by T. K. Leigh
I shift my attention from Nora, peering at Chloe and Evie. No confusion there. Only realization mixed with utter shock. I had no doubt they’d know the story. After all, they both work at a magazine.
“You’re the JFK baby,” Chloe exhales, jaw slack, eyes wide.
I nod slightly. “I am.”
“Holy shit,” Evie breathes, her voice growing excited. “The magazine has tried to write a story on you nearly every year. We really wanted to this past December, since it was the thirtieth anniversary of you being found. But Child Services turned down every request. They said you preferred your privacy.”
“And I did. But if I want answers on who my birth mother is, I need to do this. Need to go public with my identity and hope there’s someone out there who can help. I just… I want to know who she is, why she did what she did. I think it will help me finally move on, feel accepted.”
Realization falls over Chloe’s expression as she puts the pieces together about why I feel strongly about this, why I need those missing pages. She reaches across the table and takes my hand in hers, squeezing.
“You deserve to know where you came from.”
“I agree,” Evie offers, placing her hand over ours. “We’ll do everything we can to help you get those answers.”
Nora joins in, her hand on top of all of ours. “And I’ll do whatever I can, too. I’m not a journalist, but I know some killer meditation techniques that can help you push through the stressful moments.”
We all break out laughing, my heart warming with how supportive my friends are.
“Thanks,” I say with a kindhearted smile. “All of you.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
My heart pounds in my chest as I hurry past Central Park, practically running toward the Four Seasons. All day, I haven’t been able to stop smiling. I feel like a kid waking up on Christmas morning, rushing down the stairs to see what presents were left beneath the tree. But tonight, I know exactly what gift I’ll be unwrapping. A very muscular, seductive gift I plan to enjoy all year long.
I make my way through the hotel lobby, everything upscale and shiny. It’s still surreal to think this amount of opulence is now a part of Asher’s lifestyle. That he’s no longer the struggling musician who was happy to get a gig at a hole-in-the-wall bar or pub. I always told him he’d eventually share his music with the world. Now he is.
As I step inside the dimly lit lounge, my eyes float around for any sign of Asher, coming up empty. A few tables are occupied by hotel guests, but other than that, it’s not overly busy.
I approach the bar and sit in one of the soft barstools. A bartender with slicked-back blond hair approaches immediately, his smile congenial. “What can I get you?”
“Vodka tonic, preferably with a Polish vodka.”
“Belvedere okay?”
“Belvedere is perfect.”
I feel a buzz from my clutch and pull out my cell, unlocking it to see a message from Asher.
Meeting ran late. Stuck in traffic. I promise I’m on my way. Hold on tight. GPS says twenty minutes. Sorry, Iz. I love you.
My heart warms, a wide grin tugging on my lips. During our few conversations these past ten days, he’s refrained from uttering those words. At first, it made me question whether he still felt the same way. But now, it makes sense. He’s saving it for tonight. Just like I am.
“Do you love him?” a deep voice slurs as the bartender returns with my drink, setting it in front of me.
I look up from typing out my response to Asher, meeting the eyes of a man sitting two seats over. I estimate him to be in his thirties. Despite his designer suit, he’s unkempt, dark hair askew, tie loosened, first few buttons of his dress shirt undone.
“Excuse me?”
“The guy you’re texting…” He nods toward my cell. I quickly click off the screen, abandoning my message. “By the wide smile on your face, I surmise you’re talking to someone you’re interested in. So, tell me…” He angles toward me, the stench of whiskey strong. “Do you love him?”
I smooth the lines of the red dress I chose to wear tonight. The same red dress I wore when I met with Jessie mere weeks ago. But Asher deserves the same effort he did. Hell, he deserves more.
“I do.”
He leans back, swaying in his seat. “That’s beautiful. That’s…” He lifts his glass. “Love is a beautiful fucking thing, isn’t it?”
“I believe it is.” I look forward again, bringing my drink to my lips, taking a sip. It’s strong with a hint of sweetness from the lime. Exactly how I like it. I shift my eyes to the large screen television hanging above the bar. I pretend to be interested in the Rangers game, but I have no interest in hockey. Not right now anyway.
“Let me ask you something…”
Inhaling a calming breath, I turn back to my drunken companion. “What’s that?”
He peers at me through slanted eyes. “If you found out your brother was dating someone off-limits, what would you do? Wait a minute… Wait a minute,” he garbles, practically falling off his stool. “Let me rephrase that since you’re of the opposite sex.”
“Thank you for noticing.”
“Say you found out your sister was dating someone she shouldn’t, how would you react?”
I shrug. “I don’t have a sister. Or any siblings, so…”
“This is hypo…hyper…”
“Hypothetical?” I arch a brow.
“That’s it!” He points to me, his motions slow and lazy due to the amount of alcohol he’s consumed. “Hypothetical,” he stutters, having trouble pronouncing it. “Say you had a sister who started dating someone she shouldn’t. What would you do?”
“I think I’d need more context before I draw a conclusion.”
“Okay.” He pulls back, nodding. “I get it. Context. Sure. I can give you context. How about this? Say you learned your brother had fallen in love with your ex?”
My heart plummets, my lungs constricting.
“And not just that he’d fallen in love with an ex, but your ex-goddamn-fiancée. And now the ring she wore was no longer yours, but his? What would you do? Would you be okay standing behind him during their wedding in a few days, telling him it doesn’t bother you that he stole your goddamn life?”
I bring my glass to my mouth, swallowing a larger gulp than usual. “Is your brother marrying your ex-fiancée?”
“Ding! Ding! Ding! We have a winner!” he announces so the entire bar can hear. Then he blows out a labored sigh, his shoulders slumping forward. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down as his brows pinch together. “Saturday. In just three days. Three…fucking…days.” His grip on his glass tightens to the point where I worry it will shatter in his hands. “Three days, and my brother gets to marry the woman of my dreams. Gets to begin the life I was supposed to have.” His voice becomes strained. “Is about to start the family I was supposed to start.”
I listen to his story, unable to ignore the absolute agony in his voice. There are probably extenuating circumstances he’s not telling me. After all, there are always two sides to every story. He is at a bar and is rather intoxicated. Perhaps he’s struggling with alcoholism. Or something else that would justify his ex breaking up with him and marrying his brother.
“What happened?” I ask in a timid voice, although my heart screams at me not to, to walk away right now. “If you don’t mind my asking.”
He shakes his head, swiping at the few tears escaping. “That’s the fucked-up thing. I don’t even know. Sure, we had our disagreements. What couple doesn’t?” He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, the vein in his neck strained. “But I thought she was happy. She showed no sign she wasn’t.”
“So this must be recent then,” I remark.
“No.” He swallows his last sip of whiskey, then signals the bartender for another one, to which he obliges. I would have considered cutting him off, but based on the occasional thoughtful glances, I get the feeling the bartender sympathizes with him. Maybe he’s gone through the
same thing. Maybe in a cruel twist of fate, I’m surrounded by men whose brothers have run off with their girlfriends. “We broke up about six years ago.”
That’s good, I tell myself. Six is less than nine. So it’s not the same, right?
I hold onto every difference I can, not wanting to admit I’m sitting next to the future version of Jessie.
“You and your brother must not be close then, huh?”
He exhales a long breath. “We’re actually very close. He’s my goddamn twin. We were born less than five minutes apart. And this is what happens. You want to know the worst part?”
I don’t, but my curiosity gets the best of me. “What’s that?”
“He’s a great fucking guy. He makes her happy. But so did I.” He punches his chest, the muscles in his face tensing. “At least I thought I did.”
My eyes are unfocused as I stare at the dozens of bottles lining the back wall of the bar in tiers, the purple and blue mood lighting from overhead tinting the glass.
“You and your brother…,” I begin, clearing my voice to steady it. “How are you? With each other, I mean.”
“How do you think we are?” he shoots back.
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “Do you think you’ll be able to move on from this? Learn to support him because he’s happy? If he’s your brother, that’s all you want, right? For him to be happy, even if it comes at a cost to you?” My eyes beg him to give me the answer I’m desperate for.
He pinches the bridge of his nose as he shakes his head. “He’s my brother. Of course I want him to be happy.” He draws in a trembling breath. “But he stabbed me in the back. Any other girl…” He raises his voice. “He could have chosen any other girl, yet he chose the one he knows I still love. The girl he knows I’d still do anything to give my last name to.” A sarcastic laugh rips from his throat. “Well, I guess she’ll still have my last name. It just won’t be because of me.”
He throws back his glass, finishing his drink in one gulp. Then he slams the tumbler onto the bar, pushing out of his chair. He staggers before correcting himself. Once he’s more sure of his footing, he buttons his suit jacket, doing his best to appear composed.
“Thank you for listening. I’m off to a family dinner where I have to pretend this entire scenario isn’t ripping my heart to shreds.”
He pulls several large bills from his wallet, then spins on unsteady legs. He only makes it a few steps before I call out.
“Excuse me?”
He slowly faces me, barely able to keep his eyes open. I want to tell him he should probably skip the dinner. I have a feeling it won’t end well.
“Yes?”
“How’s your family with all of this?”
“We were close, but now…” He exhales deeply. “This has destroyed our family. We’ll never be the same again.”
“You don’t think you’ll forgive him? That you’ll become a family again?”
“I don’t see how. The only reason I’m here now is because my grandfather is in his nineties and this is probably his last opportunity to be with the entire family.” He shrugs. “I figure it’s best he go out on a high note, thinking we still get along.”
“But you don’t?”
“We don’t.”
I nod as I process this story that hits a little too close to home. When I don’t immediately say anything, he turns, waving as he heads from the bar. I try to convince myself this encounter doesn’t mean anything. That the fact he was sitting in a bar where I was about to meet my own ex-fiancé’s brother is irrelevant. It’s just a coincidence. It’s not a warning of what’s to come. There’s no hidden meaning. Right?
I tap my fingers against the bartop, my leg bouncing, heart racing. When my phone buzzes, I dart my eyes to it, a spike of adrenaline pumping through me when I see Jessie’s name on the screen. We’ve barely spoken more than a few words to each other since I left the lake house, mostly because of the guilt I felt once I’d slept with Asher. Why would he be calling now?
With shaky hands, I bring the phone up to my ear. “Hey, Jessie.”
“Iz! There you are. You’ve been impossible to get a hold of lately.”
“Sorry,” I reply in a soft voice. “I’ve been busy. Family stuff.”
“Everything okay?” The authenticity in his tone makes my stomach churn.
“Great,” I grit out. “Everything’s great.” When he doesn’t say anything for several excruciatingly long moments, I ask, “Is there a reason you called?”
“I’m in New York.”
“I know.”
“You do?”
Crap.
“Well… Asher mentioned something about coming to New York,” I fumble. “Something about the label?” It’s not a lie. Asher did mention Jessie was here.
He’s silent for a moment, and I swear my heart can be heard over the club music playing in the bar.
“We had a meeting earlier today to discuss his promo tour. I thought since I was in town, I’d see if you wanted to get together. There’s a great bar in the lobby of the Four Seasons. I can meet you there in a bit.”
I shoot out of my chair, frantically looking around. “Where are you?”
“Just getting back to the hotel, but if there’s somewhere more convenient…”
My pulse skyrocketing, I hail the bartender and signal him for the check. I can’t be here if Jessie walks in. What the hell was Asher thinking? Why would he ask me to meet him here if he knew there was a risk of Jessie seeing us? Maybe he doesn’t care if Jessie finds out. And maybe I shouldn’t, either. But I just had a glimpse into my future. Into Asher’s future. The risk is too great. I’ve now seen that with my own eyes, seen what we’ll do to Jessie if we continue down this road.
“Is Asher with you?”
“Nah. Said he had a few errands to run after our meeting. Said something about getting a haircut. I’m pretty sure that’s code for a booty call. We both know Asher’s not one for cutting his hair. So it’ll just be us.” He lowers his voice, the sound of the busy New York sidewalk audible in the background. “I’d really like to see you.”
The bartender leaves my check, and I yank several bills from my wallet. “I appreciate the offer, but I have a lot going on.”
“I knew it was a long shot. Just figured I’d give it a try. I’ll always try with you, Iz.”
I focus my attention at the hotel lobby as a familiar silhouette dressed in a crisp suit strides through the front doors. His steps lack the confidence they normally have, his shoulders slumped.
“Maybe some other time?” I offer as consolation, although I have no intention of following through.
“Sure. Sounds good.”
“Have a nice evening, Jessie.”
“Bye, Iz.”
I wait until the elevator doors close with him inside, then frantically pull on my jacket.
“Taking off?” the bartender asks as he dries a martini glass with a towel.
“Yes,” I say breathily. “I… I have to go.”
“Thought you were meeting someone. At least I assumed you were.”
“I was.”
“Was?”
“I…,” I stammer. “I don’t think it’s going to work out.”
I spin on my heels. I know this is childish and immature, but Asher has a knack for convincing me to stay, to give him a chance. I can’t face him. Can’t fall under his spell.
“Want me to give him a message?” the bartender calls after me.
I halt in my tracks, facing him. “Excuse me?”
“A message. In case someone walks in looking for you.”
I press my lips together, contemplating. I’m about to tell him no when an idea pops into my head. “Do you have any notebook paper?”
“I do.”
I head back to the bar, taking the piece of paper he holds out. I grab a pen and scribble down one word before folding it into an origami dove.
Once I’m content with it, I hand it to the bartender. “If you se
e a man with dark hair, beautiful brown eyes, and an unshaven jawline, can you…” I trail off, my voice catching. “Can you give him this?”
“Any message?”
“This is the message.”
“Are you sure?”
Is it that obvious I don’t want to go down this path but don’t have any other choice?
Choice…
My conversation with Chloe a few weeks ago replays in my mind. “That’s all it comes down to. Living in the past or looking toward a future. Once you decide that, your answer will be clear.”
By going to Asher, I thought I was choosing my future. In a way, I was. But I’d forgotten about his future. So tonight, that’s what I choose, even if it breaks my heart.
“I am.” I give him a sad smile, then hurry out of the bar, holding my breath until I’m safely in a cab. I only make it a few blocks before my phone lights up with an incoming text.
Where are you? I’m in the bar.
Pain shoots through me, the lump in my throat agonizing. I never should have agreed to entertain this fantasy of his. Hell, I never should have slept with him in the first place.
A few more text messages appear, all growing more and more urgent. When my cell rings, I know the bartender must have given him the dove, especially when he continues to call throughout my cab ride to Chelsea, relentless in his need to talk to me.
After paying the driver, I step onto the sidewalk and toward Chloe’s building. I press the buzzer for her apartment, praying she’s home and will answer. I need her tonight. Need to be with someone who will understand why I did what I did. I type out a quick text to make sure.
It’s me. Let me up.
Within seconds, the door clicks. I grab it, dashing into the elevator and riding up to the apartment she now shares with Lincoln, ignoring the constant dinging of my phone. When I emerge onto her floor, she’s waiting in her doorway, brows wrinkled. The instant her eyes fall on me, understanding washes over her. She opens her arms, and I walk into them, sobs wracking through me as I relish in my best friend’s embrace.