Irresistibly Undeniable

by Zoey Derrick

  I don’t know why I thought there would be after what happened yesterday, but I think it was that little blossom of hope that allowed me to fall asleep in the first place. I look at my phone and the tiny pieces of my heart I’d managed to put back together in the wee hours of the morning fall off their foundation.

  Dyson: I am leaving for NY this morning.

  My heart hurts.

  I don’t get to dwell on the pain in my chest when I hear a lot of noise coming from the living room of our apartment. I jump out of bed, grab my robe off the back of the door and throw it on as I walk down the hallway toward the kitchen.

  I see Becca in the kitchen and realize she’s picking up one of the vases of flowers left on the island from the other day. I put most of them into one vase where I could and even brought a bouquet into my room, but apparently she’s still having issues. “Will you fucking clean this shit up?” she snaps at me.

  “Fuck you,” I growl at her. “It’s my apartment too.”

  “Then fucking take them to your room because I’m tired of fucking looking at ‘em.”

  Becca’s words hurt so much more than they did yesterday. I don’t know if it’s because I’m completely shattered already or if it’s because the friendship I thought I had with her is disappearing. “Go to hell,” I snap.

  Her eyes meet mine and her nostrils flare as she takes in my totally fucked up state of affairs. “How the hell did you get home?”

  “What the fuck does it matter to you? You obviously didn’t care enough to come back for me.” My anger flares hotter than it should over what happened yesterday between us and unfortunately I have Dyson to blame for that.

  “You look like shit.”

  I roll my eyes. “Thank you, Captain Fucking Obvious. It’s nice how you can only ever seem to point out my fucking faults so you can hide from your own. I’m over it, Becca. I’m not fucking perfect, so stop putting me on that pedestal so you can feel better about yourself. I don’t know what your fucking deal is because you won’t take the time to talk to me, to tell me. Then maybe I would better understand. Whatever it is that you’re going through, or have been going through, you either need to talk about it or get the fuck over it. I’m done. You left me in the middle of a goddamn mall because you couldn’t take the fact I did to you exactly what you do to me every day. Stop trying to force me to tell you my shit so I don’t ask you about yours and don’t fucking tell me I look like shit again, because honestly, you look like a slut.” I turn to go back toward my room, leaving Becca in my wake staring at me. Passing the bathroom, I decide to redirect my plans and step inside the door, closing it and locking it. I need a shower, I need-…the front door slams shut as Becca leaves.

  “Ugh!” I cry out in frustration.

  First my mother dying, then Dyson pops back up into my life, Becca leaves me in the middle of nowhere, then Dyson and his truths and now Becca, again.

  The last three weeks have been complete and total shit and I’m over it all.

  I step into the shower with a newfound determination. I’m tired of being railroaded by people who are supposed to be my friends and I’m done being the fucking doormat everyone steps on or over on their way to something else, something bigger or better.

  I turn the water on as hot as I can stand it in an attempt to scrub it all away. All of the anger, frustration and irritation at the turns my life is taking. I scrub the hell out of my body. After I’m red and blotchy from the scrubbing and hot water, I realize the water’s not hot enough, my washcloth not abrasive enough, to scrub away the shitstorm my life has turned into. As the water runs cold, I realize no matter how hard I try to piece myself back together, I feel so completely broken all over again.

  I climb out of the shower, shivering. I feel numb.

  I go through the motions of drying off, drying my hair, getting dressed, finishing dying my hair, gathering my clothes for the washer, and cleaning up the kitchen. The smell of roses becomes an overwhelming reminder that I can’t handle anymore bullshit so I throw them all away, but not before plucking each card from each vase and stowing them in my room.

  I clean the apartment, and I mean, really clean the apartment, from top to bottom. Blissfully lost in the numbness as I move from room to room. Cleaning as I go. Changing laundry when necessary, putting away clothes and the list goes on and on.

  When I finish cleaning every surface, I get into my workout clothes. I’m already gross and sweaty, might as well make the best of it. I run to the train station, my iPod hooked on my arm along with my membership card, driver’s license, my debit card, and my train pass, with music blasting in my ears. My water bottle in my hand. While on the train for the two stops it takes to get me to the gym, I stretch my arms, stretch out my legs, do the best I can to get myself warm, not wanting to waste time. I need to feel the burn in my legs and when I finally get there, I run, and I run and I run until my legs are on fire and my lungs feel like they’re going to burst in my chest. To cool down, I climb on the elliptical machine. When I’m finally done, it feels like it’s been forever. I feel deliciously worn out when I stroll back to the train station.

  Feeling the burn is a welcome enjoyment, overrides the numbness I feel. I like that it makes me feel alive.

  The entire time I was running, I couldn’t take my mind off Becca and her bullshit. Fuck her. God, I thought Dyson was a dick, but Becca is winning that war hands down. It isn’t until I am pacing on the platform of the train stop that I realize the burn in my body has finally pulled out all the heartache I feel when it comes to my mother, and now my best friend. Becca is going to take a lot of work to repair, if we’re repairable. Blowing off a little pissed off steam is good for anyone once in a while and maybe that’s what I needed since I haven’t been to the gym since before going to Missouri.

  When I get home, I am greeted by no Becca and the smell of a clean as fuck apartment and my own sweaty mess of a body. Knowing I need to cool down before hopping in the shower, I go to the fridge for a bottle of chocolate milk and pull the seal off, downing it. My body temperature slowly cools down. When the milk is gone, I reach for a glass from the cupboard and pour myself a glass of cold water from the fridge, tossing my water bottle in the dishwasher.

  I’m standing in the kitchen, trying to decide what to make for dinner, though I’m not at all hungry, when the door buzzer sounds. Hope fills me until I remember his text from this morning. He’s in New York. That gives me a new determination as I reach for the door knob. Maybe I’ll get lucky and it’ll be Reese. I open it quickly and stand there dumbstruck as three men are standing outside my door.

  “I have a delivery for Ireland?” There is a hint of a Scottish accent in the man’s voice and it makes me smile, remembering what little I can of my mother’s accent from when I was a little kid. As I got older her accent faded, except there were always a few words that made me giggle. Even thinking about them now puts a smile on my face. It’s nice to finally smile at a memory of my mother.

  “That’s me,” I tell him. He smiles at me as I push open the door. He steps back and the two men behind him come into the apartment. They’re both holding bags in their hands. I raise an eyebrow at the guy with the accent and he just smirks at me.

  They walk in with their bags and they both go straight to the dining room table that sits between the kitchen island and the living room. They put the bags there and I look more closely at them. The store logo on the side of one makes my blood run cold. That son-of-a-bitch.

  From the doorway, holding open the door, I watch the two men who stepped into my apartment, they’re both dressed like they belong on a security detail and not delivering bags of clothes. I wonder if these men work for Dyson, but I don’t ask. One of the two men turns from the table and he has a bag in his hand that I can’t make out the logo on. I don’t recognize it. He starts pulling out what look like food containers and the other man joins him in setting up plates, silverware and then a bottle of wine and a single wine glass. What in the w
orld? One opens the bottle of wine and then the other opens another white bag with a silver apple on it. I narrow my eyes and watch as he pulls something out. It’s a huge box and I can’t quite tell what he’s doing until he’s done and sitting on a keyboard stand is a freakin’ iPad. I shake my head.

  My temper starts to rise as I realize what’s going on. Though the iPad is a true mystery, Dyson and his determined ways have found a way to take control once again. I haven’t even talked to him in twenty-four hours and these guys show up.

  I pull in a deep breath, breathing through my nose in an attempt to calm down, when the smell of the food hits me and my stomach growls.

  Just as fast as the men entered my apartment, they’re gone. “Good evening, Ms. McKidd.” the Scottish ones says as he leaves my doorway with the other two men and I nod. Unsure of what to say. What the hell am I supposed to do next?

  I close the door and stand there for a moment looking at the four bags on the table, plus one smaller one with the Apple logo on it. Before I know it, my legs are pulling me toward the table. Looking at the bags, there’s a Fifth Avenue logo on display and I peer inside.

  “You son of…” A strange ringing noise catches my attention but it’s not my phone. It’s coming from the counter behind me and I spin around.

  I see a still image of Dyson’s face appear on the screen as it keeps ringing. I walk over to it, “fuck me,” it’s an iPad Pro. I’m just staring at it like it’s going to bite me, but the ringing persists. The dumbstruck expression doesn’t leave my face when it stops and in true Dyson predictability, it immediately starts ringing again.

  Hesitantly I reach for the green button and press it.

  It takes a moment but then his face, live and in living color, is on the screen. “Hi gorgeous.” He gives me a panty melting smile that sets my insides on fire.

  It’s like I’ve walked into the twilight zone. “Do you have multiple personality disorder? Or a twin I don’t know about, because the last time I saw you, you didn’t say a word to me,” I snap toward the device.

  He sighs. “I wanted to give you a chance to take in everything I said to you yesterday. I had planned on giving you until I got back to Phoenix, but I couldn’t wait.” His voice is still his, just with a mechanical edge to it compliments of the machine between us. “I had to cancel our lunch plans, so I made dinner ones.”

  His voice is so hopeful and despite the fact that my stomach is roaring I tell him, “I already ate.” My snarky tone gives me away.

  “Bullshit.” He calls my bluff and I move into the camera’s line of sight. My image is reflected back in a small window in the corner of the screen and I look like hell. “Jesus, what’s wrong?”

  I shake my head. “Nothing, I just got back from the gym.”

  He shakes his head at me. “You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

  “There is that too,” I mutter.

  “Eat with me?” He ignores my statement about not sleeping and points to the food in front of me.

  “The last time we tried this, it didn’t go so well,” I remind him.

  “I’ve decided that no matter what, I need to try and do this right,” Dyson shares with a sad look on his face. “No matter what it takes.”

  “So you’re buying me clothes? Dyson, that’s not the way to make up for what’s happened between us yesterday or ten years ago.”

  “Sit,” he says more as an order and for some unknown reason, desire courses through my system as I follow his request. His face lights up with a smile.

  “The clothes have nothing to do with making this up to you. The clothes are because I’m trying to help you out the only way you’ll let me.” His voice is somber as he talks. “I want to do so much more for you, Ireland, but…” he trails off, pausing briefly, “I don’t want to scare you away again.” He points downward again. “Eat.”

  I shake my head but the smell of the fettuccini alfredo is too much on my empty stomach and I open the wrapped silverware as he smiles at me again. I know I can put an end to this by simply pressing the red little button on the screen, but I can’t seem to do that. There is a gentle plea in his eyes that I can’t ignore.

  He doesn’t say anything for a minute, then he lifts a glass. I pour myself a glass of the wine the guys opened before leaving and I hold it up to him. I giggle.

  “I love that sound.” His smile is something else, not just the panty melting one he gives me, but it lights up his eyes in a way I’ve never seen before, even through a video screen.

  “This is so corny,” I giggle again.

  He laughs with me, “I wish we could have done this in person, but I…” he pauses for a moment, “I was hoping to lighten things up between us. Yesterday, things…” I watch as he gets flustered, running his hand through his hair before scrubbing his fingers along the growth on his chin.

  “Thank you.” The words are out before I can let him finish. I don’t want to rehash what happened at the end of our ‘meal’ yesterday. As the words slip past my lips, I realize I mean them more than I originally thought.

  He cocks an eyebrow at me. “For?”

  “Telling me. I know it might not seem like it, but…” I pause, flustered to find my words, “I didn’t mean to cause you pain.” I feel a tear slide down my cheek.

  “Oh, sweetheart, is that what you think?”

  “I know it is. I saw your face yesterday. I, god, this is going to sound so crazy, but I never want to see that look on your face ever, it nearly broke me again, Dyson.”

  “I never meant to break you, VeeVee. What I did all those years ago was selfish. I see that now.”

  I think about his words, about what he said yesterday and I look into his hope filled eyes in the video screen. “I forgive you,” I tell him softly.

  “Truly?” His face is lit up with an overwhelming excitement.

  I beam at him. “Always.”

  “Damn it,” he growls.

  “What?” I ask.

  He looks into the camera lens and deadpans, “I’m fucking hard as a rock and you’re twenty-five hundred miles away.”

  I blush beat red, so red I can see it in the video playback of my camera and it makes me blush even more. I try and cover up the camera. “Oh no, you don’t,” he growls at me through the screen.

  I laugh and drop my hand. “When will you be home?”

  He sighs, “I’m not sure. Probably not until Monday sometime or Tuesday.”

  “Damn it. That’s a really long time,” I grumble.

  “Come to New York?”

  I hesitate. “I can’t afford that, Dyson.”

  He holds up a finger, pulls something from his pocket, his cell, and presses a couple buttons. “Hi, yes, I need a first class ticket, Phoenix to JFK…as soon as possible…no, one way.”

  “Dyson, I start my new job on Monday,” I squeal.

  He gives me a smirk that tells me I’m not going to win this argument no matter how hard I try. He looks at his watch. “What time does it land?” Silence while he listens to whoever is on the line. “Perfect, yes, book it. Ireland McKidd, nope, her information is on file…” that causes an eyebrow to raise, “Yup, thank you.” He hangs up the phone and looks at me. “We’re going to have to cut this dinner short.”

  I stare at him, completely and totally dumbstruck. “Why?” I continue to stare blankly at the screen.

  “Your flight leaves in,” he looks at his watch, “four hours.”

  “Shit, Dyson, I need to pack, I…” Fuck me. “I have to go to work Monday morning.”

  He gives me a knowing smirk. “I’ll have you home in time for your first day.”

  “I still have to deal with Becca.”

  “Fuck her, come on, VeeVee.” His pleading voice matches his eyes. “I can’t wait till Monday night. Please,” he begs me.

  I’m running out of excuses. “I have to go pack. What airline?” I ask so I know where I have to go.

  “American. Terminal four. Oh, and VeeVee?”

>   “Yeah?”

  “Pack lightly. You won’t be needing clothes.”

  “Dyson Cole, I can’t…” I blush as red as a cherry into the camera again.

  “You can, and you will.” Something in his voice tells me not to argue with him. “Go, pack. Text me when you’re on the train.”

  I sigh, shaking my head. I’ve never done anything so spontaneous in my entire life and here I am, having a video call with the man of my dreams and I’m about to get on a plane to New York fucking City. “Fine,” I squeal, giddiness consuming me and I can’t help it.

  He smiles wide at me again, my body heats at the hooded look in his eyes. “And VeeVee?”

  “What, you crazy fool?”

  He throws his head back in laughter at my term then he grows serious for a moment. “I can’t wait for you to forgive me in person.”

  I shake my head with the craziest smirk on my face as I hit the red button on the iPad.

  A moment later, my cell chimes with a text, it’s Dyson.

  Bring your new iPad with you. The box for it is in the bag. I put a few things on there you might enjoy. ;-)

  Ireland: You’re one crazy ass fool.

  Dyson: Only for you.

  My heart starts pounding in my chest at his text and I spring into action. I gulp down the wine in my glass and throw a few bites in my mouth. I haven’t eaten all day and god only knows when I’m going to get something to eat again.

  I grab all the bags off the dining room table, pulling the iPad with me as I head into my room. I plug in both my phone and the iPad before I leave. I may need the distraction on the plane.

  In a little over an hour, I’m showered, my hair pulled up into a messy bun and ready to be stuffed into my beanie. I don’t have time to do anything with my crazy ass curls, and I’m going to leave the house with wet hair. It’s chilly outside. The Indian summer we seemed to be having has passed and the temps have dropped dramatically. Which reminds me of New York, it’s still winter there.