn’t keep track of it all.

  I hated myself for it.

  I hated that I couldn’t shake the feelings I had for Ian.

  I hated that he — and the way I felt about him — was basically controlling everything about my life.

  Chapter 5

  Ian

  I stood, smack dab in the middle of my living room, staring through the giant floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the city. I stumbled over to it and pressed my forehead to the glass. Immediately, I smelled the whisky I’d been drinking for the last twenty minutes, and suddenly realized I was far more hurt than I was angry.

  I’d imagined her putting dating on the back burner. I’d imagined me ruining dating for her — at least until she was out of the state. It was selfish and completely arrogant to think that I would have had that much of an effect on her; to think that I m
attered that much; that she cared that much.

  Admittedly, I imagined her to just be lazing around the house eating ice cream and basically moping for a couple of weeks. Because, in all honesty, that’s what I would have done if I hadn’t been prompted to get out bed by a pissed off Janice that very next morning.

  I was that upset.

  But she clearly wasn’t.

  I lifted the glass I was holding, eye level and for a moment, and did nothing but admire the amber colored liquid inside. “It's not about whether the glass is half full or half empty,” I giggled, not really knowing what the hell I was even talking about. “What matters is that I can fucking fill it again!”

  I smiled and stumbled to the cabinet where I stored the extra whiskey and used my teeth to open it. Who cared about manners?

  I took swig after swig, before I slammed the bottle down on the counter. The alcohol was making it so much worse.

  I didn’t like to admit that I even had emotions so knowing that I was so close to tears bothered me. I hated that I’d cared so much about someone — for the first time in a long time — and had the idiotic sense to let her go.

  I started to pace, muttering to myself, cursing and scowling as I laced my fingers through my hair.

  “So fucking stupid!” I growled to myself as I felt my pacing slow, and eventually stop when I laid eyes on a particular picture in the corner of the living room shining like a fucking spotlight. I stared at it for a second and wondered if I was letting him down.

  I knew I needed to honor his memory.

  I knew I needed to do everything in my power to give him a good name. He deserved that much. There was one thing no one could ever say about him and that was that he didn’t care about his company, because he did. Of all the things he could have cared about, he cared about the company more than anything.

  It was his second child. He’d raised it into the billion-dollar corporation that it was today. If there was anything the asshole deserved, it was a good name when it came to MTS. And I needed to find a way to give him that. I knew I needed to stop wallowing in my own self-pity and at least try to make Dad proud. I didn’t want to let him down. God knew I’d already let Kate down. I hung my head and proceeded to pour myself another shot of whiskey.