Cards of Love: Three of Swords

by Willow Winters

  I can be that someone.

  I’ve waited three years. I can wait another day, another week. However long it takes.

  But if she doesn’t want me because she wants to be okay being alone—I don’t know that she’ll ever come back to me.

  I fucked up, and I don’t know how to make things right. For the first time in a long time, I don’t know what to do.

  Lying on my bed and staring at the ceiling fan, I think back on every moment I could have changed between us.

  It’s my fault she doesn’t love me enough to stay. That’s what it comes down to. I don’t know how to make her love me any more than she does.

  She does love me. But it’s not enough.

  My phone buzzes on the nightstand, and keeps going.

  Someone’s calling, probably Brett. Or Ryan. As much as I’m grateful they give a damn, they can all fuck off.

  They told me to wait for her before, and it didn’t fucking work.

  Without looking at the ID I answer it to say, “I’m not going out; I don’t give a shit if you tell me I’m being a bitch or not. It’s not happening.”

  There’s hesitation on the end of the line until I hear my mother’s voice coolly reply, “I would never call you a bitch, for starters.”

  Fuck, I think and my eyes roll back into my head with irritation.

  “Mother,” I talk over her. “I wasn’t expecting you. It’s late.”

  “I wanted to see if you’d gotten the message about the dinner?” she asks me, her voice returning to the normal proper state. The kind of proper that requires a stick up your ass.

  “I received your message, yes.” I don’t bother telling her I’m not going. She should already know that. Considering she didn’t bring it up at lunch, I’m sure she already knows I have no intention of going.

  My mother starts to speak and then stops herself. I can hear that she’s still there, although it’s silent for a moment. “I heard that something happened at The Cherie tonight, and so I was also calling because I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

  Whoever spoke a word to her is going to be fired. There’s no fucking way any of my friends would go to my mother. Maybe it was the waiter, or maybe the fucking chef. I don’t know who, but I’m going to find out and make their life a living hell. I pay good fucking money for privacy.

  “Tell me something, please.” My mother’s voice actually carries a maternal note to it when she adds, “I’m your mother.”

  She wants to know? As if she couldn’t put two and two together.

  “I fell in love with a girl a long time ago and I couldn’t show her.” I harden my voice to add, “I don’t know how. I never learned.”

  I can hear her swallow. “Well how is it that you’re treating her? I may have some ideas of what you could do,” she offers and it’s nearly comical. She adds in a self-deprecating tone, “I’ve been married three times, you know. I could tell you why I said yes each time.”

  Her sad laugh is weak on the other end of the line, and I feel for her. I mourn for my mother, both what she went through and for the woman she decided to be.

  “I know I’ve made many mistakes, Madox, but if I can just listen, I would be grateful right now.”

  I don’t answer her. Instead I remember the one time I saw her cry in my life because I think I can hear her crying now. “We’re both alone. I’ll be quiet.” Her voice cracks and she sniffles before adding, “You can pretend I’m not even here.”

  “I don’t want to upset you,” I tell her in a single breath, feeling like a prick and hating myself even more. A deep-rooted painful side of me wants to add, I didn’t think it was possible, but I don’t. I won’t hurt her when she’s already suffering.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell her, and she tries to hide the pain when she says in croaked words, “Just tell me what happened.”

  A moment passes before I pretend I’m not talking to her. I’m just trying to piece together the frayed edges of what I had with Sophie.

  “I liked being the one who could take her pain away and I thought it was enough to show her I loved her.” The ceiling fan continues to spin and I continue to talk. “But she doesn’t want me to be that for her anymore. And I don’t know what I can be to her, if she doesn’t want to …” Fuck, it hurts. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I try to push it down.

  I won’t let her walk away. I’ll keep her.

  I will.

  There is no other possibility.

  “Have you tried telling her that you hurt? Maybe she would feel better leaning on you, if you leaned some on her.” My mother’s words are met with silence.

  That isn’t fair to Sophie. The weight of my pain isn’t fair to put on anyone, let alone the girl I love. My mother continues speaking when I don’t say anything.

  “It could just be you’re upset that she doesn’t feel she can …” she pauses, maybe figuring out the words to use as she finishes, “lean on you while also being her own person.” Her voice picks up, carrying optimism with her words. “Even something as little as that could maybe make a difference. Maybe?”

  It’s an odd feeling when a sad smile pulls at my lips. It’s half assed and defeated, but I feel it.

  “Thank you, mother,” is all I give her, but it’s more than I have in a long time. It’s genuine.

  “Will you please come to dinner?” she asks me without wasting a second, going right back to her like she always does, but this time I tell her, “Yes. I’ll be there.”

  It was nice to pretend I still have a relationship with her and that she didn’t fuck me over entirely.

  Chapter 12

  Sophie

  The Nine of Wands is a pessimistic card; you’re gearing up for the worst and on guard. This card warns that you must prepare, or else further loss will come.

  It’s well past time to leave work, but I’m not ready to go back to that apartment yet. I don’t want to go back to it at all. I’m already finished with the mock-ups for all three clients this week.

  I can’t do anything with them until Lara approves. She gave me the entire week to prepare them, but I feel like I’m deep down a black hole after the meeting today. Six hours straight without even moving from my desk. I’ll look them over tomorrow before sending them to Lara, but I can feel it in my bones that they’re exactly what the clients need and want.

  I have no reason to stay any longer, but still I head for Adrienne’s office in the back right corner, feeling the heaviness in my eyes as I do.

  I didn’t sleep last night. Not at all. The presentation went off without a hitch, but only because coffee and concealer exist. I don’t think anyone can tell that I am barely hanging on by a thread.

  Hesitating only to smooth my skirt, I finally knock on Adrienne’s door. She’s still here along with a few others in the cubicles, but this entire floor is nearly empty.

  “Who is it?” she calls out.

  Shit. It’s awkward speaking through the wood door, but I do. “Sophie Miller. I just wanted a quick word.”

  Embarrassment floods my face, all the way up to my temples, but she tells me to come in and I suck in a breath, knowing I should be quick. I don’t know what I was thinking coming unannounced.

  You were thinking: I don’t want to go home.

  My mouth is open before the door is even closed, ready to tell her I only wanted to thank her for giving me the opportunity and I hope the presentation was everything they expected, but my lips slam shut.

  Adrienne’s face is red, her cheeks tearstained. She smiles brightly anyway, not bothering to hide the fact that she must have been crying.

  “I’m so sorry, I can come back another time,” I murmur and reach behind me for the doorknob, feeling like a fucking asshole, but Adrienne tells me to stay.

  “Your presentation was wonderful. I know Lara was impressed.” Her tone is muted, her energy drained.

  “Thank you. That’s what I…” I pause and step forward, and she motions for me to sit. I shake my head and te
ll her, “I just wanted to thank you. That’s all. I really appreciate you giving me a chance, and I’m so happy it went well today.” I don’t even know what words just came out of my mouth because I’m so distracted by how distraught Adrienne is. And how she’s pretending like she isn’t.

  “I’m thrilled to hear that,” she says politely and nods.

  I nod back and feel awkward about it. “I’ll go now,” I tell her but as I turn, she explains, “I’m getting a divorce and apparently I’m more upset about it than I realized.”

  Slowly, I turn back to her, a sharp agony piercing through me from her confession. “I’m so sorry.” My words are sincere, and I hope she can feel that. “If there’s anything I can do,” I start to offer, but I can’t imagine what that would be.

  “It’s not your fault, dear, no reason to be sorry. I’ll be fine. I shouldn’t have put all that on you.” Adrienne lifts her bag onto her chair and pulls out a mirror, setting it on her desk.

  “It’s okay to walk away if it’s not right,” I offer the woman who obviously knows more than me about life, mostly to comfort her, but I feel ridiculous. What would I know about marriage? Let alone divorce. I simply feel bad for her.

  Adrienne gives me a sad smile and says, “It’s not really okay. I find myself running away from everything and I really want to run toward something, but my something isn’t here anymore.” Her voice gets tight and just as I reach out to her, she shakes it off, backing away and leaving me with my hand in the air.

  I let it fall slowly as she wipes haphazardly under her eyes and forces her demeanor back to what I’ve known it to be. “You got the invitation for the client dinner, correct?”

  I start to answer, but my throat is dry and I have to clear it before I answer her, “Tomorrow night?”

  “Yes, it’s going to be lovely. Certainly dress to impress, dear.” She glances at me and then adds, “After all, we are the best of the best.” Adrienne faces the mirror, tidying up her makeup and I shift uneasily where I stand.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow night then,” I tell her, turning toward the door. She only nods, looking down for a moment before looking back in the mirror and bringing her Dior lipstick to her thin lips.

  There’s a hollowness that follows me as I walk away.

  I never thought about life the way she worded it. I was always running away, but I never looked up to see what I was running toward.

  Chapter 13

  Madox

  When the Devil is dealt, he leaves a trail of goosebumps in his wake. It’s a card of addiction and destructive patterns. Your power isn’t taken; you’ve given it away. But with the Devil comes fire, and those flames signify pleasure and lust.

  The office is quiet. The sky behind me is black, and the streets beneath me are lit with the traffic of the busy city. So many people, so close.

  But I feel so damn alone.

  She’s been avoiding me. No call last night. She didn’t answer my texts. She didn’t answer my calls today, and Trish isn’t giving Brett any details. She isn’t giving me much to go on either. She told me Sophie hasn’t told her anything other than that she cried when she left the restaurant.

  Which made me feel even worse than I already did. As if some part of me actually thought she wasn’t crying alone and refusing to let me comfort her.

  The only reason I’m not banging on the door to the address Trish gave me is because Sophie sent a message earlier today asking if we could meet here, at my office.

  Don’t sweat it. Brett’s text hits my phone and I want to throw it across the room. Everyone knows she’s avoiding me.

  She just needs a little time. Trish’s text comes through next and I’m so pissed Brett added her to our chat I nearly throw the phone. Make sure you tell her you love her.

  What if it’s a test? Ryan sends in the group text thread.

  Like she’s baiting him to see if he’ll go get her, he sends another text.

  Trish answers him, She wouldn’t do that. Knock it off, Ryan.

  You women do stupid shit, Ryan writes back, making my phone ping again. I put it on silent, but not before I see Trish write him back. Fuck off.

  They can all shut the hell up and stay out of it. They aren’t helping the situation.

  Even though the phone’s now on silent, I monitor it and the clock both, waiting for Sophie to either message or simply knock on the door.

  And just like that, a timid knock reverberates and I call her in. I see her hair first, the long dirty blonde locks covering her face. She brushes it out of the way and when she does, she looks back at me with a pained expression.

  “Hey,” she tells me softly, watching the door as it closes before taking another small step toward me.

  I recognize the tone in her voice, the too-afraid-to-voice-what-needs-to-be-said tone. My heart sinks, and I can feel it drop into the pit of my stomach. With my blood running cold she asks if she can sit down, holding her purse with both of her hands.

  I can’t speak, I can only focus on not letting what I’m feeling show as I gesture to the plush wingback chair on the opposite side of the desk.

  “How are you?” she asks and then swallows, setting her purse down on the floor. I watch her and wait for her eyes to reach mine again before answering honestly. “Not well.”

  Her lips tug down and her eyes fall.

  Fuck, this hurts. I want it to stop. It’s not supposed to happen like this.

  “Madox. I need to say something… It just feels like it’s too much getting back together so quickly, if that’s what we’re doing. I need a little bit of time to get a grip on things.”

  I listen carefully. To every word.

  “More time,” I say out loud, not looking her in the eyes and instead lifting my gaze to the clock. Every minute—every second—without her is hell. How can she want more of this, when I can’t stand it?

  “I’m not over what happened, and I don’t know how to handle this.”

  “Over what?” I question her, feeling my anger rise.

  “I’m not over that night and how we left things. I can’t pretend like it didn’t happen.”

  “Then don’t.” My voice raises slightly and I have to concentrate to keep it even as I add, “Don’t pretend, talk it out with me.”

  She clenches her mouth shut and breathes out heavily from her nose, looking past me at the darkened sky.

  “What specifically aren’t you over? What did I do that was so bad that you can’t move past it?” The images of that night three years ago come back to me. The way she writhed under me; fuck, she sought me out. She wanted me. She came back to me, and I gave her everything I had.

  “You mean after you fucked me and called me your whore?” she asks, although I can hear the trace of lust on her lips. “Or maybe you mean when you came into my apartment yelling at me, screaming about how you were so worried--”

  “Don’t minimize the way I feel,” I cut her off, my voice dangerously low as my lungs seize inside of me. She was supposed to come into the bar after me so everyone wouldn’t know we just fucked after being apart for almost a month. She said she’d straighten up, so I should go in first. But she never came. Fifteen minutes passed before I banged on the women’s bathroom door, finding it empty except for some brunette who looked pissed off until she saw me.

  “If you’re angry I raised my voice, I’m sorry.” My chest aches with a sadness I know goes back to the way my parents fought. They screamed at each other; that’s how they spoke to one another. And that night, I know I yelled at her when I saw she was just fine and hiding in her apartment. “You scared me, Soph. I thought something bad had happened to you,” I tell her with sincerity I know she can hear. I know she can feel it.

  “Well, you scare me, so we’re even.” Her voice is small, and it wavers as her eyes turn glossy.

  “How? What did I do?” I nearly choke on my next words as I say, “I didn’t know about your parents.” My throat’s so damn tight. “If I had known--”

&nbs
p; “You would have been gentler with me?” Sophie’s teeth dig into her bottom lip as she reaches up, putting both of her hands on my desk to lean forward. “My problem isn’t how you treat me when I’m with you, Madox. It’s that when I’m not with you, that’s fine to you too. You don’t mind either way.”

  “Bullshit.” The word comes out of me easily. “If I didn’t care, this right here wouldn’t hurt so fucking much.”

  “I told you if you wanted me to stay, to just tell me so.”

  “I don’t remember it that way,” I tell her, standing up from my desk and walking toward her. The motion closes the space between us and she stands up to face me, her ass hitting the chair now behind her, making it creak against the wooden floors as it does.

  When we fight, it’s fire against fire. And I can see the sparks in her eyes. The venom in her voice is nothing compared to the lust. I know she still wants me. I can hear it and see it when she fights. She wouldn’t be hurting if she didn’t love me.

  Please, just love me.

  “The way I remember it is you telling me that you were worth more.” It’s hard to push out those words, because she was. She was worth everything; I just failed to prove it to her. Over and over again. “And then the next thing I heard, you’d flown across the country with Brett’s sister because your parents died. That’s more than a little something that may have helped me understand what you needed.”

  Although her face crumples, she keeps her composure steady in her voice.

  “I texted you the next morning before I left. I said if you wanted me to stay, then tell me that.”

  Bullshit is on the tip of my tongue again, but there’s a look in Soph’s eyes I don’t see often. Pure pain and agony. There are times to push, and times to fight. That morning she left, I didn’t hear a single word from her. I know that. It’s a fucking fact. She never messaged me.