Love On My Mind

by Tracey Livesay

  He swung from the polished scene and glanced over the large, well-­appointed room. Chelsea said she’d reserved it because it boasted a “meticulous decor with timeless elegance,” and it was close to the Moscone Center. He’d agreed the space had seemed perfect when he’d planned to share it with her. But when he’d returned to the suite, he’d discovered her bags gone and any trace of her presence erased. Now the room felt barren. He was alone.

  Again.

  He glanced at the clock on the wall. He’d missed sound check hours ago. It was for the best. He doubted his ability to concentrate. Their fight was probably the topic of the convention center and he’d dreaded facing all of those ­people. It was shades of the ­People Magazine debacle all over again.

  For the fortieth time he rued his faulty judgment. He’d vowed to never place himself in this situation again and here he was, on the eve of another presentation, pondering deception by a woman.

  And not just any woman. Chelsea.

  It was quiet. Too quiet. Guess he’d enjoyed having Chelsea around.

  The lock on the outer door clicked and his heart revived in his chest, pounding painfully.

  Chelsea?

  His body had skirted the wooden side table and leather club chair before his brain recalled he didn’t want to see her. Still, he held his breath.

  The door swung open and Mike entered, dressed in a dark suit.

  Adam’s heart stuttered. Great. “What do you want? I’ve had my fill of liars today.”

  “You missed sound check.” Mike shoved his hands into the pockets of his slacks and shrugged. “I was worried.”

  “How did you get in here?”

  Mike nodded to the small plastic card emblazoned with the hotel’s insignia that he’d flung onto the console table by the door. “Chelsea gave me her key.”

  Hearing the other man utter her name and recalling their hushed voices and guilty expressions fortified Adam’s earlier weakness. His jaw tightened. “I’ll make sure the hotel reprograms the lock.”

  “I know you’re upset—­”

  “You’ve proven your knowledge is inaccurate and unreliable. If you knew me, you would know that I find lying an unpardonable sin.”

  “I do know you and how you feel. But I did it for your own good.”

  “I’m not an infant. I don’t need to be coddled.”

  “Don’t you?” Mike slashed a hand through the air. “How many times did I ask you to consider using a PR firm? To let me bring in someone to help you with the presentation?”

  “I didn’t need—­”

  “Yes, you did. And you would’ve known that if you’d stopped being so goddamned stubborn and listened to somebody else for once.” Mike rubbed the back of his neck. “You know, you talk a good game about trust, but in successful relationships, the trust has to flow both ways.”

  Nice try. He wasn’t going to let Mike absolve himself of his responsibility for this situation. Adam raised a brow. “I trusted you and you lied to me.”

  “This company is important to me, too. I’ve been with you from the beginning, through the highs of our initial success and the lows of Birgitta’s betrayal. I’ve given you my unwavering support. This one time I asked you to trust my skills, to have my back, and you couldn’t.” Mike straightened and lifted his chin. “I did what was best for Computronix, and if you can’t understand that, then screw you.”

  Adam frowned. Mike had been his best friend since college. Making friends had been exceedingly difficult for him, yet Mike was one of the few ­people who’d seen beyond his idiosyncrasies to the person beneath. Was he willing to throw away their relationship and the business they’d built for this one mistake?

  “Come on, Adam, we need to get past this.” Mike splayed his hands wide, palms facing upward. “Do you want to hit me? Will that make you feel better?”

  He considered it. A little Pavlovian classical conditioning? Anytime Mike thought about lying to him, he’d recall the feel of Adam’s fist against his jaw.

  “This can’t happen again,” he finally said, choosing to forego physical assault.

  “I won’t go behind your back. But you have to promise to be more open-­minded. To listen to, and consider, ideas that originate from others.”

  He hesitated then said, “I can’t promise success, but I’ll make an earnest attempt to try.”

  Mike grinned. “Your earnest attempt is better than ninety-­nine percent of the world’s.”

  “True.” He sighed. “I only wish you could have found some other way that didn’t include Chelsea.”

  Mike’s grin disappeared. “I bear some responsibility for the Chelsea situation. As a condition of the contract, I instructed them not to tell you about me. I do believe her when she said she loved you and was planning to tell you everything after the presentation.”

  “After she received her promotion.”

  “She could’ve handled this better. We all could’ve. But she didn’t get to her position at Beecher & Stowe without hard work, loyalty, and ambition. When she took this assignment, she didn’t know you personally. She only knew that the reward for its successful completion was a partnership.”

  “You’re excusing what she did?”

  “You don’t have to forgive her right away. Take things slow. Give her a chance to regain your trust. Don’t cut her out of your life entirely, when doing so would make you both miserable.” Mike’s phone dinged and he pulled it from his inner coat pocket. “I’d hate to see you waste two more years of your life, up on your mountain, pushing everyone away.” He checked the display and headed for the door. “I’m late for cocktails before dinner. Do what you need to do to feel better, but I want to see your ass at the Moscone Center tomorrow morning, 10 a.m. sharp.”

  His stomach shifted and his pulse raced. He couldn’t go through with the presentation. He’d possessed plenty of confidence earlier, knowing he had Chelsea’s support. But now?

  Heading to the bedroom, he stopped just inside the doorway. The king-­sized bed, with its plush comforter and mounds of pillows, taunted him. For dinner he’d reserved the private dining room at Quartet and for dessert he’d imagined spending the night before the launch reveling in the sexy heat of Chelsea’s body. Instead, he was facing the real possibility he’d never see her again.

  ­People aren’t computers.

  The sting of her words returned. He knew ­people weren’t computers, but that didn’t stop him from preferring they were. He understood computers. ­People, especially women, were significantly more difficult. Was it too onerous to expect not to be lied to by the person who proclaimed to love you?

  I’d hate to see you waste another two years of your life, up on your mountain, pushing everyone away.

  How had Mike known that’d been his initial instinct? Because that’s what he’d done after Birgitta? He’d checked out of life, afraid of being hurt, but what had been hurt more than anything had been his pride. When he’d proposed to her, he’d been polishing his image of a successful life. His business was thriving; a beautiful wife would be a natural garnish.

  No one would dare call him a disappointment.

  But he’d had no real attachment to Birgitta. They rarely spent time together, she’d never been to his house on the mountain, she didn’t know about his family. He’d shared more of himself with Chelsea in three weeks than he had with Birgitta the entire two years they’d been together. That’s why it’d been easy to let her go. But the idea of living without Chelsea?

  That existence seemed untenable.

  Chapter Twenty

  QUESTIONS ABOUT LOVE and trust, combined with the memory of Chelsea’s sobs as he walked away, haunted him and he couldn’t ignore the hypothesis that the issues highlighted by her and Mike started before he’d ever met them. That theory induced him to leave San Francisco, the night before the most important event of h
is career, and head east.

  Three hours later, under a full moon in the starry Colorado sky, Adam rang the doorbell of his father’s home and waited to be admitted. Numerous times—­in the helicopter, on the private plane, in the car from the airport—­he’d questioned the prudence of his decision, but he proceeded, intent on seeking answers.

  The porch light illuminated above him and the door opened. Rick Bennett stood blinking in a hastily belted robe, his short graying hair tousled, a long cast covering his left leg from just below his knee. They spoke concurrently.

  “What happened to your foot?”

  “What are you doing here?”

  Adam strode across the threshold, closing the thick wooden door behind him and taking his father’s arm. “Let’s get you settled.”

  He helped the older man into the open family room, the rhythmic thump of his cast against the wide planked floors a somber accompaniment. Adam settled him in his favorite recliner and engaged the padded footrest. Pulling the Aztec fabric ottoman closer to the chair, he perched on its corner and rested his elbows on his knees. “What happened?”

  “It was stupid. I broke my ankle playing softball,” Dad said, bracing against the armrests and shifting in the chair.

  He exhaled and bowed his head, allowing himself a tiny measure of relief. At least he hadn’t been assaulted or injured in an accident. “You’re still playing?”

  “In the town’s senior softball league.”

  In his formative years, Adam had been heavily influenced by his father’s active nature. Skiing, hiking, rafting, Dad always emphasized physical endeavors.

  “When did it happen?”

  “About three weeks ago.”

  Three weeks? What the fuck?

  He crossed his arms and averted his head, unable to meet his father’s gaze. It didn’t take a genius to understand why the majority of his significant relationships were broken. “I didn’t know.”

  “I’m fine. There was no need to worry you.”

  He cleared his throat. “Should you be walking on it?”

  “I usually don’t. I keep it elevated most of the time and Sarah comes over and checks on me during her breaks from the hospital. But when someone rings your doorbell at nine at night, it tends to get the adrenaline pumping. I acted without thinking.”

  Though he was grateful both of his sisters lived nearby, it annoyed Adam that Sarah hadn’t called to inform him of the situation. He could’ve arranged for a private nurse. He made a mental note to contact local agencies after the launch.

  “How is Sarah?”

  Dad smiled. “Doing well. She and Douglas just bought a house over in Rippon Landing.”

  “And Amy?”

  “Still working at the bank. Been dating a local firefighter. I think it’s getting serious.” Dad leaned forward and crossed his hands over his stomach. “But I have a sneaking suspicion you didn’t fly over two hours, the night before your big product launch, to ask me about your sisters.”

  Adam’s gaze flew to his father’s. “You know about the presentation?”

  Dad laughed. “We live in Colorado, not outer space.”

  Adam frowned. “Would that be a ‘yes’?”

  “That would be a ‘yes.’ Are you excited?”

  His pulse accelerated. “The new device we’re unveiling is cutting-­edge. It’s the best thing I’ve ever worked on.”

  “The girls are coming over tomorrow and we’re watching it on the computer. I wish I could be there with you, but getting around in this thing”—­he knocked on the cast—­“is a pain in the ass.”

  Adam raised a brow. “You would’ve come to the launch?”

  “Of course.”

  But—­ “The last time I extended an invitation, you left before the event ended. I thought you regretted attending.”

  “I could never regret the chance to see you. But I underestimated the demands on your time. You were so busy and . . . it didn’t feel like the appropriate time to visit. I should’ve checked with you, but we left, assuming that’s what you’d want.” Dad pulled the edges of his robe together. “I figured you might still be mad about that.”

  “I’m not angry,” he said, his voice low.

  Chelsea had been right. Another instance of his word merry-­go-­round, except not much talking was done. Just assumptions made.

  “So, what’s going on?” his father asked.

  “I—­” Adam took a breath and started again. “Do you—­ Did you ever wish I was normal?”

  The words spilled from him and seemed to be augmented by the resulting silence.

  Dad’s head jerked back, grooves appearing in his forehead. “Where is this coming from?”

  “I need to know.”

  His father stared at him for a long, uncomfortable moment. “Raising you was . . . challenging, exhausting, humbling.”

  The dizziness caught Adam unawares. He dropped his head and fought to draw air into his constricted lungs. Having doubts was one thing, but knowing you were right . . .

  “It was also exhilarating, wondrous, and awe-­inspiring.”

  Adam looked up.

  “Son, there’s no such thing as normal. We all have our issues.”

  “Not like mine.”

  “It wasn’t always easy, but I wouldn’t change you. I’d change myself. I could’ve done better. When you began to pull away from us, I could’ve fought it. But I was ashamed that I hadn’t done a better job of protecting you. From your mother and the world. How could I protect you? I could barely keep up with you. By the time you left for college, you’d put us in your rearview mirror . . . and I let you. One of the biggest mistakes of my life.”

  Adam shook his head dismissively. “You don’t have to say that.”

  “Yes, I do. Because it’s the truth.”

  He hung his head. “If it were true, if I were so damned ‘awe-­inspiring,’ why did Mom leave?”

  “Oh, Adam.” Dad surged forward, collapsing the padded footrest and bringing both feet to the floor. “So that’s what this is about. You haven’t asked about your mother in a long time.”

  “Ten years.” The last time he’d just sold his first company for over four million dollars. The acquisition had made national news. Surely his mother would hear about his success . . . He massaged his temples, suddenly wishing he’d remained in San Francisco. What had caused him to unearth these issues when he’d dealt with them years ago?

  “There are things a parent wishes to never share with their child.” His father sighed. “Your mother and I were having problems before you were born.”

  Adam stilled. That was new information.

  “We almost filed for divorce several times. But then she got pregnant again and we learned we were finally having a boy. We wanted to make our family work.”

  His stomach churned. “Only I didn’t turn out to the boy she wanted.”

  “There was a hole in your mother’s spirit that none of us could fill. It wasn’t just you. It was the same with your sisters.” Dad rubbed the back of his neck. “With me.”

  Adam ingested this new familial data.

  “You were six the first time you solved a quadratic equation. Your mother couldn’t believe it. She sent me out to buy a high school math textbook and you zipped through it like you were reading a Dr. Seuss book. That experience . . . it energized your mother.” He winced. “That was probably unfair to put on a child, but she seemed to have a purpose. A special identity.”

  “Then I was diagnosed.”

  “Yes,” Dad said. “She started zoning out, looking for something else. I recognized the symptoms and I’d had enough. I told her she needed to get help or leave. She chose to leave.”

  Adam pressed his thumb and forefinger against his eyelids to stem the tears. “I always believed it was my fault that she left. That I w
as weird and unlovable. I thought you, Sarah, and Amy blamed me, too.”

  His father squeezed his shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault, son. No one ever blamed you, not for one moment.”

  He let his hands drop and stared at his father through tear-­spiked lashes. “She’s my mother. If anyone is supposed to love me, it should be her.” And the scariest part—­ “If she couldn’t, how can I trust anyone else to?”

  “You’ve got to let that go. You are not defined by the mistakes of your parents.”

  “Aren’t I? Mom, Birgitta and now Ch—­” He clenched his teeth. “I’m the common denominator.”

  “Love isn’t logical, Adam.”

  “Then how do you trust it?”

  “It may be hard for you to believe, but I think you’re uniquely qualified to figure that out. Say you have strong feelings for a woman. Some would assume that’s enough and give in to it. But there has to be a rational component and that’s where you excel. Is she a good person? Does she have goals? Do you have things in common? Can you carry on a conversation with her? Does she make you feel good about yourself? Because the initial euphoria will wither away. And it’s the answers to those questions that will feed the fire and keep it going.”

  Adam sighed. “Not only are you utilizing metaphors, Dad, you’re mixing them.”

  “How about this? If you’re lucky enough to find someone who appeals to you, both physically and intellectually, then you owe it to yourself to give it a shot. So”—­his father pursed his lips—­“who is she?”

  “Who?”

  “Only a woman can cause a man to start questioning his life.”

  “Her name is Chelsea. But I hurt her, Dad.” He recalled her tears and pleading. “Badly.”

  “You’re the smartest person I know. When you care, there’s no problem that can stand between you and the solution. The question is, do you care?”

  More than he ever thought was possible. Chelsea had shown him that even a genius had things to learn. And instead of making him feel shame for his differences, she understood and accepted him. Even the “lessons” she’d offered had enhanced who he was, instead of changing him as he’d feared. Getting the new clothes had been a good idea. Learning to relax and imagine others’ perspectives had only made engaging with others easier. In fact, when he thought back through his entire association with Chelsea, he realized everything he’d learned from her had augmented his life, not weakened it. The antithesis of his experience with Birgitta.