Riverstorm

by Tess Thompson

  “Unexpected? I’m not an idiot. The way that guy was looking at you—this was no accidental meeting. He’s after you.”

  “Whether that’s true is not particularly relevant.”

  “Oh, it’s relevant, counselor. Because you were looking at him the exact same way. You really expect me to think this all just happened tonight? How long?”

  Only twelve years. Focus. Get him out. Be crystal clear. “This has nothing to do with Grant, but I don’t love you. I don’t even particularly like you.”

  A vein on his forehead pulsed. His skin flamed with a purple hue. “What the hell, Liz? We’re great together. Everything fits. Doctor, lawyer. Power couple.”

  She massaged the cut in her mouth with her tongue. “You don’t particularly like me either. I don’t want to be fixed. I don’t need surgery like your heart patients. I’m good just the way I am.” The longer she stood here, the deeper her resolve. She should have done this six months ago. “Give me my key and get out.”

  “You’re old, Liz, and not that pretty in a town of beautiful women. I’m a surgeon. I can have anyone I want. But you? I doubt you’ll have another offer as good as mine. Good luck getting that family you want so badly. You won’t get it from Mr. Playboy in there. See you around, Lizzie.” He threw the house key at her and stumbled as he backed away like someone had shoved him. Seconds later, the door slammed shut behind him.

  She stood at the kitchen island staring at the granite countertop. Under those impressive scrubs was a cruel man. You’re old. Not that pretty. Mr. Playboy.

  She knew better than to let him back into her heart and bed. But she didn’t care. She silenced the warning of the pain to come. She would do something foolish. She would march into the other room and let Grant take her upstairs. He would never love her. This was his rebound night. The morning would bring an empty bed with his scent on the bedsheets. He’d be on his way down the road in his red Porsche.

  Loss and love. Must they be intertwined? What a sick joke it was. With love came the inevitability of loss, whether it be from death or rejection. Was love worth the pain? Years ago, she would have said no. Board up your vulnerable heart. Let no one in again. But she’d forgotten how Grant made her feel alive like nothing else. Hell yes, she would wake to pain—the variety that left her writhing and gasping for air like a dying fish on a hot pier. But tonight? Tonight, was theirs.

  She found him standing at the hutch, pouring another drink. “Hey. Joel’s gone.”

  “I heard.”

  “Sorry he interrupted our evening.”

  “I’m proud of you. Jore’s a bully in surgical scrubs. What were you doing with that douche?” He strode across the room and pulled her against him. “He’s wrong about everything, Lizzie. You’re not old, and I’m not a playboy.”

  “I’m not sure he’s wrong about either of those things,” she whispered.

  “Oh, he’s wrong, Lizzie. You’re the most gorgeous woman on the planet. If you let me kiss you again, I’ll make you forget all about him.” His fingers reached under the waistline of her pants. She stifled a moan. My God, the way he smells. Her thighs quivered. Between her legs moistened. He could take her right there and she would be lost.

  “I suppose you may kiss me.” She held up her face like a schoolgirl and pursed her lips. Anything to make him laugh.

  But he didn’t laugh. He lifted her up and thrust her against the wall. “Lizzie, I’ll kiss you all night if you’ll let me.”

  She wrapped her legs around him and splayed her hands in his hair. “We have all night.”

  He pressed his mouth to hers. Not soft like she expected, but hard, urgent. A million explosions coursed through her body.

  She slid her hands under his shirt, memorizing every muscled contour with the tips of her fingers. Don’t forget. Don’t ever forget this moment.

  He groaned against her mouth, cupping her backside in his large hands. “Jesus, Lizzie. I want you so bad I can’t think straight.”

  “I don’t want you to think straight. I’m not.” She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Take me upstairs.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. More than sure.”

  “Hold on tight.” With her legs and arms wrapped around his muscular body, he headed over to the stairs like she weighed nothing. He took the stairs two at a time. She closed her eyes and held on tight.

  When they reached the bedroom, he crossed through the doorway and dropped her onto the bed. But instead of lying next to her, he perched on the side of the bed, staring down at her. She reached to pull him to her.

  He placed his hands around her wrists. “Wait a minute, Lizzie. This isn’t right.”

  “Don’t talk. Don’t think. Just do.”

  “No, I don’t deserve this,” he said. “I don’t deserve you.”

  “It doesn’t matter. It’s just one night.”

  He blinked. “Why does it have to be?”

  “Because. Well, just because. We both know how this works.”

  “How this works? What is this?” His voice sounded raspy like he’d inhaled a chest full of smoke.

  “One night stands with one’s ex.” What was he doing? What was he talking about? He looks hurt. Did I hurt him just now?

  “Is that what this is to you?”

  “What else could it be?” she asked.

  “It could be everything.” He ran his fingers up and down her arm. “It could be us again. We could have it all like we used to. It was good between us. Not just good—great, until I fucked it up. I’ve imagined this moment a million times. Wondering—hoping—that someday we’d have another chance. All those months last year when we worked together, I looked for signs that you might feel the same. I prayed that something I did or said would remind you of what we had.” His gaze moved from her face to over her shoulder.

  He looks like a little boy.

  “Is there any part of you that could still love me?” he asked.

  She stared at him, unable to decipher his words. “Still love you?”

  He brought her hand to his chest. The beat of his heart pulsed against her fingers. “This isn’t just a walk down memory lane for me. I love you. I’ve never stopped loving you.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said.

  “I’m in love with you, Lizzie. I’ve never gotten over you. It’s as clear to me as the freckles on the end of your nose.”

  “Stop. Don’t say these things. I can’t.” This wasn’t right. This was not in the script. Why was he saying these things? She was drunk. That had to be it. She was hearing what she wanted to hear.

  “I want to win your trust and forgiveness and make you fall in love with me again. I want a second chance, even if I don’t deserve it.”

  “Was Joel right? Is this night not an accident?” She sat up and leaned against the pillows. I must watch his face for clues. “I don’t know what to think. Or say.”

  “You don’t have to say anything. If you don’t want this, I’ll walk out of here and never contact you again. Above everything, I want you to be happy, but I had to tell you the truth.” He ran his hand down her bare arm. “I knew it the moment you came into my office last year. I stepped into the reception area and saw you gazing into that fish tank. I swear, my heart stopped for a moment. That evening, I was walking to my car after dinner with a friend and I was robbed at gunpoint. The guy had wild eyes like a meth head, and I thought he was going to kill me. When he grabbed my wallet and took off running, I just sat on the sidewalk in a daze. All I could think about was you. It was all so clear to me. You were the best thing that had ever happened to me. Losing you was the worst mistake I’d ever made. I vowed right then and there to God and anyone else who would listen, ‘I loved a girl, and I let her go. But now I’m going to get her back.’”

  “Were you married then?”

  “She’d moved out months before.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were divorcing?” she asked. “All those months we worked together,
you never said a word.”

  “I wanted the divorce to be final so that I could come to you as a fully free man.” He grimaced. “You think I’ve lost my mind.”

  “A little.” She wanted to believe—to descend into the sweet abyss with him. But the remembrance of the pain nipped and sobered her. He cheated. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to survive if he hurts me again.

  “We can start over. I’ll court you the old-fashioned way—the way you deserve. Not like this, Lizzie. Not drunk sex for old time’s sake. You deserve better than that.”

  “I don’t know,” she whispered. “I can’t be hurt like that again.”

  “I promise I’ll never hurt you again.”

  “You can’t promise that.”

  “I’m not the same man I was.”

  This was not how she thought the night would end. Don’t think. Let go. Trust.

  “I made a decision earlier to let myself have this night and then let you go.” She clasped her hands together in her lap. “I thought you were just lost in our old chemistry, but that you would sober up tomorrow and go back to your life. I figured I was merely a rebound after your divorce.”

  “God, no, Lizzie. You would never be that. There’s absolutely no other place I’d rather be. I want a second chance to be the man you deserve. Or, say the word, and I’m gone.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Grant

  GRANT TENSED AS he waited for Lizzie to answer his question. Her eyes darted back and forth like she was watching the tiniest tennis match ever played, and when she finally spoke, her voice sounded hoarse. “You know what I remember most about us? How you made me feel. You made me feel like a better version of myself. Smarter, kinder, even pretty. It was as if my thick glasses and limp never existed. With you, I was Audrey Hepburn.

  “But when you betrayed me—” She halted as she looked away from him. “The mean boys in school were nothing compared to what it felt like to know you chose someone else. It tainted everything. Every notion I had about us—that you loved me—that we belonged to each other—everything just vanished. I questioned my own sanity. Why had I believed in us so fiercely when you obviously didn’t love me? No one loves someone like I loved you and chooses to do something that would hurt them so deeply—something that would essentially break all trust, all bonds. It felt like our years together were a lie. I had believed in us, only to realize it was a fantasy. That knowledge was…this terrible emptiness, this hollowness.”

  I can’t hear any more. It’s too hard. I know all this. It was like reliving the night. But he didn’t move. This was his penance. After she unveiled her pain, she would tell him to go.

  Her voice steadied, like a nervous stage actor settling into their performance. “One day, about a year after we broke up, I was driving out of a parking garage after work. In front of me was a car with a young couple. A baby seat poked up over the back seat. When they reached the street, they stopped, waiting for a chance to merge into traffic, and the man leaned over and kissed the woman. It was as if it were you. Your future right before me. Someday my worst nightmare would occur. You would lean over and kiss someone like that. You would have a wife, and it wouldn’t be me. It wouldn’t be our baby. I felt like I was dying. I had to get out of the car and vomit into a trash can.”

  How could he have done this to her? Lizzie, I’m sorry.

  He picked up her hand. One by one, he stroked her fingers with their soft pink nails shaped like perfect seashells. “You’re wrong that I didn’t feel the same way. I loved you so much it hurt. I had a ring.”

  “What did you say?”

  “The weekend I planned to propose, I got the call about my mom. After that, I felt so fucked up, Lizzie. All I could think was—she didn’t love me enough to stay. And if she didn’t love me then maybe my greatest fear was true. I was unlovable.” Do not cry. He caressed her left ring finger with his thumb. Outside the distant sound of a fire engine penetrated the quiet. “I don’t know how to describe it, but I felt crazy, like another person was in my body—a self-destructive person that didn’t know what to do with this debilitating grief. I wanted to punch things or run away or just get good and drunk. That night I did just that—got really drunk and managed to self-destruct in spectacular fashion.”

  She rested her other hand on one of his knees. “Grant,” she whispered. “Her suicide was not because she didn’t love you.”

  He didn’t speak for a moment. Do not cry. “When Mandy asked for a divorce she told me I was so busy hating myself that there was no room to love anyone else. My self-hatred overpowered any chance for love.”

  Lizzie had gone completely still, almost like she was holding her breath.

  “I cheated on you with that girl because I hated myself. I hated myself more than I loved you. I was in agony, and I didn’t know how to handle it. Like those poor girls who cut themselves—chasing pain with pain.” Tears blurred his vision. Lizzie handed him a tissue from the pack on the bedside table. “There hasn’t been a day since that I haven’t regretted what I did to you. Hurting you was worse than hurting myself. And, Lizzie, I’m sorry. I’ll be sorry for the rest of my life.” He wiped his eyes with the tissue. His lips trembled with the effort to smile. “Do you want me to go?”

  She swept a lock of his hair from his forehead. “No, I don’t want you to go. I want you to bring me those pajamas that are on the top of my dresser.”

  “Okay.” He left the bed and fetched the pajamas. Dark blue cotton—they smelled of Lizzie’s perfume. He wanted to rest his raw eyes into the soft material and weep. He set them in her lap.

  “I’m going to put these on. You’re going to strip down to your boxers and get in beside me and hold me while we talk about all the amazing times we had together. And we’re going to laugh and cry and talk until we fall asleep. And in the morning, you may start to try and win me back.”

  You may try and win me back. “Lizzie.” What could he say? “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure. Now turn around while I change. If we’re not having sex, then you don’t get to see me naked.”

  He wiped his eyes. “Yes, ma’am.”

  When he slipped between the sheets, she snuggled close to him. He wrapped her in his arms as she rested her cheek against his chest. “Tell me what you remember about our trip to Napa,” she said.

  “I remember standing on the patio of a tasting room looking out over rows and rows of grapes, and you sighed this happy little sigh. ‘It’s too perfect for words,’ you said. And I said back, ‘Someday I’ll buy you a piece of property with a view of rows and rows of grapes.’ Do you remember?”

  “Yes, I remember.”

  “Someday is now, Lizzie. I did it. I’m rich now. Successful enough to buy a piece of land if I wanted to. I’m where I always wanted to be, except for one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You. I want to be with you.”

  **

  In the minutes before daybreak, Grant dreamt. He was eight years old at the seashore. His father stood near the water holding a molten poker like a sword. Grant could see its red tip from where he stood, still and silent. If he remained quiet, his father would not turn and see him. A wave broke and crashed to shore. The water would reach him soon. Grant tried to run, but his feet were stuck in the sand. His father turned toward him, his face contorted with rage. You. The sea water swirled around his father’s legs. Would it take him out to sea?

  Do you know why I never loved you? his dad asked.

  Do you know why I loved you? Grant whispered.

  Because you’re a worthless little bastard. He swung the poker at Grant, close enough that it brushed his cheek. It burned into his flesh.

  With a start, he woke. Shake it off. Just a dream. He can’t hurt you. He was here with Lizzie. Lizzie. His Lizzie.

  She slept curled up with her head tucked in the crook of her arm. Tangled and unruly, her hair splayed over her face. Smudges of yesterday’s mascara stained her smooth skin. Her arms were
hardly more than skin covering bone. She was too thin. Oh, Lizzie, you must take better care of yourself. I’m here now. I’ll take care of you. But still, she was perfect to him. His Lizzie. His angel. He tucked the comforter around her shoulders. She stirred but didn’t wake, breathing easily, her face peaceful.

  Hazy morning light slipped under the bottom of the roman shades. Decorated in dusty rose and creams, Lizzie’s bedroom was feminine and delicate, like her. The faint scent of her perfume lingered in the sheets. The books stacked on the bedside table looked as if they might topple over at any moment. File folders lay open on the floor near the entrance to the bathroom along with an empty wine glass. A half-dozen discarded dresses peppered the floor of her closet. The back of the easy chair by the window was host to several pairs of jeans, a crumpled t-shirt, a couple scarves, and a purse. Lizzie was messy. He didn’t care. Let her leave her clothes all over the bedroom if she wanted. As long as she let him in her bedroom, he was happy.

  He glanced at the clock. Nearing eight. He was supposed to meet a buddy at nine to play golf. He took another moment to watch Lizzie, knowing he needed to run home and get showered and changed.

  She moved to her back and then rolled to her other side. Her eyes fluttered open. “Grant?”

  “It’s early. Go back to sleep.” He brushed her hair from where it stuck to her flushed cheek.

  “Are you a dream?”

  He smiled. “No.”

  “Did last night really happen?”

  “Yes.

  “My head hurts.”

  “That’s the bourbon.”

  “I may have to call in sick,” she said.

  “It’s Saturday.”

  “Saturday. Right.”

  “Sleep in as long as you want,” he said.

  “Just a few more minutes.” She closed her eyes. From her rhythmic breathing, he knew she had fallen back to sleep.