by Rebecca Shea
Lindsay pipes in, “It’s not worth arguing with him about, Jessica. A little tip about my brother: you won’t win an argument with him, just let him pay the bill.”
She releases the bill, but I continue my gentle grip on her hand. It’s soft and delicate, and I’m not ready to let go.
“Ah, okay. Thanks, you really don’t have to pay for me.” She’s trying to pull her hand out of mine, but I still won’t let go.
“I know I don’t, but I want too.”
A small smile creeps across my face. She drops her eyes from mine, and I finally release her hand. Reaching into her purse, I see she’s riffling around.
“Lose something?” I ask. “You could fit a small child in that bag.” Her purse is huge and seemingly full of stuff.
She laughs and shrugs, “I like big purses, what can I say.” She has the cutest laugh. Pulling papers out of her purse and setting them on the table, she removes her wallet, a case with sunglasses, and a small make-up bag. Shit, her bag is a never-ending pit.
“Ah ha! Found them,” She says, jingling the keys in her hand. She starts placing the contents of her bag from the table back into her purse. All of the sudden, she freezes and all the color drains from her face. Her smile is gone, and her eyes are glossy. She’s holding a plain white envelope in her perfectly manicured fingers. Shoving the last of her contents into her bag, she turns quickly to Lindsay, “I really have to go. Thank you for inviting me to dinner. And Landon, thank you for paying. I ah, um, really have to get home now.”
Without another word, she slides out of the booth, offers a tight smile to Lindsay, and a small wave to me, then hurries out of the pub. Her pace is fast, and she’s gripping the white envelope in her hand along with her car keys.
“What just happened?” Lindsay asks me, looking confused.
“Hell if I know. She looked at that envelope in her hand and it was like she saw a ghost.” I recall the look on her face, and it was a combination of sadness and fear.
“I’ll ask her on Monday. Thanks for dinner, Lan. Let’s go.”
My heart is racing. My feet can’t keep up with how fast my body wants to get me to my car. I’d recognize that handwriting anywhere. How? When did that envelope get into my purse? My mind is consumed with thoughts of what’s in that envelope. Clutching it to my chest, the entire drive home, I’m so distracted with thoughts that I don’t even know how I made it back to my condo. I sit in my parking spot for a minute, just holding the envelope, staring at the script ‘Jess’ that’s written on the front. I even smelled the envelope to see if I could smell him.
Fumbling with my keys, I somehow make it into my condo and toss my purse onto the kitchen table. Flipping on lights all over the kitchen and living room, I sit down on the couch, still clutching the letter. I stare at it. I want to open it, yet I’m so afraid of the words on the inside will do to me. Since I told Gabe, that day in my living room, to let me go, he has. But right now, I want him here. I want to hear him tell me that he loves me, that we’ll be okay, even though I know in my heart we won’t.
Sliding my finger under the sealed flap of the envelope, it tears open, and I pull the folded letter out. Taking a deep breath, I tremble slightly at the sight of his handwriting. Unfolding the letter completely, I begin reading.
Jess,
These weeks of silence have damn near killed me. I can’t focus, and I can’t sleep. I can’t think about anything but you. My days always began and ended with you, and I have been lost for weeks. I know that you asked me to let you go, but please just let me know that you are safe, that you are okay. Tell me something, Jess, anything. Communicate with me, talk to me.
For the rest of my life, I will live with the guilt of knowing that I couldn’t do the one thing I promised you I would do: take care of you and keep you safe. Every single day, I regret leaving you that night. From the bottom of my heart, I am sorry. I will never get over the fact that I failed you. I failed you. None of this was your fault. Please know that.
I know you don’t want to be found, you made that clear. Wherever it is you are headed, I hope that happiness and peace await you. You are truly the strongest, most amazing woman I have ever met. I have no doubt that your future holds much success in whatever you choose to do.
No matter where the roads in our lives lead us, you will always be the love of my life, the one person who touched my soul, and the one person I will never forget. I will never get over you Jessica Louise Harper. Always know that there is one person in this world that loves you forever.
My love always,
Gabe
I can’t stop the sobs wracking through my body, or turn the tears off. Undoubtedly, I love Gabe. But I love him enough to know that he deserves better than the damaged goods that is me, Jessica Harper. I know in my heart, I will never, ever get over him. There are some people who own a piece of your heart, your soul. For me, that is Gabe.
Folding the letter, I toss it onto the end table. Curling into a ball on the couch, I pull my knees to my chest and cry. I cry uncontrollable tears, and I punch the pillows of the couch. I yell, and punch, and cry. I have no idea how I ended up on the floor. I must have rolled off the couch, but I’m tossing pillows at the couch and punching the cushions. I actually wonder to myself if I’m having a nervous breakdown. I reach to the letter again, and run my fingers over the handwriting. Maybe if I touch it, I will feel him. Out of nowhere, there is a sudden, loud knocking on my door.
“Jessica, open this door now, or I will break the fucking door down.” I recognize the voice as Landon’s.
“Go away, Landon. I’m fine.”
“Open this goddamn door, right now, or I swear on my father’s grave, I will kick the fucking door down.”
Shit. I don’t need to explain to Kevin, how some cop I barely know kicked his door in.
“Hold on.”
Walking to the door, I wipe the tears from my face, and take a deep breath, trying to calm myself down, but I realize there is no cleaning up this mess. I am a mess. Turning the deadbolt, I hear it click. Before I even have my hand on the handle to open the door, Landon bursts through the door and pulls me into his chest tightly. He has a gun in his hand, and his eyes are searching the condo.
“Jesus Christ, put the gun down. There is no one here but me,” I snap, trying to pull away from him.
He doesn’t loosen his grip on me, and won’t let me pull back away from him. Actually, he pulls me in tighter after holstering his gun somewhere along his back.
“I heard you screaming. What happened?” his voice is full of concern. He’s rubbing circles on my back, and I realize that I’ve got my arms securely wrapped around him. My face is pressed against his firm chest, and if I tilted my head up slightly, I could press my lips to his neck.
“Nothing happened.” Tugging, I’m able to pull away from him this time, but his hands are still grasping my upper arms, holding me closely. I duck my head slightly when I catch his eyes searching my tear-streaked face.
“Besides, what are you doing here anyway?”
“I could tell when you left dinner you were upset. I wanted to make sure you made it home okay. I was worried about you.”
“Worried about me? So you followed me home?”
“I didn’t follow you home, Jess.” My heart sinks. He just called me Jess. No one has ever called me Jess except for my dad or Gabe. I won’t correct him, not right now anyway. “I dropped Lindsay off at the house, and the more I thought about how you left the pub and looked upset, the more worried I became. I just wanted to stop by and make sure you got home okay.”
“Well, I’m home, and safe, so you can leave now.” I know that those words came out snotty. I can only imagine what I look like. I can feel how swollen my eyes are, and I’m all stuffy from crying, I can hear it in my voice. I just want him to leave.
“Why were you crying Jess?” He said it again. The way my name rolls of his tongue sends a shiver up my spine. “I’m not leaving until you talk to me, and I
know that you are really all right.” And just like that, he throws himself down on the couch that is covered in my tears. Releasing a deep sigh, I ask him to leave once again.
“Not happening, baby girl. Take a seat, and let’s talk.”
“Did you just call me ‘baby girl?’” I force a smile and roll my eyes at him. This guy has some serious balls, and now he has a pet name for me? Walking over toward the couch, I stand firmly in front of him, crossing my arms across my chest. He tips his head back slightly to look up at me. Tilting his head to the side, the corners of his mouth curl up, and a small grin falls over his lips.
“Please, everything is fine. I was just upset, and I needed to cry it out. It’s out, and I’d really like you to leave now.”
Placing his foot over and onto his opposite knee, he leans back farther on the couch, making himself comfortable. Patting the cushion next to him, he looks back up at me. “Sit down.”
I contemplate for a few seconds, before I sit down, making sure that there is plenty of room between us. I figure, if I can talk to him for a few minutes, he’ll be satisfied, and I can get him to leave so I can go to bed and finish my mini breakdown.
“Happy now?” I ask angrily.
“Not yet. Tell me why you were crying.”
“It’s personal. Please, just let it be.”
“I can’t just ‘let it be.’” His voice is full of intensity, and his eyes are a deeper shade of blue. I can’t deny how good-looking he is, and my pulse quickens just a little bit. Swallowing hard, I glance at the letter on the end table and then look back to him. He notices where I was looking and turns his head to look at the letter.
“Is that what upset you at the restaurant?”
Nodding my head slowly, I can feel my lip quivering. “Yes. I found a letter in my purse that I didn’t know was there. I recognized the handwriting, and I just needed to leave. I wanted…needed to be alone when I read it.”
“Who’s it from?”
“Does it matter? Jesus, you’re being really nosy.”
“Who’s it from?” He sits up straighter, and suddenly, I’m wondering if he’s going to reach for the letter.
“Gabe,” is all I respond.
“Ex?”
“Yep.”
“Is that why you left California?”
“Partially.”
I can feel the stinging of the tears behind my eyes again. My heartbeat picks up even more. I can feel my pulse in my neck, and my throat is dry.
“What other reasons?”
The tears I’m fighting to hold in are suddenly falling down my cheeks. My eyes are turned down, looking at my hands folding in my lap. The tears that have fallen have sprinkled my folded hands. I watch a stray tear roll off the top of my hand, over my knuckle, and fall into my lap. Suddenly, there is a gentle finger, wiping another falling tear. Looking up, Landon has shifted himself considerably closer to me. He is holding his hand just near my cheek. Stilling himself, he looks at me as if asking permission to continue wiping my tears.
When I don’t respond, he takes another swipe at my cheek with his long, gentle fingers, but this time, after he wipes my tears, he rests his palm on my face. Tilting my head, I let my cheek fall into his hand. Closing my eyes, more tears continue to spill down my face. Gasping for air, my chest heaves with sobs. Pulling me into him, he wraps me in his arms, squeezing me gently, and I cry. I release the emotions I’ve kept locked inside, but mostly, I cry for Gabe.
“Talk to me,” he whispers.
“I can’t.”
“I want you to trust me,” he whispers.
“I don’t trust anybody.” I pause to swallow. “Including myself.”
There are no other words spoken between us as I lie in Landon’s arms, but no words are necessary. I find solace in the comfort and safety of his arms. I close my eyes and soak in the contentment of lying with him.
Opening my eyes, I realize that I’m lying on top of Landon and that he is asleep underneath me. I raise my head slowly and pull myself off of him. I stand for a few moments above him, and notice how peaceful he looks, and I am conflicted with whether I should wake him or not.
The large clock that hangs on the wall in the kitchen tells me it’s three in the morning. There is no way I’m going to wake him at this hour to send him home. I grab the soft, teal blue blanket that hangs over the back of the couch. Opening it, I lay it as gently as I can over him, hoping I don’t wake him.
Leaning over him, I can’t help but look at his beautiful face. His sharp jaw line is covered in a five o’clock shadow. It’s the perfect amount of facial hair to give his face, that rugged ‘bad boy’ look. His full lips are slightly parted and perfectly shaped. I can’t help but think about how handsome this man is lying on my couch.
I take the steps upstairs to my bedroom quietly, as not to wake him. Lying in bed, I see the words from Gabe’s letter running through my mind. Silent tears slide from my eyes, and down into my hair. I miss him more than I ever thought possible. Even with the handsome stranger asleep on my couch downstairs, I know it’s Gabe who still holds my heart.
Reaching my arms above my head, I stretch and roll onto my side, filling the entire length of the couch I’m lying on. The littlest hint of sun is peeking through the wooden shutters. Looking at the blanket that has been carefully laid on top of me, I have to assume she was okay with me staying here. Propping the throw pillow under my head, I wonder when she finally woke up last night and moved to her room. Falling asleep with her on my chest was amazing.
I can still smell a light hint of her perfume on my shirt, and it reminds me of holding her last night. She felt perfect lying in my arms, and across my body. It was so hard to hear and see her cry, but listening to her breathing settle as she calmed down in my arms, and the slight whisper of her breathes as she fell asleep on top of me, caused an emotion in me to surface that I rarely see—compassion.
I see that folded letter lying on the table in front of me, the one that clearly upset her. It would be so easy to reach over and read it, and for a minute, I contemplate doing just that. Turning my head, I glance up the stairs and see that there is a door that is slightly cracked, and I wonder if that is where she is.
Sitting up, I decide to not read her letter. I want her to tell me, in her own words, with her sweet voice, what happened. Pushing myself off the couch, I wonder if I should just leave before she wakes up, but something inside of me won’t let me leave just yet. There is a pull, a desire I’ve never felt before. I need to see her.
Quietly taking the stairs, I find the door that’s cracked slightly open and peek inside. There on the large bed, she lies on her side. A purple comforter pulled up to her chest, her arms securely holding it in place. Her long dark hair has been pulled high into a ponytail, and she looks so peaceful as she sleeps. Her face has returned to its olive tone and is no longer covered in red patches from crying.
I know it must have been late when she came to bed, but I want to talk to her. She is lying on the right side of the bed, and there is just enough room to slide onto the left side of the bed without touching her. I realize this is brazen of me to just slide into bed with her, but I’m not going to touch her, yet.
Walking across the wooden floor, I gently lower myself onto the bed. I don’t pull the covers back; I lie on top, and pull the blanket that is at the foot of the bed over me. I’m propped on my left side watching her sleep, and I can hear her steady breaths telling me she’s sound asleep. My presence hasn’t disturbed her yet.
I lie here for almost an hour. I watch the minutes change on the clock, wanting so badly to reach out a few short inches to touch her. I can almost feel how soft the skin on her arm is as my hand hovers over where I want to run my fingers. It would be so easy to lean in and press a kiss to her forehead or her cheek. She rolls slowly to her back and throws her arm up over her head, causing the comforter to drop to her waist. She’s wearing a light grey tank top that her large breasts are almost spilling out of. I’m insta
ntly hard as I think about taking each of her nipples in my mouth, running my tongue around each hard bud. Fuck. She’s not ready for that yet, I remind myself.
Unsettled in her new position she keeps moving her legs, I can tell she’s not comfortable, or she’s beginning to wake. Leaning toward her, I whisper in her ear “Good morning, baby girl,” With no warning, she sits straight up and screams.
“Jesus Christ, Jess. It’s just me. Calm down.” Her hands are covering her face, and she’s now breathing erratically, almost hyperventilating. Pulling her hands down, she glares at me, her eyes narrowed, her lips pursed, and she looks ready to kill.
“You can’t just climb into my bed and think that I’m not going to freak the fuck out.”
“Did you just say ‘freak the fuck out?’” I actually laugh.
“It’s not funny. I’m serious.”
She’s so cute. Her ponytail is a mess, and she pulls the comforter up higher over her chest to cover herself.
“I’m sorry,” I say sincerely. “I woke up downstairs and wanted to make sure you made it to bed.” I realize I’m smirking as I say this. “So I peeked in your room, and you were curled up on your side of the bed, so I just laid down next to you. No harm intended.” I raise both of my hands to show I’m sincere.
Throwing herself back onto her pillow, hard, she grumbles and pauses before she speaks. “I appreciate you checking on me last night, and I appreciate you checking on me this morning, but you can’t check up on me all the time. I don’t need you.” The last sentence came out as a whisper. Those four words she just spoke, ‘I don’t need you,’ hurt. She does need me, she just doesn’t know it yet.
It is rare that I am speechless or hurt, but I am both. She continues to lie there with her eyes fixed on the ceiling and her arm laid across her chest with her hand over her heart. I can see her pulse in her neck beating rapidly.
“Why are you afraid of me?” I know this is a loaded question. Shit, I’m nine years older than her. I’m pushy, aggressive, and have intentionally gone out of my way to make her uncomfortable.
