Intercepted

by Alexa Martin

  Forty-two

  The only thing more infuriating than a man ignoring your wishes is a man doing exactly as you say when you come to find out, you’re not quite sure you meant it.

  #IMeantThatIMeantThatIDidntMeanIt #GotIt?

  Gavin did as I asked.

  He left.

  He went to New York. Well, technically, he went to New Jersey. Not that I’ve been Googling him like a stalker or anything, but I’ve learned through random ventures on the internet that the Giants don’t play or practice in New York, so the name is really misleading.

  #FootballFunFacts

  Back on subject. Not only did Gavin leave, he had a training camp so phenomenal, all the reporters were asking about the changes he’s made. If it was his diet, if it was being back home, if it was the pressure of living up to his contract? What they didn’t ask, but it was all I could think of, was how he got rid of his needy, whiny, pain-in-the-ass girlfriend.

  Blah.

  Why couldn’t he have played like shit to make me feel better?

  Even though I technically had the week off since Gavin stuck his nose where it didn’t belong and talked to Brynn, I couldn’t mope around in my apartment. The only thing worse than reading about him was sitting on top of the mascara stain on my couch and watching Jeopardy! by myself. The day of our fight, I showed up at work later than normal—looking like shit if the look of horror on Brynn’s face was anything to go by. She didn’t question my showing up or my swollen, red eyes. I think she expected it. Unlike Gavin, Brynn knows me. She had to know this was coming. She treated me with kid gloves and gently suggested I work on marketing in the back. Aka—don’t scare away the customers.

  It’s sweet.

  It only lasts for a few days though. Because real friends only let you mope for a maximum of seventy-two hours before they’re contractually obligated to snap you out of it.

  Luckily for me, my friend owns a bar and after closing one night, we take tequila shots and I lay it all out there.

  Brynn throws back shots with me as I spill all of the details of the night, but she doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t need to, nothing she says will change the results. #AcceptanceIsTheFirstStep

  My parents, on the other hand, were a completely different story. Because my mom had been secretly fretting about my emotional state since I broke up with Chris, she was calling me ten times a day since Gavin left. It was sweet at first, but after the hundredth time she told me she just knew I was jumping into things with Gavin too quickly and that I “needed to learn to love myself and be alone,” I started ignoring her calls. Which meant I was also not going over for dinner, which meant I ate ice cream for dinner and have gained seven pounds on top of the fifteen I still want to lose. #CantStopLosing #ExceptWhenImGaining

  But other than my avoidance of family and their misguided, though well-meaning, advice and my toddler eating habits, I’m doing fine. I can walk down the street without crying and I can handle my responsibilities. And even though I write Gavin a thousand text messages, I never hit send.

  Camp’s during the weekdays, and he has weekends off, so by the time Friday rolls around, I’m checking all flights from New York to Denver and staring at the door to my apartment and HERS whenever I think he could be arriving. He said he was coming back. He would have to come back home.

  Each week, I get my hopes up that this is the weekend he’ll come home, but it never happens. One night I give in to reading up on the Giants.

  I open their website and the first thing I’m met with is a freshly showered Gavin, smiling for cameras and reporters.

  I watch the interview all night long.

  I watch as he shoots his dimple-baring grin to reporters. I listen over and over again to him telling them he’s never been happier, that he’s home and never wants to leave. I rewind and replay and rewind and replay the part where he winks at the beautiful blonde asking him where he’ll be staying during the short break in camp.

  “I have a place in Oyster Bay.” Wink.

  Wink.

  Wink.

  I see the wink when I close my eyes, when I look to his empty side of the couch, when I walk past his condo too many times to be considered sane.

  And after I stop thinking of the wink, I realize he told me and the rest of the world that he was going home. He just reminded me home for him isn’t Denver, it’s Oyster Bay.

  While he’s gone he sends a few texts, but they become shorter and more infrequent as time goes on. And my heart becomes hardened in a way I’m not sure I can ever recover from. The only good thing to come out of it is that the quality of my work at HERS goes way up. And I was already the shit, so I’m killing the game. To hell with modesty.

  It isn’t until I’m walking to the train a month after he left that Gavin texts me he’s coming back to Denver and will see me later that night.

  I wish I could say the giddy feeling I felt came flooding back, but it doesn’t. Instead, it’s the opposite. It pisses me off. It feels like a repeat of the last time he left. How does he know I’m not busy? Why, after everything we went through, is he still assuming I’ll drop everything and run to him?

  I send him back a quick text telling him I’m busy and ask to meet the next evening after I get off at HERS. I don’t actually have plans, but that’s beside the point. It’s the principle, people!

  “So, what are you going to say?” A barely showing, pregnant Naomi asks from the other end of the couch.

  “I really have no idea. I have no idea where we are or where I want us to go.” I take a sip of the virgin strawberry daiquiris I made us. “Part of me wants to forgive him and to go back to where we were, but I don’t know if that’s possible. I’m still pissed. Maybe even more so since he flew to the other side of the country and is only now coming back over a month later.”

  “I get that. It’s hard to forgive somebody when you know they’re sorry, it’s damn near impossible to do it when they show no signs of remorse.”

  “Can I tell you something I haven’t said out loud yet?” I ask her.

  “Of course.” She sets her glass and bag of tortilla chips down and gives me her full attention.

  “I don’t even think I’m mad at him anymore. I think I’m mad at myself. Chris screwed me up in a way that takes longer than a month to heal from. When Gavin said I always compared him to Chris, he wasn’t wrong. I was offended at first because I was always thinking of how much better Gavin was, but looking back on it, I think I did it because I was waiting for Gavin to show me he was the same as Chris.” I look at the floor, unable to hold eye contact any longer. “I lied when I said I was ready for a relationship. Yes, it was messed up how Gavin went about things, but if I was a normal, not severely damaged person, we could’ve worked through it. I’m not ready to see him because I’ve finally accepted that I can’t be with anyone. Not until I’m content with myself.”

  “Damn. That’s some deep shit,” Naomi whispers. “How many episodes of Oprah have you watched since he left?”

  “All I watch is OWN, and I’m catching up on her book club list. She’s been my therapist,” I admit.

  “I can tell.” She reaches for my hand and laces her fingers between mine. “As much as I want to tell you to just go back to him, I think you’re right. You need time to be you. I think Gavin is a great guy, but there’s a lot that comes with being with the NFL’s golden boy. If you don’t figure out who you are on your own, you’re going to fade to black again.”

  “I see you watched that Iyanla too?”

  “Girl, who are you kidding? Without her I’d be on Snapped. I love Dre, but there are days he drives me batshit crazy.”

  “Preachin’ to the choir, sister.” I grab the fancy remote Gavin programmed to go with the TV and turn on OWN.

  What better way to spend my Friday than not drinking and crying on the couch?

  #WhoHaveIB
ecome

  * * *

  • • •

  I GO INTO HERS early the next morning.

  I’m obsessing over the new promo we’re working on, when there’s a knock at the door. It’s still early, almost ten o’clock, and HERS doesn’t open for another hour, so I’m taken aback when I hear the tapping on the glass.

  I figure Brynn forgot her key again, because she always forgets, but when the front door comes into view, a man I’ve never seen before is standing there with a few boxes stacked up behind him.

  “May I help you?” I ask the guy who looks like every other hipster strolling through the neighborhood.

  “I’m looking for a Marlee Harper,” he says with zero enthusiasm whatsoever. “I have a delivery for her.”

  “I’m Marlee Harper.” Without any further questions or proof of identification, he picks up one of the boxes behind him and asks to come in. I point him to my office in the back and make myself busy in the bar while he makes quick work of bringing the boxes in.

  He walks out the front door and the only reason I know he’s done is because I watch him pull out his phone and make a call while heading down the street.

  So much for customer service I guess.

  I walk back into my office to finish my work and become temporarily paralyzed.

  Every inch of my desk—and Brynn’s too—is covered in flowers. I don’t even need a card to know who they’re from. The flowers that have overwhelmed the office are the same flowers Gavin used to buy for me every Saturday—roses and peonies. My favorite.

  I don’t realize I didn’t lock the door after hipster delivery guy left until I hear it open.

  I don’t look behind me as I call to Brynn. “Wait until you see the office.”

  “Do you like them? I figured I had a lot of Saturdays and apologies to make up for.” But when she answers, it’s not Brynn at all, it’s Gavin.

  I guess I know who the guy called now.

  I turn to him so fast, I almost lose my balance. Then, taking him in in all of his beautiful Gavin glory for the first time in over a month, I almost fall over again.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask instead of thanking him for the flowers like a person with manners would do.

  “I missed you. You said you were working today, so I figured I would start begging for forgiveness early.” His hands are in his pockets, and he looks nervous. I’m relieved to know I’m not alone in that feeling, but I feel guilty too. Because I know that he went through all of this trouble to get me flowers for nothing.

  “Gavin, no. You don’t need to beg for forgiveness.”

  “I do.” He starts walking toward me. “I messed up. I was so excited about my contract that I didn’t even think about what I expected you to walk away from without warning or time to think. Then I ran and didn’t come back. I fucked up.”

  “Really, you don’t.” I look up to him as he comes into my space and struggle not to touch him. “We both messed up. You were right when I said I compared you to Chris. I overreacted, and I stole your happiness in one of the biggest moments of your life.”

  “You didn’t. I missed you so much. This last month has been hell.” He takes one more step toward me in an effort to wrap his arms around me, but before he can, I step back.

  The way the smile falls from his face and his eyebrows scrunch together is like a punch to the gut. I know what I’m going to say is the right thing, but at the moment, it doesn’t make me feel any better.

  “Gavin, no.” I meant for the words to come out strong and powerful, but instead they’re a whisper. “I can’t.”

  “What? You just said you aren’t mad at me anymore.”

  “I’m not.” I look around the room, trying to find the words to explain how I feel. “I’m not mad at you. I know you didn’t mean to hurt me. I’m over that, truly. But I can’t be with you.”

  There. I said it.

  “What? Why?” He grabs my hand and that small touch makes me question myself.

  “Listen.” I take a deep breath and pull my hand out of his. He watches the movement and is staring at my hand as I start to talk. “If you would’ve come back the week you left, you would’ve found me on your front porch with my suitcase packed. But over this last month, I’ve realized I’m not ready to be in a relationship.” My eyes start to water. “I’m a mess, Gavin. And as much as I love you, I can’t give you what you deserve when part of me is still damaged from my last relationship.”

  “But I can help you.”

  “No. You can’t fix me.” I wipe the tears from my cheeks. “I’ve never been alone, Gavin. And as much as I wish I could figure it out with you by my side, I know I can’t. Because you are amazing and you love me and you don’t want to see me struggle, but I need it. I need to figure things out on my own. I need to fix myself without running to you or Chris or my parents. I have to do this by myself. If I don’t, I’m going to end up being a person I hate, and I will resent you.”

  God.

  I’ve never hated my mom being right more than I do at this very moment.

  “I know how strong you are.” He pulls me toward him despite my effort to pull away. “You don’t have to prove it to me.”

  “I’m not proving it to you. I’m proving it to me.”

  I’ve been preparing for this since he told me he was coming, but nothing could’ve gotten me ready for the feel of his tears as they fall onto my face, or the way he lets his mouth kiss the path his tears travel.

  I reach into his hair, feeling the silky locks against my fingertips. It’s one of the things I’ve missed most, besides the feel of his rough beard on my face as we kiss, so I take that too.

  I crush my lips to his, tasting both our tears as we try to tell each other through the kiss the things we can’t manage to speak. He tells me to try. I tell him I can’t. He apologizes for his mistakes. I apologize for it ending. And in the end, I thank him for loving me, even though I wasn’t ready to be loved.

  We stop kissing but don’t pull away. Watching each other as we let our tears fall openly and freely, mourning together what could have been great, but just wasn’t right.

  When our tears have stopped and our breathing has calmed, I rest my arms around him, giving in to the feeling of his arms wrapping me tight one final time.

  “I’m so sorry, Gavin,” I whisper.

  “Me too,” he whispers into my hair. “You do this and when you’re ready, come find me.”

  Then he slowly backs away and opens the door, never letting our eye contact drop, until my door closing in front of him leaves us no choice.

  And he’s gone.

  Again.

  For the last time.

  Forty-three

  Four Months Later

  Eats & Beats is one of the most influential and reputable marketing firms in the country. They’re responsible for all the major promotions for some of the most famous restaurants and nightclubs around the world.

  And thanks to the kick-ass work Brynn and I did over the last six months, HERS is their newest client. Even better for me, they loved my work so much, they helped Brynn find a replacement for me and I am the newest member of the Eats & Beats team at their headquarters in New York.

  “Hello, Miss Harper,” my boss, Paul, calls to me as I make my way to my desk. “Figuring out the subway, I see.”

  “I sure am. Ten minutes early today.” I do a little dance, thrilled to have finally conquered my commute from Jersey to Manhattan.

  “I’m very impressed. Leslie was late every day for the first month when she started here.”

  “Hey!” Leslie shouts from the coffee machine. “I thought we agreed never to speak of that again. Marlee is at least from a decent-sized city. I came from a town in Iowa with a thousand people and only four stoplights. It was a little overwhelming.”

  “Always excus
es with that one,” Paul whispers loud enough for her to hear.

  It’s only the end of my first week, but I could not love my new job any more. It makes every tear, every second of self-doubt, every second of loneliness worth it. This week has only reaffirmed what I knew was right four months ago when I let Gavin walk away.

  I’m a better person now, and I’m crossing my fingers Gavin will be open to seeing it.

  “You don’t even need to bother starting your computer. I got an email this morning and we have a meeting with a new restaurant in Soho. Come on, Leslie, you’re coming too.” He throws his briefcase strap over his shoulder. “But we’re taking a cab.”

  * * *

  • • •

  THE RESTAURANT WE go to is a new sushi place with an urban edge. It’s not decorated in the calming colors I’ve come to expect with sushi places, not at all. This place has graffiti painted on the wall, neon lights shining around the room, and the craziest menu I’ve ever seen . . . and thanks to my job, tried.

  After we got all our business out of the way, the owners insisted we stay for lunch. Something none of us objected to. I love sushi, but I’m also broke as fuck and will never reject a free lunch.

  We’re waiting for the chicken and maple rolls we ordered to arrive when my phone vibrates in my bag. Naomi had a doctor’s appointment today and promised to call me after, so I excuse myself from the table to take the call.

  When I step outside and look at the screen, I see a Colorado number I don’t know. My mind shoots right to the worst-case scenario. Something went wrong at the appointment and Naomi is calling me from the hospital.

  “Hello?” I answer.

  “Marlee?” A deep voice I haven’t heard in months comes from the other end. “It’s Chris. How are you?”

  Of all the people in the world? Chris?

  “I’m well. How are you?” I step back against the building, avoiding all of the foot traffic around me.

  “I’m all right.” He sounds good. Like the Chris I used to know, not the stranger he became. “Listen, Marlee, I know this is going to seem random, but I’ve been thinking a lot about you lately.”