Broken Love

by Jillian Dodd

  I was told Cade turned down numerous requests to be interviewed alongside me.

  I realize that when I punched him six years ago, it didn't really settle anything. I'll never forget how mad I felt when my sister told me what he'd done. We've never talked about why he did what he did. Not that there is any possible acceptable excuse, but we've never spoken since that day.

  And it still hurts.

  Hurts that he would do something like that to me. That our friendship and my sister meant so little to him that it was worth throwing away on something that was probably meaningless.

  It's also not something the Cade I knew would have ever done. He was always the responsible one. The thoughtful one.

  If I would have been asked to choose a man for my sister to marry, he would have been a man like Cade.

  But I guess you never know.

  I shake my head and look out at the nearly five-hundred-thousand people who have turned out in Tampa for the parade to celebrate our victory.

  November 12th

  Palmer

  My brother has been in Florida celebrating with his team but is due back home today.

  Cade and I haven't talked about my brother, but their story is splashed everywhere and is hard to get away from. Cade has gotten numerous requests for interviews about it. When I asked him why he turned them down, he said that it would be awkward. That he couldn't go on TV and talk about why he did what he did.

  He saw something, owed something, and reacted.

  And then he told me that he didn't want to discuss it anymore.

  I could see the hurt in his eyes, so I finally dropped it.

  Because I haven't been this happy in years.

  Cade makes me feel whole--complete--again. The pieces of me I left with him that day I stormed out, are back where they belong.

  I replay last night in my mind.

  "We're so lucky, Palmer," he says, slowly trailing his finger down my side as we're cuddling post-sex.

  "Why's that?" I ask dreamily, resting my head on his shoulder. Even though I know the answer, I want to hear him say it.

  "Because we found our way back to each other."

  "More like you found me in a snowstorm," I tease.

  His finger stops on my hip. "Can I ask you a serious question?"

  I look into his eyes and nod.

  "If I ask you to marry me again, will you say yes?"

  I smile at him, but don't reply. I'm so incredibly happy, but the guilt is starting to consume me.

  How can I agree to a happily ever after with Cade when things are the way they are between him and my brother?

  Cade brushes his fingers through my hair and smiles. "Are you free this Saturday night?"

  "I am."

  "Good," he says, his lips gliding across my cheek. "Because we're going to have another first date."

  "I've got all sorts of goodies for you," Tory says, bursting through the door to my office and setting a kale smoothie on my desk.

  I turn my nose up to the nasty green looking concoction. "No chocolate chip Frappuccino today?"

  "I wouldn't think so. You have that cover shoot for the fitness magazine as soon as you get back from New York." I glance down at my calendar to check out my busy schedule and notice the little red star marked on yesterday's square--meaning I should be getting my period anytime now--as she holds out a pure white bikini and says, "And this is what you'll be wearing."

  Great.

  "I called your stylist" she says. "She'll be over shortly with options for you to try for your press junket. Are you so excited for this movie to release?"

  I shrug. "Honestly, I didn't realize it was this week, but I also didn't realize it's already the middle of November. It's been crazy since Pike got hurt."

  "And I was thinking it's been crazy since you got the sheets." She raises an eyebrow at me. "You're sleeping with Cade, aren't you?"

  I sigh.

  She points her finger at me. "I knew it! And you should be proud of me. I didn't say anything in front of your brother, because it's obvious you don't want him to know."

  "How obvious?"

  "You hugged the sheets and said they were better than roses...that and the fact that you've been on cloud nine since then--what can I say? I'm intuitive. Speaking of that--I was right to choose the guy in dick pic two. We totally meshed."

  "Meshed?" I ask as my phone buzzes on my desk. "What does that even mean?"

  "It means he was fucktacular. Have you ever had sex so good it was like you were tripping? Like it was almost fuckadelic?"

  "Is that even a word?"

  "Probably. You get my meaning though, right?"

  "Yes, I get your meaning." I smile at my phone, seeing Cade's name pop up.

  "Answer the question," she says, grabbing my phone.

  "Maybe?"

  "Fucktacular is so spectacular there are no words to properly describe its hotness. If you had it, you'd know. Is it that way with Cade?"

  My face breaks out into a grin, before I can stop myself.

  Tory points at me. "Ha! I knew it! So what are you going to do about him and your brother? Should we set up a playdate so they can become best friends again? Have they talked?"

  "They haven't. Everyone wanted to interview them together, but Cade turned them down."

  "Why?"

  "I'm not sure," I admit, "but I think he is waiting for Pike to apologize."

  "Is that ever going to happen?"

  I shake my head as tears form. "I don't think so."

  "Why are you crying?"

  "Because I'm so incredibly happy with Cade, I can hardly stand it. But I'm not sure if I can be with someone my brother hates, no matter what Cade says."

  "What did he say?"

  "He said our happiness is all that matters."

  "He's right," she says, handing me back my phone. "The rest will work itself out."

  "Do you really think so?" I ask, clutching the phone to my chest.

  "Yeah, Palmer. I do," she says as her phone rings, alerting us to the fact that my stylist is here.

  While she answers the door, I read the text.

  Cade: I miss you and desperately need to see you before you leave.

  Me: I wish I could. The stylist is bringing clothes for me to try on. I have an hour and a half to choose them and pack before I have to leave for the airport.

  Cade: Then I'll text you constantly until Saturday. I know how busy press junkets are. You don't even have to reply.

  Me: It's nice that you understand.

  Cade: Of course, I do.

  Me: I'll miss you, but can't wait for our second "first" date when I get back.

  Cade: I love you.

  Me: I love you, too.

  Upon arrival in New York, I'm shuttled from one event to the other. When I'm finally in my hotel room, I lie in bed and text Cade.

  Me: It's been a long day. How was yours?

  Cade: I've spent all day thinking about you.

  Me: Have they been naughty thoughts?

  Cade: Actually, no. I've got it so bad for you I may start writing poetry.

  Me: I doubt you have it that bad. LOL

  Cade: At the touch of love, everyone becomes a poet. --Plato

  Me: You're too cute.

  November 13th Cade

  I spend entirely too much time today trying to find the perfect quote to send to Palmer. I know press junkets mean she will be interviewed all day. When she doesn't have interviews, she and the rest of the cast will be excepted to attend other events until they drop into bed for the night--only to get up and do it again the next day. I find one that seems fitting and send it off.

  Me: The heart that truly loves never forgets. --Proverb

  She doesn't reply until after midnight, East coast time.

  Palmer: That's beautiful and very much us. I love you.

  November 14th Cade

  I glance at my watch and see it's already almost seven. No wonder my stomach is growling. Time to close up shop fo
r the day and get some dinner. Carter should be here any minute. But first, I need to call my mom and get a recipe. I'm going to cook Palmer dinner tomorrow night and something from a restaurant or out of the freezer won't cut it.

  "Hey, Mom," I say, when she answers. "Can I get your recipe for spaghetti and meatballs."

  "I'd be happy to make them for you, Cade," she replies.

  "I know, I just--I sort of have a date tomorrow night, and I want to cook for her."

  "You're turning into a girl," Carter says from my doorway.

  I flip him off.

  "Well, that's very nice, dear," Mom says. "Would that date happen to be Palmer?"

  "Uh, why would you think that?"

  "Mothers have a sixth sense about these things."

  "Oh. Yeah, kinda."

  "It's kinda for her, Cade? Or it is for her?"

  "It is."

  "Very well, then. I'll email you both the recipe and a shopping list."

  "Thanks, Mom," I say as Carter sits in the chair in front of my desk.

  When I hang up, he gives me a smirk.

  "What?"

  "Cooking for Palmer. Sounds serious."

  "It might be." I shake my head. "I mean, I think it is. I hope it is."

  "Does that mean you and Pike made up?"

  "No. That's not going to happen."

  "Why not? You carried him out on the field. If there was ever a time to talk, it's now."

  "If he wanted to talk, he'd call me. But I don't care what Pike thinks anymore. I just want to be happy, and Palmer makes me happy."

  "Then that makes me happy," he says, even though I can tell he doesn't agree.

  When I get home from dinner, I go a little crazy with the love quotes.

  Me: She walks in beauty, like the night of cloudless climes and starry skies. --Lord Byron

  Me: Soul meets soul on lovers' lips. --Percy Bysshe Shelley

  Me: Love is of all passions the strongest, for it attacks simultaneously the head, the heart, and the senses. --Lao Tzu, philosopher

  Me: I love thee, I love but thee

  With a love that shall not die

  Till the sun grows cold

  And the stars grow old. --William Shakespeare

  My phone rings, waking me.

  "Sorry, it's so late," the object of my affection whispers into my ear.

  "You just getting in?"

  "Yes. I may fall asleep on you tomorrow night."

  "I have no problem with that," I tease.

  "I love the quotes, Cade. You're sweet."

  "I'm pathetic is what I am. I miss you."

  "I know, it's like I just got you back and then I had to leave. Bad timing. Even though I couldn't reply, I could see your texts and they kept a smile on my face all day long."

  "That makes me happy. You sound exhausted. Go to sleep."

  "I am. Love you."

  "Love you too, Rookie."

  "Isn't it about time I move up to the big leagues?" she teases.

  "Yeah, it is. Goodnight."

  "Goodnight, Cade."

  After we hang up, I think about what she said. She's ready to move up to the big leagues with me. Which is a good thing, since I plan on proposing tomorrow night. Crazy, I know. But I don't want to waste any more precious time without her.

  November 15th

  Palmer

  I'm packing and getting ready for my flight home. It was a crazy few days. Because the movie is a romantic comedy about a trio of girlfriends living in New York City, they held the press junket here. The studio flew in hundreds of reporters, put them up in a gorgeous hotel, screened the movie, and made the cast available for interviews. We spent the first day going from room to room, or table to table, almost like speed dating, giving each group about fifteen minutes of our time.

  The next day we talked to the TV reporters who the studio decided warranted one-on-one time. The good thing about these interviews is that I get to stay put, and the journalists rotate in. We don't get to talk long, though. They are rotated through every five minutes, each bringing their own camera man and lighting. So basically I had to say the same things and answer the same questions hundreds of times while trying to remain upbeat, fun, and polite.

  Needless to say, I'm ready to get home. Especially when I get another love text from Cade.

  Cade: We're like two pieces split apart at birth who found their way back to each other. We're soul mates--a predestined pairing.

  As I'm getting into the car that's driving me to the airport, I get another.

  Cade: Since we broke up, I've been living a pretty rigid life, trying to make myself feel in control. It's all an illusion though. My life only feels centered when she's in it.

  Once I'm situated on the plane, I notice something. I scroll back and look at his other texts and wonder why he didn't mention who wrote them.

  Cade: I am stupidly in love with this girl.

  Me: Who wrote these three?

  Cade: Me. For you.

  I reread them with tears in my eyes.

  Me: I love them. And I love you. Getting ready to take off. Can't wait to see you tonight.

  When I get home, I immediately unpack, hoping it will make me feel like my life is in order.

  Press junkets are always exhausting, but I'm more tired than usual. I think I may be coming down with something, which wouldn't be much of a surprise considering all the hands I shook.

  I decide on a dress to wear for our date tonight and then grab my makeup out of my bag. When I do, the tampons I packed fall out. The tampons I thought I would need but never used.

  Hmm. When was I supposed to get my period again?

  I grab my phone and check my calendar. Four days ago.

  I sit down. I couldn't be.

  Could I?

  We've used condoms. Every time.

  I recall the first night in the dark, us coming together in the hall.

  Except for that time.

  I shake my head.

  I grab my keys, throw on a ball cap and a pair of dark sunglasses, and drive to the nearest pharmacy. I carefully survey the parking lot, making sure there's no one who might take a picture of me in the vicinity. Although, I doubt many paparazzi hang out here.

  My hands are shaking as I go in the store. I slip my sunglasses off so I don't look like a complete lunatic, but keep my head down, weaving my way through the store and probably looking like I'm casing the joint. I grab a basket and fill it full of things I don't need, like a jumbo bag of cotton balls and three spiral notebooks, hoping I can hide the pregnancy tests under them. I spy the tests, but don't dare go into the row until I have a plan. I stand a row over and pretend to be looking at condoms, which is slightly ironic.

  Once I have memorized which tests I want to buy, I make a quick run through the aisle, stealthily sweeping three different tests into my basket and covering them with the cotton balls.

  There's a line of people at the cash register up front, but not one at the pharmacy window, so I decide to go back there. I set the basket on the counter, and keep my head down, pretending to look for my credit card. Thankfully, the woman is nothing but efficient. I suppose pregnancy tests and cotton balls are just an everyday purchase to her, not the life changing one it is for me. She recites the total, I swipe my credit card, sign my name, take my bag, and hightail it out of there.

  I sit in the car, feeling sick to my stomach. I take a test out of the bag and stare at it. Think of the implications. Then shove it back in the bag and drive home.

  I rush in from the garage and am making my way through the kitchen when Tory says, "Hey, there, what's the rush?"

  I stop in my tracks, probably looking like a deer caught in the headlights. "Oh, I just had to run to the store. I think I might be coming down with something."

  "Can you come into the office? I have a document for you to sign and want to run a few things by you in regards to your schedule."

  "Okay," I try to say calmly, even though my heart feels like it's beating ou
t of my chest. "Let me put this stuff in the bathroom and then I'll be right out."

  She grabs a baseball decorated cupcake from the counter, one of two dozen delivered this morning for Pike, and goes back through the breezeway to the office.

  "Shit," I say to no one but myself as I take the bag to the bathroom, throw the cotton balls into the closet, and hide the tests underneath them.

  I consider taking a quick pee on one of the sticks, going to my office, doing my work, and coming back. But I can't.

  What if I'm pregnant?

  No, that's crazy. I can't be.

  I go to my office and try to pretend things are normal. I am normal. So what if my period is a few days late, and I had unprotected hallway sex with the love of my life? I mean, we've had lots of completely protected sex since then. It's like the law of averages--or, whatever. The odds should be in my favor.

  "Okay," Tory says, "Let's talk about your schedule. You have an easy week other than the magazine shoot, then it's crazy busy again. I just got the world-wide premiere schedule from the studio. Frankfurt. Rome. Paris. London. New York. L.A. Six cities in eight days. I've already coordinated everything with your stylist, and we'll have hair and makeup onsite at each location."

  She keeps talking and talking. I know it's important stuff, and I should be paying attention, but all I can think about is the fact that I might be pregnant. I glance at the clock. It's four. She'll be working for at least another hour, and I'm supposed to meet Cade at seven. T-minus three hours.