One Last Night (Love or Magic #2)

by Sotia Lazu

  “Why are you here?” she asked.

  “When I couldn’t find you, I went crazy.” Gone was the composed man who tried to reason her out of signing the divorce papers. Mike was disheveled, desperation etched on his gaunt features. “I can’t live without you. I can’t be without you. I don’t know how.”

  Hearing him echo her feelings chipped at her resolve. No. She hadn’t chosen this; he’d forced her hand.

  “Then you shouldn’t have slept with someone else. Don’t you see you made a lie out of everything I believed in?” A sob made it up her throat and out of her lips before she could compose herself. She hated showing him this weakness.

  “I never touched another woman. Haven’t given anyone a second thought since our first kiss. How can you not know this? How can you not know me?”

  The pain in his eyes sliced right through her. He was such a good actor, holding her gaze while he spewed lies.

  “I thought I did,” she whispered. “Please go, Mike.” She moved to close the door, but he grasped her wrist and pulled her flush against him.

  “Don’t do this to us,” he said. “Someone framed me. I don’t know this woman. The pictures were doctored. That’s not me.”

  “Angie analyzed them. They’re real.” It took all of her willpower to push away from him, but he wouldn’t let go.

  Instead, he tangled his fingers in her hair and buried his face in the crook of her neck. “There is no one else. There can never be anyone else. If you send me away, you condemn us both to a life without meaning.”

  He nuzzled her cheek, and despite knowing better, she let him guide her mouth to his. Their lips touched, and electricity coursed through her veins. It would be so easy to step back inside with him and shut the world out of their bubble. To build a cocoon and lose herself in him again. To no longer pretend she could exist without him.

  He deepened the kiss, thrusting his tongue between her lips, and she had a vivid mental image of him shoving his tongue down a young redhead’s throat. The smell of alcohol was overpowering, but it wasn’t what brought bile rising up her throat.

  This time she managed to break free. “If I stay with you, I condemn myself to a life of doubt. I can’t, Mike. I’m sorry.”

  Bella returned to the safety of her glass-and-chrome palace, and watched the intercom screen until she saw Mike exit. His kiss still burned her lips.

  She glanced at Xochipilli one last time, before she called up Angie’s number on her phone. “I wish… I wish I knew what to do, to be happy.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Mike searched his place for the millionth time. He even went through his cupboards and drawers, as if Ana was a misplaced wallet, not a woman who disappeared from a locked apartment.

  He’d come back from the kitchen, to ask how she wanted her coffee, and she wasn’t in bed. She wasn’t under it, either—he checked after he couldn’t find her in the bathroom or the balcony.

  Not in the closet. Not in the fridge. Definitely not in the top drawer by the cooker. The front door was still bolted from the inside, and Ana hadn’t jumped out the window. She’d merely vanished, as had her clothes from his living-room floor.

  At least she wasn’t naked, wherever she might be.

  He should do something. Call someone. The police?

  And say what? That a woman he’d slept with a few times left without a trace? He didn’t even know her last name. How had he fallen so hard for someone he barely knew?

  Fuck.

  The feeling of uselessness was overwhelming. Out of options, he unlocked the door, threw it open, and called out her name. No response.

  He had no way of finding her and nothing to do with his day. Minutes earlier, he was in heaven. Now despair weighed down his shoulders and addled his brain.

  What she’d said… Could any of it be true? Well, it was her truth, but could it be real?

  Great. He was actually entertaining the possibility his future ex-wife had travelled back in time for— What? His cock? He was damn proud of the thing, but it wasn’t worth disproving the laws of physics.

  Ana had some mental disorder, and he had to decide if he cared enough to stick by her and help her battle it. If she allowed him the choice.

  If she was really sick and knew so much about him, could he be in danger? Shit. All the hot ones were crazy. Derek could attest to that; his girlfriend had been cuckoo for a while. But she hadn’t been a stalker who thought she could time travel.

  Mike should count his blessings that Ana didn’t try to kill him in his sleep, and he should forget about her.

  And yet he couldn’t stop thinking of her.

  He called Tanya for advice, but she was getting ready for a job interview and couldn’t talk. All the guys he knew were either at work or still asleep, in preparation for the evening shift. He needed some deadbeat friends, for mornings like this.

  He tried to watch TV, but nothing held his attention for more than a few minutes. His mind kept wandering back to Ana, to the nights they shared… to her freaking cat, even. He channel hopped until his stomach grumbled, and then he threw away the two trays of ignored breakfasts and made lunch.

  Being here without her felt wrong, like his reality was molded around Ana, and now she wasn’t here, the spots she used to occupy hovered just out of sight.

  Stupid, senseless thought. This was his apartment, and she’d been here two—three times? His space. She’d visited and left. No reason for Mike to feel bereft.

  But he did. And when there was a knock on his door, he knew it was twelve minutes to midnight, because he’d been checking his watch every so often.

  He didn’t look through the peephole. He knew it was her, and he let her in and held her while she cried. When she clung to him, her body wracked by sobs, he had his answer. He’d stay by her side, come what may. Ana was his future.

  They stood in his doorway until she quieted. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I managed not to cry all day, but seeing you…” She shook her head.

  He led her to the sofa, and they curled up together. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

  She sniffled. “Why? You already think I’m crazy.”

  He should deny it, but he couldn’t lie to her. “So what have you got to lose?”

  “Nothing, I guess. Best case scenario, if you’re a creation of my subconscious, you may help me make sense of it all.” She straightened and turned to look at him. “I saw you today. The other you, from my timeline. You—he—said again that he didn’t cheat, and I wanted to believe him. I wanted it so much, but I couldn’t. There’s proof.”

  Mike wanted to defend the version of him in her head. “I can’t believe I’d ever cheat on you, if we ended up together. I haven’t slept with another woman since I met you.”

  “That’s what he said.” Her smile wasn’t convincing.

  “Maybe he’s telling the truth?”

  “You almost sound like you believe me.”

  He tilted her chin up with his finger, so he could hold her gaze as he spoke. “I’m in love with you. I want to believe that we’ll spend the rest of our lives together. Help me?” Hearing her theory would give him ammo to refute it.

  Because all mental issues were so easily dealt with. God. He was grasping at straws.

  She studied his face and then said, “All right. But I’m warning you, when you hear everything, you’ll want to have me committed.”

  It was a risk he’d have to take.

  “I think my cousin had something to do with it. She dabbles in magic—”

  “In… 2030?”

  “2031. And I still can’t wrap my mind around that. Anyway, she gave me a statue of an old god—a good-luck charm of sorts—when you and I got married. I think it’s somehow making me dream of what our relationship could have been like.”

  “So we weren’t like this?” Despite himself, he was fascinated by her story.

  “No. For one, I didn’t know we’d end in heartache.”

  He cupped her cheek
, and she smiled. “I’m okay,” she said. “You’re not the one who did it, yet. To answer your question, this—with you—is close to my memories but different. When we were together, I centered my life on you. Stopped singing. Stayed home, waiting for the phone to ring.”

  “That’s why you won’t give me your number?”

  She glared. “I won’t give you my number because the me who’ll answer if you call has no clue who you are. You said you ran into her on the street.”

  This was so confusing. How could she keep track of such an elaborate fantasy? “And in these dreams, you hold back from falling for me?”

  “I try to.”

  “Yeah, I’ve got this irresistible boyish charm.”

  “Jerk.” But she was smiling when she batted his shoulder.

  “And how do you get here?”

  She looked at him as if he’d asked the dumbest thing ever. “I go to sleep.”

  “So all the nights you didn’t show…?”

  “I didn’t want to see you.”

  He gave a slow nod. “Which means you control it.”

  “Sort of. Only this morning I realized that whenever I saw you I’d wished for it in the vicinity of the statue.”

  “The one your cousin gave you at our wedding.”

  “Yes.”

  He stood and paced the length of the room. “This is nuts, Ana.” It had consistency, and she had a response to his every question, but to believe it, he had to believe in magic, and magic didn’t exist in 2031 or 2015.

  “Okay. How’s this? You and Derek grew up together. You briefly dated his sister, who’s now your best friend—she hasn’t called me since our divorce, by the way. When he first opened Arbore’s-San Francisco, he took you on as a manager. His bitch of an ex fired you when she took over, and you’re now helping him out as a chef because Nicholas was in a car crash with the boy toy he insists is nothing more than his sous chef, but we all know he’s got the hots for.”

  Mike gaped. Crazy or not, she’d done her research. Still, it proved nothing. “All this says is that you’ve looked into my past.”

  Ana chewed on the inside of her cheek. “Okay. What’s the date today?”

  “October twenty-third, 2015.”

  “Awesome.” Her face lit up. “That’s when Derek told you about the London restaurant. You came home from your shift, and we celebrated.”

  Mike sank in the armchair across from her, needing some distance to clear his head. “Derek told me not to go to work for a couple days. My behavior has been kind of erratic.”

  “Shit.” She sighed. “I got nothing, then.”

  “You’ve got me.” His gut knotted with the crushing certainty he wasn’t enough to help her.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Mike’s phone rang, and Bella jumped.

  It was weird, what made the body react. She lay alongside the man who hurt her, in a makeshift nest of his covers that carried his scent, but his old ringtone sent her down a spiral of gloom. They used to love this song. Together.

  Mike excused himself to the kitchen, to answer. At this hour, it was either work or a family emergency, and there had been none of the latter this year, so Bella relaxed. The kitchen was only separated from the living room by a counter, but she wouldn’t have listened in anyway. She never checked texts or browsing history either. If she had, she might have caught on to him sooner.

  She looked up as Mike returned.

  Even slack jawed and wide eyed, he looked incredible from down here, his body long and lean and hard. His cock was half erect, and if Bella wasn’t still sore from earlier, she’d have jumped him. “What happened?” she asked instead.

  “It was Derek. He bought a restaurant in London. He wants me to spearhead it and offered me equal partnership.”

  Bella managed a smile she didn’t feel. “I hate to say, I told you so. Oh, wait. I don’t.”

  “But how did you…?” He shook his head. “He hasn’t even told Amanda yet. You couldn’t have known.”

  “Unless I did.” Because the past didn’t change.

  “Unless you did. Fuck. You’re telling the truth. You’re from the future.” He spoke slowly, as if tasting the flavor of each word before he voiced it.

  She nodded.

  He dug his fingers in his hair and tugged. “So we’ve really been together for years? We were married?”

  “Yes and yes.”

  “Are my parents—”

  “Alive and annoying you.”

  “And I cheated on you? I can’t imagine doing that.”

  She winced. “Neither could I.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Bella rolled her shoulders, to keep from rolling her eyes.

  He sank down next to her, holding her gaze. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I know.”

  “Did we…? Were there kids?”

  “No. It was never the right time, and after a while we realized we liked our life without them.”

  Mike draped an arm around her shoulders, and she snuggled close. “Good,” he said. “I mean, good that I—that future-me—didn’t hurt anyone else. We need to fix this.”

  “We can’t. Nothing changes. I didn’t give you my number, but we still saw each other again. Tonight you didn’t go to work, you said you’d been a jerk—”

  “I believe I said I was acting erratically.”

  “—and still Derek is sending you to London. It all leads to the same future. There's nothing we can do.”

  “Then why would this god guy send you back?”

  She’d wondered too, and now she had her answer. Xochipilli sent her back, to help her make peace with what happened. She needed to accept her life for what it was and put the past behind. It was why she’d felt so drowsy after making her last wish. This was how she’d be happy.

  She should feel exhilarated. No matter what she did differently, nothing would change. It meant their future wasn't her fault, despite her mistakes. Mike would always sleep with the redhead, because things happened, and Bella couldn’t control them.

  “He wanted me to accept that you and I are over, I guess,” she said. Her throat felt raw, and her lungs were constricted. How did her heart have room to beat, when this huge weight pressed down on her chest?

  “He didn't have to involve me, then. He could make you dream actual dreams.”

  She shrugged. “Who knows how Aztec gods work?”

  Mike laid a kiss on her temple. “But you can stay. You have to. We’ll find a way, and we’ll start over. Do things right. I won’t cheat if I know I’m going to lose you.”

  “If you cared about losing me, you wouldn’t have cheated anyway.”

  So simple. Lesson learned. She should wake up now and break the meddling statue into a million pieces, to ensure she didn’t return here.

  But first… “Make love to me, Mike.” One last time.

  * * * *

  Bella woke to the gray light filtering in through the tinted window panes of her living room. Had she slept through the day and to the next morning? She was in her armchair, still clutching her phone. The screen read 7:23 PM. Long nap. Visiting past-Mike in mid-day when it was night for him was a first; their timelines were parallel till now. Magic had its own rules, though.

  Tears stung Bella’s eyes, but she’d cried enough. For the first time since she discovered Mike’s infidelity, she felt like talking about him, and there was only one person she could be completely honest with.

  She called her cousin.

  Half an hour later, Angie pulled over in front of Bella’s building. She must have heard Bella’s distress over the phone, because she didn’t bother parking. Just stopped the car in the middle of the street.

  Bella slid into the passenger seat. “I believe you,” she said, as she shut the door. “About magic, about Xochipilli… about everything.”

  Angie shut off the engine and faced her. “Explain.”

  “First, I thought you might want this back. He’s served his purpose.” Bella handed h
er the figurine of Xochipilli.

  Angie cupped it with both hands and frowned. “Still not following, I’m afraid.”

  “He’s been sending me to the past.”

  Angie’s look of incomprehension had a cartoonish quality. Her brows arched, and her eyes were as big as saucers. “You’re shitting me.”

  “I wish.” Bella slapped a hand over her mouth. “No, I don’t.”

  Someone honked behind them, and Angie muttered something about turning him into a frog. She didn’t pull out though, and the guy maneuvered around them, yelling and cursing.

  “So. Past. Time travel. Tell me more,” Angie said.

  “It’s been on and off for months now. Since the night before we signed the papers for the divorce. I go to sleep, and I dream of Mike, back when we started dating. At least, I thought they were just dreams. But they’re not. It’s really him.”

  “In the past.”

  “Yes.” Bella kept talking—about what she’d done wrong in her relationship with Mike; about her lingering feelings for him and how she blamed herself for his cheating; about the depression she’d hidden for this long. And about the statue.

  Angie patted Bella’s knee and gave her awkward, cramped hugs, but mostly she listened. And from her expression, she believed every word.

  “But Xochipilli doesn’t work this way,” she said when Bella was done. “I asked him for help before, with Lexi, and he led her to her true love. He wouldn’t put you through all that, to help you get over Mike. Maybe he meant for you to try again.”

  Bella shook her head. “If he wanted us to patch things up, wouldn’t the now have changed? I mean, I told Mike what he did wrong. If he stayed faithful afterward, we wouldn’t be here.”

  “I guess you’re right.” Angie frowned. “When you went back, you kept him from meeting his Ana. If that was your actual past, you wouldn’t be divorced from him now, because you would never have met him.”

  “This is making my head hurt,” Bella said. “I think I need a drink.”

  One drink turned to several, and by the time she got into bed, she was too exhausted to dream or make wishes.