by S. M. West
“He came for you in California—twice,” Mom says.
“Twice?” I interject, cocking my head to the side.
“First, your wedding. He came to stop it, did he not?”
My mother is so bold in her assumption, albeit correct, and heat climbs up my neck. I force myself to keep eye contact even though I want nothing more than to look away. We’ve never talked about that day, she doesn’t even know what Drew and I spoke about, but from how she’s stating things, she guessed his intention and that I turned him down.
Filling the silence, Mom continues, “Since you came home with him, Drew has spent every moment with you; that is, when you’ll let him. That man is crazy about you and loves you to death.”
“He messed up. Big time,” Dad says, while Mom adds defensively, “He knows he did and he’s more than made up for that.”
Dad nods and my heart stutters. All this time, I’ve been resisting Drew, refusing to get hurt again. Afraid to spare the little of my heart that is still intact because I don’t know if I can trust him with it, yet others—Finn, Paige, my parents—see it differently.
“Yeah, he has.” Dad turns my head to look at him. “He’s been in a lot of pain these past years. He’s tried to hide it, but we see it.” He glances up at my mother and she nods, her countenance grim. “He’s been affected, as much as any of us, by what that asshole tried to do to Claire.”
My dad rarely talks about that horrible night many years ago when Finn’s friend almost molested my little sister. That night robbed us of any kind of innocence, leaving each of us worn, broken, or bruised, in some shape or form—some bigger than others.
“He’s regretted breaking up with you every day of his life. He’s told me so.”
“He has?” my mother and I say in unison, and Dad only nods, never willing to break a confidence.
“But what if—” I trip over the difficulty of the words. “What if he does it again?” I blink back the dampness gathering in my eyes.
“Loving someone isn’t safe or painless or even a guarantee. That’s what makes it all the more special. It’s something we have to work at every day. You’ll make mistakes. We all do.”
Mom wraps an arm around me and stares lovingly at my father who returns the gesture, taking her hand in his.
“But ask yourself, what’s worse? Taking a chance on love and getting hurt or rejecting love—the love of your life?” Her question pangs at my heart because the answer is obvious.
And I’m not a coward.
“None of us can say what the future holds. We’d wager that Drew would die for you sooner than leave you,” Dad says.
“Where’d you slink off to?” Tom says, taking the chair across from me and breaking the moment. His grin slips from his face, remorseful for walking into something serious. “Did I just interrupt something?”
To put him out of his misery, as if planned, the three of us laugh, lightening the mood.
“No, honey, all is good.” Mom pats his hand, hugs me and then Tom. Dad does the same, and they say good night.
Once we’re alone, I glance up at Tom and he grins, hip-checking me.
“Did you tell them?” he asks, and I nod. “How’d they take it?”
“Really good.” I smile and he gestures to the beer in his hand, asking if I want one.
Declining with a head shake, I scan the thinning crowd. “What time is it?”
“Eleven thirty.” He draws a long pull from his beer bottle.
“Have you seen Drew?” I try to sound nonchalant but the tension in my tone gives me away.
Tom arches a brow and skims the crowd curiously. “Ah, your man is walking through the door as we speak.”
My man?
Maybe he is my man. I sure as hell want him to be. But we’re also going to be in two different cities with hundreds of miles between us.
Almost immediately, Drew’s gaze finds me, and I squint to get a better look at him in the dim lighting. Something is wrong with his eye. He strides over to us hurriedly, and I gasp at the black eye he’s sporting.
27
Drew
“Oh my god, what happened?” she asks at the same time I say, “Shit, guys, I’m sorry I’m late.”
“Please tell me the other guy looks worse,” Tom jests, leaning in to get a better look at my shiner.
“Yeah, he’s worse off. It’s a long story.”
I smile and the edges of my swollen eye ache, not to mention my ribs. I rub at the back of my neck and scan the thinning crowd. Sensing I want to talk to his sister alone, Tom slaps my shoulder with a reassuring look.
“No worries, man. You better get some ice on that soon. Talk later.”
We watch him walk away and because I’m unable to stand this close without touching her, I take her hand in mine, squeezing to make sure she’s real. I’ve had one hell of a night and she is all I could think about.
“Are you okay?” she asks, sensing I’m off kilter.
“I am now. You’re a sight for sore eyes.” My knuckles brush against her silky cheek and she leans into my touch.
Her long blonde lashes flutter closed for a moment. I had plans for tonight, for us, and I’m not going to let the trouble I ran into ruin them.
“Speaking of sore eyes, what happened?” Her fingers place feather-light touches around my puffy, sure to be discolored, eye. “Does it hurt?”
“Nah,” I lie, not wanting to talk about the pounding ache in my head. “Let’s find a place to sit.”
Once seated side by side, I begin, “First of all, I’m okay. Everything is okay.”
“Drew, you’re scaring me, and you haven’t even started. Why do I get the feeling I’m not going to like this? Who did this to you?”
“Brock.”
“What? He’s here?” she gasps, jolting to her feet. I gently pull her back down next to me.
“He’s not going to hurt you. I was running late, and was just down the street from here when I saw this big guy about to walk through the front door to the restaurant. I couldn’t see his face, his back was to me, but something about him was familiar and had me on high alert.”
Thinking about it now, it’s quite amazing that in the dark without any real context, I could sense the danger. Thank fuck he never got a chance to come inside.
“I yelled for him to wait and when he looked back, I saw it was Brock.”
“Oh no.” Pippa sucks in a breath and her fingers curl, knuckles whitening.
“He came at me, furious, like a charging bull.”
I leave out how I felt seeing this guy, built a like a brick house, coming toward me at full speed, or at least that’s what it seemed like at the time. For a split instant, Pippa came to mind and all I could think was, how the hell did she ever withstand a blow from that fucking beast? The thought consumed me, stoking my anger, and I fed on that because while I’m fit and can hold my own, I didn’t know how things were going to shake out.
“We got into it.” My brow furrows at the memory.
“What do you mean, ‘got into it?’ Don’t sugarcoat. Please.” She inches closer.
“Fuck, Pip, we started throwing punches. He got a few hits in and so did I. I didn’t realize it at first, but he was limping. He wasn’t as strong or with it as he could have been. His knee.”
“He’s not supposed to be on it,” she grits out, not in concern but sheer frustration. “He’s likely on painkillers too.”
“Yeah, well, he wasn’t at his best and I’m not gonna lie, I’m pretty sure that’s why I came out on top.” I run my hand through my hair and pinch my lips at the constant throbbing of my temples. “And there were a few guys that helped.”
“Oh, Drew, he could have…”
“He didn’t.” My tone is confident and reassuring. “I got him on the ground and another man helped me hold him down. I told him to leave or I’d call the police. He was cursing and refusing to leave. At that point, it didn’t really matter anyway. A crowd had gathered around us—I never e
ven realized it—and someone had already called the cops. We went to the police station. Several witnesses willingly came along, and I pressed assault charges.”
“You what?” Her eyes widen and her cheeks pink.
“Yeah. He’s a danger to you, to others. Who knows what else he’s capable of?”
I’m thankful that I didn’t lose my shit. I was close. No matter how many blows I delivered, and he was getting in his fair share, it never seemed enough, and when all was said and done, I wasn’t in the least bit satisfied.
But the burning force for bringing him down was Pippa. I couldn’t spare her those years with him or save her from the pain, but I was going to do everything in my power to make it next to impossible for him to ever hurt her again.
“I wanted to call you, but during the fight, my phone must have fallen out of my pocket. I found it outside just now. The screen is cracked but that’s okay.” I chuckle nervously; reliving the events of the night has given me another boost of adrenaline.
“Did you go to the hospital?”
“No. They wanted me to go, but I refused. I swear, Pip, I just wanted to get to you.”
“I’m so glad you’re okay.” She hugs me and the vise-grip around my chest lets up for the first time all night. “But we should get you checked out.”
“Uh-uh. I’m fine.”
“Where’s Brock now?”
“The police station. When I left, he was waiting for a lawyer. He won’t be out tonight and with any luck, not tomorrow either.”
“Drew, I’m just glad you’re okay.”
“I am.” I hold her close. “We need to talk.”
She nods and I’m at a loss for words. I fully expected her refusal. She’s been dodging our talk for a while now.
“I’m not going to lie and say I’m thrilled about New York.” She opens her mouth ready to rebut but I hold up my hand. “But it’s your choice. I meant what I said. You’ll always have a choice. This doesn’t change a thing for us.”
She cocks her head to the side. “And how exactly does that work with me in New York and you here?”
I smile; she didn’t shut down the idea right off the bat. “I love New York. It isn’t too far. Give us a chance.”
“You want a long distance relationship?” Disappointment lingers in her tone.
“Who said anything about long distance?”
“I don’t understand. I don’t see how this works.” She sounds like she is trying to convince herself just as much as me and I smile because this I can work with.
“We work.” I inch closer to her on the banquette.
“What if…” Her voice trembles as she tilts her head back, looking up at the ceiling to keep her tears from falling.
“What if what?” I softly say, lowering her chin so she’s looking at me.
“What if you leave me again?”
A lone tear slips from the corner of her eye and the raw and urgent panic in her eyes carves through my heart. My chest aches and stomach sours at her sadness and vulnerability. And finally, I have my answer. Finally, I understand more than ever before why she’s been holding back and not letting me in. I see it now.
I left her.
Abandoned her.
She’s scared to death that I’ll do it again.
How can she trust me even if I’ve said that I won’t?
She thought she had me before, even with the trouble with Finn; I lacked the conviction to see it through and in turn, I ripped her heart in two. Frankly, I ripped my heart out of my chest when I left her.
What’s different now is I know what life is like without her. A living hell.
My happiness is with Pippa and it took me losing her to realize it.
I will never leave her again. No matter what. I’ll just have to show her that this time is different and in time she will believe me. She will trust me.
“I never knew doing the right thing would hurt so badly.” We’re so close and I itch to pull her into my arms.
“Right? You think it was right to dump me?” she asks, incredulous and incensed.
Yeah, her fear is keeping her from me. Her reaction, covering her fear by lashing out, says it all.
“At the time I did,” I say truthfully, even as the regret slithers through me like a cold-blooded snake.
“And now?” She crosses her arms, scowling as angry tears continue to rain down her cheeks.
“It was all wrong. I was wrong.”
In her dampened lashes, it’s clear to see the loss and pain I caused still stings her.
Big, fat tears spill from her jaw onto her shirt and I choke back a fist-sized lump lodged in my throat at the damage I caused. My knuckles trace the curve of her neck and she trembles beneath my touch.
“Drew,” she sobs, but she doesn’t back away.
“Give us a chance. I not only hurt you, I lost you. I’ll never do that again.” I bury my face into her neck. “Give me a chance.”
She sinks into me, clinging to my body, and I take that as a good sign. There’s more to talk about and there’s the fact that she’s moving to New York, but I can fix this.
I will show her she can trust me to never leave her again.
I will show her she comes first above all else.
I will show her she’s my forever.
28
Pippa
The sidewalks are icy and the streets are slushy with grey-brown snow melting and pooling in the gutters. I find myself darting away from the curb when cars whip by and inevitably splash chunks of ice and frigid water onto unsuspecting pedestrians. I’ve been unfortunate enough to be one of them, once or twice.
I hustle up the steps of the brownstone I’m renting and shake off the remnants of snow from my jacket and boots before stepping into the foyer. The New York Fury wanted me on the job as of the first business day of the year and while I was eager to get started, even I knew finding a place to live in New York City wasn’t going to happen in a few weeks, especially over the holidays. Fortunately, the team owner had a townhouse on the Upper West Side and offered it to me while I look for a place of my own.
Christmas and New Year’s in Toronto were bittersweet. It was the first holiday in a long time that I’d spent with my family, but it also signaled my departure was headed toward us, fast and furious.
But in the four weeks I’ve been here, I’ve had many visitors. And true to her word, Paige has visited the most, coming two weekends in a row. She was supposed to come this weekend, but at the last minute, she mysteriously cancelled.
Drew and I talk daily, and I miss him more than I imagined. He hasn’t returned to work and when I ask him why not, or how he fills his days, his answers are vague. He’s visited twice already, and he promises more. I try not to put too much stock in that. Not that I don’t want it, but because I’m still cautious. Still waiting for that other shoe to drop.
Speaking of the other shoe, Brock’s assault charges got out to the public, thanks to social media, and a few industrious reporters took it upon themselves to unearth the real story.
With our divorce in the works, and hospital records of my visits to the ER, the abuse got out, as did his hiring a P.I., with some media outlets going so far as to call him not only an abuser but also a stalker. He’s fighting the assault charge with a trial date still to be set, but either way, his reputation is tarnished, and he lost a lot of his sponsors.
As for our divorce, he finally signed the papers. Of course, he didn’t do it as quickly as he’d said he would, trying to manipulate the situation in hopes of getting me to refute what was being said about him in the public eye.
I didn’t cave and we are over. I just got my signed copy two days ago, and by June of this year, our divorce will be final. That part of my life will be, once and for all, behind me.
He did surprise me, although it was likely a last-ditch attempt at looking like a good guy, and included a large lump sum of money in the settlement. I never asked for a dime and I wanted to decline—it felt like
hush money—but it would only delay our divorce proceedings and that was the last thing I wanted. Part of me wondered if that’s why Brock did it, knowing I’d refuse the money and all that followed would prolong the dissolution of our marriage.
As for the money, everyone told me to take it. I might not want it for myself, but perhaps one day, in time, I’ll know what I want to do with it, and this way, my divorce will be final sooner.
After starting a fire and changing into comfy clothes, my feet slap across the cold wooden floors into the kitchen to find my slippers and start dinner. Roast chicken has been on my mind since Paige told me she wasn’t coming tonight. My plans are to stick a bird in the oven, cozy up on the couch with a glass of wine and watch a romantic comedy. I’ll also call Drew. I wish he was here.
I no sooner set the timer on the oven than the doorbell rings. Outside of work, I don’t know that many people in New York and with Paige not coming this weekend, I wonder who it is. It could be Mrs. Stein, who lives two houses down. She’s the only neighbor to just show up. Her husband passed away two years ago and she’s lonely. And nosy. I stop a few feet from my front door, wondering if I should answer it.
A pang of guilt tugs at my heart. She’s a harmless old woman, and I should hope when I’m her age there’ll be someone kind enough to keep me company when I’m in need of someone’s ear to bend. With that thought, I swing open the door and my heart jumps into my throat.
“Hey.”
Drew smiles brightly, bundled in a coat, wool beanie on his head, and sporting a beard. It’s been two long torturous weeks since I’ve seen him.
“Drew?” It comes out as a question rather than a greeting and my cheeks heat. “Hi, come in.” I step back for him to enter. “What are you doing here?”
I turn to shut the door and a car parked on the street catches my eye.
“Is that your car?”
He nods and shrugs out of his jacket. I close the door and study him as he makes himself at home, hanging his jacket in the closet. I’m stuck on his beard, trying to quiet the fluttering butterflies in my stomach. It isn’t long and bushy, or even like the hipsters overrunning Brooklyn.