Sydney may be old enough to recognize she had an issue, but capable of fixing it?
Not hardly.
“At the end of the day, the only one who loses out is you, Syd. Hold yourself back because you’re afraid to risk rejection, and you’ll be the one spending time alone in the dark crevices of life.”
In a flash of anger she wished she could rewrite her past. New parents, new attitudes, less perfection, more love—anything to erase this feeling of inadequacy that shadowed her every move. It was the barrier between her and “calm, cool and collected.” It was the reason she couldn’t speak in front of a crowd. It was the reason she couldn’t live with an ex-wife. Insecurity undermined her every step. She couldn’t trust her appeal, couldn’t trust those who claimed they shared it.
I won’t lie and tell you I don’t notice beautiful women, because I do. I noticed you.
But attraction for me runs more than skin deep.
Sydney ached for it to be true. She wanted to be with Clay. She wanted to see if they had what it took to stay together for the long haul. She did. But the enemies within prevented her from believing him, from believing he actually preferred her over the likes of Trish. Jealousy and fear undercut her confidence, sealed her heart closed.
“Listen to me.”
Startled by Sam’s sudden remark, she tuned back in to her friend.
“When you’re okay with you, with the woman inside and the woman outside, when you accept who you are and stop trying to please others... You’ll be as good as gold.”
“I told you,” she deferred weakly. “I’m fine with me.”
“Are you?”
Sydney nodded. Alone with her bedroom mirror, she was fine. It was the outside world she was worried about. The men beyond her front door. Sadness eddied and swirled. She was worried about Clay and what he thought. Was it possible he didn’t see the cellulite on her butt the way she did? You have one of the nicest rears I’ve ever seen. Was Sam right? Was she the only one who saw the dimple-filled cheeks of her rear?
“Hmph. Because what I hear is a woman still concerned with what others think.”
“Who isn’t?” People didn’t date themselves. They had to attract the opposite sex.
“Me.”
“Yes, well... They broke the mold when they made you.”
“No, they didn’t,” Sam said, though pleasure danced in her eyes. “I just learned the secret to mold-making.”
“Huh?”
“Follow me.” She abandoned her martini and focused solely on Sydney. “When you’re young, the question is ‘who am I?’ That’s where the journey begins. We work to form our identity. We do so by the cliques we join, the organizations. We want to know who’s a member, who isn’t. It all works to define who we think we are. But as we age, we realize that ‘we are who we are,’ and have been for most of our lives.” Sam quieted. She cradled Sydney within her gaze, as though they were the only two people in the bar, Sydney struggled to hear her. “At the core of each individual lies the heart; it’s our drive, our compass, our center of gravity. Once we realize this little gem, we no longer feel the need to label ourselves according to others’ perceptions. We simply exist. It’s the art of true living.
We begin to see the world around us for what it is. We begin to notice things anew—things that have always been there, but we see them for the first time. And it’s exciting.” Her eyes rounded, her voice caught. “Like a kid watching their first big picture movie show, we say less and watch more. We absorb. We’re no longer consumed by the need to fill space with our bodies and words. We’re content to simply exist.”
Sam looked her straight in the eye and informed, “At some point you have to own who you are, Sydney. You can’t hide or pretend, you can’t make excuses for why you’re not getting what you want. You simply have to be and accept. Live your passion and your career will find you. If you and Clay are meant to be, you will find each other. Let the details go.”
# # #
Sam’s words ran circles in her mind as she drove home. They sobered her heart, woke up her brain. Was she okay with who she was? Where she was going? What she was doing? Clay once asked about her dream job. Was she doing it?
She’d taken a big step yesterday by telling Javier of her plans. It felt like progress, anyway. She may not know where she was going, but at least she was putting herself out there. One couldn’t expect success if they weren’t positioned for it, right? Though his reaction had floored her. Did Javier think they could actually get back together? It was a shot in the dark. One she never saw coming, but nailed her, dead center. Sydney shook the scene from her thoughts. She didn’t want to be with Javier. She had no interest in getting back together. She wanted to be with Clay.
The one thing positive to come from Javier’s revelation was that it proved one thing: no matter how much you once loved someone, believed they were heaven on earth, sunshine and candy, the wind behind your back...you could actually reach a point where you no longer cared. Not in an apathetic way, or mean-spirited way, but in a totally valid “I’ve moved on” sort of way, an “I no longer need you” sort of way. A way that signaled romance was not enough. Commitment and dedication were. Like Clay and Q. Like the Special Olympics and their athletes.
In sudden epiphany, gratification swelled within her breast. In all her time spent fighting the assignment, she’d missed its rewards. Being part of these games had not only introduced her to Clay—proving a man the likes of him existed—but it demonstrated for her what real love looked like, how it behaved. And not the dreamy short-lived, fantasy kind of love, but the deep and abiding kind; the caliber of love that bound man to woman, parent to child, stranger to fellow in need. Tears sprung into her eyes. Alone in her car, she had no one with whom to share it. She had no one to rejoice in her victory.
Slowing, she turned onto her street. Where she should be celebrating this lesson with someone who cared, she was returning home empty. Sydney tightened her hold on the steering wheel. There was a grey sedan parked out in front of her house. Alarm bells went off. Was it a friend of her neighbors? She looked to the house across from hers. All the lights were out. So were those in the houses to either side of her. Keep going. It was the instant response for a woman living alone. Strangers were an unexpected but real danger. Had someone followed her home from the bar? She gripped the wheel. Circle the block. Call someone. The driver’s side door opened. Her pulse ricocheted clear into her skull. She pushed the gas pedal. Don’t stop! Her mind lurched as a man emerged from the car.
Chapter Thirty
What in the world was he doing here?
Sydney slowed. Thoughts raced through her mind. The events were over. Clay was supposed to be in South Carolina. He’d already given her a chance and she blew it. Trembling limbs struggled with the steering wheel. Fear and doubt tumbled over desire and want. Clay is here. Stiff and hard, she managed to make the turn into her driveway and rolled toward the house. Sydney watched him approach behind her in the car door mirror. He’s really here.
Open the garage door, her subconscious commanded. She glanced at him again and pressed the button. Jeans and dark shirt, the blond of his hair shadowed brown in the dark of night. His gait wary, Clay seemed menacing, a stranger in an empty neighborhood. But he wasn’t a stranger. Sydney rolled her car into the garage and turned off the ignition. He was Clay, her...her...
A storm of mixed emotion battered as he stopped at the rear of her car. What was he? What were they going to be? Like a timid animal, she peered at his solitary figure from the cowardice of her car’s interior. He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t frowning. He simply was.
Clay was here
Do something! Sydney pushed her car door open and stood. Fear sprayed her chest. Arms and legs frayed—it was hard to believe she could stand. But she did, face-to-face with the subject of her fantasies, the man of her desire. Clay Rutledge was here, in person. In the blink of memory, she recalled her despair over missing him at the airport. But here
at her house, she had her chance.
“Hi, Sydney.”
“Hi, Clay.” Her voice cracked.
“Is it okay that I’m here?”
Of course! Yes, yes, it was better than okay. But she only managed a nod.
“I wanted to talk.”
Duh. Why else would he be here? She fumbled for her house key before realizing the interior garage door would be unlocked. “Do you want to come in?” she asked, pulse skittering like a flock of birds against her rib cage. She knew what would happen if they went inside.
Clay nodded.
She pushed the car door closed, turned abruptly and led the way in, hitting the light switch as she passed. Cursing the shake to her hand, she balled it into a fist. Glancing about her kitchen, Sydney considered offering him something to drink but realized at once that would seem foolish. This wasn’t a social call. It was a talk.
Heading for the dining room, purposefully avoiding the couch, she dumped her purse onto the table and tried not to dwell on his beautiful flowers, still fresh and gorgeous from the weekend. They were too much for the vase she had stuffed them into, but who was complaining? She turned to face Clay. Brushing hair behind an ear, she smoothed the material of her skirt—her short black skirt—and waited for him to begin.
He stopped several feet away from her. “Charlie told me you quit.” He planted hands to his hips. “Is that true?
She nodded, surprised she hadn’t considered the connection.
“Why?”
Simple question, complicated answer. “Just thought it was time I tried something new,” she said, but faltered beneath his piercing gaze.
“Do you know where you’re going?”
“Not yet,” she admitted reluctantly and grasped hold of the chair back. “But I’m ready for a change.”
Clay stared at her and a small smile worked to soften the edge of his disposition. “Change is a good thing.”
She nodded, picked at a spot on the floor with the toe of her leather flat, then flipped her gaze back to him. “How about you? I thought you were supposed to be in South Carolina.”
“Q and my parents decided they wanted to visit Miami Beach for a few days.”
The revelation yanked her chin in a rubberneck gawk. Clay was going to be in town for a few days? Her thoughts immediately jumped to the time they’d have together, the extra space to figure things out—until she reminded herself of one key point: she had given Clay no reason to believe she was interested in space and time. But he was here. That meant something.
“You never really answered my question last night.”
Sydney feigned ignorance. “Huh?” But hidden from sight, her heart punched back in rebellion. Don’t play games.
“Do you or don’t you want to give us more time?”
“Clay,” she said. “I do...”
“But—”
But? Was there a but? She stared at him and through the silence, the haze of doubt, she wondered, where did they go next? She detoured to the table of family photos, the front door, the couch—where she didn’t dare linger. It was the scene of the crime, the moment she revealed herself, allowed him to—
She cut her thoughts. She wanted to say yes, but yes carried a barrage of consequence, good, bad, heavenly, uncomfortable. Yes included his ex. And that’s where things became shaky.
“Did you quit because of me?”
“No,” she blurted, instantly wishing she could retrieve the reply as disappointment cooled his eyes. Clay had wanted it to be because of him. He wanted it to be the sign of her consent.
“Why then?”
“I... I...” Sydney shrank from the question. Why did she quit again? Better opportunity? Better shows? Javier was sleeping with Morgan? There were a slew of reasons she quit, but none of them sounded respectable. None sounded as worthy as quitting for the man standing before her.
“Do you have a new job lined up?”
Their talk was beginning to feel like an interrogation. Sydney shook her head and the enormity of what she’d done began to sink in. No. No, she didn’t have anything lined up. She quit her job without securing a new one. Rash and foolish, she’d acted on impulse, on her heart’s desire as opposed to her mind’s. How stupid could she be?
Clay became guarded, cagey. “What do you want, Sydney? What are you after?”
Taken aback by the accusatory ring, she threw up a wall of her own. “I haven’t decided yet.” She crossed her arms. “I’m going to take it as it comes…” Take it as it comes? That’s not how you manage a career—that’s how you catch the waves! She latched on to the shell necklace around Clay’s neck and thought, how deceptive. One of the first things she noticed that first day and she assumed him a slacker, like his buddy. Thought he preferred to surf instead of work, like Charlie golfed, instead of worked. Sydney lifted her gaze and met Clay head on. But the man she came to know turned out to be the farthest thing from it. He didn’t “take it as it comes.” He had a son to look after. Obligations. Commitments.
Clay stepped forward and Sydney tensed. “This doesn’t sound like you.”
Because it wasn’t. But she wasn’t currently operating out of her right mind. Shooting blind, flapping in the wind, she was chasing fairy tales, fantasizing about life with a man she hardly knew, ditching her job for the hope of something better...
“I need to know what you want. I need some direction. Some finality.”
Sydney hated the resignation she heard in his voice. It meant he was on the verge of quitting, of giving up on her. In the course of two weeks he had pursued her, relentlessly chased her, caught her, held her in his arms... He’d offered encouragement, chose optimism rather than fatalism. And what had she done in return? Squashed him at every turn. From the corner of her eye, she caught glimpse of the couch. Almost every turn.
Why? Because she was weak? Insecure? Jealous? Her chest tightened. She could admit the truth to herself. She was afraid that if she gave in, she’d fall in love and then he’d realize it was all a mistake. There was someone out there better than her. Skinnier, prettier, funnier—take your pick, didn’t matter. The only thing that counted was that Clay would think someone else better. In a burst of desperation, she asked, “What if you only think you want this?” She hugged both arms close to her body. “Me, us... Relationships are a whole lot easier when you’re on vacation, Clay.”
“True.”
“So what happens when you get back to real life and discover it was all a mistake?” She fought the urge to quit, to back down. “That we’re wrong for each other? That it was a fling and nothing more?”
He shrugged, cast a skeptical glance toward her front door, the flowers on her dining table and replied, “Then it doesn’t work out.”
All nerve shriveled at the simplicity of his reply. That’s it? He’d simply walk away, no harm, no foul?
“But what if it does?” he prompted.
It was the obvious alternative.
“What if it works out as superbly as I think it will?” A fresh smile tugged at his mouth.
Sydney loosened the knot of her arms. He thought it would work that well?
“We’ll never know if we don’t try.”
Yes, but nothing ventured, nothing lost was a safer bet in her book.
“I’m willing to move to Miami, if that’s what it takes.”
“You can’t move,” she rejected outright. He had too much at stake, too much going on back home. Then she remembered Charlie’s words. Clay is worth millions. She backed away and fought the insinuation. She didn’t want him for his money. She didn’t want him to try and buy her affection, either—sweep in and make everything magically happen without a struggle, like a prince courting his fair maiden, the commoner who would swoon over his luxurious play. Something inside her hardened. She’d had enough of men and power hungry egos. She refused to end up beneath the controlling thumb of another man as long as she lived. She squeezed her biceps then slapped a hand to the back of a chair and challenged, “
How could you do that, Clay? How could you just pick up and move?”
“I can,” he replied quietly.
“You’d leave your family, your support network?” she thrust. “You’d take Q away from all that for me?”
“If I thought it was worth it, yes. I would. I would do whatever it took.” He paused and an adversarial gleam lit up his gaze. “Would you?”
Match point. Do or die. Determination fired through her. “What about Trish?”
“She’s not part of this equation.”
“She’s Q’s mother,” Sydney reminded pointedly. “I’d say that makes her part of the equation.”
“Trish wants money and social status. The limelight. Always has. My family has a lot of both which keeps her coming back.”
Sydney stared at him, but had no words to fill the space. It was the first time Clay ever mentioned money. Well, his money anyway. But there it was, dangling between them. He had the money and ability to do whatever he pleased. But Sydney didn’t want to be bought. She wanted to be loved.
“Listen, when we divorced, her intentions became clear,” Clay said, bitterness curling his words. “She never wanted me for me. She wanted what I could give her. Money. Things. The only reason I tolerate her now is because she’s Q’s mother. It’s a fact I cannot change.”
His animosity was palpable, like he’d erase her name from the birth certificate if he could. But still... This wasn’t only about him and his feelings. This was about her future, too. It was a major decision. She had to be sure.
“If it’s something you can’t live with, I’ll understand. But in my world, I think it’s better to live like you were dying. Go for what you want, not settle for what you get.”
Sydney’s arms fell slack. Personally, she found the adage a depressing way to view life. She’d rather view life in terms of unlimited potential, not limited time. What she could do, where she could go... Clay came to within a foot of her, sending every cell in her body to high alert.
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