by Stacy M Wray
His stare is blank, his face emotionless. I think I’ve shocked him. Oh shit!
“Braden, I’ve enrolled at Brooks Institute in Santa Barbara to study photography seriously – I want to make a career out of it. Please understand this is what I need to do for me.”
His whole demeanor changes; the tension hangs in the room like a noose around my neck. Time seems to stand still as I wait for him to say something…anything.
I finally look at him and I see nothing but anger and hurt.
“Braden, it’s only a couple of hours away – we can see each other on the weekends. We can make it work…I know we can.” My pleas feel like they’re falling on deaf ears as he stares blankly at me once again.
He looks away and stands up, walking to the French doors overlooking our back patio. With his back to me, he says, “I can’t believe you did this behind my back. How could you do this?” His voice is shaky and I try to swallow the lump that still resides in my throat. He turns around, his eyes glaring at me. Raising his voice, he says, “How can you do this to us? I just spent the last six weeks fucking miserable without you and now you’re trying to tell me we’re supposed to spend the next four years apart? What the fuck, Karma?”
I stand up to go to him. He puts his hands up, letting me know he doesn’t want me to touch him. “Please, Braden, just listen to me. I need to do this – everything in my gut tells me it’s right. UCLA is your dream but Brooks is mine. We won’t be far from each other – we can do this, Braden, I know we can.”
He shakes his head slowly and says, “What the hell happened to you? We had it all worked out. How could you do this to us?”
That’s the second time he’s asked the same question. “I’m not trying to do anything to us – I just don’t want to go to UCLA. It’s not that I don’t want to be with you, Braden – I do – but I need to go where my future is just like you need to go to UCLA for yours. We’ll be close enough to see each other on weekends-the days that really count.”
His face gets a crazed look and a forced laugh leaves his mouth. “You’ve got this all worked out, haven’t you? Just what weekends do you think we can get together, huh, Karma? Because soccer will consume my weekends until early to mid-November. So that kind of obliterates your plan all to hell, don’t you think?”
Shit! I never even thought about his soccer schedule. “Well, depending on our class schedules, maybe we can see each other some during the week…I don’t know.”
He puts his hands behind his head and leans back, looking up at the ceiling. “I can’t do this, Karma. I just spent the last month and a half in hell without you – I can’t do it for four years.” His voice is so eerily calm and my heart plummets, landing somewhere below my feet.
What? He’s giving up before we even try? My concern for his feelings dissipates, anger slowly bubbling to the surface.
“I don’t know who you are anymore. The girl I left six weeks ago wouldn’t have chosen this. I need you, Karma. I need you at UCLA – not in Santa Barbara. We had a plan. Why couldn’t you have just stuck to our plan?” He’s shouting at me now and tears form behind my eyes out of frustration.
“That’s not fair, Braden. I’ve never asked you to choose me over soccer. How can you act so selfish? Why can’t you just try to make this work?”
“I don’t think it’s me being selfish when my girl tells me she loves me so much but chooses to be apart from me. What kind of message are you trying to send me, huh? You ready to move on, is that it? You want to see what Brooks has to offer you?”
I keep telling myself that his harsh words are stemming from hurt but they’re hard to overlook.
“Just stop it,” I spew at him. “You’re acting like a jerk now. I don’t want to be with anyone but you and you know it. So stop acting like I’m trying to break us up.”
He stares at me for so long it’s uncomfortable. My gut is twisting around in knots – no, make that double knots and I’m freaking out inside, this not working out quite the way I had planned.
“Braden,” I say, softly, “maybe we should continue our conversation when we’ve both calmed down. I know you’re hurt by my decision and once you’ve given it some thought, you’ll see that it’s about doing what’s right for me, not about being apart from you.”
He lets out a frustrated roar and says, “But yet that’s what you’ve chosen.”
He walks towards the front door. I panic and say, “Wait – where are you going?”
“I’m going home, Karma, and at the end of the week I’m going back to UCLA.” He looks at me like he hates my guts, and I have to turn from his stare. What does he mean?
“Are we going to talk tomorrow?” My heart’s about ready to beat out of my chest and it’s physically painful.
“No, Karma. You’ve made up your mind. I told you I’m not built for a long-distance relationship. I need someone who wants to be in close proximity to me.”
His words slice through me, cutting through every ounce of the love I have for him, dripping with regret with each hurtful word. Surely he doesn’t mean it. He just needs time.
“You can’t mean that,” I plead. “You won’t even try?”
He sneers at me. “Just like you’re trying?”
I shake my head, not knowing what else to say to him, praying after he thinks things through we can work this out.
We stand there for what seems like forever, the silence pulling us further apart with each passing moment.
Finally, he says, “Don’t do this, Karma. Please don’t do this.”
I blink through my tears and say, “I have to, Braden. I wish you could understand.”
He huffs out, “I don’t understand… I just don’t.” And with that, his hand is on the doorknob, turning it forcefully before walking through it, slamming it behind him, the noise drowning out the sound of his feet stomping on my heart. I double over, no longer able to hold myself up.
What the hell just happened?
He’ll be back.
He’s got to come back.
chapter thirty-one
June 2013
Pulling up to the bar, I’m third in line for the valet service. Checking the time again, I’m only a couple of minutes late, but I’m thankful for the valet just the same.
Stopping at the hostess stand, I give her the name of either Lewis, Stewart, or Spectra, not knowing which one it may be under. The young woman has a pile of red hair knotted on top of her head in a sophisticated way, reminding me of Jada. I instantly like her.
“Yes, here you are. If you’ll just follow me, please.” She’s all business but I guess you would have to be, surrounded by the clientele frequenting this establishment. I spot Braden right away and see that Mr. Lewis has already been seated also. It’s okay, Karma. You’re fine.
Braden stops in mid-sentence when he notices me, standing right away with a look that I hate to think about him sharing with anyone else. He smiles, and I swear I detect pride behind it.
“Here she is,” he says. “My most precious find.” He leans in so only I can hear him, adding, “Stunning, as always.”
His words strum through me, relaxing me in a way that only Braden can. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Mr. Lewis stand, extending his hand. “She most certainly is. Your work is astonishing, Ms. Mickelson. Where have you been hiding?”
His accolades surprise me, but I go with it. “Oh, I’m not hiding, Mr. Lewis – I assure you. I’ve been pounding the pavement ever since I arrived in L.A.” His firm hand releases mine as I sit beside Braden in the horseshoe-shaped booth.
Mr. Lewis nods at his cocktail. “What can we get you, Ms. Mickelson?”
“Please, it’s Karma. And I’ll have a Pinot Grigio.” He flags down the waitress as I feel Braden’s eyes on me, secretly loving the sensation it creates from within.
What is going on here?
Mr. Lewis directs his attention to me once again, smiling a most sincere smile. “My dear, once this campaign is wrapped up in a bea
utiful red bow, you’ll be able to write your own ticket. What I’ve seen so far has been nothing short of amazing.”
Now it’s getting to be a bit much, and I feel my ears heat with color. “You’re very kind. I’d always hoped the love for my craft spoke through my work. So, thank you for the affirmation.”
He nods. “I’ve seen all the photos except for the last shoot. I’m really looking forward to receiving those files.”
Thank goodness they’re all finished. I have done nothing these past few days but focus on them to the point of obsessing. But even I admit to myself how amazing they are. The rough, crumbling exterior proved to be an incredulous backdrop to the edgy, but soft, clothing line. Even though the models bitched through the whole thing, and with good reason, they killed it.
“Well, I’ve got them all finished. As soon as Mr. Stewart has viewed them, I’m sure they’ll be passed along promptly.” When I turn my attention to Braden, a look of surprise flashes in his eyes. I probably should have sent them to him already. No harm done – I’ll do it as soon as I get home.
Braden speaks up. “I can’t wait.”
The rest of the evening is spent with little to no more talk of work, often Braden and Mr. Lewis comparing their favorite sports team while I politely tune them out, taking the opportunity to check the place out from my seat.
After another half-hour, Mr. Lewis excuses himself, citing an early morning with his grandkids. You can hear the pride in his voices when he speaks of them.
Once all the pleasantries have been shared, and Mr. Lewis is no longer in our company, Braden finishes his drink and says, “So…the photos are finished?”
I nod. “Yes. I’ll send them as soon as I get home.”
A slow smile builds as he responds, “I’m not sure I can wait that long.”
I think about this for a minute. Are we still talking about photos? “Um, my laptop is in my car. Do you want me to get it?”
He’s quiet for a moment, then slowly shakes his head. “No. Not here.” Then sheepishly adds, “You mind going to my place?” The corners of his mouth turn up just a hair, his eyes squinting, probably ready for me to shoot him down instantly.
My eyebrows rise in question, and he immediately says, “We could go to the office, but I spend so much time there that I’d rather not. We can go wherever you want…whatever makes you comfortable.”
I pretend to be debating this when I say, “No…your place is fine – just for photos.” I’m mildly curious to see how the grownup version of Braden lives and, if I’m honest with myself, I’m rather intrigued by the attention. It’s becoming harder and harder to pretend that our past doesn’t influence our present, forever linked by shared memories and a history that will never go away.
A sexy smile spreads across his face and he says, “Great! Just let me check on the tab and have our cars brought up.”
Once outside, my car sits behind Braden’s and he walks me to mine, opening the door for me. I slip behind the wheel. Before shutting me in, he leans closer and, in a low, husky voice, says, “Just follow me…I won’t lose you…promise.”
I swallow slowly, suddenly aware of how strong my heart is beating, as if that one small organ dictates the vibrations occurring all over my body, not just in its designated place in my chest. Struggling between fighting and giving in, I decide the drive over will bide me time, stalling this crazy electricity dancing between us.
What am I doing? I shouldn’t be going back to his place. That’s like upper hand suicide 101. This is Braden – irresistible, charming, captivating, alluring, charismatic Braden. I should just turn left at the next stoplight, navigating my car to the safe confines of my apartment, away from his magnetic personality, his extremely good looks, and the memories of what I experienced when our bodies came together – literally.
Oh, Karma, you are so screwed. Save yourself. Turn your blinker on. Make that turn.
The light glows red. My hand twitches just beneath my turn signal, hovering for an eternity, my insides quivering with nerves. He’s staring at me through his rearview mirror. Even though it’s dark, I can still feel those eyes on me, stormy gray, intense, as if he’s pleading with my hand not to react, my car not to veer.
And then the light illuminates green, his car slowly moving ahead…and…mine follows. Just a like a damn magnet. I can’t make the turn. I can’t fight the pull. It happens just as naturally as it did when we were in high school. No matter how much I resist, we share a connection that can’t be severed. I’ve tried. And I’ve failed. Miserably.
But that doesn’t mean this has to be a repeat of our past. I’m stronger. I’m smarter. I’m the new, improved Karma. And that Karma won’t be sucked into old routines, only new ones.
Before I know it, I’m pulling into the parking space alongside Braden’s, my decision to follow settling peacefully now. I look up at the condos before me, impressed with his obvious success. Although not surprised.
Braden is already at my door, opening it for me as I gather my purse and laptop case and climb out. “Come on,” he says, “my building’s right there,” his head nodding to the Modernist architecture. No floor looks the same with windows of different shapes and sizes randomly placed for more impact. Shutting my door, he places his hand on the small of my back, guiding me to the entrance of his building.
“How long have you lived here?” I ask him, as he leads us to the elevator.
“Almost a year now,” he says, as we step inside and he presses the illuminated number ten. He steps back and smiles at me. “Life is strange, huh?”
I lean against the side of the lift and say, “What do you mean?”
“This.” He motions with his hand back and forth from me to him. “Us.”
There’s that word. Us. Vivid memories come pouring through and before I can say anything, we stop on his floor and the doors slide open. “After you,” he says, playfully and then adds, “it’s to the right.”
We walk past four doors before he stops at his. Unlocking it, he steps inside and I follow, amazed at the huge open space before me.
Braden plops his keys in a tray on the table beside the door and says, “Can I get you a drink? Some wine maybe?”
As my eyes wander all over the spacious room decorated in warm neutrals, I say, “Sure.” I run my hand across the top of his gray leather couch, noticing the tufting from the buttons placed all over, and place my purse and laptop on one end.
Since the living space is open, I can see him in his kitchen pouring our wine. I absorb that I’m slowly coming to know him again. No longer a boy but now a man.
I take a seat on the couch and look up to find Braden handing me my glass of wine. “Thank you,” I tell him. Sitting beside me, he turns his body a little, resting his wine on his thigh.
“I’ll be honest, I’m surprised you came,” he confesses. “But I’m glad you did.”
Remembering why I’m here, I say, “You wanted to look at the finished photos, right?”
Grinning at me, he says, “Right. The photos.”
Reaching for my laptop, I pull it out. After opening a few files, I pass Braden my computer so he can look through the photos from the last photo shoot.
Setting his wine down, he slowly studies each photo as I’m trying to get a read on what he’s thinking.
After what seems like hours instead of mere minutes, he turns and says, “These are amazing, Karma.”
He speaks with such sadness that it leaves me confused. He must see this in my expression when he adds, “I was such an ass back then when you were trying to tell me about your passion. A selfish prick. It’s no wonder you don’t hate me.”
I wasn’t expecting such a heartfelt confession. “I tried to hate you…but it never surfaced. I just stayed hurt, then angry, for a long time. It took years to finally be free from it, but it finally happened when I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Yeah, I remember…” he says, his voice fading.
He looks back at the computer
screen. “You have an unbelievable talent, Karma. I’m sure you’ll be in high demand if you aren’t already.”
“Thanks. I find my work to be steady, but I’m nowhere near in high demand.”
I don’t know if the warmth traveling through my body results from his words or the wine or both. But it’s such a delicious feeling, and I can’t help thinking this moment is surreal. Had someone told me six months ago this would happen, I never would’ve believed them.
He winks at me and says, “Give it time, Karma.”
He places the computer on the table in front of the couch, picking his wine back up and leaning back once again. I shift my body so I can see his face. He’s studying me. “What?” I finally ask him.
“I always remember those two freckles to the side of your eye.”
There goes that whoosh through my belly.
He slowly lifts his hand and traces my cheek with his knuckles. My eyes automatically shut…his touch so familiar. My body responds in such a way I wonder how I could have stayed so angry with him for so long.
I’m still trying to figure out how a touch on my cheek can affect me at the apex of my thighs when he leans forward and sets his empty wine glass back on the table. He looks at my glass and says, “You want some more?”
Wanting to keep my head on straight, I respond, “No, thank you. I still need to drive home.”
He nods in understanding and sits back. A charged silence fills the air, neither one of us knowing what to say or do. It’s as if we’ve come to the proverbial line in the sand, and we aren’t sure if we’re to cross it.
Mustering up some courage, I say, “What are we doing, Braden?”
He looks at me playfully and says, “We’re going over your photos, Karma.”
Playing along, I say, “Well, since we’ve already done that I guess I should be going.” I move to get up and he grabs my wrist.