The Beginning of Always

by Sophia Mae Todd

  “Remember when you planted those rosebushes underneath our kitchen windows?” I said, avoiding his comment.

  “They were pink and yellow. The damn thorns gouged the flesh off my palms.”

  I had complained to Alistair that the scene out of our picture window was anything but picturesque and it was boring when I had to do the dishes. With Mom gone, I took on the homemaker role and the tedium ran deep.

  I’d walked in one morning and been greeted by a row of rosebushes.

  “You should have sent them to my apartment, though.”

  Alistair sighed. “How did I know you’d say that? What did we talk about?” he said. “No more halfway efforts.”

  “I know, I know.” I nodded my head slightly. “I’m tired of the back-and-forth.”

  “Good. So you’ll come to my offices after work?”

  “Definitely.”

  “Looking forward to it.”

  “Of course you are,” I teased.

  “I’m eager to show you how much I’m looking forward to it.”

  “And I’m sure you will. See you later.”

  “Bye.”

  I hung up and leaned against the wall, looking out onto those meager rows of pots lining the fire escape with a small smile playing upon my lips.

  Tracy collapsed against my back, binding my arms to my sides and hugging me tightly.

  “I’m so proud of you, my little lovebug,” she purred into my ear, squeezing me so tight that tears dotted my vision as I laughed.

  * * *

  “There you are!” Gertrude’s perfectly shaped eyebrows, now pressed in a stern and angry expression, greeted me as soon as the elevator doors slid open.

  “Ah!” I hopped back several steps, taken aback.

  Gertrude didn’t allow my surprise to deter her from her carefully scheduled timesheet. She seized my elbow and hauled me out of the elevator, causing me to stumble forward to fall into line with her.

  She had apparently scheduled in some time to tell me off, which she resoundingly proceeded to do.

  “You were supposed to be here nearly ten minutes ago,” she chastised me while half-dragging, half-yanking me across the offices. The receptionist offered me a friendly wave and a sympathetic laugh as I was hurtled past his desk. The rest of the offices were slightly deserted. I supposed people made sure to leave on time, although with Gertrude around I didn’t know who would dare.

  “We scheduled it for five p.m.” I offered my weak reasoning. I caught a quick glance at a clock. It was still 4:53 p.m.

  “If you’re not early, you’re late!” Gertrude spoke to me like a small child caught with a broken cookie jar.

  “The subway was slow!” I protested as Gertrude let go of me before she marched me into Alistair’s hallway door.

  “Here,” Gertrude snapped at me, forcing the door open and bracing it with her body. She held her tablet computer and clipboard against her breast like a shield, and her features were extra sharp today, glare game on point. “He has forty-five minutes before an important phone call, so make it quick.”

  Maybe it was just my paranoia, but there was something different behind her eyes. She stared me down with the same level of disdain … but it now studied me a touch closer.

  “Okay.” I took a tentative step down the white hallway. This might be the last time I’d be here, for the article at least. Should I thank her? I hadn’t considered the question, but now, standing in front of her, I wasn’t sure of what to do.

  Good thing my own vacillating attitude didn’t get in the way of Gertrude’s bullheaded, determined one.

  “What are you waiting for?” She snapped her fingers repeatedly. “Go! Go!”

  Decision made, I gave her a quick nod and trotted obediently away. The door closed behind her with a soft swish, bare strains of grumbling German following it.

  When I opened the door to Alistair’s office, he was sitting behind his large desk, studying a spread of papers before him. He glanced up at my arrival, the corner of his eyes crinkling up with his grin.

  “Hello.” I waved weakly.

  “Hi, there.” Alistair stood up. He was wearing a deep blue cable-knit sweater and dark jeans. It was all so casual and normal, in stark contrast to all those fancy suits I always saw him in. “You seem flustered.”

  I sighed. “Ran into Gertrude.”

  “Ah.”

  “What’s her problem with me, anyway?” I said while dropping my bag off my shoulder. “You’re not supposed to sleep with the help?”

  Alistair grinned and walked around his desk towards me. “I’m not paying you.”

  “You know what I’m getting at.”

  “Don’t worry, she’s mean to me too.” Alistair came up and gave me a peck on the cheek. I circled my arms around his neck and squeezed him tight, relishing the physical feel of him warm against my body. But beyond that, the satisfaction of knowing I could do this now, could touch him and hug him and kiss him, with little reservation.

  I ran my palms across his shoulders and propped myself up on my toes to give him a deeper kiss. He returned a low growl of approval.

  Mine, my soul whispered.

  I pulled away. “She doesn’t want you for herself, does she?”

  Alistair was amused at my question. “Are we getting jealous here?”

  “No.” I frowned. “Just working to establish territory, who’s invited into my fort and such.”

  “She’s got this thing for Thomas, so don’t even worry about me getting mixed up with that.”

  I snapped my head back. “No way! Seriously?”

  “Ask Lucas if you want. I swear, on my mother’s grave.”

  “Your mother is still alive.”

  “As far as we know.” Alistair said it with airy apathy, but even that cursory figure of speech rang slightly dark. He didn’t dwell. “But anyway, that’s just Gertrude. When I interviewed her for this job, the first thing she did was tell me all the things I was doing wrong and how it was entirely because of my management style that we didn’t get this building over in FiDi. She spent a whole hour ripping the company apart. Lucas liked her, so we hired her.”

  I jabbed him twice in the chest. “You guys like bossy women, don’t you?”

  Alistair slapped me playfully on my butt. “I prefer to take turns.”

  “Well, then,” I said huskily, sneaking my hands under his sweater. I pressed my palms flat against his abs and scratched lightly down, reveling in that faint tremor that shuddered from his muscles. “My turn.” I pushed him hard and he stumbled backward before he collapsed in a chair next to his desk. “Let’s get this interview over with.” I snapped my fingers, very Gertrude-like. “Work now, play later.”

  “Promise?” Alistair gave a heart-stopping grin, dimples carved deep and flashing up to me.

  I had the strongest desire to forget work and jump straight to play. But, no. Must focus. “I guess you’ll just have to see, won’t you?” I pulled out my laptop. “If you behave, I’ll give you a cookie.”

  “I like cookies.”

  “Then you’ll love my cookies.”

  * * *

  I flipped the light switch and the entire office went dark. The city glowed through the expansive windows, throwing shadows against the wall.

  “Are people still outside?” I pushed open the door, the hallway light flooding the darkened room. I cast a glance down the long white hallway. The door at the end was closed and while it wasn’t normally bustling enough in there to be heard in Alistair’s office, there was a stillness in the air that was nearly palatable. We were the only ones left on the floor.

  Alistair pocketed his wallet and his phone, using his other hand to push in his chair. He glanced up at the clock above the sitting area.

  “Seven o’clock, most people should be gone. Can’t imagine why they’d stay so late. We don’t have any big deals to be worked out at the moment.”

  I grinned up to Alistair as he passed by me, looping an arm around my shoulder. “N
ot always the slave driver?” I circled my arm around his waist and sidled up to him.

  “That’s Gertrude and Thomas’s job.” We walked arm in arm out of the office, the door shushing closed behind.

  “So what are you? Good cop, bad cop?”

  “Absent father.” Alistair opened the door to his elevator and let go of me to pull the golden gates apart. I took a step back amidst the clattering.

  Alistair reached for my hand and pulled me towards him, taking me into the elevator alongside him. He continued his thought while closing the gates and cranking the lever downwards. “I’m not the one circling the offices every day to make sure people are adhering to the dress code.”

  His fingers laced through mine and he gently bent my arm back to press against the wall of the elevator. He loomed over me and I slid my free hand under his sweater to press against the skin. I couldn’t stop doing that. I just loved feeling him, touching him, relishing the shocking ease of our chemistry.

  I stroked his skin, tracing the tips of my fingers over all the unique dips and valleys of his muscles, relishing the warm spicy smell that radiated off him.

  “Speaking of dress codes, why aren’t you in a suit today?”

  Alistair shrugged. “I don’t normally wear suits.”

  I pulled back slightly. “You’re kidding me. But—”

  But Alistair had been in a suit for the past two weeks, every time I’d seen him, it was in a tie and jacket. Then, it dawned on me.

  I pinched the side of his chest lightly, saying in a conspiratorial voice. “Mr. Blair, have you been trying to impress me?”

  “Well, it worked, didn’t it?” He smirked, the corner of his lips twitching up slightly.

  Alistair gripped the handrails so his arms trapped my hips. He pulled his body closer to me.

  “So, did you get everything you need today?” His voice was hushed and deep with suppressed need. We had spent the last two hours discussing my last-minute questions, and for once, he was the picture of perfect behavior. No innuendo, no half statements. He was direct, elaborating when I requested and succinctly efficient in all others answers. Totally professional. Anyone who’d walked in on us would have had no clue that each person wanted to jump the other’s bones.

  “Yep, I’m pretty much done with interviews. Just have to write the last half of the article and I can send it off. Send it off and move on …” To what, I didn’t want to figure out now, not with Alistair’s hands against my body and his lips hovering a breath away from mine.

  “Good. No more work, let’s play.”

  And with the last syllable drifting in the air, Alistair laced his fingers against the nape of my neck and kissed me.

  Alistair ran his rough hands down the curve of my neck and over my shoulders to my arms, the feel of his ragged touch making me crazy, like a drug long denied. Our lips parted, and at the first taste of his tongue, a jolt ran down my body all the way to my toes.

  My body craved him, my heart ached for us, my mind warred with it all.

  All I wanted was him.

  “Wait,” I breathed, pushing him away before things got too out of hand. “There are cameras here, in the elevators.”

  Alistair was now busy nuzzling me, tracing the skin with his tongue. I shuddered and my mind went temporarily white with haze.

  “Not these elevators,” he murmured distractedly. “It’s my building, remember?”

  “I’m sure there are some code violations here,” I said while twisting my body away from him.

  “The only thing being violated here is your sense of decency,” Alistair said with mischief in his tone, his fingers creeping up under my skirt.

  I laughed and smacked his lascivious hand away. “You’re so bad!”

  The elevator shuddered to a stop and dinged loudly. We were at the last floor of the basement garage.

  “So where do you want to go?” There was suggestion all over his words, to say nothing of his tone.

  I gave him a coy grin. “You have to take me home, remember?”

  “Good girl needs a chaperone?”

  “Best you walk me to the door.” I brushed my fingers lightly over his ear, tucking a stray strand of hair away.

  “I should also make sure you make it to your room. Wouldn’t want anything happening along the way.” Alistair leaned down to kiss me again.

  “I still owe you that cookie.”

  “Mmm,” he said between kisses, “cookies.”

  “And,” I whispered huskily against his lips, “I want pizza.”

  Alistair snorted, his shoulders slumping forward and shaking with laughter.

  Chapter 28

  Alistair Blair, twenty-one years old

  I scrubbed my palms over my face, wanting this nightmare not to be real.

  It was real.

  It was over.

  It was for the best. And I forced my heart to stop beating, to stop feeling. To never care.

  I was stone.

  Images flashed before me. Florence’s stricken face. Her damp hair slashed across her cheeks and neck, like a wound. The way she clutched at the tree behind her, her body buckling to gravity in disbelief.

  She didn’t fight. She didn’t scream. She didn’t hurl the insults I knew I deserved. She didn’t call me the coward for what I was.

  She broke.

  I broke her.

  I had broken her long ago and now, I delivered the final blow.

  We’re wrong for each other. We can never work out.

  As soon as the words had left my mouth, I wanted to seize them back. I wanted to desperately claw for them, to beg for forgiveness, to tell her the truth.

  How I couldn’t live without her. How saying the words, how lying was as if a piece of my heart died, ripped to shreds.

  That the prospect of a lifetime without her only guaranteed me an endless dark tunnel of loneliness and misery. Of halves and nones.

  But I didn’t stop myself. I didn’t allow myself to be weak.

  It was for the best.

  She could go to college, she could go to any college, and she could move on and travel the world and experience everything. Know joy.

  I had already stalled her life enough, had destroyed and delayed it for long enough.

  I had already shown her enough misery, given her enough tears for life.

  So now, I couldn’t stop her. I wouldn’t be a liability.

  Away from her, I couldn’t hurt her anymore.

  You’ll never see me again. Ever.

  Traitorous tears leaked from my eyes and I scrubbed at them in anger. What right did I have to cry, to grieve? I’d never deserved her love.

  “Al?” Bill’s deep voice shook me out of my stupor. I didn’t respond to his inquiry, instead keeping my eyes downcast to the dirt floor before me.

  I was dirt. I was filth.

  The rain crashed upon the barn roof, hollow and thin on weak wood.

  Hay crunched beneath Bill’s work boots as he strode close to me. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” My voice was ragged.

  “Why are you all wet?”

  I shrugged.

  “Is everything okay?” Everyone had been walking on eggshells around us ever since Florence had lost the baby. Always asking if everything was okay, how we were feeling, what was wrong.

  Everything was wrong. No. I was wrong, I was what ruined everything and everyone, and I would do everyone a favor to just leave.

  Florence. Florence was perfect. She had been perfect and she’d be perfect again.

  She’ll be fine.

  I wouldn’t be around to screw up her life again.

  “It’s fine, everything is fine.” I stood up from the bale of hay I was sitting on and stalked out of the barn, my shoulders hunched and my face turned from him. “Fucking great,” I muttered, kicking a small mound of dirt in my path.

  “Alistair!” Bill called out to me.

  I stumbled forward a step, momentarily taken aback.

  It was
just how Florence had called out to me. One last desperate plea, her tear-choked voice crying out my name that one last time. And I hadn’t looked back, not then. Because if I had, she would have read the regret on my face, the pain in my eyes.

  She would have known that to save her, I had to kill myself. That I had to stab myself with the knife and carve out my own heart, to release her own towards freedom.

  Just like then, now I entered the darkness and cold, the wind-slashed rain hitting me and chilling me, a contrast to the low, warm glow of the barn.

  I died.

  I was nothing.

  I’d ruined everything and it was best that I wasn’t in her life. At every chance, I’d mess everything up.

  I knew that most about myself.

  Chapter 29

  Florence Reynolds, twenty-nine years old

  “Damn,” Alistair muttered.

  “Hmm? What?” I rubbed my eyes with the heel of my palm and stretched lazily. The bed was warm and every part of me was perfect and sated. I flopped my hand next to my pillow and rolled my neck to glance at Alistair. His bare back was to me, feet on the floor to the side of the bed and form hunched over his cell phone’s illuminated screen.

  “Solomon’s building, that Fifth Avenue spot.” Alistair looked over his shoulder to me. “The Feds showed up last night. There were ties to West Africa, some blood diamond operation.”

  “Damn,” I said.

  “That’s what I said.”

  I squinted out my windows. The sun wasn’t even out, the beginning hint of dawn dripping slowly across the horizon. The sky was a shade of blue-black, twitching with the protest of oncoming light.

  “What time is it?” I asked.

  “Almost four a.m.”

  I groaned. It was Monday and I was expected in the office, and it appeared as if Alistair was going to be hauled back to work too. We had done a good job neglecting our responsibilities from Thursday into the dead of weekend, but now it was time to face the music and get back to the grind.

  So I wasn’t the least bit surprised or upset when Alistair stood up, telling me, “I have to deal with this. I’ve got to go.”