I slumped, setting the phone down on the desk. “I thought he had gotten married. He does stupid things when he’s drunk.”
“Apparently.”
“But I guess this time he didn’t do the stupid thing he thought he’d done.” I leaned back in my chair. “That makes things…”
“Better?” she finished, her tone hopeful.
“I was going to say more complicated. Better is the more optimistic response, I suppose.” I wanted to be as hopeful as she was, and maybe I should have been. He’d wanted me to see this. He’d wanted me to know that it was my name he’d said, and that meant he still cared. Why else would he want me to see it?
But if he still felt that way about me, why had our reunion gone so horribly?
Laynie swiveled my chair so that I was facing her. “Look. I don’t know what’s going on in your head right now. And I don’t know him. At all. But that guy is into you.”
“That was a year ago,” I said, without any real protest.
“And look how much your feelings have changed since then.”
Boom. Point for her. I still had feelings for him. Feelings that weren’t just based in anger. Or lust. And I certainly hadn’t shown any of that to him.
“But it was terrible downstairs,” I moaned. “Really terrible. It was tense and awkward. He didn’t show any signs of lingering affection.”
She sat on the edge of my desk. “Did you consider that maybe the tension was projected by you?”
I tried not to roll my eyes at Laynie’s psycho-babble. “Why would I be tense? I was excited to see him. I’ve been dying to see him.”
“Right. But just before he came in, you were talking about Chandler. Is there some guilt there?”
Fuck.
Chandler.
I threw my head back against my chair and groaned. “Yes. There’s guilt there.” I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose. “A whole lot of guilt.”
“It’s probably worse now too since you thought JC had been married when he was really lamenting over you.”
I groaned again. “Thanks,” I said sarcastically. “That really helps.”
“Oh no! I didn’t mean to make things worse! I was trying to understand.”
I peeked up at her. “It’s not your fault. I’m the one who fooled around with someone else. Not just once, either. Enough times to not be able to call it an accident or a moment of weakness. God, I feel like shit.”
She frowned, her eyes compassionate. “So, that’s not great. But did you promise fidelity?”
“No, but—”
“Then it’s fine. I’m sure it’s fine.” She didn’t sound sure though.
“It’s not fine. It’s terrible.” My stomach lurched as I continued thinking about how awful it was. “And do you really think that’s what the tension could have been?”
“Well, I wasn’t there. But, yes. Baggage like that can be poison.”
Her reference to baggage reminded me of what JC had said about wanting to free me of his baggage. It actually had been a very nice thing to say, now that I thought about it. And I’d lashed out at him for it.
I really did feel wretched. Downright shitty. Remorseful and anguished. And it wasn’t just about my fling with Chandler—Laynie had been right earlier. It was scary to think that JC might really still want me. That he might still love me, even. Terrifying. Especially when I so obviously didn’t deserve him because I couldn’t fucking wait for him to come back to me.
I let out an exasperated ugh. “I was such a bitch, Laynie. Such a total bitch.”
“You have a right to some of that.” She put a hand on my arm, comforting me. “You haven’t heard from him in a year. Whether or not you mean to, you’re going to feel some resentment.”
“More like anger. And jealousy. Over his dead girlfriend.”
“All to be expected.”
“Add my guilt over Chandler…” I let out a heavy sigh.
“Yep. Resulting in tension and bitchiness.”
I let that sit for a moment, replaying the scene in the bubble room in my head. I’d sensed the awkwardness, the something’s off vibe before we even started talking, possibly, as Laynie suggested, because I was feeling anxious. Maybe he hadn’t felt that at all. Maybe it had just been me. Then when we did start talking, I’d been the first one to say anything. And I’d been cold. Everything spiraled downward from there.
It felt more complicated than that. It was, wasn’t it? He’d been aloof from the minute he walked in, hadn’t he? He hadn’t brushed against me—was that simply because he perceived some sort of hostility on my part?
“You need to talk to him again,” Laynie said. “That’s the only way you can sort this out. Talk to him and tell him about Chandler. That has to go away before you can figure out if there’s anything good still between you.”
“I have to tell him?” I didn’t want to have to admit anything about Chandler to JC. It was too awful.
She glared at me with disbelief. “Yes, you have to tell him.” Then she swatted me for good measure.
I groaned again.
“I’m sure the thought of it is worse than the actual confessing. If he loves you, he’ll understand.”
Alayna was still a newlywed. Still caught up in the hearts and rainbows part of romance. She talked about the difficult times that had preceded her marriage as if she understood hard times, but remembered anguish was never as horrible as it was when living in it. It was easy to say he’ll love you, he’ll understand after he’d proved that he would.
I unfortunately hadn’t known JC long enough to have the luxury of that certainty.
I pressed my middle finger against a spot just above the bridge of my nose where a headache was beginning to form. “I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know.”
“You’re right. You don’t know. So give him the benefit of the doubt before deciding it’s a lost cause.” She paused. “Or don’t. And let it end. But you can’t stay in this limbo forever.”
I squeezed my eyes shut. Tell him.
I had to tell him. It was bad, but it wasn’t as bad as the thought of leaving things as they were. And maybe I’d tell him and we’d still have issues. At least I’d know that I’d done everything I could before giving up. Telling him was for the best.
Actually having to speak the words, though…
Ugh.
I threw my hand out in the air and opened my eyes with an exasperated sigh. “Then what should I do now? He didn’t say he wanted to see me again. He didn’t tell me where he’s staying. Do I just wait for him to contact me again? It feels like all I ever do is wait for him.”
“He texted you. You have his number. You know how to use that, don’t you?”
I was about to sneer at her for being sassy when her phone buzzed.
“That’s Hudson,” she said, not looking at it. “I’m sure he’s wondering where I am.”
I glanced at the clock, only now realizing that she’d stayed more than a half an hour past her shift, probably for me. “Go. I’m fine.”
She crossed to her desk to get her purse before heading to the door. “Hey, I’m really sorry I pulled you away from him. It was Liesl who locked the keys in the safe.”
“I know. And no worries. It’s good to have time to process before I see him again. Time to cool down. It wasn’t the best place to talk anyway.”
She paused in the frame and shrugged. “I don’t know. I once had an eventful conversation in that same bubble room. That’s another thing you could ask Hudson about.”
“I don’t want to hear this.” I put a hand to my face as if that could stop any unwanted visions of Hudson and Alayna doing who-knows-what in there. I made a mental note to make sure that cleaning the club upholstery was on the weekly janitorial schedule.
“Are you sure? It’s a good story.” She waggled her brows twice then grew serious. “Let’s talk tomorrow. Call me.”
I said I would. She waved once then opened the door. “And call hi
m!” she shouted, as it swung closed behind her.
Yes. Call him. I’d do that.
Just as soon as I figured out what I’d say.
Chapter Eight
Turned out I didn’t have to call him.
When I walked out of the club early the next morning, I found him waiting for me, still dressed in the same clothes he’d been in the night before, leaning against the side of the building.
He’d waited for me like that once before, meeting me after a shift at the Eighty-Eighth Floor. Seeing him then had stirred a storm of butterflies in my belly.
This time it was more like a tornado.
I was terrified to face him and yet desperate to all at once. No matter what happened between us in the future, the way he affected me was once-in-a-lifetime. No one else would ever make me weak in the knees like he did. No one else could ever bring me such welcomed tumult.
“It seemed we still had more to talk about,” he said after my closing employees had gone on their way. “I hope this is okay.”
“Yeah. It’s definitely okay.” I wondered if he could tell that by okay, I meant the most wonderful horrible thing in the world.
“Can I walk you home?”
It wasn’t a marriage proposal—ha ha—but the question sent me flying all the same. “Sure.” My voice sounded higher than normal. I cleared my throat. “It’s about fifteen minutes from here.”
“Perfect.”
Not perfect. Terrible. Because I had to tell him. But maybe it was perfect because I needed to get this over with. This way, I wouldn’t agonize for days.
I nodded in the direction we needed to go, and together we fell into step. My palms felt sweaty and itchy. The last time he’d met me after my shift, he’d taken my hand in his. I wished it could be that easy now. I yearned to recapture the electric jolt that I always felt at his touch. The charge around us was driving me crazy, needing something to ground it.
But we weren’t the couple we’d been, which was weird to think, because we’d never been a “couple” at all, and in many ways we were in the same place we’d been then—both of us feeling each other out, trying to decide if we had anything between us. So it was both apropos and not when he kept his hands to himself, thrust inside his pants pockets.
We rounded Columbus Circle in silence and started down the short edge of Central Park, joining the early morning joggers and dog walkers as the sun stretched its first limbs across the earth. I felt like that sun, like I was waking and reaching. Reaching for JC who was still closed off and dark.
I needed to tell him. I was going to tell him.
But I had other things to say first. And, when he still hadn’t said anything by the time we’d reached Center Drive, I plunged in. “I’m sorry about earlier.”
“Look, I’m sorry about—” he began at the same time. We did the nervous laugh thing. Then he said, “Don’t be sorry. I’m the one who needs to apologize.”
“I was so terrible, though.” Even more terrible was us tripping all over each other to be polite. That’s what strangers did.
Oh, yeah. That’s what we were.
“You weren’t. You’re mad and you have every right to be.” He’d been staring at his shoes, but now he peered over at me. “I’ve thought about that. I want you to know that I have. I understand…”
He paused, and I felt so uncomfortable with where he was going, with the serious undertone of it, that I jumped in. “It doesn’t mean that I—”
He stepped in front of me and cut off both my words and my steps. “Let me say this. Please.” He waited for me to nod. “I understand what I put you through. It was unfair and you deserve to be angry. I shouldn’t have gotten you involved like I did. And when I said I wanted to free you from my baggage, that’s what I meant. That I wanted to keep you out of the trial. I wanted to keep you safe. I put you in danger and I’m sorry about that. I’ve been sick about it this whole last year.”
Now that I had the apology I’d wanted, I didn’t know what to do with it. I swallowed. “Okay.”
“Okay.” He stepped aside so we could resume walking.
So I wasn’t the only one with guilt. Why didn’t that make me feel better?
Because I had my own confessing to do.
I waited a beat, though, and it was enough time for him to say more.
“I know that I owe you other words as well. Lots of them. I just don’t know which ones to begin with.”
“Any of them. There’s so much I don’t know. You could start anywhere.” Or I could start. “The video…” Honestly, it wasn’t what I’d meant to say, but it was what came out.
He waved his hand dismissively. “I’d be fine if we never mentioned that.”
“Oh.” I got it if he was embarrassed. But was it, instead, because he didn’t want to marry me anymore?
Maybe it was best to not mention it. Except I already had. “Thank you, though. For sending it to me. It made a difference.” Like that was any better. I was sure he hadn’t been looking for a vague token of appreciation. I just couldn’t give him anything clearer when I still wasn’t sure what he’d wanted me to gain from it.
He ran his hand through his hair and chuckled, the sound tickling places inside me that I couldn’t identify. “Well. Good. I suppose that’s good.”
“It’s good.” We hit a green light at the corner and started to cross the street in silence. I’ll tell him when we get to the other side, I told myself.
I didn’t. I had no excuse. There were so many things I wanted to hear from him that the things I needed to say felt secondary. I was selfish. I wanted to linger in his apologies, in his confessions. He was willing to talk right now. It might not be the case after I said my words.
So I prodded him on. “Will you explain what happened? Not with—” I paused, afraid it was somehow irreverent to say her name. “I mean, I heard your testimony. But what happened after?”
I’d expected him to hesitate, but he didn’t. “After Corinne died, I checked out. I didn’t want to be any more. I lost a lot of time to things that numbed me. Drugs. Alcohol. Sex.” He gave me a sideways grin that shot straight to the space between my thighs. “I didn’t believe I had any responsibility to bring Ralphio to justice. I’d given my testimony. I’d fulfilled my civic duty. He disappeared almost immediately after the murder anyway, and I’d thought that was it. Case closed. Corinne was dead and her murderer was gone. There was nothing to do about it.”
I studied his profile, watched him work his jaw as he paused to gather his thoughts or remember the next detail. It’s a beautiful jaw, I thought. Because thinking anything else was too hard.
“I got really good at wasting my life,” he said. “Then when Tom and Steve were killed…”
“Were they your friends?”
He nodded. “Back when I had those.” His forehead crinkled. “I don’t know why Ralphio didn’t come after me first. I’ve tried to figure it out and I just can’t. Maybe it was random how he’d attacked us. Maybe I was lucky enough to not ever be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe it was because I was such a mess that he didn’t think I was a real threat. Whatever the reason, it was a wake-up call. I was alive—if it could be called that—and there had to be a reason. Something I was meant to do. With my testimony, the police had enough to make an arrest; they just couldn’t find the guy. So I decided to try to find him myself.”
My mouth fell open slightly. “You went after him?” I wanted to be appalled by that, but, in fact, it was kind of hot. I’d always liked JC’s dominant side in the bedroom. I hadn’t realized I’d like it outside as well.
“Yep. Maybe it was a veiled attempt at suicide, but I found myself in the task. I became obsessed. I hired some really good, really expensive, bounty hunters-slash-detectives. And I slowly began to set up business deals with people Ralphio had worked with, hoping to find some leads. As an investor, it was pretty easy to work myself into questionable crowds without drawing any attention. It was a perfect cover.”
The strange arrangement he’d had at the Eighty-Eighth Floor made more sense. “That’s why Matt let you use the club on Tuesdays.”
“Yeah.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you how we were connected. Matt thought it was better to keep that quiet while Ralphio was on the loose. I think mostly it was easier for him not to talk about Corinne. It wasn’t my place to reveal that to you.”
“Sure.” It was understandable but also sad. I’d been hurting from my past. Matt had been hurting from his. We could have leaned on each other. Why was it so hard for the broken to find each other? It made the miracle of me finding JC seem even more spectacular.
Except, here he was a good person. An amazing person who gave up his life to right a wrong, and I wanted him even more for that.
“Honestly,” I said now, wanting to be sure he didn’t feel bad for not telling me about Matt. “I understand the secrecy. It was frustrating, but I get it.”
“I appreciate that,” he said. “Anyway, as much as he didn’t want to talk about it, Matt wanted Ralphio caught as much as I did. It was why he let me get away with things at the club that he wouldn’t have let others get away with.”
I mock scoffed. “Because illegal gambling and stripping in the VIP room were the obvious ways to find a fugitive.”
“It drew the people I needed to talk to.”
It drew me to him. I couldn’t deny that.
“Eventually it paid off. I got a tip from a lobbyist who was drunk at the time he gave it, but I gave the info to my guys and they found Ralphio and brought him back to Manhattan.”
“That was the day you found me in the kitchen with my father.” It was also the last time I’d seen my sperm donator. He’d given me a black eye, and JC had stormed in and rescued me. Then he’d told me he loved me. And I’d never been happier.
JC nodded, his eyes focused on the sidewalk ahead of us. “The next day Ralphio made bail.”
I remembered that too and now things clicked together. He’d had a phone call that had upset him. Next thing I knew, he was proposing, begging me to go with him to Vegas.
Find Me Page 8
