by Layne Harper
Finding Infinity
By:
Layne Harper
Finding Infinity is a work of fiction. Names, Characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any real people, organizations or events are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Finding Infinity
All rights reserved
Copyright © 2013 by Layne Harper
This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, or recording without express consent of the author Layne Harper.
ISBN: 978-0-9893536-7-0 (ebook)
Cover Design: Michelle Preast
Edited by: Lauren McKellar
Dedication:
To my (K)(Ch)(C)rist(y)(ie)(i)’s… An author can hope and sometimes wish, but never actually believe that they’ll have such an incredible support system. You girls rock! I owe you all lots of wine and baked brie.
To all of the bloggers who’ve supported and promoted this series. The work that you do so unselfishly—graciously—and without payment makes independent authors able to keep chasing their dream. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.
To my writing buddy that crossed the Rainbow Bridge…You are missed.
Prologue
I don’t have a clue what I’m doing here. I mean, I’m not an idiot. I know how I got here to this physical location, but I’m just shocked that I’ve let it get this far. I look at the sea of hundreds of faces watching one of the bridesmaids in a black dress walk down the aisle towards me. There’s some dude singing a cheesy ass song about love that means nothing to me. I keep reminding myself that this is for her. It’s what she wants. This is her day. I’m a mere prop, a backup player, second string in the most important day of her life.
I’m really not being fair to her. She asked my opinion on everything having to do with our wedding. I just kept telling her that I wanted what she wanted. That means I don’t have the right to complain. In the end, I reasoned that the least that I can do is give her the fairytale wedding of her dreams.
I glance over at the guys standing next to me. I must admit that we look good in our tuxes. Aiden is my best man. Next to him is Mark. She wanted more people to stand up here with us, but I refused… I did have an opinion on that. This wedding was already a goddamn three-ring circus. I wasn’t going to inflict her special day on any more of my friends.
As the girl—can’t remember her name to save my life—finally makes her way to where I’m standing, she gives Aiden a wink. Great! My best man is going to wind up fucking a bridesmaid. How cliché is that?
She turns and takes her place at the front of the church. I see Aiden out of my peripheral vision leaning backwards, trying to get a better view of her ass. “Real smooth,” I whisper to him.
I know from the rehearsal last night that she’s next. I hold my breath. Not in anticipation of seeing my future wife, but because I’m not sure if I’m ready to see her. It’s like, if the doors at the back of the church don’t open, then I won’t have to go through with this. I mean I want happiness, and I want a family. I know she’ll give me that. She’s everything that anyone wants when they list the qualities of an ideal spouse on a sheet of paper. That’s what I keep telling myself, at least.
I look at my mother and father sitting in the front row of the church. They’re smiling like crazy. My mom’s dream is coming true. Her baby boy is getting married. I’ll hopefully give her the grandchildren that she longs to spoil. She opens her purse and pulls out a pink tissue, dabbing her eyes. When she spots me looking at her, she beams a smile at me that reassures me that I can do this. If my parents think this is a good idea, then why am I questioning my particular spot in the universe right now?
The doors of the church open and the orchestra begins playing the song that’s always played at weddings when the bride walks down the aisle. Everyone stands to get their first glimpse of her: and what a sight she is. Gorgeous. She’s fucking perfectly gorgeous. She’s take-your-breath-away gorgeous. There’s no one that can deny that.
Her brown hair is up in a knot of some sort on top of her head. She’s got a long piece of white material attached to it that’s dragging along behind her. Her dress looks like something that Cinderella would wear to the ball. I know it cost as much as a car, but she wanted it. Who am I to tell her no? I asked her to join this farce.
As I see her walking towards me on her dad’s arm, I fight to feel some kind of emotion besides lust. My dick acknowledges how much fun we’re going to have tonight, taking that dress off. My dick can’t wait to see what kind of sexy-ass lingerie is hiding under all that material.
I allow my mind to wander, thinking of all ways that I’m going to fuck her this evening, tomorrow, on our honeymoon... There’s no denying that we were made for each other in the bedroom.
When she’s about a quarter of the way up the aisle, I quit thinking with my dick and ask my heart what it thinks. My heart is silent. My brain wills my heart to give me some sort of answer, but the silence is really fucking deafening. Finally, my brain reminds my heart that she’s my new start. She’s my chance at happiness. She loves me. She wants to take care of me and lets me take care of her. My parents love her. She wants to be the mother of my kids. She accepts me—flaws and all. She doesn’t challenge me, or bust my balls. She doesn’t tell me no. She’s content being married to me and not having a job. She’ll support my career without complaining. She’s perfectly polished in front of the television cameras.
She’s everything that Caroline Jane Collins is not.
If she’s everything that I’m supposed to want, then why can’t I get the image of Charlie in that white dress out of my head? I know that I shouldn’t be thinking about her on what’s supposed to be the happiest day of my life, but I can’t shake her beautiful caramel-colored hair and lavender eyes from my mind.
I flew to Boston last week to see her one last time before I said my vows. I didn’t tell anyone where I was going. Not even my assistant knew where I was. I dropped off the radar.
I couldn’t take the questions that Aiden and Mark would have thrown at me. They would probably have been supportive if I had told them. They had encouraged me when we first broke up to chase her down and try to get her back, but I couldn’t. My pride and heart couldn’t take the rejection if she told me that she didn’t want me a second time.
I was hoping that, by seeing her, I’d be able to gauge if I still had a shot with her. I needed to see for myself if she really had moved on. I mean, I’d seen the pictures of her online with the boy. But I needed to see for myself if she was happy.
What I hoped would happen is that Charlie would see me and realize that I’d never stopped loving her, and we’d get back together. Yup. I’ll admit it. The scene looked something like the ending of a chick flick.
Unlike in the movies, I’d sat like some perverted stalker on a bench outside the building that I knew that she had classes in. There was no dramatic music to cue me in on what was going to happen next. I watched as students walked out of the building. Classes should be over for the day. I put my baseball hat on, slipped my aviator sunglasses over my eyes and opened my newspaper. What the fuck has happened to me? I’d thought. I’m like a bad PI from some late-night movie.
I’d spotted her instantly. It was as if my eyes could see only her: her long hair, swishing back and forth as she walked down the stairs. I was reminded of how much I loved burying my face in it. It smelled of some sort of concoction of honey, peaches, and wildflowers. Just remembering that smell made the
weight on my chest heavier.
I couldn’t tell what her body looked like because she had on a long raincoat, but her face was still just as flawless. Charlie Collins was still fucking perfect.
She was talking to a couple of girls that looked about her age. They were obviously in some sort of deep discussion, but it didn’t look heated. I presumed it was over something they discussed in class because Charlie kept gesturing toward her satchel, but I didn’t really know. They walked over and stood by a lamp post, as if they were waiting for someone. I saw them all turn and look back at the doors that they’d just exited from, still in a deep discussion.
Charlie was talking with her hands, like she always does. I saw her make what looked like a cutting motion. Was she acting out a dissection? I wasn’t sure.
Then, I saw him walk out of the building that Charlie just exited. I couldn’t see Charlie’s face because she turned to look at him, but I could definitely see his. When he spotted her, he broke out in goofy grin, kind of like the one that I just had when I saw her.
He liked her. It was obvious. I wanted to beat the shit out of him. The weight on my chest began to crush my lungs, to the point where I was having a difficult time catching my breath. Battery acid filled my stomach. I saw red. I knew exactly who he was. When I cyberstalked her, I saw a picture of the two of them hugging on MySpace. I was hoping that he was just a friend, but I knew in my heart that he was more. His eyes gave him away.
He walked to her and pulled her in for a light hug, and then gave her a kiss on her cheek. She didn’t pull away. She let his lips touch her willingly.
I’d seen enough. Confirmation. Charlie had moved on. The realization made me want to put my fist through a wall — or his face.
I shouldn’t have come. This was a huge mistake. I stood up and managed to slip away without being seen. I got back in my rental car and drove to the hotel. As soon as I was in my room, I checked for flights to Dallas. I needed to get out of this city.
Unfortunately, the rain had started falling, and there were long flight delays. Great! I’d thought. I will be stuck in hell even longer than I planned.
I didn’t call Charlie. I couldn’t stand the thought of hearing her say that the guy was her boyfriend, and I was too late.
Instead I decided, that night in Boston, with the driving rain beating against my hotel window, that if Charlie and I were meant to be together, she was going to have to make the first move. After all, she was the one who chose Harvard over me.
Yet, here I stand in front of my friends and family with a raging hard-on at just the thought of the girl in the white dress being someone else.
Aiden leans over and whispers, “It’s not too late. You don’t have to marry her.” He knows me too well. “I’ve got Bertha gassed up and waiting for us behind the church.”
I ignore the bastard. It is too late. My future wife is a mere twenty feet from me. There’s no turning back. When I asked her to marry me, I thought that this was what I wanted. I mean, I love her. She’s a good person. But even when I proposed, I knew that I wasn’t in love with her. Now, I’ve forced this lie. I used her to move on with my life; but what choice did I have? Charlie had moved on. Now, so was I. Maybe if I quickly get her pregnant it will help. I can grow to be in love with her.
When she reaches me, I feel like the biggest asshole on the planet. She looks at me with such loving eyes that my heart aches. God, I’ve got to learn to look at her the same way. Then, I pull the biggest dick move ever. I picture her as Charlie so I can give her the same look back.
In this moment, I make a deal with myself. I’ll give us six months. If she doesn’t get pregnant in six months, or if I don’t learn to be in love with her, then I’ll ask her for a divorce. I’ll give her a huge payout. She’s a nice girl. She deserves more than to be with someone who has to picture another woman to give her an adoring look.
I hadn’t even realized that the minister was speaking until I hear him say, “Colin, repeat after me.”
Fuck! It’s game time.
Chapter One
Charlie
Day thirty, and still no sighting of the rumored engagement ring. CharCol was spotted running Sunday at a park near their Las Colinas home. Witnesses say that they never touched each other and seemed to be focused on their run. After they finished their jog, they stretched together and shared a thermos of water. Local fans soon crowded them, asking for Colin’s autograph, and they left shortly after. Witnesses report that Colin’s eyes seemed clear, and his behavior was normal. Drug addict? Jury is still out.
“Hi Brad,” I say, instead of the standard anonymous greeting, hello. I don’t have to look at my phone to see who’s calling. Brad calls every morning at about this time.
“Good morning, my favorite doctor friend,” he sings. “Are you ready to come be my Tommy?”
I groan. “I’m not in the mood to shop for antiques today.” Colin helped Brad buy a house in the same neighborhood that we live in. It’s outside the gilded cage, and Brad has become obsessed with decorating it. His other new obsession is Canadian HGTV. Sarah’s House is his favorite show. He likes for me to go shopping with him. He pretends to be Sarah, and I’m Sarah’s assistant, Tommy. If I didn’t adore Brad so much, I might have murdered him by now.
“What else are you going to do today? Lay in bed?” he says condescendingly. “Get up and get dressed. I’m coming to pick you up in thirty minutes.”
I hate that he knows that I’m still in bed. I roll over and look at the clock. It’s almost nine o’clock on Tuesday. There’s a little voice in the back of my head that’s screaming The day’s half over. I’m just so damn tired. I can’t seem to get enough sleep lately.
I wake up plotting how I can work in a nap after lunch, without Jenny telling Colin. I snuck off and took a pregnancy test last week, but it was negative. I didn’t want Colin to know. First of all, there’s no point in getting his hopes up. Secondly, I didn’t really think that I was. I just wanted to rule it out as a cause. The only other thing I can think of that explains my constant tired state is that my body is making up for all the nights of sleep I missed in medical school, and residency.
“Give me an hour,” I reply not even trying to hide my annoyance.
“Ah…need some quality time with QueBee?”
“Colin,” I make sure I emphasize his name, “is not here. He left early this morning to work out with his trainer and passing coach. Then he has meetings with the coaching staff about the draft. He said to not expect him home until late.”
Brad squeals. I mean, he literally squeals, like a little girl on a playground who has a secret. “Put on your grubby clothes. We’re going to refinish my armoire.”
I give up. There’s no escaping him today. I blew him off yesterday. If I don’t give in and be his Tommy, he’ll just come over here. Then I’ll have to listen to Brad and Jenny bicker like an old married couple.
“Fine. I’ll throw on my running clothes and jog over. Thing One and Thing Two will be with me, but I’ll send them home after they’re sure that there are no crazies hiding in your house.”
“It’s a plan. I’ll go buy the supplies. See you later, alligator.”
I begrudgingly reply, “After while crocodile.”
“I love it when you play with me,” Brad coos.
“Bye, Brad,” I say as I hit end. The best assistant in the world is seriously lacking in his ability to hang up the phone. The boy will keep chatting forever.
I roll over and grab Colin’s pillow and pull it to me. It smells like him. Masculine. Strong. It makes the pit in my stomach feel that much deeper. I miss him. I know that he’s at work, but I still ache for him when we’re not together. It’s pathetic, and I’m working on being stronger.
I flop on my back and look around Colin’s bedroom (my bedroom?). It is the definition of masculine design. It has cathedral ceilings that add to the vast feeling. The bed is large, but the thick wooden headboard and matching bedside tables make it feel ev
en more solid and rugged. There’s a large flat screen TV that comes up from an innocuous looking piece of furniture. The sitting room has a fireplace that’s made of Texas limestone, and the couches are a worn-brown leather. I love the bay window that looks out onto the pool. There’s a private entrance to the bedroom from the backyard that Colin had said that he added for midnight swims.
If I don’t sit up, I’m going to fall back asleep so I lean against the heavy wood headboard, trying to wake up. Colin thinks I hate this house. I don’t. It’s not my design aesthetic, but it’s not distasteful. What I loathe about the house is the chaos inside of it. Because Colin and Jenny’s office is here, there’s a constant flurry of activity outside of our bedroom door. Never mind that Jenny is always on the phone, there are also deliveries a couple of times a day.
Colin’s dining room also doubles as his conference room. Right now, the dine-con room is filled with design boards that feature his winter collection of athletic wear, and about one hundred samples of fabrics that cover the entire spectrum of color. Even if we wanted to actually dine in the dining room, there wouldn’t be enough room to set our plates down.
Alice is Colin’s full-time housekeeper, yet his house is never clean. It’s not dirty, but it’s never neat and organized. He has four large boxes of footballs sitting in the foyer that he’s needed to sign for a month. There are countless numbers of gifts, memorabilia, and promotional items lining the floor of his study. They’re now spilling into Jenny’s office, which I think used to be a formal living room. The only place where I can keep order, and feel a little bit in control of my surroundings, is our bedroom and bathroom. Alice is very good about only cleaning it when I’m gone. I know that she’s touching my things, but I don’t have to see her. It helps!
