by J. Saman
This could very well be the last time I see him.
Do I want to spend this moment staring at him across the street?
And as I consider at those bags, analyzing them and their meaning, I’d love to say that I get his reasoning behind ending things. That I understand everything clearly and that I’m at peace with it all.
But I don’t understand, and I’m not at peace.
I have no real explanation for his actions, and as I refocus on him—on his gorgeous face and tall, strong body—I ache everywhere. I ache for everything he’s given up on. Mourn our happily ever after, because I wanted it so badly I could practically taste it.
But instead of that happily ever after, I’m left with crippling, anguishing spasms wracking my insides.
So I continue to stand here. Unwilling and unable to be the one to breach this great divide. Hoping he’ll take the initiative, but also praying he’ll turn and walk away.
But this is Luke, and he can’t leave without his grand moment.
Without warning, he abandons his belongings, running across the street nearly at a sprint until he practically slams into me. His arms surround me, yanking me into his chest with the force of a desperate man. Strong, large hands cup my face as he crashes his lips to mine.
And though this may be the most passionate kiss I’ve ever experienced, it’s also the emptiest. I can feel his apology as his lips move against mine, because though I’m in his arms, and his lips are pressed to mine, this is not a reconciliation. This is not asking for forgiveness or to start over.
This is not asking for another chance.
This is goodbye.
And I realize in this moment just how wrong Craig was. This is so much more than a sprain. So much more than a fracture. This is shattered. This is obliteration. This is total annihilation to the point where I don’t think my heart will ever truly recover.
I may never get over you, Luke Walker.
And with that hopeless and tragic thought, I push him back, breaking our kiss and all our points of contact. Tears are streaming not only from my eyes, but his as well, and my heart breaks all over again, but this time for him.
“I love you,” he whispers, the words barely audible.
“I love you too,” I whisper back.
But I know I need to be the one to leave this time, despite how fucking hard it is.
So I take him in one last time, memorizing every single one of his glorious features, before turning around and walking away for good.
23
Luke
One year later
I sit at my palatial mahogany desk with my feet kicked up, hoping to hell I scuff the fine finish. The only problem with that plan is that I’m too antsy to keep my feet where they are and end up turning in my chair to see the view from my office window, moving my feet back to the floor.
Rain and my own goddamn reflection against the darkened night sky beyond the pane. That’s my view right now. Water runs down the glass in thin rivers.
Kate and Ryan are out tonight celebrating, but I have no interest in joining. I’m happy for them, I really am, but I’m tired and moody and hating on everything the same way I have been for the last year.
Ivy.
That woman haunts my thoughts.
And it’s not because she’s gorgeous, because I already know that she is. And it’s not because she’s brilliant and witty, because I already know that too. No, it’s everything else that has my brain going in overdrive. It’s everything else that has me sitting in my office on a Friday night a year after I pushed her away.
It’s the fact that I’m still thinking about her.
It’s the fact that she was different, that we were different, that has me going crazy.
I thought I’d be done with this by now.
The ever-present obsessive rotation of questions force themselves to the forefront of my mind. Where is she right now? What is she doing? Who is she with? That one kills me every time. Does she still think about me the way I think about her?
So that’s why I’m here and not out celebrating with everyone else. Because I can’t make it stop. Because the masochist in me doesn’t want to make it stop.
I love Ryan. Let me make that clear. He is the brother that I never had, and I thank whatever there is above us for him daily. He saved my ass. He gave me a job when I didn’t even graduate college and made it seem like I was doing him a favor by taking it.
He never made me feel second. I am never the Robin to his Batman.
I am more a Bruce Banner to his Tony Stark, if that makes sense.
We’re equals.
He may technically sign my check, but every single business decision he’s made has gone through me first. Every single meeting that may change the course of our company, I’ve been present at. My office is right next to his and it is exactly the same size.
What does that tell me?
It tells me that Ryan is the best man I know. It tells me that I will never find a better human being than him. A more loyal one. It tells me that he has my best interests at heart with everything, and that I’m a shit for being here instead of toasting the fact that he and Kate have been married a year and are pregnant with twins.
I had a date tonight, and I think that’s what really set me off on this latest round of Ivy torment. She’s a girl I met in the grocery store near my apartment yesterday. The same fucking grocery store that carries that godforsaken Vegemite shit.
In truth, she caught me at a weak moment. I was lonely and hurt and disappointed, and whatever the hell else someone is supposed to feel when they’re obsessed with the woman they let get away almost exactly one year ago to the goddamn day.
So yeah, this girl flirted, and I flirted back, and before I knew what the hell I was doing, I asked her out. When I called her an hour ago to cancel, she was surprised, but took it like a champ even though it was a dick move.
“Oh,” the startled female voice of my assistant, Lyla, snaps me out of my staredown with the rain that is streaking down the glass of my windows. “I’m s-sorry, Mr. Walker. I thought you had l-left for the night.” Her thick southern accent is more pronounced, no doubt due to the fact that I scared her by sitting in my own office.
“I had, but I came back.” Her brows furrow, but only for a moment. “Please call me Luke, Lyla. Mr. Walker makes me think of my father, and I avoid thinking about him whenever I can.” Damn, I’m in a crap mood. I shrug apologetically because I don’t mean to take it out on her.
Lyla joined us here just a couple weeks ago.
I seem to go through assistants like tic tacs.
I hate those damn candies, which is probably why I go through assistants the same way. She’s young. Like right-out-of-college-first-job-ever young.
She walks to my desk hesitantly, as if she’s afraid I might snap at her for moving or breathing in my direction. Her outstretched hand is a little shaky as she places a few pieces of paper on the edge of my desk.
“These are the documents that y-you’ll need for the meeting with the Tyson group Monday morning.”
I like her accent. It’s nice. Sort of rolls around you like warm honey.
I don’t like it nearly as much as an Australian accent.
I’m so fucked.
“Thank you,” I smile, sitting up straight and loosening the damn tie I decided to wear this morning, which now feels like a noose around my neck. “What are you doing here this late?”
Lyla blushes a little, and for the first time, I realize she’s dressed differently. She’s dressed for a night out, wearing a short skintight black dress that hugs her shapeless figure.
“I u-uh…” She shifts her weight, looking over toward the bookshelf like it will save her from having to answer me. “I was j-just heading out.”
I shrug, because I’m not really all that interested. “Well, have a good weekend then.” I offer a grin.
“Thank you, s-sir.” She looks relieved, and I’m about to call her out on calling m
e sir again, but she practically runs out of my office.
Have I done something to make her feel uncomfortable?
That stutter is new. I don’t remember that from when I first met her. I honestly can’t think of anything I could have done. Normally, I would automatically say yes because I can be an ass like that, but I feel like I’ve tried extra hard to be on my best behavior with her since we have to work so closely together and my assistants don’t seem to last very long.
Maybe I’ll have a heart-to-heart with her on Monday. Yeah, I’ll do that.
I have little interest in going home, but I’m not exactly in the mood to work either. Instead, I get up out of my comfy leather chair and do something I absolutely have no business doing. I walk out of my office, peer around to ensure I’m the only one left on the floor, and then head right into Ryan’s office.
Locating the bottle of very expensive bourbon from the bottom drawer of his cabinet, I pour myself a healthy serving into one of the cut crystal tumblers he has, and go over to his desk to sit down.
It’s exactly like mine.
Ryan has no ego or pretension, though his genius and talent certainly could warrant both.
No, instead, I’m the face of the company. A role that works out well for both of us.
My eyes glide over to the framed picture he has on his desk of him holding Duchess Kate.
I love this picture. If I’m being honest with myself, it’s the sole reason I came in here. Kate is leaning up against a tree in their backyard, smiling up at Ryan with pure adoration in her eyes like the camera caught them in a private moment.
It’s flirtatious and mysterious, and I’m unbelievably jealous of that look she so freely gives him.
Not because I love the Duchess in that way, but because everything just seems so easy for them now. I know they had a rough start and that Kate is still working through her guilt, but they’re making it work.
I haven’t made anything work with a woman, ever.
I down the rest of my drink, look at the picture for one last fleeting moment and then get my ass up and out of this office.
It’s raining out. No big shocker there.
I mean, it is Seattle. That’s sort of a given here, but it’s annoying me tonight. Probably because I didn’t drive here this morning because it was warm and sunny, but now I’m stuck trudging through the cold rain with not even so much as an umbrella to help me out.
I duck under an overhang of a building two offices down, and decide to order up an Uber when my phone buzzes in my hand.
Claire. Of course, it’s Claire.
No doubt giving me shit for not being at the bar along with everyone else.
Claire: Lyla says you’re still at work. Get your ass to the bar, Lucas. I have a surprise for you.
Me: I don’t like surprises, Claire Bear.
Claire: Call me that again and I’ll make sure my surprise goes home.
That certainly piques my interest and if I’m being honest, I know I should be there anyway.
Me: On my way.
Claire: Alright, Alright, Alright.
I laugh out loud. Claire has a thing for Matthew McConaughey, and she’s clearly quoting Dazed and Confused.
Tucking my phone into the pocket of my jacket, I take off at a good clip, ducking my head in a pathetic attempt to stay dry.
I spot the bar a block or so down. I’ve never been to this bar before, probably because it looks nice and I tend to be more into dives lately. The door swings open with authority, and the moment I step inside, I regret it.
It’s very trendy in here.
Swanky even, with a lot of dim mood lighting, low-profile red leather couches and high-top black wood tables. It’s the sort of establishment where women order craft cocktails—whatever those are—and men order single malt scotch.
I’m from farmland Oklahoma where the only things you’ll ever find in a bar are sawdust, domestic beer, and cheap whiskey.
And that’s exactly how I like it.
But this is Seattle, and trendy mixed with grunge chic is what you get.
When I don’t spot them instantly, I’m tempted to walk out, but it’s raining its balls off, and I’m wet enough for one evening. Plus, I know I’m not going anywhere until I at least kiss my favorite Duchess and rub her adorable bump.
Reluctantly, I make my way over to the bar, and immediately the bartender walks over, covered head to toe in multicolored tattoos, and a large septum piercing in her nose.
She’s cute, but not exactly my type. I tend to like simple, understated beauty, and there is nothing simple or understated about this woman.
“What can I get you, baby?” I want to laugh at the endearment coming out of her badass mouth.
“Well, honey,” I drawl, letting my country come out for some reason. “I’ll take a whiskey neat.”
“Any brand?” She leans forward, showing off her ample cleavage. I can’t help but look, but the large tattoo of a butterfly with its wings spanning each breast is distracting me from the goods.
“Whatever you’ve got that isn’t pretentious.” She stares blankly at me. “Jack or Jameson if you’ve got it.”
“Coming up.”
Leaning back as I wait, my eyes automatically scan the after-work crowd of expensively clad people.
And then something—or should I say someone—catches my eye. Light-brown pin-straight hair. Hypnotic glacier-colored eyes. Bow shaped lips and a slightly upturned nose.
It’s Ivy, and my stupid heart instantly goes into hyperdrive.
She’s laughing with Claire, Lyla, and Kate. That gorgeous smile has starred in my dreams on an almost nightly basis.
I stare at her, confirming with my eyes what my heart and body already know.
Claire spots me, broadcasting a knowing smirk before she winks and bobs her head in Ivy’s direction. Fucking Claire.
My eyes glide past Claire back over to Ivy, and then someone leans in and whispers something in her ear. She turns to him with a sweet smile and a nod of her head. Is that Craig?
My drink slides across the smooth bar top, and I instantly slam it back.
“Make the next one a double,” I call out before the bartender can walk off. “I’m going to need all the help I can get,” I mutter to myself.
The bartender nods to me, and my eyes go back over to Ivy, who still hasn’t looked in my direction.
A million questions swirl inside me. What is she doing here? Is she just visiting or is she back? Did she know I’d be here tonight? That last one makes me chuckle, because how could she not. But now I’m left with more questions. Does she want to see me?
Hope instantly swells in my chest at that thought, followed swiftly by the crushing blow of reality.
She knows nothing of the changes I’ve made.
She knows nothing, and though I’m desperate to grab her, haul her out of here over my shoulder like a caveman and tell her everything, I can’t.
I pick up the glass that has magically reappeared during my preoccupation with Ivy and drink the whole thing down. She’s so goddamn beautiful. It’s amazing how much I still ache for this woman. Time and distance have been no obstacle or barrier in my affections for her.
Could she ever understand everything and forgive me for all that I have done?
I slap down some money and order another round for my friends.
Moving through the moderately crowded bar, I slowly approach the group. I need a second to go over the moment I’ve envisioned too many times to count, and suddenly, I have no idea what to say to her. I didn’t anticipate this. Seeing her tonight is not at all what I had planned as our reunion, but here it is.
As I get closer, Ryan, being the tall bastard that he is, spots me, and the look in his eyes freezes me instantly. It’s the sort of look that no one else would understand if they caught it, but knowing Ryan as well as I do, I see the warning clear as day. He’s talking with Craig and though Ryan’s mouth is moving in conversation, his eyes are glued to m
ine.
And my heart sinks.
It may even stop beating altogether.
Ryan nods once, reading the expression on my face as he confirms my worst nightmare. Blinding rage seeps into my bones, weighing me down, anchoring me to this spot and not allowing me to move forward. I’m the world’s biggest fuck up.
Sucking in a deep breath and shoving all my fury down, I steel myself to keep moving. Ivy tenses as I approach, though she hasn’t noticed me, and I doubt anyone she’s standing with has alerted her to my presence.
No, she can sense me.
And that right there makes me smile.
Ever so slowly and with dramatic flair, she turns to me, her lips parted and eyes wide as they glide up my body until they reach my eyes. But once they do, they blink twice before she swallows hard. Her cheeks turn a stunning rosy color, and the hand holding her glass of red wine begins to tremble.
“Took you long enough,” Claire calls out as I approach the table, and Kate and Lyla turn to see who she’s talking to. But I’m only looking at Ivy who still appears stunned before her expression turns. . . blank.
Well, that’s not what I was hoping for.
“I ordered another round for everyone.”
“How magnanimous of you boss,” Claire says with the slightest drip of sarcasm. She’s the only goddamn person I let get away with almost anything. Ryan’s the same way. She’s like our bratty little sister that you love and hate at the same time.
“Thanks, Claire Bear,” I smile at her scowl. “I live to serve you.”
“H-Hi Mister eh, Luke,” Lyla says. Why do I make this girl so nervous? She’s blushing now too.
“Relax, Lyla, I’m really not that scary.”
She gulps and nods and turns toward Kate who pats her shoulder like she needs the support. Am I missing something here?
Then I turn my head completely to face Ivy, who is staring into her nearly full glass of red wine.
“I bet right now you’re wishing that was a Manhattan,” I say, hoping to relieve some of the tension between us, because right now it’s so thick I could cut it with a fucking knife.
I get a half-smile for that.