by Nikki Chase
I hurry away from the hotel entrance, blinking through my tears, struggling to find a way out of here. Peter follows me, still talking a mile a minute. I think I might puke.
A cab pulls up, and someone gets out. Before they have a chance to close the door behind them, I clamber in and yank it closed behind me, locking it.
Peter rushes to the window, pressing his palms against it, calling my name.
“Where to?” the cab driver asks.
“I don’t care,” I sob. “Just away from here. Drive that way, and I’ll tell you in a minute. Please, just go, now!”
He nods and pulls away.
Peter’s still trying to follow, screaming my name, knocking on the window, but he soon fades into the background as the taxi picks up speed.
“Is everything okay?” the driver asks, concern in his voice. “Was that guy trying to hurt you?”
Not trying. He has hurt me, so many times.
“I’m fine,” I say. “Can you just drive in circles, but stay away from that hotel? I need to make a call, and then I’ll tell you where to go.”
Thankfully, the driver shuts up and does as I’ve asked him.
I sit for a few minutes in total shock. My brain is still struggling to process what I saw.
I’m a coward. I should have stayed there, should have confronted that cheating asshole. How could I have trusted him? How could I have been so stupid?
I should be slapping Brock in the face right about now, but I just can’t stop crying for long enough to pull it together.
He’s been talking about rings, about marriage, about us, together, forever. And all the while, he was still in love with her. With Rosa.
Even thinking her name to myself makes my lip curl in contempt.
I should have listened to Dean.
I feel so stupid for just dismissing all of his concerns and warnings out of hand. All that time he spent telling me about what Brock is like—why didn’t I even entertain the possibility that it might’ve been true?
Dean has been Brock’s friend since they were kids—he knows Brock better than anyone. But no, I couldn’t see past my own infatuation, and now I’m paying the price for that arrogance.
I just don’t learn.
All those years I spent with Peter, rationalizing his behavior, until I finally saw the light . . . but I’ve obviously learned nothing from it. I latched onto the first guy who came along, who sweet-talked me, who showed an interest, and I’ve gotten my heart broken all over again.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
I fumble with my phone, and call the only person I can, the only person I have. Dean.
He picks up quickly. “Hey, Nina. How’s it going?”
I tell myself to hold it together and stick to the facts. Don’t get him all worried.
But as soon as I hear his voice, I break down all over again.
“You were right,” I sob. “You were right about everything. I should never have brushed you off, Dean. I’m so sorry.”
“Whoa, slow down,” he says. “What’s going on? What happened?”
“It was Br—” I start, but I just can’t bring myself to tell him the story. Every time I even think Brock’s name, that image of him kissing Rosa comes back into my mind, overwhelming me with grief.
Dean takes a deep breath, then falls silent for a few moments. In the background, I hear indistinct voices, electronic beeps, and paper rustling. He’s probably at work.
“Where are you right now?” he asks, his voice taut with anger. I hear footsteps, then silence. Dean must’ve stepped into somewhere private, probably his own office.
“In a cab,” I answer between silent sobs.
I hear him typing away on a keyboard in the background, keys clicking away.
“Ask the driver to take you to the airport,” Dean says firmly. “I’ve booked you a flight to Seattle, leaving in a couple hours. You can come stay here with me for a while. I’d come there, but I can’t get the time off work.”
“No, Dean, you don’t need to do that,” I say, wiping away tears. “I’ll be fine, I just need a bit of time to -”
“No,” he cuts me off. “I already booked the ticket. Check your email inbox.”
I take a deep breath. “Okay, okay. I’ll come.”
He’s probably right. It’ll do me good to get away from here and spend some time with him. It’ll help me get my head together to process this entire shitshow.
All I know is, I can’t face Brock yet, and I don’t have the energy to deal with Peter’s harassment right now.
Peter wouldn’t just lay off once I did as he asked. Him showing me . . . that . . . is just going to make things worse. He’ll feel vindicated, knowing that he was right all along.
Brock might be a cheating asshole, but that doesn’t change the fact that Peter is an emotional leech I want gone from my life, for good.
A few days away to clear my head and recharge my batteries would be perfect. After that, I can come back and get everything resolved.
“Take me to the airport, please,” I tell the driver. I can’t stand to be here anymore. Every street, every building in this downtown area reminds me of Brock, making me feel suffocated. “As fast as you can.”
“You got it.” He steps on the gas.
Brock
Brock
“Mr. Evans. Let me introduce you to my colleagues. Aaron Smith and Matthew Williams,” says Mark Casey, the CEO of Casey Technologies.
They look at me with expectation in their eyes. I shake their hands in a rush, exasperated already by the slow tempo of Mark Casey’s speech.
“I’m so sorry, gentlemen. I’ve got an emergency on my hands, and we’ll have to reschedule,” I say, glancing out the hotel entrance.
Mark Casey is talking, but I don’t even care what he’s saying.
I can’t see Nina from where I’m standing, but if I run outside now, I may be able to catch up with her and explain everything. It’s not too late. I can fix this.
“. . . unacceptable. My schedule is completely packed, and Aaron here flew all the way from the New York office for this meeting—”
“I’m sorry. I really have to go,” I say, cutting off Mark Casey and stepping away from the men.
“Mr. Evans!” one of the men shouts, but I’m already making my way out the door.
I’ll deal with them later. They need this deal as much as we do. They’ll reschedule if they really want to make this happen.
Besides, even if I went ahead with the meeting, I wouldn’t be able to concentrate. My brain is screaming out Nina’s name over and over again, overriding everything else.
She’s all that matters right now. I can’t have her thinking I’m cheating on her. I’ve been cheated on before, and I know it hurts like a motherfucker. The last thing I want to do is hurt Nina.
Every cell in my body is telling me to run to her, to pull her into my arms and tell her I love her, wipe away her tears and beg her not to cry.
Fuck. I made Nina cry.
“Wow.” Rosa’s voice. I forgot about her.
God, I hate her. I hate her so fucking much.
I use my anger as fuel, running out down the hotel driveway and toward the main street.
Rosa’s designer heels click against the asphalt, her voice shrill between gasps as she runs to keep up with me. “I can’t believe you just walked away like that from a meeting. They were big shots, Brock. Daddy introduced them at a party one night. And that Mark Casey is so hot.”
“Leave me alone, Rosa. I swear to God, I want to hit someone in the face right now.”
“Ooh, threats of violence. I’ve got to say, you’re looking kind of hot right now, Brock. You’re always so sexy when you’re angry,” Rosa comments, her voice light and breezy, as if we were just having a casual conversation and she hadn’t just ruined my day.
“Fuck off.”
“You know, you’re looking hotter and hotter by the second to me, Brock. But I should tell you, that’s not a very n
ice thing to say,” Rosa says—no doubt she’s pouting, but I’ve got my eyes ahead of me, searching for Nina.
I want to blame Rosa, but that was my fault too. I should’ve known Rosa would have a surprise up her sleeve. She wouldn’t have shown up out of the blue with no plan.
Fuck. Where could Nina be?
“So, it’s your fiancée you’re looking for, huh?” Rosa asks. How does she manage to keep talking when she’s obviously out of breath? “This girl must be pretty important. You used to cancel our dates whenever you were busy with work. Maybe that was why I slept with Rob. I was lonely. You know, I was hoping you’d try to stop my wedding—that would’ve been so dramatic. I’d tell you in front of everyone I wouldn’t leave Rob, of course. But I’d still see you in secret, and we could still do stuff together. Doesn’t that sound so exciting?”
My resolve not to grab Rosa by the shoulders and shake her out of whatever delusional world she lives in is weakening.
That’s when I spot Peter, standing on the sidewalk, one arm hailing a cab to a stop.
Oh, no, you don’t.
I run faster until I can’t hear Rosa anymore. I grab Nina’s ex by the collar just as he’s about to step inside the cab.
“Please don’t hit me,” Peter begs, his voice shaky. Fucking loser.
“Where’s Nina?” I shake him.
“I don’t know.”
“You were here with her weren’t you? Where did she go?” I ask.
Then, realization dawns on me.
I’ve been wondering what Nina was doing here. She’s supposed to be downtown, sending a package at the post office.
Rosa’s here. Peter’s here.
I don’t know how, but I realized somehow our two exes are in this together.
That sounds crazy, but it’s exactly the kind of thing Rosa would come up with. And Peter seems desperate enough to do anything if Rosa could convince him it would get Nina back into his arms.
As if I’d ever let that happen.
“Where did she go?” I yell at Peter.
“I don’t know,” he repeats. I’m about to pull my fist back to hit him when he adds, “She jumped into a cab. I don’t know where she was going. I was going to follow her.”
Pushing Peter into the cab, I join him on the backseat and yank the door shut. “Where was she going? Tell the driver.”
“I . . . I don’t know. It took me a while to flag down a cab, and I lost sight of her,” Peter says in a pathetic voice.
“I don’t want any trouble,” the cab driver warns. “If you guys are going to fight, don’t do it in my cab. I don’t want to spend half my day dealing with the cops.”
“There won’t be any cops. There won’t be any trouble,” I say.
But Peter flinches when I speak, and that hasn’t escaped the driver’s attention.
He watches us through the rearview mirror. “You need to get out of my cab. Both of you. I don’t want to deal with the cops, but I’ll call them if you don’t leave.”
Fuck.
There’s no point arguing with the driver, so I rush back to the front steps of the hotel, leaving Peter and Rosa behind.
I slip the valet a twenty-dollar bill and tell him to get my car right away. It still takes him way too long, though.
Sitting behind the wheel of my car, I peel away from the hotel and dart toward the main street, ignoring Rosa, who’s standing barefoot by the side of the hotel driveway, her shoes dangling from her fingers as she screams out my name.
Where should I go? Where could Nina be?
I dial Tessa’s number, my heart galloping. The dial tone ends with a click and for a hopeful moment I think she’s picking up, but then I hear a robotic voice instead. “The customer you are calling is unavailable at the moment. Please try again later or leave a message after the beep.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I head to Tessa’s apartment and call the office—kill two birds with one stone. But the InFini receptionist tells me Tessa hasn’t returned, and as much as I buzz her apartment, Nina’s not answering.
Standing in front of her apartment building, I text her.
Nina, please. I can explain. Please talk to me.
I pace around and keep buzzing her apartment. Damn it, I don’t even know if she’s home. She could be anywhere.
I stare at my phone, willing it to show me a text from Nina, but nothing happens—except for a text from Rosa popping up. I don’t have time to even read it.
I type another message.
Nina, there’s nothing between Rosa and me, I swear. It’s not what you think. Please let me explain.
Even as I fire off the text, I realize how clichéd it sounds. I’ve heard cheaters in the movies say the exact same words before, and I’m sure Nina has, too.
I dial her number again and hear the automated message. I wait for the beep.
“Nina, it’s me. I know it looked bad, but it wasn’t what it seemed. Please, Nina, let me explain. Rosa, she forced herself on me. She planned this whole thing. She wants to destroy us. This is exactly the kind of thing she does.” I realize, even as I speak, how lame I sound, how crazy my explanation seems. “Please call me back, or text me. We need to talk, face to face. Let me know where you are and I’ll come straight to you. Nina, I’d never hurt you. You know that, right? I love you. I really need to talk to you. So please . . . call me back.”
Not knowing what else to say, I hang up.
Fuck.
That was the lamest voicemail ever.
If I were her, I wouldn’t call me back.
Nina
The taxi driver drops me at the airport. As I’m paying him, he looks up at me with concern in his eyes. “I don’t know what’s going on, but you seem like a nice lady—don’t let assholes screw you around. Okay?”
I smile and thank him before he drives away.
Funny that a random taxi driver is the only guy I’ve interacted with in person today who actually seems to have my best interests at heart.
I manage to make it through the check-in process without bursting into tears. But once I’m through security, I duck into a bathroom stall and let the tears flow. I sit there, my body wracked with sobs, and wonder who I pissed off in a previous life.
What the hell did I do to deserve every man I take an interest in turning out to be a huge asshole? I think I’m a good person—at least, I try to be. Why does the universe seem to delight in taking a huge shit on me at every opportunity?
I thought everything was going well. A new job, good salary, a gorgeous-as-hell guy who seemed to like me just as much as I liked him.
But now that’s all ashes. No way am I going back to work there, ever again. Every day would be like daggers in my heart. I can’t look at Brock, let alone work for him.
I sit up straight and pull myself together. Exiting the stall, I stare at my mottled face in the mirror. My makeup is smeared everywhere and I look like hell.
I smile a wobbly smile at myself, take a deep breath, and clean myself up.
I can get back up on my feet again. Nobody else gets to control my happiness—that’s for me, and me alone.
The flight is short and uneventful. I try my best not to replay events over and over in my mind. I even manage to get an hour or so of fitful sleep.
I get a cab from the airport. By the time the sun is just setting, I’m standing outside Dean’s house. The windows are dark—Dean’s not home from work yet.
I suddenly realize that I don’t have a key. I haven’t been here for a long time. Out of long-ingrained habit, I check under the one place I know it should be.
A smile spreads across my lips as I lift the potted cactus and spot the key, glinting in the last rays of the day’s sun.
Our parents used to hide their spare key under one of the many pots containing flowering plants on their porch, back in our family home in Denver.
After they died, the plants soon followed them until only the cacti were left. Then we had to sell the house because Dean
needed to find some way to support the two of us while putting himself through college.
Dean was never much good at keeping plants alive, but this one solitary cactus seems to have survived against the odds. I guess old habits die hard.
I pick it up, reminiscing about better days, and let myself into inside. It’s been a few months since I last came for a visit, but as soon as I enter, it’s like being home.
It smells like Dean in here. It feels warm, comforting, safe. It feels like I’m with family even though he’s not here right now.
I wander through the silent, empty house, just soaking it all in.
Dean and I lived together in Denver until he got the job offer of a lifetime. He didn’t want to move to Seattle at first, but I was starting college at the time, and I insisted I was old enough to take care of myself. He finally relented.
I miss having my brother as a roommate sometimes. I’ve visited but never frequent enough or long enough.
My stomach rumbles, and I head into the kitchen, opening a cupboard. And there they are, just where I knew they would be. A jar of peanut butter and a bag of M&M’s, exactly where they belong.
I take them into the den with me, scooping up peanut butter straight from the jar with a tablespoon and rolling it in M&M’s. Normally, this sugar binge helps me feel better on bad days.
I munch silently as I stare at the TV. I don’t even know what’s on. It’s just something to focus on, background static to drown out my noisy thoughts.
It doesn’t quite work, though. That mental image of Brock and Rosa forces itself into my mind’s eye again. No matter what I do, I can’t chase it away. Another teardrop trickles its way down my cheek.
I’ve been so dumb.
Obviously, Brock was only being so nice last night in the restaurant because he was cheating on me.
He thought he could have his cake and eat it too—string me along for easy sex, all the while carrying on with Rosa like nothing had ever happened. The sheer arrogance astounds me.
He always seemed so genuine. How much of a psycho does he have to be to be so convincing? All those times I stared into his eyes, all those things he whispered into my ear as we made love . . . and they were all lies. It’s actually quite frightening, just how well he masked it all.
