by P. Dangelico
Morgan got James Cameron, and I got a small production company run by a couple of scrappy female filmmakers. Unbeknownst to me, Marshall recommended me. Apparently she liked my reel more than she let on.
They just won the option for a huge YA bestseller. And I’ve been told there will be plenty for me to do that actually involves the process of making films. No fetching dry cleaning and picking up dog food for me.
My dream turned out to not look anything like I wanted it to look. It’s even better than I could’ve imagined.
Blake walks over and plops down into the seat Dora vacated only a few minutes ago. “Hey. You haven’t moved from this table once.”
She’s wearing a hot pink silk dress. Off the shoulder and short. Minimalist cool. The color complements her brown skin beautifully. “Love this dress on you.”
She gives me a look. “Calvin Klein and don’t try to change the subject.”
“I’m leaving. I’m being a total downer and I hate that.”
I don’t think I can bear to be here for another minute. Among all the joy. All the love. My friends are happy and I’m happy for them. I just don’t know how to stop feeling like a walking gunshot victim, with a smoking hole where my heart used to be.
“Give it a little more time. What if he shows up?”
Head shaking, I repeat myself for the umpteenth time this evening. “He’s not coming. Everyone needs to get over it.”
Grabbing my purse, I stand and Blake follows suit. We hug tightly. “Say goodbye to the other two bitches for me, okay? I don’t feel like making the rounds.”
Blake knows how much I hate being under the microscope. Almost as much as she does.
“Zoe and I each got rooms here. Why don’t you stay here the night? Order room service, watch porn.”
I chuckle. “That sounds like a single girl’s dream, but I’m heading back to the dorm. I just…need to be alone.”
She nods in understanding, and I slink away.
Outside, I watch cars zip up and down Ocean Blvd. Santa Monica is still teeming with activity at midnight. A gust of wind blows my hair back, not quite standing on end since it’s longer but it reminds me of the time in the Jeep. The Santa Anas. Reagan. His smiling face assails me.
What nobody tells you is that heartbreak is not a one-and-done deal. It happens in small, slow increments every day. A hairline fracture that compounds, branches until it becomes a map of all the pain you’ve endured. Until there’s nothing left of your heart other than a few sharp pieces you can’t keep together.
I hand the valet the ticket to the Jeep and wrap my arms around myself. He smiles before running off. I’m chilled, goose bumps breaking out on my arms even though it’s in the eighties. I’m always chilled these days.
A cab pulls up to the hotel entrance and the doorman quickens his pace to open the door for whomever’s in the back.
A large male hand curls around the roof of the taxi. One long leg ease out. A sharp, midnight blue suit emerges. Standing a solid six feet plus, he straightens, squares his broad shoulders, and tips his chin at the doorman.
That’s when I’m certain I still have a heart because if I didn’t, I wouldn’t be experiencing an explosion of pain in the middle of my chest.
Hair longer, messy, streaked in gold. Scruff covering the bottom of his face. Eyes glowing in contrast to his tan. He really needs to learn how to use sunscreen.
“Reagan.” My voice is a broken whisper, my chest burning with all the unspoken sentiments I’ve kept to myself in his absence.
His head snaps up and his gaze finds me standing a few feet away. Shock registers on his face as obviously as it’s on mine.
The Jeep pulls up. The valet jumps out, walks over, and hands me the keys. Absently, I take them. I can’t even acknowledge him because I’m lost in bottomless green eyes, no less stunning than the first time I saw them.
“Yo, sir?” the cab driver calls out.
Snapping out of his trance, Reagan grabs his duffel bag and shuts the door. The cab takes off, and its just the two of us and the ghost of our past.
His face softens as his gaze traces each and every one of my features. He runs a hand though his hair and exhales loudly, nostrils flaring, jaw clenched tightly.
“I was hoping you were still here.” His voice falters. When I don’t respond, concern fills his eyes. “Alice?”
I nod. It’s all I can do. With so much emotion clogging my throat it feels like I’m going into anaphylactic shock, everything closing up.
“Can we talk?” he asks softly, taking two very tentative steps closer. “I know I’m asking a lot but I…I have a lot I need to tell you, to explain.”
As tempted as I am to put him out of his misery, I can’t. I’ve spent months in hell, wondering where he was, if he was happy and healthy. Who he was with. As much as I love him, I need to start thinking of myself.
“Can we?” he repeats.
I nod. “Zoe…” I start, motioning to the door. “She has a room here. We can use it.” It feels like I’m having an out-of-body experience. I’ve wanted this for so long and now that he’s here I feel unprepared to handle it.
He takes another step closer and I turn for the front door of the hotel. I’m not strong enough to fend him off. If he touches me, I’ll surrender faster than you can spell no self-respect. On the way, I hand the valet the keys again.
Back inside the party room, I push through the drunken masses and find Zoe who’s jumping up and down on the dance floor and bumping hips with Blake and Dora.
Her eyes widen when she sees me. “You’re baaaack. Al!! Don’t leave us. C’mon dance.”
I pull her face closer, bring her ear to my mouth. “Don’t repeat it out loud, but Reagan’s here. Can I use your room?”
Her mood sobers at once. She stops dancing. Her eyes narrow into two vicious slits. Leaning in, she says, “You better make that motherfucker pay.”
“First, I’d like to hear what he has to say.”
“Okay. I’ll make that motherfucker pay.”
I send her a warning glare. “Zoe…”
“Fine, ugh, you’re no fun. Room 1814.” She hands me the key card out of the micro Celine purse and when I turn to leave she stops me. Her usually jaded eyes soften and her flawless features pinch in concern.
“I know,” I tell her before she can get a word out. She’s a good one. As loyal as they come. All that ferocious confidence put to good use in my defense. “I’ll be fine.”
I find Reagan hovering by the elevators, one hand gripping the back of his neck, head tipped forward, nervous energy all about him. He doesn’t see me approach.
I take notice of the fine cut of his suit, the crispness of his stark white shirt. He’s so handsome it hurts to look at him. His fine features––so familiar. And yet simultaneously, distance and time have made him unapproachable.
His head comes up when he hears me. His face relaxes. “I thought you were going to bail on me,” he murmurs while I walk up and press the elevator call button.
“I don’t bail. I thought you knew that about me.”
His shoulders slump, his expression distressed. “I know. I know. You’re right. You never have.”
I’m not trying to hurt him, just stating a fact. “Your friends are in there.” I hook a thumb at the room I came out of. “I didn’t tell them you’re here, but I know they’re dying to see you.”
“I’m not here for them––” When he goes to speak again, the elevator door opens and people pour out. We step inside and three others join us.
“Eighteen, please,” I instruct the guy standing closest to the panel. Reagan slides next to me. The wool of his suit brushes my bare arm, sending shivers up my back and my stomach somersaulting.
I’ve been anticipating this moment for four months, imagining the things I’d say, dreaming about touching him. And now that he’s here, I’m speechless, at a total loss as to how to begin articulating what I’m feeling.
At floor eighteen, we
silently file out. I open the door and walk to the wall of windows that overlooks the shoreline from the Santa Monica Pier to Malibu, a Christmas tree of lights snaking up the coast.
“I missed you,” he says.
“You have a funny way of showing it.”
The AC clicks on and a cold blast of air hits me. I’m shaking and I’m not sure it’s because of the chill. Sliding off his suit jacket, he goes to the thermostat and turns the AC off, then he meets me at the wall of windows and slips his jacket over my shoulders.
His body heat clings to it. So does his scent. It takes me right back, wipes away months of anguish and puts tears in my eyes. Why does love have to be so hard?
He leans a shoulder against the glass and stares down at me, expression walking a fine line between frustration and longing.
“You’re so beautiful…I’m sorry if I can’t stop staring.” He licks his lips nervously. His gaze slides out the window for a moment, as if searching for courage out there into the dark unknown.
“You left without even a goodbye, or see ya later––maybe. I didn’t know if you were starting over somewhere else, with someone else. Or destroying yourself over what happened…I lived in a constant state of anxiety for four months, Rea. Four!”
He nods, gaze cast on the beige carpet.
“I don’t even know how to begin. ”
“Start anywhere. Just start. Because it’s getting hard not to walk out that door.”
He clears his throat. “I made it to Patagonia. It was beautiful, everything I thought it would be.” He frowns. “I missed you there.” His throat works, Adam’s apple rising as he swallows.
“Kenya was next. I got mugged. Don’t walk around at night in Mombasa. I thought about you that night. You’re all I thought about––what it would be like to never see you again, and it scared me more than the gun that was pointed at my face.” He jams his hands in his pockets and leans a shoulder against the glass. “I saw more amazing sunsets than I’ve ever seen, even better than the ones here. I missed you there too.” There’s an edge to his voice. As if he’s admitting something he wishes weren’t true.
“Reagan––”
“I didn’t want to miss you but I did.”
And there you have it. “Stop. I don’t want to hear anymore.”
“I worked my way through Europe,” he continues, talking right over me. “France, Italy, Spain. I thought I saw you there––in Spain, chased a girl for two city blocks down La Rambla before I caught up to her and realized it was only my mind playing tricks on me.”
“Reagan…”
“I made it to China––” He exhales harshly. “Missed you there too.”
“Reagan––”
Facing me now, I can see his eyes are glassy, his cheek twitching, mouth drawn tight. He’s barely hanging on.
“I’m sorry I left. I didn’t know what else to do. It just got to be too much. The guilt. The pressure. I was starting to resent you.”
“Me?” My voice is pitchy, sharp. Nothing could’ve surprised me more. Not even if he had slapped me. “Why would you resent me?”
“Because you’re so fucking strong.” The words come ripping out and peter to a whisper. His head shakes, his voice flattened by something that worries me. Something that sounds a lot like hopelessness and resignation. “And I’m not…I’m not.”
“Stop saying that. You are strong. That’s the problem. You take on too much. You assume you can carry the weight for everyone, but here’s the news flash, Reagan, you’re not superhuman. What you went through would’ve destroyed anyone.”
Staring out the window, he looks…lost.
“I couldn’t take it anymore and you…you don’t let anything knock you down...”
“Stop trying to be everything that’s expected of you,” I murmur quietly and yet desperate to make him understand. “The good son, brother, boyfriend. The difference between you and me is that no one expects anything of me so I’m free to be anything I want to be. Who would you be given the same chance?”
He watches me intently, lashes lowered. The silence as meaningful as a million words.
Reaching out, he slowly slides his warm fingers up the side of my neck and cups my neck, guiding me closer. And I let him. I let him put his arms around me and hold me tight because I love him. Despite the pain he caused me. Despite the fact that nothing is settled.
“Take me back,” he says quietly. His face crowds my neck and his shoulders curve around me, the muscles hard and taut with tension.
“Take me back, Alice.” It’s muffled, soundproofed by the fabric of his suit jacket. He lifts his head and bloodshot eyes meet mine. “You said you’d try anything. Give me a chance to make it up to you. I’ll beg if you want. I’ll do anything.”
Always stoic in the face of adversity. The slight tremble of his chin gives him away. It doesn’t seem right to keep him in suspense and I’ve never believed in delayed gratification.
A smile sneaks up on me, sends even more tears running down my cheeks. “I never gave you up, dummy.”
His eyes spark, flying all over my face. “Really?”
Love doesn’t exist in a vacuum. It’s inextricably intertwined with self-sacrifice, vulnerability, risk…and yes, pain. Maybe that’s why we’re so often disillusioned by it. We demand it to be perfect when in essence love can’t exist without the risk of pain and the cost of safety.
His head lowers and his lips touch mine carefully, with all the apprehension in the world while a soft tremble ripples down his back.
“I missed, missed, missed you so fucking much.” The words trip from his tongue in a convoluted mess, in between soft, fast kisses. His arms hold me tighter, his hands climb higher. They curl around the back of my head as his kisses turn feral, hungry, starved by all those months of absence.
Clothes get shed on our way to the bed. My dress, or rather Zoe’s dress, may no longer be wearable with the way Reagan rips it off of me. His shirt suffers a similar demise. “Worst case of blue balls I’ve ever had in my life. I’m warning you now, don’t plan on leaving this bed for days.”
“It’s Zoe’s bed.” I squeak when he nips my ear. “I don’t think you want to get her any more mad at you than she already is.”
“Thanks for the heads-up. I’ll barricade the door,” he says, smiling against the skin of my neck.
We fall onto the bed together. He braces himself before landing on me with his full weight. Then he gets up on an elbow and stares down. “I didn’t, you know. I would never…” His fixed stare won’t let mine go.
“It’s been four months. You didn’t sleep with anyone?”
Now he looks offended, maybe even a little mad. “No. You don’t think I can keep my dick in my pants for a few months?” For a moment I lose him to his thoughts. “Did you?” comes out very carefully.
“What if I said yes? What if I said I didn’t hear a peep out of you and came to the very painful conclusion that I probably never would have? Would it be wrong of me to have seen someone else?”
His body relaxed into mine, his erection pressing between my legs. “No,” he murmurs.
“I didn’t leave you. You left me.”
His mouth lowers, searches the corners of my lips, travels along my jaw. “I know,” he whispers and kisses me there. “Never again. Never, ever again. I’m going to prove it to you.”
After that, he turns his words into action and makes love to me like he never has before, his thrusts slow and deep, drawing out the pleasure until we’re both sweaty and exhausted. I push him onto his back and he lets me. Riding him, I go off like a Fourth of July fireworks extravaganza while Reagan watches me closely.
“I love you,” he says, voice husky, the undeniable evidence of his feelings reflected in his eyes. “I am crazy in love with you.” And then he follows, jacking his hips up, holding on to mine in a painful grip. Together, we tumble headfirst back into it. This thing that exists between us, that won’t let go.
“I wasn’t,” I
say to him later, when we’ve both caught our breath and we’re staring at each other, making up for lost time. His head comes up and his expression sparks.
“I wasn’t with anyone else,” I confess. “I love you. I couldn’t be with anyone else.”
He falls onto his back, arms spread wide, and exhales harshly. “Hate to sound like an asshole but is it okay to say I’m relieved?” He chuckles.
Not really when I think about it. I’m definitely relieved that he hasn’t been with anyone else.
I straddle his lap and his hands skate up my thighs. Then he pushes my hair aside, watching me like it’s the first time he’s ever seen me. “Move in with me.”
It takes me a minute to shake off the surprise. “You want us to live together?”
He sits up and hugs me. “I’ll be here another semester, and then there’s medical school.” I’m about to speak when he explains. “Not for surgery, for psychiatry. I want to specialize in addictions.”
The smile is involuntary. I brush my fingers up the side of his arm, remembering every dip and curve. Slide them into his hair. “I think that’s amazing.” Tears of joy sneak down my face.
He wipes them away. “I can’t see anything, feel anything without thinking of you. I love you. I love you beyond reason. I want a lot more––but we have to start somewhere.”
I don’t have to think twice. “Okay.”
“Yeah?” His lips part into a breathtaking grin.
“Yeah.”
Reagan seals it with a kiss. One that speaks of hope, of second chances, and new beginnings. I don’t know what the future holds and neither one of us harbor any illusions that it will be easy. But I know I don’t want to face it without him. Because, although he started as nothing but trouble, he’s become everything and more. And, God, do I want a new beginning with him.
I want it all.
Stay tuned for more of the Malibu University Series with…
Nothing But Wild.
Also by P. Dangelico
Contemporary Romance (Single POV)