Rush

by Molly McLain

  “Stay.”

  “I can’t,” she rasps, and I’m on her in a second, arms caging her in against the bookshelf.

  “Why not, Crash? You know this isn’t done between us.” I can see it in her eyes and feel it every time she takes a breath and her body trembles against mine.

  “This is me being selfish,” she says, fighting those tears. “Me being scared.” Balling my T-shirt in her hands, she begs. “Please don’t make my heart hurt more than it already does.”

  Because I don’t want to be that guy—fuck, I never did—I do the only thing I can.

  I let her go.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Julianna

  “It’s been three weeks, Jules.”

  Three weeks and two days. If I learned anything from my time with RJ it’s to never discount the significance of what can happen in two days.

  “You should call him.” Gretchen prods my leg beneath the bistro table. I couldn’t stand another second of Oscar’s gloating about the rave reviews my interview was bringing it, so I made her take me to lunch.

  Stirring the straw through my iced coffee, I glance out at the hustle and bustle of downtown Chicago and sigh. “I have nothing to say.”

  “How can you not have anything to say? You’ve been pouting since you came home.”

  “I have not.”

  “Holy denial.”

  “Not really. I’ve thought it through, believe me.” I’m solid on where RJ and I stand and that’s precisely nowhere. He’s a domineering guy. If he wanted me in his life, he would have looked me up by now.

  “Have you? Really thought about it, I mean?” My best friend smiles softly. “Because I’m pretty sure a well-conducted analysis includes exploration of all possible outcomes and options.”

  “What options?” I ask bitterly, watching a couple stop on the sidewalk in front of the window and steal a kiss. He brushes a snowflake off her nose and my insides twist into an envious knot. “We were never meant to be. The only outcome we could have ever had was exactly what happened.”

  “That’s such bullshit.” Leaning back in her chair, Gretchen narrows her eyes. I’m used to the look. She’s been disgusted about everything related to RJ since I came back home. That I never told her about him, that he ended up being the man she’d wanted for herself, that I walked away... “I thought you were a tougher bitch than this. Smarter.”

  “What?” I laugh. “Do you have any idea how hard it was to leave like I did?” I cried the entire way back to Chicago. I’ve cried every single day since, too.

  “Yeah.” She nods. “I do know. I also know that when you want something bad enough, you work your ass off to get it. Plan A bombs? You move onto Plan B.”

  “This is Plan B.”

  “No, this is Plan Bullshit,” she counters, leaning in again, her soft blonde curls contrasting the sharp glare in her blue eyes.

  “It’s not bullshit.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “I’m being realistic. We would have never worked out. I’ve accepted that.”

  “Wrong again.”

  I roll my eyes.

  “Sweetie, I’m not trying to make this harder on you. I’m really not. I know it hurts and I know falling for him as quickly as you did goes against every sensible bone in your body. But life isn’t always sensible and love... Love is never sensible.”

  Love?

  “Don’t give me that look.” She smiles and pokes my leg again with her pointy shoe. “People don’t sulk about missing someone as much as you have him if there aren’t some pretty intense feelings involved.”

  “He saved my butt. Several times over.”

  She duckbills her lips and nods. “Yep. He showed concern for you. Took it upon himself to help you. Protect you, even. Men do that sometimes when they care about a woman. Shocking, I know.”

  “He lied to me, Gretch.”

  “Not really, and I’m fairly sure we’ve already had this conversation. He didn’t tell you to be malicious—he didn’t tell you because he wanted a fair shot with you.”

  “And how was that fair to me? He had the upper hand and I ended up looking like a fool.”

  “To who?”

  “Him!”

  “No, sweetie—you felt like a fool because you like him. I highly doubt he ever intended to make you look bad. In fact, the only people who even know what happened are the two of you.”

  “And you,” I remind her with a sigh.

  “I don’t count because I love you and I’m biased.”

  “Toward him obviously.”

  She snorts. “Can you blame me for wanting you to be happy?”

  What would make me happy is for the buzz around this interview to go away. Then I could put this mess behind me and get on with my life. Unfortunately, it only went live a few days ago and Oscar has his heart set on riding the wave of publicity as long as he can.

  I can’t say I blame him. Despite all of the tears, wine, and sleepless nights that went into writing about my interview with Rushton Cole—and my personal feelings on the subject matter aside—it’s the best article I’ve ever written.

  Gretchen said it has heart, something I couldn’t have so accurately captured without putting my car in the ditch at the end of his driveway.

  Oscar said it was ‘brilliantly insightful’. A feat that could have only been accomplished by someone who shared a similar history. Uh huh. Shared a few kisses and sharp words is more like it, but what Oscar doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

  Andrew said the article portrayed Rushton in his truest light. That I’d somehow managed to peel back the layers that have shadowed his image and prohibited him from connecting with the diverse readership he deserves.

  RJ...well, I have no idea what he thought. Am I disappointed that I haven’t heard from him? Yeah, I am. Even a quick email to acknowledge that I didn’t humiliate him would have been nice, but does he owe that to me? No.

  Do I owe it to myself to admit I fell in love?

  Well, I’m still work on that one.

  ***

  RJ

  “Did you read it yet?” Andy’s aggravating voice squawks through the speaker on my laptop as I sit at the coffee table in my condo, wrapping up another chapter. I’m supposed to be working on the book I’m under contract to have finished by the end of March, but I’m elbows deep in something new. Something...unexpected.

  “No time,” I grumble, deleting my last sentence and then rewriting it the exact same way. Dammit, I need to focus right now, not listen to his same song and dance.

  Ping. An email notification flashes on my screen. Andrew Bishop. FW: Modesty in a Modern World: My Time with Rushton Cole by Julianna LaMott.

  “Quit fucking sending it to me!”

  Andy laughs and my computer pings again.

  “I’ll block your ass,” I snap. But knowing him, he’d just show up on my doorstep with a paper copy instead.

  “Read it. It’s not nearly as boring as I thought it would be, considering the topic.”

  Fucker. “Is this all you called for? To give me shit?”

  “Well...” He pauses ominously and my stomach churns. I already know what’s coming. I’ve been dreading this phone call for the past three weeks. “It’s time we discuss more publicity.”

  “The article wasn’t enough? It’s only been out a few days. Let it do its thing.”

  Andy grunts. “It’s called momentum, RJ. You need it.”

  “You’ve seen my bank account. I don’t need it.”

  “If you want that bank account to last until you’re pushing up daisies, you need it,” he retorts. “The market has changed. Either you change with it or you fade away. You choose.”

  “I choose to hang up right now. I don’t have time for this.” I have to get this book done. The longer it takes, the fucking longer I have to pretend I’m over what happened.

  “When you brought me onboard last year, I told you what I had in mind,” the asshole speaks up again.

&nb
sp; “Yeah, and I told you I wasn’t going to do it.” Social media isn’t my thing. Most of the time it feels like a big smoke and mirrors show, everyone pretending to be something they’re not. I know all too well how that shit works out.

  “I can’t do this for you if you don’t take me seriously and actually do the shit I suggest.”

  “Suggest is the key word there, man.”

  “Jesus Christ, RJ. The fucking seal has been broken. We do this now or we don’t do it at all.” Frustration weighs heavy on his words and guilt tugs at my gut. I know he’s right, but right now, nothing matters more than finishing this damn book. “Look, I know you’re still sour about how things went down with Julianna—”

  “Leave her out of this.”

  Andy laughs. “Maybe sour isn’t the right word.”

  “Go to hell, man.”

  “Not in my travel budget, sorry.” His chuckles morphs to a resigned sigh. “I’ll give you one more week to wallow in self-pity. In the meantime, read the fucking article.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I mutter, my focus already back on the screen. He thinks Julianna’s story is going to light some kind of fire under my ass, but the truth is she did that when she walked out my door.

  Her words about me aren’t going to change that.

  But my words for her just might.

  Chapter Fourteen

  RJ

  I’ve written since I was seventeen-years-old. I’ve poured my heart and soul into every book I’ve ever published and a dozen more that will never see the light of day.

  My work has been rejected by countless publishers and agents. Told it wasn’t good enough or wasn’t quite right for their line or imprint. It was picked apart and dissected and packaged back up in ways I didn’t even recognize.

  That shit stings. Sometimes it even hurts like a bitch, no matter how long you’ve been in the business. Thick skin still bleeds.

  None of those stories, those rejections, or that ridicule cut as deep as the wound I inflicted upon myself when I betrayed Julianna.

  I didn’t realize the damage I’d done until I returned home. She’d never stepped foot in my condo, but I felt her everywhere. The mantle above my fireplace where I keep pictures of my parents and grandparents, and even one of Eddie. She wasn’t there, but I felt her there. The second stool at the kitchen island. The shower. The empty right side of my bed.

  Two days. That’s all it took for me to fall for her. To miss her like hell from the moment she left until right now, standing outside her door with my heart literally in my hands.

  I don’t know if it’ll be enough, but if I learned from all of this it’s that life’s most precious moments are usually found between fear and faith.

  My time with Julianna was exactly that.

  The only problem was, though we’d both took that leap, only one of us had faith in a happy ending. Whether that ending was the two of us saying goodbye with smiles on our faces or whether it was setting a date to see each other again, she saw the possibility and all I saw was the pain.

  Until I took the blinders off and opened my eyes. Until I saw that our ending didn’t have to be an ending at all. That it could be the beginning and our two days together...maybe they were just the prologue.

  Craning my neck from one side to the other, I hit her buzzer. I know she’s home because the sweet older lady that was leaving the building at the time I almost rang the bell outside, not only let me in, she also told me exactly where I could find Jules. That’s another conversation for another day, for damn sure.

  I hear footsteps in her foyer and her hand bumping against the door when she checks the peephole. A solid twenty seconds passes before she flips the lock—thank God for that—and opens the door.

  She’s dressed in gray workout pants, a yellow, I’m a Gleek T-shirt, and her dark hair is twisted in a sloppy bun that instantly makes my fingers twitch. I can smell her, too. That sweet lavender and vanilla that just isn’t the same coming from a three-wick candle as it does straight from her hair.

  “Hi.” She tries for a light, casual greeting, but her eyes tell the truth. She didn’t think she’d ever see me again.

  “Hi, yourself. We need to talk about your security.” Shit.

  Her eyebrows lift and then she chuckles. “Well, it’s nice to see you, too.”

  “I’m sorry.” I rub my temple where an idiocy headache starts to form. “Can I come in?”

  She points at the envelope in my hand. “That’s not a lawsuit for slander or some crap, is it?”

  I snort. “No.”

  “Okay. You can come in then.” She steps aside and waves me by.

  The place is exactly what I expected. Cute and homey. Colorful. Just like her. “Nice place. Very you.”

  She gives an airy laugh. A laugh I’ve missed so freaking much. “I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, considering this is the cheapest place I could find to rent.”

  I glance over my shoulder, smiling, as she leans a shoulder into the wall dividing the foyer and the living room. “You look good. Tanned.

  “I just got back from Panama.”

  “Oh.” A vacation. In Central America. Where there were probably other men.

  “With my parents.”

  Thank Christ. “A special occasion or...?”

  “I took them for their anniversary. We were supposed to go the week I...” She pauses, her eyes darting to mine. “Um, we were supposed to go in January, but I had to work, so we rebooked.”

  “You were with me.”

  “It wasn’t a big deal.”

  The hell it wasn’t. “How much money did you lose rebooking?”

  “Stop.” She laughs and rolls her eyes. “It’s fine. I wanted to be accommodating. Big opportunity and all that.”

  Hmm. “I don’t like it.”

  “Too bad.”

  “I don’t like it.”

  “Knock it off, Richard Gere. I’m going to start feeling like a cheap hooker.”

  “Vivian was not cheap. Rodeo Drive, remember?”

  She sticks her tongue in cheek, shaking with silent laughter. She nods to the envelope again. “So, is that like your credit card or what?”

  “Maybe.”

  She tips her head to the side, but a small smile finally curls her lips. “You’re something.”

  “I’ve been told.”

  Coming into the living room, she drops into a chair. I take the couch, elbows on my knees.

  “How’s Eddie?”

  “Lazy.”

  “You’re so mean to him.”

  “He hates me. Why should I be nice? Can you have dogs here? I’ll drop him off. You can have him.”

  “Oh, shut up.” She throws a pillow at me and laughs. “You would be lost without him.”

  “Kind of like I’m lost without you?”

  Her lashes flutter ever so slightly. “RJ...”

  “Yeah.” I nod and let those two syllables work their way through my system, warming parts of me that have lain dormant for the past month, waiting for this. For her. “Look, Crash, I’m just going to come out with this, okay? I’m not good with this stuff and if I wait too long or try too hard, I’ll fuck it up.”

  “Okay.” She watches me carefully and I’m not sure if I should be worried that she’s so calm right now or glad for it. Doesn’t matter. I’m doing this.

  “First off, I fucking love when you say my name.” I give her a smile, feeling a little like a chump, but, hey, that’s what this is all about, right? “And when you called me Rush...and said you weren’t sure you knew RJ, it damn near broke me. I know I kept my career from you, but I was still more real with you than I’ve been with anyone in a long time. Having fun with you, laughing...just fucking breathing...was different with you.”

  She picks at the seam in her pants, listening quietly.

  “I don’t just mean other women, Crash. I mean me, too. I was more me with you than I’ve even been with myself. It took a lot of soul searching, but I finally un
derstood that the only way for you to really know me like you deserve and that I deserve, too, was if I took a hard look at myself first. You know that saying about love? You can’t love someone until you love yourself? That’s what you were telling me, wasn’t it? Not just about love, but...life.”

  My gaze rises to hers and where I expect to see tears, there’s a patient, knowing smile, which proves my point. She knew me better even I did.

  “My intentions were there. I thought they came from the heart, but how could they when I’d guarded myself like I did? I had no idea I’d put that armor in place until you rattled my cage and pointed it out.”

  She nods now and I imagine she’s clapping her hands in her head. Maybe even reciting a little ‘Praise Jesus, hallelujah!’.

  “So, I’ve spent the past month trying to grasp all of this. One minute I’d think I had it and then next, it’d be gone. You don’t know how many times I wanted to come here and ask you to explain it to me again.”

  “You could have. I would have tried.”

  “I know. But I had to figure it out for myself and there’s only one way I know how to do that.” I slide the envelope across the small table between us. “This is for you.”

  “Me?”

  “Originally, it was for me. It was what I needed to do to sort all of this shit out.” I swallow down the vulnerability. Yeah, I’m laying myself bare here, but I’m not afraid of it. “Now that I’m good in here...” I thump my chest with a fist. “I can share this. You’re the only one I want to let in like that, so now...now it’s yours. It’s me. And I’m giving it to you in any capacity you’ll have it.”

  She hiccups and the tears start to fall. “RJ...”

  I smile. “Yeah, I know. Pretty fucking empowering shit. I wouldn’t have been able to sit here like this and say these things if you hadn’t shown me how important it was to do me first.” I air quote those two words and she half laughs, half cries.

  “What is it?” She sits forward on the chair, contemplating my gift.

  “Open it.”

  “I’m scared.”

  I laugh. “You? Scared? Shake that shit off, babe. I’m dying to know what you think.”