Essence of Time (Stewart Realty)

by Crowe, Liz

  “No, I’m not,” he lurched up and raced to her bathroom in time to lose it. Once his body stopped rejecting the alcohol, he tried to stand, decided sitting was a way better option, then discovered the lovely cool of her bathroom tiles against his cheek. He waved her away when her high-heeled shoes entered his line of vision. “Go. Work. I’ll be okay. Right here,” he patted the floor.

  She sighed, and crouched down, handing him a wet washcloth. “Okay, stay there as along as you need. I’ll check on you later.” He closed his eyes and never even heard her leave.

  By the time she got home that evening, he’d showered, found some clothes he must have left behind and had kept down a few bites of food to soak up the remainder of the booze that lingered in his system. But he couldn’t stop shaking. Alternating between utterly furious and completely devastated, his brain would not still. The logistics were even mind numbing. He had so much of his crap out there at her house. They had their regular sales and production the next morning. How was he going to face her?

  Sara tossed her keys on the messy kitchen table, set a few groceries on the equally chaotic counter and turned to him. “I told you not to do this.”

  He held up a hand. “I-told-you-so’s are not what I need right now, thanks anyway.” He groaned, and clenched his eyes shut, thinking he might be able to erase the image of her gorgeous long red hair, preferably tangled up in his fingers, the sound of her laughter, the feel of her… “Shit! God damn fucking shit!” He pounded the table then leapt up. “I have to go see her. She’s wrong about this, she’s…” Sara put a hand on his arm. He glared at it then at her and then sat back down. “How am I supposed to work there now?” He laid his head down, realizing that the people who wrote about “broken hearts” truly knew the physical sensation he was feeling. It was the worst moment of his life. Then fury intervened, careening through him, making his face hot. “I’m going to the gym.”

  “There you go,” She patted his face. “But by all that is holy, Blake Thornton, if you go to her, ask her to come back to you, anything like that…”

  “Never fear. I don’t need to be told twice. Doesn’t mean,” he gulped, surprised at the tightness in his throat that was translating to a burning behind his eyes. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

  She held out her arms and he let her hold him a minute, as he willed tears back. He would be damned if he would cry over the bitch. Let her have her fucking space, her guilt, her shit - all of it. He didn’t need it. Sighing he released his sister, rubbed his eyes, and headed for the door. “Thanks Sara. Really, I’m glad I have you.” She kissed his cheek.

  “I know. Want a ride to your truck?”

  “No. I’ll walk. Can use the fresh air.” He headed out, walking back toward the brewery to collect his truck and head home. He had to stop at that thought and hang on to a spindly sidewalk-decorating tree, when he realized he actually pictured himself driving to her house. That she represented home to him. I am properly fucked now. He righted himself, and half jogged the rest of the way, anything to replace the burning agony in his soul with some physical pain.

  Chapter Seven

  Three Weeks Later

  “No.” Blake held the phone to his ear with his shoulder as he read the pH levels for the batch of beer he was brewing in the middle of the night. Sleep was pretty much a joke; might as well be productive.

  “Why not?” Sara’s voice had anchored him these last weeks, forced him to see straight when he went wobbly. Her latest little “revive Blake” concept was not something he wanted any part of. “She is really cute. I think you’ll like her. And I found a date too. Kinda. Just a guy in my office, but …”

  “No.”

  “Okay, you take the guy then. If that’s what you want.” He rolled his eyes. Tried not to sound as angry as he felt. He was wearing a groove in his own temper, frankly and was sick of it. Was over himself. But had no idea how to make the pain stop.

  “Spare me.” He hissed.

  “No. God dammit Blake, you have to get out, do something. Look at yourself. It’s fucking one in the morning and you’re at work? Just to avoid her?”

  “No, I’m at work at one in the morning because I can’t sleep.”

  “Exactly.”

  “God, you are a pest.”

  “Yeah. And so?”

  He sighed. Looked at his watch, realized he was being childish. He should move on. It had been nearly a month and Suzanne managed to hold it together. He did too, in public anyway. But the icy chill of their relationship was permeating the work place, he knew it. Just like Evan had warned him it would. He laughed at himself, so naïve and lame, laughing off the concept of a “breakup.”

  “What’s so funny?” She asked.

  “Nothing. Fine. I’ll do it.”

  “Good! Okay, I’ll drive. Pick you up at your place tomorrow night at six.”

  “Whatever. Now leave me alone.” He threw the phone down on the worktop and continued doing the one thing that soothed him these days. Crafting beer into the wee hours of the morning, the smells wrapping around him, cradling him, reminding of a time when he was happy.

  “Can we please talk?” Suzanne begged him via text, email, voicemail. He’d deleted them all and moved through his days like a zombie. Avoiding Evan’s requests for discussion too, knowing where that would go and not wanting to hear it.

  “Look, am I not performing? Are you unhappy with the brews? The rate I’m cranking them out? The awards I just got?” He had glared at the man outside the brewery a few days ago. Evan had shaken his head. “No? Fine. Then leave me alone.”

  But Suzanne simply would not give up. She met him the next morning, early. A determined if guarded look on her face. “What?” he brushed past her, fabricating reasons to find busy work and ignore her. His heart had hurt so badly he considered calling nine-one-one for himself more than once but he’d be damned if he’d let her know that.

  “Blake, I need to tell you something.”

  “I’m listening.” He jerked the filter into the cooler, hoping she wouldn’t follow him into the cold space. She did, of course.

  “Can you let me try and explain?” She gripped her own hands so hard he saw her knuckles turn white. It took every fucking ounce of willpower he possessed not to drop to his knees, unknot her fingers and hold them to his lips.

  He frowned at her in lieu of that move, shoving the weak-ass caretaking wuss away. He’d had quite enough of that guy thanks. “Nothing more to explain. I heard you. I’m leaving you alone. End of story. Now if you will excuse me…” He tried to move past her, to escape before he did something stupid.

  She grabbed his arm, making him flinch. He looked at her hand, then into her eyes. “I love you.” She said. He blinked, turned all the way to face her. Took her hand and put them by her side. Her words burned into his brain. But he hardened himself to it.

  “No, you don’t. You loved me rescuing you.” His words were clipped, his jaw clenched.

  She swallowed hard. “You are so much a part of all of that….mess. You are so great. I don’t deserve you. You don’t deserve to put up with my crap. I can’t.” She clutched her elbows. He had to call on more inner reserves not to pick her up and toss her in his truck and kiss her until she begged him to come back. Something told him he could do just that, if he made that move now. But he held back.

  “You can’t what?” He ached to hear more, but knew he had to get away from her.

  “I can’t look at you without seeing him. Without feeling his hands, his…hate, and anger, and seeing him fall…” She gulped. “I’m not making any sense. But, please,” She reached out and grabbed his shoulder, slid her freezing cold palm around to his cheek.

  He leaned into it, closed his eyes a split second, and then stepped away. “Okay, you explained. And, for the record, you have made me feel about a thousand times worse,” he spit out, relishing the hurt in her eyes. “Thanks for that. Oh, and by the way, it is not up to you,” he touched a finger to her cheek, then
pulled away, “to decide what I fucking deserve.” He spun around and left, shot a text to Evan that he would be out the rest of the day but was already a week ahead in the brew schedule and that Cal and his minion could handle whatever came up today.

  Suzanne had rushed through the rest of her day, his words glowing in her heart like neon, not giving her any peace. Maybe he was right. Who was she to decide for him? She had never been more miserable keeping up this stupid charade of nonchalance. Going to work, doing the job she loved made her insane with anxiety. Whenever he was anywhere in the building she sensed him, her whole body betraying her and making her shivery, sweaty, and useless.

  After nearly a month of therapy, and of enjoying time in her new condo, sleeping alone, and easing away from the terror of her old life she still nursed a bright kernel of need. Blake had made her feel wanted, loved, desired and not just the object of sick obsession. Frankly, if it had not been for him, she likely would still be with Mitchell today. Still putting up with his cycle of violence and remorse. Still flinching when her phone rang, and nurturing fantasies about her hot young brewer.

  Blake’s very existence had given her strength. And she’d used it, used him and now had hurt him so badly he hated her. It was a never-ending nightmare. A circle-jerk of guilt, anger, remorse, frustration and still more guilt. She only spoke with Evan on a purely business level. He never brought up Blake other than to discuss brewery-related issues. Jack had been another story of course. She sighed as she unlocked the door to her studio condo overlooking Ann Arbor’s main street.

  “You are an unbelievably cold bitch you know it?” He’d berated as he helped her move a few boxes up the steps into the condo.

  “Shut up and carry boxes. I need moving help. I already have a therapist.” Her eyes kept tearing up, pissing her off.

  “That kid was head over heels for you. He nearly killed that asshole. Frankly, I admire him and wish I’d done it. But he…” Jack had shaken his head, staring out the large bank of windows onto the street. “He’s hot headed. Impulsive. Goes with his gut. I get that. But you really did a number on him.”

  Suzanne had dropped onto her couch and glared at her tall, handsome friend. There had been many times in her life when she wished she could have been more to him. But she valued their friendship. The years she’d spent avoiding him had hurt and having him back around now made her feel normal, more like her old self. “Go away. Go sell more houses. I’m fine now.”

  He’d flopped onto the couch next to her, propped his dress shoes on her small coffee table and draped an arm around her. “Nah, I’m free rest of today. Let’s get drunk. Like old times. And I’ll keep reminding you what a cold bitch you are and you can call me man-whore. I’ve missed that.”

  She’d laughed and leaned into him, letting his familiar presence soothe her. The crazed emotional roller coaster of the last week bowled her over, and before she knew it she’d fallen asleep, draped across his lap.

  And now, here she was, no happier, if anything more miserable. She tried reaching out to Blake. Calls, voicemails, emails, texts, none of it roused him. He’d built a wall, positioned guards around it and she was effectively shut out. Not that she blamed him.

  She wandered around her nearly empty space, touching the few belongings she’d brought with her. She no longer jumped when she thought she imagined Mitchell’s voice. And the nights were no longer fraught with nightmares and memories. But the Blake-shaped empty space she’d created ached more and more every day. She watched as the busy Ann Arbor Friday afternoon eased into a soft late summer night on the streets. She picked up her phone, sent him another text, not thinking anything would come of it, but needing to make the effort.

  Sara had not misrepresented his date’s looks, but had forgotten to mention she was about a hair shy of completely vacuous. Blake stared at her, watched her mouth move, idly observed the tops of her breasts, the curve of her hips, and made a mental note to get down to the club and find a man. Maybe that would help. All he saw when he thought of breasts was Suzanne. He sighed and finished off his beer.

  Sara glared at him as she paid attention to her date, an even more boring individual, not hard to look at either, but not her caliber as far as Blake was concerned. As if he were any judge these days. He paid the check and stood. Exhaustion swept through him. For the last week he’d managed three or four toss-and-turn hours of sleep, usually on his couch, before going on a punishing run, then heading in for a full day of work and avoidance when possible. The little episode in the cold room that morning had put an edge on his nerves that he could not shake. He felt twitchy, jumpy, horny, realizing it was just a physical urge he could exercise and get out of his system. In a perverse way, he held onto it, nurtured it even, the agony justified by his anger.

  He let his hand brush over his date’s hip as he eased her to her feet. The simpering look she gave him made him shudder. He pulled Sara aside as they exited together. “No,” he whispered. “I’m done.”

  She elbowed him, but laid her head on his shoulder a second. “Yeah, mine is lame too. Let’s ditch them and go throw some darts.”

  After his fourth beer of the night, and getting his ass kicked in both darts and foosball, he sat slumped on a bar stool, feeling sorry for himself. Sara fiddled with her phone, then set it down. “Blake, I don’t mean to be so bossy. You’re just freaking me out a little.”

  “I know. I’m freaking myself out.” He sipped, no longer tasting, then pushed the nearly full glass away from him. “Shit.” He ran a hand over his eyes. His phone buzzed across the bar. Sara grabbed it. He watched her face show surprise. “What?” he grabbed it.

  “Can you come over? I really want to talk.” Suzanne had texted him. He deleted it as usual.

  “You should go.” His sister muttered, putting a hand against his cheek.

  He jerked out of her reach. “You were threatening me with bodily harm a few weeks ago if I saw her again.”

  “I know. But there isn’t any closure here. She owes you a real explanation.”

  “No, I can’t. I’ll…I’m weak. I see her and I’ll do something stupid.”

  “Go,” she bumped his shoulder. “Didn’t she move into a place around the corner from here?”

  “You truly are insufferably bossy.” But he rose, anticipation lightening his vision. She blew him a kiss and turned to flirt with the bartender leaving him to his thoughts. Should he? Shouldn’t he? He shoved his hands in his pockets his feet setting him on a path he knew damn good and well he should not tread, but kept walking anyway, finding himself outside her nondescript door, at a loft over some retail on Main Street. She opened it just as he was about to knock, or bolt.

  Clad only in a soft-looking robe he didn’t recognize, her eyes smudged with dark circles that likely matched his own, she smiled. Blake let his body lead, so sick of his own thoughts he only wanted to drown them. Smother them with Suzanne, just once more, he promised himself.

  She gasped when he stepped into her space, cupped the back of her neck and lowered his mouth to hers, using a soft kiss first. Then when she grasped at him, he dove in for real. Grunting when she jumped up and wrapped her legs around his waist, keeping their lips locked, he walked a few steps to her couch and dropped her onto it, easing her down. She kept trying to talk, saying something about “sorry” and “stop” or maybe “go,” but he no longer heard anything but the roaring in his own ears.

  He took her with one, hot, needy stroke and she cried out, arched her hips up taking him deep. He was puzzled to see drops of water on her breasts as he leaned into her. She put her hand to his face, meeting him thrust for hard thrust, groaning as he came, in a rush of need and urgency, her body gripping his with a tight glove of pulsing erotic energy. He met her lips, their tears mingling until he had no concept of time, or of logic or of what a huge mistake this had been.

  Just her.

  Later, they lay in a tangle of limbs and blankets on her bed, his knee-jerk orgasm leaving him open for more play
after a brief nap. She sighed into his chest, kissed his skin there, and up his neck, making him shiver. He held her snug against him, but kept his mind closed, unwilling to accept more than her body. Not then, or maybe ever.

  “This is it, isn’t it?” He muttered into her hair.

  “What do you mean?” She propped up on his chest and looked at him, but her eyes told the story. He struggled out from under her and sat on the side of the bed, head in his hands. His body was sated but his heart ached as if they’d never had this little encounter.

  He stood, found his clothes and wandered to the sink for some water. His head pounded. “Thanks for the mercy fuck. I should go,” he called over his shoulder.

  “That was no mercy fuck, Blake.” She leaned in the doorway, wrapped in the robe again.

  He held up his water glass. “All right. Then thanks for the fuck. I’ll be out of your hair now.”

  “No, don’t go.” She stepped into his personal space. He shut his eyes.

  “You don’t want me Suzanne. I get it. If you are really going to let me go, it means a lot of things, including me not working with you anymore.”

  “No! Blake, we can. I mean…we’ll be…shit.” She sank into a chair.

  He leaned against the counter and stared at her. “Yeah. Exactly. I love you Suzanne. I love you so god damned fucking much it is ripping my guts out to even be in the same room with you, much less kissing you, making love to you, making you come, or making you happy when I know you won’t have me. That you don’t love me back.”

  She looked down at her hands. “I do love you Blake. I’ve missed you so much. I…” He stared at her, realizing this was the too little, too late moment. He would not fall into it with her again. He couldn’t. The emotional misery he’d endured for the last month had callused him, formed a hard shell around his heart that he didn’t think would ever break. So much the better, really. If it mean he wouldn’t hurt like that ever again.

  She stared at him, her eyes intense, her full lips swollen from their earlier activity. “Go.” She whispered. “You’re right. I…I don’t love you.”