“Why don’t you go inside and top off your wine,” Tierney says, “and when you come back out here, we can pretend the jackass no longer exists.”
Glancing at my empty wine glass, I peel myself out of the teak lounger, tie my sarong around my waist, and head inside for a refill, only to find the bottle empty. Heading to the wine cellar down the hall, I locate another bottle of Riesling and hunt down the wine opener. By the time I’m finished and my glass is more than half full, I make my way back to the beach.
“Love, I made us some new friends!” Tierney flags me down as I make my way down the stone steps of the patio, toward the cabana we set up on the sand earlier today.
Two masculine forms fill the space beside Tierney’s chair, though I can only see them from the shoulders down … until I get closer.
“Oh, my god, Tierney … ” I fight a smirk and mumble under my breath as soon as their faces come into focus, and once I arrive at our spot, it takes all the strength I have not to ogle and gawk in a way that makes it painfully obvious.
They’re gorgeous.
Tanned, rippled abs.
Thick heads of chocolate hair, both varying degrees of sun-kissed.
Full lips.
Strong jaws.
Big hands ...
“Love, this is Dmitri,” she says, pointing to the man in the yellow board shorts who lifts the beer in his hand and nods. “And this is his brother, Sascha. Guys, this is my best friend, Love. And yes, that’s her real name.”
Sascha is taller than Dmitri by an inch or two, his shoulders broader and his hair a shade darker. His clear blue eyes are fixed on me, lit almost.
“They’re staying two doors down,” she adds. “They just got here today. Told them we’re leaving tomorrow, but they can hang out with us tonight if they want.”
Sometimes I swear she forgets she’s married and pregnant.
“Nice to meet you,” I move my wine to my left hand and offer my right. Dmitri laughs but Sascha comes to my rescue, letting his handshake linger a few beats longer than necessary.
“They’re business partners,” Tierney says. “What do you guys do again?”
“We work in renewable energy,” Sascha says, looking directly at me. There’s a hint of an exotic accent in his voice, Eastern European, perhaps. And he speaks with careful intention, the syllables rolling off his tongue. “What is it you do, Love?”
“I’m in the process of opening a women’s center in Brooklyn,” I say, taking a seat in my lounger.
His eyes track my every move and his full mouth curls at one side. “That’s incredible. What made you want to do that?”
He asks all the questions I don’t feel like answering, but I answer them as best I can anyway in the name of honesty because there isn’t enough of it in this world.
I got divorced …
I came into some money …
I wanted to do something good with it …
Sascha doesn’t bat an eye, instead he keeps the conversation moving full steam ahead, asking where I’m from, where I went to college, and what I do for fun on the weekends.
Every so often I glance at Tierney, who throws me a wink or some side eye with a side of a smile that reeks of “he’s so fucking into you right now!”
Sascha is beautiful in a way that most men aren’t. A skilled conversationalist. An enthusiastic listener. Infinitely curious. And there’s a gentle, unguarded demeanor about him.
But when I look at him, I feel nothing in all the places I should at least be feeling something.
There are no butterflies, no thrumming heart, no head rush.
Dmitri’s phone lights in his hand, and he lifts the screen to his face. A second later, he nudges Sascha.
“Hey, we’re going to meet up with some of our friends downtown,” Sascha says. “You guys want to join us?”
Tierney lifts her palms. “Think I’m going to keep my eight months pregnant ass here, but thanks for the invite. Love, you should go though. If you want.”
I shoot her a look, eyes hardening. A silent, sarcastic thank you for putting me on the spot.
“We’re leaving tomorrow, so I don’t want to stay out late,” I say, turning to Sascha. “Otherwise I’d join you.”
His crystalline gaze steadies onto mine. “That’s too bad.”
Dmitri lifts his brows, waiting as his brother stands there with his feet cemented to the sand.
“Hey, I’m going to be in the city after this for the next few months for work,” he says. “Mind if I look you up when I get there?”
I don’t have to look at Tierney to feel the mile-wide smile radiating off her face.
“Yeah, no, that’d be great,” I say, though I don’t one hundred percent believe myself.
Sascha dips his hand into the pocket of his striped board shorts and retrieves his phone before handing it to me, and I’m instantly taken back to the day Jude asked for my phone so he could program his number into my contacts.
I offer a gracious smile and add my number to his phone under “Love (real name) Aldridge,” and when I hand it back, he chuckles through his nose.
“Cute,” he says, gaze lifting back to mine like a gentle ocean breeze. “I’ll definitely call you.”
With that, he gives a quick wave, tells Tierney it was nice to meet her, and follows his brother up the beach.
“Oh, my god, Love.” Tierney leans toward me, her manicured fingers digging into my arm. “That was random.”
“Yeah.” I grab my wine and take a sip, watching Sascha’s strapping figure grow smaller in the distance.
“He’s sooooo into you.” Tierney rubs her hands together like the crazy person that she currently is.
“Okay.” I shrug, taking another sip.
“Oh, stop. Don’t act coy. He’s probably one of the hottest guys I’ve ever seen in the Hamptons in my life, and he couldn’t take his eyes off you for two seconds.”
“Whatever. He was just being nice.”
“Nice, my pregnant ass.” She rolls her eyes. “If he calls you and asks you on a date, are you going to go?”
“If he even calls me.”
“He will,” she says. “And when he does … you’re going to say yes. Right?”
Pulling in a breath of salty, oceanic air, I respond with a simple, “We’ll see.”
Heading in for the night a little while later, I trek upstairs and get ready for bed, realizing that I haven’t so much as thought about Sascha since he left.
The attention was flattering.
The conversation was enjoyable.
Asking for my number was a charming move.
But at the end of the night, Sascha is the least of my concerns because I still can’t stop wondering why Jude hasn’t read a single text of mine today.
Chapter Forty
Jude
They say if you rip a Band-Aid off quickly, it hurts less.
I don’t know about that.
I’ve spent the last twenty-four hours feeling the sting of that rip, but I know it’ll be nothing compared to what Love’s about to go through.
Any minute now, she’s going to come back to The Jasper, knock on my door, and eventually realize I’m not there anymore. Maybe the super will tell her I moved out. Maybe Raymond will tell her I’ve been blacklisted. That combined with the fact that she has no way to reach me is going to make her think I ghosted her, and knowing her, she’s going to blame herself. She’s going to think it’s because she told me she loved me.
And that’s how it looks.
She told me she loved me and I bolted.
Her love will eventually be displaced by revulsion, but that’s the way it was going to go down in the end anyway.
Strolling down Neptune Avenue, I stop next to a couple at a crosswalk and wait for the light. From the corner of my eye, I see them nuzzling, laughing, clasping hands and slowly bumping into each other, like they can’t go more than two point four seconds without touching in some capacity.
Wasn’t
long ago, I knew that feeling.
The yellow-haired girl rises on her toes and kisses her boyfriend—the way Love always had to rise on her toes to kiss me—and my knotted stomach sinks.
The crosswalk lights and I get ahead of them because I can’t take another second of watching some of the happiest moments of my life play out in front of me in real time.
A block or so ahead, I see a “Coming Soon” sign in a storefront window, and once I’m closer, I realize it’s the building we toured for Agenda W.
Everything happened so fast, and it ended just as quickly.
I blinked and I met her.
I blinked and I lost her.
I lived for those moments in between.
My only wish now is that someday I might run into her, might get a chance to tell her that I’m sorry—even if she doesn’t believe me and even if it doesn’t matter. I just want her to hear those words from the very lips that had no right kissing her in the first place.
Keeping my stride, I make my way to the pharmacy on the corner to grab Piper’s insulin. An older man in a Mets t-shirt waits before me, but other than that, the place is unusually slow for this time of day.
I slide my hand in my back pocket to grab my phone, but there’s nothing there.
I must have left it at home.
“Next,” a woman’s voice calls a moment later as the man in front of me shuffles away with a white paper bag in hand.
“Here to pick up for Piper Cunningham,” I say, grabbing my wallet.
The pharmacy tech working the register gives a warm smile, her eyes gliding back and forth between her computer screen and me.
“Whoops,” she says, waving her hand in the air. “I typed the wrong name. What did you say your name was again?”
“It’s for Piper Cunningham,” I say, enunciating every damn syllable because I don’t have all day. Lo has to head to work soon and I’ve got to pick up a pizza for us on the way home.
“No, what’s your name?” she says, flashing her oversized smile. “For the notes.”
“Jude,” I say. “Jude Warner.”
“Thank you, Jude Warner.” She says my full name, and I think of Love. But then again, I’m always thinking of Love. “Okay, let me grab that for you. Two seconds …”
She trots off to the back and returns thirty seconds later with a white bag.
“Okay, with insurance, today’s total is going to be three-hundred six dollars and eleven cents,” she says.
I don’t bat an eye as I grab my card. Hunter had given me an advance, most of which I used to pay our rent for the next six months, and I’d also set aside several grand for Piper’s medicine. He hasn’t asked for any of it back, and I don’t think he ever will because fifty grand is probably pocket change to him.
“You look really familiar,” the girl says, pointing her finger and squinting as I sign for the meds. “Have we met before? Do I know you somehow?”
I’ve never seen this girl before in my life. If I had to guess, I’d say she’s all of twenty-two. I’ve got damn near an entire decade on her. I highly doubt our paths have ever crossed.
“I don’t think so,” I say, eyes lifting to her name tag, “Britney.”
Her thin lips bunch at one side. “I don’t know … “
If this is her lame attempt at flirting with me or feeling me out, she’s wasting her time.
I slide my debit card and punch in the PIN.
“Receipt?” she asks.
“No thanks.” I tuck the bag under my arm and get the hell out of there before she has a chance to stall me with that nonsense again.
* * *
“You’re back!” Lo rushes up to the door the second I walk into the apartment, her hands clapping as she does a little dance. “Thank god.”
“What?”
“You left your phone here.”
“I know. I forgot it.” I push past her, placing the meds on the kitchen table. “Sorry.”
“No, you missed a call,” she says, grabbing my arm and turning me around.
My heart climbs up my throat and my mouth runs dry.
Love.
“Jude, your old boss called,” Lo continues. “He said they just landed a huge contract and they’re hiring back all the guys they laid off … he wants you to come back as soon as possible! Isn’t that great?”
My sister does a little dance before flinging her arms around my shoulders.
“Yeah,” I say. “Best news I’ve had in a while.”
Chapter Forty-One
Love
I’m beginning to get used to waking up in a cold bed, alone. I don’t even search for his warmth anymore. Kicking the covers off, I slide out of bed and trudge to the bathroom to wash up before trudging to the kitchen to make some plain oatmeal. After three days in the Hamptons filled with buttery seafood and an endless supply of fine wines, I need to give my body a break.
Grabbing a packet from the cupboard, I rip the paper and dump the contents into a bowl before topping it off with water and sliding it into the microwave. There’s something about the hum of a microwave that puts me in a trance-like state, helps me to zone out. Only this time, my peaceful hum is interrupted by the sound of men’s voices and the clink of metal.
The first thing I did when I got home last night was text Jude to let him know I was back. My message, like all the others before it, went unread. As soon as I got myself settled and changed, I headed across the hallway to his door, knocking a handful of times, but his apartment was eerily quiet.
No footsteps. No voices. No soft hum of a baseball game on the TV.
Needless to say, no one was home.
That or he was sleeping?
Following the sounds, I dash toward my door and peer through the peephole.
Jude’s door is open.
A second later, a man stands in the doorway, motioning at someone down the hall. A second later, another man appears with a metal dolly. Sprinting down the hall, I grab my robe off the hook in the master bathroom and cover my pajamas before rushing out the door.
“Excuse me,” I say to a bald man with a hooked nose and clipboard. “What’s going on here?”
“And you are?” He glances at his clipboard before looking back at me.
“I’m a friend of the tenant’s,” I say.
“Okay, so if you two are friends, then you know he moved.” The man steps away from me, yelling at one of the guys coming off the elevator. “Down here, Marius!”
I try to respond but the words are trapped, stuck in my throat as I struggle to breathe. My stomach caves, same as if I’d been knifed, and my palms soothe an imaginary wound.
“I knew he’d be moving,” I finally manage to say. “Just didn’t think it would be this soon. Thank you for your time.” Turning, I duck back into my apartment.
So much for vindication.
So much for closure of any sort.
These last several days, I’ve suffered through mixed feelings … asking myself if I truly hate him or if I’m capable of forgiving him for what he’s done because I convinced myself that he’s a good person underneath it all.
But I was wrong because good people don’t do this. They don’t just disappear out of your life without warning.
He screwed me every which way he could—literally, emotionally, and almost figuratively—and I don’t even get a goodbye?
Locating my phone in my room, I fire off a text to Jude’s number. I don’t expect him to read it since he hasn’t read any of the others, but I need to get a few things off my chest.
“Wow, Jude,” I write, “Way to sweep me off my feet and then leave without so much as a goodbye. I thought I knew you. Turns out I had you all wrong. You’re a selfish coward and I’ll forever regret the day we met.”
I press send and watch the screen for a few moments, only a little red exclamation point pops up beside my message. I press the icon to try to send it again, but it fails to go through. After a few more failed attempts, I dial his damn number
so I can say these things to his face—or let’s be real here, probably his voicemail.
“We’re sorry. The number you have dialed has been disconnected …”
Ending the call, I sink back into my bed pillows and draw my legs against my chest. Of course he disconnected his number. Why wouldn’t he? He completely removed himself from every aspect of my life.
I call Tierney.
“He’s gone,” I say when she answers.
“Who?”
“Jude. Who else?” I ask.
She groans. “I thought we were pretending he no longer existed?”
“Guess we don’t have to pretend anymore. His place is being packed up and his phone is disconnected.”
“He ghosted you.”
“He ghosted me,” I echo, but only because “ghosted” sounds more indifferent than “abandoned,” and I’m not quite ready to admit that I let my feelings get away from me.
I feel for him.
I freaking fell for him.
Letting that thought sink in for a moment, I find my breath shallowing and my skin abuzz with the kind of out-of-control anxiousness I’ve only known twice in my life before: first when Dad passed and then again when proof of Hunter’s infidelity plastered my phone screen.
Tierney clears her throat. “I can hire someone to find him if you want. I think Josh knows a guy.”
“Nah. I’m pretty sure he’s back in Brooklyn.” I shake this off. I have to. I can’t wallow in the dissolution of something that never should’ve happened in the first place. Exhaling, I pick at a loose thread in my comforter before getting the urge to burn the stupid thing. “But it doesn’t matter. It’s done. It’s over. Just wish I would’ve confronted him when I had the chance instead of carrying on like some lovesick stage five clinger.”
“You were just keeping your word to Marissa. You promised you wouldn’t say anything.”
“I know.” I pull in a deep breath. “I really wanted to call him out. I wanted to look him in the eye and ask him why.”
“Go to Brooklyn and ask him.”
I chuff. “He’s not worth the cab fare.”
“Hey, Love, I’ve got a conference call in two minutes. Call you back later?” she asks.
War and Love Page 16
