The Fisherman Series : Special Edition

by Jewel E. Ann

  On a sigh, I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Reese, don’t do this. Nothing good will come of it. I’ll be home Sunday night. It’s just two more nights. I’m not happy about this situation, but we’ve discussed this ad nauseam. One month. It ends in one month. We’ve got this, right?”

  Another long pause.

  “I love you today,” I said.

  Nothing from her.

  “Reese?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I love you. You. Youuu. Okay? Don’t doubt that for one second. Go to my house. Crawl in my bed. And think of all the things I’m going to do to you when I get home on Sunday.”

  “Yeah.” Her voice broke.

  “Jesus … stop. Give me more than a ‘yeah.’ Tell me you love me. Or be honest and tell me you’re pissed off that I agreed to come here. Give me something more than one emotionless word.”

  “I love you. And I’m pissed off that you agreed to go to Costa Rica with your fiancée.”

  “Stop calling her my fiancée.” Again, I sighed. I was just so tired of waiting. It was so much harder than I imagined it would be. With Reese, I felt impatient. I wanted her in the moment. In every moment.

  “Is she still wearing the diamond ring you gave her? When she introduces you to everyone at the wedding as her fiancé, are you going to correct her? If not, then she’s your fiancée. And I’m the slutty mistress.”

  “Reese Capshaw, knock that shit off.”

  She blew out a slow breath. “I’m at work now. I have to go.”

  “This ends. When I get home this ends. I’m not doing this any longer. Fuck my memory. Fuck my family loyalty. I can’t do this another month. I want you. That’s it. You. So go sulk. You have three days for your pity party. Then I’m going to tie you to …”

  It was so vivid, too vivid to be the memory of a dream.

  My workshop. Happy Meals.

  And zip ties.

  I tied her to the stool and did things to her that were not professional or any sort of favor to Rory.

  “Jesus …” I whispered.

  We didn’t just fall in love.

  “What the fuck, Reese …” I shook my head as everything in the lobby spun, as the chattering of people distorted into nothing more than distant echoes.

  “Reese?” I held my phone out, blinking hard to see the screen because the disbelief … the reality of it made me dizzy and nauseous. She ended the call.

  I called her back.

  It went to voicemail.

  I called again and again, leaning against a large pillar next to the elevators. Closing my eyes, I fought for more. There had to be more.

  When I first met her …

  All the moments that led to me tying her to a stool, removing her pants, and burying my face between her spread legs …

  It wasn’t okay for her to leave me with that. Nothing was okay.

  Calling her another dozen times, I slowly started to lose my mind just as I thought I was getting it back.

  Angie: Where are you?

  As I stared at Angie’s text, I brought up that window on my phone and scrolled down. Did I ever text Reese? She worked for me, so surely I did.

  When I found her name, I scrolled through messages from years earlier.

  Fisher: I’m sorry.

  Fisher: Are you going to stay mad at me forever?

  Fisher: I’ll call my family and tell them it was a lie. That I just wanted to be alone with you.

  I texted her a screenshot of those old texts with the message: Why did I want to be alone with you?

  I knew, sort of. But I needed her to piece it all together. I needed everything. And something told me she was the only person who could fill all the empty holes.

  Another old text:

  Reese: Hi. Rose isn’t going to tell Rory or anyone.

  “Tell Rory what,” I whispered to myself as I continued to shake my foggy head side to side.

  I read more texts that didn’t register yet. So again, I took a screen shot and sent it to her.

  Fisher: Where are you?

  Fisher: Answer your phone.

  Fisher: I’m sorry.

  Fisher: Please pick up your phone.

  Fisher: Don’t make me call Rory

  My message after the screenshot was a little more impatient: WHAT THE HELL?!!!

  The police? Why would I have threatened to call the police?

  I continued reading the old texts from later dates.

  Fisher: If you’re not dead, text Rory and tell her you made it safely to Houston. Don’t be a total asshole about it.

  Reese: Go fuck yourself.

  With every text I read, my anger grew. Why did she keep this from me? I called her again—over and over.

  No answer.

  So I texted her again.

  PICK UP YOUR GODDAMN PHONE!!!!!

  MESSAGE ME THE FUCK BACK!

  I ZIP-TIED YOU TO THE STOOL IN MY SHOP! WE WERE MORE THAN FRIENDS AND YOU GODDAMN KNOW IT!

  Angie texted me again, so I tried to pull myself together before heading back to the room to shower. She spent the next hour talking to me about the day’s plans and the wedding. I heard nothing.

  Just before our massage, I messaged Reese again: Who are you? Why did you do this to me?

  After the massage, I turned my phone back on. There was a text from her.

  Reese: Don’t be mad. PLEASE don’t be mad. PLEASE let’s talk about it when you get home. I love you.

  Love? I wasn’t sure she knew what it meant to love someone.

  When we returned to the hotel, Angie took a shower and I helped myself to the mini bar. There wasn’t enough alcohol to make me forget that one memory, but I needed something to numb the pain.

  As I downed my second bottle of vodka, my phone vibrated. I debated not answering it when Reese’s name appeared on my screen, but I wasn’t as cruel as her.

  “I can’t talk now.” Okay, I was a little cruel.

  “I love you. I’ve loved you for so long.”

  “I can’t talk now.”

  She breathed out a defeated sigh. “When can we talk?”

  “When I’m ready.”

  “Are you with Angie?”

  I found it rich that she wanted so much information from me when she gave me nothing.

  “She’s still in the shower.”

  “I couldn’t talk either. I was late for work.”

  I downed more alcohol and stared out the window. “Well, I can’t talk now. I guess we’ll talk if or when it works out.”

  “If? Don’t do this. Don’t cherry-pick pieces of your past and try to piece them together by yourself. Making assumptions. Nothing about us was simple.”

  “No shit.”

  “Fisher …” her shaky voice broke as she said my name. She was crying.

  “Angie put it all on the table. What the fuck did you do? Was it a game?”

  “No! It wasn’t a game. I wanted …” She paused.

  When she didn’t continue, I tossed the bottle in the trash. “I have to go.”

  “Fisher … I love you.”

  I ended the call.

  Fisher

  Chapter Thirty

  “My fiancée is the most handsome man ever,” Angie said, straightening my tie after I did a sloppy job of tying it. “Did you get into the minibar?” Her nose wrinkled before she glanced at the trash.

  “We need to talk,” I said, stepping back and ignoring her minibar comment.

  “About?”

  I slipped on my jacket. “Not now. I can’t think, but soon.”

  She frowned. “You’ve been off all afternoon. And now you’re raiding the minibar. What’s going on, Fish?”

  “Later.” I headed toward the hotel room door as she checked her makeup one last time in the mirror.

  We attended the beach wedding, but I couldn’t wait for the reception. I needed more alcohol. I did what I was told to do.

  Pose.

  Smile.

  Hold Angie’s hand like we were a rea
l couple.

  Finally, I had a beer in my hand.

  And then another.

  And another.

  It seemed like magic that I woke up in the hotel room, but I couldn’t remember how I got there.

  “We need to get this off you,” Angie said.

  “No.” I shoved her hands away as she unbuttoned my pants. “It’s not you.”

  “Fisher, stop.” She fought with my hands, again trying to get my pants off. “You have vomit all over you.”

  “Stop,” I repeated, losing the fight. “It’s not you.”

  “It is me. Who do you think I am?”

  Fisher …

  Reese’s voice.

  She’s naked in my tub. Then she’s backed against a wall saying something. “Are you going to kiss me?” I kiss her.

  She trips going up a hill. There’s a nail in her hand. I carry her to my truck.

  Those eyes … she’s scared but trying to be brave.

  So much guilt … she’s eighteen, and I can’t stop thinking about her.

  She’s sketching crossword puzzles in my truck. A cruciverbalist. With a nervous glance at me, she bites her lower lip like she thinks I’m judging her for her hobby. I’m not. I’m fucking mesmerized by it … by her.

  Fisher …

  Her voice.

  Her touch.

  Her tears.

  Arnie’s concert.

  Her naked on my pool table.

  So much guilt … it’s not our time. I have to be the adult, but I selfishly want her.

  Her nervous hands removing her clothes. We’re in the basement in her old bed.

  We’re in my bed and I’m rolling on a condom. Tears … I’m making her cry. My chest hurts and I can’t breathe. I love her, and I’m letting her go.

  “Sorry, baby,” Angie said as cold water washed over my naked body, erasing Reese’s voice in my head, but the images remained.

  Her.

  Us.

  It was all there. We are more than friends. We were lovers. Forbidden. And I let her go.

  “What’s going on, baby? Why did you drink so much? Are you trying to kill yourself again?”

  “It’s not you,” I said again, the slur of my voice so foreign to my own ears as she washed me with pungent soap and a washcloth.

  “It is me, baby. I’ve got you.”

  Everything moved in slow motion. Her helping me out of the shower, forcing me to drink water. Vomiting half the night. Waking up naked in bed as she sat next to me sipping coffee.

  “Morning, baby. We have to check out soon.”

  My fucking head. I sat up slowly, realizing I was naked. “Jesus … did we …”

  “Wow.” She set her coffee aside and curled her hair behind her ears. “Seriously, Fish? Does the idea of having sex with your fiancée really repulse you that much?”

  Tugging the sheet to wrap it around my waist, I eased my legs off the side of the bed and bowed my head while my other hand rubbed my temples. I drank more the previous night than I think I had ever drank in my life. And even then, it didn’t stop me from remembering everything.

  “I broke up with you …” I whispered.

  “What?”

  “I broke up with you,” I repeated a little louder. “Before my accident, I broke off the engagement.”

  Silence.

  When she didn’t respond, I lumbered to my feet and stopped when I reached the end of the bed, lifting my gaze and my throbbing head to look at her.

  Tears filled her eyes. “You remember.”

  “Yeah,” I continued toward the bathroom.

  “How much do you remember?”

  “Everything,” I said, just before shutting the bathroom door.

  Angie couldn’t find a single word to share with me on the flights back to Denver. I had lots to say, just not on the plane.

  “I love you,” she said, climbing out at her friend’s house before I could say anything.

  I retrieved her suitcase from the back. “Angie …”

  Still, she wouldn’t look at me. “Not yet. Just … please. Not yet.

  I nodded slowly.

  The next day, I texted Reese: I’m home if you want to talk.

  Reese: I’m at a birth.

  It was for the best that I couldn’t see her yet. I wasn’t sure what I would say, and I needed to finish some things with Angie. Her roommate was working, so I met Angie at her house.

  “Hey,” she said with a reserved smile while motioning for me to come inside.

  I toed off my boots and shrugged out of my coat.

  “Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Beer?”

  I shook my head.

  “Well, have a seat.” She nodded to the sofa and sat at the opposite end.

  After some awkward silence, she blew out a breath and stared out the front window. “I don’t remember a day in my life where I didn’t love you, Fisher. You’ve always been my best friend.” And just like that … she cracked, wiping a few tears. “That morning … when you broke off the engagement, I felt like it was a knee-jerk reaction to other things going on in your life. I felt like you didn’t want to discuss fabric swatches and cake flavors, so you overreacted and called off the wedding.”

  I thought about that morning and the days leading up to it. Honestly, I hadn’t been quite right since Rory and Rose went to Michigan for Reese’s graduation. Since I wrote her the note on the card. Since I told my heart it was time to really let her go. Every day after that started to feel like a second-choice life. And Angie felt like a consolation prize. I deserved more. Angie deserved more too. I knew it then, even if I did a terrible job of articulating it.

  “Angie,” I pressed my lips together and gazed at the floor for a few seconds, “I … I love you too. We’ve been through too much for me to not love you. I just don’t love you like a man should love his wife. Maybe…” I shook my head “…I don’t know, maybe I did at one point. Somewhere along the way, the love I felt started to feel like an extension of the love my family has felt for you. Not being with you felt like a disappointment to not only you, but to my family. And that’s no excuse; it just is.”

  She sniffled, wiping more tears.

  It wasn’t easy breaking her heart. I did love her.

  “That morning, I did have a knee-jerk reaction, but it wasn’t breaking off the engagement. It was how I did it. And had I not been in an accident, I know I would have apologized for how I ended things. I just didn’t get the chance.”

  “Was…” she drew in a shaky breath “…was there someone else? Is there someone else?”

  It was time. I had the memories. I couldn’t hide behind the things I didn’t know, didn’t remember. She deserved the truth, even if she didn’t give the whole truth to me. Was I supposed to hate her for loving me too much? For holding on too hard?

  “Yes,” I whispered.

  She choked on another sob, trying to keep from falling apart as she silently shook. I reached over and rested my hand on hers, giving it a tight squeeze.

  “Y-you love her m-more?”

  Swallowing past my own emotion, I nodded.

  “Who?”

  “H-how long?”

  Panic overtook her. Maybe it wasn’t panic; maybe it was pain.

  “Does she know about m-me?”

  “Angie …” I said softly. “Don’t do this. It doesn’t matter. I’m sorry … it just doesn’t.”

  She pressed her other hand to her chest and cried.

  I kneeled in front of her and pulled her into my chest, wanting to take away the pain that I’d caused but knowing it had to happen. We had to say the words and feel the pain. I knew my inability to love her the same way had to hurt the most, but I wasn’t immune to my own pain. Part of me felt like a failure. Hurting her also hurt me.

  Overnight it snowed, and I woke early to start clearing driveways, including Rory’s and Rose’s. I was grateful for the distraction. I was grateful to feel close to her.

  After I finished, I loaded up
the snowblower and glanced back at the house and the open garage door. Reese stood inside in a jacket, hat, and boots. It took everything I had to not run to her and tell her I remembered everything. My mind harnessed my heart, telling it to be patient. It still had some things to work out, questions that needed answers.

  As I trekked back up the driveway, Reese gave me a half smile. “Thanks for doing that.”

  “It’s no big deal.” I brushed snow off my coat. “Do you have time to grab coffee?” I glanced at my watch. “Starbucks opens in fifteen minutes.”

  Her lips twisted for several seconds before she nodded once. “Okay. Let me grab my purse.”

  “Okay.”

  When she returned with her purse, I took her hand and helped her down the slick driveway. We made the silent trip to Starbucks. The silence killed me. Again, taking her hand, I guided her into Starbucks.

  “My treat,” she said as we approached the counter. “You plowed the driveway. Coffee. Black?”

  I nodded.

  As she ordered our drinks, I grabbed a table, pulling off my gloves and shrugging out of my jacket. After she brought our drinks to the table, she slipped off her jacket, only giving me a quick, shy glance.

  “We were more than friends,” I said, feeling unexpected pain from the words. I thought I had it under control, but being so close to her messed with my emotions.

  “We were more than friends,” she murmured before sipping her coffee.

  “And you didn’t tell me this why?”

  Slowly shaking her head, she pressed her lips together for a moment. “For several reasons. At first, I didn’t think it was beneficial information to share given the fact that you were engaged, and we hadn’t seen each other in five years anyway. And I didn’t want to give you something you couldn’t remember and make you feel like you owed me something in return. Some sort of emotional acknowledgment. And honestly, I didn’t need it. I liked where we were going. I liked our present. And the closer we got, the less I cared if we shared the past.”

  “So we … what? We were just fucking around?”

  I wasn’t asking anything I didn’t already know the answer to. Maybe it was shitty of me not to tell her that I remembered everything, but I felt like I deserved to have that moment. To ask questions. Maybe I felt like I deserved to lie a little too. I so badly needed to know why. And I needed to know if she was done lying.