Intercepted

by Alexa Martin

  He doesn’t apologize, and I don’t hear from his mom again.

  We play this game with each other for a week before he reaches out, asking to meet at Fresh before I go to work. I agree. I might be mad, but I miss him too. My stupid heart makes things so much more difficult than my brain prefers. Shamelessly, I wake up an hour early, primping and curling, adding an extra swipe of mascara, like he’d notice and drop to his knees in an apology.

  I arrive at Fresh a few minutes early so I can order my own coffee. Don’t ask why it feels so important to not let him spend the four dollars on my vanilla latte. It just is. Maybe even more important now knowing he’s the highest paid athlete in the NFL.

  I’ve fallen into the trap already. I know how easy it is to get complacent. Coffee turns into dinner, dinner turns into a new pair of shoes, shoes stay in his huge closet and before I know what’s happened, I’m shacked up with some football player, dependent and back to square one.

  When they hand me my latte, Gavin still isn’t there, so I find an open table tucked against the exposed brick wall in the back. I pull out one of the clear acrylic chairs that I always lie and say are comfortable because I think they’re cute, but in reality it’s like sitting on the floor.

  I wait for twenty minutes before I start to think I might have been stood up. Gavin is so punctual, it’s annoying. So being late isn’t alarming, it’s a slap in the face.

  I’m gathering my empty coffee cup and pushing away from the table when the energy in the place changes. The patrons who were sitting quiet moments ago are now doing a pretty crappy job at whispering loudly. Movements become more hurried. I look at the couple across from me and follow their eyes toward to door. And there, looking his normal, gorgeous self, is Gavin.

  His eyes meet mine moments after I notice him. A big, goofy grin appears on his face. When he starts to walk toward me, his chin dimple that’s normally concealed with his beard is just noticeable under his scruff. I can’t stop the way my thighs squeeze together. I guess my heart’s not the only part of me that’s a traitor.

  And dammit if being in his presence doesn’t put a chip in my already weakened armor.

  “Hey,” he calls out and draws the attention of everyone my way. So much for my nice, quiet, semi-private table in the back. “Sorry I’m running late.”

  “Not a problem,” I lie.

  “I’m going to grab a coffee for myself. Do you want anything?”

  “No, thank you.” I wave my empty cup at him. “I’m good.”

  “Be right back then.” He leans in the way I grew so used to during our time together and hesitantly touches his lips to mine. “I’ve missed doing that. You look gorgeous.”

  “Extra mascara.” A peck on the lips. All it took for me to revert into my say-anything-turn-to-mush self was one little peck on the lips.

  And when his eyes crinkle at the corners and his blue eyes turn liquid, I’m tempted to say screw coffee . . . screw me. It’s on the tip on my tongue, but my brain kicks back in and I manage to grab the last bit of self-restraint as it slips through my fingers and hold on for dear life.

  You will not have sex with him. You will not have sex with him. You will NOT have sex with him.

  I chant the mantra in my head the entire time he’s getting coffee. My mom always made me write my spelling words a billion times so I wouldn’t forget them. She always said, “Repetition is the key to mastery.” Hopefully it works in this case as well.

  He sits in the chair across from me and takes a deep sip of his large coffee, which is very unlike him. Usually he orders a medium coffee, sometimes small. Never large. It makes me take notice of other things about him. Like the way his hair is long, even for him. Or the dark circles surrounding his bloodshot eyes. Even his outfit, which is really freaking hot, is wrinkled and worn. It’s a look I remember well from the long, frequent nights Chris spent partying.

  “Did you just get here?”

  “Um . . . yeah?”

  “No.” I shake my head, trying to find the right words. “I mean, did you just get here from being out all night?”

  “Oh. Yeah.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal. “I went out with TK and a few of the rookies. The young ones know how to party.”

  What an asshole. We see each other for the first time in a week. I come in early after a morning spent finding the perfect outfit and making sure I looked my best and he comes in late, wearing the clothes from last night, and possibly still drunk.

  Is he insane?

  Or is he just like every other football player with an overinflated ego and no regard for others?

  “Seriously, Gavin?” I try to tamp down the irritation currently threatening to blow all over my favorite coffee shop. “We haven’t talked in how long? Then the first time we do, which, in case you forgot, was your idea, you can’t even go home and shower first?”

  “I’m not here to fight with you.” His bullshit attempt to calm me only pisses me off more—I’m not the drunk, late one! I don’t get the lecture here, he does!

  “Neither am I. I thought maybe showing up on time, dressed and showered would have tipped you off to that point.” I close my eyes, draw in a deep breath, and try to relax. “Why did you call then?”

  “Our first mini-camp is this week. I’m going. I want my teammates to know me before training camp. I want them to understand I’m as dedicated as they are.” He takes a sip of coffee and when he looks at me again, I don’t see the tiredness anymore. I see hope and happiness.

  I feel like an asshole. He’s the new starting quarterback for his favorite childhood team. His family will be able to go to his games. He’ll get to see his nephew as he grows. And all I’ve thought about is me.

  “So I’ve been thinking about things.” He leans forward, reaching a hand across the table, lacing our fingers together, and dammit if that minimal contact doesn’t weaken my resolve. “I messed up.”

  “Yeah,” I agree, tightening my grip on his hand. “You kinda did.”

  “I know how hard you’ve worked to get HERS going and how much you love your apartment. I want to take your stress away, not add to it, and you finding out about New York the way you did was fucked up.”

  Wow.

  I was hopeful, but I was not expecting an apology.

  “I really appreciate that, thank you.”

  “I’ve been trying to figure out how to make this move work best for both of us,” he says. “This last week I talked to Brynn and your parents to try and figure things out.”

  Wait.

  Quarterback say what?

  “Work shouldn’t be too hard. Brynn said she’ll give you a recommendation letter and whatever you need for work. I even had her make a list of good potential matches in Jersey and New York. Your parents said they’ll help you pack and can store whatever you don’t want to take in their basement. And get this.” His smile grows and I can tell that this terrible plan is about to get even worse. “I called your landlord to see about subletting and he said he didn’t have a problem with it as long you give him an extra deposit, which I dropped off to him last night. So you can still keep your apartment.”

  Gavin looks so happy and proud of himself across from me, I almost feel guilty for the rage rushing through my veins. I mean, he called my landlord? I would trade in all of my wine for the opportunity to see what is going on inside that brain of his. And also, in what world is it okay for my landlord to talk to someone not on my lease about my living situation? There are so many things wrong here, I don’t even know where to begin.

  “What are you talking about, Gavin?” The words come out so syrupy sweet, I don’t even know who I am.

  “We can stay in the Oyster Bay house for the summer, but I’m thinking we should find a place in Hoboken for the season so we don’t have to deal with tunnel traffic.” He puts his hands up in surrender, white teeth still on display.
“Don’t worry, I haven’t even glanced at places. I want you to be there to pick the house out with me.”

  “Oh my god. Gavin.” I cut him off before he can talk any further. “Let’s go back to my place to finish this conversation.”

  I’ve been in the paper enough in the past few months to know I don’t want to be again. And if I say what I want to right now, I have a feeling I’ll be on YouTube and maybe ESPN as well.

  No thank you.

  “That’s a good idea. We can hammer out the rest of the details and then go grab some boxes. Brynn said she could come over later to help too.”

  “Wow.” I smile at him but I know it doesn’t reach my eyes. “You just thought of everything. Called all my friends, my family, just not me. Nice.”

  My back is so straight, it feels like somebody shoved a metal rod up my spine, and despite the coffee I drank and my thick, fuzzy sweater I put on, I’m shivering.

  Or maybe I’m shaking indoors. I can’t really differentiate between the two at the moment.

  “I figured if I could tie up loose ends, it would help. I know how stressed you get, but you’re gonna love living on the East Coast. Promise.” He looks so young and innocent without his beard, so sweet and earnest, I almost say thank you.

  But then I remember what he’s done. How he’s crossed about every single line I’ve drawn. How disrespectful he is for going behind my back.

  How manipulative.

  So I don’t thank him. Instead, gathering what’s left of my little patience, I slowly stand, throw my cup away, and make my way to the front door. I don’t look behind me or ask if Gavin’s coming along. I know he is.

  “Thanks, Yaya!” I call to my favorite barista before I hit the street.

  “Welcome, Marlee. See you tomorrow?”

  “You know it,” I say at the same time Gavin’s loud, powerful voice rings out behind me declaring, “Nope. She’ll be in New York tomorrow.”

  Oh yeah.

  We have a lot to discuss, and I have a very bad feeling it won’t end well at all.

  Forty-one

  Since losing Honey-Blossom, I’ve really grown to appreciate the quiet walks to and from work. But not right now.

  Walking to my apartment with Gavin is anything but comfortable. It may be March, but spring is still nowhere to be seen. Neither of us makes an effort to break the silence between us, only the sounds of cars as they pass keep me grounded to reality.

  We walk up the stairs, Gavin trailing close behind me, and I unlock my apartment door like I’ve done with him so many times before. I have been in a Gavin-induced slump that resulted in lots of takeout and minimal cleaning. Thankfully, after we decided on coffee, I straightened up my place just in case he decided to come over. And by cleaning, I mean I shoved everything in the closet.

  “It smells good in here. Did you get some new candles?”

  “Yeah, I picked up a few the other day.” Last night. I figured they were my best chance at disguising the lingering scent of heartbreak and betrayal.

  “You’ll definitely have to bring those with us.”

  Ughhhhh. I guess we’re doing this now. I was hoping for a little mindless chatter, maybe even some more awkward silence. Anything but this.

  “You keep saying this stuff like we’ve made the decision to leave, but we haven’t. I haven’t even talked to you in a week. Why are you all of a sudden acting like nothing happened?” Despite the giant knots in my stomach and the pounding in my head, my voice is calm and even.

  “Because this is stupid, Marlee. I love you, you love me. I get I should’ve told you about New York, but I thought you’d be happy to start our life together. I wanted to surprise you. Can we stop being stubborn now and move on?”

  Oh sweet baby Jesus. I’m not sure if I’m more pissed he’s brushing off my feelings about this or if I’m more stunned that he could really be this oblivious.

  “I’m not being stubborn, Gavin. And I’m for damn sure and not just acting mad for the sake of being mad. Do you hear yourself?”

  “Then why are you mad? Please, enlighten me, because I don’t get it. There are more opportunities than you can imagine in New York. Marketing jobs? Everywhere. My family you said you loved will be right down the street. And me, your boyfriend, got the contract of the century! How is there anything wrong with any of that? You’re being kind of irrational right now.”

  Oh no the fuck he did not.

  It’s not what he’s saying that causes me to snap, it’s the way he’s saying it. Like I couldn’t possibly have any merit behind my argument, like I’m overreacting. Like I’m crazy.

  “I don’t want to leave my job! I don’t want to leave my family! Did you ever think of that? Did you ever think, ‘Hey, Gavin, maybe Marlee has a life outside of you and you should ask her opinion before expecting her to jump like a freaking dog’? Did you? Even once think my opinion mattered at all?” I take a deep breath and close my eyes. “I can’t believe you have such little respect for me. That you think so little of what I do that you’d just expect me to walk away from it all without a blink of an eye. What did you think was going to happen? I’d move, get pregnant, and give up my career like your sister and mom to raise babies? That’s not what I want!”

  I sit down on my couch, cradling my forehead in my hands and dragging them through my hair. I focus on the pattern of my rug, willing myself to hold it together for just a little bit longer. I’m worried if I look at him I’ll either break down or give in and neither of those are acceptable.

  “It’s great that you have the career you want and the contract everyone around you envies. But could you just step outside of your self-absorbed bubble for one second and think about me? Think that I’ve spent my entire adult life being dragged around by Chris, pushed into the shadows, my dreams put on hold because he had the ‘real’ career?” I stand on shaky legs and cross the room to where he’s standing. I wrap my arms around his waist, praying he will feel how desperate I am for him to understand. My throat starts to clog up and the sting behind my eyes kicks in. Oh no, Marlee. You hold your shit together. You will not start to cry right now. “Do you understand how worthless you’ve made me feel this past week? Today?”

  He closes his arms around me and kisses the top of my head.

  “That’s not what I meant to do. You know how much I care about you. How much I respect how hard you work,” he whispers above me.

  “How do I know that?” The volume falls from my voice. I pull back just enough to look him in the eyes, to let him see my eyes glossed over with tears. “You went behind my back to talk to my employer, to my family. You told them I’d be leaving without so much as a text message to me to see if I wanted to.”

  “I know you’re mad, but I—” He trails a finger down my cheek.

  “I’m not mad.” I put my hand over his, stopping him from going any farther. “I’m hurt, and I’m disappointed that the man I love and respect has shown such disregard for me and my feelings.”

  “Mars . . .” He stops and for the first time ever, I see his eyes shimmer with tears. No tears fall, but it’s enough to make me feel like I’ve taken a punch to the gut, to make me want to apologize.

  But I don’t.

  I don’t say anything. I let the silence fill the room. It’s funny, you know, when saying nothing says everything.

  As much as I want to fix things and make him feel better, I won’t do it. I refuse. If we are going to get over this, I need him to fully grasp and understand how badly he screwed up. And if I give in, not only will I never forgive myself, I won’t forgive him either.

  “So what are we going to do?” He steps away from me, and I mourn the loss of his touch right away.

  “We aren’t going to do anything.” I let my tears fall. If this is the end, I want him to know how much this meant to me. I’m not the same Marlee I was when I left Chris. The on
ly person I have to be strong for is me and sometimes, being strong is letting it all out. “I’m going to get ready for work and you’re leaving for New York.”

  “I don’t want to leave without you.” He walks to me, but this time, I’m the one who pulls away. “Marlee, come with me. See how things could be. Spend a few more days with me.”

  “I can’t,” I say, still backing away. “I know how things will be. It will be amazing, and we’ll fall deeper in love with each other, and I might even stay.” I hold up my hands to prevent him from coming any closer. “And then who knows? Maybe I’ll get to stay in a big, lovely house while my big, strong boyfriend goes off to work and brings home the big paychecks so I can go to lunch and buy handbags and things will be different than they were with Chris. But we both know that won’t happen.”

  “I’m not telling you to stay home or quit work.” He’s louder than he’s been all day. His face turns red, and he drops his head. “I just want you to try.” He looks back to me and the tears he’s been holding back are falling down his face. “Please.”

  It’s like I’ve been stabbed in the chest. I stumble back until I feel my couch behind my legs. I collapse onto the couch, trying to catch my breath, grabbing my chest, willing the pain to fade. The last thing I want to do is hurt Gavin.

  “I can’t come,” I choke out between sobs. “Please don’t ask me again, Gavin. Every time I tell you no, I can feel a piece of me breaking off, and I know if you keep asking, I will come.” My body is shaking, and I can’t make out Gavin’s face through the tears clouding my vision. “Please, Gavin. Don’t.”

  “I won’t.” His voice, calmer than mine, still holds the same broken edge, and I see his body slump. “I love you, Marlee. I’ll be back.”

  I hear him walk out of the door and it slowly creaks as it closes behind him.

  I don’t even get up to lock the door. I just slump over on my couch, letting the tears fall until they run out and I fall asleep on my mascara-stained pillows.