Iced Romance

by Whitney Boyd

  I reach out toward him, begging him with my eyes to say something, to reach out and hold me in his big, safe arms and to never let me go. Every particle of my body yearns for his touch, but then he steps back, away from me. I feel as though someone has shoved an icy stake through my chest. It’s hard to breathe.

  “Well, I suggest you decide,” he says, running a hand through his hair, rumpling it up and looking like a little boy. “I’m not going to share you anymore. I want all of you. Or I want none of you.” The words hang between us in the air. The tension is thick but I can barely focus right now. My mind is spinning, my heart feels like it is shattering into a thousand pieces.

  “David.” I grasp for him. “Please don’t be angry. Please. I’ve wanted to tell you everything, I’ve wanted you to know me. I’ve just been so scared.”

  David looks at my hand and takes another step back. “Todd Marusiak is slime. He cheated on you with how many women? And yet you’re not over him. Look, I’m not going to sit around moping for you to get him out of your mind. You need to decide.”

  Suddenly I feel angry. A burst of energy courses through me and I want to scream. I flail out, my hand slapping David on the arm. It leaves a red print and smarting pain fills my palm. “What do you want me to do? I’ve broken up with him! We’re over. Why are you fixating on this? I can’t just snap my fingers and fall out of love with him! It takes time, but, damn it, I’m trying!”

  “I know you’re trying, but I’m not going to be a rebound relationship. I’m not going to kiss you and know that you’re thinking about him instead of me. You may have broken up with him, but he’s still a part of you. I don’t know what you need to do, but I’m not going to share you while you try and sort it out. Figure out who and what you want and then we can talk.” He doesn’t sound angry, simply resigned, but I’m fuming.

  Who does David think he is? Here he waltzes into my life, having only known me for a few weeks, and then demands that I change everything. My heart is still beating fast from jogging and I’m sweaty and sticky, but I ignore it. “Fine, you want me gone, I’m gone.” I am getting louder and louder, and some people coming out of their houses holding coffee and climbing into their vehicles, look over in concern.

  “I don’t want you gone.” David’s words are quiet, but I hear them clearly through the morning air. “I want him gone.”

  I turn away and walk off, my shoulders back, but my eyes burning with tears. What just happened? Did I just break up with David? Did he break up with me?

  “Kennedy? I’ll be here when you decide. I’m not going anywhere.”

  I don’t turn back and keep walking. I no longer am furious, but I’m hurt. Empty. Am I seriously going to walk away from David, from everything we have, from everything we could have?

  But what he asks is impossible. Todd is Todd. And as much as I hate him, I still love him. He’s part of me. I don’t know how to do the impossible and erase him from my mind, as much as I think I’d like to.

  A tear breaks free and falls down my cheek. I leave it, out of energy, confused.

  Alone.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I spend most of Sunday in bed. When I got home from my confrontation with David on our jog, I’d showered, climbed into my pajamas, called in sick to work, and turned off the ringer on my phone. Then I’d climbed into bed, curled into the fetal position, and refused to move. Everything hurt. Everything swirled around in my head. I cried, slept, cried some more.

  I’m not sure who I was even crying for . . . David? Todd? Losing both?

  I wake up Monday and glance at the alarm clock. Somehow I’ve managed to sleep for fourteen hours and I have to be at work in twenty minutes. I climb out of bed and hazard a glance at myself in the mirror. My eyes are puffy, red, and bloodshot. My hair is limp and frizzy, having dried in a weird position after my shower yesterday.

  Crap. Just the time to have a bad hair day.

  I don’t bother with mascara. I brush my hair once and pull it back into a horrific ponytail. Then I throw on my putrid uniform and head out the door, wearing, for the first time, flip flops to work. Somehow things like fashion don’t seem to matter anymore.

  I arrive five minutes late. I push open the door and see Christine setting some utensils on an empty table.

  “How good of you to show up, Princess.”

  “Of course I showed up,” I say, walking past her, hoping to run into Leila. Princess? Why did she call me that in such a condescending tone?

  “Right.” She is definitely angry about something. “Well, when you’re engaged to a multi-billionaire, I guess you could afford to be late for work.” Christine glares at me, her hands on her thick waist. “You could have at least mentioned it,” she continues accusingly. “I mean, we work together and I have to read about it in the newspaper?”

  Today cannot get any worse. “I’m sorry, what? You read about me in the newspaper?” I don’t know why I’m apologizing. It’s not like I have to divulge all my secrets in order to be a good person, do I?

  “Yeah, how you ran away from home, how your fiancé has been searching for you and finally located you here in Kissimmee. You know, it’s such a romantic story and all. You could have at least told me a bit of it.”

  So Todd has tracked me down. Impressive. It took less than a month.

  Leila comes out of the kitchen and sees me. A look of compassion crosses her face and she crosses the dining room and puts her arm around my shoulders. “Hey, chickie, how are you holding up?”

  I avoid making eye contact with Christine and let my shoulder rise and fall in a noncommittal manner. I want to tell Leila all about David, about how he confronted me and how I couldn’t let go of Todd when I needed to the most. But I say nothing.

  The door tinkles and three teenagers come in.

  “Table for three?” Christine asks them. The girl in front looks around and sees me. She whispers to her friends and then nods. “Yes, but we’d like it in her section.” She points at me.

  “Did the newspaper mention where I work?” I am genuinely confused. The kids obviously recognize me.

  “You know it.” Leila pats my arm and begins to saunter to the kitchen. She looks over her shoulder and says, “At least in good news, Max will probably give you a ten cent raise at the much needed publicity boost for this dump.”

  I can’t do this. I can’t handle having to nod and smile and answer questions for all my customers today.

  I have to get out of here.

  I back away, ignore Christine’s call to me that I have three diners in my section, and enter the kitchen. “I’m not feeling very good,” I tell Leila.

  “You going home? Today’s going to be busy because of the article. Sure you won’t stick around for at least a little while?”

  I am fighting back tears. “David and I got in a fight yesterday morning. I told him about Todd and he was really angry. He said he’s tired of sharing me with memories and he doesn’t want to be a rebound thing,” I confess miserably. I wipe at my overflowing eyes and continue. “I don’t know what to think, I can barely function. Please let me go home.”

  Leila has been standing with her arms folded, listening to me. Now, she grabs my arms and pulls me into a hug. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Look, David will come around. It’s true what he said, though. You need to get over Todd and give yourself time.”

  I once heard that a hug is the universal medicine. And it’s true. All my pent up emotions and sadness come pouring out and I cling to Leila, crying uncontrollably. She pats me a few times on the back and pulls me in closer for a tighter squeeze.

  “Thanks, I needed that,” I finally say, and pull back out of her embrace. I am embarrassed. I hate showing my emotions.

  I avoid looking at Leila, and awkwardly shuffle my feet. The kitchen door bursts open and I hea
r loud voices coming from the dining room as Christine, her face shining, dashes into the kitchen.

  “Oh my gosh, Kennedy, you have to come out here right now!” Her voice is animated and alive and all past animosity seems to have disappeared.

  “What’s going on?” Leila steps in front of me like a shield.

  “Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, you just have to come out here!” Her voice rises even higher and her eyes look glossy.

  I feel sick.

  Christine grabs me by the hand and we enter the dining area.

  I am blinded by sudden flashes of light, and I throw my hands up to shield my eyes from it. I blink, seeing spots. I hear voices, people shouting my name, calling questions.

  “Kennedy, how does it feel to be part of a modern Cinderella story?”

  “How long did it take you to realize that you’d made a mistake?”

  “Why did you choose to become a waitress here when you have millions of dollars at home with your fiancé?”

  “Kennedy, do you regret pawning your engagement ring now? Or was it all just an elaborate scheme to get yourself a bigger one now that you and Todd are getting back together?”

  I hold onto the counter with both hands in a vain attempt to steady myself. Reporters are crammed into the restaurant, snapping pictures and yelling things at me. I see Max in the corner, handing out his business cards and telling anyone who will listen about his special seniors deals on Mondays. Christine is beaming and posing at my side, and only Leila seems as shell shocked as I feel.

  And then I see him. In the middle of the reporters, right in the center aisle where the waitresses usually stand to take orders, behind a shield of roses, stands someone I never thought I would see again.

  Tall, blonde, and as good looking as ever. His shoulders are back, his head held high. He does not look like the contrite cheater I had imagined. He is laughing with a female reporter standing beside him, and, as if to prove that he’s the hottest thing since sliced bread, he’s wearing his Avalanche jersey.

  Todd.

  I feel a rush of emotions. Is this why women in the 1800s used to faint all the time? Or, I guess the proper word is, swoon. I feel like swooning.

  All the things I had planned to say to Todd if I ever saw him again leave my mind and I am completely empty.

  “Kennedy, babe.” Todd tosses a bouquet of what must be four dozen roses onto a table and strides up to me. He leans across the counter and smiles that famous smile.

  Beside me Christine makes a squealing sound like a baby pig and she begins batting her eyelashes furiously. Leila steps away, and I am suddenly alone, facing my enemy.

  Todd holds out his hand and the diner falls silent. The reporters crowd in, cameras clicking away, pens moving furiously across notepads as they write down every detail.

  “What are you doing here?” I whisper, my face completely devoid of blood. My hands are clammy and cold and my knees are shaking.

  “Babe, I am here to beg your forgiveness.” Todd shoots a cocky smile over at the reporters and allows them to get a couple pictures of him holding my hands across the counter. “I was wrong to have cheated on you, but really I was cheating on myself. I destroyed something I value the most and I am here to get that back.”

  His words are everything I have been wishing he’d say for the past three weeks. His eyes meet mine and I remember all the good times we had. I’m brought back to the way I felt that first night in that club when we met and I stared into his eyes the same way I am now.

  Todd steps around the counter and bends down, kissing my forehead. “Babe, we belong together. I’m willing to forgive you stealing my Ovechkin jersey and then giving it back to me as a, what is it, a quilt?” he pauses and looks over at the reporters. With a twinkle in his eye, he says jovially, “I’ll have to tell you all that story a bit later.”

  I feel another flood of shame thinking about the darn jersey. In a weird way, I want justice, I want to be punished for destroying it, almost to prove to myself that I am not a horrible person. “I shouldn’t have done that,” I whisper so only Todd can hear. “I’m so sorry for stealing it, and—”

  Todd holds up his hand, cutting me off. He chuckles loudly, winks at the cameras, and turns back to me. “Let bygones be bygones. I made mistakes, you made mistakes. It’s in the past, doll. I’ll forgive you if you forgive me. We’ve been together too long to throw all this away. Babe, we love each other.”

  Love.

  Love is such a funny thing. Do I love Todd? I used to. But now there’s David, who may or may not actually loathe me at the moment.

  Love.

  And what was that other word Todd used?

  Belonging.

  Where do I belong? I haven’t had a home, a real home, ever, at least that I can remember. Even when I was a kid, home always felt foreign to me.

  I know I look a mess. I’m wearing a vomit-colored uniform with dodgy stains, flip flops, and no make-up. My hair is in disarray, much like my life. Plus I’ve been crying. Could it be true that Todd loves me despite this?

  “I . . .” I don’t know what to say. My hands shake even with Todd holding them, and I am afraid.

  What am I supposed to do?

  “Babe, marry me. Right now. I’ve got the Orlando Marriott hotel booked. We’ll get married tomorrow. Honeymoon to Paris and then back in time for my next game against the Flames. The past will be history. What’s done is done. Marry me.” He plants a kiss on my cracked lips. He is smooth and the taste and texture of his face is so familiar. It’s like the last few weeks never happened.

  Maybe this is what belonging actually feels like. Maybe I do belong with Todd after all. I mean, he did find me. He came all this way.

  But what about David, an annoying voice pipes up in the back of my head. What about how you feel so safe with him? What about the life you could potentially have together?

  And then Todd is kissing me again and my battered emotions feel like maybe I’ve just been given a Band-Aid, a second chance. Maybe happiness isn’t such an unattainable goal.

  My head swirls and when he murmurs again in my ear “Babe, marry me,” I nod my head.

  “Okay.”

  The past is passed, right? And clearly Todd is sorry for cheating and lying about it.

  Isn’t he?

  1 Draft Message—Unsent

  From: kennedygirl@hotmail.com

  To: david.mitchell@kissimmeepoliceforce.com

  David,

  I don’t know how to say this exactly, but I

  I know I told you I was falling for you, but I think I may have been mistaken. See, I’m going to marry Todd tomorrow and I think it’s probably better that way, right?

  I miss you.

  You deserve better than me.

  I don’t know what you’ve heard about everything, but I’m glad that we decided to just be friends because . . .

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  It’s been a whirlwind day and I am exhausted. We’d left Maxie’s right after Todd proposed. I hadn’t had a chance to talk to Leila at all. She’d watched me go, shot me a strange half smile, and then I was gone. Todd brought me back to Orlando and told me to get ready for tomorrow’s wedding, gave me a credit card and left.

  “I’m going out for drinks with Jonny and the boys,” he’d said, that same little smirk on his face that I knew so well.

  Jonny. “Is Emily here too?” I had wondered aloud and Todd had nodded. “I made sure your best friend wouldn’t miss your wedding, babe.”

  Best friends.

  Jesica.

  Leila.

  Right before he shut the suite door, Todd had given me the once-over and said, “Oh, and babe, you might want to get presentable before we go for dinner tonight. Six o’clock.” And he was gone.

 
I thought briefly about going to the lobby and checking out where the nearest bridal shops were, but decided against it. This didn’t feel real yet. And somehow, by actually going into a wedding shop and seeing the dresses and trying on veils, it would become much too real. And I’m not ready for that.

  So I stayed in the suite. And when Emily came knocking on the door, I ignored it. Pretended I wasn’t here.

  The minutes dragged and I felt like I was caught in some weird time trap, like something you’d see on Stargate SG-1.

  I’m staring out the window now, down at the lights of Orlando below. Palm trees sway, gorgeous mansions on the street next to us are lit up, every room displaying masterpieces and gorgeous sculptures. I’ve showered, cried some more, and blow dried my hair. I find some of my designer Rachel Gilbert clothes hanging in the closet and make a mental note to thank Todd’s assistant when I see him again.

  I look beautiful.

  On the street below me, people are chatting and laughing, climbing in and out of cabs and kissing each other on the cheek. The world is alive. So why do I feel so dead?

  I miss David.

  I step away from the window and sit on the bed. No. Wrong. I am not about to do this. I missed Todd the whole time I was with David and now I’m going to do the same thing in reverse.

  Stop it.

  Besides, David doesn’t want me. Not really. He let me walk away and he was so silent, so abrupt. He claimed he’d fight for me, but then when I walked, he let me. When I needed his arms around me the most, he’d left me all alone.

  I still have thirty minutes before Todd comes back and gets me for dinner. I’m dreading it. The dinner, that is. Not having Todd back. But having to smile and fake conversations with Emily and the gang? Probably what witches in the 1700s felt when they were on trial. I’m sure I’ll be bombarded with questions about why I left and what I was thinking.