by T. K. Leigh
“Don’t worry,” I interrupt. “I’ll manage.”
“Okay.” He pauses for a beat, then states, “Since I’m delivering bad news, I should mention I received a phone call from Child Services today.”
I chew on the inside of my cheek, not immediately saying anything.
“They just want an answer either way. A bunch of reporters are hounding them, still trying to be the first to run a story on the JFK baby. It was just the thirty-year anniversary.”
“I know,” I say with a sigh. “I saw the news stories they did run.”
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”
We have the same conversation around this time every year. The media reaches out to Child Services wanting to do a story on the baby who was abandoned in the ladies’ room at JFK Airport. In turn, Child Services reaches out to my parents to see if I’d like to finally reveal my identity to the press. My parents ask me, telling me they’ll support whatever I choose. I waver, a part of me wanting to go public just so I can find out who my birth mother was, another part unsure I’m ready to face that.
“Some of them do offer a small appearance fee,” he reminds me.
“I just… I’m not interested in the media combing through my life and looking at me with sympathy because the woman who gave birth to me didn’t want me. Not interested in the public offering their opinion on why she didn’t want me.”
“I understand. Your mother and I will always support your decision in this. If you do change your mind, we’ll stand by your side every step of the way.”
I allow his words to comfort me, as they always do. “Thanks, Papa. I’ll come by soon for dinner.”
“Your mother would love that. Greenwich isn’t that far.”
“According to some New Yorkers, it’s a different country.”
“Then make sure to bring your passport. Love you, butterfly.”
“Love you, too, Papa.”
Chapter Five
I sit at my tiny breakfast table, sorting through bills, prioritizing them by what I absolutely must pay. It’s been so long since I’ve received a direct deposit without at least twenty hours of overtime pay that I’ve forgotten how little money I made, particularly in comparison to the high cost of living here in Manhattan. If I lived anywhere else, I probably would have been able to make it work. But now I can’t even scrape by. After paying my rent and heating bill, the balance in my bank account is laughable.
Frustrated, I shove the bills away, watching them scatter onto the floor. I stare at them, venom in my gaze, when I notice the royalty agreement Jessie gave me. I push out of my chair, grabbing it, focusing on the twenty grand bonus if Asher makes his studio date. That money would certainly help. I’d be able to pay all my bills for the next few months and even put a little away in savings until the album released and the royalty payments started coming in.
Can I really do this? Can I really see Asher again? Is the money worth the eventual price my heart will pay from the simple act of being in his presence?
Perhaps I’m looking at this the wrong way. I am getting paid. Perhaps I should consider this as nothing more than a job, with Asher as my employer. Short-term employment while I search for something else.
Unlocking the screen on my phone, I scroll through my contacts, my finger hovering when I come to Jessie’s name. I once dialed this number so often he’d earned a spot in my favorites. Now it’s been nine years since I hit this number.
I hold my breath as I listen to the line ring. I can end the call. It’s not like I don’t have options. I can ask my parents for a loan. Even Chloe, Evie, and Nora offered to help when they learned I’d been laid off. But my pride prevents me from asking anyone to support me. I like knowing I can find my own way. Maybe this is the way I need to go.
“I was wrong,” Jessie’s deep voice answers on the third ring.
“Excuse me?”
“About how long it would take you to call. I figured you’d call in a day to accept my offer. Instead, you made me wait on pins and needles for over a month. You really know how to torture a guy.”
“What makes you think I’m calling to accept? I could be calling as a courtesy to tell you I’m not interested.”
“True, but I know you well enough to know you’ll do this. Despite what happened between us, you’d never hold that against Asher. You’re too compassionate a person.”
I chew on my lower lip. He’d be singing a different tune if he knew the truth.
“Well, luckily for you, I’ve recently found myself with some free time on my hands and am willing to help.”
“Thank you,” he breathes. “You have no idea what this means to me. And Asher. Would you like to go over the contract in greater detail? I can answer any questions.”
“That’s not necessary. I read it over,” I lie, not wanting him to think I’m doing this out of pure desperation and would agree no matter what was contained in these pages. I don’t need his pity. Don’t need anyone’s pity. “It all seems rather straight forward. I hang out with Asher. I get a percentage. If he makes the studio date with enough songs to record an entire album, I’ll receive a bonus, payable immediately.”
“That about sums it up.” He pauses. “Except there’s just one thing. Something I couldn’t put in the contract, but I hope you’ll agree regardless.”
“What’s that?” My skin prickles with heat, unease weighing down my stomach.
“I want this arrangement to stay between us. I don’t want you to tell Asher I’m paying you to...inspire him.”
“So… Asher doesn’t know.” My words come out as a mixture of a question and a statement.
“No. And I want to keep it that way. If he knew the truth, the whole thing might backfire. I want your interactions to be as authentic as possible. Like they were all those years ago. When you spent time with him because you genuinely liked being with him. That’s what I’m trying to recreate. And you’re the only person who can do that.”
I take a few steps toward the opposite end of my apartment and peer out at the city below me. “Don’t you think he’ll be suspicious? How do you plan on explaining my sudden reappearance after all this time?”
“Don’t worry about that. I’ve got it handled.”
“How?”
“Grams,” he explains. “She’s been on my case to make things right with you for years. Says she can’t meet her maker when there’s still an imbalance in her world, or something like that.”
His statement causes a laugh to escape. It sounds exactly like something she’d say. She always was good at laying on those guilt trips.
“I’ll just tell Asher you’re there for Grams’ sake.”
“And when I stay longer than a normal visit? How do you hope to explain that? He’ll question it at some point.”
“Don’t worry about that. I’ll take care of it. Even if it means telling everyone we’re together again.”
“No!” I shout.
It’s one thing to keep Asher in the dark about the true reason I’m there. Hell, it’ll be awkward enough as it is. At least we parted ways on somewhat amicable terms after our one night together. We both realized it was a mistake to sleep together, regardless of any feelings we may have had for one another. But the mere thought of Jessie trying to convince Asher we’re back together makes it difficult to breathe. I couldn’t betray Asher like that.
Too bad I had no problem betraying Jessie.
“I didn’t realize the idea was that revolting,” Jessie snips with a hint of venom.
“It’s not that,” I attempt to appease him, pulling my lips between my teeth. “I just… I don’t like lying to your family. Any more than necessary,” I add as an afterthought.
He doesn’t immediately respond. Every second that passes causes my pulse to increase. I stare at the dull gray walls, praying I didn’t just make him suspicious of me.
Of us.
“I understand the awkward position I’m putting you in,” he says f
inally. “I’ll just have Grams insist you stay after the weekend.”
“And that’s an invitation I’d never turn down. You know how much I love Grams.” A warmth fills my heart at the memory of spending hours in the kitchen with her as she regaled me with another crazy story from her past.
“And she certainly loves you.” He chuckles. “For months after you left, she always gave me that evil side eye of hers. The one that made me think she was casting some voodoo spell on me.”
I join his laughter, all too familiar with that look. She’d given it to me a few times. Usually when I refused one of Asher’s invitations to head out to the dock with him, opting to spend time with Jessie instead. Shouldn’t she have been more upset if I hadn’t chosen my boyfriend?
“So you’re on board? You’re okay keeping this quiet from Asher? I hate to be that guy, but without your agreement on this point, the deal is off the table.”
I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. A premonition settles in my stomach that this has the potential to backfire, but does it matter? After my time at the lake house, I’ll have no reason to see either man again. If Asher finds out the truth, that’s on Jessie. Not me.
“You have my word. I won’t mention our arrangement to Asher.”
“I knew I could count on you, Iz. I’ll arrange all your travel and send you the details. I’ll try to get you into Logan Airport tomorrow around two and pick you up. That way, we can beat rush hour.”
“Tomorrow?” I can’t mask the surprise in my voice, my pulse skyrocketing. It was one thing to agree to this in the abstract, thinking I had time to mentally prepare. But now that I’m less than twenty-four hours away from coming face-to-face with the one man I’ve tried to forget, nerves wrack my body.
“Unfortunately, we’re short on time. Every minute counts. It’s already been a month since I came to you with my proposition.”
I part my lips, about to tell Jessie this isn’t a good idea, when my gaze settles on the agreement. Twenty thousand dollars. I need that money.
“Of course,” I relent. “I understand. I just lost track of the days.”
“Thank you. You’re saving his career. If you didn’t agree to this, I don’t know what I would have done.”
I close my eyes, blowing out a breath. I can’t back out now, not after the reminder of what’s at stake. “I’ll keep an eye out for my travel details. See you tomorrow, Jessie.”
“See ya, Iz.”
Chapter Six
As Jessie navigates along the steep, winding dirt road leading to Grams’ lake house the following evening, I can’t stop my heart from pounding, my hands from growing clammy, my stomach from becoming queasy. I try to hide my nerves from Jessie. In his mind, the hardest part of this adventure is over — spending three hours in an enclosed space with my ex-fiancé as he drove from Boston to a quaint house in the hills of New Hampshire. All I have to worry about now is reuniting with his brother.
Who I slept with, then avoided the past year.
Jessie drives around a bend, slowing to a crawl as he turns onto a gravel path, the uneven surface jostling me, before finally coming to a stop. He shifts the car into park and kills the ignition, glancing at me.
“Ready?”
I peer through the window at the two-story wooden structure. It looks the same as it did nearly a decade ago, except for a fresh coat of stain on the siding. Lights from within illuminate all the windows, and a bit of smoke billows out of the stone chimney. Blowing out a long breath, I nod.
“Just remember. You’re here for Grams. Because you have an amazing heart and didn’t want another year to go by without seeing her, despite any animosity you may still have toward me.”
“Jessie, I don’t—”
He holds up a hand, cutting me off. “It’s okay. Lay on as much of a guilt trip as you want. Grams would probably appreciate that.” With a deep chuckle, he opens the door, rushing around to help me.
When I open my own door and step down from the SUV, he gives me a playful look of admonishment. “Still the same stubborn Izzy, aren’t you?”
“What do you mean?”
“You make it impossible for me to be a gentleman around you. In more ways than one.” He flashes a devious smile, then strides to the trunk and retrieves our luggage, refusing to allow me to carry mine. “But seriously. Would it kill you to let a guy open the door for you once in a while?” He steers me up the path and toward the house.
“I’m fully capable of opening my own doors.”
“You’re fully capable of doing a lot of things. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be treated like the treasure you are. And that includes risking a fall on a sheet of ice to open the door for you.”
The memory forces a laugh to escape. On our first date, I was confused when he attempted to rush to my side of the car. While I’d seen my father open my mother’s door constantly, I never considered I’d date someone who would do that for me. By the time I finally got used to it, it had turned into a game. He’d dart from the driver’s seat as quickly as possible to beat me to opening my door. Which was all in good fun…until he slipped on some ice and dislocated his shoulder.
“Okay. From now on, I’ll wait for you to open my door. Just to avoid playing nurse while you recuperate.”
He nudges me. “Actually, I kind of liked when you played nurse, especially when you walked in wearing that sexy little costume.”
My cheeks blush, but it’s not enough for me to steer the conversation elsewhere. It’s refreshing to reminisce about the good times we shared. And we did share some amazing times together.
“Do you have any idea how difficult it was to find a sexy nurse’s costume in January? I had to rush order one online so it would get here in time. But you were worth having to eat ramen noodles for a few weeks until I got my next paycheck.” My admission slips out before I can stop it.
“And you were worth dislocating my shoulder. I’d happily risk it again to hear your squeals of joy when you won our little game.” He smirks, then stops beside a large oak tree lining the drive.
“Do you remember what happened here?” He nods toward the tree, dropping our bags to the ground.
I head toward it, running my fingers along the bark, stopping when I feel the indentation. “J.Y. and I.N,” I murmur.
“Do you remember what I told you right after we carved our initials into that tree?”
I straighten, meeting his gaze. “That you loved me.”
“You thought I was crazy. That it was too soon.” When he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, my breathing quickens. “You always were on the practical side.”
“So were you. That’s why it surprised me.”
“What can I say?” He adjusts his stance, closing the distance between us. “You brought out a side of me I didn’t know existed. You still do.” His eyes skate over my face, seemingly imprinting everything about it to memory. My nose. My cheeks. My lips. Which he stares at for an inordinately long time. But he doesn’t push forward. Neither do I. I remain frozen in place. Too scared to advance. Too broken to retreat.
Then he exhales, releasing me from his hold. I should be relieved he didn’t try to kiss me, but a small part of me wanted him to. Wanted to feel him. Wanted to replace the memory of Asher’s lips on mine with a new one. One that isn’t laced with lies and betrayal.
But I fear even if I kissed a thousand men, I’ll never be able to erase Asher’s kiss. Not with the way it’s imprinted on my soul, in the very fiber of who I am.
“We should go inside,” he states matter-of-factly.
“You’re right. We should.” I avert my eyes, pushing past the tree. Jessie catches up with ease.
“I’m sorry. I—”
“It’s okay,” I interrupt. The last thing I need is to listen to my ex-fiancé apologize for not kissing me when I never should have wanted him to in the first place.
“It’s not that I don’t want to kiss you, Iz. I do. Have since the second you walked into that bar and
I saw you for the first time in years.” He drops the bags at the foot of the stairs leading up to the porch. His firm grip on my arm forces me to stop. “When you took off your jacket and revealed that red dress…” His voice grows husky, wanton, reminding me so much of Asher’s tone when in the throes of passion. The vein in his neck throbs, his jaw clenched, nostrils flaring.
I’d always thought Jessie and Asher to be complete opposites. Where one was night, the other was day. Where one was difficult, the other was easy. Where one was aloof, the other was attentive. Regardless, they still exhibited the same intense passion toward whatever drove them. Whether it be music, work…or me.
“It drove me fucking crazy, Iz. Still does. As much as I want to kiss you — and I am dying to taste your lips again — I want it to happen because you want it to. Not because you’re in a place where you’re surrounded by memories of us. I want your kiss to come naturally, quietly. Like the way we fell in love all those years ago.”
“Jessie…”
I wish he were the asshole I’d painted him to be to all my friends when I told them of our breakup. But an asshole wouldn’t drop to his knees and beg me to give him another chance. Wouldn’t unabashedly cry as he tried to grasp onto me, knowing nothing would keep me there. Wouldn’t go along with my story that he was the one to blame, especially when we were both at fault.
“I don’t blame you if you’ll never trust me. But I promise if you give me a chance, I will spend every day regaining that trust.”
I peer at him through guilt-ridden eyes. “I don’t even know what to say.” It’s probably the first honest thing I’ve said to him since we reconnected. The first phrase that doesn’t have a hidden meaning, that isn’t a cover for my lies.
“I get it. You’re probably wishing you never agreed to this. But I’m glad you did, if only so I could finally tell you everything I’ve wanted to say for years. I should have kept my mouth shut, but I hate the idea of wondering what if. I’ve lived the past nine years wondering what if. What if I hadn’t pushed you to give up your social life for me? What if I was more understanding? What if I listened to you more?”