by Gina Watson
“The video isn’t about the contest, it’s about telling Steve’s story. If you don’t think I’m professional enough to do that, then you don’t know me. And maybe we shouldn’t be together.”
Chloe threw her hands in the air. “If it isn’t about the contest, then why do you need to enter the contest?”
His voice was louder, his temper evident, when he said, “Are you listening to me? I said it’s about telling Steve’s story. The contest is a way to reach millions of people.”
“It’s not the only way.” Chloe was getting louder too. “The contest is about you exploiting Steve just like you exploited me for your own personal benefit.”
Cal’s brows drew together and his lips tightened. “Son of a bitch,” he whispered, throwing his arms wide. “I can’t win here. I’ve bent over backwards trying to undo the wrong I’ve done to you.” He glared at her with a fixed gaze. “Yet you still haven’t forgiven me. What do I have to do? And now… Now you accuse me of exploiting a dead friend for gain.” He threw his hands over his head. “I can’t remember a time when someone insulted me—no, hurt me—more than you just have.”
He pressed his palm to her cheek. “I deserved your anger, but it’s clear the damage has been done and is irreparable. For the record, I’m not the kind of man who would take advantage of people he loves for his own gain. I would rather have nothing than to get ahead in that way. I saw enough of Dad’s competitors take that route—it sickened me as a kid and it sickens me now. And it cuts me deep that you, of all people, don’t believe that.” He headed to the door. “That you don’t know that about me. That you… that you believe me capable of such betrayal and deceit.” He dropped his head with his hand on the door, and took in a long breath. Then he looked over his shoulder with glassy eyes. “Goodbye, Chloe. I hope your future is better for you than the past has been. I hope the next man who loves you does it right, right from the beginning. I wish it would have been me.”
He opened the door and walked out.
Chloe stood in the center of her living room in a state of shock. The man she loved with everything she had just walked out on her. For the last time. She’d read the resolve in his face. He wasn’t coming back.
She cried herself to sleep on the floor of her living room.
The next few weeks at work were bleak for Chloe. Memories of Steve were everywhere. To make matters worse, memories of Cal plagued her body. Visions of him from the mirror above his bed as he plowed into her would come to her at the most inopportune times, like when she was out to lunch with her mother. She would daydream about the erotic movements made by the flex of his hips and the way the light rolled off his taut muscles whenever he thrust into her.
And when she huddled in her bed, unable to sleep, visions of him smiling and laughing and working hard on his thesis haunted her.
But it was his eyes, his eyes filled not only with tears but with pain, that really haunted her. She couldn’t get that final image of him, that picture of him standing at her door and suffering from her betrayal, out of her mind.
Chloe was finishing up her charts at the nurses station when Nancy, the head nurse, stepped up next to her and laid her laptop on the counter. “Caleb St. Martin brought this by. He asked me to give it to you.”
It was the last blow. Chloe gathered up her laptop and left. She was in for a night of gut-wrenching grief. She stopped by a local wine store and selected four bottles to keep on hand. She planned to down the first one tonight. With a king-sized bar of chocolate.
Chloe was utterly devastated that Cal had returned her laptop via Nancy. She’d seen the smirk on the woman’s face. Everyone knew they’d broken up.
She’d thought in these last weeks that she might have been wrong about Cal, so she just couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t pull the damned film. She wondered if the situation were reversed if she would have let it come between them. She hoped she wouldn’t have.
Once she got home, she opened her returned laptop and loaded Netflix. She wanted to watch a good comedy. That was when the file on the top right of the screen caught her eye.
Click Me.
Chloe clicked the icon. Aqualung’s “Thin Air” played as pictures of her flashed on the screen; he’d found photos from her childhood, pictures of them together: a fall hayride, a Christmas parade, and her birthday party. She remembered that picture. He’d given her a Polly Pocket and she was ecstatic. There were pictures of her on his eighteenth birthday wearing her black strapless dress. He’d taken them on the front porch of his home. One showed her on the swing with her legs drawn up underneath her—there were eight candid shots of her from that night. She hadn’t known he’d taken them. He’d added captions. The one on the swing read: “The moment I knew Chloe Mills would be burned into my memory forever.” There was one of her walking in the high grass as she carried her pumps wedged between her index and middle fingers: “Genuine beauty comes in only one form—Chloe.” There was a picture he’d scanned in, one he’d taken with the novelty camera she’d given him that night. It was a close-up of their heads together. He’d held the camera in front of their faces and taken the shot: “The moment Cal knew he loved Chloe.”
He’d been right about that camera, it was shit.
Chloe cried, howling like a baby. The pictures changed to more recent ones. He’d included pictures of her with Steve and the girls and of her teaching them how to communicate with Steve.
The song’s crescendo accompanied the footage of him making love to her on his bed. This was video, not stills, but he’d made it black and white. Her hair, the white oxford shirt of his that she’d worn, and her light skin were in stark contrast to the dark colors of his bedroom and his bronzed body and dark hair. The video was tastefully edited and showed no objectionable nudity, just unbridled passion and lust. She saw herself through his eyes and she was beautiful.
She writhed beneath him, and her eyes were darker than she’d ever seen them. She wouldn’t have recognized herself. She was sexy and passionate, and for the first time, she realized why he could have been attracted to her. She was desirable. She saw it in herself but more than that, she saw it in him, in his eyes. They held admiration and reverence. They held love.
There were more pictures, of them attending the funeral and of her working with Steve. There was even a picture of her asleep. In fact there were several pictures of her in various sleepy poses. The video ended with her reading the Berenstain Bears to Sarah and Riley above the melodious hum of Matt Hales.
Chloe plugged in her headphones and listened to the Aqualung song over and over as she fell asleep. The words begin to seep through her skin and she felt them deep in her bones. She held no doubt that Cal had always been in love with her. His videos were not exploitive. They told a story just as clearly as if he’d written out the words.
In the morning, she showered and dressed and then drove over to his apartment. She pressed the doorbell and his cleaning lady answered. She remembered Cal had called her Mrs. Hall.
“Well, Chloe Mills, come on in.”
“Good morning, Mrs. Hall. Do you know where Cal is?”
“He’s out of town. Utah. For a film festival. Most of the family went with him.”
“When did he leave?”
“I’m not sure about that, but I’m pretty sure he loves you. He couldn’t stop talking about you. Did you know that?”
Chloe smiled at the middle-aged woman. “Yes, I believe I did know that. Thank you.”
Chloe did a little sleuthing—she found out from Alyssa that the festival was in Park City—and then she called the airline and bought a ticket to Utah. She hoped she wouldn’t be too late to see Cal’s début. She hoped that all the way there, in between bouts of figuring out what she’d say to him.
Once the plane landed, she called Cory. He helped her arrange a taxi to Park City and a hotel room in Salt Lake. Their plan was simple: Cory would save her a seat at the premiere and she would surprise Cal. In her hotel she primped and waxed,
wishing she could have saved time by doing it on the plane. She had her hair professionally done at the hotel’s salon. And then she carefully pulled on a peach-colored lace cocktail dress, pairing it with strappy sandals. She hurried to the waiting cab and arrived at the theater with thirty minutes to spare. She texted Cory, and in only a few minutes, he joined her in the lobby.
He gave her a warm hug. A strong brotherly hug.
“You look beautiful.”
She smiled at him. He looked a lot like Cal tonight. But admittedly, the whole group of them were knockouts.
“Thanks, Cory.”
“You know Cal’s been a mess without you.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve been a mess too.”
With a raised brow, Cory asked, “So how do you want to play this?”
“Is he in there now?”
“Na, he’s somewhere backstage tending to some last minute stuff.”
“Well, I guess we could take our seats?”
Cory nodded. “As good a plan as any.”
They walked down to the front of the small intimate theater. Cal’s entire family had turned out and literally front and center, Clifton St. Martin stood beaming with pride. It had been a while since Chloe had seen the entire St. Martin clan. Cash had been winning big playing poker in Vegas—she’d actually seen him on television. And that’s why Cal had been in Vegas that fateful night—to watch his brother play. Camp, Cash’s twin, was busy working with his father at the St. Martin Contracting Company. Clay, the oldest brother, was a firefighter in Baton Rouge. She hadn’t seen him in years. He’d always been muscular, but he seemed to fill out his suit even more now. Each brother hugged her and kissed her cheek. All of them seemed proud to be sitting in the theater to support Cal. His mother was seated at the far end of the row, next to the only other girl in the family, their sister, Clara. She was still in high school. Chloe waved because she couldn’t get to them before the lights went down, and then the master of ceremonies came out on the stage.
Chloe took a seat next to Mr. St. Martin. He whispered in her ear, “Did you hear about my boy? I have a gut feeling about this. Without a doubt he is going to win this thing. He’s too good not to.”
His unwavering pride and confidence in Cal made Chloe’s eyes fill with tears. “I couldn’t agree more,” she said.
He patted her leg with one of his large hands and turned to the stage.
The lights were turned down so quickly that it was difficult to see. But Chloe felt the energy from the body that dropped into the seat next to hers. She turned and whispered, “Cal.”
He reached for her and roughly pulled her into his arms, lifting most of her body over the armrest. “God, Chloe,” he whispered into her ear with a low, raspy voice. His hand snaked up to palm her head, loosening her professionally coiffed hair, but she didn’t care. Cal’s lips landed on hers with a ferocity that rendered her speechless. His tongue parted her lips, and he tasted her deeply. Chloe was glad the lights were turned down but even if they weren’t, she wouldn’t have stopped him. When their mouths relinquished one another, he continued to hold her close. “I need you. I knew you would be here.” He squeezed her. “Thank God you’re here.”
“I’m here. I love you.”
His breath escaped on a gasp, and he didn’t hold back the lone tear that slid down his cheek. Chloe saw it glint on his face and wiped it away.
“I’m sorry for the things I said. I didn’t know what I was saying. I believe in you, Cal. I trust you unconditionally.”
“I know you do. I didn’t explain. I should have explained.”
“The “Thin Air” video you made… I can’t—I don’t—There are no words to tell you how much that video means to me.”
They were forehead to forehead now.
“Chloe, you’re here. That’s all that matters. I love you. Always have. Always will.”
≈
The video started with a description of ALS. Medical specialists explained the disease’s progression. After a brief history, including manifestation of the disease in its namesake, Lou Gehrig, current research in the field was explained. Cal had interviewed countless specialists, neurologists, and pathologists and clipped together segments about disease management and about the research still being done and the necessity of funding support to keep that research going.
Forty minutes into the documentary, clips of Steve were introduced. Still pictures of his early life played across the screen while facts about the disease ticked across underneath them—average survival time once diagnosed, average age at first diagnosis, percentage of people diagnosed each year. The facts were staggering. The effect of pairing a man’s life and his experience with the disease with those facts was even more dramatic. Toward the end of the film, video clips of Steve in the hospital, with his family, played out.
Several moments of Chloe teaching Steve and his family to use the communication devices were included. Her voice filled the theater. The ticker on the bottom of the screen read: Chloe Mills, Speech Language Pathologist, giving Steve a voice where otherwise he would have had none. The documentary ended with video of Steve using the boards Chloe had made to tell his family he loved them. Using eye gaze, he communicated to each of his girls to give him a kiss and a hug. The video zoomed out on the image of Sarah and Riley, smiling, tenderly kissing Steve’s cheeks.
When the lights came up, those in the audience, including every one of Cal’s family members, were drying their eyes.
Cal and Chloe emerged from the theater, and people crowded around them. Several prominent actors asked where they could make donations. Cal looked to Chloe. She told them to make checks payable to the ALS Foundation. Several also made donations directly to the LeBlanc family. After the last patron left, millions of dollars had been raised for ALS research and to benefit Steve’s family. Chloe was so overcome with emotion and exhaustion that she slumped against Cal and he had to help her out of the theater.
They rode in a limousine back to his hotel suite. Chloe lay in his lap, and he stroked her hair while she rested her head under his chin. His video wasn’t exploitive at all. Chloe thought about what he’d said—she should have trusted him as a professional. She should have trusted him, period. She remembered what she had told him the night he left and winced at how truly horrid her words were. She’d maligned his work and his honor. She’d been bitchy and shortsighted and needlessly cruel. She’d let her insecurity hurt him. She’d hurt him.
“Cal, I don’t know how you can forgive me for what I said that night. I think the videos you make are beautiful and haunting. They tell a real story, a touching story. They break down walls and lay bare the raw emotion in every scene.” Tears escaped her eyes. Cal kissed them away.
“Chloe, that was a difficult time—you were grieving. You didn’t understand, and I didn’t try to help you understand. I just got angry. Just like I did when my father didn’t understand. You’ve taught me so much about myself, about who I am and what I value. You make me whole. Look at how different my life is now that I’ve let you in—I’m reunited with my father and he came to see my film. Steve’s story is heartbreaking but because of you, some good will come from his struggle. And because of you, I get to be instrumental in that. I can never make you understand what that means to me.”
“Cal?”
“Yeah, Chloe?”
“I need you.”
They were headed to Salt Lake City. Chloe knew they had about thirty minutes. Without speaking, Cal engaged the limo’s privacy barrier. He slid Chloe’s dress up her thighs to rest at her waist. He let out a groan when he looked at her.
“God, Chloe, you’re not wearing panties.”
She smiled. “Commando.”
He blinked at her. She shrugged.
“Can’t wear underwear with this dress.”
“We need to buy you lots of these dresses.” His voice was filled with lust.
She helped him unzip his trousers, and her small hands wrapped around his warm, full cock
. She straddled his thighs and used her hands to guide him to her core. She rubbed his cock through her folds and inserted just the tip into her heat. He felt wonderful inside her, but she needed more. She pushed her palms into the limo’s ceiling for leverage and pushed, lowering herself on his erection. She always had trouble taking all of him, but damn, she enjoyed the fullness when she did.
When he was fully planted inside her, Cal exhaled long and low.
“You’re mine, Chloe. You belong with me. You—body, dreams, and heart—fit me like a glove.” He licked and sucked at her neck, then he grabbed her ass and took them down to the floor. With him on his knees, he lifted her ass and placed her legs around his waist. They fucked so hard the limo rocked. Within minutes, Chloe gasped and called his name. Their eyes were locked on each other as her body convulsed, drawing his orgasm pumping out of him.
Epilogue
Sixteen videos vied for the top prize in the category of U.S. Documentary. He thought he’d heard his name but the scene played out as if in slow motion. Chloe elbowed him.
“Cal, it’s you. They called for you.”
He jogged toward the podium. He hadn’t prepared a speech, didn’t feel anyone should ever prepare a speech for an awards ceremony. He wanted to speak from the heart and since Chloe filled his heart to overflowing, he had an idea of what his speech would entail.
As he reached the podium with the glass award in his hands, he held it up and said, “This is for you, Steve.”
His throat burned and knotted with emotion. He cleared it and said, “Behind every great man is always an even greater woman. This, of course, is the case with this film. This project only exists because of Chloe. Because of her I now understand the value of life, the value of family in ways I’d never envisioned. Chloe, please come up here and stand next to me.”
Her smile looked a little shaky, but he guessed it was the emotion. She joined him and when he put his hands on hers, time stood still. It was just the two of them.
“Chloe Mills, I love you as I’ve never loved anyone or anything.” He dropped to one knee. “Marry me, Chloe.” He pulled a ring box from his pocket, cracked the lid, and offered it to her. Chloe’s hands pitched over her face as the tears started to flow. “ I’d give you my last breath if it would make you happy.” She grasped the box and threw herself into his arms. They kissed on a stage, with his family and hundreds of strangers watching, a public commitment a lifetime in the making. The audience cheered, and Chloe’s gaze scanned the audience. She turned her tear-stained face to Cal and offered an embarrassed smile. Cal angled them toward the audience and leaned into the microphone.
