by J. Saman
And now that Luke is officially out of my life, again, I am moving across the country in two days. But here’s the problem with that. I have absolutely nothing to do until then. I’m packed, all except one small suitcase that I’m living out of. I’ve had my farewell dinner with my parents and coworkers, and though I could change my plane ticket again, my apartment in Boston won’t be ready for me until Monday.
Two days with nothing to do but lament the man I was certain was my future.
But I’m not exactly the type of woman who sits around with a pint of ice cream as I cry my eyes out, listening to a mix of the all-time greatest love songs. I don’t torture myself with romantic films or scour the pages of angsty romance novels looking for meaning.
No, I’m the type of woman who works her way through a problem—literally—as in I bury myself in my craft. But I don’t have that option for the next forty-eight hours and that leaves me with nothing but my thoughts.
My very dangerous thoughts
The kind of thoughts that get women all over the world into trouble.
You know the sort.
Over-analytical, compulsive, self-deprecating and relentless.
The type of thoughts that force you to replay every single second of your entire relationship to try and discern where things went so very wrong. Where the signs were that you blatantly missed, because you felt that this time was different. That you were different together, and could eclipse all the rules you so carefully created and assembled into place to safeguard against this very thing from happening.
Kate rang this morning with well wishes, and promises of a visit when she comes east. I want to excommunicate myself from everything that even remotely reminds me of Luke, but I can’t do that to Kate. I can’t do that to Claire either. So I agreed to those visits and did my best to keep my voice as upbeat as possible, knowing that every detail of our conversation—and my demeanor during said conversation—was going to be relayed to Ryan.
The problem is that I miss him. The problem is that I love him and I told him that I did. Worse yet, he told me the same. He even initiated that conversation, only to flip it all around and tell me that he was leaving me for my own good. Maybe he didn’t come right out and say those exact words, but that’s what he intimated.
It’s really difficult to be angry with someone who tells you that they love you, but can’t be with you because you deserve better and they’re unable to give you what you want.
Exasperated? Of course. Resentful? Absolutely. And maybe they’re close in meaning to angry, but they’re certainly not the same, and there is a very definite and distinct difference.
Maybe I’ll get there. Maybe I’ll reach the point of absolute heated rage toward him, but right now, I’m sad and depressed and so very mournful of what we could have had. Because I wasn’t lying to him when I said we could have been epic. I wasn’t lying when I said I envisioned a forever with him. In fact, I never lied about any of it.
But he did, and that seems to be his way. There is nothing more to be done except move on and start over.
So that’s what I plan to do.
Any minute now I’ll pull myself off the sofa and do something productive with my day. Any minute now, I am going—to answer the door?
I hate the irresistible fluttery dance my stomach leaps into at the sound of the knock on my door. Hate that I am hoping for it to be Luke on his knees, groveling for me to come back. Hate that when I swing the door open, I am greeted with Craig Stanton and not Luke Walker.
“What are you doing here?” I ask in a tone that comes out much sharper than I intend.
He’s not fazed in the slightest as he grins at me with that million-dollar gleam. “I’m bored and I figured you would be too, so I thought maybe you’d want to go do something and get some dinner after?”
I should say no to him. I should turn him down flat and recommence my wallowing—but I don’t want to do either of those things. I want to say yes to him and the distraction he’s offering.
“Sure.” I step back, allowing him to enter. “What did you have in mind?” I ask as I gather my things up and stuff them inside my oversized travel purse.
“I don’t know,” Craig laughs. “I hadn’t really gotten that far. I was actually expecting you to be with Luke, but since I was in the neighborhood, I thought I’d take the chance.”
I pause, my hand clutching my keys as I turn to face him. “No,” I say, but my eyes lower to the floor automatically, unable to watch his expression when I tell him, “We broke up.”
“Oh,” Craig says, taken aback. “Stupid bastard,” he whispers more to himself than to me. “Should I feign disappointment?”
“It is what it is, Craig. I’m not really in the mood to rehash it.”
“Do you love him?”
I can only nod.
“Then I’m sorry you’re hurting, Ivy. That’s not something I would ever want for you. I know people always say this, but in your case it’s true. You deserve so much better.”
I raise my eyes to his, somewhere between irritated at the platitude and flattered at the compliment. “Like you?”
He smiles and it lights up his gorgeous hazel eyes. “Maybe, but remember you said it first.”
I shake my head, trying to hide my smile. “Enough of this, where did you want to go?”
“To Boston. With you.”
I roll my eyes dramatically. “You are going to Boston, but not with me. Friends, Craig. That’s all I’m offering here.”
“That’s what they all say at first.”
“Rack off,” I laugh. “I want to go walk about the city. It’s a beautiful day and we won’t be able to enjoy it much longer.”
“Then let’s go,” Craig turns the nob on my door, holding it open and waiting for me to walk through. After locking up and taking the stairs down the four flights, we step out into the bright sunshine. As someone who lives in Seattle, I can’t help but soak it in with a smile.
I don’t look across the street. I don’t even venture a glimpse at the bench, because I know I’ll be disappointed when I don’t find Luke there. Amazing how I went from one stalker to another. Amazing how one terrified me, and the other made me fall in love.
Craig opens the door for me to his over-the-top Range Rover, and as I slide into the buttery leather seat, cushioned in luxury, I can’t help but laugh. “What?” he asks as he gets in, shutting the door behind him with a click and buckling his seatbelt.
“What are you going to do with your car?”
“Have it shipped. I love it too much not to.”
“Where are you living? I don’t think we’ve discussed that?”
Craig starts the car without asking where I’d like to go. Pulling away from the curb, he begins to drive us in the direction of the market.
“There is a complex of apartments near the Longwood T stop. That’s where I’m moving. You?”
“Yup. Seems to be the place that the doctor’s go. That’s where my flat is too.”
Craig beams at this. “We can walk to work together, and when it snows, I can drive you.”
“I may take you up on that. I have no plans on bringing my car with me. In fact, it’s already parked in my parent’s garage.”
“Seriously?” he asks and I nod. “You’re just going to leave it here?”
“I may sell it. I may not. It’s newer than my mum’s car and better in wet weather, so I told her she could pretty much have it.”
“What about your furniture?”
“No, I actually managed to get a furnished flat there. The landlord of my building here said he’d take what I left behind, and everything I want to keep, I’ll ship.”
“If we had thought this through, we could have shared a place.” He gives me a wicked grin. “You know, to save on expenses.”
“Right,” I ooze sarcasm. “That would have been an ace idea.”
“You can resist all you want, and because you’re nursing a sprained heart, I won’t push it. But
you’ll end up loving me in the end.”
“Sprained heart?”
“Yup. Definitely not broken. And while you’re waiting for it to heal, I’ll be around.”
He pulls into a parking space, hopping out with a wink and a grin before he gets my door for me. “What if I said that it was broken, and that I was only going to want to be friends with you. Will you beg off or stick around?”
“Stick around. I’m not going anywhere.”
He smiles that smile again, the one that you can’t help but feel, and we both decide to leave it at that. I get what he’s indicating. It’s not exactly subtle, and though I have no intention of taking things to the next level with Craig, it’s nice to have someone when moving to a new city.
Craig and I end up walking around for hours, to the point where our feet ache and our heads pound. And after dinner, we finally decide to call it a night.
“Thanks for a really fun day,” I say, once he pulls up in front of my building.
“It was fun. I’m glad I stopped by this morning. Can I walk you up?”
I shake my head. “No, I’m good. Cheers though.” I lean across the console and kiss his cheek before exiting. Craig waits for me to open and enter the front door of my building before driving off, but once he’s out of sight, I exit the way I came in, descending the few steps that lead to the street.
He’s there. Sitting. Watching. Waiting.
I stand, motionless on the sidewalk, watching him in return, wondering just what his presence means. Wondering if he saw me leave this morning with Craig only to return hours later.
It’s dark out, but the street lights on either side of the bench clearly illuminate him and his expression, though I can’t decipher it. Maybe that’s the reality of only knowing someone for a month. I don’t know all of his expressions. I don’t know what every single look he has means.
Maybe I don’t really know him at all.
He rises slowly, clearly as torn about crossing the street and the distance between us as I am. There’s a large black duffle bag along with his computer bag at his feet and as my eyes focus in on them, I realize what they signify.
He’s going away on another one of his trips.
He’s leaving and wanted to make sure to see me one last time.
My heart sputters to a stop for the briefest of moments before taking off at warp speed. Never have I felt such rising panic before in my life.
This could very well be the last time I see him.
Do I want to spend this moment staring at him across the street?
And as I consider at those bags, analyzing them and their meaning, I’d love to say that I get his reasoning behind ending things. That I understand everything clearly and that I’m at peace with it all.
But I don’t understand and I’m not at peace.
I have no real explanation for his actions and as I refocus on him—on his gorgeous face and tall, strong body—I ache everywhere. I ache for everything he’s given up on. Mourn our happily ever after, because I wanted it so badly I could practically taste it.
But instead of that happily ever after, I’m left with crippling, anguishing spasms wracking my insides.
So I continue to stand here. Unwilling and unable to be the one to breach this great divide. Hoping he’ll take the initiative, but also praying he’ll turn and walk away.
But this is Luke, and he can’t leave without his grand moment.
Without warning, he abandons his belongings, running across the street nearly at a sprint until he practically slams into me. His arms surround me, yanking me into his chest with the force of a desperate man. Strong, large hands cup my face, as he crashes his lips to mine.
And though this may be the most passionate kiss I’ve ever experienced, it’s also the emptiest. I can feel his apology as his lips move against mine, because though I’m in his arms, and his lips are pressed to mine, this is not a reconciliation. This is not asking for forgiveness or to start over.
This is not asking for another chance.
This is goodbye.
And I realize in this moment just how wrong Craig was. This is so much more than a sprain. So much more than a fracture. This is shattered. This is obliteration. This is total annihilation to the point where I don’t think my heart will ever truly recover.
I may never get over you, Luke Walker.
And with that hopeless and tragic thought, I push him back, breaking our kiss and all our points of contact. Tears are streaming not only from my eyes, but his as well, and my heart breaks all over again, but this time for him.
“I love you,” he whispers, the words barely audible.
“I love you too,” I whisper back.
But I know I need to be the one to leave this time, despite how fucking hard it is.
So I take him in one last time, memorizing every single one of his glorious features, before turning around and walking away for good.
Chapter 23
Luke
One year later
I sit at my palatial mahogany desk with my feet kicked up, hoping to hell I scuff the fine finish. The only problem with that plan is that I’m too antsy to keep my feet where they are and end up turning in my chair to see the view from my office window, moving my feet back to the floor.
Rain and my own goddamn reflection against the darkened night sky beyond the pane. That’s my view right now. Water runs down the glass in thin rivers.
Kate and Ryan are out tonight celebrating, but I have no interest in joining. I’m happy for them, I really am, but I’m tired and moody and hating on everything the same way I have been for the last year.
Ivy.
That woman haunts my thoughts.
And it’s not because she’s gorgeous, because I already know that she is. And it’s not because she’s brilliant and witty, because I already know that too. No, it’s everything else that has my brain going in overdrive. It’s everything else that has me sitting in my office on a Friday night a year after I made her leave.
It’s the fact that I’m still thinking about her.
It’s the fact that she was different, that we were different, that has me going crazy.
I thought I’d be done with this by now.
The ever-present obsessive rotation of questions force themselves to the forefront of my mind. Where is she right now? What is she doing? Who is she with? That one kills me every time. Does she still think about me the way I think about her?
So that’s why I’m here and not out celebrating with everyone else. Because I can’t make it stop. Because the masochist in me doesn’t want to make it stop.
I love Ryan. Let me make that clear. He is the brother that I never had and I thank whatever there is above us for him daily. He saved my ass. He gave me a job when I didn’t even graduate college and made it seem like I was doing him a favor by taking it.
He never made me feel second. I am never the Robin to his Batman.
I am more a Bruce Banner to his Tony Stark, if that makes sense.
We’re equals.
He may technically sign my check, but every single business decision he’s made has gone through me first. Every single meeting that may change the course of our company, I’ve been present at. My office is right next to his and it is exactly the same size.
What does that tell me?
It tells me that Ryan is the best man I know. It tells me that I will never find a better human being than him. A more loyal one. It tells me that he has my best interests at heart with everything, and that I’m a shit for being here instead of toasting the fact that he and Kate have been married a year and are pregnant with twins.
I had a date tonight, and I think that’s what really set me off on this latest round of Ivy torment. She was a girl I met in the grocery store near my apartment yesterday. The same fucking grocery store that carries that godforsaken Vegemite shit.
In truth, she caught me at a weak moment. I was lonely and hurt and disappointed, and whatever the hell else some
one is supposed to feel when they’re obsessed with the woman they pushed away almost exactly one year ago to the goddamn day.
So yeah, this girl flirted and I flirted back, and before I knew what the hell I was doing, I asked her out. When I called her an hour ago to cancel, she was surprised, but took it like a champ even though it was a dick move.
“Oh,” the startled female voice of my assistant, Lyla, snaps me out of my stare-down with the rain that is streaking down the glass of my windows. “I’m s-sorry, Mr. Walker. I thought you had l-left for the night.” Her thick southern accent is more pronounced, no doubt due to the fact that I scared her by sitting in my own office.
“I had, but I came back.” Her brows furrow, but only for a moment. “Please call me Luke, Lyla. Mr. Walker makes me think of my father, and I avoid thinking about him whenever I can.” Damn I’m in a crap mood. I shrug apologetically because I don’t mean to take it out on her.
Lyla joined us here just a couple weeks ago.
I seem to go through assistants like tic-tacs.
I hate those damn candies, which is probably why I go through assistants the same way. She’s young. Like right-out-of-college-first-job-ever young.
She walks to my desk hesitantly, as if she’s afraid I might snap at her for moving or breathing in my direction. Her outstretched hand is a little shaky, as she places a few pieces of paper on the edge of my desk.
“These are the documents that y-you’ll need for the meeting with the Tyson group Monday morning.”
I like her accent. It’s nice. Sort of rolls around you like warm honey.
I don’t like it nearly as much as an Australian accent.
I’m so fucked.
“Thank you,” I smile, sitting up straight and loosening the damn tie I decided to wear this morning, which now feels like a noose around my neck. “What are you doing here this late?”
Lyla blushes a little and for the first time, I realized she’s dressed differently. She’s dressed for a night out, wearing a short skin tight black dress that hugs her shapeless figure.
“I u-uh…” She shifts her weight, looking over toward the bookshelf like it will save her from having to answer me. “I was j-just heading out.”
