by Sara Cate
If I could have done things differently, she’d still be here. I’d still have no fucking interest in this meeting, but at least I’d have her company to make it worth it.
“It’s fine, Charlotte. Send it over and I’ll sign it.”
“Yes, sir,” she answers.
The line goes dead. Glancing down at my laptop, I see everyone has left the call, so I slam it closed and breathe out a heavy sigh. Across my office, the book Zara bought me for Christmas sits unopened on the table next to the heavy, leather chair.
I know the board will start talking about my removal before long. If I don’t get my head out of this funk it’s in, I’m done for. But what could be so bad about that? Live comfortably for the rest of my days out here on the island. Alone.
At least Nash has come out of this better in some way.
I spot him moving toward the house, and I jump out of my seat. I don’t know what’s changed but I suddenly need to get this shit off my chest.
“Nash,” I call as he crosses the kitchen. He stops in his tracks, turning to face me, his eyes wide. I didn’t really plan what I would say after this so we just stand and stare at each other for a moment. “Son, I…”
“I’m going to Amsterdam,” he says, cutting me off.
“I know. They called me after you applied,” I tell him, not wanting any more secrets between us. “I think it’s a great move, but it doesn’t matter what I think.”
“Yes, it does.” His tone is so calm, so sure of himself. He walks with a new air of confidence now, and it’s slowly culminated over the last couple of months, but I swear I noticed a change after the three year anniversary of Preston’s death last week.
“Well, I’m proud of you. I think this is a good idea for you.”
“Thank you,” he mumbles, his stare meeting mine.
At that moment, I can’t help but question if I did the right thing. Was inviting Zara here for him a good idea? He’s clearly come out of it on the right side, but would that have happened without her?
“I saw her last week,” he says as if he can read my mind. “At the overlook.”
Ah, that’s right. While I shut the world off and got shit-faced on the anniversary of my son’s death, Nash was visiting him at the crash site.
It’s hard as fuck, but I try to hide any emotion from my face, like hope or regret. I don’t want him to know how jealous that makes me or that I’m desperate to know if she even asked about me. But I don’t. More than anything, I have to move on.
“Are you hungry?” I ask, looking at the empty kitchen, suddenly restless and needing to do something with my hands.
“Sure,” he answers, taking a seat on the kitchen stool.
While I prepare us Chicken Cattiatore for dinner, we do nothing but talk. Mostly, he talks, telling me about the program and for the first time in a long time, he sounds excited about his future. When he brings up how Wilde Aviation could run a similar program, I shake my head.
“I think I’m done, Nash. I think it’s time to sell the company.”
His jaw drops. “What? You can’t be serious.”
“I don't have anything new to offer this company. Why don’t I just hand it over to someone who can take it to the next level?”
When I turn around from my stove, my son is staring at me with his brow pinched in anger. “You tell me I have to move on, and I have to start thinking about my future and you sit there and act like your life is already over. The dad I knew didn’t pass things along or act like anyone could do a better job than him. You built Wilde from the ground up. You knew innovation then, and you can still learn it now. So stop acting like you’re done. You’re not fucking done.”
My eyebrows are raised high as I stare at him. “Shit, okay. Calm down,” I mutter, turning back to the chicken sizzling in the pan.
“And, I think you should call her,” he adds. My shoulders instantly tense.
“No.” I shake my head.
“I’m serious, Dad. She needs to see how fucking bad you are without her.”
Spinning around, I gape at him in shock. “I’m not doing that bad.”
“The fuck you aren’t.”
“Nash, things between Zara and I were… I shouldn’t have—” I keep trying to stammer my way through the excuses, but he’s not buying them.
“Do you know why I agreed to do what we did? When we brought her back to Del Rey, I was jealous, sure, but I kept the whole thing up because Zara was the only thing that kept us together. She was the only thing that kept you together, and I liked seeing you so happy—even if I was a dick about it. She was never meant for me, Dad. She was meant for you...”
His words pierce my fucking cold, dead heart, making it hurt like a bitch every time I have to swallow. But I keep the hope away. “She wouldn’t talk to me, Nash. I ruined it and it’s time to move on.”
As I put his food down in front of him, he’s giving me a pleading expression.
“No, we have to leave her alone. If she wants to come back, she knows where to find me.”
Without touching his plate, he slams his fork down. “Find you?” he asks, and I stare at him in shock. “When she left, did you beg her to stay? When I asked to share her, did you even put up a fight? Dad, she’s not going to come find you. She probably doesn’t even realize you still want her.”
Letting out a huff, he jumps up from his stool and walks away.
I stare down at my dinner, standing up in the kitchen, but after one bite, I toss my fork down. I’ve suddenly lost my appetite.
41
“Places, places,” I whisper to the little ones as they line up behind the curtain. Keeping eight little four-year olds focused and in place just seconds before we’re cued to walk on stage is somehow my favorite part of the whole performance. It’s the part that welcomes mess. So as one little boy starts crying that his shoes are too tight and another little girl sneezes so big the rest of the kids start screaming, I can’t help but laugh. It’s a deep belly laugh that hurts my cheeks, and then the music starts and I take the stage, trailed by sixteen little feet bouncing after me.
The crowd does their usual ooh’s and ahh’s while we go through the routine, me giving them their cues and each of them following along in their own time.
We get three quarters of the way through the song before I spot a familiar face in the back of the crowd, standing with his hands in his pockets and a slight smirk. I nearly fall off the stage. Missing my cue, one of the girls elbows me, and I do my best to catch up. The crowd laughs like we did it on purpose, and we manage to smile through it. Inside, my heart is about to jump straight out of my chest.
What is he doing here? No word for four months and then he just shows up at my students’ performance? Taking a deep breath, we finish our dance, all taking a bow. When I look up again, I don’t see him and almost panic that he’s gone.
No, it’s good if he’s gone. He needs to stay gone. I’m not ready to face him yet. I haven’t prepared what I will say if he tries to apologize.
After the show, I walk with the dancers out to where the parents pick them up. They swarm me, offering me flowers and asking to take pictures of me with the kids. It’s almost an hour before I’m free, and I feel his presence the entire time.
We’re in an almost empty lobby of the theatre before he speaks. “You look beautiful.”
“What are you doing here?” I ask, clutching onto the flowers to hide the shake in my hands. He looks so good it hurts. Like maybe he’s been working out in the last few months, but it’s probably the fact that his beard has grown in even more. He looks like some burly mountain man instead of the corporate man I left after Christmas.
“Nash told me about this. Said he saw it on Instagram. He said he’s sorry he can’t make it. He’s in Amsterdam now.”
“I know,” I mutter, trying to hide the shake in my voice. All of the things I’ve been telling myself over the last four months don't seem so strong anymore with him standing in front of me.
> You deserve better, Zara.
You shouldn’t be shared.
If he cared about you, he’d make you a priority.
He’d fight for you.
Don’t run back to his arms just because he shows up.
That last one is the hardest to listen to. I want to run back to his arms so bad. No. Make him earn it. Make him show it.
“Thanks for coming,” I stammer, forcing myself to turn around and rush back to the auditorium door. I hear him jogging behind me as he jumps in front, blocking the door before I can disappear, and he leans his body close to mine. I glance back at the few straggling families and smile.
“Excuse me,” I tell him, but he only leans down with a confident smirk.
“I know I fucked up, Zara. You deserved the truth back then, and I should have fought for you when I had the chance, so I’m glad you aren’t forgiving me right away. Don’t take me back, not yet. Make me work for it, baby”
“I don’t want your money,” I whisper, trying to keep my head held high. He smiles.
“Oh, this won’t be about money.”
I gulp. Then, he just steps away and walks toward the exit, leaving me breathless. As I walk toward the stage, I am in a daze.
“What has gotten into you?” Hanna asks as she meets me with my purse in her hand.
“Alistair was here,” I answer flatly. Her mouth hangs open as her eyes dance around looking for him.
“Are you…”
“No,” I shake my head. “No, I can’t go back there. I said goodbye.”
She’s quiet for a moment, staring at me like she can’t believe it, and I wish she would say something because I’m already second guessing my choice at the moment.
“Well, if you’re not going to chase him, can I?”
I let out a laugh and knock her with the back of my head. “Let’s go home. I need a drink.”
There’s a book on my doorstep a couple of days later. As I’m heading toward the studio, I nearly trip on it. Immediately, I recognize the cover, running my fingers over the title as I pick it up. Shadows of the Wind. Flipping it open, I find a note, scribbled in Alistair’s handwriting.
The author died a few years ago, but I was able to find a signed copy for you.
It was a fucked up love story, but I think you like fucked up love stories.
I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. Turning around, I drop the book on the table by the door and rush out. It’s just a gift. He’ll move on eventually.
He has to understand that while what we had for a moment was great, it wasn’t real. It was a fantasy, and we can never get that back now. It would never last. He thinks he wants me, but what about when life gets messy? What if I hold the Emma incident over his head forever? What if every time I kiss him, I think about her kissing him?
No. We’re both better off with fresh starts. I want to pretend the three months on Del Rey didn’t exist. Of course, I still took the money. It’s what afforded me this apartment with Hanna, and every penny is going toward my plan to open my own ballet studio.
For now, I’m teaching for free, but students are amazing. And since they come from different backgrounds, most of these kids couldn’t afford fancy dance classes and come from homes like mine, so it feels like my own little island of misfit dancers. Life may not have handed us a private island, but we’re making the best with what we have.
When I get to the studio, there is a general commotion in the dusty auditorium room of the city rec center where we hold our rehearsals. The kids are all ripping through boxes, ribbons and tulle everywhere.
“What is going on?” I shout to one of the other volunteers.
Hanna steps up, her hands on her hips and a pretentious smile on her face. “We received an anonymous donation today. All new uniforms and pointe shoes.”
Heat washes through me as I stare at the mess. “Put them back!” I yell.
“What? Why?” the volunteers gasp.
“We can’t accept these.”
Hanna grabs my arm and steers me away. “This is the nicest thing these kids have ever received. Shove your pride away and let them accept them.”
“He’s trying to buy me, Hanna.”
“No, he’s showering you with love. He’s making an effort.” I try to relax my hammering heart, but I can’t seem to quiet the thoughts racing through my head. “Besides,” she adds. “He didn’t buy anything for you.”
The kids are all pretty ecstatic, and since we just finished our performance, we let them take the rest of the rehearsal to play and be with their friends. When I finally leave with Hanna around eight that night, I somehow know he’ll be out there waiting.
He’s sitting on a bench outside the center, and this isn’t exactly in the best part of town.
I stop as soon as I see him, but Hanna keeps walking on by. “Hi, Alistair,” she mumbles with a smile as she passes.
“Hi, Hanna,” he replies. “Be safe getting home.”
She calls goodnight to me, but I try to pass him to catch up with her. “Let me get you home, please?”
“You’re not going to buy my time, Alistair. Your donations don’t mean I have to do anything for you.” I’m stomping past him, but he turns to keep up with me.
“I know they don’t. I’m just asking.”
“Oh, you ask now? That’s new,” I bark at him. He smiles a smug grin, his hands in his pockets as he walks next to me.
“It’s not easy.”
Hannah and a few of the others aren’t far ahead, and I don’t exactly feel like having this conversation with them around, so I stop and turn back to him. We’re in the parking lot when I spot the black Tesla looking so out of place.
Throwing my hands in the air, I turn toward it. “Fine. Let’s go.”
After a click, the door unlocks, and I climb in. When he sits in the seat next to me, he doesn’t start the engine right away. It’s quiet, and I don’t know what to say.
“Hungry?” he asks.
“No.”
“Did the kids like their costumes?”
“Of course they did.”
“Good.” Then, he puts his hand on the back of my seat and turns toward me. “I don’t want to go back to the way things were, Zara. Before you, when I thought having love in my life would only make my life harder. Now, do you know what I see, Zara?”
I’m finding it hard to breathe. The urge to turn and kiss him is strong. I miss the feel of his lips and the smell of his cologne. I miss the way his hands feel against my skin.
“What?” I whisper.
“I see us. Just us. I see you as my wife, maybe even kids? I see a whole new chapter for us.”
My throat stings, and tears well in my eyes. “Maybe if we had done things right, we could have had a chance, Alistair, but we’ve already fucked it all up.”
“Who says we fucked it up, Zara? Even Nash said you and I belonged together from the start.”
My head spins to look at him. “He said that?”
“Of course.”
I look away again. “Too much as happened, Alistair. I’m sorry.” Before I can stop myself, I jump out of the car and start to walk away. He’s there in a second, blocking my path.
“Let me drive you home, Zara.” When he touches my hand, I shudder. I can’t do physical contact with him or I’ll crumble, so I pull it away.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m afraid I’ll never be able to forgive you.”
His hand drops and his shoulders slump. “Come on.”
I follow him to the car, and we don’t say anything for the rest of the ride. When we pull up to my apartment, I thank him for the book and the donation, and I leave. The rest of the night, I let the tears fall. I hate myself for not giving in to what I wanted so badly, but I held onto my pride. If I go back to him, am I giving in too easily? Am I setting myself up for more heartbreak? Why does my mind want to fight against what my heart wants so badly?
When I wake up the next morning, my head pounds a
nd I feel sick with this heartache. But I have to hold out and protect myself. I can’t keep making all the same old mistakes I used to make. Leaving my apartment the next day, he’s standing there, leaning up against his car. I stop in my tracks and stare at him, trying not to feel the excitement of his presence.
“You never finished your pilot training. You’re only a couple hours short of the forty required to get your license.”
“I don’t want it,” I mutter as I turn and walk down the street, leaving him to follow behind me. Just keep walking, Zara. With those long strides of his, he easily keeps up with me.
“I watched you fly that day you left Del Rey. You’re a natural, Zara. The way you landed that thing—”
Spinning on my heels, I face him, suddenly overwhelmed by his presence, remembering the way it felt to be pinned down by him, the feel of his beard against my neck, those big arms wrapped around me. I’m growing weaker by the second, and it only makes me more angry with him.
“What if I don’t want you to fight for me, Alistair? I’m doing just fine on my own, and you were right. You should have fought for me when you had the chance, but that chance is gone.”
His expression changes from light and hopeful to determined and stern as he backs me against a brick wall and stares down at me. “Don’t tell me that chance is gone. It’s never too late for second chances, Zara. And I’m sorry I didn’t fight for us, but I was scared I’d lose both you and Nash. I admit that now, but you were scared once too. And what did I make you do when you were scared, huh? Now, I know you’re off today because Hanna told me. So come get your last two hours and if by the end of the day, you want me to leave you alone forever, I will. I’ll let you go.”
