That particular lecturer had talked about life after law school—the realities of being employed by a firm, working your way up to partner, tracking billable hours. Working seventy or eighty hour weeks.
“In some respects,” he’d said, “your firm will become your wife, your lover, your family. But that’s the sacrifice every successful lawyer must make.”
James had accepted the statement without question, because he’d always wanted to be a lawyer, and if that meant pulling long hours to contribute to his firm, then that’s what he’d do, much like he’d done to get this law degree in the first place. In the process, he’d be able to buy a big house for his wife and children, and they’d never want for anything.
Except for me.
The thought dragged him down; he couldn’t see an answer to the problem—being a high-powered lawyer meant working marathon hours. Graduating from law school wouldn’t end his time away, his hard work. Or putting off Tess. Even he had believed the lie that things would get better some day.
What now? After some time, he stood and dragged himself to his car then drove back to his place, which he shared with three other new law-school grads. All of them would be moving out soon, making room for the next crop of students. And he’d be in New York, living the life he’d always dreamed of.
Hadn’t he? Or had his parents invented the dream for their only son, making him believe it had always been his idea, his dream?
I do want to be a lawyer, he thought as he drove. But I don’t need to work in some boutique firm that brings in millions and insists I wear Armani. His parents would be ticked if he became one of the lower-class lawyers, maybe someone who did nothing but research and read contracts for businesses, or worse—if he became a public defender.
He parked and went into the apartment, intent on avoiding his friends, who were back from the party, now dressed in sweats and t-shirts, eating popcorn and streaming some movie with lots of booms and blasts.
As he walked past, Garrett called out, “Hey where’d you go? We missed you—Andrew was going to give a toast, but you’d ditched us.” He grinned. “I’ve never known you to pass up an excuse for some bubbly.”
“Had to go somewhere.” Had they not seen his girlfriend—his fiancée in all but name—run out?
He walked to his bedroom and took off his suit, which seemed to restrain him so much he could hardly breathe. He pulled on his favorite pair of jeans and a t-shirt—tattered, with the silk-screened text so faded it couldn’t be read if you didn’t know what it used to say. Truth be told, he didn’t remember. He’d gotten it in high school as part of the honors society. The maroon text was probably some Greek symbols.
As he tugged it on, he suddenly remembered that Tess loved him in that shirt. He stepped over to the full-length mirror on the back of the bedroom door and tried to figure it out. Why did she like this shirt? It was old and faded and ugly. But it was tighter around his chest than most of his others. That was the best he could come up with.
Does the reason matter? He’d known she liked this shirt, but he rarely wore it—it wasn’t exactly the image of a law student. Shouldn’t he have worn it anyway, knowing it made her smile? Breathing out a huff of frustrated air, he grabbed his phone and tried calling Tess again. No luck. He hung up, still unable to find the right words for a message. He sent two more texts saying, Please call me. Then he waited, staring at his phone for fifteen minutes, hoping for a reply. What if she’d been in an accident? He thought of calling local hospitals to find her—hoping for and dreading the possibility at the same time.
I love Tess. He knew that now—fiercely, stronger than ever.
Before, he’d thought he loved her, but he’d taken her for granted. He’d figured Tess would always be at his side, whenever he needed her. Until now. He needed her, and she was nowhere to be found. He could no longer picture his life—not even in New York for a few months—without her. He wanted to be with her. To fall asleep by her side every night and wake up with their feet entangled, knowing that his ring was on her finger. That they belonged to each other.
That dream—what could have been—was slipping away, like sand through his fingers.
Tess wasn’t at her apartment. But Hope seemed to know where she was, or at least she wasn’t worried about Tess. That had to mean something. He went to his favorites list on his phone and called their apartment.
After three rings, Hope picked up. “Hello?” Her voice dripped with disgust. She’d obviously seen the caller ID.
“Hi, um...” Man, he should have planned this out better before jumping into the call. He rubbed his forehead. “Hope, this is James again—” A grunt, followed by background sounds. James spoke louder. “No, really—please don’t hang up! Hear me out.”
A few seconds later, he wasn’t sure the line was still connected. He waited a bit longer, and when he was about to say something, Hope spoke. “After the way you treated my sister, I shouldn’t be talking to you at all. You have thirty seconds to give me one good reason I shouldn’t hang up and get a restraining order.”
For a split second, he was about to argue the legality of getting a restraining order over something so small, but sense overrode his legal training. He sighed and simply said, “Because I love her.” His voice cracked as he said it.
Silence for two seconds, then, “Oh.” Her sister clearly hadn’t expected that. “Really?”
“Really. I’ve done some stupid things over the years, and I’ve taken her for granted, but I’m done with that.”
“Uh-huh. So what makes now any different? What makes tonight any different from Valentine’s day, when she thought you were going to propose, and instead you gave her a lame necklace?”
“She thought—oh, man. I am so stupid.” She’d worn that necklace tonight—something he hadn’t seen since he’d given it to her two months ago. He’d wondered why she never wore it, but assumed it hadn’t been her style. “And tonight was the second time she thought...” James let his voice trail off. He could not say the words.
“Of course she thought you’d propose. You hinted that you had something big to say at the party, and you’d promised, James—promised—to marry her after graduation.”
James lay on his bed, eyes closed with one hand over his face. What a mess he’d made. Of course Tess would think all of those things; he’d all but told her to believe every one of them. And then he’d dashed her hopes. The quiet ride home the night of Valentine’s Day finally made sense, as did her sweet but brief kiss at the door, when he was used to something longer.
“I don’t know what I’d ever do without her,” he said, as much to himself as to Hope.
“Really?” she said again. Her voice was guarded, but no longer rude.
It gave him a glimmer of light. Maybe she’d help him. The glimmer grew. Maybe Tess’s sister would help. He waited for her to go on, almost unable to breathe. When she didn’t say more, he finally squeezed one word through his tight throat.
“Hope?”
“I’m thinking. Okay, here’s the deal. But before I say anything, I have to say that I still think you’re a total turd.”
“I deserve that.”
“Glad you agree. You deserve worse.”
“Is she back?” James sat up eagerly, ready to slide on a pair of sneakers and race to their place.
“No, but I know where she is. Or, at least, where she’s headed.”
His heart leapt in his chest. “Where?”
“Don’t try calling her anymore; she won’t answer.”
“Hope, I need to make this right. I didn’t realize what a jerk I’d been for so long, but I’ll die without her.”
Hope snorted. “Don’t be melodramatic.”
“Fine. I’ll live, but I’ll be miserable. I feel like someone scooped my heart out of my chest. I need Tess. I love her. I really, really do, and I’m going to make this right.” As he said the words, he knew he’d never spoken anything more true. His voice lowered to a whisper. “I’ll do
anything to get her back.”
“Such as?”
James’s gaze sketched over to his desk, where he’d studied so hard for so long. On one corner sat a letter, the one officially inviting him to be an intern in New York. He picked it up and scanned the text, hesitating for only half a second. “I’ll give up the internship. I’ll work for a smaller firm with better hours, and maybe someday I can start my own law firm on my own terms.”
“Wait. You’d seriously give all that up?” Hope’s voice went up sharply in disbelief.
“Of course.” He deliberately folded the letter into fourths and shoved it into his pocket, not wanting to see it again. He should destroy the thing in the garbage disposal. Too bad he wasn’t a redneck; he could have used it for target practice if he’d been the gun type.
“Wow,” Hope said with awe in her voice. “You really do love her.”
He did—but hadn’t realized how much until tonight. James had to swallow against the knot of emotion in his throat before he could answer. “Yeah,” he said, his voice raw. “I do.”
He loved everything about Tess. Her compassion for others. The way she always noticed when someone else needed something—and was prepared to help with that very thing. The way she always wore lipstick, even if she didn’t have time to do her hair or the rest of her makeup. The same shade of peach lipstick. The little mole on her chin—her beauty mark. Her laughter. The way her hand fit perfectly in his. The way she could use the camera to capture the most ethereal, dazzling images. And so much more. He’d need a lifetime to learn all the lovable things about Tess. He wanted to have decades together to learn it all.
“Fine. I’ll give you some information. Not a lot, but something.”
“Thank you!” James said, now pacing the room with the energy of anticipation. “Anything. I’ll guard the information with my life, and I won’t hurt your sister. I swear it.”
“Good thing,” Hope said. “Or I’ll have your head on a platter.”
Chapter Four
Earlier that evening, Tess had assumed she’d be up all night, but for an entirely different reason—that she’d be kept awake by excitement, rather than anger and a few cans of Red Bull as she drove. As the car hummed into the night, she remembered an odd dream from about a week before. In it, she was running toward the ocean, but it receded, farther and farther away from her, no matter how hard and fast she worked to reach it. On the horizon, James sat in a boat. Somehow she knew he was smiling as he was carried away by the current, but he urged her—quite merrily—to keep on running. Reaching James was crucial. Why, she didn’t know, but it made sense in dream logic.
Only now, as Tess glanced at the half moon in her rear-view mirror, did she realize that in the dream, even though she had to reach him, James had never tried to reach her. Not once. He hadn’t jumped out to swim to her. He hadn’t so much as used the oars in the boat—there were oars; she remembered that now. Instead, she waded through waist-deep water, then shoulder-deep, then she was swimming with all her might, arms burning from the strain, and all the while, James called, “Keep going, sweetheart!”
That dream was essentially a snapshot of their relationship. Tess gripped the steering wheel; she would not live that way another day. If James didn’t want to be tied down by a wife, fine. She wouldn’t be the eagerly waiting girlfriend—always the girlfriend, always waiting.
I deserve more than that.
With Buckeye behind her, she felt her anxiety melting away. She kept the top of her convertible down—somehow driving that way felt freeing. The late-night radio was boring, playing what felt like the same five songs over and over again. Inspired by the radio earlier, she pulled out her iPhone and blared Journey’s Greatest Hits. Hey, if one of their songs had cheered her up before, the whole album could certainly do the trick. She sang along, bopping her head up and down, enjoying the warm night air blowing her pony tail in the wind. The album ended sooner than she expected—had she really been driving almost an hour already since starting it? She let the play list go to whatever came next.
Familiar piano chords began from another play list—definitely not Journey. Still classic rock, but something else. Tess’s hands stiffened their grip as an electric guitar joined the piano. Tess’s breath hitched right as Peter Cetera’s iconic voice broke over her. This was the song that played when James first kissed her: “You’re the Inspiration.” Slow danced and kissed as the French horns rose in a crescendo.
She’d never kiss him again.
She fumbled with her iPhone, yanking the plug out and cutting off the music. Her breath shuddered with relief when the noise screeched and then stopped, replaced with the slight buzz of the car’s auxiliary jack. When she had herself under control enough to drive, she punched the FM button so the radio would replace the emotions bubbling up inside her.
Like the song said, she’d thought their love was meant to be—that it would be forever. They’d never be apart, and they’d never be able to go a day without thinking of each other. She never went a day without thinking of James—sending him a text, helping him with an errand, or, on some days, watching old episodes of Law & Order on his apartment couch. Not because she particularly liked the plot lines, but because the show was so James. He got all excited watching the courtroom scenes.
He probably doesn’t think of me every day, she realized with dismay. That is, unless it’s in the sense of, “Oh, good. I can get her to take care of something for me.”
She’d gone to the grocery store for him. Dropped off dry cleaning. Picked up a prescription. Run to the post office. She glared at the gray band of freeway ahead. She might as well have been a servant instead of a girlfriend. Sure, he always said thank you. But did he mean it?
And why did I always say yes? Her brow furrowed as she considered the question. She popped open a Monster drink—the gas station had been out of Red Bull—took a swig, and focused again on the ribbon of road ahead of her. Did she say yes because she truly wanted to be kind and loving to James?
Or was it because I worried he wouldn’t love me if I said no?
Her anger at him eased a bit as she pondered the question. If he’d found an easy way to get things done, could she blame him for using it? She was the one who hadn’t said no when running an errand really was inconvenient. She was the one who jumped at the chance—encouraged him—to give her things to do.
I’m an under-appreciated doormat! Why hadn’t she felt strong enough to say no sometimes?
In a moment of random insanity, she plugged the phone back in and started up the Chicago play list again. She listened—really listened—to the lyrics of “You’re the Inspiration.” As the song moved through her, she swallowed back tears, telling herself that she couldn’t cry now, not yet, or she wouldn’t be able to drive safely. The truth was, she didn’t want to think about how much she loved James. Had always loved him. Still loved him.
I want to be his inspiration. I want him to want me to be with him. But was I ever more than his errand girl?
In spite of her efforts, tears streaked down her cheeks. Their relationship hadn’t been always been so one-sided. He used to call her for no other reason but to say he was thinking about her. She used to find sweet notes he’d slipped into her purse. Texts saying nothing but “Love you.” They used to talk about their future, like seeing the Grand Canyon, or traveling to Rome. Over the course of several months, they’d read The Count of Monte Cristo together—the unabridged version. Now she was lucky if he agreed to watch a DVD or go on a ten-minute walk. He was always in a hurry, trying to finish one thing or another. Finally, last night, he’d shown what really mattered to him.
And it wasn’t me.
With one hand, she swiped at her right cheek and then the other. She pushed harder on the gas pedal.
Chapter Five
James could hardly believe where he was and what he was doing—racing across the desert in the middle of the night in hopes of catching Tess, or finding her... somehow.
&n
bsp; He also couldn’t believe that he’d called Preston, Carson, and McNeil. He’d left a voice message turning down the internship. It was official. He wouldn’t be moving to New York after all. Which meant he needed to find a place to live ASAP. Even if Tess hated his guts and never wanted to see him again, he wouldn’t be spending his summer in the Big Apple. He felt remarkably calm about the decision—and realized that he’d wanted it more because it was something his parents would have wanted, and he was used to thinking that their wishes were his.
He glanced at the clock, wondering how much of a lead Tess had on him. Hope had said that her sister was driving to their mother’s place in Newport—and even provided an address, which he’d promptly added to his GPS. He shook his head and sighed. Good thing Hope had opened up at least that much; he hadn’t known where their mother lived exactly. California, sure. And a beach rang a bell. Had Tess ever told him where her mother lived? Had he been distracted, thinking of something else, when she did? Or had she not told him, because she knew he wouldn’t remember? Why had he never asked about her family? Did she have siblings besides Hope? He didn’t even know that. What kind of moron of a boyfriend didn’t know things like that?
Yet she knew all about him. She asked about his childhood, his school years, his favorite movies from junior high, his first crush. He’d loved how she wanted to know everything about him. But I don’t know half as much about her.
He pressed harder on the accelerator, determined to find her and change things. Tess always obeyed the speed limit. Using that fact, he did math in his head, figuring out how soon he could overtake her if she kept the law, while he went twenty-five over. It could happen, but he’d gotten a late start. There was a good chance she was halfway to Newport already. What if he came upon her in the dark? Would he recognize her car in the dead of night? And if he did, then what? Would he wave at her, telling her to pull over so they could talk? Would she pull over?
A Timeless Romance Anthology: Spring Vacation Collection (A Timeless Romance Anthology) Page 8