Temp (Milford College Book 5)

by Noelle Adams

  You don’t jump someone the moment they no longer work for you and then not say something afterward. Something that will clear things up. That will make it clear you want to continue the relationship.

  I can’t be wrong about this.

  I know I’m not.

  Hopefully, I’m not.

  I can’t be. Can I?

  My racing heart has moved into my throat as I smooth down my skirt, wincing at the soreness between my legs. “Well.”

  “Well.” Liam reaches for the suit coat that’s draped over a side chair.

  “That was... good.”

  “Yeah. It was.”

  I wait. And wait some more. Swallow hard. “Okay.”

  He takes a ragged breath as he buttons his jacket. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

  “Okay.”

  I wait another few seconds, but he’s obviously not going to say anything. He won’t even meet my eyes.

  My hope and excitement slowly sink into dread as we leave the building and walk to the parking lot without another word.

  I almost drop my keys. My hand is shaking so much. I can’t just leave it hanging like this, so I hear myself asking, “Are you... are you mad at me or something?”

  “No.” His answer comes quickly. Slightly hoarse. I’m sure it’s sincere. He meets my eyes for the first time since we finished having sex. “Of course not. You’re amazing.”

  “Oh.” That’s a relief. I start to relax.

  Then he leans over to kiss my temple in a move that’s almost chaste. He murmurs, “I’m mad at myself.”

  I blink, shocked and confused. I open my mouth to ask what he means, but he’s already turned away from me. He’s striding back to the building. Away from me.

  He’s leaving. With that.

  I have no idea what to do. I’m not the kind of person who thinks quickly on her feet. I need time and space to work things out. So I don’t run after him or demand a conversation or anything.

  I get back into my car and drive home.

  By the time I’ve gotten there, I’m almost in tears. The sex was amazing, but nothing that happened afterward bodes well for me.

  This no longer feels like the beginning of a relationship.

  It feels like the end.

  My mother is waiting. I’d texted to tell her I was having dinner after work, so she’s not worried about my late arrival. She greets me with her normal cheer and starts to ask how my day was.

  But she stops before she gets the whole question out. She’s gotten a good look at my face. “Polly, what on earth is the matter?”

  “I... I don’t know.” I lick my lips and admit the truth. “I think... I think I might have just gotten dumped.”

  Eight

  I DON’T GET MUCH SLEEP that night because I keep tossing and turning and waiting to see if Liam will call or text me, and when I do doze off, it’s full of anxiety dreams. I wake up groggy and heavy and with a knot in my stomach that doesn’t go away.

  After going to the bathroom and splashing water on my face, I head for the kitchen, hoping my mother has already made a pot of coffee. It’s hard for her to do since she has to raise herself up using crutches to reach the coffeepot, but she’s done it a few times over the past two weeks—whenever she’s woken before me—so there’s a chance she’s done so this morning.

  She has. I smell it as soon as I leave my bedroom.

  As I pass her sitting in her recliner and watching the news, I mumble a greeting but don’t pause until I’ve reached the kitchen counter and poured coffee into a mug. I take a few sips to clear my head before I call out, “You need some more coffee?”

  “That would be great, if you don’t mind.” She always punctuates any request for help with if you don’t mind.

  I refill her coffee and then take mine to sit down on the couch.

  She mutes the television. “You look terrible.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  “You know what I mean. Didn’t you get any sleep?”

  “A few hours.”

  “Why don’t you just call him this morning and talk to him?”

  Last night, I explained to my mother a vague summary of my relationship with Liam. She knows enough to realize I’m really upset about what felt like an ending last night. “If he doesn’t want a relationship with me, then calling him will be horrible and not do any good.”

  “Maybe he’s just waiting to let a little time pass since you worked for him. Maybe he’ll call you next week.”

  “Mom, please.” I’m too exhausted to cry, but my eyes are aching, so I rub them. “I’m not completely clueless about men. He kept stalling because I worked for him, and since that was a real obstacle, I believed that was the reason. But now I’m thinking he was just using it as an excuse because he was afraid. If he wanted to... to pursue something with me, he would have said something last night. He didn’t. That was it. I’m not wrong about it.”

  My mom sighs and puts down her mug on a side table. “Okay. I believe you. I just think if he played with you like that, to make you think he was interested and then drop you for no good reason, then he’s an asshole.”

  “Mom!” I’m mostly exclaiming over her choice of language. She never uses words like that.

  “Well, he is. You’re not silly or stupid. You’re always cautious about relationships. You wouldn’t have gotten your hopes up if he hadn’t given you reason. Why would he do that if he didn’t want you?”

  I’ve thought about that all night long, so I have an answer for her. A bleak one but one I know to be true. “I think he does. Part of him does. But the rest of him isn’t ready to jump into another relationship after what happened to his last one. He wants me, but he doesn’t want me enough.”

  “He’s an asshole.”

  “Mom!”

  “Don’t Mom me. Whether he intended to or not, he used you and he hurt you, and I’m not okay with that.”

  A tear does slip out at that. I wipe it away with a wobbly smile. “I know. Thanks. But this kind of thing happens all the time. This was always just a... just a temporary thing. In another month, I’ll go back to Charlottesville, and I’ll try to live my life again.”

  My mother is silent for a moment. Then, “Is that what you want?”

  “What do you mean? I need to finish my PhD.”

  “I know that. That’s not what I mean. I mean, do you want it to have been temporary? Do you want to give up on Liam?”

  My eyes widen. “Wh-what? You just said he was an asshole.”

  “Of course he is. But if women gave up on men every time they acted like assholes, then the human race would entirely die out.”

  The dry comment catches me by surprise, and a little giggle spills out.

  My mom’s eyes are very kind, just slightly amused. “Last night was one moment in a life. One moment in a relationship. He didn’t treat you right. Have there been other moments when he didn’t treat you right?”

  I pause, thinking through the question sincerely. “No. Not really. He’s always been really good to me. Until...”

  “Until last night. So it’s one moment. We all mess up occasionally. If a man continues to be an asshole, then he doesn’t deserve more chances. But maybe Liam was scared. Maybe he’s been hurt and self-protection is his first impulse. Maybe give him one more chance and see if he wants to stay the asshole or if he wants to go back to the good man he’s always been.”

  For the first time, I feel a flicker of hope, but it terrifies me. “Mom, please. I don’t want to start daydreaming about things that are never going to happen. And I’m not going to go beg for a man to want me when he doesn’t.”

  “But you told me he does.”

  “Not enough.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. Did you make it clear you want him?”

  “He should... he should know.”

  “Well, there’s a mistake that you made, assuming the other person knows how you feel. Especially you.”

  “What do you mean, especially me?�
��

  “I mean you hide yourself all the time. Your real self. It’s entirely possible he doesn’t know. Maybe he’s afraid to risk his heart again when he doesn’t think you’ll want it.”

  “But that doesn’t... that doesn’t...” I give a little whimper. “I don’t even know.”

  “Then that’s the first thing to figure out.” My mom adjusts her weight, obviously trying to get her leg in a more comfortable position. “What do you want? Think about it for a minute. What do you really want most?”

  I’m too emotionally torn to resist the vulnerability this requires. I do what she says. I think about it for a minute. Then I admit, “I want... I want a home.”

  She extends a hand, as if trying to touch me. She’s too far away to do it, so I lean over enough to take her hand. “You always have a home with me, sweetie.”

  I swipe away another tear. “I know, Mom. Thank you. But I want my own home. I’m almost thirty. I feel like I should... I still feel like I’m always in transition. Like I’m waiting to get to a situation where I can settle. Like everything is just temporary. And I’m tired of it. I want a home. I want to live life with people. I want it to be... real. I don’t want to keep waiting for life to happen to me.”

  “Oh, Polly.”

  With a frown, I straighten up on the couch again. “What does that mean?”

  “Young people today. Always waiting for life to happen. Just sitting there and waiting for it to fall in their laps the way they see on TV and Facebook.”

  I understand what she’s saying, and it registers with me emotionally. But I hear myself saying, “Mom, sorry to break it to you, but young people today don’t really spend much time on Face—”

  “You know what I mean!” She’s giving me an almost mischievous look.

  “I do know,” I say with a sigh.

  “Home isn’t just something that happens to you. Not after you’ve grown up. Think about how you went after a career. You decided what you wanted. You prioritized it. And now you’re building it. You have to build home the same way. You don’t just land there out of the blue. You have to decide what you want and go after it. You have to find people you care about and make room for them. Maybe one of those people will be a husband. Maybe none of them will be. Everyone’s home looks different. But you’ll never have a home unless you make room for people you love.”

  I’m trembling a little bit now. “So you think I should... I should...”

  “I think you need to look beyond the temporary. If you care about this man, make room for him in your life. That means occasionally doing things that are hard for you. Like going to talk to him even after he’s hurt you. If he’s still putting up roadblocks, then you’ll know it’s not going to work. You’ll know he’s not going to make room for you. It has to work both ways.”

  I nod. I’m too emotional to speak, but I nod.

  A COUPLE OF HOURS LATER, I’ve showered and dressed and steeled my will, and I drive over to campus.

  Making phone calls are still an anathema to me, so I’m not going to do it unless I have no other choice. I can’t show up at Liam’s house. (Even if I was willing to do that, I don’t even know where he lives.) But instead of calling, I drive to the Milford College campus to see if his car is in the staff lot.

  It’s Saturday. He shouldn’t be working. But that doesn’t mean he won’t be.

  I can show up in his office. That wouldn’t be inappropriate.

  My heart jumps into my throat when I see that one of the few cars parked in the lot is Liam’s dark gray imported sedan. I pull into a parking space nearby it. Then I sit and take several deep breaths before I can manage to unbuckle my seat belt and turn off the engine.

  It takes all the courage I possess to get out of the car and start to walk toward the administration building.

  I’m in a daze. Like I’m not quite in my own body. I see the details of campus around me. The occasional crack in the sidewalk. The soda bottle on the grass that didn’t quite make the trash can nearby. The big sign with the campus map on my right. But none of the details fully process in my mind. My body is moving, but I’m not sure how it’s doing so.

  About halfway to the building, I jerk to a stop when I realize an older woman is approaching me from the opposite direction. I recognize her instinctively, but my mind isn’t working very well, so it takes a minute until I realize it’s Liam’s mother.

  She’s looking at me too, and I see surprise and then what looks like an overwhelming relief washing over her attractive face. “Oh thank God, dear. I’m so glad to see you.”

  I stopped walking when I saw her, and now I can’t really move at all. I open my mouth and nothing comes out.

  “Please go and let him fix things,” she says, her voice soft, gentle. “He’s a mess. I was just there trying to get him to come home, but he won’t budge.”

  A few pieces of information are finally piercing through the fog in my mind. “Has he been in his office all night?”

  “All night.” Mrs. Cunningham shakes her head. “Poor, stupid man. He thinks he blew it. I told him to just say sorry and try again, but he...”

  I lick my dry lips. “He’s sorry?”

  “Of course he’s sorry, dear. I’m so sorry he hurt you. He’s just had such a hard time moving on after Gail. He’s always waiting to get crushed again. But ever since he met you, he’s been a new man. He’s been his old self again. I saw it and realized why even before he could admit it to himself. Please say you’ll give him another chance.”

  I’m shaking again but for a different reason this time. “I... I will. If he wants... I will.”

  Her face twists in relief. “Oh, thank you. If he lost you, I don’t think we’d ever get him back.” She starts to reach out toward me but pauses. “Can I give you a hug, dear?”

  I’m so surprised I just nod. She hugs me. She’s a good hugger. I feel better when we pull apart. With a shaky smile, I say, “Okay. I guess I’ll...”

  “Yes, dear. Please. Go rescue him from himself.”

  I feel entirely different as I leave her and walk the rest of the way to the building. The exterior door is open, so I go in. I have an anxious moment when I reach the executive suite and see the door is closed, until I turn the knob and discover it’s unlocked.

  Liam’s office door is half-open. I’m filled with an overwhelming sense of homecoming as I walk the short distance from the suite door to his office and then step inside without knocking.

  To my surprise, Liam isn’t at his computer. He’s facing his desk and scrawling something on a yellow legal pad.

  He looks as terrible as I felt this morning. He hasn’t changed clothes since yesterday. His face is pale, and there are deep shadows under his eyes. He’s scrawling like mad on the pad of paper, and he’s so consumed by whatever he’s working on that it takes him a while to realize I’m standing there.

  His eyes finally lift, staring at me blankly as if he can’t fully process what he’s seeing. Then his whole body jerks, and he jumps to his feet. “Polly.”

  I take a few steps closer. “Hi.” Okay. Not the most brilliant of greetings, but at least it’s a whole word and it’s mostly coherent.

  “What are you doing here?” His voice is gruff, but I see a sudden blaze of something in his eyes. It’s deep and rich and full and warm. It’s more than relief. It’s hope. Such shattering hope.

  The sight of it there—and what it must mean—nearly knocks me off my feet. In lieu of falling to my knees and sobbing out how much I love him, I sniff and say rather primly, “I’m here so you can apologize to me.”

  He stares without moving. Then cocks his head to the side with a scowl. “You’re here so I can apologize to you?”

  “Yes. That’s what I said.”

  “Isn’t that kind of presumptuous? What if I don’t want to apologize?”

  “Are you really standing there grumbling at me?” I’m scowling now as much as he is.

  “Yes, I’m grumbling at you. You show up in
my office on a Saturday morning and demand that I apologize to you.”

  “Well, you should be grateful I’m even giving you a chance after the way you treated me last night.”

  “I am.” The words come quickly, softly, roughly. Completely unexpected.

  I blink. “What?”

  “I am. Grateful.” He comes around the desk toward me, reaching out to take both my hands in his. “Oh my God, Polly, I can’t believe you’re here. I was just over there writing out what I needed to say to you.”

  “You were writing it out?” My eyes get very wide.

  “Well, taking notes.” He slants me a sheepish little look that makes me giggle. “So I’d know what to say.”

  Spontaneously I dart over to grab the legal pad off the desk so I can read what he was writing earlier. It’s a lot of scrawled notes—half of them scratched out.

  He grabs the pad from me, and we have a little scuffle over it until he wrests it away. I try to huff at him, but he suddenly hugs me, wrapping his arms around me so tightly I start to shake with emotion.

  “I’ll tell you what I was writing out,” he mumbles against my ear. “You don’t have to try to read that mess.”

  “So tell me.” I straighten up and look at him expectedly.

  His face softens. “I don’t deserve for you to make this so easy for me.”

  “Who said it’s going to be easy?” I say, emotion quavering in my voice. “You haven’t even apologized yet.”

  “I’m so sorry, honey.” He lets go of my hands so he can cup my face. “This is what I wrote. I was scared. I was nothing but scared. I’ve waited so long to be able to... to be with you the way I want, and when it finally got to the right time, I... failed. I was terrified. I kept thinking about how destroyed I’d be if I ever lost you. So it was easier not to even try. But it was wrong. It was nothing but wrong. And I know I hurt you with my cowardice. So you have all the sorries I can’t ever give you. And I’ll spend whatever amount of time necessary convincing you to give me another chance. Because that’s what I want. I want another chance with you. I want to try to live again, and I want to do it with you. I haven’t felt alive in so long. And you’re the one who woke me up.”