Unraveled

by Mia Kayla

  He placed the glass on the counter and leaned his elbows against the bar. He was so close, the whiff of his masculine cologne made me stiffen and take in deeper breaths.

  "So, how can I service you?"

  I almost fell off my seat. All his sexual innuendos were driving me bonkers. He needed to stop.

  I gripped the cold glass, hoping it would stop the heat wave inside me. "Stop flirting." My voice was a careless whisper, saying one thing, but meaning another.

  He tilted his head and his intense gaze made my heart turn over in response. "Done. See? I can play nice. All you needed to say was stop.” He straightened, seeming more businesslike. “So, what can I do for you?"

  When I didn't answer, he simply stared at me, the gray in his steel eyes brightening. "You're beautiful," he said absently, almost as if he couldn’t help himself.

  I released a soft, silent sigh. "You're doing it again." I shied away, sweeping my hair to the front, using it as a curtain from his intense gaze, but that did nothing to quiet the zoo in my belly.

  "I wasn't flirting that time. Just the truth." He shrugged as if it was nothing, but I couldn’t deny that it meant something to me. His eyes were riveted on my face, appraising me.

  No one has called me beautiful in such a long time ...

  I cleared my throat and waved my hand, getting down to business and willing my pulse to slow down to a normal beat. "I just wanted to let you know that I'm taking over our downtown locations for Tene." Way to change the subject and go for subtle.

  "So, you wanted to see me," he stated, that amused spark back in his eyes.

  "No." My voice came out louder than I expected. "I mean, I'm visiting all our tenants to introduce myself. They were so used to dealing with my father and then Tene. Some I've never even met in person."

  "Mmhmm."

  I wanted to knock that all-knowing crooked smile off his face, then stupidly kiss him senseless.

  "Believe what you want to believe," I said. "Now that it's done, I think I'll be going." I pushed back the stool, but he placed his hand on top of mine, stilling me. A jolt of electricity surged through me where we were connected. Would it ever stop, the tingle that traveled up my arm with the mere touch of his fingers?

  One touch. His touch. I was amazed how my body reacted to him this way. It was forbidden and exciting at the same time. He was my tenant, which meant he was off limits.

  "Sorry." His features softened, truly apologetic. "It's too much fun teasing you. You said stop, so no more teasing, okay?"

  "Okay." My voice was soft, resigned.

  His shoulders eased up, giving me an easy smile. "So, they're giving you more responsibility?"

  "Yeah, with my father sick ..." I turned away, my chin trembling. "I mean ..." I hadn't meant for those words to slip out. Tene and I still couldn't talk about my father without choking up. Most of our long-term tenants knew of his condition, but Cade was a new tenant.

  When I turned back to face him, his expression stilled and grew serious, and there was a look I’d recognized that was so familiar, a look of ... understanding?

  "I'm sorry." His voice got thick with emotion, and his grip tightened on my hand.

  "It's kind of an unspoken topic. He had a heart attack last year, and my family likes to pretend it's not happening." I smiled again because that's what I did when things got uncomfortable—the forced Angelica Armstrong signature awkward smile. The center of my chest ached with a familiar pain.

  He nodded, and a sentiment of sympathy filtered through his eyes. "I get it, Angel. I really do."

  The business of the lunch hour was around us, but, once again, it seemed as if we were the only two in the room. Some unspoken words passed between us, an understanding of some sort. For some reason, I sensed he knew exactly what I was going through. His apology wasn't the automatic response that I was used to hearing from other people, and I wondered if he'd experienced some great loss as well.

  "My mom's ... she’s struggling, too," he blurted out softly but turned his head as though he hadn't meant for those words to escape his lips.

  It was the first time in our brief encounter together that I had witnessed vulnerability in his confident, masculine demeanor. "I'm sorry," I said, the words heavy in my throat.

  "Yeah, me too." There was an understanding in his look that comforted me, let me know that I wasn’t alone.

  Kristy called out his name behind him, needing some assistance down the bar.

  "I'll be back.” He pulled his hand away, breaking our connection. “Don't leave."

  He turned before giving me a chance to respond, and I watched his retreating form.

  I couldn't help but think there was more to Cade beyond his confident muscle man demeanor. And I couldn’t help but want to uncover it.

  After ten minutes of helping Kristy with the afternoon rush, Cade strolled my way. "Walk with me." He carried a bag of trash and nodded toward the back of the bar.

  I followed him through a door that led back to the kitchen. The kitchen was in full swing as the cooks hustled and bustled around each other. A long stainless steel table was adorned with different plates of food garnished with what looked like sliced turnips rolled up and shaped into a rose.

  Down the hall, into the back, he pushed a door open to the alley, and I trailed behind him and watched him lift the lid of the dumpster and toss the black bag inside.

  "I'm sorry." He ran one hand through the top of his dark locks.

  "For what?"

  "You know, for revealing too much back there. The sad stuff."

  I shrugged. "I did it first."

  He turned away and nodded, and that awkwardness filled the air again. I hated it. I wanted that familiarity back, the short instant that we bonded back at the bar, so I filled the silence with words.

  "Tene and I don't really talk about it because I start crying, and Tene gets all teary-eyed, and she hates that. She never cries—ever. To her, it's a sign of weakness. I'm just one big cry baby, and I don't want to start because I won't stop." I gave him a weak smile.

  He nodded, his face careful. It seemed as though that one slip at the bar about his mother had been a mistake, and he was going to be careful not to make it again.

  I leaned against the red brick of our building, staring at the concrete. I couldn't talk about my father with Roland, not anymore. And when I had tried before, I’d never believed it when he’d said that all would be okay. It always seemed forced, rehearsed, and only for my benefit. And he didn't truly understand the constant worry Tene and I had over Dad’s health.

  For once, it felt nice to let my feelings all drip out. "It's like my world bottomed out when he was in the hospital. All I could think of when he was in there, tied up to all those tubes, was that he couldn't go ... not yet."

  My father was the glue that kept us together. Not only with the business, but he kept our family intact.

  I swallowed a cry in my throat, getting lost in my own thoughts. "My mother cried the whole time beside him, and she's built like Tene; she doesn't cry at all. That's how I knew it was bad." I let out a long, low sigh and fidgeted with my fingers. "People say everything is going to be okay, but it's not. Nothing is going to be the same after this." I bit the inside of my cheek. One more word out of me, and I knew that I'd be a wreck. Maybe it was a mistake to talk to Cade about all this. I focused on the cars passing by, the soft breeze against my skin, and the clear blue sky above me so that the internal havoc inside of me would dim.

  Cade leaned against the wall beside me, propped one leg up and retrieved a pack of cigarettes from the back of his pocket. He offered me one, but I shook my head. Then he placed the cigarette on his lips.

  "I didn't figure you for a smoker."

  "I don't smoke."

  "What?" I frowned.

  "I don't." He eyed me with a crooked smile.

  Both of my hands fell on my hips. "So, you work at a bar, yet you don't drink. You carry cigarettes, but you don't smoke. Is there an underlyin
g reason for this?"

  "I do drink, but not in excess." His smile disappeared, and behind his vision, a thick cloud of darkness formed. "My sister had addiction problems."

  I didn't miss the past tense, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood at full attention.

  "She's dead," he added. He flinched as soon as the words left his mouth and his whole face faltered, his shoulders slumping.

  Before I knew what I was doing, I rushed into him and hugged him, my head against his chest. "I'm sorry."

  The move was Angelica automatic.

  And I was so very sorry. I couldn’t imagine losing a sibling and at such a young age. His loss made me think of Tene, and I couldn’t even fathom losing her. I wouldn’t be able to deal.

  I caught him by surprise because he froze for a second, before his warm hands wrapped around my waist. When I realized I had seriously crossed some unprofessional lines on so many levels, I straightened and moved back, but not before his arms drew me closer.

  It felt good to be this close to him, consoling him. I couldn’t bear to look up because we were already in a compromising position, and staring into his face would only worsen our situation.

  I brought my hands around to the firm span of his stomach, to the hard pecs of his chest. I meant to push away, but his words distracted me. "I get it, Angel. When you say nothing's going to be the same after this. I get it. My sister is gone, and she's never coming back. My family is forever changed because of it."

  His hand caressed up and down my back. His voice sounded so distant that I wondered if he knew what he was doing or that he was even touching me. But I understood him fully. One event alters everything in its path. My family would forever be walking on pins and needles with my father's health. I wondered if the fear would ever go away.

  "I don't let vices control me. Drugs, alcohol, and even cigarettes. It's a lesson I learned. I am in control of this life I lead. Addiction already took so much from us."

  A silence settled over us. All I heard were the swish of the cars down the alley and the soft breaths escaping him.

  "I've lost more than you know,” he continued. “And family means everything to me. I sacrifice and will continue to sacrifice everything for my family."

  His arms still caged me in. It was so wrong, yet felt so alarmingly calm to be next to him. I comforted him, knowing the truth. "It won't be the same for our families or for us ... but maybe ... just maybe it'll get better. At least, that's what I hope for."

  He rested his chin on the top of my head, and, for once, since I’d stepped into him, my whole body relaxed.

  I knew I was crossing all the boundaries, but I couldn't help it. There was no way I was pushing him away because, although I gave him comfort, selfishly he gave me comfort, too.

  For the next few days, life continued as I knew it. After work, I drove to my new place and walked into an unfamiliar room, placed my bag on a different table and kicked off my heels on the floor because I was without my usual shoe storage bench.

  I plopped on the couch and reached for my cell. My phone indicated five missed calls from Roland. I stared, unblinking at his name and the picture of us together, and my heart sank to the floor. We'd been together since before I could even remember. He’d been my first everything, and I still couldn't grasp the idea that we were done. Done and over. Kaput.

  But I'd made the right decision, hadn’t I? Were we truly over? Did I miss him?

  My finger hovered over the screen of my phone. I realized I loved and missed the old him—not the new him—and that I was in love with a ghost. Because the old him was permanently gone, and he’d been gone for some time now.

  My birthday was coming up. To me, my birthday was my favorite day of the year. And this year, I'd be spending it alone. Roland had planned a celebration dinner, but I wondered if it would’ve actually happened if we were still together.

  The thoughts brought me back to last year's birthday non-celebration.

  A giddy smile filled my face as I applied my mascara, staring at myself in the immense bathroom mirror. This bathroom was Roland's sanctuary. That was why he’d had the builders import the granite from Italy and had installed a tufted gold tub that took up a quarter of the bathroom.

  Today was my birthday.

  It was the one day where, like a big kid, I saved all my wishes to make that one epic wish when I blew out all my birthday candles.

  The exhilaration of knowing it was a new year—a new beginning—it was as though I was experiencing a new birth. Most made New Year’s resolutions. I made birthday resolutions. For me, my birthday was a reset, a do over.

  Pursing my lips together, I took in my reflection one more time. I had curled my hair to perfection tonight, knowing it was my special day. I’d received my birthday greetings this morning, ones I looked forward to every year, and tonight, Roland was going to take me out.

  For the past five years, on my actual birthday, he'd surprised me. I never knew where we were going for our dinner date, and he always showered me with expensive gifts and planned a separate family dinner with both sets of parents, which was happening this weekend.

  Strolling into our massive walk-in closet, I pulled out the new dress I'd bought for the occasion, a navy blue fitted lace dress that rested just above the knee.

  I knew Roland would be taking me somewhere upscale, a place that donned no less than ten courses, plus dessert. He was a connoisseur of fine dining when work wasn't occupying his time.

  After I slipped on the dress that clung to my hips, I tiptoed in front of my floor-length mirror and turned around once, loving the exposed lace around my neckline and at the bottom of the dress. My eyes sparkled through the mirror as a lightness spread through my limbs.

  New beginnings. For him. For me. For us.

  There was a bounce in my step as I sauntered to my jewelry box and pulled out a pair of one carat studs that Roland had given me on our last anniversary.

  When I heard my cell ring, I ran back into the bedroom and picked up the phone.

  "Happy Birthday, Angie." Roland's voice was hoarse, different. My stomach dropped to my toes.

  "Is something wrong?" My first thought was that he’d been in an accident on his way home. "Roland!"

  "Angelica ..." The way he said my name, his soft, apologetic tone, was so familiar. It’s the tone he uses before sentences that end in ‘I’m sorry.’

  "What happened?" I held my breath and fidgeted with my earring.

  "I need you to do something for me. Go into the closet in the foyer and your present will be there."

  Immediately, I ran out our bedroom and to the front of our apartment. My heels clicked against the floor, ready for the night to begin. I loved surprises, and Roland knew this about me. When I pulled open the closet door, a rather large blue box greeted me, wrapped in silver wrapping paper and a bow that spanned the entire top of the gift.

  "I have to say," I said, smiling. "You spoil me."

  "I know you'll love it. I ordered it six months ago."

  I took off the pieces of tape from the sides and unwrapped my present. When I lifted the box, my hand flew to my chest as I took in a 5x7 double silver picture frame of the two of us in high school, right next to the one of a more recent one of us during Christmas. On the bottom of the frame under each picture was the date that we got together and on the more recent one, it was engraved “Until Forever.”

  Roland had never been the sentimental one in our relationship, and as my fingertips grazed over the words, “Until Forever,” a heat radiated in my chest, spreading to every part of me.

  "It's so sweet, Roland. So romantic. I absolutely love it! I love you."

  "It's custom-made, and there are only five just like it." His tone leaked with pride.

  My hand flew to my heart, then I noticed the blue leather underneath the picture frame.

  "Oh." Laughter escaped me as I repositioned the phone by my ear. "There’s more." I placed the frame on the kitchen table and pulled out a bea
utiful, elegant Hermes purse, slipping it over my shoulder. "Roland. Seriously, it's perfect. It matches my dress. This must have cost a fortune. Thank you." I twirled around, and my skirt swished against my legs.

  "I'm glad you like it, Angie. It suits you. Beautiful. Sophisticated."

  Nothing could’ve deterred my mood. The day was getting better and better as it went on. Brunch with my sister, gifts, then dinner with my beloved.

  "Happy birthday. I'm glad you love it."

  "I do," I squeed, practically hopping on my heels.

  "Angelica ..." His voice trailed off.

  Something in his voice made my stomach roll. There it was again, the same tone as earlier.

  My fists clenched the straps of the purse, slightly trembling.

  "Angie ... you know that deal I've been working on? The one where I've been trying to get a meeting with the CEO of the company ...?" His voice lowered, as though he didn't want others around him to hear.

  I chewed on my inner cheek, practically making it bleed. "Please don't, Roland." My voice broke as I dropped the purse to the floor. Both of my hands gripped the phone as though it was my lifeline. "Not today. It's my birthday."

  He was silent, and the quiet seemed to drag on for a lifetime. "And I will be able to make a later dinner reservation. I'll call. I'll reschedule for later tonight."

  "Like what time? Ten? We're going to have dinner at ten?" The words sounded ridiculous, even to my own ears. “Just tell your boss you can’t go.”

  "I couldn't. I didn't know what to tell them."

  At his words, I lost it, lost my cool, something that had never happened before. "You could’ve told them that it was your girlfriend's birthday." Tears burst from my eyes. There was no denying I was crying as my body shook with an anger so strong I felt dizzy. "That she looks forward to this day every single year. That you've missed and cancelled every event lately, but you'd never—ever—miss her birthday. Not in a million years. How about that, Roland? You could’ve told them that!"

  "Angelica. You need to understand ..." His tone was authoritative, as though he were speaking to a child.