Never Got Over You

by Whitney G.

  I can’t deal with this anymore. “Give Miss Kennedy the phone, please.”

  “Well, I would, but she’s currently unable to speak. Plus, the doctors told me to stop bothering her until they finish checking on her vital signs.”

  “What?” My heart dropped. “What the fuck happened to her?”

  “We had a little boating accident, but she’s totally fine. Like, it’s just a little concussion and some hypothermia. There’s also a severe sprain and a bruise here or there, but I’ve totally got this under control.”

  “What hospital is she in?”

  “Mercy.”

  “East or West?”

  “West.”

  I ended the call and immediately called my pilot.

  But Now That You’re Back

  I WOKE UP IN IMMENSE pain.

  My head was throbbing, my chest hurt, and my legs felt far more sore now than they did after the night that me and James had sex.

  I opened my eyes and realized that I wasn’t in the same stark white hospital room where I’d been placed the night before. This one looked more like a hotel room.

  There was a seating area for seven directly across from me, a wardrobe rack with hanging white robes, and a glowing fireplace to my left.

  I slowly turned my head to the right and saw James staring at me. His white dress shirt was unbuttoned, the grey tie hanging loose from the collar. Still gorgeous as ever, he looked as if he hadn’t slept in days. Summer was sitting at his side, tapping her fingers against her notebook and looking absolutely terrified.

  “James?” I croaked.

  “Oh. My. God!” Summer stood to her feet. “She has amnesia!”

  James gave her a blank stare, and pulled her back down to her chair.

  “In this delicate time of need, I’d be more than happy to serve in her place.” She smiled. “I mean, just until she comes back to herself.” She waved at me. “Hi, there! My name is Summer. Sum-mer.”

  “I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” James said. “I think she’ll be fine.”

  “Oh? Do you have a specialist on hand that you’ll be getting her?” She crossed her arms. “Because I was in the hospital last year with pneumonia and you didn’t fly to be by my side. You didn’t even send me a card.”

  “My apologies.” He smiled. “Can you excuse me and Miss Kennedy for a minute, please?”

  She nodded and lifted the brownie off my tray before leaving the room.

  James moved his chair closer, trailed his finger against my arm. “All those days on the lake with me, and you don’t remember how to fix a stalling engine?”

  “Depends. Are you finally admitting that you knew me in the past?”

  “Just for today.” He smiled. “What type of boat was it?”

  “Yamaha 212.”

  He nodded. “Did the boat really flip over, or is Summer exaggerating?”

  “She’s exaggerating. I fell off and hit my head.”

  He caressed my hand. “I need to talk to you about something when you feel better.”

  “Is it about sex?”

  “Of course not. I’m a gentleman.”

  “You’re an opportunist.” I cleared my throat. “But for the record, I won’t ever sleep with you again, James.”

  “What? Why not?”

  “Because—” I paused. “Because you’re you, James. We have history, and after you left me this weekend, all I could think about was how we used to be. How I still want us to be.”

  He was silent.

  “I’m being honest,” I said. “It’s all or nothing. Or, maybe with time, we can be friends.”

  “You know we can’t be friends.” He looked into my eyes. “That won’t work either.”

  “So, you’re going with Option B? Nothing?”

  “I’m not saying that at all.” He leaned over and pressed a light kiss on my lips. “I’d like to go with Option A. I think we should try to start over.”

  ...

  Kate

  ~ January 7, 2009 ~

  I DROVE SLOW AS THE lane twisted around the mountain, holding my breath as cars on the other side sped by. There was only one lane going in either direction, and since I was driving twenty-five miles under the speed limit, the line of cars in my rearview had been honking at me for the past half hour.

  You’re almost there, Kate. Don’t pay attention to what’s behind you.

  My heart was in my throat and my anxiety was running higher than ever. I’d made my choice, and I was going to stand by it.

  I pulled off the main road five minutes later and double checked the address. As I drove into a private cove, my jaw dropped.

  The beautiful white house that matched James’s address was the only one on this street. It sat right at the edge of Lake Tahoe’s clear, sparkling waters and was nestled behind a row of pine trees.

  I parked behind the row of repaired luxury cars in his driveway, and walked into the garage.

  “Hey,” I said, stepping in front of the engine he was fixing.

  “Hey?” He turned off his drill and tilted his head to the side. “Shouldn’t you be on your way to the symphony right now? Your performance is in a few hours. I was about to head there when I got finished.”

  “I’m done with the cello now. Professionally, anyway.”

  “What?”

  “I’m taking your advice,” I said. “Driving down my own lane instead of riding in someone else’s. I’m going to start graduate school in the early fall and cancel the rest of my cello touring days.”

  He wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me close. “What did your parents threaten to do when you told them?”

  “Nothing. They just said they were severely disappointed, and hoped I enjoyed being basic like everyone else.”

  “Sorry to hear that.”

  “I’m not. I’m getting the silent treatment anyway. I’m expecting it to take at least six months for them to get over it, but by that time I’ll be able to get my inheritance and get the hell away from here. I also have a boyfriend to help me pass the time.”

  “Good for you,” he said, caressing my back. “They’ll definitely get over it, and I’ll come pick you up the next time you want to come out here.”

  “Can you come get me every day?” The words tumbled out of my mouth. “I mean, if you don’t mind, and if I won’t be a distraction.”

  “You distract me even when you’re not here.” He laughed. “Let me show you something.” He clasped my hand and led me to his porch that overlooked the lake. Three luxury boats were tethered to the end of his dock.

  “Do those belong to your clients?”

  “No, all of those are mine,” he said. “I’m going to take you out on that one later today, though.” He pointed to an all-white luxury boat with screened -n glass. “I’ll do it after I finish fixing the Cadillac. In the meantime, you can sit out here on this since I just finished making it for you.”

  Letting my hand go, he tugged on a white tarp—revealing a beautiful white wooden swing. It was suspended by golden ropes that hung from the edge of his second floor. “When you mentioned the swing that you wanted in your dream house, were you thinking about something that looked something like this?”

  Exactly like this. I nodded, speechless.

  He sat down on it and pulled me next to him.

  “Why are you crying, Kate?”

  “I’m not crying.”

  He wiped away a few of my tears with his fingertips. “Tell me.”

  “This is the first time that someone actually listened to me, the first time someone cared enough to get me what I wanted, you know?” I let out a breath. “Unless...”

  “Unless what?”

  “Unless this is the standard when you date someone, and you always build something over the top for your girlfriends.”

  “I don’t.” He cupped my face in his hands. “You’re the first...And hopefully the last.”

  ...

  Kate

  ~ March 20, 2009 ~
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  MY LIFE WAS NOW DEFINED by my time with James. We spent the remaining winter nights on his side of the lake—our bodies coated in the glow of the moonlight. We rode on the lake as long and as far as we could, until the sky gave way to darkness.

  I made my second home in his bedroom, spent my free moments on my custom-made swing.

  Every morning at six a.m., he picked me up and we rode to his place where he gave me the most intense orgasms and explored my body for hours. We showered together and I studied marketing while he slid under classic cars or tinkered with yachts. He listened to me play in moments when I felt compelled to—helping me regain the passion for the strings that I’d lost over the years.

  I slept in his passenger seat while he made cross-state drives and occasionally, I’d wake up in Vegas and we’d spend the night in a casino or luxury hotel courtesy of one of his filthy rich clients. As far as I was concerned, nothing else mattered but me and him.

  I enjoyed watching him work with his hands, seeing his clients pull up in expensive cars and leave thoroughly impressed with his work. Every now and then, I’d see them slip him a couple extra hundreds, a new watch, or even send high-end furniture. But, I never saw the customer who’d given him the most, the customer who’d awarded him with four limited edition watches and custom paintings. The S.G.H.

  I’d even checked his customer records whenever he asked me to help him with the books, and I never saw any customers with that name.

  On the few rare days we didn’t see each other, when he had to complete a rush job, we talked from sunup to sundown—our phone calls lasting anywhere from fifty minutes to three hours at a time.

  Turning over in bed as the first sunlight of the spring season streaked into his room, I trailed my finger against James’s face.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Liar.” He gripped my waist and rolled me on top of him. “Tell me.”

  “I’m wondering when you’re going to change on me.”

  “Come again?”

  “You know, show your true colors and stop being how you are right now. Like, once the newness fades and I’m attached.”

  “You’re attached right now.” He smirked. “Do you honestly think I’ve been putting on an act?”

  “No, I’m just—” I shrugged “Just wondering.”

  “Well, I’m not. I can see myself spending the rest of my life with you,” he said, staring into my eyes. “You’re my forever, Kate. I love you.”

  “I love you, too.” My heart fluttered in my chest as he kissed me and positioned his cock against my slit.

  There Are Some Things I Need to Say

  Several weeks later...

  IT WAS STARTING TO feel like James and I were as we once were, that our daily texts and emails (and of course, the sex) were enough to heal our nine and half year wounds. We shared nights in his place, mornings in mine, and we still managed to go at least four rounds a night like we used to.

  We talked about the soft and simple things, delicately tiptoeing around the hard subject of whatever happened in the past.

  “Miss Kennedy?” Summer stepped in front of my desk as I sent James another text message.

  “Yes?”

  “It’s almost midnight. Can I please go home?”

  “Sure.” I nodded and set down my phone.

  Even though my team worked hard, I worked the hardest, and I was always the last to leave. So far, my newest campaigns for Pier Autumn Coffee were showing promise, and every day I woke up to a “Thank GOD you’re here!” email from a board member.

  Standing up from my desk, I slipped out of my heels and put on a pair of flats. I grabbed my notebook and headed for the rooftop so I could think alone.

  When I stepped off the elevator, I stalled in the doorway.

  Sitting around the crackling fire pit was a string quartet, three violinists and a cellist. They were sipping glasses of wine in between tuning their instruments.

  Confused, I stepped closer and cleared my throat. “Good evening.”

  “Good evening!” The redheaded violinist spoke up first. “If you’re looking for your friends, they decided to host the meeting on the floor below us.”

  “I’m not looking for anyone,” I said. “I’m just curious. Why are you playing on the roof at this hour? I’ve never seen you up here before.”

  “This is where we record new songs, every last Thursday of the month,” the lead said. “Per request of Mr. Holmes.”

  I blinked.

  “He claims it helps him focus and sleep,” she said. “You’re more than welcome to listen.”

  “You should let her play.” James’s deep voice was behind me. “She’s quite the cellist.”

  “Used to be.”

  “I’m sure you still have it.” The cellist smiled and stood up, motioning for me to take her seat.

  “What are we playing?”

  “A mashup with two of Mr. Holmes’ favorites.” She pointed to the sheet music. “It’s Mozart’s Lacrimosa with Adele’s Hello.”

  I picked up the bow and positioned myself in the chair, reading the first few lines of notes before the lead violinist counted us off.

  The strings sung to my bow with ease, and it all came back within seconds. The more I played, the more reality disappeared, and for eight minutes I was playing center stage in Edgewood, bowing my cello under a harsh spotlight in hopes of a standing ovation and applause.

  When the piece came to an end, the other members of the quartet stared at me with their jaws dropped.

  “Feel free to join us anytime,” the lead said. “I bet you used to win all types of awards with that type of talent.”

  “Yeah.” I forced a smile and stood up, thanking them for the chance to play.

  James wrapped his arm around my shoulder and walked me back into the building, down to my floor.

  “Are you going to take them up on their offer?” he asked.

  “Not anytime soon,” I said. “I don’t have my cello anymore, and I don’t have the heart to buy another one.”

  He raised his eyebrow, and I changed the subject.

  For the rest of the night, he sat next to me and we worked in tandem, occasionally stopping for a kiss.

  Around four in the morning, he set a fresh cup of coffee in front of me. “Still going strong, or will you need to take the rest of the day off?”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  He smiled, but it slowly faltered. “I need to ask you something, Kate.”

  “Yes?” I hoped this was it, that he would finally allow me to tell him my side of the story.

  “What happened to your cello?”

  Close, but no cigar... “I had to pawn it,” I said, tears pricking my eyes. “I managed to hold onto it in almost every city, but I couldn’t afford it anymore in Philadelphia.”

  “I’m sorry.” He moved next to me and caressed my back. “Why would you ever need to pawn anything, though?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” I buried my head in his chest and tried to hold back the tears, but they fell down anyway. “I waited a very long time for you, James. All you had to do was come back...”

  ...

  Kate

  ~ June 1, 2009 ~

  THIS MAN WAS TOO GOOD to be true...

  I stared into James’s eyes as we lay on the hood of his car. As usual, he’d picked me up at six this morning and it was now nearing dusk. I was trying to hold on to more time, stretching out the minutes as long as I could, so I wouldn’t have to go home.

  “I want a pet,” I whispered, still staring into his eyes.

  “What type of pet?” He ran his fingers through my hair. “Something that doesn’t need that much attention from you, I hope.”

  “A dog.” I smiled. “A grey and white Siberian Husky.”

  “That’s very specific.”

  “My parents never allowed us to have anything living in the house unless it was a plant,” I said. “One Christmas, af
ter Sarah Kay and I begged for a puppy, they led us outside and promised to give us the best alternative.” I paused. “It was a framed picture of a German Shepherd. That was as close as we ever got.”

  “You know that your parents are assholes, right?”

  I laughed. “They always have been.”

  “Do you have a name picked out for the dog already?”

  “No, but it’s needs to be something short and cute. I’ll let you pick, since I picked everything else.”

  “Noted.” He let out a breath. “I need to talk to you about something, but I don’t want to do it here. You feel like taking a ride?”

  “Always.”

  He smiled and pulled me up. Then he grabbed my hand and walked me down the deck. Showing me inside the white boat, he helped me into a life vest and untied the boat from the posts.

  I sat next to him as he drove across the sparkling waters, wondering if this was going to be the “I know you’re the one” type of proposal I’d been dreaming about.

  When we approached his house, I took my spot in the swing he’d made me.

  Settling next to me, he grabbed my hands and looked into my eyes. “I got offered a once in a lifetime opportunity,” he said, his eyes bright and hopeful. “One of my clients made me apply to his alma mater and I got in. He said a few words to the admissions team and they’re going to award me a full scholarship in his name.”

  I blinked, unsure of what to say. “I didn’t know you wanted to go to business school.”

  “I always have,” he said, caressing my hands with his fingertips. “I never thought I’d be able to afford it on my own, so I didn’t try. I mean, I knew my former grades and experience would get me in, but I would never borrow or take any...” His voice trailed off. “I always said I would only go if I was paying for it or if I received a scholarship.”

  “Oh.”

  “Oh?” He smiled. “That’s all you have to say?”