by Lola Gabriel
He found his way to a main road and immediately hailed a taxi.
“Where to, sir?” the cab driver asked.
“Laguna Avenue,” Cassius instructed. “But I need you to stay with me today.” The driver arched an eyebrow.
“Stay with you?” he echoed, and Cassius nodded curtly as the man began to drive away.
“I may need to go to San Francisco.”
“That’ll cost you,” the driver informed him. Cassius produced a fistful of bills from his pockets, dropping one hundred-dollar bill onto the passenger seat.
“Is this enough of a retainer?” he asked, settling back, knowing it was mostly a rhetorical question.
If she is not home from work yet, I will go to the Financial District and see if she is at the office, he thought, noting the late afternoon sun dappling through the trees. He knew it was a work day, but he had no idea what time it was, the time zones blending as he had passed from day to night and back to day again in his flight above the heavens.
The car slipped down El Camino Real, up Grove Avenue, and Cassius remembered the neighborhood. Instinctively, he felt his heart beginning to pound at the nearness of Brooklyn’s house, but when the car turned onto Laguna Avenue, his breath caught in his throat.
There was a “For Sale” sign on the front lawn.
“Stop here!” he cried to the cab driver, who screeched to a half. Cassius leapt from the car and hurried toward the front door. His legs grew heavier with each step, the combination of disappointment and exhaustion overcoming him. At the stoop, he peered into the glass panes of the front door, and his fears were confirmed; the house was empty.
Brooklyn was gone.
He spun toward the cab, determined to find Brooklyn at her job downtown. Just as he was about to climb back into the taxi, a neighbor exited her house.
“Excuse me!” Cassius called as the woman locked her door.
She eyed him warily. “Yes?”
“What happened to the girls who lived here?”
“They moved out a few weeks ago,” said the woman. “The owner is selling the place.”
Cassius exhaled slowly. She was still around here somewhere. “Any idea where they moved?”
“I’m sorry, who are you?” the neighbor demanded.
“I’m a friend,” he quickly assured her. “And I have a job offer for Brooklyn.”
She gazed at him silently for a moment. “Well, Veronica got a place in Millbrae, but you’re too late for Brooklyn.” Cassius gaped at her.
“What do you mean?” he asked, heat and cold swiping through his body simultaneously. “What happened to her?” The woman shrugged.
“Veronica was here a day or two ago, picking up the last of her belongings and giving the house a good cleaning to get it ready for sale,” she said. “Apparently, Brooklyn moved away with her fiancé. I think he got transferred to the LAPD or something. He’s a cop, you know.”
Cassius blinked. He did not know, but he didn’t care either. What he cared about was the gibberish sprouting from the middle-aged lady’s mouth.
“Fiancé?” he repeated. “No, Brooklyn… she’s not engaged.”
“No, she is!” the woman laughed, dropping her keys into an oversized handbag. “Again. At least as far as I know. I think it was the same man she was dating before, because I remember seeing him around. It looks like they decided to make it work, after all.”
Cass stared at her in disbelief.
“Are you saying…” he trailed off, unable to finish his thought as bile choked him. But he didn’t need for the woman to confirm what he had heard.
Brooklyn had forgiven Ryan, and now both of them were gone.
7
In seven weeks, Brooklyn had come full circle. The abruptness of it all was still stunning to her, but she tried to keep her game face on as it happened. She tried to swallow the misery she felt as she stared out the bay window of her new home in Santa Clarita. Brooklyn almost didn’t understand how it had all happened, and yet, there she was, unemployed, rekindling a romance with a man who had cheated on her, and wearing the engagement ring he had apparently wrestled from Elena’s finger.
Three days after Brooklyn’s night in the city, their landlord had unexpectedly handed Veronica a notice to vacate.
“The wife and I are retiring to Florida,” he had explained to Brooklyn’s roommate. “We just want to sell our properties and go bask in the sun without the hassle of being a landlord.”
“He lives in the damn sun!” Brooklyn had protested when she’d gotten the news. “Who leaves California to move to Florida?” But it was a done deal, and since their lease was monthly, the girls had had no choice but to oblige his request.
As they packed up the house they had shared for two years, they had discussed the possibility of getting another place together, but Brooklyn was not sure she wanted to share again. Especially not with Veronica, whose outburst following Cass’s departure seemed to be a catalyst for them parting ways.
I should be on my own, Brooklyn had firmly told herself. Even though I haven’t gotten my promotion yet, I can afford a smaller place. Hunter and I will make do.
But the apartment hunting had not gone well, and the stress had started to take its toll on Brooklyn. The places she could afford alone seemed to come with insect roommates preexisting in the cupboards and walls, but Brooklyn could not bring herself to check out Craigslist for another roommate. Her days had seemed to drag on and slip by in unison, the move-out day looming over their heads.
Brooklyn had still been no closer to finding a spot when the movers had come to collect her items, putting them in storage as she and Hunter moved into a cheap motel near her work.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?” Veronica reluctantly asked when she’d realized her former roommate had nowhere else to go, but Brooklyn had been able to hear the lack of enthusiasm in her voice. She had already gotten used to the idea of going their separate ways.
“We’re fine,” Brooklyn replied, offering her a wan smile. “It’s only temporary.”
“You look terrible,” Veronica commented, and Brooklyn just shrugged.
“I haven’t been sleeping very well,” she admitted. “I’ve got a lot of things on my mind.”
“You’re going to make yourself sick,” Veronica warned. “You’re white as a sheet.”
Brooklyn didn’t bother telling her that it was too late and that she was sick already.
Murphy’s Law, she thought wryly. When it rains, it pours. She knew that she was just overwhelmed by the shitstorm of punches life had handed to her, but she was a survivor. She had been through much worse than being homeless. Or maybe she hadn’t. But she would deal with it.
Then Ryan had showed up at her job the week after she had moved out of the house on Laguna Avenue.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Brooklyn hissed at him as he jumped to greet her in the lobby. She glanced around furtively, as if she worried someone would see him.
“Please, Brooklyn, just hear me out,” he begged, but she hurried toward the revolving doors, her pulse racing. “Brooklyn, please!” he yelled, and she could hear he was on her trail.
Oh, my God, she thought, cringing as he grabbed her arm. What the hell else is going to happen to me? Please, universe, make it stop! But there was no reasoning with the fates. They were laughing at her, mocking her as if willing her to snap.
“Don’t touch me!” Brooklyn spat, ripping her arm away from him. “You have absolutely no right to touch me whatsoever!”
Ryan quickly and defensively raised his hands.
“Of course,” he told her. “Of course you’re right. But please, Brooklyn, just hear me out for one minute, and if you don’t like what I have to say, I will leave you alone forever. I swear.”
She glared at him, her eyes narrowing furiously as she met his.
“Does Elena know you’re here?” she snapped.
“Elena and I are done,” he replied softly, lowering his ga
ze in embarrassment. “I—I don’t know what I was thinking.” A spark of satisfaction filled Brooklyn’s gut, and she continued to sneer at him.
“Did you cheat on her, too?” she demanded.
“No,” Ryan answered. “And I know you hate me, Brooklyn, but…” He trailed off, and Brooklyn folded her arms over her ample chest.
“But what?” she snarled. “Spit it out, Ryan. I’m on lunch and I’m… I’m hungry.” She caught herself from saying what she was really going to say: that she felt like a bag of shit, and that she wanted to take a nap before she got back into her god-awful work environment to deal with assholes all day long.
Ryan didn’t deserve to see her weak. She wanted to ensure that she had the upper hand in the conversation.
“I owe you an apology, Brook,” he sighed, “and I never gave it to you.”
The words caused her blonde eyebrows to shoot up in shock. It was not what she had been expecting to hear from him.
“I hurt you while I was selfishly indulging in my own pleasure,” Ryan went on. “I never thought about you or your feelings when it was happening, and I have no excuse. I was… I was on a downward spiral at the time.”
If possible, Brooklyn’s eyebrows flew up higher, touching her heart-shaped hairline.
“Downward spiral?” she repeated snidely. “Is that what you’re calling not only cheating on me, but also getting engaged to Elena?” His head whipped up and he shook it vehemently.
“We were never engaged!” he quickly said. “She found the ring in my dresser and assumed it was for her.”
“And you never bothered to correct her? You thought, ‘oh, hell, fiancées are dispensable, let her have her fun’?” The anger bubbled over in her gut, and Brooklyn was about to scream at his obliviousness.
“I did correct her!” Ryan retorted, his own eyes growing dark with irritation. “See?” He pulled the box from his breast pocket, and Brooklyn felt her head grow warm when she saw the diamond glittering inside. “I told her she was delusional and to give it back to me,” he continued. “Seeing it on her finger made me sick, and with each day that passed, I found myself thinking about how much I had ruined things with you. I know I can’t make it right, but I want you to know how sorry I am, Brook. I want you to know that…”
His voice seemed to catch, and Brooklyn gaped at him as she observed tears filling his eyes. She was taken aback by the sight.
Never had she seen Ryan cry. It gave her a warped satisfaction.
“That I love you.”
He handed her the blue crushed velvet container, and she reluctantly accepted it, a wave of dizziness sweeping through her. She glanced up at the heavens, wondering if this was some kind of sign. Was she supposed to accept his apology now because—?
She hadn’t allowed herself to finish that thought.
“I’ll leave you alone,” Ryan mumbled. “But there will never be another woman for me, Brook. I swear. Please think about it.” He turned to leave, his shoulders sagging dejectedly, and Brooklyn watched him amble away.
“So what if you fall into another downward spiral?” she called after him. “Then what?”
He spun around, an almost hopeful expression on his face as he shook his head.
“I’ve applied for a transfer,” he told her. “The force is what has been dragging me down. The guys are all a bunch of party-hard, misogynistic asses. I am removing myself from the scene, leaving all this behind. I want to forget about everything in Burlingame. Everything but you.”
Brooklyn stared at him pensively. Could she believe him this time? Everyone made mistakes, right? She opened the ring box and toyed with the glittering jewel inside.
“All right,” she heard herself say.
“You forgive me?” Ryan asked, hurrying to cover the distance between them. “Really?”
Brooklyn nodded slowly, even though she was not convinced.
“I forgive you,” she managed to say, though her thoughts were very different to her words.
He reached out to hug her, but she stepped out of his reach, slipping the ring back onto her finger. She still was not ready to let him touch her. They would eventually get back to that point—it simply wouldn’t be that day.
“Wh-what does that mean?” Ryan asked, gesturing at her hand in confusion.
“What do you think it means?” Brooklyn replied. “I said I forgive you. Let’s not talk about Elena again, agreed?” He nodded eagerly, and Brooklyn offered him a half-smile.
“I’ll call you later,” she told him, and he nodded, watching her walk away.
Then, three weeks ago, after Brooklyn decided to give him another chance, Ryan had told her that he had been transferred to Los Angeles.
“I can’t uproot my whole life here,” Brooklyn protested. “My job is here, my friends—”
Cass knows I’m here, an unbidden voice called out plaintively, and she was aghast by it. She never wanted to see that monster again, no matter how many times she replayed the night of passion they had shared over and over in her mind’s eye. No sex was worth the terror he had inflicted upon her.
Before Ryan had come back, begging for her forgiveness, Brooklyn had spent every night on her bed, stroking herself as she envisioned his huge hands encircling her buttocks, his long tongue teasing her swollen nub. And in her bed, she would rehash those climaxes repeatedly until she was spent and fell asleep alone.
Confusion overwhelmed her, because along with the intense pleasure Cass had brought to her, he had also lit a fear she could not understand. And as she grappled with what had happened that night, she also tried to forget about it, but understanding it and forsaking it seemed equally impossible.
Brooklyn gazed at the tree-lined street, where children were coming home from school. Had she and Ryan already been in Santa Clarita for a week? It felt like it had been so much longer, yet as she looked around at the unpacked boxes and mayhem in the living room, she knew that her timeframe was correct. It only felt so long because she had resigned to her fate.
In seven weeks, her life had spun out of control—all because of one reckless night with a stranger.
The house in Santa Clarita was small, a three-bedroom bungalow with a bathroom and a powder room, but it would suffice: a bedroom for her and Ryan, one for an office, and the last one for the baby when it came.
Brooklyn rubbed her gradually swelling belly, wondering how long she could keep the secret from Ryan. He wasn’t going to take the news that she had gotten pregnant by another man kindly. Then again, why did he have to know that?
She had eventually given into his sexual demands, but less because she was interested in intimacy and more because she wanted to cover her bases. After all, her pregnancy had been the reason she had agreed to take him back, even if he didn’t know it.
She had learned of her predicament only a few days before Ryan’s unexpected appearance at her office, and when he had showed up, she was sure that he was the answer to her problems. The thought of raising a child alone was terrifying, and she would be lying to herself if she said she didn’t want the baby growing in her womb.
Brooklyn had asked the universe for a sign, and the universe had thrown Ryan at her, begging for her to go back to him. But in her heart, she knew that Cass deserved to know about his child.
No! she told herself firmly. The man is a monster. He does not need to know about this. You will tell Ryan the baby is his, and you will move on with your life as if you had never met Cass.
Brooklyn knew it would be much easier said than done.
8
The receptionist at Channing Pharmaceuticals in San Francisco confirmed Cassius’ worst fears.
“Ms. Demeris left the company two weeks ago,” she intoned in a nasal voice. “There is no forwarding address, but if you are a rep—”
“I’m not a rep,” Cassius interjected. “Thank you.”
He left the towering building, his mind whirling with confusion as he pushed his way toward the curb through the revolving do
ors. The cab waited for him, and he slid inside the vehicle. Did Cassius have something to do with Brooklyn’s departure? Had he scared her so badly that she had moved to escape the mere memory of it? It seemed insane, but he could think of no other reason that she would do something so abrupt, so reckless.
Had she run back to that cheating bastard because of Cassius, too?
Maybe she’s not the woman I imagined her to be, he thought. Then he realized that was entirely the issue: he knew nothing about Brooklyn. Not really. He had been drawn to her by some lust or heady feeling, but the truth was, he had no idea who she was or what she was like. A sick feeling washed through his gut as the taxi pulled away.
Perhaps he’d had Brooklyn all wrong this whole time.
“Where to, sir?” the cab driver chirped.
“San Francisco International Airport,” Cassius replied gruffly.
If what the elderly woman had said was true, Brooklyn had gone to Los Angeles with Ryan… What was his last name? Cassius wracked his mind to recall what Ryan had told him in the restaurant the night he had met Brooklyn. How had he introduced himself?
Elena’s last name was Roy, because Cassius remembered thinking of the drink Rob Roy. He had also thought something about Ryan’s last name, but he couldn’t recall what it had been. Something to do with Ryan’s worth, was it?
Shilling! Cassius thought triumphantly. Ryan Shilling, because I remember thinking he was not worth one.
He exhaled sharply, happy that he at least had something with which to start his search. Ryan Shilling, a police officer in LA, and Brooklyn Demeris, his… fiancée. It was a start. As little information as it was, Cassius could still find her with it. At least, that’s what he hoped.
“Where are you from?” the driver asked conversationally, obviously hoping for a big tip as they drove through downtown. They had been together for almost two hours, and it was the first time the man had made any effort to know the first thing about him.