Time Exposure (Click Duet #2) (Bay Area Duet Series)

by Persephone Autumn

  I have never hated myself as much as I do right now.

  I step into her, a tear slipping down my cheek as she steps back and bumps into her car. But I ignore her retreat and reach up, framing her face in my hands. This will not be the last time I see her; I won’t let it be. This is not how our story ends.

  “I fucked up, and I’m so sorry. So, so sorry. But I will fix this. I swear to you, I will fix this. And when I do, I’m coming back for you. You can count on it. Because, Cora” —I pause, pinching my eyes shut— “you and I belong together. No matter what obstacles come at us, we belong together. I love you. And I will always love you. Until my last breath. Until my dying day.”

  I lean down, press my lips to hers and kiss her softly. Our tears blend at our joined lips and I don’t know which are hers and which are mine. When I break the kiss, I lick our tears from my lips and step away. She stares at me a second as hundreds of thoughts invade her mind. Then she rushes to get in her car, starts the engine and drives away.

  Away from me. Away from us.

  I will give her time, but I won’t go down without a fight. Not this time. Never again.

  Two

  Cora

  I can’t breathe. Literally.

  A block from Gavin’s hotel, I turn onto a small side street and shift my car into park. The engine idles quietly as I rest my forehead against the steering wheel. Tears flood my eyes and blur the world around me. Violent sobs wrack my body as I lose all sense of composure. With every breath I try to inhale, the emotional boulder in my throat grows larger and heavier.

  He said it isn’t real. That this supposed engagement is a farce. A fallacy. Said she is only a friend. Just a friend. Nothing more. But if all of what he said is true, why do I feel like this? Empty. Broken. Shattered. Desolate.

  Why do I feel as if I have just lost the one person who makes me whole? The one person who soothes the ache. Makes me smile. Mends the wounds once created from his loss. A loss he had zero control over.

  I replay snippets of the conversation in my head, trying to find truth in Gavin’s words. Trying to listen to what he said. Really listen. Because the moment she announced their supposed relationship, the world spun off its axis. I wobbled. Stumbled backward in time. Back to a time when vows were made. To the day he left and promised to return, but abandoned me for more than a decade.

  He swears he and this other woman are not in a relationship. That he and this other woman are not betrothed. That they are just friends. Only friends. But why would Gavin’s friend say such things? Cruel words meant to inflict pain. To make me suffer.

  As is, my memory is one huge blob of confusion right now. It mixes in words and visuals from various conversations. Mingles them like partygoers. And I hate it. Hate that I don’t know what is real and what is artifice. I have no way of knowing what memory is fact or fable.

  So how can I decipher what to believe and what to disregard? And how the hell will I handle what happens next? I just don’t know. Can’t think past what just happened or the laceration in my heart.

  The one thing I do know with absolute certainty is I cannot sit on this beach another minute, crying my eyes out. Sooner or later, a cop will tell me to move along. Tell me I cannot be parked here because I don’t have a permit. Who cares if I cry so hard I risk an accident. Who cares if I have a meltdown and can’t feel my limbs.

  And with that, another round of sobs takes hold. I let it out, fishing a napkin from my glove compartment to blow my nose and dry some of the tears. When my cries slightly settle and I can breathe a little, I decide going home isn’t the best option.

  I grab my purse from the passenger seat and dig out my cell phone. With shaky hands, I unlock the phone and call Shelly. The ringing blares in my ear while I attempt to stop crying altogether. On the third ring, Shelly answers.

  “Hey, girl. How’s it going?” Shelly cajoles.

  I don’t answer right away as I still work to control my tears and breathing. But it is no use and I start blubbering like a baby. The semi-composed state I was in moments ago vanishes.

  “Cora?” she beckons, panic edging her voice. “Cora, are you okay? What’s wrong?”

  “I… I’m… Shelly…” I fumble, my words a mess of inconsistency. Just like my head. Just like my heart. “Shelly, can I… can I come over?” I manage to frame the question around my sobs.

  “Oh my god! Are you okay, Cora? What’s happening?”

  She still hasn’t answered my question. Please just tell me to come over. Just tell me it is okay. Not that I really need an invitation to her house, but I don’t want to intrude if she has plans.

  “Shelly, please. Please can I come over?” I plead through my incessant tears and sobs. I wish the blubbering would just stop. It hurts. Every muscle and bone and organ just hurts.

  “Yes, of course you can. Are you okay to drive? I can pick you up.”

  As tempting as her offer is, if I leave my car on the beach it will get impounded. And that is a whole separate nightmare I don’t need. Bad enough my heart is in shambles, I don’t need to have automobile and financial issues too. Shelly lives in a small one-bedroom in Largo, and I should be able to make it there in twenty minutes. If I collect myself mentally, driving to her house shouldn’t be an issue. It won’t take long. Then I can let it all go again.

  “You don’t need to come and get me. I’m leaving Clearwater Beach. Should be there in twenty to thirty, depending on the traffic.”

  “Cora, you’ve got me worried. Did something happen? Are you okay? Is Gavin okay?”

  Just hearing his name brings about a new bout of tears. My chest caves in on itself as my heart shrivels and lungs forget how to function. Breathe Cora.

  “I’ll tell you when I get to your house. See you soon.”

  And before she can say or ask anything else, I disconnect the call. If I plan to make it to her house in one piece, I need to clear my head as much as possible. Her infinite questions won’t help matters. She can ask them all when I get to her place.

  I sit unmoving in the car another couple minutes, taking deep breaths and attempting to refocus on physical objects.

  A man walks his dog on the sidewalk. The neon signs across the street promote beer and pizza and a live band. A child swings wildly between her parents as they head into a seafood restaurant. Breathe in. Breathe out. Just remember to breathe, Cora. The flash of the pedestrian crossing sign lights up. An older woman rides by on a tricycle with colorful lights.

  Once calm enough to drive, I turn the car around, drive off the beach and head in the direction of Shelly’s place.

  A couple blocks down, I crank up the radio and play loud, upbeat music. Then I roll down the windows and let the wind pelt my skin and whip my hair. Minutes later, I no longer smell the salty beach air and am hit with the occasional scent of fast food or well water. But right now, I would rather smell the foul odor of greasy meat and sulfur than the beach.

  Because no matter how much time passes, the sight, smell and feel of the beach will always remind me of Gavin. Always.

  After weaving down a couple streets, I park my car in front of Shelly’s apartment building. As I get out of the car, I spot Shelly running down the stairs and heading in my direction. She slams into me and wraps her arms around me, squeezing me with boa constrictor strength. And I don’t pry her off me. I simply cry into her shoulder. Soaking her hair and shirt. Couldn’t tell you if anyone passed by us. I honestly don’t give a damn.

  We stand like this for a while before she breaks the hug. “Come on, let’s go inside.”

  I don’t say a word, stumbling beside her with my arm hooked in hers. She guides us inside, takes my keys and purse and sets them on the coffee table. We plop down on the couch and she hugs me close again, stroking my hair. She lets me cry and sob until my body can no longer do either anymore. Shelly knows exactly what I need and doesn’t bother trying to ask more questions. Not yet, anyway.

  When my sobs recede, Shelly assumes I have reach
ed the max quota for tears in one day. She leans away from me and ducks her head to look me in the eyes. “You want to talk about it?”

  And for the first time since I arrived, our eyes finally meet and hold. Her expression a heaping pile of concern as she regards me. My eyes feel ten times bigger than normal and sting from crying for the last hour straight. No doubt they are bloodshot and lifeless.

  Lifeless. Exactly how I feel right now.

  “It’s Gavin,” I say as I stare at my fumbling hands in my lap. If I look back up and see sadness in Shelly’s eyes, I will lose it again. And I am so tired of crying. So very tired. It hurts too fucking much.

  Shelly rubs my back with gentle, endearing strokes. “What about Gavin?”

  I swallow, not wanting to speak about the fiasco that happened tonight, but knowing full well I need to get it off my chest. To tell someone. To get insight from someone I trust.

  Gavin told me none of it was true. That they were only friends. But if they were only friends and not actually engaged, why would he hide all of it from me? He never mentioned her as being one of his friends. Or a fellow model. Actually, he hasn’t mentioned anyone he knows in California aside from his mom. And something about that doesn’t sit well with me.

  Does he not want me to know about his life the last thirteen years? Does he have something to hide?

  Inhaling deeply, I prepare to recant the evening before I called. Deep breaths, Cora. You need to let it all out.

  “Gavin and I went back to his hotel after spending the day together. He invited me up to his room and I obliged. Everything was good. Perfect, actually. We cuddled on the couch and started watching Netflix. Halfway through the show, someone knocked on the door. We were both confused by it, but Gavin said it was probably someone at the wrong room and he’d send them away.”

  I stop talking. Stare at my fumbling fingers in my lap. Pick at a loose thread along the hem of my shirt. Bite the inside of my cheek and try my best not to start crying. Again.

  If what Gavin said was true, why is this so hard to say? Why is it so hard for me to believe? To believe he is telling me nothing except the truth. Once upon a time, I never doubted a single word Gavin spoke. So, why do I doubt him now?

  And although the answer lingers at the edge of my thoughts, I don’t dare voice it. Not now. Not yet.

  “Take your time, Cora. Do you want some water?”

  I nod as I wring my shirt between my hands. She returns seconds later and hands me a glass. I drink the water and thank her. After I place the glass on the table, I rip the bandage from the wound in my chest and continue.

  “When Gavin didn’t come right back to the couch, I wondered who was at the door and what was taking so long. I headed for the door and heard him arguing with a woman. At first, I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but could tell they knew each other. For a moment, I thought maybe it was his agent. When I was close enough to hear them talking, I heard Gavin tell the woman he was planning to move back to Florida. At that point, I knew it wasn’t his agent because they’d already discussed him moving back. The woman seemed pissed and asked what was so great about being here. Just as she asked him, she caught sight of me.”

  Shelly gasps and slaps a hand over her mouth as her eyes widen. And suddenly, it seems I don’t need to tell her what happens next, because she already knows. She may not know the pertinent details, but she has a vague idea. And I plan to tell her everything. To get it all off my chest. I need to. Because bottling this up will kill me.

  “The second her eyes landed on me; an evil smile lit up her face. Like she knew who I was. Like what would happen next would hurt me and Gavin, but she didn’t give a shit. Anyway, after she saw me, she became sweet and formal. She introduced herself—”

  “What’s her name?” Shelly interrupts.

  “Layla.”

  For a minute, Shelly lifts her eyes to the ceiling and studies the popcorn as if it is art. She searches her memory bank for anyone with the name Layla. But her search will yield no results. Because if Gavin didn’t mention her to me, I am positive he didn’t mention her to anyone else. Not even Micah. Why would he?

  “Don’t know her,” Shelly confirms.

  “Me either. She’s one of his California friends. After she introduced herself, she asked who I was. Seconds after, Gavin tried to make her leave. More than once. But she was insistent on staying and butting in. After no one spoke for a moment, she smiled big again and tells me she’s Gavin’s fiancée.”

  Shelly’s jaw drops to the floor as she stares at me. As her mouth closes, she narrows her eyes. “I’m sorry, what? I must have misheard you. Did you just say this bitch is his fiancée?”

  I nod as a fresh round of tears escapes and spills down my cheeks. “But he swears it’s not true. He wanted to explain it to me, but I bolted. And after he chased me down the hall and through the lobby and to my car, I didn’t want to hear any of it. Because even if what he says is true, why didn’t he tell me? We’ve talked so much over the last week. So why not explain it to me then? Why hide something like this if it means nothing?”

  And that is the biggest question of them all. If what Gavin told me is correct—that he and Layla are not together—why not tell me about her from the get-go? If there is nothing to hide, he should have been forthcoming. Not let me find out later or in some roundabout way.

  Shelly nods as she sits immobile. Her eyes fog over as her brain works double time. I stare at her as she sorts through all the details and tries to devise possible reasons why Gavin left this one piece of information out. Layla isn’t some minor tidbit. Not equivalent to admitting you have a dog that may not get along with my cat. No, Layla is a huge bomb to leave unattended. A bomb that blew up in both our faces.

  As it stands right now, my heart feels like it has been run over by a semitruck. Then it backed up and squashed me a second time for good measure. My head hurts—from the endless tears I keep crying and the thought that Gavin lied to me. Yes, it was a lie of omission. But he could have just told me and purposely chose not to.

  And that hurts more than anything.

  With his line of thinking, I have no doubt he planned to fly back to California and cut ties with whatever “fake engagement” he and this Layla woman have. Then, I would be none the wiser. Right? But I am a firm believer in the old adage “everything happens for a reason.” There is a reason Gavin never brought her up. Perhaps he thought it would be pointless. Maybe he thought the two of us would never meet and didn’t see why it was pertinent to disclose that part of his past. Or maybe he couldn’t figure out a way to tell me without hurting me. I have no clue. The only question rolling around in my head now is why did I need to know? What do I gain from this?

  Do I only want to know because it is a piece of Gavin? A part of his past that doesn’t include me. A gap filled by another person. Another woman. A woman who he claims is just a friend after she flaunted their familiarity.

  Is this me punishing myself? Pushing him away so he doesn’t break my heart again? Although, fragments are chipping from the edges and falling to my feet.

  “I don’t want you driving home tonight,” Shelly says as she sweeps a few stray hairs from my face and tucks them behind my ear.

  And the last thing I want tonight is to be alone. Shelly probably knows this—twenty-plus years of friendship teaches you these things. Plus, going home would entail me stripping the sheets from my bed. Sheets that smell of Gavin and me and the two of us tangled together this morning. Sheets full of memories of his lips on mine, his hands on my skin, his body fit perfectly against mine.

  “You’re okay with me staying?”

  “As if you have to ask.” She leans forward and wraps her arms around me. “You are always welcome in my home. No matter what.”

  I hug her as if it was our last. Shelly is a great friend. The best a girl could ask for. And I am thankful every day I have her in my life. To have her big heart and warm hugs.

  After the couch transition
s to my makeshift bed for the night, Shelly gives me one last hug before going to her room. I turn off the tall floor lamp across the room and slip under the blanket. The moment my eyes close, flashes of Gavin spill from my memory.

  Memories of us as teenagers—at school, under our tree, walking the beach at sunset, our first kiss—and memories of the last week—his cocksure smile, how easily we slipped back into old habits, the way he looked at me, how he held me, kissed me, promised me the future.

  And I am crippled by the pain that spins a vicious web throughout my body. It twists and spirals and weaves itself around my organs and engulfs me with an unfamiliar force. The gravity of it all crushes my heart ten times more aggressively than it did thirteen years ago. Knocks the breath from my lungs. Blinds me.

  I draw my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around them as another wave of tears bleeds from my eyes. As my body tremors more violent than the earth ever could.

  How could I let this happen again? How could I get in this deep? Let myself fall in love with Gavin Hunt a second time?

  The answer is simple. Always has been. I belong to Gavin. But does he belong to me?

  Three

  Gavin

  Thirteen years ago

  The plane jolts forward as the wheels touch down. A shriek from the brakes echoes in my ears and I wince. I stare out the window and take in the landscape surrounding the airport as we taxi to our gate. I haven’t stepped off the plane yet and I already hate this place. Hate everything it represents. Hate everything it stole from me.

  I reach around to my back pocket and grab my phone. After switching off airplane mode, I open the text screen and type out a message to Cora.

  Gavin: Just landed. It’s only been hours, but I miss you already. So much.

  My phone jingles and pings with notifications as it catches up from being offline the last six hours. Seconds later, Cora responds. Her notification the only one I check.