I read the next post. It’s from last night. There’s a picture of her with Chris. It says, ‘Study time over. Time to play!’
My hands are sweating and I wipe one on my jeans before scrolling down to read more. One from last week reads, ‘Why should only guys be allowed to play the field? How come when a guy does it, he’s cool, but girls are called sluts?’
I see one dated the day of our fight. It simply says, ‘Guys are dicks.’
One from the week of spring break reads, ‘A girl’s gotta have something to do while the cat’s away – back in Maple Creek.’
I read message after message that she’s written about college being all about sewing oats and playing around. I read everything, back to the day we started dating. On January 24th, the day I asked her to be my girlfriend, her status reads, ‘Score! Love it when they play right into my hands.’
But the one that really guts me, the one that cuts me the deepest, is the one that reads, ‘Two guys in one day. The beast has been unleashed. Why did I never do this before?’
I can’t read anymore. I shove the phone at Karen. None of this makes any sense. This is some kind of practical joke. I know Baylor, she’s not like that at all. I get up and start walking towards her dorm. I have to see her.
Karen grabs my arm, holding me back. “Where are you going?”
“I have to find her,” I say. “I don’t know how she could have written shit like that. It’s not her.”
“Really?” she says. “You’re going over there so she can shit on you to your face? Why give her the satisfaction? Let’s just go. We can pack the rest of your things and leave early.”
“Karen, you must be crazy if you think I’m going to believe what I see on some stupid web site.” I walk away but she follows, trying to get me to go back to my house with her the entire time.
When we near Baylor’s dorm, I see her sitting on the front steps. She looks sad. Why is she so sad? I’m getting ready to run over to her when she looks up, but not in my direction. She’s looking the other way and a small smile flashes across her face. I look to see what’s caught her eye. It’s Chris. He’s running over to her as she stands up. He nears and she all but jumps into his outstretched arms.
What. The. Fuck.
My fists ball up as I watch the scene play out in front of me. Chris kisses her on the temple, just as I’ve done a hundred times. Then he kisses her cheek, all while running his hands up and down her arms. She looks up at him and I swear there are tears running down her face. Then my fucking heart breaks in two when he picks her up and carries her into the building—like how one would carry a bride across the threshold.
Pain lashes out at me, stealing my breath as shards of glass slice through my soul. But what nails my goddamn coffin shut, is when it dawns on me that he was wearing a bright-red t-shirt. One that read ‘Thing 1.’
So much is going through my head all at once. My mind flashes back through our last few months together. I think about how after our fight she started to pull away, making excuses to not run, making excuses for not seeing me, all the while never failing to find time for him, under the guise of studying.
Last week when I said I’d marry her one day, she all but freaked.
The last time we had sex, she said she’d love me ‘no matter what happens.’ Is this the ‘no matter what?’ Does she think she loves both of us or something? Was she stringing us both along until she made a decision? Or was she really just so insecure about Karen and my summer trip that she went back to what was familiar?
Has she really been fucking us both all this time?
I look down at my phone and read that cryptic message from this morning. She had to tell me something. She needed to talk face-to-face. On her turf.
I have my answer.
Fuck this.
I turn to Karen to see that she is still looking at the dorm, her mouth hanging open in utter surprise. Then I think I see the smallest hint of a smirk.
“Come on.” I turn to leave. “Let’s go pack.”
Back at my house I tell Karen I want to be alone. I throw all my crap into two suitcases while she calls to arrange an earlier flight. As I pack, I think of the future that will never happen. I think of the girl I’ll never again hold. I think of the life I will never have.
Then I sit on the edge of my bed and put my elbows on my knees and do what I’ve never done before. I fucking cry.
chapter twenty-two
Present day . . .
“Shit, man,” Scott says, downing his scotch and soda only to get another. “What happened next?”
I shake my head and it starts to spin from all the alcohol I’ve consumed over the past two hours that it’s taken for me to spill my guts to him. “I never saw her again.”
“That’s seriously fucked up,” he says. “Didn’t you see her at school the next fall?”
I stare at the flyer that still lies on the bar in front of me. My emotions are raw from rehashing our entire relationship. She completely eviscerated me.
“I looked for her everywhere,” I tell him. “I ran by the journalism building every day, hoping to catch her coming or going from class. I frequented the student union where she liked to eat. I even tortured myself by studying at the library in study carrel number thirty-nine. I was a mess. Then one day I was out running with my roommates and I came across Chris.
“It was stupid, I know, but as I ran by him I opened my mouth and spit out ‘How’s your two-timing girlfriend, Asswipe?’ He ran after me and jumped me, calling me an asshole and telling me I had no right to ask about her anymore. Then he punched me.
“My friends pulled me off him as I went to destroy his face. They drug me away and told me she wasn’t worth it. After that, Chris and I never spoke again and we avoided each other at all costs. But I still don’t understand why the guy who ended up with the girl was so mad at me.
“I graduated two years later after trying unsuccessfully to screw Baylor out of my system. I tried to date, but no one measured up. Finally, senior year, Karen suggested we get together, offering up a pretty good argument. She said she knew I didn’t love her ‘that way’ and she was willing to accept that. She convinced me that it was for the best if we were together. She said it would go a long way to mollifying my dad after dropping the bomb on him about changing my major and basically the course of my entire life.
“I knew I could never be in love with anyone again. I’d never put myself out there to be hurt the way Baylor hurt me, so her offer seemed like a good idea at the time. We both got something out of it. Karen got me, something she’d wanted for a very long time, and I got to feel safe with a friend who I knew would never hurt me. We’re basically friends with benefits—only we wear wedding rings.”
I look over at Scott who is stirring his drink with his finger, looking at me contemplatively. “I knew you and Karen had an unusual relationship,” he says. “That explains a hell of a lot.” He laughs.
“Yeah. Our marriage of convenience,” I say. “Not exactly a happily-fucking-ever-after, huh?”
He slaps me on the back and nods to the flyer. “Well, Baylor’s here, right now in this very hotel. What are the odds of that, my friend?” he says. “Maybe you need to talk to her. You know, to get closure after all these years.”
I slam my drink down a little too hard, causing droplets to spatter all over the bar and Baylor’s picture. I pick up the flyer, wipe it off, fold it, and place it in my pocket. I shake my head at him. “She made her choice then, Scott. Nothing she could say would do a bit of good.”
I open my wallet and throw a few large bills on the bar as I stand up. “I’m goin’ back to the suite,” I say, stumbling toward the entrance of the bar.
Scott comes up beside me, steadying me. “I’ll make sure you get there in once piece, man.”
We walk to an open elevator and pile in with several other people. Scott reaches over to push the button for the sixteenth floor when a woman calls out, “Hold the elevator!”
> Scott quickly puts his arm in between the closing doors to allow her time to get on.
“Thank you,” she says, struggling with a leather satchel that she pulls onto her shoulder as she walks towards the car.
I look at the person stepping on the elevator and my heart slams into my chest wall. Baylor fucking Mitchell.
Nope, the picture on the flyer was most definitely not Photoshopped. I think she’s even more gorgeous than she was eight years ago. A lump forms in my throat that feels like it’s cutting off the oxygen I need to keep breathing.
Next to me, Scott guffaws, earning him a kick in the shin from me as I try to steady myself in my drunken state. Baylor freezes when she sees me. She looks like a deer caught in headlights. Then she visibly pales and anger flashes in her chameleon eyes right before she turns around to face the closing elevator doors. I don’t miss her shaky hand reaching over to press the button for the tenth floor. Her whole body tenses and she radiates anger throughout the confines of the elevator.
A few men next to me hold a conversation, blissfully unaware of the rising temperature and unbridled tension swimming about them. I can’t tear my eyes away from the back of her. I take in her appearance as my gaze slowly shifts down her body. Her almost-straight hair falls to the middle of her back. It’s a similar light-brown color as before, but it looks like she’s either had highlights added or spent a lot of time in the sun.
She’s wearing a tailored dress suit that accentuates her small waist. The mile-high shoes she wears add several inches to her short stature. I stare at her legs that are bare from right above the knee. She shifts uncomfortably—either that or her feet hurt from the ridiculously high heels that help add even more shape to her fit, suntanned calves.
My goddamn dick twitches. How can she still affect me like this after all this time? After she led me on and then stomped all over my heart?
The elevator doors open and a mother and child exit. It’s only the seventh floor, but I can see Baylor’s legs move forward to step off. Then she hesitates and the doors shut once again.
A few more seconds of torture and we arrive at the tenth floor. She steps off the elevator even before the doors fully open. Scott nudges me with his elbow.
Before I can censor my drunken words, they tumble from my lips. “Miss me?”
Her steps falter and she stops moving for a beat before she starts walking away as fast as her stilettos can carry her, never having turned around to look at me.
I make a split-second decision to follow her off the elevator. Scott chuckles behind me and mumbles something about luck as I hear the doors close, leaving me standing on the tenth floor watching Baylor walk away.
Surely she can hear me walking behind her, but she’s not bothering to acknowledge it.
“Baylor,” I say.
She stops in her tracks. I don’t miss that her hands have balled up into fists down by her side. She turns around to reveal a face that is ridden with sadness. Unwiped tears roll down her cheeks past her perfectly pink lips. Before I can say another word, her expression changes completely and if ever someone could shoot fire from their eyes, it would be her, right here, right now.
She holds up a hand with her palm out, indicating for me to stay back. “Get away from me,” she says loudly. “You are someone I never wanted to see again and now you’ve ruined what was a perfectly good day.”
She turns around and walks away. I stand here, stunned at the sound of her voice after all these years. The voice that has haunted my dreams since the day I saw her jump into Chris’s arms.
“Don’t walk away, Baylor!” I yell after her. I continue to follow her down the long hotel hallway. “Don’t you think you owe me an explanation? Can you at least fucking give me that?”
She spins around, venom seeping from her eyes along with more tears. “Owe you an explanation?” She shakes her head. “You were there, too, Gavin. I didn’t do it all on my own, you know.”
“Yeah, I was there alright,” I spit back at her. “I was there when you ran back to Chris. But you didn’t know I saw that, did you?”
“What are you talking about?” she yells. “You left me!” Her open hand hits the wall next to her for emphasis. “You left me and I never heard from you again.”
I try to wrap my head around what she’s saying. I left her. For Brazil? She knew I was going all along. She told me to go for Christ’s sake. What about her Facebook confessions?
“I suppose you’re going to deny all that shit you posted on Facebook, too!” I yell, faintly aware of quickening footsteps behind me.
“Are you drunk, Gavin?” She looks at me through cold and bitter eyes. “You must be confusing me with one of your whores!” she yells.
“Yes, I’m drunk, darlin’!” I shout, kicking a table in the hallway, toppling over a vase full of flowers. “I’m just drunk enough and stupid enough to admit that you ripped out my fuckin’ heart.” I reach in my pocket and pull out my keys, holding them up for her to see. “You built me up, then you tore me apart, Mitchell.”
She stares at the keychain that she gave me after I found it on the ground the first day we met. The keychain that reminded me all these years to be myself and pave my own path in life. To never do what was simply expected of me. The damn keychain that made me who I am today.
“Why?” she asks. “Why would you bother to keep that after what you did to me?”
A strong hand grabs my shoulder. I turn to see a large man in a hotel security uniform. He says, “Sir, I’m afraid I’ll have to get the police involved if you don’t calm down right now and come with me.”
Baylor takes this opportunity to scurry down the hall as a few doors open and heads peek out into the hallway to see what the commotion is about. I see her round the corner and then I hear a door slam shut.
Brutus grabs my arm. “Are we going to have a problem here?”
I debate fighting him off to go after her, but even in my inebriated state, I realize that would only end badly.
“No. I’m staying at the hotel,” I tell him. “I’ll head back to my room.”
“Okay then,” he says. “I’ll make sure you get there.”
chapter twenty-three
I didn’t get a lick of sleep. I spent the entire night staring at the ceiling wondering what happened. Why was she accusing me of leaving her? How could she stand there and deny what she wrote on Facebook, deny that she went back to Chris after I saw it with my own eyes?
I drink a few bottles of water to sober up. Then around eight in the morning, I decide to hit the hotel gym, getting on the treadmill to keep from pounding down her door. As I run, I think about all the runs we shared together. I remember how I still ran at seven o’clock every Monday and Wednesday night in Brazil, wondering if, even though she was with him, she was doing the same thing. I recall how I looked at her pictures for years wondering why she left school and how she was doing.
When my feet fail me and I barely recover before I face-plant the deck of the treadmill, I settle on going for a swim instead.
Down at the hotel pool, I do lap after punishing lap, trying to exhaust myself so I don’t have the energy to go after her. It’s working. After fifty laps, I’m unable to even gather the strength to pull myself out of the pool. I stand in the water and silently watch a few other people doing laps as I try to work the feeling back into my arms and legs.
I see small feet kicking in the lane next to me as someone does the freestyle stroke towards my end of the pool. I’m surprised when a kid wearing reflective goggles pops up out of the water beside me. I’m impressed at his speed. “You’re pretty fast, partner.”
“Thanks,” he replies.
“What’s your name, kid? I’ll have to watch for you in the Olympics one day.”
His dimpled smile is full of pride as he answers, “Max.”
“Well, Max, I’ll bet you’re even faster than me, and what are you, eight or nine?”
“Seven,” he says, beaming up at me.
“Max!” a woman yells from the other end of the pool.
I nod at her. “Your mom?”
“Nah, she’s my nanny. She’s always telling me not to talk to strangers.” He twirls his finger in the air around his ear, making me laugh.
“Maddox Mitchell, get over here this instant!” his nanny yells.
“I gotta go, mister.” He flips up his goggles, revealing piercing blue eyes. “Bye.”
He stares at me while he backstrokes his way to the other side of the pool.
Sheer panic knocks the wind out of me when I focus on his eyes.
I
Can’t
Breathe.
I feel as if I’m drowning in the shallow water.
I can’t fucking move.
My legs are cemented in place, crippled with paralyzing uncertainty.
A gnawing ache rises up from the pit of my stomach, gripping my throat like a vice. I brace myself on the edge of the pool, taking a deep breath while my racing thoughts search for explanations. I shake my head, blood pounding through my temples. How is this possible? His eyes—they’re mine! I just looked into my own goddamn eyes.
I regain control of my legs and quickly do the math in my head as I race out of the pool and find my towel. He said he’s seven years old. I haven’t seen her in almost eight years. This just can’t be. But, he’s got my middle name for Christ’s sake—surely she wouldn’t have named Asswipe’s kid after me. And the resemblance . . .
My frantic mind tries to wrap around what my heart knows to be true. That the kid who was swimming next to me in the pool . . . the kid who was just smiling at me with Baylor’s dimple in his cheek . . . the kid named Maddox, who, if I’m being honest, is a mirror-fucking-image of me—that kid must be my son.
A kid.
I have a fucking kid!
Suddenly it occurs to me that I’ve been denied this information for eight years. Who does she think she is keeping this from me . . . keeping him from me?
Purple Orchids Page 16
