Those Who Wait

by Haley Cass

  It was the anger that carried her home, blind to nearly anything else going on around her.

  She was angry with Charlotte. So angry with Charlotte, for ending something that she knew would have been so beautiful. Something that already was beautiful.

  Angry at her for not giving them a chance, and not having any faith.

  She was angry with Charlotte for agreeing to this in the first place, when apparently, she thought it was always only going to end in disaster.

  She yanked the door to her apartment open, her hand shaking and stomach rolling so harshly she thought she was going to be sick in the hallway.

  Because mostly, she was angry with herself.

  For starting this whole thing. Because Charlotte was right. It had been her who initiated this. It had been her who wanted this in the first place, who went to Charlotte’s and insisted that they sleep together. It had been her who had suggested they be friends with benefits, despite the disastrous way their first time together had gone.

  It had been her who was so disgustingly naïve, who thought this could work out just because she was in love, in spite of everything she knew about Charlotte. In spite of the fact that she respected Charlotte’s drive, and she – what? Expected that she should just throw it away, for her? For Sutton?

  She was so angry with herself. For being an idiot this whole time and deluding herself that Charlotte felt the same way and that something good would come of this.

  She felt like she was burning and alive as she shut the door behind her. Still so wound up that it didn’t hit her about why she’d been avoiding this for the last few days right away.

  Not even as Regan shouted out, “Sutton? Are you home? I’ve missed you. I even brought you home a whole lemon cake from the café last night.”

  She barely registered anything until she stood in the doorway of the living room, breathing heavy and eyes stinging, as she saw Regan on the couch.

  Her best friend had the remote in hand, grinning from ear to ear. “I’m so excited! We should order in and watch –”

  Sutton didn’t know what it was about that exact moment.

  Maybe it was because everything with Charlotte – how raw it all felt, her admitting that she was in love with her, and how it was definitely so over – tore away any semblance of numbness and hope.

  Maybe it was because hearing Regan and seeing her sitting on their couch, talking to her like she always did, reminded her so strongly of why she’d been avoiding her since this all happened.

  Because this was home and she was safe here, and suddenly there was no more anger.

  It was so fast she felt her knees go weak, because it felt like everything inside of her was breaking open. Every last thread she’d been holding onto snapped and she swayed in place.

  “Sutton? What’s wrong?” The urgency in Regan’s voice, the utter concern, was the final straw.

  Her arms fell uselessly at her sides, as all of the tears she’d been trying to keep at bay for days broke through. She felt like she could barely even breathe through it.

  She couldn’t see through her tears, but she heard and felt Regan jump off the couch, rushing to her. “What? What is it? Is everyone okay?”

  Her friend’s arms wrapped around her tightly, and Sutton leaned into her, sobs wracking her body. She should have told Regan everything from the beginning. She should have – God, she was the worst and everything was falling apart, and she shook her head.

  “I’m s-sorry. I’m so sorry,” was all she managed to get out on a broken whisper, hiccupping as Regan’s arms just banded even tighter around her, keeping them both up.

  She could feel her whole body shaking as she sank into her best friend, into the comfort here. “I – I applied for an internship in Rome. Months ago. And I never told you. And I got in.” She wanted to pull away, to look Regan in the eye when she said it, but didn’t feel like she could. “I’m sorry. I won’t even go, I shouldn’t go.”

  But Regan only held on to her tighter. “We’ll figure it out! It’s okay,” she tried to soothe her, but with the warm way she rubbed circles into her back, Sutton could only cry harder.

  “And you were right. Charlotte d-doesn’t want to be with me. I’m in love with her and she doesn’t want to be with me and it’s over and I just didn’t want to tell you. And I love her so much, I really do.” She buried her face into Regan’s neck, shaking, as she managed to whisper, “Please don’t say you told me so. Please.”

  She couldn’t handle it. She just couldn’t.

  Regan stroked her hair. “Never.”

  Chapter 22

  When Charlotte opened the top drawer of her work desk, she was greeted with a Post-it that read if you’re reading this, it means you’ve stayed at the office too long! Go home! in Caleb’s handwriting.

  She crumpled the note and tossed it in the trash.

  “Nothing but net,” she muttered under her breath as she pulled out the file she’d been searching for.

  Under the file was another note from her brother: seriously, woman? GO HOME!

  Tired eyes rolled hard as the second note joined the first. Rather than heed the advice, she tapped on her mouse to wake up her computer. Maybe it was Saturday morning and, yes, maybe she didn’t typically work Saturday mornings.

  But as of two and a half weeks ago, she’d been at work basically through every waking moment. It was crunch time; the election was in less than a month, and in addition to any last-minute campaigning, she also had to keep up with her day-to-day responsibilities. She still had an interview to do – two weeks from now, so it would come out right before the election – and she’d only just done her final, informal debate with Naomi a couple days ago.

  It had thankfully gone smoother than the one before it. She had to figure that of course Naomi would keep trying to make a few digs into her love life, but during that debate it hadn’t filled Charlotte with fear again.

  There was nothing to find out anymore.

  She hadn’t seen Sutton in weeks.

  Hadn’t heard a word from her. Had gotten no long, rambling messages about her day. Hadn’t had any warm and sleepy good nights whispered just before falling asleep.

  It was her choice, she reminded herself; it had to be done.

  Maybe she hadn’t been entirely prepared for their entire friendship and communication to end. And maybe she hadn’t been ready for the giant chasm she’d feel in the aftermath.

  She certainly hadn’t been ready for Sutton to sit across from her, heartbroken and angry, saying that she was in love with her.

  It made her want to cry just thinking about it, for many jumbled reasons, and that was utterly ridiculous.

  Sutton loved her. Was in love with her. It was the strangest, most wonderful, most painful feeling to hear Sutton say. Where her heart skipped a beat, and then her chest had seemed to feel so warm.

  Before the reality of it all came crashing down with the realization: that was it. All of her potential hopes about friendship and somehow maintaining having Sutton in her life were gone with those words.

  She’d seen it, written all over Sutton’s achingly beautiful face in that moment. That there really was no going back to whatever friendship she’d thought they’d had.

  Sutton was in love with her. And Charlotte had no idea how to be in love, let alone how to be in love with Sutton and have her best odds at accomplishing her dreams.

  It felt like she’d been robbed of something, now. Something precious.

  The remains of the world they’d built between the two of them came crashing down in a matter of minutes and she hadn’t been able to manage to think of any words to say to make it better. Not when Sutton had declared that they’d never even been friends.

  She’d done exactly as she’d set out not to do, and had broken Sutton’s heart. It ate at her, taking away her appetite while her stomach felt tangled in knots. She wouldn’t be hearing from her. Ever again. And that made her ache in ways she didn’t want to think about.
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  Ways she couldn’t think about. She wouldn’t.

  During her last debate she’d been filled with this same hollowed feeling that had taken up residence in her chest. It had been almost alarmingly simple to fall into the façade of that mask.

  Unlike winning her first two debates though, there was no feeling of triumph and sheer happiness. She just felt tired.

  Proud, of course. Successful, yes. The smile on her face that was featured on the news segment afterwards had been genuine. But also, exhausted. The very last thing she’d wanted that night was to go out with Caleb and Dean or even to have a late dinner with her grandmother; instead, she’d gone home, poured herself a drink, and promptly gone to bed.

  Clearing her throat, Charlotte straightened her back and narrowed her eyes at her computer screen.

  “My God, with that level of concentration, I’m shocked you haven’t not only conquered the entire country, but also laser vision.” Dean’s voice jarred her and she managed to just stop herself from jolting in surprise, looking up just in time to see him fully walk into her area of the office.

  “With that kind of comedy, I’m shocked you haven’t made it in stand-up.” She rolled her eyes, before glancing up at the clock. “What are you doing here?”

  “I have a few reports to send in for the beginning of the month. The real question is what are you doing here?” He leaned his hip against her desk, putting his hand deliberately on top of her file, as if she was going to attempt to get any work done at this exact moment.

  “I’m just finishing up some paperwork myself.” She hedged, knowing that the second he looked at what she’d been about to work on, he would know the truth.

  Only a moment later, his eyes flickered to her desk. Busted.

  “This isn’t even due to be finished for over a week. And it’s a Saturday morning.” He leveled her with a look.

  Which she challenged with her own as she changed the subject. “When did you let my brother break into my desk and vandalize my things with Post-its?”

  “I left my jacket here last night and we stopped on our way back from dinner. To be entirely honest, we were both shocked you’d gone home by then,” he teased, but there was an edge of seriousness there as his eyes searched hers.

  “Please. You two take so long to finish a dinner date, you probably didn’t swing by here until nine or ten.”

  “And don’t think I don’t know how late you’ve been staying lately.” He drummed his fingers on her desk, lifting a playful eyebrow. “It might come as a shock to you, but most people who work here actually don’t need to be convinced by their boss to go home by five. And to not come in on weekends.”

  “Shut up.”

  To her surprise, he did. Only because he picked up the report on her desk and put it back in the file. “You aren’t going to sit here all day and write up this report. It’s the weekend. Go home. Visit your grandmother. Come out with me and Caleb for dinner. Walk around Central Park. Go visit a pet store. But you’re not going to spend the day here and don’t you dare come around tomorrow, either. And now that I have you here? You’re actually going to take the day off on Monday, too.”

  He crossed his arms, as if daring her to argue.

  Instead, she laughed, leaning back in her chair. “Oh, right, yes. I’ll take Monday off. Sure.”

  Dean scowled. “I’m not joking, Charlotte. You’re taking the day off. And the weekend, don’t forget about that.”

  Charlotte rolled her eyes. “And why would I do that?” She had a whole laundry list of things she should get done this weekend. And taking a day off? She couldn’t remember the last time she did that.

  “Because I told you to.” There were only a handful of times he’d used that dead-serious tone with her.

  Her eyebrows lifted, incredulous. “I have work to do.”

  Dean let out a bark of laughter. “All of the work you could possibly have to do here for the next two weeks is already essentially done!” Shaking his head, he sobered and leaned forward to hold eye contact with her, interrupting before she could argue with him. “Charlotte, you’ve been here before seven in the morning every day for the last few weeks. You’ve been staying until well past six every night, on top of juggling your campaign duties. You’ve been coming in on the weekends.” He gestured at her now, having caught her in the act. “As your boss, I’m telling you that you aren’t going to show your face here until Tuesday at the earliest.”

  “As my boss, shouldn’t you be glad that you have such a dedicated employee?” She shot back.

  “Maybe,” he conceded, before dropping his head to hold her gaze. “But as your friend, I’m worried about you. You’ve always been dedicated and that’s a part of what has made you so incredible to work with. But . . . you need a break.”

  They stared at one another for a few moments and she wanted to argue with him. She had to actively hold herself back from arguing with him. To revolt against his abject ordering her around. There was always more that could be done and she narrowed her eyes.

  “You know I’m right.”

  Damningly, she did. She was entirely caught up on her work – alarmingly so, for someone in her position.

  But Charlotte didn’t even know how to begin to explain that the very last thing she needed right now was a break.

  That she’d been spending every waking moment in the last couple of weeks trying to keep as busy as possible – at work and on her campaign, wherever she could – because whenever she had downtime, she thought of Sutton.

  Having free time made her feel everything she was desperately trying to put up a wall against.

  How did she explain to him that free time led her to nights like last night, where she’d been unable to fall asleep and instead had broken down and looked at Sutton’s Instagram? That she’d been avoiding looking at any social media that could possibly tempt her to snap her control and check up on how Sutton was doing?

  How did she explain that she spent time at home cleaning everything to rid every trace of Sutton, only to prove to herself how embedded Sutton had become in her life? That she knew Sutton’s birthday was next week and she couldn’t bring herself to throw out the jacket she’d purchased for her over a month ago that was wrapped and now hidden in her closet?

  How could she possibly put into words that she was waking up by five without an alarm? That constantly keeping busy throughout the day made it easier for her to drop into sleep at night without having time to let herself think about the way everything inside of her felt?

  How did she even begin to describe to Dean that Charlotte needed to be here, taking meetings and checking on developments and working on her campaign, because she couldn’t be alone with her own thoughts right now?

  How could she explain that to anyone, when she’d spent her entire life priding herself on not being this kind of person?

  She’d spent her entire adult life honing her control, creating boundaries, and carefully evading every situation where she would end up as this person. Now here she was anyway.

  “I don’t need a break.” She finally settled on, quietly but firmly, steadfastly holding Dean’s eye.

  His mouth fell open. “Charlotte, if you’ve gotten more than five hours of sleep in a single night in the last few weeks, I’m a monkey’s uncle.”

  “Kind of rude to talk about your niece like that.”

  “Shut up. You need a break and you’re taking it starting today.”

  Charlotte pulled her hair back and out of the way as she let out an exasperated sigh. “I think you’re being a little dramatic, boss.”

  Instead of giving her another talking-to in his stern voice and the look she was used to going with it, where his forehead was all scrunched up, Dean was quiet. He tilted his head to look up at the ceiling, deep in thought for a few long moments, before looking back at her with that same thoughtful look.

  She stared back, lifting an eyebrow in question.

  Dean shook his head before reaching out and pl
acing his fingertips on the notepad in front of her, tapping lightly. “You know, a couple of years ago, I wasn’t even thirty-five and I’d just become the mayor of this city.”

  Charlotte lifted a brow. “I’m aware . . .”

  He continued, unfazed, looking over her shoulder at his closed office door. “There I was, wanting to prove myself, when a position opened up and a resumé landed on my desk.” He looked back at her. “A young woman, a few years out of college, working for the governor, with an entire page of internships and jobs in D.C. already under her belt – but impressive as it was, I saw the last name and thought – did I really want this young and idealistic, likely headstrong and opinionated woman, the granddaughter of a fucking President, to be the first one I personally hired?”

  “Probably not,” she acknowledged. She’d never heard this before and honestly, she was grateful for the distraction.

  God only knew she could use a good distraction lately.

  “Probably not,” he agreed and linked his fingers over his knee. “But you had the education, some experience, and glowing recommendations, so an interview was guaranteed.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him, but remained silent as Dean’s grin grew at the memory.

  “I was convinced that I wasn’t going to hire you. Then was even more convinced when it was three minutes past the interview time and you weren’t yet in my office. And that was when I looked out from my office and saw that you were here –”

  “Oh, god,” she groaned, shaking her head at her past self. Then again, it made her smirk, because she still wouldn’t do anything differently.

  Dean laughed. “And I saw that you’d walked right into a team meeting and instead of just walking by them and into your interview, you stopped. You asked what they were stuck on and you jumped in. In twenty minutes, you had helped members of this department delve into the groundwork for a new proposal and you weren’t even employed yet.”

  After a moment, Dean sighed and his smile faded a bit as he nodded slowly. “I knew in that moment that, regardless of my doubts and worries, if I didn’t hire you, you’d get another job in a heartbeat and I would miss out.”