I pulled myself from the table, and he watched as I went about collecting my things, shoving them back into the rather large tote. I couldn’t even bear to kiss him goodbye; guilt oozed from my every pore. He had been right in front of me, this nice sweet guy who I had things in common with, who I could laugh with. It was everything I had been looking for. And I’d wrecked our budding relationship with a stupid infatuation with his brother.
He got up to open the door for me and wrapped me in a warm embrace. In that moment, I didn’t have any choice but to look at him, so I did, into his dark eyes, and I fell all over again. I just hoped he’d continue to catch me.
He gently kissed my forehead, and I leaned into the pressure of his lips.
“I mean it,” he repeated, as if the words would have more weight to them when he did. “I’ll see you soon. I promise. And something you’ll learn the longer you know me, I’ll never break a promise.”
“Thank you,” I said, words seeming inadequate. He’d made me feel so safe and protected after the ordeal with Tristan. “For everything.”
“It’s not a problem.” Callum squeezed me tight and bussed another sweet kiss to the top of my head.
The minute I exited into the bright Sunday morning, I squinted and kept my head down. My walk of shame must have been obvious among joggers, mothers with their strollers and other pedestrians who had showered and were in clean, unwrinkled clothes.
I could feel my cheeks burn as I took a left down the street. I felt the judgment of their stares, but when I looked up, everyone scurried around me, not even aware of my existence. Although I could breathe, my hands hadn’t stopped shaking. With every step away from his building, my heart slowed, but my mind whirred like a pinwheel. I found my way into Central Park instead of the nearest subway station. After getting some more coffee, I sat on a bench, finally alone with my thoughts.
The brilliant fall day beckoned, and I pulled my light jacket closer to me as I sat down. I watched as people passed. Here, I was invisible, no one giving me a second glance. It felt good to be cloaked in anonymity.
Callum had been too...good. Spectacular even. I wasn’t used to it. And because I’d always ended up with emotionally unavailable men in the past that looked good on paper and from a distance, I didn’t know how to handle the nice flesh and blood guy standing in front of me.
I pulled my phone from my bag. I had a couple of texts from Poppy. Ignoring them, I opened a new text box. It was time to tie up a loose end so I could finally have what I wanted and what I deserved. And this time, I needed to do it myself.
You don’t know how those words have tortured me.
– Fitzwilliam Darcy
Chapter 13
Callum
As I sat at my chrome desk and sharpened my pencils down to nubs, my main objective was calming my turbulent thoughts about Lydia. I’d fucking blown it. Why hadn’t I had the self–control to slow it down? No. I’d been selfish and let my raging attraction for her teeter along the edge of the cliff until we’d both fallen over together. My night with her preyed on every corner of my brain, eating and gnawing at my confidence and male ego. The best sex of my life had turned into the proverbial shitstorm.
I couldn’t stop picturing us together, her full lips underneath mine. Her lush body, every curve stripped bare to my every whim.
And now she wouldn’t even answer one damn text message. Short of hoofing it over to her apartment and breaking down the door, I was at a loss. And the breaking down the door part and stalking her like a pervert…yeah, that shit was Tristan’s modus operandi. I wasn’t going to throw my own bowling ball down that alley.
Tapping my pen against my desk, I drained the glass of water I poured after Lydia left. I leaned back in my chair and exhaled.
Obviously, the working thing wasn’t going to happen for me.
I pushed away from the desk, with the objective of refilling my glass. My apartment even smelled like her, a sweet smell I couldn’t exactly place. It was intoxicating, it was driving me insane. It was like she had subconsciously left all these little pieces of herself around my place, and every time I inhaled, I was reminded of her. The air still crackled with sexual energy.
I had to get out of my apartment. The King James. I’d go check on the progress and maybe take out some of my frustrations on the construction foreman.
Tossing my latest graphite victim in the circular file, I grabbed my jacket and keys and rode the elevator down to street level. I only had to stand a few moments on the curb before a cab slid to a stop in front of me. I hopped in, gave the address to the driver and dropped into the seat. As my eyes closed, I saw images of Lydia everywhere in the dark confines of my mind. I forced my lids back open and stared at the buildings around me, the cars and cabs on the street and the bustling pedestrians. I had to get her out of my mind. She needed to come to me now. I couldn’t chase her if there was any chance of something solid developing between us.
When we pulled in front of the King James, I threw the cabbie a twenty and stepped onto the sidewalk to survey the progress. Construction had been moving pretty steadily aside from a few minor glitches, but every remodeling project encountered them. I’d been unable to visit for a few days due to a contract dispute on another Banks deal. I stepped back a few feet and stared, loving the old–world charm of the building’s façade.
Despite the whirring in my brain, I felt myself inflate with pride. This theater, although it wasn’t perfect yet, it would be. And it was something I could truly be proud of – the highlight of my career with Banks.
One thing was missing. It would be the last thing added, but I could already see it in my mind’s eye as if the twinkling bulbs were already illuminated.
Amelia’s name in lights. The Cordoza.
I knew she would love it.
I took a slow tour of the backstage before I headed to the front. Backstage required the least work. The dressing rooms were bigger, and so was the orchestra pit. They were both given a new coat of paint and spruced up.
As I went through the details, I found my mind moving further and further from Lydia. It was nice to concentrate on work in the field, nice to focus on something else besides my wounded pride. I walked through the rooms, giving them all a major once over.
When I finished my inspections, I made my way back to the main stage. Everything looked first–rate and exactly how I’d pictured it in my mind. Either I did a hell of a job explaining my plans to the construction foreman or the man was a damn mind reader.
Since the crew didn’t work Sundays, I wasn’t expecting anyone else to be in the theater, but as I headed toward the stage, I saw my brother sitting a few rows back.
How in the fucking fuck did he even get in here?
I took the side stairs and sat next to him on a plush velvet seat. “What are you doing here?”
Tristan didn’t look at me when he replied, his glossy gaze trained on the main spotlight illuminating the mark where an actor would take their position in the opening scene. “Just dreaming.”
I exhaled. The last person I wanted to deal with was my brother. I wished he didn’t see my work project – that was also my homage to Amelia – as an opportunity to run mental trailers for the Tristan Markham show.
“It looks good,” Tristan said.
“That’s the first compliment you’ve given me in eight years.” Because the only compliments my brother usually doled out were the ones created as odes to himself.
“That’s how you know I mean it,” Tristan said, giving me his brilliant smile. I rolled my eyes. I was only able to take so much of him at one time. I wanted to talk to him about Lydia. To stake my claim and tell him if he ever got within ten feet of her again I would beat him bloody. But I didn’t. I leaned back and waited to find out what he really wanted. Tristan only conceded when there was something in it for him.
“Thank you.”
“I’m so excited,” Tristan said. He sounded like a kid around Christmas, unable to contain
his enthusiasm for what the completion of the King James might mean for his budding career. I knew he dreamed of himself on that stage, taking a bow in front of a screaming audience, on their feet just for his performance.
“I’m sure you are.” A pang of regret hit me right in the heart. Tristan and I had nothing in common, so we’d never been close, even as boys. But I longed for that special relationship that one can only have with a sibling. Because I’d never have it. If he would even meet me halfway, it could happen. But I knew deep down, he just wasn’t capable.
“You need to apologize to Lydia and mom.” Tristan pulled his eyes from the stage and speared me with a recriminating look.
Seriously?
He was the one who’d gone to Lydia’s and been completely inappropriate. She could have had his ass thrown in lock up and taken out a restraining order before he could even blink. But she hadn’t. Instead, she’d called me and asked me to protect her. Me. He looked at me. And all he could do now was sit inside the King James and ignite the fire under his delusions of grandeur?
“You scared the shit out of both of them.”
Tristan rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, whatever.”
Not an acceptable answer.
“I’m not kidding, Tristan. This is one instance where you’re not going to get what you want. Don’t talk to Lydia anymore. Let her move on with her life. And her writing. As a fellow artist, you should understand the importance of the creative process. She’s on a deadline, and you’re putting her livelihood in jeopardy with your creepy antics.”
“That’s not what Mom said. Mom said I should go after what I want. Mom gets me,” Tristan said, his eyes drifting somewhere far away. Our mom didn’t ‘get’ him. She enabled him like some kind of co–dependent force of nature that distributed Benjamins like a malfunctioning ATM. I didn’t have the time or patience to deal with his stubborn streak.
“Do you know what your problem is?” I asked.
He raised one eyebrow. “Please, by all means, enlighten me.” He leaned forward, bracing his arms on his knees. I knew he would only be half–listening to whatever I had to say. I inhaled a fortifying breath and pressed forward. In spite of his lack of emotional intelligence and self–awareness, I had to get this off my chest. It had been years in the making.
“You only care about yourself.”
He laughed in my face, and I had to fist my hands to keep from striking my own brother. My own flesh and blood. Brother of my body but not of my heart.
“And you’re an emotionless, boring, work–a–holic who couldn’t get laid by a twenty–buck hooker.” He aimed and shot, and it wounded me in the way that my weapon had missed. Because I had a conscience. I had a soul.
He hit me right in the middle of the open wound left when Lydia walked away from my apartment. Left me with things unresolved between us. But I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of letting him know. In our little battles, Tristan always seemed to win. We stared at the stage, letting silence pass between us.
“You’re welcome, by the way.” I couldn’t help but say it. He hadn’t once thanked me for anything I’d ever done that benefited him. And it had been a hell of a lot over the years. Mostly impelled by our mother, who made no secret of the fact that her sparkly, dramatic son was her favorite, a darling of the NYC social whirl.
He rolled his eyes, staying silent and leaning back in his seat. I watched as he did so. Even from this spot, the stage looked amazing under minimal house lights. I knew what images danced in his mind. He saw performers on the stage and people in the audience and one actor taking his curtain call. One actor making the Times with a glowing review.
Him.
“I’m sure you’ll appear in many shows here,” I conceded, sick of the constant bickering and back–stabbing. I just wanted to be happy.
As I sat in the velvet seat and regarded my brother, I started to wonder if Lydia would be the right woman for me. Would she turn out to be just as needy and over the top as Tristan? Even though she didn’t seem so, I just really didn’t know her that well.
Tristan grinned as he stared at the antique hardwood of the glorious stage. At least he had a perfect fictional world where he could escape the troubles and challenges of reality. I’d never been much good at using my imagination, even as a child. I much preferred the black and white of the law and bare facts.
I cleared my throat, suddenly wanting to flee the very place I’d used as my original escape.
“I need to speak to you about something else,” I said.
“Could you imagine what it would be like if we spent time together like normal siblings?” Tristan asked. “Instead, every time we speak, you feel the need to lecture me. I already have parents, Callum.”
“I wouldn’t have to lecture you if you behaved like a normal human being.”
“Let me guess,” Tristan drolled, “I need to work on my people skills? I need to be nicer? I’m a fucking actor, Callum. I excel at people skills.”
“Until you get wind that things aren’t going your way.” I cleared my throat. I felt like I was starting to choke on the ineffectiveness of my words. They went in one ear and out the other.
“I want to talk about Lydia.”
His eyes flashed with anger and something deeper. Darker. Revenge. “What did she say about me?”
“She told me everything.”
She’s mine. She’s not yours. She never was, and she never will be.
“She’s lying.”
I couldn’t keep the annoyance out of my tone when I replied. “I believe it. I believe her. Because I believe in her.”
“Of course you do,” he spat, “you’re probably just hoping to pick up my sloppy seconds.”
I should have known that mentioning her would incite his temper. He seemed to use his outbursts as a deflection tactic to draw attention away from the true issue at hand.
“You never hear my story,” Tristan went on. “No matter how flat the pancake is, Callum, it always has two sides. You’re always so quick to judge me. You are always so quick to call me a liar. Your own brother. Why can’t you trust me just once?”
Despite his over the top performance, his words rang true. The best predictor of future behavior was past behavior, and Tristan had proven himself selfish and untrustworthy at every turn.
“Fine,” I said. “What happened? I’ll hear you out.”
I was never really able to understand why Tristan did the things he did. Attention, possibly. As he laid out the events that happened between him and Lydia, it was clear his thought processes weren’t like any other normal person’s. I had no idea how to follow him or what he really wanted from her. His intentions just weren’t clear.
“Look,” I said after his long–winded diatribe that made Lydia the perpetrator and him the innocent victim. “I guess you didn’t mean any harm, but you scared her, and she doesn’t want to see you again. It’s over between you and Lydia.”
If there ever was anything there to begin with.
Tristan sighed. “I’ll have to apologize then.” He was so busy trying to bend the world to his whim, he hadn’t learned when to stop.
“No,” I said, “you’ll stay away from her. She doesn’t need an apology. She needs to move on.”
Tristan scoffed. “What are you? Her personal knight in shining armor? Just because you’ve met her a couple of times? You’re nothing to Lydia.”
“No.” My tone was dark and perilous. “But if you ever get close to her again, I’ll make sure you regret it.” We stared at each other in a silent stand–off. I would not move. I would not blink. I would not even breathe until he looked away. Finally, he coughed a little into his hand and stood up but couldn’t resist a parting shot.
“I know what your real problem is,” Tristan said, a grin tugging his lips. He clearly didn’t think I was serious about my warnings. The moment I slept with Lydia, she became my concern. And I’d protect her. Even if that meant shielding her from my
own brother.
I raised an eyebrow. “What is my problem? Besides you.”
“You like her. You like Lydia. But she doesn’t want some old fuddy–duddy like you. She wants another sparkly person. She’s a creative, you know. Like me. How could she ever want to be with someone who prefers numbers to words?”
“This isn’t about me,” I said, steering the conversation away from me and how right he was in his offhand statements, intuitively knowing my weak spot and poking it. The last thing I needed was to give Tristan any more ammo to use against me in our war of words. “It’s about her. You need to just stay away from her, okay? She doesn’t want to see you, so don’t get close to her.”
Tristan exhaled, and the tugging of lips turned into a brilliant smile.
“Okaaaay,” Tristan said, sarcasm dripping from his voice, “I’ll do whatever you say, big brother.”
We watched each other for another long moment, trying to call each other’s bluff. Finally, he looked away. A tiny victory but a win nonetheless. A phone went off, and we both pulled our phones out to check. Not mine. Not Lydia.
A smile spread on Tristan’s face that was so victorious, I felt it down to the soles of my feet. It couldn’t be possible. He texted a reply then turned to me.
“Stay away from her, yeah?” Tristan asked, “and what if she texts me?”
No. Fucking. Way.
“Ignore it,” I said. After everything that had gone down, why would Lydia be texting him? Why would she reach out to him in any way? She was smarter than that, better than him and his charades. Was he lying through his teeth and it wasn’t even Lydia but some random text that just pinged at the perfect moment to become a prop in Tristan’s latest performance?
“So, you’re saying to stay away from her?” he said it as if it was a joke, and I knew something else was coming. I had no control over his life, nothing to threaten him with or take away. I’d be treating him like a child if I did that, and even though he acted like one, it wasn’t my place. Until he crossed the line again.
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