War and Love

by Winter Renshaw

  Three knocks at the door twenty minutes later nearly cause me to spit my beer out.

  Fucking solicitors.

  People are always coming through here, sliding their takeout menus under our doors or trying to sell candy bars for their shady fundraisers.

  I turn up the volume on the TV and wait for them to leave.

  Only they knock again.

  And again.

  “Not home!” I yell, shaking my head and taking another swig.

  The asshole on the other side of the door chooses to ignore me, knocking again, only harder this time. Muting the TV, I slam the remote down, sit my beer on the coffee table, and get up from the chair, fully prepared to give this menu-slinging neckbeard a piece of my mind, only when I jerk the door open, I’m met with a familiar honey gaze.

  “Love …” My hand lifts to my messy hair, and I remember that I look like shit.

  “Mind if I come in?” she asks. She isn’t smiling and her tone is flat. A pencil skirt and short-sleeved blouse cover her body, and loose blonde curls frame her face. The smallest part of me hopes to God she just left work and she’s not on her way to some date.

  “What is this? Why are you here?”

  “Can I come in?” Love asks again, glancing past my shoulder then back to me.

  “Yeah, yeah.” I step aside and let her in, hoping to God no one saw her come here. “You, uh, want something to drink?”

  Her lips form a straight line and she exhales through her nose. “No thank you. I won’t be staying long.”

  Hooking my hands on my hips, I give her my full attention.

  “I just came here to ask you one question,” she says, clearing her throat. Her eyes shift from mine to the floor and back, and she keeps her left hand clutched tight around the strap of her black purse.

  “Anything,” I say.

  “Why?” she asks. “Why did you do it? And why didn’t you stop when it got real?”

  “I want to tell you that, Love. I really do. I’d give anything to be able to answer those for you, but I—”

  “I know about the NDA,” she says. “And I’ve consulted with an attorney who assured me any contract related to illegal activities is unenforceable.”

  “The contract wasn’t related to the agreement—it was just a general NDA that prevents me from talking to anyone about anything Hunter and I have spoken about.” I lifting my hand to the scorching skin on my neck for a second. “He made sure nothing else was put into writing. I don’t even think there would be a way to prove any of—”

  “Marissa,” she says. “His assistant. She overheard everything you two discussed the first time you met.”

  My brows meet, and I think back to that day, when we were alone in the office. “How?”

  “He accidentally dialed her,” she says. “Anyway, she heard it all. And she’s the one who told me everything last month, the day after we got back from Cameo’s wedding.”

  I search her eyes for a moment. “So that day, when you disappeared and you said you had the migraine …”

  “I was avoiding you, yes.”

  I don’t blame her, nor do I hold it against her.

  “I was going to tell you that day.” My throat constricts. “We’d spent that week together and it was honestly, Love, one of the better weeks of my life. And I realized as soon as we got back, that this was becoming real, and I realized I couldn’t hurt you. Not the way I was supposed to. So I was going to tell you the next day … but you were unreachable. And the next day you showed up with a smile on your face, saying you wanted to spend the day together and that you missed me, and I selfishly gave myself one more day with you.” I exhale, shaking my head. “And then the thing with Piper happened. And you left for The Hamptons the next day.” Massaging the back of my neck, I continue, “I went to Hunter when you were gone. I told him I couldn’t do this anymore. He told me I had a week to leave the apartment, so I was going to tell you as soon as you got back, but the day before that, I came back from a run and he was there, waiting for me. He doubled his offer. And then he more than doubled that offer. When I still wouldn’t budge, he demanded my key and my phone and had me blacklisted from the building.”

  The storm in Love’s honey eyes allays, but only slightly.

  “I was going to tell you,” I say. “I wanted to be the one. And it killed me that you thought I went radio silent on you, that you thought I abandoned you like a fucking coward.”

  Her eyes snap to the floor and her shoulders shake as she inhales. What I wouldn’t give to take her in my arms …

  “Everything blew up in my face.” I slide my hands into the front pockets of my jeans. All they want to do is touch her, her hair, her skin, her lips—and I don’t trust myself. “I think about you every day, Love.” My whisper breaks. “I miss you all the time.”

  I miss her greedy hands grabbing on me when I’m trying to brush my teeth in the morning.

  I miss the warmth of her body formed against mine under the icy cool sheets of my bed.

  I miss her infectious laugh. The dimples above her perfect, peach-shaped ass. I miss the half-moon shaped spray of freckles on her left arm.

  Love’s silence is concerning, her icy demeanor evident in the space she maintains between us and her refusal to offer a semblance of sentence, but I can’t be upset with her.

  I have no right.

  “You still haven’t told me why.” Her eyes search mine as she clears her throat, and her hands are clasped in front of her, knuckles white.

  “Because I’m a piece of shit loser.” I half chuckle. She doesn’t. “Listen, Love. I didn’t have some idyllic childhood in some cutesy little town. I didn’t have a mom and dad who gave two shits about me. All I had was my kid sister and whatever relative-of-the-month wanted to take us in.”

  She begins to say something, but I stop her.

  “I’m not asking for your sympathy,” I continue. “I’m just answering your question. My entire life, I’ve been in survival mode. I’ve always done what I needed to do. And in this case, I needed to take care of my sister and my nieces. Piper was sick. I’d just lost my job. We were all on the verge of being fucking homeless and then I had this rich asshole promising me to answer every prayer I’d ever made if I did him this one little favor …”

  Love’s stare moves to her feet.

  I wish she’d give me a sign. I wish she’d say something instead of letting me babble on like the pathetic, desperate-to-win-her-back idiot that I am.

  “I was in the army,” I say. I don’t know why I feel the need to tell her this. Maybe it’s because it’s a piece of who I am and all I’ve done is give her pieces of who I thought she wanted me to be. “Enlisted after high school graduation. Was a mechanic, but the military life wasn’t for me. After that I taught myself guitar, wrote a few songs, played in bars whenever I could, and I worked a shit ton of dead end jobs until someone lined me up with a plumbing apprenticeship. That’s what I was doing until … recently.”

  She doesn’t blink, doesn’t shift her posture. I couldn’t read her if I tried.

  “Look, I’ll stop rambling. And I know my word is shit,” I say. “I know you have no reason to believe a single thing I say. But I just want you to know—”

  “I have to go,” she says, pushing past me and marching toward the door. Her eyes are glassy, but her expression is cold.

  “Wait,” I say as she grabs the door knob.

  Love doesn’t wait, and I follow her into the hall where the air is hot and stale and scented like oregano. Nothing about this moment is romantic. It’s not a scene from a movie. It’s real life, and real life can be ugly and suffocating and uncomfortable sometimes.

  “Can I ask you one question?” I keep back a few feet, giving her space and trying to respect that she doesn’t want to be here anymore.

  Love stops, turning to glance back at me, her eyes examining mine. I wait for her to speak, to say anything at all, but all I hear is a screaming baby from the apartment next door and
a man yelling at his wife to “Shut that kid up or I will!”

  “I have to go,” she finally says.

  And I let her go. With burning eyes and a cannon-sized hole in my chest, I watch her walk away from me.

  I don’t chase her or cause a scene, because she means too much to me and I’ve already done enough.

  And besides, she deserves better.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Love

  I’ve always loved the way the city empties out on Saturdays. Things are a little less crowded and chaotic and a little more peaceful. There’s more room to breathe, the locals a little less agitated.

  Stopping by a flower cart on my way back from grabbing coffee, I pick a bouquet of dark pink peonies—some of the last of the season since fall’s not too far off. Peonies are the kind of flowers you have to enjoy while you can because they don’t bloom all year and they never last very long once they’ve been cut from their vine, but my God, are they a fragrant thing of beauty in their prime.

  “Thank you.” I hand the man behind the cart a twenty and he hands me my flowers wrapped in brown paper.

  Balancing the flowers under one arm, my bag over my shoulder, and my coffee in my free hand, I feel my phone vibrating in my pocket and somehow manage to grab it.

  The number across the screen is unfamiliar, though I recognize the New York area code. For a moment, the most miniscule part of me wonders if it’s Jude, though after the way I stormed out of his apartment and ignored his request to ask me a question last night, I can’t imagine he’d turn around and call me up the very next morning.

  Sliding my thumb across the bottom of the screen, I clear my throat and answer.

  “Hello?”

  “Love?” the man’s voice says on the other end. I don’t know who this is, but it only takes an instant for me to know who it isn’t.

  “This is she.” I tuck my flowers tight beneath my arm and trek home.

  “It’s Sascha,” he says, his accent more apparent. “From The Hamptons.”

  “Yes, I remember. How are you?” My tone is more cordial and formal than it should be. But I never expected him to actually call and truth be told, I was perfectly fine with that.

  Sascha, in all his exotic beauty and unabashed interest, doesn’t do it for me.

  “I’m very well,” he says. “Yourself?”

  I stifle a yawn. “Doing well.”

  “I’m coming back to the city this week. Wanted to see if you had any plans for Friday night?”

  “Oh. Um.” I struggle to find the best way to turn him down. The mere thought of going on a date with him already feels like an obligation, and I haven’t even said yes.

  “I thought maybe I’d cook us dinner at my place,” he says. “Then we could go out on the roof, watch the stars.”

  He’s trying too hard, which is a shame because he doesn’t need to. By all accounts, Sascha is a catch. But I can’t help but feel that much more turned off. It doesn’t matter anyway. There’s nothing he could or couldn’t do to change the truth I’m too terrified to admit out loud: he’s not the one that I want.

  “Can I let you know tomorrow?” I ask, praying I can buy some time to come up with a way to let him down gently. Or who knows … maybe I’ll get a wild hair and change my mind between now and then?

  “Yeah. Sure. Tomorrow would be fine,” he says, his disappointment evident in the way he pauses between words.

  “Perfect. I’ll call you then.”

  By the time I get back to my apartment, I trim the stems of my peonies and place them in a vase of water on my kitchen island. The dark pink stands out against all the silver and white, bringing its unapologetic vivacity into a space that was formerly lifeless.

  When I’m finished, I grab my phone to text Tierney because I promised her I’d stop by today to see the baby. But before I have a chance to compose a message, there’s a knock at my door.

  Freezing in place, I listen again, wondering if maybe it was the door across the hall—Jude’s old place. I saw that a young couple moved in last weekend. They might have visitors?

  Returning my attention to my phone, I begin to tap out a text, only the knocks return—louder now and unmistakably coming from my door. Placing my phone on the counter, I shuffle to the door, palms hot and splayed on the door as I rise on my toes to peer through the peephole.

  It only takes a second for me to realize exactly who’s standing on the other side of my door. A warmth blooms in my cheeks and my heart flutters. I try to tell my body to calm down, but it won’t listen.

  Pulling the door open a second later, I wipe all signs of emotion from my expression and lock eyes on his.

  “Yes?” I ask.

  “You came to my door yesterday, demanding an answer to the one question that’d been eating you up inside,” he says, “and now it’s my turn.”

  Last night when I was trying to leave, when I felt a wave of tears beginning to crest and threaten to crash over me, I bolted out of there. I’d yet to cry over him and I refused to let the first time be right there, standing in his living room after I’d managed to keep a brave front until then.

  Pulling in a sharp breath, I explore his dusty green irises, feeling the swell in my chest and the twist in my stomach all at once.

  “Fine,” I say. I don’t invite him in.

  Jude licks his full lips, his eyes capturing mine. “When you told me you loved me that day … did you mean it?”

  I hesitate, and when I try to answer, the right words escape me.

  “Did you mean it, Love?” he asks again, chin slightly tucked and words spoken quickly, as if to lend a sense of urgency to his question.

  I didn’t mean it at the time.

  But after some time had passed, after my heart had been tugged in every which direction, I realized there was a part of me that was beginning to fall in love with him before it all fell apart.

  My chest rises and falls, and I swallow the lump in my throat before answering him.

  “No,” I say.

  Jude exhales, his shoulders straightening and the space above his jaw flexing. He studies me a moment longer, his stare intense, like this is the last time he’s ever going to see me and he wants to ingrain this into his memory.

  “That’s all I needed to know,” he says a few seconds later. “Goodbye, Love.”

  Before I have a chance to say anything, he’s already halfway down the hall. I don’t stick around to watch him step into the elevator. Instead, I return inside and lock the door, resting my back against it when I realize my chest is so tight it hurts to breathe.

  It’s over now, this time for good, but I thought it would feel different. I thought I’d feel lighter. Instead, there’s this gnawing emptiness, like a vacant cavity where my heart should be. All that hurt and animosity has taken a back burner.

  Rushing to the living room window, I press my fingers on the glass and watch for him to come out from beneath the awning.

  A minute passes, then another, and eventually five.

  He should’ve left the building by now.

  I’m not sure how he got in here in the first place, given the fact that he claimed to be blacklisted, but maybe someone noticed him? Or maybe he had to sneak out through the courtyard exit?

  Either way, he’s gone, and still, I can’t bring myself to step away from the window on the off chance I might see him one more last time.

  My hands tremble and my mind grows loud, recalling all the things Lo said, the things Cameo shared with me, the forlorn look in Jude’s eyes every time he’s apologized to me. When he told me last night that he misses me every day, that he thinks about me all the time, I didn’t let those words soak in then, but I close my eyes and hear them all over again.

  And when I finally accept that I feel the same way, I find the answer I’ve been searching for this entire time: I can hate what he did, but I don’t have to hate him.

  I know, now, what I need to do.

  Chapter Fifty

  Jude


  Love’s quarter is sandwiched between my thumb and forefinger, the metal still warm from my pocket. Sitting at a park bench by the fountain, I watch the water spill over the top of the marble umbrella, and I take in the view of the smiling, rain-drenched couple one last time.

  I came here for an answer, and that’s exactly what she gave me.

  It’s time to let her go. And honestly? She was never mine to have in the first place.

  Rising, I make my way to closer to the rippling waters and lift my hand. With a quick snap of a wrist, I let it go, watching as it lands with a gentle plunk before sinking to the bottom with all the others.

  “What’d you wish for?” A woman’s voice asks from behind.

  Turning, I find Love standing next to the bench where I first found her.

  “Nothing,” I say.

  Tucking a strand of yellow hair behind her ear, she takes a step closer. “So you were just … throwing money into a fountain … for no reason?”

  I can’t take my eyes off her, glued to her every move, every twitch of her lips and every flick of her hazel eyes.

  “Basically,” I say, my gaze dropping to her right hand, where I realize she’s worrying her thumb against something small and shiny. “What is this? What are we doing?”

  She closes the space between us, her sweet perfume trailing into my lungs. I let it linger as I resist the urge to cup her fair cheek in my hand and have my way with her pillowed lips all over again.

  “When I was with you,” she says, “I felt like I could finally be myself for the first time in my life. And it was liberating. Freedom like I’d never known. And on top of that? You made me feel smart and sexy and pretty and funny and all the things I’ve always wanted to feel. Every day with you was better than the one before. So easy. So natural. I’d fall asleep with butterflies in my stomach and wake up with a smile on my face. But the you hurt me.” Her gaze falls to the coin in her hands. “More than anyone has ever hurt me.” Drawing in a hard breath, her golden stare snaps onto mine. “But I didn’t come down here to lecture you.”