by Johnson, Cat
I, however, found myself on a roll. Two years of pent-up frustration and anger and disappointment spilled out, scorching everyone in spitting distance. “A mistake? You broke my goddamn heart, Booker, and then simply walked away. That’s not a mistake. That’s a heartless bastard in action. A part you play to perfection, as it turned out.”
His lips twisted, and he shook his head. I waited for a barbed comeback. It never arrived. Instead, he opened the curtain and beckoned over the steward.
“Scotch and soda, please. No ice.” He turned to me. “Cass?”
Our argument wasn’t the steward’s fault, and so I replied with, “A glass of the Sauvignon, please.”
“What happened to Malibu and Coke?” Booker asked.
My eyes lashed hatred, searing his skin. “Again, if you’d stuck around, you’d know the answer to that, Booker.”
“Cass.”
He sighed heavily, his voice hinting at reconciliation. Or rather pleading for it. Unfortunately for him, I wasn’t in the mood for magnanimity. I reached into my carry-on bag and removed a magazine. Crossing my legs, I flicked through the pages, completely disinterested in the articles, the words blurring into one another.
Booker was here. Sitting right beside me. I could hear the rustle of his suit jacket as he moved, smell his unique scent, recall the feel of his lips, even though I hadn’t kissed him in years. Time folded in on itself, as if we’d been thrust into a black hole. I was right back there, watching with tears flowing down my cheeks as he walked away from me. It had taken me ages to function properly as a human being. For months I’d walked around in a zombie-like state, work my only solace, and now, just as I thought I’d moved on, bam! He blew back into my life.
The steward brought our drinks over and I gulped at least half the glass in one go. Booker messed about on his phone, appearing to respect my request to avoid conversation. And now he had, I craved the sound of his voice, the way it rumbled through his chest, the deep timbre that wrapped around me like a warm scarf on a winter’s day.
The steward collected our glasses, and I fastened my seat belt, ready for takeoff. I wouldn’t say flying was my favorite activity, but it didn’t scare me. As we hurtled down the runway, I closed my eyes and let the rocking of the plane and the sound of the engines lull me to sleep.
Sometime later, I jerked awake, or rather was jerked awake by the lurch of the plane. My hand automatically clasped Booker’s. “What was that?”
His fingers curled around mine, the familiarity of such a simple action pulling my heartstrings tight.
“It’s okay, Cass. Just some turbulence.”
“Oh.”
Rather than snatch my hand back, I eased it from beneath his. His lips twisted wryly, but he didn’t comment.
“I’m awake now. How long until we land?”
He checked his watch. “Thirty minutes. We’ll be descending soon.”
I sat up straight, stretched my arms overhead, and yawned. Booker’s eyes dropped to my chest and even when I glared at him, letting him know I’d seen, he didn’t avert his gaze.
“Would you mind not staring at my chest? Creeper.”
My coldness didn’t seem to affect him in the slightest. Instead, he threw back his head and laughed.
I’ve missed your laugh.
For a horrible second, I thought I’d said that out loud. The last thing Booker needed was a free pass. To know how much I still hurt.
“Why not? You’ve got a great rack.”
I huffed. “How would you like it if I stared at your crotch?” When his eyes twinkled, I rolled mine. “Don’t answer that.”
He laughed again, and I swear the guy sitting across the aisle chuckled too. Jesus, this really had turned into the flight from hell. Landing couldn’t come fast enough.
The second the plane drew to a halt at its gate, and the captain turned off the fasten seat belt signs, I got to my feet and slid by Booker before he’d even unclipped his belt. I opened the overhead bin and grabbed my bag.
“Bye, Booker. I’d like to say it was nice to see you. It wasn’t.”
I stomped toward the exit and was first to disembark. I strode down the jetway, mingling with the throngs of locals and tourists alike. Immigration was a cattle market, but I passed through without too much trouble and made my way to carousel five to pick up my luggage, which was already on the belt when I arrived. Another benefit to traveling in first.
The line for taxis snaked a fair way, but it moved fast, and soon I found myself at the front. The driver put my bag in the trunk and I climbed in the back, but as I went to close the door, a large hand grabbed the top of it and Booker slid in beside me.
“Might as well share, huh, Cass? Especially as we’re headed the same way.”
“No!” I exclaimed. “Get out, Booker. I don’t want to travel with you.”
The driver craned his neck in our direction. “We good?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
Booker clipped his seat belt in place and gave the driver our destination. Goddamn the man. He’d always been a stubborn asshole, and time hadn’t changed that. I folded my arms across my chest and stared out the window. I’d looked forward to this trip back home for weeks, especially as my job as an Assistant DA meant I worked insane hours and had very little time for myself. So far, the entire thing sucked. How the hell would I avoid him, especially as his parents only lived two blocks over from mine? Every time I set foot out of the house, I’d be on high alert. Not exactly the relaxing vacation I’d planned.
The cab coasted to a stop outside my place first. I reached into my purse, but didn’t get far before Booker’s firm touch stopped me.
“I’ve got this, Cass.”
I almost argued. Y’know, feminist and all that. And then I thought, screw him. But if he expected a thank you in return, he’d better settle in for a long wait.
Without a word, I climbed out of the cab. The driver had already put my luggage on the sidewalk. I thanked him and started dragging it into the house when Booker’s voice boomed across my front yard.
“I’ll be seeing you, Cass.”
“Not if I see you first, jerkoff,” I mumbled.
2
Booker
My eyes followed Cass up the path toward her parents’ front door, and as the cab pulled away from the curb, I caught a glimpse of her mom and dad flinging their arms around her, hiding her from view. I pressed a clenched fist to my sternum, hoping to hold my heart together. Except it had splintered into a million pieces two years ago when I walked away from the only woman I’d ever loved and will ever love.
Was it a mistake? Possibly. Seeing her again today, though, I’d do the same all over again. I’d been to hell and back, but it would’ve been worse if Cass had gone through it with me. Sitting in the doctor’s office that day to be told I had stage two bowel cancer and that I’d need surgery as well as chemotherapy, I had decided to go it alone. I hadn’t even told my family. The thought of having to tell my mom she might have to bury her only child… No. Better to keep it from them and fight the good fight alone. I’d kept in touch with them via phone and the odd Zoom call and had cited work pressures as the reason for my sporadic contact.
After Cass and I split, I’d expected her to unfriend me from all her social media accounts, but she hadn’t. That omission had allowed me to follow her life, hence I’d known she planned to return home for Christmas. Booking the same flight as her might put me firmly in the stalker category, but now that my cancer was finally in remission, and the doctors saw no reason I wouldn’t live for a very long time, I was determined to win her back.
Her icy response on the flight down here meant I had my work cut out for me, but I’d never run from a fight in my life, and I didn’t intend to start now.
I paid the cab driver and trudged up the path to my parents’ two-story home. Mom had planted winter flowers in the borders, creating a spray of color. As I was few feet from the front door, it swung open and Mom c
ame rushing out, enveloping me in a cloud of Chanel No. 5 and a chiffon scarf.
“Booker! Oh, I can’t believe you’re finally here.” She clung to me so tightly that I could barely breathe and it took Dad’s, “For goodness’ sake, Pam, stop strangling the boy,” for her to loosen her hold.
“Dad,” I said, accepting his firm handshake accompanied by a clap on my shoulder. “It’s great to be home.”
I grabbed my suitcase and trailed inside. My old bedroom remained the same as ever, and the familiarity of it brought a lump to my throat. I swallowed it down and let it sit in my stomach, a ball of emotion that threatened to spill out of me if I didn’t get a handle on it. Seeing Cass and my parents after such a long, self-inflicted absence had left me on the edge of a great void, one that if I allowed myself to tumble into, I might never claw my way back out of.
Before cancer, I hadn’t really been the emotional type, but now, I wanted to hold those I loved close to me and never let them go.
I’d seen a therapist throughout the entire treatment period, and she’d never let up on the fact that I should tell my parents at least, even if I wanted to spare Cass from the horror of what chemotherapy does to a person’s body and mind, but I’d stubbornly refused. And I stood by that decision wholeheartedly. But now it was behind me, I considered whether the time had come to tell them everything, especially given the excellent prognosis.
I vacillated back and forth, to be honest, and still hadn’t made the final decision.
The kitchen smelled of home. Freshly baked bread, the bitter aroma of coffee—Dad always had a pot on—and an enormous vase of flowers on the window ledge that I’d bet Mom had taken straight from her garden.
“Come. Sit,” Mom urged, patting the seat next to hers at the worn oak table that sat in the middle of the large kitchen. “How was your flight?”
“I saw Cass,” I blurted. My parents knew we’d split up, but not the details surrounding it. They hadn’t pressed, and I hadn’t seen fit to pass off the real reason with a lie.
Mom’s eyes misted over. She’d always assumed Cass and I would marry one day, and finally she’d have the daughter she craved. We’d known each other since junior high and had dated steadily since high school. I’d followed Cass to Boston. She’d attended Harvard Law School, and I’d gone down the business route, and then when she’d secured a position at the DA’s office in Chicago, I’d followed her there, too.
And then cancer had fucked everything up.
“How is she?” Dad asked when Mom seemed incapable of speech.
Pissed at me. Seriously pissed. “Good. She’s real good.”
Mom sniffed. “I still don’t understand why you two aren’t together.”
I reached for her hand, squeezing her gnarled fingers. “Life’s complicated, Mom.”
She sniffed again, but didn’t question me further. We spent the rest of the day catching up, but as dusk fell and Mom and Dad settled down in front of the TV, an urge to see Cass came over me. She’d probably send me away with a flea in my ear, or her dad might chase me down the street with a baseball bat, but those possibilities didn’t stop me from shoving my feet into a pair of sneakers and walking the ten minutes to her place.
A soft yellow light peeked through a gap in the drapes. I raised my hand and rapped once on the door. The drapes shifted and Cass’s face appeared. She glowered, and a few seconds later, she opened the front door.
“What do you want, Booker?”
I stuffed my hands into the front pocket of my jeans, mostly to anchor them there. If I left them hanging loose, they might reach for her, and a slap to the face wasn’t on my list of must-dos on this trip home.
“Fancy taking a walk down to McGovern’s?”
McGovern’s was a sports bar about a twenty-minute stroll away, a regular haunt for Cass and I before we’d left Miami, and was always on the list when we came home from college.
Her eyes narrowed, and she folded her arms beneath her chest. On auto-pilot, my eyes slipped south, and a memory assailed me from nowhere. A lazy Sunday morning, Cass lying on our bed, her arms overhead while I ate strawberries and cream off her rack. I could still hear her giggles as I tried to balance one on each of her nipples. Eventually, I’d made a little dent with my pinky and slotted them over the raised peaks.
“Booker!”
“Sorry, what?”
“Jesus Christ, will you quit looking at my boobs?”
“Only if you agree to come out with me. Otherwise, I’m standing here all night. I’ll even let you beat me at pool.”
She snorted. “I don’t need you to let me do anything. You know as well as I do that I’ll whoop your ass.”
I hit her with my playful smile, the one she never used to be able to resist. “Come on, Cass. I don’t know about your folks, but mine are already snuggled on the couch watching Extreme Makeover, and I, for one, am about thirty years too young for that show. One drink. One game of pool, and then I’ll walk you straight home.”
She glanced over her shoulder, and her teeth grazed her bottom lip. I bit back a groan. God, I wanted to do that.
“Fine, but do not think for one second that I’ve forgiven you for what you did. You hurt me, Booker, and I’ll never forget that.”
Her words opened a jagged wound in my heart, but I nodded, accepting her wrath. What other choice did I have?
We walked to McGovern’s in silence, not intentionally on my part, but every time I tried to strike up a conversation, Cass answered in grunts or huffs. I hoped after a margarita or two she might lighten up a little and allow a chink of hope to seep through the gloom.
Noise from the bar reached us as I opened the door and ushered Cass inside. The place was packed—unsurprisingly for a Friday night—but I managed to find us a table near the back. All the pool tables were full, so after we ordered our drinks I left Cass to go put our name down on the list. When I returned, she’d already drunk half of her margarita. I hoped that would make her more civil.
“We should get a table soon,” I said, referring to the pool list.
She nodded as she scanned the room. It seemed looking anywhere other than at me was preferable.
“How’s work?” I asked, internally groaning at such a pitiful opener.
“Good. You?”
“Yeah, good. Busy. The business is really taking off.”
She gave me her eyes then, and I wanted to drown in them. Cass’s ice-blue eyes had always drawn me in. I used to sit across the table from her at home and just stare into them for minutes on end.
“I always knew you’d make a success of it.”
“And what about you? I bet you’ll be DA before you’re thirty-five.”
She sighed heavily and took another long drink of her margarita. I gestured to the server to bring her another.
“Is this what we’ve become, Booker? Strangers who have nothing to say to each other and so fall back on work? If that’s the case, I’d rather sit in silence.”
I clasped a hand to my chest. “Wow. That dagger hit its mark.”
She shook her head sadly. “If I’d known you were going to be on that flight, I’d have taken another.”
I waited for the server to drop her drink before I answered. “I’m so sorry, Cass.”
“Are you?”
I nodded. “Walking away from you is my biggest regret.”
“Then why did you do it?”
I didn’t come out tonight intending to spill my guts, so when they splattered all over the roughened oak flooring, no one was more surprised than me.
“Because I thought I was going to die.”
3
Cass
The music and laughter in the bar boomed so much I’d have bet everything I owned that I’d misheard Booker. Which was why my eyebrows arrowed inward in a deep frown as I asked, “Sorry, what did you say?”
He appeared startled, as if the words he’d spoken hadn’t asked for his permission before spilling out. He swallowed, hard, his Adam’s
apple bobbing, drawing my eye. His tongue dampened his lips, and he lifted his beer to them, taking several deep pulls on the bottle.
“I had cancer, Cass.”
My world collapsed, the pain so acute I clutched my chest and actually swayed on the stool. Booker’s hand shot out to steady me. Panic slid into my veins, and my lungs struggled for air. This can’t be. Not Booker.
“You’ve got cancer?” I whispered.
“Had,” he stated. “I’m in remission.”
“Wha-what does that mean?”
“It means that, for now, the cancer has gone.”
“For now?”
He nodded, his eyes glazing over as he looked past me, over my left shoulder. “There are no guarantees. I could live until I’m ninety, or it could come back at any time and…” He trailed off, hitching up his left shoulder in a show of indifference steeped in lies.
“When?” I demanded, the lawyer in me needing the details, and determined to drill for them until he provided every fact. “When were you diagnosed?”
His chin tucked into his chest and he lowered his gaze and began peeling the label off his beer bottle. “The day we broke up.”
Realization hit me right between the eyes, and my hands curled into fists as a fierce, burning anger stole the breath from my lungs. My stomach churned and rolled, and I swallowed the scream of frustration that threatened to blow the roof off this place if I let it out. Betrayal, fury, sadness that he hadn’t trusted me enough. All those feelings swamped me at once, and I didn’t know what to do with a single one of them.
“Cass. Say something.”
My face felt hot, and I unfurled my stiff fingers to press my palms to my cheeks. Stumbling to my feet, I knocked over my margarita and the glass shattered into a million pieces at my feet. Oh, the synergy.
“Cass, wait.”
I hadn’t realized my feet were moving until Booker’s voice reached me. His hand gripped my shoulder, but I shook him off. “Let me go, Booker.” I laughed hysterically. “It’s what you’re good at.”
