by Olivia Luck
“One more shot,” I tell Violet. “I’m going Friday after work and if she wants me to stop trying… I will take a break for a little while.”
“Whatever you think is best,” she says with an understanding smile. In the past three months, Violet hasn’t cast judgment on Zoe. I know that she’s just watching out for me and I appreciate her protectiveness.
“Excuse me, ladies. Stella, do you have a moment for a meeting?” Both of our eyes swing to where Katya stands above the table we’re sitting at in the lunchroom. She got into town a few days ago, and since then, my boss Colin has been on high alert. Instead of coming to work late and leaving early as he usually does, he’s on time and his shirt is tucked in for the most part.
“Yes, of course.” I push my seat backward and move to toss the uneaten bits of my lunch. Then I follow her through the employee lounge and into a small conference room. We sit across from each other, Katya the presence of sophisticated Speck royalty, and me, a serf looking to earn a spot with the nobility.
“What are your career plans, Stella?”
I’m flabbergasted. This was the very topic that I discussed with Zoe right before the Clarkes incident, but I let it fall to the wayside while I tried to be there for her. Now, I can hardly remember the plan I had formulated. “I love working at Speck,” I start out honestly. “I believe in our product and the executive team’s vision for the company. Ultimately, I want more responsibility in the account management team. I’m ready for bigger clients and providing more value to the company.”
With all that attention focused on Zoe, my career goals fell aside. Now I can see what Violet meant by my actions only hurting myself. I’ve always been career-minded. Katya has heard what’s important to me; that’s all I can do.
The first pleased expression that I’ve ever seen her share flashes across her face. “Wonderful. I agree with you that it’s time to expand your responsibilities at Speck. You have an excellent reputation here.”
Pleasure spreads across my chest and I can’t help but smile. “Thank you.”
“With that in mind, you should know that Colin will no longer be working at Speck.”
Internally, my jaw hits the floor and eyes bug out of my head. Come again? Colin’s been here since the company opened its Chicago office. His work ethic has slipped significantly in the past year, but I figured that a sense of loyalty would prevent him from being fired.
“Gone?” I repeat stupidly.
She nods once in a short affirmative. “Don’t think about it. You know as well as I do that he’s lost his motivation for Speck.” That’s putting it mildly. “As you know, he was managing the rollout one of our biggest clients, Chicago Center.”
Instinctively, my hands clench. Over the summer, Speck signed the arena that Blake’s father owns. I wanted to mention it to him, but other activities have consumed both of our attention.
“You will assume the Chicago Center. If all goes well with their next integration, you’ll have Colin’s job.”
“I-I…” How uncool of me to stammer in front the head of all account management. “That’s exactly the opportunity that I was looking for. I won’t disappoint you, Katya.”
A stiff smile appears and she lays her hands primly on the tabletop. “See that you don’t. Hiring a new manager in the accounts team would be a nightmare.”
What a crappy vote of confidence. I fight to school my features when I stand and thank her again. Katya dismisses me with the normal level of ambivalence. It’s not until I make it back to my desk that I let the inner cheerleader out and shout. It sucks that Colin is gone because we got along well, but this is a tremendous opportunity for me.
The rest of the week is dedicated to immersing myself in the Chicago Center’s integration. Speck’s technology accounts for employee scheduling, but the operations staff wants more features. My job will be to manage the implementation of integrating the Speck’s application with the human resources tool responsible for time-off requests of food staff at athletic games, concerts, and conventions. That’s the tip of the iceberg. If all goes well with this step, we’ll expand their feature set even further. The tasks are daunting and overwhelming, giving me little time to do anything but work.
Eventually, quitting time rolls around on Friday afternoon. Bubbles of nervous energy build up inside of me, threatening to burst at any moment as I pack my purse. Most weekends, I spend time with my parents, horde of cousins, aunts, uncles, and hanging around the restaurant with Baccino’s regulars.
Tonight will be different.
Most of my co-workers have left by the time I’m collecting my cell phone and purse. I allow myself a moment of vanity, heading to the bathroom to check my appearance in the mirror. My clear blue eyes reflect wariness. Yeah, I’m scared of going to Blake’s. Shrugging into my heavy black puffer coat, I consider the evening ahead of me. Blake texted me earlier in the day to let me know that Zoe’s therapist was making headway with her. They were engaging in bi-weekly sessions in his office; she was finally willing to leave the house without coaxing.
I wrap a scarf around my neck, pull my hair out, and allow the thick strands to lay free around my shoulders. Once the zipper’s pulled up in place and my winter messenger bag is settled on my hip, I head outside in the brutal December chill. Getting to Blake’s house means two busses—one headed north on Michigan Avenue and one west on Grand. That will give plenty of time for the cold to bite my fingertips and tingle the tip of my uncovered nose.
The trip to Blake’s brownstone is a contemplative one. Knowing if Zoe pushes me away that I’ll accept it sends my stomach rolling unhappily. It’s against my nature to watch someone who I love suffer.
Violet has a point, I admit to myself reluctantly. My desire to help does not outweigh Zoe’s need to fight off the demons without me. It’s time to accept her wishes, even if that means not seeing her for a while.
And not seeing Blake.
I wince at the thought. Can you miss someone who you hardly spend time with? The answer is clearly yes because I think of his easy smile, soothing presence, and even his wicked arrogance all too often.
There’s not enough time to pass through a fit of self-loathing as the bus comes to a creaky halt at my stop. I push open the back doors and step into a pile of sludge. Gross. Snow came early this year, causing ugly brown snow to litter the December streets. A few short blocks, taken quicker because I hate being outside in the subzero temperatures, and I’m in front of Blake’s gate. I don’t have to press the call button; it buzzes the moment that I arrive like he’s watching me from inside.
I glance at the front door immediately, but there’s no sign of Blake at the front window. How does he know that I’m here? By the time I have carefully climbed the icy steps and shoved my gloves into jacket pockets, the front door waits open patiently. Blake fills the gap between the chilly outdoors and the warmly lit foyer. Neither of us speaks as he backs up to allow me entrance. In a pair of thunder blue chinos and a slim-fit red, navy, and green flannel, he reminds me of a Ralph Lauren model. Not one strand of his whiskey-colored hair falls out of place. His broad shoulders strain against the confines of his tailored shirt. The thought of his powerful body sends my mind back to the night that he held Zoe and me in his arms. Of course, his embrace wasn’t romantic; Zoe was bawling her eyes out, after all. Nevertheless, I felt connected to him in a way that’s almost indescribable. His thumb stroking back and forth against my bicep was perhaps to calm me, but I had the strangest feeling that he was gaining strength from my presence.
The door shuts with a distinct click of a lock snapping into place.
“Hi.”
“Stella.” His eyes lock with mine, some intense, unnamed emotion shooting toward me. I’m too breathless to respond with anything coherent. How does he always do this to me? Rendering me speechless with only brief eye contact…Blake hooks his pointer finger and thumb around the zipper on my coat, dragging it down unceremoniously.
This is a new d
evelopment. Blake never touches me unless it is absolutely necessary, or we’re comforting his sister together. I keep quiet, wondering what will happen next—the sun exploding? Pigs flying?
Once the zipper’s undone, he gently places his hands underneath the collar and pushes the puffer coat off my shoulders, revealing the chunky sweater and skinny jeans that I’m wearing. When his fingers graze across my wool-covered skin, I noticeably shiver. He drapes the coat over his forearm but doesn’t move. Unreadable brown eyes pierce me, searching for something.
What do you want? I’ll give you anything, I tell him silently. He’s my dream guy. He’s been my dream guy since I was twenty years old. For six years, I’ve wanted to be his and for him to be mine. Stupid or not, he’s the one I want. My tongue slips out to wet my suddenly dry lips on its own accord. I’ve forgotten why I’m here.
The appearance of my tongue snaps Blake out of his silent reverie. He clears his throat roughly and spins around to hang my coat in the hallway closet. “Thank you for coming.”
You’re here to check on your friend, I remind myself with disgust, not fantasize about her brother’s strong, capable hands.
Leaning down, I tug off my winter boots and place them neatly out of the way. I wiggle my wool-covered toes, fidgeting with nervousness. “Does she want to see me?” I ask hopefully.
Blake doesn’t bother to hide his regret, shaking his head swiftly. “She doesn’t know that I asked you to come.”
“Figured as much. She in her room?”
Blake frowns. “Yeah. Let me know if you—I don’t know, need something.” He cups the back of his neck with his palm, his disquiet blaring. “You know, she started seeing Dr. Greene regularly. I’m hoping that he’s convinced her to let you back in. Zoe needs a friend like you now more than ever.”
“Me, too,” I mutter. “I’ll see myself up.”
Blake doesn’t move from his spot, doesn’t speak a word, as I cross the foyer toward the wide staircase. I can feel his eyes drilling into me while I walk away. Whatever’s on his mind, it’s impossible to decipher. He’s the master of smothering his emotions. He must be a fantastic poker player.
On the second floor, across the width of the house, sits Zoe’s room from her childhood. I walk a long hardwood hallway lined with photos of the siblings and Blake’s famous friends. If it weren’t for the pit of anxiety settled in my stomach, I’d admire the hominess. Even though only the two of them live in this house, it feels like a family resides here. There’s love in these walls, warmth seeping from every corner.
Using my knuckle, I knock on Zoe’s bedroom door. She calls out to enter and I push it open.
What I find troubles me down to my toes. The normally vibrant girl is pale, and it has nothing to do with winter. She’s lost the color in her life. From the deadness in her normally vibrant eyes to the defeated slump of her shoulders, Zoe is a shadow of the young woman I once knew. That damn Clinton Smith stole her security, ambitions, and fight. If I had the chance, I’d love to take a crack at him, but right now, a psychiatric hospital has him locked up tight.
“Stella.” Even Zoe’s voice has lost its enthusiasm. She sounds scratchy, like she doesn’t use her words often enough anymore. Zoe’s not surprised to see me. She’s wearing a resigned expression.
I refuse to let her lack of emotion deter me. “How are you doing, honey?” Without invitation, I sit on the corner of her bed, offering what I hope is a welcoming smile.
Zoe hugs her knees to her chest, interlocks her fingers around them, building a physical fortress between us. I ignore the hurt that travels through me at her very visceral response. She won't hold my gaze, her eyes locking on my collarbone. My heart squeezes painfully as I study her tremulous expression. I know that she's hurting, but so am I. Watching my dear friend wilt from a vibrant young woman into a deflated flower makes me physically cringe. And the worst part is, there's nothing that I can do to fix this.
“You shouldn’t have come here,” she tells me sadly.
“Of course, I should. You’re my best friend and I want to support you.” I reach up to push a chunk of hair behind my ear. It’s an unconscious gesture, one that I utilize when I’m unsure of what else to do with my hands.
Zoe shakes her head back and forth slowly, refusing to make eye contact with me. She studies the bedspread, a photograph on her bedside table, anywhere but my direction. Then she delivers the knockout swipe. “No, Stella, you don’t get it.” Finally, she stares at me, and in her eyes, all I find is a vacant look in her hazel eyes. She is not the same friend I’ve known. This is someone else. This poor imitation of Zoe scares my heart into jumping a beat. “You can’t keep coming here. You can’t keep pushing me. I need space. Stop with the impromptu visits, stop showing up and thinking you can fix me. You. Can’t.”
My heart squeezes painfully, eyes growing glassy with unshed tears. “Is that what you really want?” I whisper, terrified of her answer. One word smashes what’s left of my heart, one word sears me painfully.
“Yes.”
Slowly, I move to my feet. This is what I promised Violet and myself; if Zoe doesn’t want me around, I can’t keep begging. I need to protect my emotions and listen to my friend. If this is what she truly wants, I can’t keep fighting.
“Zoe…” I heave a defeated sigh, and for a moment, I swear a flicker of remorse flashes in her eyes. “If that’s what you want, then okay. When you’re ready to talk to me again, I’ll be here. Don’t lose my number; don’t forget about me because I will always be your best friend. Always. I love you and I only want what’s best for you.”
A tear sneaks out of the corner of her right eye but then she shuts it down. No more follow and she turns her face from mine. “Goodbye, Stella.”
With a heavy, throbbing ache in my chest, I leave her bedroom and shut the door behind me silently. Adele blasts once the door clicks shut, music vibrating down the hallway.
At first, I stand there listening to the music, frozen. I don’t know how to respond to her rejection until suddenly the answer appears. Without thinking about the repercussions, I hurry down the hallway, descend the stairs, and begin to search the lower level.
For Blake.
Darkness cloaks most of the rooms in the house, winter causing the sun to disappear into the horizon by the time I leave work. Summer breaks spent mixing cocktails to sip on the deck, winter nights cuddled under blankets on the couch, and spring breaks around the kitchen bar have made me familiar with the layout of the house. Despite the lack of lighting in the house, I easily navigate the floor plan to the room I’m seeking.
Without knocking, I push Blake’s office door open. His carefully styled brown locks hardly move when he lazily rises his head from his cell phone to meet my gaze. There’s no surprise in his expression, like the man knew I would appear. Nothing seems to faze him. Except for the one day three months ago, Blake’s always been completely composed and completely unreadable. It’s unnerving, and right now, I’m not in the mood to be shaken by his presence. Behind the cherry-colored desk, he’s commanding and in control. There’s the cellphone that he’s texting on and another one laid on the desktop. A sleek silver laptop sits open in front of him. On the opposite wall near where I stand, a fire crackles under a stone mantle. The room is the epitome of masculinity, with dark walls and furnishings. I don’t have to glance around to know that there’s mostly modern art adorning the wall. Except for one. Above the licking flames, in a place of priority, hangs a photo of Blake, Zoe, and their mother.
“That was fast,” he murmurs in that silky voice of his.
“Do you mean to be intimidating or does it come naturally?” I can’t help the bite in my tone. I’m frustrated, exasperated…and sad. Terribly sad that my friend has lost any need for my companionship.
One perfectly arched eyebrow lifts. “Pardon?”
“You’re not surprised that I’m here.” I shut the door behind me and cross the wood floor until I reach the black carpet with gold designs
. The color scheme matches the hockey team that Blake was recently promoted to President over, the Scrapers. I prop my hip against the side of his desk, cross my arms over my chest, and stare down at him. The whirlwind of emotion shields me from remembering how attractive Blake is, how badly I want him to miss me.
Then he smiles, a twist of his lips in bitter amusement. “No, I’m not surprised, because my sister mentioned that she needed a break from you.”
“What?” I growl furiously. “You texted me, told me that it was okay for me to come by. Why would you set me up for failure? Why didn’t you warn me?” Instinctively my hand flies to my chest, covering my aching heart. “This isn’t funny to me, Blake.”
Blake sobers instantly and pushes to his feet. One large hand reaches out, clutches my wrist, and tugs me closer to him. Spearmint assaults my senses, a subtle and intoxicating scent. My head is forced to tilt up to meet his gaze. There’s fire in his eyes. He’s worked up, too. Intensity ripples between us.
“You think Zoe is a game to me,” he snaps.
I open my mouth to respond, but he cuts me off. “You’re here because I was hoping my sister would realize that she needs you. Two therapists have failed to get her out of the house, and now, she is finally communicating with one. Dr. Greene has encouraged my sister to talk to you, but she’s holding onto some bullshit excuses. Like you, I would do anything for my sister. Does it look like I think this situation is funny?”
“Let me go.” I clench my teeth together. Everything he says is familiar to me. I know as well as he does that Blake would go to the ends of the earth to take care of his sister. The accusation was out of character for me and unnecessarily punished him. I’m embarrassed by my outburst and want to hightail it out of here. Zoe doesn’t want to see me, there’s no reason I should have come here to fight with Blake.
Except that you’re in love with him. Except that you want to take comfort in his embrace. Except that he’s the only guy who you’ve ever loved and probably will ever love. The thoughts are automatic and I silently beg the little voice of wisdom to shut up. I’ll lick my wounds when I’m alone.
