by Melody Grace
Camille sighs. “I know,” she says, giving me a real smile, resigned and full of regret. “It’s just, I’ve been dreaming about Hunter’s wedding day for years now. I never pictured it like this.”
Me neither.
I say my goodbyes and slip out of the restaurant. “Sorry,” I whisper to Hunter as I pass. “Work, got to go.”
“One sec,” he begs, and I can’t help but pause, waiting as he wraps up the call then turns back to me with an apologetic grin. “I’m so, so sorry. Can I make it up to you? Dinner, tomorrow? Brit is going out with her friends.”
My heart twists. “I’m snowed under at work,” I try to excuse myself, but he just gives me that puppy dog look.
“You’re always busy these days. C’mon, we can catch up,” he adds, “I’ll even let you get anchovies on the pizza. I feel like I haven’t seen you in weeks.”
I feel my resolve slip. “Fine,” I agree, hating the rush of excitement I get at the thought of spending time with him alone. “I can make it work.”
“Great!” Hunter’s smile turns rueful. “Maybe you can help me figure out how to handle this wedding thing without losing my mind. I swear, Brit and I are this close to saying ‘fuck it’ and eloping, like, tomorrow.”
I gasp. “You wouldn’t.”
“We would.” Hunter gives me a quiet smile. “All this party bullshit, it doesn’t mean a thing. I just want to be married to her already, starting our lives together.”
A sob wells in my throat to see that look in his eyes, so proud and full of fierce devotion.
“You really love her, don’t you?” I say quietly.
He nods. “She’s my life,” he replies, serious. “She’s everything to me.”
I feel a weight pressing down on my chest, crushing me. I fight back tears, forcing a smile. “Then everything will work out. I have to run,” I add. “Say hi to Brit.”
I can’t stop Hunter from pulling me into a goodbye hug; it takes everything I have not to let the tears fall. I turn and hurry away, walking blindly down the busy city street until I turn the corner, out of sight.
Pain ricochets through me.
I can’t hide from it anymore, I can’t pretend another day. I’ve been holding out to some distant hope for so long. First I told myself he needed time to find himself and grow up, then I thought that he and Brit wouldn’t last. Engagements can be broken, sometimes it just doesn’t work out. But there’s no denying the passion in his eyes, the solemn vow that doesn’t need a wedding ceremony to make it true.
Hunter loves Brit, truly, with all of his heart.
He’ll never be mine.
4.
I can’t face work in this state, so I call in sick to Lily, making some vague excuse about food poisoning and lunch.
“You sound terrible!” she agrees. “Go home, take it easy. We’ll be fine for the rest of the day. Hell, we’re so far ahead of schedule, you could take the rest of the week off.”
“No, I’ll be fine,” I protest. “I just need a good night’s sleep, that’s all.”
And intensive surgery to fix this broken heart of mine.
I blink away the tears as I drive home, a whirlwind of desperate questions beating in my mind.
What am I supposed to do now?
I’ve tried a hundred times over to get Hunter out of my system, but there’s no self-help book in the world that can break the hold he has on my heart. Every year that passes, I tell myself, this will be the one. I’ll finally manage to put my feelings aside and meet someone else; take one step closer to that life I want so badly, the life of love and intimacy I’ve never known. But still, I can’t help it. All it takes is a casual dinner sneaking glances into his blue eyes, and I’m right back where I started: feeling helplessly lost, trapped in a prison of my own design. I can’t cut him out of my life altogether without revealing my humiliating secret—even trying to avoid him for a little while never works; he just calls me up and says it’s been too long since he’s seen me, how about we grab a beer Monday night and catch up?
My resolve always falters. That night with Dex was the only glimpse of freedom I’ve had from the burden of my feelings; the only man to come close to distracting me from Hunter, even for a few hours. Still, it wasn’t enough. I still walked away. I still chose the fantasy of a man who doesn’t want me, over the real possibility of a man who did.
But this time, it’s different. It has to be. The pain that aches through me with every heartbeat is sharper than I’ve ever felt before, and as I pull into my parking garage and head up to my apartment, I realize why.
I always had hope to cling to, comforting me through all the rejection and heartache. A vision of future happiness, my life with Hunter, a dream to keep me warm at nights. It was a foolish fantasy, sure, but it was something.
Today, I looked into his eyes and finally saw the truth.
He doesn’t love me. Not like that.
My hope is extinguished, all burned out. No amount of hoping or wishing or praying will ever change the fact he’s chosen Brit now, forever. They’re happy starting their life together: marriage, a home, and one day children, too.
A life I want myself—but one I’ll never have if I keep spinning in these self-defeating circles.
I let myself into the apartment and kick my heels off, slowly sliding down until I’m slouched on the floor with my back resting against the door. My heartache has stolen all my energy, leaving me too exhausted to even make it across the room.
I sit there, looking around my apartment. It’s my favorite place in the world, and after years of scouting flea markets and vintage stores, it’s a colorful, elegant home. My blue velvet settee takes up one wall, with a glass-topped coffee table and delicate sketches and framed prints on the walls. I take pride in keeping a lovely home: hosting dinners and cocktail parties at every holiday, taking weekly trips to the market for fresh-cut flowers and delicious foods.
But now, as I sit with my legs crumpled under me and my heart breaking in my chest, all I feel is alone.
Don’t wallow, I tell myself desperately. Do you know how lucky you are?
I do know. I have parents who love me and a fulfilling career. I may not be rich like some of my business school classmates, pulling in six-figure incomes in finance, but I never wanted that life. I’ve been careful with what I do have. I’m safe, and healthy, and I know, those aren’t small blessings.
Still, that doesn’t stop the ache of loneliness, the heavy wing-beat in my chest. I want more than this, and I know I’ll never find it unless something changes.
Unless I’m the one to change.
Suddenly, I know what I have to do.
I don’t know how long I sit here, running things over in my mind. But the afternoon sun is low in the sky and my limbs are aching and stiff by the time I finally pull myself up and cross to the bureau in the corner. It’s an antique writing desk I salvaged from a junk store, and tucked away in the back of the top drawer, I find the slip of paper I hid there, two months ago.
555-627-8196.
No name, just a number, scrawled out in confident dark strokes.
Dex Callahan.
I clutch the paper to my chest, my heart beating a little faster. I can hear his words in my mind clear as day, remember the fevered intensity in his eyes as he held me tight.
“I have a place at the beach, away from everything. Spend one week there with me, and I swear, I’ll make you forget this other man is even alive.”
I told myself that he didn’t mean his hurried proposition, that he’d just wanted to get laid; have his way with me and move on.
Now... I wonder if that would really be so bad.
Dex made me feel things, a passion I’d never imagined. He showed me what I’d been missing out on, locked in my bubble of unrequited love.
A lover’s touch. The burn of desire, twisting hotter in my core. The freedom in surrender, giving everything for the taste of pleasure.
If anyone can blot Hunter from my
mind, my heart, it’s him.
My hand shakes as I reach for the phone. Part of me is praying I get a voicemail, or that the number’s been disconnected, but after just a couple of rings, I hear his voice on the other end of the line.
“Hey, who is this?”
My heart catches. The low, deep, whiskey drawl is like a shock to my system, and in an instant, I remember that voice whispering in my ear, urging me higher as his hands claimed my body as his own.
“Hello?” Dex asks, sounding pissed.
“Hi,” I stutter, my voice sticking in my throat. “It’s me. Alicia.”
Silence.
“We met, a couple of months ago, before your show?” My voice trembles.
Still nothing.
“I was just calling because…never mind,” I whisper miserably, feeling totally humiliated. I should have known that night we shared didn’t mean a thing to him. He’s probably hooked up with a hundred other girls since then. “You don’t remember. I shouldn’t have called.”
“I remember you, sweet Alicia.” Dex’s voice sends shivers down my spine. “But I’d given up on hearing your call.” He pauses, and I can picture him somewhere out in the world: ragged denim, leather jacket, smoldering stare. “Does this mean you’ve reconsidered my offer?”
I catch my breath. “I…yes,” I say quickly, before I can take it back. “I’m in. I want to try.”
He chuckles, a wicked sound that makes me wonder for a moment if I’m doing the right thing. “You have no idea how glad I am to hear you say that. Is this your cell number?”
I nod, before remembering he can’t see me. “Yes.”
“I’ll text you the address. Come tonight.”
“But…” My protest dies on my lips. I look around. Am I really considering this—taking off to go see a complete stranger on some last-ditch effort to save my broken heart? I barely spent a few hours with the man. He could be dangerous. He could be anything.
And you might like it.
“Don’t back out now,” Dex says softly. “Or you’ll spend the rest of your life wondering what might have been.”
Resolve hardens in me. I’ve missed enough time wishing for something, I need to make my life real. To experience something, and jolt myself out of this lonely daze.
Desperate times call for desperate measures. He’s my last chance to be free.
“I’ll be there,” I tell him, and I slowly lower the phone. A second later, it vibrates with a text. The address, just as he promised.
I stand there in the middle of the room, my heart racing. I can’t believe I’m really doing this: safe, predictable me. But as I hurry to throw my things in a bag, the rest of Dex’s proposition from that night slides into my mind, the raw desperation I glimpsed in his dark gaze.
“One week. No rules, no limits, just us. I can save you from this unrequited love of yours. And you…you can save me from myself.”
5.
22 Beach Lane
I almost turn back half a dozen times, but as the city disappears in the twilight behind me, I feel a weight lift; resolve crystalizing in my veins with every passing mile. I’m used to mapping my life out on the pages of my day planner in neat columns, scheduling everything months in advance. Now, I have no plan but the road ahead of me, a hastily-packed weekend bag in the backseat, and an address I programmed in my GPS. This might be the first unpredictable thing I’ve ever done.
Not the first, I correct myself. The first reckless thing was that kiss in the alley with Dex, lighting a fire of curiosity, awakening a part of me that’s been numb and waiting for so long. Now, that same spark drives me on down the distant highway, twisting my stomach with nerves and anticipation as I wonder what lies in store at the end of the road.
I don’t know what’s going to happen next, and the thought thrills and scares me in equal measure.
The hours melt away with dusk until the light is hazy and clear. I turn off the main highway and onto the ocean road, rolling down the windows to inhale the tang of salt and feel the evening breeze whipping around me. I know my problems can’t melt away overnight, but I feel lighter already, seeing the county line marker loom into view.
Welcome to Beachwood Bay.
What?
I swerve suddenly, pulling off the side of the road with a screech of the brakes. I clutch the wheel, panting for air. It can’t be. I must have taken the wrong route, gone off track. But when I check the address on the GPS again, cross-reference it with my phone, it’s right there.
Dex’s beach house is just a couple of miles outside town.
The same town where Hunter and Brit live.
I let out a hollow laugh. The universe is taunting me, it has to be. The one place I go to try and get away from Hunter, and I wind up right on their front doorstep.
I sit there, paralyzed, wondering if this is a sign I should forget the whole crazy plan. But slowly, my panic fades and I’m able to think straight again. Hunter’s in the city, I saw him there just today, and he didn’t mention any plans to head back to the ranch here. In fact, with wedding arrangements and Brit’s work in the design studio, they’ll probably be there for days. Weeks, even.
I’m safe.
I give myself another minute before starting the engine again. I feel foolish at having such a scare, but I guess that shows how desperately I need to get through this heartache and stop acting as if Hunter is the sun around which my whole life revolves. I force myself to take a deep breath, turning back onto the highway towards town.
No excuses, no backing out. You’re here for a reason.
I look around curiously at my surroundings as I cross the bridge into town. Hunter has mentioned the small beach town often, and it lives up to his affectionate descriptions. There’s a quaint Main Street lined with local stores and an old-fashioned diner; boats bobbing on the tide down at the marina, and everything feels sleepy and soaked in suntan oil; sand blowing into the road as the gulls swoop lazily overhead. A picture postcard brought to life.
It’s the last place on earth I’d picture an edgy rocker guy like Dex.
The GPS directs me onwards, out past town and along the shore as the sun sinks lower, finally dipping behind the hills in a blaze of fiery orange and neon pink. The last sunbathers are packing up their things on the beach, trekking back to their car and brushing sand from their toes.
As I get closer to my destination, two emotions are at war inside me: the beachy relaxation all around me, and the sharper, skittering anticipation of seeing Dex again. My night with him was all neon city lights and adrenaline; hard edges, my heartbeat pounding in my ears. Now, I’m thrown off balance, not sure what to expect seeing him in a setting like this.
Finally, I drive alongside an empty stretch of golden sand, and pull into the driveway of a huge, modern house, set on the edge of the shore.
Wow.
I get out, looking up at the house in amazement. I’d been picturing a quaint, clapboard place like the rest of the houses in town. I should have known Dex would do things differently. This is stark and modern, looming above me, a series of white cubes stacked together facing the ocean. As I slowly make my way up to the front door, I see that several of the walls are made of sheet glass, offering jaw-dropping views of the beach beyond.
I pause by the entrance, looking around for a bell or way to announce my presence. But I don’t need to. Before I can lift my hand to knock, the door swings open, and suddenly he’s standing right there in front of me.
Dex Callahan.
I inhale in a rush. Memories are one thing, but they couldn’t come close to capturing the raw physical presence Dex wears as easily as the black jeans slung low around his hips. He’s got a faded black T-shirt on, revealing the dark ink of his tattoos twisting up his arm, and a dusting of dark stubble across his angular jaw.
But it’s his eyes that wipe all coherent thought from my mind, sending my pulse racing in a nervous rhythm. His gaze is as dark as the midnight ocean, hiding untold dangers in their
depths as they slowly sweep over me from head to toe.
I shift, self-conscious, wishing I’d taken the chance to change from my conservative office outfit.
“You made it.” His lips curl in a victorious smile. “I wasn’t sure if you’d change your mind and hightail it back to the city.”
“I’m here.” I try to sound decisive, even though I grappled with the same temptation for most of the drive. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
Neither of us move, but I can’t stop looking at him, drinking him in. There’s a sharp, coiled tension in his muscular frame, an edgy energy that’s strange and so familiar to me at the same time—as if I’ve known him for years, and not just for the passing of a few hours, months ago.
“Come on in.” Dex jerks his head, standing aside. “Did you bring a bag?”
“It’s in the car.” I turn, about to go back for it, but he places a hand on my arm.
“I can grab it,” he cuts me off. “You must be tired from the drive.”
He heads out to my car in easy strides, leaving me reeling from the casual touch. I cradle where his hand caressed my elbow, my whole body suddenly prickling with awareness. I knew he affected me like this, but somehow, I’d forced myself to forget just how magnetic his presence really could be.
I try to pull myself together. You haven’t even gone inside, I scold myself sternly. Try not to melt into a puddle on his front step.
“Let me show you around,” he says, returning with my bag slung over his shoulder. I take a deep breath and follow him inside.
“Did you find your way OK?” Dex asks, leading me through the foyer and into a huge, airy living space.
“Yes, thanks,” I reply., “It turns out, some friends of mine live nearby. Small world,” I add awkwardly.
“Small world,” Dex echoes, a lilt of amusement on his lips. But there’s no time to feel self-conscious again, because I’m distracted, looking around in awe at the gorgeous house. Several square, open rooms lead off from one another, filled with sleek vintage furniture and bare wooden floors. The ceilings are double height, and the entire beach-facing side of the building is a long wall of glass, with smooth, uninterrupted views of the dark bay beyond.
