Wrong Number: A Forbidden Love Age-Gap Romance

by Iris Trovao

  Ever his intuitive daughter. He strode in and kissed the top of her head.

  “Are you sure? I don’t mind staying with you.”

  “I’m good, Dad, really.” She held up her uninjured hand.

  “You promise you'll text me if you feel off at all when you’re at home?” He pointed at her.

  “Yes, go, please stop acting like a teenager, it’s weird.” She stuck her tongue out at him and he couldn't help but laugh, shaking his head.

  “I love you.”

  “Love you too, Dad.”

  On his way out to the parking lot, Carson checked his phone again, even though he hadn’t felt it buzz. No word from Jolie. His battery was down to single digit percentage, though, and he racked his brain to remember if he’d gotten his car charger back from Rose the last time she’d borrowed it.

  He didn’t think so. Okay, stop at home and grab a charger, go to Jolie’s, and if she’s not there… As he drove to his place, he made a mental list of everywhere between the cafe and Jolie’s apartment that he thought she would go. If she’d headed out for a bender, she probably wouldn’t be too picky and just go to whatever was most accessible.

  Once I have my phone plugged in I can look at places around the cafe on the map and… He pulled into his driveway and barrelled inside his house, keys clattering on the kitchen counter as he rummaged around for an extra car charger.

  He finally found one and paused, a thought occurring in the back of his mind. Damn, I should have thought of that before I left the hospital…

  He hit a contact in his phone, and as it rang he grabbed the charger and his keys in his other hand. “Hello, this is Dr. Carson Wessex, I would like to be on the notification list if any Jane Does—”

  He stopped short as he burst through the door, nearly tripping over a body curled up on the front walk. His phone clattered to the ground and his chest constricted.

  She was here.

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Jolie slammed her empty glass on the bar and stared at it wistfully before grabbing her coat.

  “You having a cig?” Declan asked, downing a shot and standing up from his stool.

  I don’t know what I’m doing anymore, she thought bitterly. Am I doomed to be pathetic and lonely? Am I going to just be an idiot forever, pushing away everything good in my life?

  As the cold air smacked her in the face, she blinked back the moisture in her eyes that suddenly felt like icicles. She wandered off to the side of the patio, out of the way of anyone coming or going, and leaned against the wall as she dug around in her pocket for the cigarette pack.

  “So, is it totally unsalvageable?” Declan asked as he plucked a smoke from her proffered pack.

  Jolie raised an eyebrow as she held up a flame for him. “Is what unsalvageable?”

  “The relationship with this guy that you think won’t work,” he said through one side of his mouth as he puffed with the other. “You said you drove him away. You think it was for good?”

  She sighed. “I don’t fuckin’ know, man,” she whined. “He’s so out of my league it’s not even funny.”

  “Ah,” he said sagely, nodding as he drew out the word, “so it’s insecurity then.”

  “Of course it’s insecurity,” she muttered. “I’m a hot mess, and I’m always going to be a hot mess, and he deserves better.” Her chest constricted so painfully that she closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the cold brick wall. Better like Gina, the mother of his children? No, definitely better than her. Someone who is emotionally stable, has a fancy job, can care for him, love him as much as I do.

  The words in her mind punched her in the gut, and all of the air went out of her lungs. She wrapped an arm around her stomach, her cigarette falling to the ground, and near doubled over with the force of it.

  Somewhere, far away, Declan’s voice echoed, asking her if she was okay, his hand on her shoulder, but it was all she could do to breathe.

  …love him as much as I do…

  This time she did double over, the booze in her stomach churning like a raging sea, and she thought she’d be sick all over the patio stones.

  Fuck, fuck…

  She swallowed, straightening up, sweat on her brow despite the frigid air, arms wrapped around her midsection to calm the storm in her belly.

  “Hey,” Declan finally broke through her fog, concerned face close to hers, “you okay? You only had like two drinks. Did you take something else?”

  “No,” she choked out. No, for once I kept control of myself. For once I thought before I acted. For once I want to actually do something about my problem instead of just wallowing in guilt.

  Fuck.

  “I need to go,” she croaked, taking in a deep, ragged breath.

  His brow furrowed as he moved back a bit. “You sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m not okay,” she admitted. “But it’s my own damn fault and I’m gonna fix it.”

  He smiled and nodded thoughtfully. “Good for you.”

  “Thanks.” She took another breath, her stomach less stormy and more butterflies, chest less clenching and more thundering. She took a tentative step towards the sidewalk, each movement intensifying the pure terror in her bones. Partly because she wanted to delay what she was about to do, and partly because she felt like she owed a debt, she turned back. “If you’re going to be here a while…check out J’s Place a few blocks down. Best coffee in town.” You’re welcome, Janos.

  “Thanks,” Declan replied with a grin. “I’ll see you around then, I guess.”

  Maybe. Maybe if I can get my life back together. “Nice to meet you.”

  “You too, Jolie,” he said, and though her name sounded nice, it didn’t sound quite right.

  It didn’t sound husky, or needy, or thick with emotion. It didn’t sound like two rocks brushing together, like a dark whisper against her flesh. It didn’t sound like Carson’s voice.

  And though terror gripped her body like a vice and blood rushed in her ears, something else bloomed inside of her. She was ready to give that thing a name…hope. Hope that she could fight for him and win.

  When Jolie reached Carson’s place, his car was outside. She’d half-hoped that it wouldn’t be, that he wouldn’t be here and she could just shrug, give up, and go home. It had been a long enough walk that her fear and excitement hadn’t sustained her, and her nose had gone completely numb.

  Light from the kitchen spilled out onto the lawn, and she approached the front door cautiously. Her boots trudged through the light dusting of snow, and despite it not being deep it still felt as though she were dragging her body through something solid. Forcing her way up a mountain.

  At the top lay uncertainty and fear. Surely it would be easier to just roll back down to the bottom? Lay broken in the chasm with a bottle of booze and nobody around to drag down with her?

  Jolie exhaled, puffing out her cheeks as she let out the breath slowly.

  She wasn’t ready to knock.

  She had to compose herself.

  What the fuck am I gonna say to him? Why haven’t I been rehearsing this whole time? Isn’t that what people do on their way to give grand declarations or whatever? Fuck, fuck, I suck at this!

  She plonked herself down on the edge of the porch, burying her face in her gloved hands. The cold leather felt like nothing against her puffy, frozen cheeks, her non-existent nose.

  And then the door opened, and she could hear him.

  “—Carson Wessex, I would like to be on the notification list if any Jane Does—”

  Something clattered to the ground, likely his phone, and a rush of air ruffled her hair as he stopped short of barrelling into her. She couldn’t see him, couldn’t make herself turn around to look at him, but she could feel him there, staring down at her.

  Jolie was afraid to move. All semblance of the courage she’d managed to muster up to that moment evaporated, not to mention her basic motor functions.

  “You’re here,” Carson breathed, and it came
out so strangled that it shattered her heart into a million pieces.

  He was worried about me. Fuck.

  Her throat suddenly closed, too thick to allow for breath. Why didn’t I turn my phone back on? Why didn’t I text him first? Why did I blow him off in the first place? I’m such a fucking asshole—

  “Jolie,” he said, and it felt like everything was okay again, because it was his voice, and he was here, saying her name, calling to her with something more than the sounds formed by his mouth. When he said her name it was like he was reaching out and taking her heart in his hands, cupping it and pulling it to him as if he would cherish it and protect it forever.

  Why is this so scary?

  She finally pulled her hands from her face and turned, shimmying on her ass because she didn’t trust her legs just yet. She looked up at him, the man she loved, standing there, his own eyes like a deer in the headlights, frozen in place, staring down at her.

  The air went out of the world.

  Chapter Sixty

  She looked terrible. She looked terrible but lucid, and Carson’s heart began to beat again. There was recognition in her eyes, and they were wide, neither half-lidded nor glazed.

  She’s here, he thought, his shoulders suddenly so light it was as if his body lifted right off of the porch. She’s here, she’s not in an alley somewhere or in a hospital bed or laying out here in the snow, wasted and incoherent… She came here.

  She hadn’t moved, though, and the absolute terror on her face was a clear indication of why. Said terror also bloomed hot in his chest, warming him, showing him that he wasn’t alone. That he wasn’t the only scared idiot in this situation.

  “Hi,” Jolie finally said, her voice quivering.

  The raspy word seemed to unlock his body, and he sank down into a squat, taking her hands in his. Her nose shone crimson and his brow furrowed.

  “You walked here,” he stammered. Of course she walked here. “You’re freezing. Come in.” He pulled her to her feet, steadying her shaky form. He didn’t know if she was shaky from nerves or from the cold, but that didn’t matter. He’d been terrified that she was hurt or sick somewhere without care, and now she was here, and he could care for her.

  He closed the door behind her, and she leaned against the wall as she wriggled out of her boots.

  “I’m an idiot,” she murmured, but Carson shook his head.

  “We’re both idiots,” he corrected, and reached for her hand. She stood there, staring up at him with wary eyes, unmoving as he pulled the glove from her delicate fingers, one at a time. The digits were like ice beneath, and he pressed them between his palms. “How long were you out there?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, gaze flicking to the floor. “Long enough.”

  He removed the glove from her other hand, bringing her frozen fingers to his lips. “Come into the living room, I’ll get a fire going.”

  She swallowed hard, blinking rapidly, and nodded, fumbling with the zipper of her coat. Carson took the tab and pulled it down, parting the poofy garment to reveal her shivering body beneath.

  Jolie still wore the plaid button-down and jeans she’d donned for work that day, a glob of some kind of batter dried across the denim on her thigh. He imagined her standing on the sidewalk, everyone that was supposed to care about her having left her there, cold and alone and friendless.

  She’d pushed him away. She’d pushed everyone away.

  But now she was here.

  She’d come back.

  Had she read his text messages? If she had, why hadn’t she responded?

  They entered the living room and he led her to the couch, motioning to the plush corner closest to the fireplace. She curled her legs up, tucking her feet under, body condensing into the cushions.

  He pulled a soft crocheted blanket from a basket in the corner, the one made from thick pink velour yarn that Rose had made one year at Christmas. He unfolded it and wrapped it around Jolie, and part of him knew that he was overcompensating, that he didn’t need to fuss over her like this, that her body temperature from walking would have been at safe levels, that there was no frostbite warning in effect… But she took it, tightened the blanket around her, snuggled her face against it for comfort.

  He turned and knelt by the fireplace, stacking up kindling in a neat little square with some newspaper twisted in between the pieces. He lit a match with steady fingers, a far cry from the shaky mess he’d been when he first saw her.

  When the flames sprung to life, he blew gently, and soon the kindling was ablaze, crackling happily. He gently nudged a thick log inside, making sure it caught before moving back to the couch.

  “I’m sorry I was an asshole today,” Jolie blurted as soon as he sat down, and he blinked at her.

  I should have been thinking about what I was going to say, he thought frantically. He’d been so focused on just finding her, and since she’d come in the door he’d been so distracted by taking care of her that he’d totally forgotten the conversation that was likely to follow.

  The conversation that needed to follow.

  “I know you’re not still hung up on Gina,” she said slowly, staring at the fire. Her cherry-red nose shone in the flickering light, and she shook her head. “And that even if you were, I can trust that you would know how to handle it… Like you’d know to ignore it or if you didn’t wanna ignore it you’d know to get rid of me first.”

  He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

  She charged forward. “I’m just…I’m not a fucking stable person.” She chuckled humourlessly, still avoiding his gaze. “I’ve got deep emotional issues and I take them out on the people who mean the most to me. That’s my MO and you deserve better than that. You deserve someone who is gonna be…nice.” She wrinkled her nose.

  Carson couldn’t help it. He laughed.

  She finally looked at him, eyes wide.

  “You are nice,” he said, and when she pursed her lips he reached out and dug one of her hands out from under the blanket. “In a rough-around-the-edges kind of way.”

  “In an insane-person kind of way,” she scoffed.

  “Hey.” He shook his head. “None of that. It’s not insane to have feelings.”

  She clenched her jaw, looking down at their joined hands. “I went to the bar,” she said quietly.

  “I thought that was maybe where you went,” he admitted.

  “Yeah, I heard you screaming about Jane Doe notifications.” It would have come out dry, he imagined, if her voice hadn’t been so low.

  He brushed his thumb over her knuckles, her fingers finally starting to warm in his palm. “I remembered you…you were in my emergency room last year. I didn’t know it was you until I thought about it tonight. I didn’t want you to be Jane again, lying alone and ill in a hospital bed…or worse.” His voice cracked, but he swallowed it down. “It’s not because I think that you’re insane or damaged. You just don’t know your worth, sometimes.”

  “It’s not your job to remind me of my worth.” Her voice was thick.

  “I know that.” He squeezed her hand. “And it turns out it didn’t have to be. You went to the bar, but now you’re here.”

  She took a deep breath. “You deserve better than me.”

  “Is that what you came to tell me?” he asked, and his heart rate tripled, a chill settling over the back of his neck.

  “You were about to, what, run around checking every bar for me, sloppy drunk in an alley?” she scoffed, pulling her hand out of his.

  He cocked his head. “Yes, I was.”

  “You shouldn’t have to do that every time we have a fucking fight.”

  “I didn’t have to,” he replied firmly. “I also didn’t have to let you to stew in misconstrued feelings. I want you to know that despite being afraid you’d gone out with the intention of hurting yourself, at no point was I judging you for it. I know that I didn’t handle myself well today either, that I haven’t been handling myself well much at all.”

  �
��You’ve done nothing wrong,” Jolie breathed, shaking her head. “I am not an easy person to…be around.”

  He wanted to argue, but the air felt like soup, like everything that had been left unsaid coagulated in every molecule between them, sucking the breath out of his lungs. By the look on her face, Jolie was experiencing the same thing, and Carson knew that he had to be the one to say it. He had to put it out there, or he would never forgive himself for not being one hundred percent honest with her.

  “I’m in love with you,” he declared, though it came out with less conviction than he’d imagined. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Jolie. I love you.”

  A strangled sob tore out of her throat and she launched herself against him, limbs tangled in the blanket. He caught her just in time, his own foot catching between the crochet stitches, and they toppled back in a pretzel of human and yarn.

  She shrieked, and he scrabbled to grab a hold of her before she slipped from the couch and smacked into the coffee table. Finally they stabilized, though crunched at a strange angle due to the blanket constraining them.

  However, she managed to wriggle an arm free and wrap it around the back of his neck. He looked down at her, breathless, at the tears streaming down her face, her eyes a mirror of his own heart.

  “I love you, doc,” she said, a hiccup interrupting the last word, and laughed wetly. “I fuckin’ love you.”

  Carson curled an errant lock of Jolie’s hair behind her ear, and then he kissed her.

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Kissing Carson was like heaven and hell rolled into one—bliss and euphoria with a dash of sin and mischief. Jolie melted against him, and as her form became pliable and languid, she realized just how tense she’d been without his touch, without the security of his love.

  She’d spent so long wanting him, needing him, and when she had a taste of what their happiness could be, she’d cast it aside, and only in this moment did she realize how heavy the weight of losing him had been. How the universe suddenly clicked into place, and everything seemed okay again—no, not okay, perfect, beautiful, like the very fabric of spacetime thrummed with the vibration of her heartstrings.