Heartache

by Danielle Allen

  She didn’t say anything. She just stood there, looking at me with a little smirk on her face. She looked just like her mother in that moment.

  I could tell her that and she’d really be pissed off.

  I decided against feeding the fire and I went with empathy.

  “Bianca, this is important.”

  “What?” Her voice was saccharine sweet. “You want to know the answer to something important, but I’m giving you bullshit answers? Sound familiar?”

  I groaned in frustration, stuffing my hands in my pocket. She isn’t going to tell me what I need to know because I didn’t tell her what she wanted to know. Fuck!

  “Bianca. Please.”

  “Roman. Please.” She pursed her lips as if she were daring me to say something else.

  We were at a standstill. Seconds ticked by with neither of us saying anything. Letting out a growl, I dropped my head back and sighed. “Who was the woman you were with?”

  “Why?”

  “Because she may be the one emailing me.”

  Bianca’s face looked amused. “I definitely don’t think she’s the one emailing you.”

  “Let me be the judge of that. What’s her name?”

  “Why should I tell you, Ro?”

  I sighed. “What’s it going to take? I need to speak with her.”

  “You know what it’s going to take. I want answers. I want you to assure me that you’re okay.”

  “I’m fine. Just tell me the name of the woman and I’ll answer your questions.” Grabbing her hands and putting them over my heart, I continued, “I swear, B. I’ll talk to you tonight, but I need to take care of this now.”

  “We will talk tonight,” Bianca threatened, poking me in my chest.

  “Tonight. Ten o’clock. We will talk. I just need the name.”

  We shook on it.

  “Her name is Grace. I don’t know her last name,” Bianca revealed. “But I do know she is one of the managers at the Parachutes Bar.”

  “Thank you.” I dropped a kiss on her forehead before moving toward my car. I had to get to the bar.

  “This information isn’t free,” Bianca yelled as I hopped into my car. “I’ll be at your house later tonight so we can talk.”

  _____

  Chapter Nine

  There was a decent sized crowd at Parachutes Bar for a Monday night happy hour. My heart was pounding to the beat of the music that played as I maneuvered through the crowd. I’d driven straight from Bianca’s house to the bar, never stopping to think about how the confrontation would go down. As I locked eyes with a tall blonde woman in a suit behind the bar, it hit me that I was about to meet Tia’s lookalike.

  I felt like I’d been punched in the gut.

  “How can I help you?” the woman in the suit greeted me.

  “Hi, I’m looking for Grace.” My voice projected confidently, though my nerves were getting the best of me. My stomach was in knots.

  Am I ready to see that face again?

  She rolled her eyes. “Of course. Grace always gets the best looking ones.” She smiled flirtatiously, throwing her hair over her shoulder. “She just clocked out. Let me see if she’s still here.”

  I gave her a brief smile before scanning the room. I didn’t want to be rude, but I didn’t want to entertain small talk. Two minutes later, I felt a presence behind me.

  Turning around, I came face to face with one of the most stunning women I’d ever laid eyes on. From the black hair to the curvaceous figure, Grace looked exactly like Tia.

  “Hello, I’m Grace.” She smiled and extended her hand. “And you are…?”

  Swallowing the lump in my throat, I forced myself to spit out a response. “I’m Roman. Roman Harper.”

  I looked for any twitch in her face or inflection in her voice to give me some indication that she was the one sending me creepy emails.

  Or any indication that we dated for five years, I thought, staring at her face. It wasn’t just a familiar face. It was the same face.

  “Hi Roman…Roman Harper? As in the artist, Roman Harper?” Her eyes widened excitedly. “Oh my God! What are you doing here? How can I help you?”

  I didn’t immediately respond. I couldn’t. It was as if I was looking at a ghost from my past.

  “I’m sorry to stare. You look exactly like someone I used to know.”

  “I hope that’s a good thing,” Grace flirted, leaning closer so she could be heard over the music.

  I nodded. “It’s a good thing.”

  “That’s a relief.” She smiled, raising her eyebrows expectantly. “So…did you just come by here because I look familiar?”

  I ran my hand over my jawline. “No, I didn’t.” I cleared my throat. “I don’t want to take up too much of your time. I just wanted to ask you something…”

  Are you really Tia?

  Shaking off the question I wanted to ask, I continued, “Have you ever lived in California?”

  An indiscernible look crossed her face and she ran her fingers through her short, black hair. “No.”

  My gut told me that she was lying. I looked at her long and hard. “Do you know anyone named Tia Vasquez?”

  She shifted her eyes around the room before answering, “No.”

  I can’t just ask her if she’s the one that’s been emailing me, I thought as she blinked slowly and steadily as if she were winking at me. If I push her too hard, she may deny it forever. I don’t think my curiosity could tolerate never knowing who did it. Or could I?

  “Are you the one who has been sending me emails?” I blurted out.

  Tucking her short hair behind her ears, Grace’s eyebrows shot up. “What?”

  “Are you sending me emails? There’s someone sending me emails and I don’t know who it is. I thought maybe it was you.”

  Grace’s big hazel eyes widened. “Why on Earth would you think they were from me?”

  I’m definitely not explaining anything to this woman, I thought, eyeing her suspiciously. If it is her, she’s not just going to admit it. I’m going to have to get it out of her.

  “Would you like to have dinner with me?” I asked, gesturing to an empty booth across the bar.

  “Tonight? Here?”

  “Yes.” The look on her face told me that I was losing her. “Or if not here, maybe the restaurant next door.”

  She still looked unsure, but she nodded. “Next door, sure. Let me grab my stuff.”

  “I’ll wait for you outside.”

  The temperature had dropped so I zipped up my leather jacket. Even though it was almost April, the weather was still so unpredictable. I paced back and forth as I waited for Grace by the door. I’d never been one to doubt myself, but in that moment, I felt the doubt seeping in. I felt my composure being lost. Separating myself from the people filtering in and out of Parachutes Bar, I tried to focus on them so I wouldn’t focus on Tia.

  As soon as Grace eased from the crowd, my head was spinning. Walking in knee-high boots and a sexy black dress, she looked good, but the air left my lungs as I realized that she even walked like Tia. She flashed a smile as she stopped to sign something for the blonde woman in the suit. She signed it with her left hand. Tia was right handed.

  She’s not Tia, I thought with a sense of relief as she strutted up to me.

  “You ready to go?” Grace asked.

  We made small talk as we walked next door to the Irish pub. Fortunately for me, Grace liked to talk. We were only waiting for a few minutes before we were seated. Ordering a couple of beers and beer battered onion rings, I listened to Grace talk about things that didn’t matter. I was too mesmerized by the similarity between her and Tia to pretend to participate in the conversation, and she talked so quickly that I could barely keep up.

  “Okay, enough about me. What does the world-famous Roman Harper want to talk to me about?”

  “Famous? No. Not at all,” I replied, bracing myself to pull the information I needed out of her. “But I do want to talk.”

 
“Okay, shoot. What’s going on?” She put the beer bottle to her lips and turned it up, taking a long gulp. “Oh my God,” she spat, beer sloshing with her excitement. “Did we win the raffle?”

  She looked so much like Tia that I couldn’t get myself together long enough to enact my plan. I tried to calm myself down so the knots in my stomach would unravel, but I failed. Miserably.

  “Yes,” I blurted out.

  Shit! Why did I say that? I chastised myself. The winner of the raffle was actually an art professor from Virginia State University. I dropped the small canvas off with Meredith to be mailed before I left Art House Saturday afternoon. I guess I could give her the last thing I worked on.

  “That’s awesome!” She did a little dance in her chair. “Did your friend tell you I was going to be at Parachutes? Bianca?”

  “She told me you worked there.”

  “I saw her the other night and I remembered her from your showcase! I told her I hoped I won the raffle and now here you are! Renee is going to flip!”

  “Congratulations!” I lifted my bottle, encouraging her to clink her bottle against mine.

  “Is that what this is all about? You showing up looking all handsome and mysterious, is that part of the prize package? My coworkers were losing their minds when they saw you! I could introduce you to a certain blonde manager who was seriously interested.” She giggled gleefully and I forced a smile. “Oh unless you’re involved. I don’t want to step on any toes.”

  “No, I’m single. But that’s not—”

  “You’re single!” She shouted, pointing at me from across the table. “No way!”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Why? You’re hot. And that’s coming from me.” She laughed.

  “Okay,” I said slowly, dragging the word out with my eyebrows raised. Holding my hands up, I made a face.

  “Oh my God! No! I didn’t mean it like that! I just meant you’re not my type.”

  Hmm…

  I chuckled to myself. “Okay, that’s cool.” I paused for a second. “So, did you enjoy yourself on Friday?”

  She put the bottle down with a clank, giving me a quizzical look. “You mean at your showcase? Yeah, I did.”

  “What did you think of it?” I asked, trying to get her to say something, anything that would signify that she was the one sending me the emails. Even though I wanted to just come out and ask about the emails again, I refrained from doing so. I didn’t want to scare her off.

  “I thought it was nice. Your art is beautiful. To be completely honest, I don’t really understand it, but it was beautiful.”

  Okay, I’m not her type and she doesn’t understand my work? The woman who wrote the emails said I was the one for her. The woman who wrote the emails understood my work. She understood it a little too well. So does that mean that maybe…maybe it’s not her? But it can’t be a coincidence that she looks just like Tia. Can it?

  “Thank you, I appreciate that.” I took a swig of beer, hoping to sway the conversation away from me and back to her, but every time I looked in her eyes, it was too hard to focus. The guilt ate at me viciously. I tried to push it down. “So, you’re from around here?”

  “No. But this is home now.” She didn’t elaborate.

  Something seems off.

  “Where are you from?”

  “I’m from a small town in Florida,” she said as she started to blush. “You’ve probably never heard of it.”

  “You seem nervous,” I pointed out, watching the heat rising from her neck and spreading over her cheeks.

  I remembered that Tia would blush all over too. It was odd how something so small and innocent could rile up the anger and guilt inside of me.

  She’s not Tia. She’s not Tia. She’s not Tia, I repeated as I stared at her. Even though she looked exactly like her, she wasn’t Tia.

  “Well I am nervous! I’m sitting here with you and you’re…you! And the longer we sit here, the more this is feeling like a date or something.” She laughed before taking another sip of her beer. Cocking her head to the side and smiling at me, she added, “Men asking me out happens a lot. Men asking me out and compelling me to say yes never happens.”

  “Well, what made you say yes?”

  Because you wrote emails telling me that you’re the one? Because you know who wrote the emails? Because you know about Tia? I silently guessed the answers, hoping she would say something to put me out of my misery.

  “Because Renee loves you! She’s the one who got us passes to your showcase. She actually took your class a couple of semesters ago. And she’s going to flip when I tell her I actually talked to you one-on-one.”

  Hmm, the one with the braids. Could Grace and her friend Renee be doing this together? Or could it just be Renee and Grace is running interference?

  “So Renee was actually the one to drag you to my showcase?”

  “I wouldn’t say ‘drag’ per se.” She flashed a huge smile and her eyes lit up. “But she is one of your biggest fans and it was her turn to pick what we did for date night so…” She shrugged, finishing her beer.

  Wait a minute…date night?

  “Oh!” I realized, feeling like an idiot for not putting the pieces together sooner. “Renee is your girlfriend.”

  She wiggled her eyebrows and nodded happily. “Yes, that’s my Renee. We’ve been together for three years now.”

  So I’m guessing it was not you or your girlfriend who wrote those emails, I thought, pouring the rest of beer into my mouth. Slamming my bottle down harder than I intended, I sighed. She looks just like Tia. The last email I got mentioned Tia. This can’t be a coincidence. Can it?

  “Oh, shoot! You didn’t think…” She gestured between the two of us. “Something was going to happen, did you?”

  “Oh, no, no, no, no. Nothing like that.” I shook my head, pulling money out of my pocket to cover the beers and onion rings. The last thing I needed was for Charlotte Spence to get a complaint that I was trying to fuck a buyer. “Nothing like that.”

  Nothing at all like that.

  _____

  Chapter Ten

  I flew across the living room and to the door as soon as I heard her knock. Swinging the door open, I didn’t even wait for her to come in.

  “Why didn’t you tell me she was a lesbian, Bianca?” I barked as she walked past me. Gripping the neck of my sixth beer of the night, I slammed the door closed behind her.

  Walking toward the living room without a second glance, Bianca slipped off her coat. “I told you she wasn’t the one sending you emails. You should’ve stayed to talk to me instead of running off.”

  I felt my face contort in exasperation as I followed her to the couch. “Bianca! This is important!”

  She turned around and gave me a menacing look. “So was what I asked you and you didn’t give a damn!”

  “This is important,” I uttered through clenched teeth. “I need to find out who is sending the emails.”

  “And I am trying to help you! I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me! This friendship can’t…If you don’t trust me and you can’t be real with me, then…”

  Her statement was left hanging in the air, but she didn’t have to continue. We both knew where she was going with it.

  If I don’t tell her, if I don’t trust her, if I can’t be real with her, we’re done, I silently finished her statement. From the look on her face, I knew she meant it. I knew that she wouldn’t accept anything less than me being real with her. Shit!

  The friendship had snuck up on me. I never really wanted it and never expected it, but now that I had it, I didn’t want to let it go.

  Damn her for forcing my hand.

  We glared at each other for a second before I felt the knots of guilt tightening in my gut. The ache that always started in my heart spread quickly, breaking me down. I brought my hand to my chest and rubbed the heel of it into the spot to help alleviate the pain. As quickly as the mixture of anger and guilt gripped me, it let me go and I sighed.
I put my empty bottle on the coffee table.

  “I know. I’m sorry.” My voice lowered almost to a gruff whisper.

  As soon as the apology left my lips, her eyes instantly became wet. Her squared shoulders sagged.

  God, I won’t be able to take it if she cries, I thought, trying to figure out what to do next. I wanted to pull her into me and hug her. I wanted to stop her stop crying. I wanted to tell her everything would be okay. More than anything, I wanted to tell her everything about my past so she would stop looking at me like that, but I froze. The idea of telling her caused a chill to travel up my spine.

  “What’s wrong with you, Roman? What’s going on? Does this have something to do with Elizabeth?”

  I stared into her eyes long and hard. I know I told her I’d tell her, but…I don’t think I can go through with it, I thought, searching her face. The alcohol was definitely making its way through my system.

  We were silent for a long time.

  “Ro, talk to me,” Bianca urged. She blinked several times, seeming to hold the tears back. My heart was pounding in my chest.

  “Please,” she whispered softly, her eyes pleading with me.

  Swallowing around the tightness in my throat, I looked away from her. Clasping my hands behind my head, I started pacing the length of the room.

  “After you left Saturday night, I got another email. I tried to get her to out herself. I was positive it was Hannah, the girl who lives up the street. I figured it had to be her. I kept looking over your list and it made sense for it to be her. She’s come on to me every single time I’ve seen her and she asked me out awhile back. She does things to try to get my attention and when I was getting the emails, I felt like the person on the other end of the emails wanted the same thing. So I just decided to stop responding to her emails. And it worked. But the last email…”

  I took a shaky breath, and I stopped moving across the room.

  What am I doing? Why am I about to tell her this? Have I had one too many? She threatens to walk out of my life so I’m about to tell her something I haven’t told anyone? But once I tell her I know she’s going to walk out. It’s a catch twenty-two, I realized as I slowly made my way back to the other side of the room in front of the couch. I felt the anxiety ripping through my chest again as the emotions stormed within me.