Make Me Lose

by Leigh, Ember

I’d need at least two years to establish myself, with a budget five times as large as back home for multimedia. I’m twenty-eight, so that means I wouldn’t even be able to realistically think about getting pregnant until I was in my early thirties. Which is great. Except establishing myself doesn’t necessarily translate to financial solvency. I can see myself needing more time to really get in my groove here. To rake in the profit I’m used to.

  My guess is that if I let the NYC market dictate motherhood, I wouldn’t get pregnant until I was thirty-eight. And that’s not how I envisioned things unfolding.

  This question weighs on me, clawing at my arms and my legs, every hour of every day. The RAM of my brain is at ninety-nine percent trying to fix this hang up, even when I try to not actively think about it.

  Because what happens if I make the wrong choice?

  And what happens when both choices seem wrong?

  Grayson finally gets home just after nine thirty, and he’s rushing around, dropping off his briefcase, tugging off his tie. I get a quick kiss from him before he bolts into the bedroom.

  “I wanna change, and we’ll leave,” he calls out. “Sorry I’m so late. Are you starving?”

  I follow him into the bedroom, watching as he unbuttons his work shirt and steps out of his slacks. Two weeks ago, he had me backed up against the door, fucking me senseless. Today, I can practically see the wrought iron his muscles have turned into from stress.

  “I’m hungry,” I say, easing onto the bed. “But don’t worry about it. I had a big snack before my flight.”

  A smile ghosts his face. “Hopefully not the same kind you had last time you were here.”

  He zips into the bathroom then, and I hear a heavy sigh. When he comes back out, he’s rubbing his face.

  “Rough day at the office?” I ask, wincing.

  “You could say that.”

  “It’s okay, babe. It’s the weekend now.” I stand in front of him, searching out his expression. His gaze darts over my face, but it doesn’t seem like he really sees me. I smooth my palms up his arms and over his chest. He unwinds slightly.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” he murmurs, pushing his hands over the tops of my hips. He presses his forehead to mine, and I can feel some of his spark return. “I’d have you laid out on my bed if it weren’t almost ten already.”

  I laugh. “Sex can wait. Sushi cannot.”

  My stomach is grumbling, and I’m a whiff away from being hangry, but I don’t let him know this. He’s stressed and teetering on the edge of a bad mood, so Operation Start the Weekend commences. I help him pick out an outfit, keeping it fun and flirty as we hurry to the elevator and make our way to the street. He keeps my hand in his, and even though he’s smiling and laughing, I can feel the exhaustion radiating off him.

  The streets are bustling and alive at ten 'til ten, and even though it’s so extremely late for dinner, I don’t mind. Because I’m in vacation mode. He leads me to the sushi joint around the corner. It’s all dim lighting and low black seats. A waitress with a septum piercing and strange, blocky-cut hair leads us to a corner booth. We slide into the highbacked vinyl seat, and Gray takes me in his arms.

  We look at the same menu. He rests his chin on my shoulder and occasionally grunts his approval as I repeat different options.

  “You’re so tired,” I say, twisting to look him in the face.

  “I know. Get me whatever you think I’d like.”

  I tilt my head back and forth as I make the decision for both of us. Grayson yawns.

  “Poor thing.” I pat his knee. “What time did you go in today?”

  “Six.”

  I knit my brow. “Why so early?”

  “I wanted to leave early because you were coming.”

  It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that’s a fifteen-hour workday…on a day he was supposed to leave early.

  “Why did you get out so late?”

  He shakes his head, eyes drifting shut. “Some of the research my junior came up with got all fucked up. So we had to scramble to fix it for the client. It’s one of my biggest accounts, so…”

  I’ve heard this same story from him in passing before. Not about this client, or this exact junior, but the same storyline. Something got messed up, so he spent multiple overtime hours trying to fix it. He lives at his office, but for some reason he won’t admit it.

  “Let’s eat and then go back and go to sleep,” I murmur into his ear. He heaves a sigh, tightening his grip around my waist.

  “But we need to go out and do something,” he insists.

  “We’re doing it right now. And then once you’ve had a good night’s sleep, we’ll do even more tomorrow.”

  He grunts, swiping his thumb back and forth across the top of my thigh. “Okay, Mother.”

  The sushi spread comes, and it’s truly a work of art. But Grayson is checked out. He eats, but he doesn’t even seem fazed. This sushi is phenomenal—when it comes arranged in the shape of a serpent, you know you’re in for a treat. But he could care less.

  And I get it. I really do. He’s trying to muster energy when there isn’t any left to give. He’s bordering on burnout. And the truth is plain to see.

  The man doesn’t have any space in his life for anything beyond work. Which doesn’t leave much time for that happy family I want to create with him.

  It’s a thought I try to suppress as I inhale wasabi and salmon. I even feed Grayson a few pieces, and he grins while I chopstick the food into his mouth. He’s let the front of his hair grow out more, and there is a whole mess of curls forming over his forehead. With the sides shorn almost to shaved, he looks even more like an impossibly trendy New Yorker.

  One who’s burnt out on work. Who lives his personal life in the half hours before bedtime and after sunrise. Who wants it all but doesn’t have time for any of it.

  Once we’re back in the apartment, Grayson is asleep before his cheek touches the pillow. It’s late for me too, so I spoon his snoring frame for a little bit before drifting off.

  I won’t be mad about not having a late night with him. I at least have him at my side.

  Except that sounds like a dangerous mantra.

  One that might become the norm if I decide to live here.

  Chapter 27

  HAZEL

  The next morning, I’m up at seven, bright eyed and bushy-tailed. Hey, that’s sleeping in for me. Grayson is still dead to the world, so I rummage around his kitchen and prep the coffee maker. Sunlight fills his apartment, and I can’t help but smile. This place is gorgeous. The view? Stunning.

  It’s absolutely in my top ten favorite destinations.

  The thought throbs through me as I stare at the drip drip drip of the coffee maker. There’s a difference between destinations and home, though. My phone vibrates at a quarter 'til eight. My dad is calling.

  “Honey, I wanna take you out for some breakfast,” he barks.

  I smile, nudging the phone between my ear and shoulder as I pull a black mug from the flat white cabinets. The entire kitchen is decked out in white with steel accents. All the appliances are stainless steel. It’s sleek and bright and inspiring. Being in the real estate business here would be fun.

  “I can’t, Dad.” I would love to take him up on his offer, slip out while Grayson sleeps to meet my dad for pancakes. But I’m hundreds of miles away now. And if I move here, my breakfast trips with dad will be reduced to once or twice a year. “I’m out of town.”

  “Yeah? Where’d you go this time?”

  “New York again.” I’ve kept things kind of quiet about my trip this time.

  “Again? Are you really trying to move out there now?”

  My stomach pitches. This is what I was afraid of. Facing the beast head on. “I don’t know. I’m considering it.”

  “You told me you weren’t gonna.”

  “I know.” I nibble on my lip as I pour myself a brimming mug of coffee. “I know.”

  A sigh rattles out of him. “You really w
anna move to follow this guy?”

  “I’m just seeing,” I say with a sigh. “Besides, I know a woman who followed a man to Bayshore once upon a time. Was she so wrong?”

  “Peach,” he says, sounding resigned. “Those were different times. Your mama didn’t have a ten-million-dollar business.”

  I smile. He always inflates my success, but I don’t mind it.

  “Besides,” he goes on, “I’ve seen plenty of friends who started out like me ’n’ your mama. And they’re all divorced now. People get unhappy about what they sacrificed, and it drives them apart.”

  I frown. He makes a good point. Grayson wants me to sacrifice a lot. But he doesn’t see it that way. And maybe that’s the jagged edge of the puzzle that refuses to click into place. He’s blinded by something—whether it’s his disdain for Bayshore, or his adrenaline addiction in New York, or something else altogether—and it’s like he doesn’t even realize it.

  But still. If this is the only way to keep Grayson…then I should do it.

  Even if it’s hard.

  “I’m just sayin’ your mama probably would have been unhappy down the road too. I made her leave her home. You know what I’m saying? She woulda stayed in southern Ohio 'til the end of her days if it wasn’t for me. But what do I know? I’m an old fart. I know you two got something going on, but damn. I want you to be happy.”

  “I’ll be happy,” I reassure him, snickering to myself. He always calls himself an old fart. “With whatever decision I make. I promise.”

  “All right, Peachy. Well, Imma go find myself someone else to watch me eat waffles. When you comin’ home?”

  I tell him I’ll be back Sunday night, and we set up a date for the next weekend. When I hang up the phone, I notice Grayson in the doorway to the bedroom, rubbing his eyes.

  “Morning, sleepyhead.” I grab a second mug and pour him a cup too. He stumbles into the kitchen, wearing shorts and bedhead. I’ve never seen a sexier sight. He scratches at his chest, and then wraps me in a big hug.

  “Morning.” He kisses the top of my head about ten times. His voice is groggy and deeper than normal.

  “Did you get enough sleep?” I prop my chin on his chest and gaze up at him. This. Right here. This is the moment that will always have me considering abandoning everything in Ohio. The warmth of him wrapped around me. That strong jawline and the indescribable feeling that everything is finally, blissfully complete. As long as Gray is here with me.

  “Mmm. I feel like a million bucks.”

  “Just a million?” I tease. “That’s chump change out here. Why not a billion?”

  “I feel like a trillion bucks, actually.” He leans down and presses a minty kiss to my lips. “Who was on the phone?”

  “My dad.” I pass him his cup of coffee, forearms prickling as I realize he probably overheard my end of that conversation.

  “Ah. So that makes more sense.” He tugs at the front of his hair before he eases onto a stool facing me on the other side of the kitchen island. He blows at the top of his mug for a moment.

  “What does?”

  “That you know a woman who followed a man to Bayshore once upon a time.”

  I cup the mug in my hands, relishing the heat. Grayson keeps his apartment just this side of chilly. “He’s a little worried I’m seriously considering moving here.”

  Gray watches his coffee a moment, then looks up at me, vulnerability written in his gaze. “Well, aren’t you?”

  “Of course I am.” My chest tightens. “I told him originally that I wouldn’t. And I haven’t really been telling a lot of people about these visits, so both he and Callie tried to make plans with me this weekend. They’re curious.”

  “Callie too?”

  I nod, slurping at my coffee. “Nobody wants me to leave.”

  Gray doesn’t say anything.

  “But I have an interested buyer already for my house,” I say, trying to sound bright about it. Gray’s astonished gaze finds mine.

  “Are you serious?” The excitement in his voice is a jolt better than the caffeine winding through my veins.

  “Yes. I mean, it happened organically. I haven’t even listed the house or anything. But the right opportunity sort of…came along.” I laugh, but it sounds hollow. I don’t want to sell my house. But one of the tours I gave last week was to an old family friend, who said they’d always secretly wanted my house and would buy it the second it went for sale. I hadn’t even said I was considering a move. They’d seen it while driving past through the years and always admired it.

  Coincidence? Or a sign that I should head to Brooklyn?

  Just one occurrence of many leaving me questioning what the right path forward might look like.

  On the one hand, I could sell my house next week and land softly in Dumbo with a serious boyfriend and a pre-set future ahead of me.

  Or I could say no to the love of my life because I want babies sooner rather than later, and because I miss the sound of birds in the morning.

  “Babe. That’s awesome.” Grayson squeezes my hand, something heavy in his gaze. Something meaningful.

  “Yeah.” My gaze drops back to the coffee. “I don’t know if I’ll sell though. I’d need it for start-up money out here, but…”

  “Sell it or don’t. It’s totally up to you.” Clarity shines in his eyes. He’s got that tone that means business. “I can help with your start-up money.”

  “I saw the amount you offered in your spreadsheet,” I say, feeling more doubts rise to the surface. “But I don’t think it would be enough. Not after meeting with your friend last time. Really, I think the wisest thing would be to sell my house and take you up on your offer. Just to have the cushion for the first two years that I’d need to really see if I can hack it out here.”

  “Great. Let’s do that.”

  I nibble on my lip, staring at the contents of my mug. “It kinda hurts to consider selling my house.”

  Grayson deflates a little. The sense I get is that inside his head he’s thinking, Great, so we’re back to Square Bayshore.

  “I’ve spent so much time and money on it. And I love it.”

  “We can totally redesign this apartment, you know.”

  “Right. But…” I sigh. I don’t know what else to say. The doubts are killing me. They’re eating away at my sanity and my free time. Even standing here in Grayson’s apartment doesn’t give me any clarity. I’m just as conflicted as ever.

  Grayson’s phone buzzes from across the room. He flexes his jaw, twisting around to look at the phone. It buzzes for a while, and then he finally goes after it. He answers it with a thorny voice.

  “What is it?”

  I don’t need to overhear a thing to know that it’s work related. He rubs at his face as he comes back toward the kitchen. He clears his throat, easing back onto the stool with a strained look on his face.

  “I’m not coming in,” he finally says. “You need to figure this out your own damn self. And don’t call me for the rest of the day. For fuck’s sake. You hear me?”

  He swipes off his phone and turns suddenly to hurl his phone at the couch. It lodges itself between the cushions. I stare at it, stunned.

  “Jesus Christ, kill me now,” he mutters, pinching at the bridge of his nose.

  “Um, Grayson?” I ask. I’m not used to seeing him act like that. “If I give up everything in Bayshore and move out here, will you promise to get a new job?”

  He drags his gaze up to mine, and there’s uncertainty there. Like he’s trying to figure out whether to laugh or not.

  “I can’t quit,” he says.

  “Why? Because you love hating life?”

  “I make over half a million dollars a year,” he says quietly. Almost menacingly. “I can’t walk away from that.”

  The number is a gut punch. A tidy sum, to be sure. But at what cost?

  “You might make a lot of money, but you’re spending every ounce of your life to earn it,” I remark before sipping at my coffee again
. I want to keep this casual, friendly even, but my heart is pounding as I speak. This conversation won’t remain lighthearted for long. “You didn’t get off until nine last night, and that was ‘early.’”

  Gray’s jaw flexes. “It won’t be like this always. As soon as I get promoted to Managing Director—”

  “When will that be?”

  He shakes his head. “It could be a few more years.”

  “And when will you know?”

  “The promotions are sporadic. I climbed early and fast, but it depends on redundancy and vacancies.”

  I chew on the inside of my lip. “So you could have multiple years of this ahead of you still.” My stomach sinks faster than a boulder in Lake Erie. I knew he worked a lot, but I thought it had been more of a passion thing. Like how I work from dawn till dusk some days.

  But the difference is, I love what I do. I don’t go home at night and chuck my phone into the sofa and swear enough to rouse the devil.

  “I get off by eight most nights,” he offers, like this is somehow a consolation. “But this fucking issue we’re having has—” He grimaces. “No. I’m done talking about it. I’m not at work right now."

  I fiddle with the handle of my mug, suddenly uncertain what to say next. A tornado of doubts swirls through me, ripping roofs off my sanity, overturning the cars parked in my alley of stability. Grayson doesn’t want to give up the lifestyle, even though he hates it.

  “It doesn’t seem like you love your job.”

  He scoffs. Bitterly. “I don’t most days.”

  “Then why don’t you find something else?”

  “Didn’t you hear me? I can’t walk away from what I’m earning. I’m setting myself up for the rest of my life. I’ve got investments going in some big things right now. The money from the Bayshore house is going to a new start-up out in Silicon Valley, and I need to have the capital to invest.” He’s heated now, raking his hand through his hair as he paces the width of the living room. “It’s not ideal—I see that. But it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make because I believe in what I’m striving for.”

  “And what is that?” I ask, keeping my voice calm. Please don’t say become a billionaire.