The Fallback

by Dietz, Mariah

  High beams startle me from my trance. They’re glowing in my rearview mirror. A large truck pulls up behind me, the engine still running. I’m not sure how more than an hour has passed since I sat down and started evaluating my life and what led me to this moment. I feel exhausted, like the past hour that I spent considering what my life would be like right now had Gabe and I not broken up took a physical toll.

  I should have forced myself out and finished changing the tire; now I’m going to have to face a stranger who I’m of course assuming the worst about since it’s late and dark and fate likes to deliver me the occasional bitch slap when I’m least expecting it.

  The engine of the truck turns off, and the driver hops out, walking along the side of my car and stopping at my window. I turn in my seat, ready to weave a lie and tell the stranger that I have someone coming. A friend. No, a boyfriend. Better yet, a husband. That way they’ll know someone is expecting me and will know if I go missing.

  A knuckle taps against the glass twice, reminding me how difficult it is to break the surface. “Brooke, are you okay?”

  My heart shifts into overdrive as my neck snaps to the window, facing Gabe. I unlock my door and shove it open in one swift move. “What are you doing?”

  “Felicity called me.”

  I shake my head, searching for understanding. “What? Why?”

  He runs a hand over the back of his neck, his face shadowed so I can’t see his expression.

  My heart is connected to a live wire, and each second I stand before him hurts a bit more. “What are you doing here?”

  “She chewed my ass out for twenty minutes and blamed me for you being stuck out here.”

  “She shouldn’t have called you.”

  “Brooke, I … I meant to tell you. I wanted to…” Gabe swallows, and the column of his throat moves. He doesn’t look like a man, not the man I loved or the man I discussed goals and dreams with or the man I’d trusted my heart to. He looks like a boy—nervous and unsure, tentative and weak.

  “Like you meant to tell me you were having an affair?” The accusation slips through my lips.

  “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”

  “I’ve heard that line before, when you were sleeping with your fiancée in our bed.” My tone is bordering on venomous.

  “Brooke…” He stretches his jaw, running a hand down his face. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I never meant for this to be your burden.”

  “What did you expect? How could you have thought it wouldn’t hurt me? Wouldn’t impact me?”

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  “I don’t want you to be sorry!”

  “What do you want? Do you want me to break up with her? Do you want things to go back to how they were? Back to us barely seeing each other and when we did, spending those hours doing mindless activities?”

  His words fall through the cracks of my armor, slamming against my battered heart. “That’s all you thought of our relationship? That’s all I meant to you?” I’m grateful it’s dark and my face is likely as masked as his is to me because tears fall and form faster than I can wipe them away.

  “No! Of course not.” He tips his head back and crosses his arms across his chest, allowing me a moment to breathe and force his words and memories to the recesses of my thoughts, where they don’t sting and burn and instead replay like a shadow, never escaping my next thought. “You were my best friend.”

  “Then why couldn’t you just tell me?”

  “Because I didn’t want you to hate me.”

  “Actions speak louder than words.”

  “I want to be friends still.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t.”

  Pain creases his face as he nods. “I knew you wouldn’t.”

  “Gabe, you shouldn’t have come. Felicity shouldn’t have called you.”

  “Brooke.” My name is a plea on his lips.

  “We’re done. I’ve moved on.”

  He nods. “I know.”

  “And so have you.”

  He looks again, his eyes reflecting in the dim light as tears pool in them. “I don’t want you to hate me.”

  I nearly confess that I don’t. That I never hated him. That though his betrayal still hurts, I’m actually thankful he ended it because I’ve learned so much about myself in these past few of months, things I wouldn’t have if we’d stayed together. But a second set of headlights hits us and has Gabe and I turning.

  “Brooke?” Levi’s voice rings out into the night, concern deepening his already gravelly tone. He’s out of his car and stalking toward us, his gaze set on me like a question. “You okay?”

  I nod, though I’m still crying.

  He reaches my side, and nerves twine around guilt as I watch Levi look at Gabe.

  “I got a flat tire.”

  Levi nods. “I see that.”

  I tip my head toward Gabe. “This is Gabe. There was a misunderstanding, and Felicity called him. She was upset, and … well, he came to help…”

  Levi’s brows dance up with a quick look of surprise or maybe shock before he looks to Gabe again. I want to say more. Explain this isn’t what it looks like, that I didn’t want Gabe to come, that I was searching for distance in hopes it would numb my thoughts and emotions so I could sort everything out. But the night air has turned colder, and my hands are still burning, and the longer Levi stares at Gabe, the more difficult it is for me to breathe.

  “We should fix your car.” Gabe points to my tire.

  “I’ve got it,” Levi says, wrapping an arm around my shoulder.

  Gabe chuckles. It’s dark and sarcastic, bordering on being cruel. “Of course you do.” He runs a hand down his face. “I should go.”

  I narrow my eyes, working to recognize him. I don’t understand how he went from being so familiar to nearly unrecognizable. But before I can find the traces of familiarity, he gets into his truck and drives away.

  Levi’s hand slides down my arm as he turns to face me.

  “What’s going on?” Compassion coats his deep voice like a lullaby. One I want to curl up to and allow to shield me from everything—even myself. “Why didn’t you answer my calls? I got a call from Felicity at the bar telling me you had a flat and were stranded out here. I’m glad you were still on the main road, because I had no idea how I was going to find you.”

  I have to look over his shoulder rather than at his eyes because the intensity behind his stare creates an entire army of tears that are fighting to break through. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I’m just having a bad night.” I take a shaky breath. “She shouldn’t have called you either.”

  “No,” Levi says, shaking his head. “You should have.”

  Anger bristles along my shoulders, numbing the pain from my hands. It’s louder and easier to focus on. “I didn’t call, because I didn’t need saving.”

  “Asking for help doesn’t mean you’re waving the white flag.”

  “I can do this. I’m perfectly capable.”

  Levi nods. “I know.”

  I step back, frustrated that he’s not reciprocating my anger. I want him to be mad—accuse me of something so that I have a valid excuse to yell or scream since all I want to do is cry again. “He’s getting married.”

  Levi raises his chin so slightly I can tell it’s a reflex. “And you’re upset.” He swallows. “Are you really over him?”

  A single tear carves down my left cheek, the hot droplet leaving an icy path. “I am. That’s why I’m so frustrated with myself! I just…” I wipe a hand across my brow, trying to articulate how and why I feel so betrayed. “He was my friend. He was one of my best friends, and we were together for so long, and he’s been with her for like two seconds and is ready to get married while I sometimes struggle with guilt for liking you so much.” I throw my head back, staring at the vastness of the universe in an attempt to remind myself how small I am, how minimal my problems are. “It scares me to lose you, and I don’t even have you.” My t
ears fall faster, thicker, coating my cheeks.

  He brushes my tears away with his thumbs. “I’m right here. You have me. You had me even when you tried to dump me.”

  I hiccup, my lips teetering between the need to cry and the desire to laugh.

  Levi steps closer, wrapping his arms around my shoulders. “Since I first saw you at the club, you’ve possessed and owned my every thought. Trust me, you have nothing to fear. I’m not going anywhere.”

  38

  “You have to stop,” I warn Levi as he catches my earlobe between his teeth. “Your soft grand opening is in a week, and you haven’t even decided on the drinks you’re serving.”

  “That’s because I have better things to do.” He draws a line with his tongue to my jaw.

  “Your mother’s down the hall!” I hiss, scooting my chair away from him before he can pull me deeper into the haze that sets in whenever I’m around Levi. The same one that makes me forget about time and responsibility.

  He sits back and frowns. “I’ve already put together the menu. Food is ordered. Floors are installed, and they’re finishing with the painting.”

  “What about the alcohol?”

  “Done.”

  I stare at him through slit eyes. “Were you crying wolf?”

  “Me?” He feigns innocence as he leans forward, his palm sliding against my thigh.

  “I can’t believe you told me you needed help.”

  “I’ve barely seen you this week. I knew the only way I’d get you to sit down with me was to get on your calendar.”

  “Barely seen me?” My jaw drops, and I glance to my door before continuing. “I’ve spent the night at your apartment more than I haven’t!” I whisper.

  “Yeah, but the hours we sleep don’t count.”

  I lean closer. “I haven’t been letting you sleep.” My lips brush his ear.

  His hand constricts on my thigh, and he chuckles. “I slept for at least four hours last night, and in my book, that’s four hours too many.” He slides my chair closer. I sigh because I don’t want to fend him off. His touch has become an addiction as much as a necessity. It calms me, soothes me, and breathes life into me.

  “We should take some time off. Go to Tennessee like you’ve been wanting.”

  I nod. “That would be nice.”

  “Then let’s do it. And what about your birthday?”

  “What about my birthday?” I ask, turning to my computer.

  “You’re turning thirty, and when I asked Felicity about planning something, she said I should talk to you because you hate birthdays, and I told her that wasn’t possible because I know you love cake—granted, it would be vegan. You’d probably love cake a whole lot more with butter.”

  I roll my eyes. “You and Felicity aren’t allowed to talk anymore.”

  Levi pulls my chair back away from my desk, forcing me to face him again. “You really don’t like birthdays? You know thirty is still young.”

  “It’s not my age. It’s just…” I blow out a deep breath. “When I was little, we went to stay with my grandma in March. They—my parents—were supposed to be gone for a week, and…” I shake my head, hating that this still bothers me. “I thought there was no way they’d miss my birthday, but they didn’t even call. And while Grammy is great, she was one of ten kids growing up, so birthdays were never a big deal to her, so I’ve just…” I shrug.

  “Just what?”

  I look to Levi, his blue eyes wide with patience. When he looks at me like this, it’s unnerving as much as it is thrilling—like he’s seeing past my armor and who I want to be and who I try to be right into my soul. Like he sees me and understands me better than I do my own self. “I just don’t like birthdays.”

  Levi shakes his head. “I’m going to change that.”

  “I was working on convincing Felicity to jump out of a plane with me, but then she went and got knocked up. And since you don’t like heights, I say we get doughnuts and cake and you take me to one of your favorite spots in Chicago.”

  Levi grins. It’s one of my favorite smiles that tugs his lips and stamps that dimple into his cheek and further into my heart. He stands and brushes his lips against my temple.

  “What? Where are you going?”

  “I have to go check on one of the bars.”

  “I thought it was all handled?”

  He shrugs mysteriously.

  “I really don’t want to do anything for my birthday. A cake or a doughnut or whatever, and I’m good.”

  “Why are you making this about you?” he asks. “I told you—I have to go check on the bar.”

  “I hate you.”

  His laughter punctures my thoughts, making me forget that he’s being difficult and likely working with Felicity behind my back, instead focusing on how much I don’t want him to leave.

  I stand and follow him toward my office door. “Where are you really going?”

  “The bar out on the west side. A cook called in sick, so I’m going to fill in for him.” He rolls up his sleeves as he turns to face me, the sweet and spicy aroma of his cologne filling my lungs.

  “You look kind of happy about that.”

  “I am.”

  “Have you ever considered opening a restaurant instead of more bars?”

  Levi shrugs. “Not really.”

  “How come? You love food; you love to cook.”

  “Because I already have shitty hours. A restaurant would only make that worse, and I wouldn’t be able to cook because I’d be running it.”

  “I guess I can let you just keep cooking for me in that case.”

  A slow smile stretches across his face, carving those faint lines that look like parentheses. I’m starting to realize I’m striving to make it appear. “Get off at six tonight, and I’ll make you dinner, but there’s a dress code.”

  I narrow my eyes. “Let me guess, naked?”

  “That would break at least a dozen health code laws. Get your mind out of the gutter.”

  My cheeks heat with embarrassment, and Levi laughs. “That’s your required attire for dessert. For dinner, you have to wear this.” He points to a bag he’d brought in and set near my door, claiming it was samples for the new bar’s restrooms.

  “What? What is it?”

  In response, he smiles coyly. “I have to go. I’m going to be late. I’ll see you at six.” He leans down, catching my lips with his, and then he’s gone.

  I stare into the bag, where a large, white box is wrapped with a silky red ribbon. I lift it out and prop it on my lap, pulling the bow free with a single tug. Under the heavy lid is a sheath of black fabric and a hint of lace that I lift to discover one of the most beautiful and sexy cocktail dresses I’ve ever seen. And suddenly, this day can’t end soon enough.

  My desk phone rings an hour later, and I stare at the receiver, praying it isn’t going to be an issue that might postpone this evening. I’ve been ready to go since Levi left.

  “Glitter and Gold, this is Brooke.”

  “Brooke, this is Allison Hastings, the editor in chief with Unfiltered, the top selling women’s magazine in the country. How are you today?”

  “I’m well, thanks. How are you?”

  “I’m very excited to speak with you. I’ve been following your blog for the past couple of weeks, and I’ve really enjoyed it. You’re witty and informative, but at the same time you share a level of sympathy and compassion that seems to connect with your audience.”

  I sit back in my seat, attempting to discern where this conversation is heading. “I don’t know if I have an audience per se.”

  “You not only have an audience, you have an active audience.”

  My palms itch with sweat, nerves making my heartbeat erratic. There’s something in her tone that borders too closely on admiration.

  “I’d like to chat with you about coming to work for us and continuing your work. The magazine would, of course, pay for your expenses to try new things, travel to new places, and sample new products. We
would have a monthly story but also a weekly edition online.”

  “That’s … um, wow.”

  She laughs. “This is just the tip of the iceberg. I have all kinds of ideas for you.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Well, I’ll be in town next Friday. Why don’t we go to dinner? I can tell you why you’ll love living in California, the first reason being you’ll never have to run into your ex again.”

  “California?”

  “That’s where we’re headquartered.”

  “Oh…”

  “Don’t let that deter you. I don’t want you to think about moving or apartment hunting or any of that. I want you to think about all of the things you’d like to try and make a list of them so we can jump right in.” The rest of our conversation passes too quickly. I stop focusing on her words because guilt is infringing upon my excitement at the possibility of making a career out of writing. No more brides. No more broken centerpieces, last-minute dress alterations, incorrect dates, or unavailable dates for venues. It would just be me, writing about experiences and adventures.

  In California.

  Between my excitement to meet Levi and the turmoil of thoughts that my call with Allison Hastings has caused, I log out early and change into the dress he bought me. I’d never considered what it would be like to receive a dress from a man. If I’d find it controlling or romantic, and now with the rich fabrics falling over me like the dress was made for me, I realize there’s a thoughtfulness behind it that makes it surpass romantic straight to swoon-worthy.

  I don’t bother with packing my laptop because I know there’s no chance I’ll be using it tonight. I step out of the office with my work clothes sitting in the bag my dress came in and notice Levi’s car parked beside mine.

  My heart rate peaks, and butterflies spread in my stomach.