Fault Lines

by Rebecca Shea

  Glancing back at the car, I grin. A month ago, I’d be damn near giddy at the idea of a project like this to bury myself in. But now, I don’t need to bury myself. I need to find Frankie .

  * * *

  "S ir, we're here." William's voice pulls me from my daydream. William steers the car into the drive of The Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel. I should’ve known Jack Vanderbilt would put me up in some swanky Hollywood hotel. I'd have been fine at the Holiday Inn out in the suburbs .

  I reach for the door handle, but not before William gets to it and opens it for me. "Sir, I'll get your bag to the bellman. You can check in inside. The room is already taken care of, charged to Mr. Vanderbilt's account ."

  Account? Why in the hell would anyone need an account at a hotel? And I have one small suitcase. I don't need a goddamn bellman to deliver my bag. I nod, grateful for his help. "Thank you, William. I appreciate all of your help today." I reach for my wallet to pull out some cash to tip him, but he holds out his hand to stop me .

  "No thanks needed. It was my pleasure." He nods at me and slides back into the driver’s seat and slowly drives away. I reach for my suitcase just as the bellman does, but I win, not turning over my small carry-on to a man when I'm more than capable of handling it .

  I check in and decide to call it a night, placing a room service order. The suite I'm booked in is reminiscent of some sleek modern new hotel, not a hotel built in the 1920s. Everything in this room is crisp lines, modern design, and vibrant colors with a canopy draping the king-size bed. Not exactly my style, but it's definitely quintessential Hollywood .

  A giant cheeseburger, a double order of French fries, and two beers are delivered just as I finish showering and changing into clean clothes. A million thoughts run through my head and my body is tired from the multitude of emotions I'm feeling. Excitement at booking this new car deal with Jack Vanderbilt, devastation over losing Frankie, but also a small sense of determination in finding her and making her mine…again .

  Over dinner I text Carter, telling him about the Vanderbilt deal, then I write up the business proposal, terms and conditions, cost estimate, transportation agreement and timeline, packaging it all together and sending it off to Jack Vanderbilt's assistant for his signature. After checking on the progress at The Fault Line, I turn my focus to Frankie…and plotting how I'm going to get her back .

  Fourteen

  "J esus Christ," Eduardo hisses as he sits on the edge of my desk. "In your bed ?"

  I nod and swallow hard. "In our bed." I'm numb as I tell Eduardo the details of finding Ted with another woman in our bed. The irony is that I should be devastated, broken apart by Ted's infidelity, but I'm not, I'm just…numb. This feeling is so unexpected and the first sign that maybe I didn't really love Ted as I thought I did .

  "How long do you think it's been going on?" He grips the edge of my desk and lowers his voice so others in the office can't hear .

  I spin from side to side in my desk chair as I think about Eduardo's question. "Not sure. He's been distant for a while, but that happens when he's working on a case. He throws his attention, every ounce of his energy into his cases, and I just assumed that's what was going on." I rub my temples, hoping the growing headache that's come on eases soon. "And I was so busy with my own case…" My voice trails off and I rub my tired eyes. I haven't been sleeping well and I'm not sure if it's because of everything that's happened with Ted or the unsettled feeling I have from leaving Crescent Ridge after Cole spilled the truth about our past .

  "Do not blame yourself," Eduardo says, snapping to get my attention. "This is about Ted and his issues. This is not about you and what you were or were not contributing to the relationship. Good men don't cheat on their fiancée, Frances." He raises his eyebrows at me and I nod my head like a robot, just numbly going through the motions of life. "Honestly, you dodged a major bullet finding this out now. Can you imagine if you found out after the wedding?" He picks up a pen off my desk and taps it on his leg .

  "I don't want to think about it." I shake my head and shove files of case notes into my bag to study when I get back to the hotel later .

  "So where have you been staying ?"

  "The Loews in Santa Monica," I sigh .

  He whistles and pushes himself off my desk. "Damn girl. That's going to get expensive, quick. You know, I have a spare room you can stay in. Jeremy and I would be glad to have you." I smile at him, grateful. Not only is he an excellent attorney, a great mentor, but he's an even better friend .

  "You're too sweet." I reach out and squeeze his arm, thankful for his friendship. "I don't want to be an inconvenience, though ."

  He places his hands on my shoulders. "Stop it. You'd never be an inconvenience. We'd love to have you. Seriously. Stay as long as you want." He smiles at me .

  Eduardo is the epitome of perfection in his Tom Ford suit. He's smart, has a great sense of humor and strikingly handsome, he belongs on the runway in Milan, not prosecuting cases for Los Angeles County .

  "Thank you," I whisper and pull my laptop bag up on my shoulder .

  He reiterates, "I mean it. We'd love to have you ."

  I run a tired hand through my hair, my fingers getting stuck in the messy waves. "Let me think about it. My mind is in a million places right now and I just need some time to think about my next steps." Like what I'm going to do with my life. Do I stay in Los Angeles? Do I take this new freedom to look for new opportunities elsewhere? I lean into Eduardo and he pulls me into a gentle hug .

  "Go. Sleep. We'll talk tomorrow," he says, releasing me. "And look over those notes. I'm dying to pick your brain about this case." It's only three in the afternoon but I feel like I could sleep for days as the exhaustion begins to hit me .

  "Deal." I do my best to smile at him, but he sees through my façade. It takes me over an hour to get back to Santa Monica in this traffic, but the time in my car actually allows me to decompress. I let the valet park my car and as I breeze through the entrance, the concierge startles me .

  "Ms. Callaway!" he calls from his granite perch. I stop and turn to him as he hustles over to me. "You have a delivery. Shall I send it up immediately ?"

  I smile at the older gentleman who's wearing a nametag that says ‘Roger ’.

  "Yes, please. That'd be wonderful ."

  "Very well." He nods and heads back to his desk where he lifts the receiver of his phone and begins speaking .

  When I finally make it back to my room, I kick off my shoes and slide down onto the love seat. This morning, after I knew Ted would be at his office, I went back to the house to grab a suitcase full of things I knew I'd need for a few days while I figure out my next steps .

  I grabbed a handful of work clothes, athletic clothes, a few casual outfits, my make up, and my accessories, carefully ignoring the engagement ring that sat on the sink in the bathroom where Ted conveniently put it after I threw it at him .

  I plan to sneak back tomorrow during the day to grab a few more important things and send a delivery service to pick up the rest of my belongings. It's amazing that everything important to me will fit in a few small boxes. Last night I cried—mostly because I felt ashamed that Ted had cheated on me, that I had failed in yet another relationship. When I finally stopped and was thinking more clearly, I realized I wasn't sad about the absence of not having him in my life—it was that he humiliated me .

  I allowed myself to be deceived by another man and that's what pained me more than the fact that I'd just caught my fiancé with another woman—in our bed. I stare numbly at the wall, a sad realization at the lack of emotion I'm showing over losing a fiancé. A firm knock on the door pulls me away from these thoughts and I push myself off the love seat .

  "Deli
very," the male voice calls from the hallway .

  "Coming," I answer just as I twist the knob and pull the door open .

  In the hallway is a cart with a huge bouquet of flowers, a bottle of wine, a bag of what I presume is food from the amazing aroma I'm smelling, and a giant basket full of fruits, nuts, and granola bars .

  "Ms. Callaway?" the gentleman from room service asks as I admire the display in front of me .

  My stomach begins rumbling as I draw in the scent of the food on the table. "Yes, that's me ."

  "May I enter your room?" he asks as his hands grip the sides of the rolling cart .

  "Please," I tell him, stepping aside and holding the door open for him. He carefully guides the rolling table into the room and begins removing the contents, setting them on the small glass dining table and centering the bouquet in the middle. Lastly, he sets the basket of fruit on the sideboard .

  He sets up a place setting and leaves the bag of food next to it on the table. As he’s wheeling the now empty cart out, I fish some cash from my wallet to tip him. I don't even need to read the card stuck in the middle of the flowers to know they’re from Eduardo and Jeremy. No one else would think to feed me—all of me, my stomach, my heart, and my soul. These two men are the absolute best .

  I open the boxes of food to find an array of choices: chicken Caesar salad, angel hair pasta tossed with grilled veggies, grilled beef tenderloin, and even a cupcake for dessert. They left nothing out .

  I lean in and smell the vibrant flowers and slide the small greeting card from the envelope. "We love you. Eat. Drink. Cry. Come stay with us. E and J." I giggle at the card, touched by their sweetness and generosity, then slide down into the dining room chair, taking a bite of the beef tenderloin. It's moist and cooked medium just as it should be and my stomach growls again as I swallow the tender beef. There is enough food here to feed a small army, however I'm thankful for the variety to choose from. It's been almost a day and a half since I've eaten and all of it looks and smells amazing .

  I reach for the bottle of wine, a Pinot Grigio, and uncork it, pouring myself a glass. I toss back a large swig of the chilled liquid, allowing the burn to settle on the back of my tongue before swallowing. The food and the wine temporarily take my mind off of my circumstances and I decide a hot bubble bath will help even more .

  Carrying a fresh glass of wine to the bathroom, I set it on the edge of the tub and start the water. I dump in some bubble bath and twist my long hair up into a messy knot on the top of my head. Discarding my clothes, I slink into the silky, warm bath water and let the bubbles consume me. My tense muscles instantly begin to relax as I sip from my glass of wine .

  I close my eyes and shut off my mind, allowing myself to just be. I learned a long time ago that life isn't easy. I've weathered storms more brutal than Ted and his betrayal. My phone rings from the other room and I ignore it. Nothing will pull me from the cocoon of warm water right now .

  My mind is slightly fuzzy from the glass of wine as the water finally cools to the point where I decide to get out. Carefully, I pull the plug, the water swirling at my feet. Patting myself dry, I wrap the towel around myself, lotioning my arms and legs when a loud knock at the door startles me .

  "Shit," I hiss, whipping around, looking for a robe. It's probably room service back to collect the dirty dishes. "Just a minute!" I decide I'll poke my head outside the door and make a mad dash back to the safety of the bathroom while they collect what they need from the room .

  I open the door carefully, using it to hide my towel-sheathed body behind it. "Give me one second," I say, peeking around the door, but my breath catches when I see haunting blue eyes staring back at me .

  Cole instantly puts his foot between the door and the jamb so I can't close it. He doesn't speak. He doesn't move. He just stares at me. His face is a pool of hurt, of forgiveness, of longing, yet he says nothing .

  "What are you doing here?" I finally ask. My heart beats erratically, bounding off the walls of my ribcage .

  He pulls his lips into his mouth and closes his eyes for a brief moment before shaking his head and pulling his foot from the door. "I'm sorry," he mumbles and retreats backward, shoving his hands in the pockets of his worn blue jeans. He's wearing a black leather jacket that matches his dark hair. He's beautifully handsome—even with the hurt he carries on his face .

  "How did you know I was here?" I grip the door with one hand and my towel with the other .

  He shakes his head again, looks away from me and down the hallway. Swallowing hard, he turns to look back at me. His voice is soft, almost strained. "I went to your office. You weren't there, but there was a man asking a secretary to order flowers and food for you. I heard where he was having it sent." Eduardo. He heard Eduardo .

  "So you just came here?" My tone is harsh, and I instantly regret it .

  He nods slowly and clears his throat. "I shouldn't have." He takes another step backward as his eyes fall from mine, down my body. I realize now I'm standing in the doorway, the solid door no longer protecting me .

  "Then why are you here?" I snap, tightening the towel around me as if it can protect me from the sudden rush of emotions that has been noticeably absent the last few days .

  "Because I love you." He doesn't hesitate and his voice doesn't waver. He means what he's saying, his voice may be defeated but it still displays his conviction. He stares at me as his breathing becomes more ragged. "Faith told me what happened—your fiancé…I'm not sorry about that, Frankie. Because I love you. I've always loved you ."

  My stomach lurches and my heart drops. Faith told him about Ted. Something inside me snaps. Tears fill my eyes and my lips tremble. "So you thought you could just show up in Los Angeles and find me ?"

  "Forgive me, Frankie." His voice and eyes are so full of emotion. "I came here to ask you to forgive me. I'll get on my fucking knees and beg if that's what it takes." He takes a step forward, closing in on me .

  My chest rises and falls with each rapid breath I take. I raise my chin and close my eyes. "If I forgive you, will you leave ?"

  He exhales loudly in defeat and takes a step back. He shakes his head then pulls his bottom lip into his mouth, holding back whatever it is he's wanting to say. "Never mind," he mumbles. With sad eyes, he studies my face the way he used to so long ago. With a quiet exhale, he closes his eyes, holding them closed for a few moments before he turns and slowly walks away .

  His shoulders are slumped forward and his hands are still tucked deep in his front pockets. His large frame suddenly seems smaller as I watch him walk away, the distance between us growing with each step he takes .

  "Cole," I call to him and he slows to a stop. He doesn't turn around, instead he simply stands in the middle of the hallway, defeated and broken. "For what it's worth, I forgave you a long time ago." My words echo in the hallway and his head falls back for a moment before I see him nod. In acceptance or in defeat, I'm not sure. However, without a word, without turning around to look at me, he continues walking away from me. This time, he’s the one that leaves .

  * * *

  I t's been nearly two hours since Cole knocked on my hotel room door, told me he still loves me, and then walked away. After he left, I promptly finished the bottle of wine Eduardo and Jeremy sent over. As much as I didn’t want him here, my heart ached to see him walk away, just like I've done to him. More than once .

  I've damn near worn a hole in the carpet as I paced my hotel room and retraced every word I said to Cole in my mind. Hanging onto the words, "I love you." He told me he loves me and asked me to forgive him, and then he left. Something felt so final about his leaving; the look in his eyes was sheer defeat, and my heart hurts .

  Another knock on the door, quickly followed up with a
man announcing, "room service," stops me in my tracks. I open the door and invite the gentleman from room service back in to clean up what’s left from dinner. He works quickly and quietly, placing the dishes and empty bottle of wine on his cart .

  As he's leaving, he turns back to me. "Ma'am? Do I need to have security remove the man from outside your door?" He looks embarrassed as he nods toward the door .

  "Man?" I question him .

  "The gentleman sitting outside your door ."

  Cole.

  He didn't leave .

  I sigh, with relief or stress I’m not sure. "No. Thank you. I'll take care of it ."

  "You sure, miss ?"

  "I’m sure. Thank you for asking." I smile at him politely and walk to the door, opening it so he can leave with the tray of dishes .

  He offers me a concerned smile. "Have a good evening, ma'am ."

  I follow him through the open door, careful to keep it propped open with my foot. Sure enough, Cole is sitting on the floor, just outside the door, with his knees pulled to his chest and his head resting back against the wall .

  "Cole?" I call his name softly .

  He makes no effort to move, just opens his eyes and looks at me. Pain, grief, and regret stare back at me. Emotions I'm all too familiar with myself .

  "You came back?" I ask, and he swallows hard, nodding his head once .

  This beautiful man looks beaten and worn, a shell of himself. A thousand storms dance in his blue eyes and my heart thunders inside my chest. It thunders with hope, or maybe it thunders with relief. Either way, it beats only like this for Cole .

  "Can we talk, Frankie? Please." His voice is strained and hoarse, and my resolve breaks as his eyes beg me to let him in .

  "Yeah," I finally muster .

  For a brief moment, hope flashes across his face as he pushes himself up and walks past me through the open door, into the sitting area of the hotel room. He stands wringing his hands together nervously as I follow him inside and invite him to join me on the love seat .