Break Point

by Rachel Blaufeld

  “What’s up, Bryce?” I leaned my hip against the kitchen counter, keeping one eye on deck in case my latest order surfaced.

  “Jenny was supposed to help with the dinner in the private room, but she went home sick.”

  I shook my head. “You know I hate the back room. Hated working it in North Carolina, and I’m sure it’s worse here. It’s always a bunch of guys getting grabby because the doors are closed, or a room full of gray-hairs who don’t tip shit . . . think their steak was overpriced and the creamed corn not creamy enough. Nope.”

  “Come on, Claire. I need someone good. It’s a big corporate dinner, so they’ll tip. And I’ll put Paul back there as a runner or busser, so no grabbing.”

  “I’m new here. Trying to get to know the weekend regulars. I need the tip money.”

  “I’ll owe you. No lunches on your schedule for a week or two. Fridays and Saturdays in the best sections. Please? I don’t know the other servers well enough to trust them with a party of thirty.”

  The bell dinged, and the guy in whites bellowed my name.

  “Claire!”

  Before I could react, Bryce took over. “Paul, why don’t you run this food out for Claire and then follow her to the private dining room.”

  “I didn’t even agree,” I said to Bryce, pretending to pout. He knew I’d give in.

  “This is the last ticket you have open before the second seating, so I’ll have Stella take care of desserts and checks.”

  “No lunches for a while,” I called after Bryce, tightening my bun and sticking my pen behind my ear. Cracking my neck from side to side, I straightened my tie and smoothed my white shirt before heading to the back.

  Bracing my shoulder against the heavy wooden door, I pushed into the back room. The smell of crisp money and wood paneling engulfed me.

  I hated everything about the back room, including the name. It intimated exactly what the men thought they might find there. Perhaps I despised it because it reeked of man and reminded me of what I didn’t have, and now there were close to thirty of them milling around the bar in the far corner.

  With tumblers of whiskey in their hands and the scent of a decent cigar in the air, the men laughed as they stood around and made small talk. No one was seated yet, so I turned toward the door, deciding to sneak out for another fifteen minutes to try to pry myself out of my self-imposed funk.

  Only two steps away from freedom, the sound of a deep chuckle made goose bumps rise over my entire body. The glorious sound rumbled through the room, taking hold of my heart like it had so many years ago.

  Shocked, I stumbled and reached out and braced myself on the oak-paneled wall to keep from falling. I begged myself not to turn around, but then I heard it again. Like when a favorite song comes on in the car as you park at home and you can’t bear to get out of the car, I stood with my back to the room and my ears perked up for my most favorite song ever.

  I could only make out murmurs rather than actual words, but since I’d heard the laugh, I knew which murmurs were his—full-bodied like an aged Scotch, smooth like silk with a touch of gruff, and just right. His laugh rang out again, and it stabbed at my heart. He was happy and good, had probably made a life for himself as I’d suspected. A better life than he could have had being saddled with me.

  Desperately, I wanted to turn to see if the crinkles around his eyes had deepened. More than anything in this world other than Darla’s safety, I wanted to look. Just a quick glance.

  But I didn’t. My damn need for self-preservation kept my eyes trained on the oak paneling in front of me. I panicked, needing to get the hell out of here and tell the boss I didn’t feel well.

  I needed to move.

  Again.

  To Alaska.

  He’d lived in Florida once long ago—on the other coast, the honky-tonk part. I had no idea why I’d never considered he’d be here. On the east coast. At my steak place. My refuge.

  He’d loved that old farmhouse, so I always imagined he’d found another. A clapboard mansion filled with kids and a beautiful wife, somewhere quiet and serene.

  It was a foolish notion. He was a bad boy from way back when.

  “Oh, hey! Ma’am, can we get some crab cakes and shrimp?” some asshole bellowed at my back.

  Ma’am? I’m a ma’am? No way. Freaking back room.

  I ran my hand along my forehead, pushing back nonexistent stray hairs, and out of habit, tightened my bun. It wasn’t messy anymore. These days, I wore it low and perfectly round, like my carefully constructed persona.

  I tried to make myself nod, confirming the shrimp, and leave.

  “I’m sorry, did you hear me?” the same ass grumbled.

  This was exactly why I hated working the private room. It was always a bunch of entitled pricks.

  My head twisted to my right where the asshole’s comments came from. I only turned partway and was about to speak, but there he was, Drew King, standing next to a heavyset man. The one I presumed to be the mouthy jerk.

  Drew stood tall, more tanned than I remember. His hair was cropped shorter and maybe was a shade darker, and light stubble covered his chin. Yes, his eyes were still as blue as the sea, and they stared back at me.

  I looked around the room in an effort to control my growing panic. Surely everyone saw me drowning, yet no one tossed me a life preserver.

  My brain screamed Help! Run! but my heart nailed my feet to the floor, making it impossible to move an inch.

  “Sully, seriously,” he said to his friend, “it’s not necessary. She’s obviously waiting for us to finish our drinks.”

  I thought that’s what I heard him say, I couldn’t be sure. My heartbeat was pounding in my ears, and my lungs didn’t want to work.

  “No, you’re right. I can grab you the appetizers,” I finally choked out. As quickly as I could, I turned and began to push open the door.

  Where the hell is Paul?

  A burning fire broke out on my shoulder. No, not a fire, it was Drew’s hand singeing me through my shirt, straight to the bone.

  I wanted to yell for water, for a fire extinguisher, but that would have been too literal. I knew the burning was coming from inside. My heart was engulfed in flames.

  “Jules?” He held me still, his fingers gripping my shoulder almost painfully. “What is this? A joke?”

  He gestured with his free hand, indicating my black slacks, and then flicked at my tie.

  “What the fuck?” The last part was a whisper, his eyes nasty and violent, a storm brewing deep behind his dilated pupils.

  How could this be happening? I’d made a life, a lonely one, but a life. He loved the farmhouse and the west coast of Florida. Why was he in my restaurant? Here in my little bubble where I served the wealthy so I could raise my daughter—by myself.

  Without him.

  “Claire? You good?” Paul said as he finally showed up. “I’m sorry, one of the steaks I delivered for your table wasn’t the right temperature and I had to run it back.”

  “Who’s Claire? You’re not Juliette Smith? I could’ve sworn you looked just like her.” Confused, Drew frowned at me, his brow furrowing as his eyes searched mine.

  Maybe I can pull it off? I thought, but that was stupid. That was the kind of immature thinking that came from exiling myself, from running away and refusing to keep up with the times and with social media.

  “Same eyes, green as the grass. Red hair. And those lips,” Drew murmured to himself.

  If I didn’t know him and all that we’d been through, I would’ve taken him for a crazy person.

  Paul finally grew some balls. “Excuse me, but would you mind removing your hand from her?”

  Drew released his grip on me and looked deeper into my eyes, maybe even into my soul. “Jules? I know that’s you. Aren’t you a vegetarian? What in the hell are you doing working in a steak place?”

  I think I nodded. Twice. Or maybe it was one really long nod.

  “Paul, I’m not feeling so . . . hot. Excuse
me,” I said, and I ran.

  Drew

  Christ! What just happened?

  Who the hell is Claire? What the ever-loving fuck is going on?

  And what happened to my Jules?

  My mind raced as I stood stock-still, watching the redheaded waitress run away from me.

  Move.

  My body finally complied and started making its way to the side door I’d seen Claire escape through.

  “Claire!” I called after the slender figure about to dodge into some sort of break room.

  “Hey,” another dude called after me. The maître d’, or whoever the fuck he thought he was. “You can’t go back there.”

  “Sorry, I really needed to catch up with Claire. She’s an old friend.” I turned and put on a smile.

  “Holy shit. You—” He said it on a whisper and was about to say something else when Claire interrupted him.

  “Bryce, don’t. Leave it,” she warned from the doorway.

  Don’t what? Leave what? What the hell did all that mean?

  “Claire, you want to clue me in?” This came from Bryce, the tall, buff asshole now standing between Jules and me.

  “Bryce, it’s okay. I’m just going to clear up some confusion, and then I need to go home. I’m sorry. I feel like crap. I’ll make it up to you and work lunches.”

  “Stop it, Claire. You’re not working lunches. You know that, but I need you to tell me you’re okay.”

  “She’s fine, buddy.” I couldn’t watch the conversation volleying between these two anymore. It was my turn.

  “I didn’t ask you,” he spit out. “I asked her. Claire?”

  Her name’s Juliette, you ass. Jules to me.

  “I’m good, Bryce,” she said, and held up a hand. “Thank you.”

  Frowning, Bryce said, “I’ll be right down the hall.”

  “You do that, Bryce,” I said snidely, unable to help myself.

  “Drew,” she said, my name rolling off her lips sending shock waves down my spine. She shook her head at me. “Don’t. He’s my boss.”

  “Sorry, dude.”

  Bryce didn’t even acknowledge my apology. “Why don’t you go in there?” He nodded toward the break room.

  She nodded, and I moved forward faster than a lob during a match point. I shut the door behind us, the click of the lock loud in the awkward silence.

  “Jules, what are you doing here?”

  She leaned against the far wall and released her bun, allowing her hair to cascade over her shoulders. “Working. What does it look like?”

  “What’s with the Claire thing?” I kept my distance, sensing my nearness was not welcome.

  “It’s my middle name. What I go by these days. Jules was then, and Claire is now.”

  “Why?” My hand twitched to brush the long layers away from her eyes.

  “It was for the best. To make a new life, and all that. Too many ghosts in my past. My first team—you know what they did. And then you . . . you and me.”

  I rolled up my shirtsleeves. Suddenly, I hated the fact that I didn’t wear a T-shirt. I was burning the fuck up.

  “No one knew about you and me. That’s why I left, so you could have a clean break, a second chance. What the hell happened? Don’t tell me you wasted everything I did for this fucking shit. Fuck.”

  I cursed for no reason and for every damn reason in front of me. The concept of Jules as a waitress wrecked me, thinking of random cocksuckers leering at her in that tie and tight oxford shirt while she worked for tips, forced to endure sleazy come-ons.

  “I gave it all up for you. Thank fuck I did, but not for this second-class bullshit.” Rage boiled up my spine, forcing me to spew angry words I knew I’d regret.

  She moved away from the wall and started packing up her tote. Loosening her tie, she tugged it off and shoved it in the bag. She unbuttoned the top button of her shirt, and I saw hives spreading on her neck.

  I couldn’t stay put any longer; my body ached to get closer to her.

  “Jules, what happened?” I traced the side of her neck with my finger, and she flinched. I didn’t shy away, though. I couldn’t even if I wanted. She was honey, and I was a bee.

  Crap, I’m a goner. Done for this woman.

  “Where’s your J?”

  “Don’t. It’s gone with Jules. Please don’t touch me.”

  “I never meant to hurt you. I left for you. Believe me when I say the last few years have been hard for me, thinking about you, wondering what you’re doing. Thoughts of you have consumed me on too many nights to count.”

  She closed her eyes and shook her head. “Please . . .”

  I didn’t care what she wanted; I was going to have my say. I’d waited long enough.

  I took her hand and laced her fingers with mine, wondering why her calluses from playing were gone. I knew each and every one of them, just like I’d memorized the freckles dotting her skin.

  “I was falling for you, in every way imaginable. I couldn’t coach you when all I wanted to do was love you, protect you, ravage you. My feelings were on my sleeve. There was no way no one would notice.”

  She tugged her hand from mine. “It’s fine, Drew. We overstepped boundaries, but that was a long time ago. I’m guessing you live near here, so if you can’t keep your distance, I’ll be forced to move.”

  “What?” Her reaction sent me reeling, mystified and unable to comprehend what she was saying. “You didn’t care for me at all? You’re leaving? For where?”

  “It’s a nonissue now. Life has moved on.”

  “But here we are, standing in front of each other.” No way I was letting her slip through my grasp. Not again.

  “It’s been seven years. It’s long over. If you’ll excuse me, I have to go. It’s been great seeing you. Seeing you’re good, healthy, and well. Makes me feel good.” She waved her hand up and down my body.

  I watched her swallow a lump in her throat. Was it a lump of regret? Or need?

  As she brushed by me, I realized there was something missing from her eyes. A small light had been extinguished, and I wanted to light it again. But she was rushing past me and nearly out the back door before I could grab her and keep her.

  Keep her?

  Maybe that was it. Maybe there was someone else.

  “Wait! Jules . . . Claire . . . let me walk you to your car.” I had to know what my competition was. Whoever it was, I planned to take them down fast.

  She waved me off and slipped out the door, the heavy metal banging on its frame just as I got there. I swung it open, hearing it bang again behind my back as I made my way toward her. She beeped the locks on a smart-looking sedan and opened the back door on the driver’s side.

  “Please, wait,” I said, breathless, more from nerves than a lack of stamina. I reached for her arm, the one stuffing her tote in the backseat.

  “Don’t!” she yelled, louder than I thought necessary.

  “Am I hurting you?” Immediately, remorse coursed through my veins. What did I do? I’d never been forceful or rough when it wasn’t welcome.

  “Just don’t, King. Don’t.” She shrugged the bag off her wrist and onto the floorboard, slamming the door when she was done. “Please, let me go.”

  Her words rang in my ears, but I couldn’t take my eyes off my reflection. There I was in the window, the floodlight illuminating my sharp features, my short hair, the bump in my nose where it had been broken decades ago, and on the other side of the glass was . . . a child’s car seat?

  I blinked, certain my mind was playing tricks on me. Surely, she wasn’t married? I hadn’t seen a ring, and I was pretty sure I looked. Besides, what kind of schmuck would let someone as beautiful as Jules wait tables for a living on a Saturday night? She should be on an evening out, on a date with me.

  “Leave it,” she said.

  My hand pressed against the glass. “No. I won’t leave it. What the hell is going on with you waitressing? What, do you nanny during the day?” It was the only plausible explana
tion I could come up with.

  “Something like that,” she said, not meeting my eyes.

  I tipped her chin toward me. “What about your degree?”

  “I didn’t stay at school after you left.”

  “What? That’s why I left.”

  A tear formed in the corner of her left eye. When it fell in slow motion onto her cheek and slid toward her lip, I reached out and swiped it off with my thumb.

  “Please tell me why you would do that. I’ve always dreamed you became successful, went on to do something amazing. I looked for you everywhere. Google, the news, Facebook, always praying you made good on your life. Why are you crying?”

  “I had to leave,” she said in a hushed voice. “I couldn’t play anymore.”

  “Because of me?” I wrapped my arms around her and held her close, then kissed the top of her head. “Please say it wasn’t because of me.”

  “I had a baby,” she whispered.

  “A baby?” Rocked to my very core, I shook my head, unable to believe what I’d just heard. “When?”

  Jules

  One brush of his lips on my forehead, and I caved. Gave in, offered everything up. Every last ounce of protection burst from my body and my hardened shell cracked, allowing my mouth to utter the word I hadn’t meant to share.

  Baby.

  It’s why I left. I knew if I didn’t run away, I’d confess it all. Drew was too powerful a force, and deep down in my heart, I knew if I’d told him, he’d have done right by me. But if he had, I never would have known if it was for me, or for the child.

  His breath, his lips, his words all ghosting over me, rippling over my skin and setting my heart afire—it was all too much, a rush like no other.

  “I had a baby.”

  Silence blanketed the parking lot, the only noise our combined erratic heartbeats. Together, our hearts were like a salsa band playing in a street festival.

  “A baby? When?”