by S. E. Hall
I lose steam, as frustrated as he is and sick of talking in circles. I take a deep breath and scrub both hands over my face before I respond. “I know her enough to know you’re wrong. You are, Jarrett, you’re just wrong. Think about it, she had nothing to gain here. The songs were already hers. And those negotiations were on the up and up; I accepted what was offered! You’re just not making any sense.”
“Probably. Lord knows I’m wrong about everything else. But what if… I don’t know,” he huffs, dropping into the armchair.
“What if…? Oh, now I’m hearing ya. Jesus, Jarrett.” I take a seat on the end of the coffee table. “You’re afraid to leave because you think Ness may still come back and you’ll be gone. That’s it, isn’t it?”
He shrugs, refusing to look at me.
“That’s pathetic.” I regret the words before I’m even finished and try to pull them back, but it’s too late.
Jarrett’s fist smashes against my jaw with a loud crack and I hear Reece’s muffled shriek as I shake off the blow. Jarrett’s already stomping toward the door.
How did this possibly go…here?
“Jarrett, wait.” I grab the back of his shirt and stop him. “I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean it like it sounded. I’m sorry. And I’m not doing this without you.”
“Fuck off, Rhett,” he snaps, back still to me, and walks away.
Now I finally understand what Liz meant when she always bitched about how Yoko ruined The Beatles. Women.
I wait a few minutes after he’s slammed the door to see if he’ll come back. He doesn’t. I wait a few more to go find Reece, to see if some brilliant, consoling words will pop in my head. They don’t.
Unprepared, I trudge down the hall, a lead lump in my stomach, and slowly open the bedroom door. The noises outside hit me and I don’t even have to look around—she’s gone, out the window. What the fuck? Is this day really happening: Sommerlyn’s hormonally unhinged behavior, Jarrett having a nervous breakdown, and Teaspoon going all cat burglar?
I climb through the window and down the two flights of the fire escape, scanning the area… in time to catch sight of her jumping in the back of a cab. Shit! I don’t have my keys. I run back up to my apartment, growling a string of expletives that I make up as I go, and grab my phone.
Me: What’s Landry’s number? No fucking around. Reece is gone.
I wait at least twenty seconds with no response and grab my keys to go to Jarrett’s apartment. No, wait, Landry said she had to go to work. I flip an illegal U-turn and smash down the gas pedal. The Goldsbury is just a few minutes away.
When I walk in the casino, I spot her instantly, back to me. She’s slumped over the bar, but Landry’s eyes go big and wide when she spots me. I see her mouth move subtly to warn her friend, and Reece’s head pops up. She turns to look at me, eyes red-rimmed and puffy, lip quivering.
“I’m sorry,” she mouths as I stalk closer and takes a deep, shuddering breath.
“Unlock your phone and let me have it.” I stick out my hand when I’m right in front of her.
She doesn’t even flinch, let alone ask questions and quickly unlocks and places the device in my palm.
I program in my number then call myself. It rings once in my pocket, and I hang up before handing it back to her. “One problem solved. Now let’s talk about your daredevil escape routes. Windows, fire escapes… you’ve been a very busy girl.”
“I never intended for you to fight with your brother. Or Liz with Sommerlyn. I’m gonna get the hell out of here as soon as there’s a flight available, and I’ll quit causing such a mess. I swear, I never meant for any of this to happen.”
“He knows that! Jarrett’s just being an asshole!” Landry spits.
I didn’t even realize she was still standing there. “She right, on both counts. If you heard the fight, then you heard me tell him I don’t doubt your intentions at all. Landry, I’m taking Reece with me. You tell my brother I’m not done talking to him. Come on.” I offer Reece my hand, unsure what I’ll do if she refuses it. Luckily, she doesn’t, sliding her own into my palm. I let my clenched-up shoulders drop for the first time in an hour and roll my neck.
“Yes,” she breathes, walking beside me.
I laugh, a relief that dulls everything else. “Yes what, Teaspoon?”
“Yes, I could go for some R&R.”
I halt in my tracks and look down at her. Where did this girl come from? “And what does R&R mean to you this time?” I ask in graveled astonishment.
“Takeout, whatever you usually order, and movies, what I want to order.” She smiles up at me
and I have to remind myself—still not a fucking bird.
Her first movie selection is Dane Cook’s newest stand-up routine, bless her good taste.
Except she hits pause to get my perspective on everything he says. It’ll take us all night to finish the show at this rate, and yet, I’m okay with that. When Dane teaches the audience how to learn their significant other’s phone passcode (information that would’ve been helpful an hour ago) by breathing on the screen and looking for the smudge marks, we have to pause, switch phones, and try to crack each other’s codes. She gets mine on her first attempt—6969. Made that way too easy. But hers? The finger smudges are clearly on two, five, six, and eight. How many combinations can there possibly be? I could swear the answer is twenty-four options. I could also swear I’ve tried them all.
Apparently not.
“Are you sure these aren’t just smudges in general, your grubby lil’ fingers smearing everything?” I ask, snarling at her phone. She’s howling in laughter, rolled on her side, as I cuss, fluently, and finally toss her “locked for 60 minutes” piece-of-shit phone to the end of the bed.
My bed, where we lay together.
“I’ll tell you the code when the sixty minutes are up so you can have your closure.” She snickers, all too pleased with herself, and pushes play on the movie again.
Three minutes later, I see her finger twitching. She’s just about to hit pause to ask if I agree that women are far superior texters and ask whether I use emojis.
I still her hand. “Yes, women reign supreme on texting. Congratulations, next stop, global domination. And no, I am unversed in emojinese.”
“That’s not what I was gonna ask,” she frumps.
I laugh. “It absolutely was. Now watch the movie.”
The next bit starts, and I’m fully prepared for a grand inquisition of the etiquette on how to end a relationship, which I’ve never had the need to learn, but it doesn’t come. Dane’s still talking and I’m still laughing when a tiny snore makes me look down.
Reece is asleep, blond hair fanned across my chest and one tiny hand on my stomach. She’s absolutely breathtaking, and I smile when I realize I don’t want to banish that thought. Instead, I stay perfectly still and watch the quiver of her lips as puffs of breath float across them, the slight twitch in her eyelids, and the occasional shift of her legs. I turn off the movie, the lamp, and somehow manage to maneuver us down—me lying flatter on my back, her half draped over me—and pull the covers over us without waking her.
The last thoughts I remember having are: I never imagined I’d bring a girl to my bed. And if I ever did, I definitely didn’t think it’d be to laugh, talk, and fall asleep.
“Rise and shine, your sleepiness!”
I roll over and grapple for comprehension of the chipper sound waking me. I sit up and scrub my eyes with the heels of my hands, then look to find Reece standing at the side of the bed.
“What’s that?” I ask in a gruff, sleep-laden voice.
“Breakfast. French toast to be exact. Now sit all the way up so you don’t spill it.” She sets the plate in my lap. “What do you want to drink? You had coffee yesterday, but I wasn’t sure if that was an everyday thing?”
“It is. Black. But I can get it.” I start to set the plate aside to get up.
“Hush and stay put. I owed you. I’ll be right back.”
Man, sh
e’s perky in the morning. Once again, everything I know about myself says I should find it annoying, and I probably would if this French toast wasn’t warm, sweet, and melting in my mouth… yeah, I definitely would.
She returns with a steaming mug in her hand. “Here you go, one coffee, black. My flight’s in a few hours, so I have to get going, but I wanted to be here to give you breakfast this time.”
I hurry down my mouthful. “I can take you to the airport, but what about everything? I need a chance to talk to Jarrett again.”
“I know, but I’ve got to get back before the vultures come circling. It’ll be better for you to talk to him without me here anyway. Just let me know. You have my number. Is it good?”
I moan around another mouthful, and she smiles proudly. I’m about to ask where hers is, surely we have time to eat together, but there’s a knock at my front door. I almost can’t admit it, but my stomach plummets with the sound.
“That’s Landry. She’s giving me a ride.”
“I said I’d take you.”
“No, you finish eating and get some more sleep. She’s already here. And Rhett?” She climbs onto the bed, one knee bent, one hand braced. “I had a lot of fun. Thank you.” She leans in and kisses my cheek. “See you soon, hopefully.”
I can’t believe I had the audacity to call him out on his acting skills! Could I have been any more “Sorority Girl on crack” this morning? I just hope my nauseating over-exuberance wasn’t as transparently fake as it felt.
I don’t want to leave, so I rushed my departure. I toss my stuff in Landry’s backseat then climb in the front beside her, letting out the substantial sigh I’ve been holding in. This trip went so much differently than I planned and hoped. In my wake, I’m leaving people hurting and fighting. That’s not my martyr, that’s truth—I was here, spoke, and fighting ensued.
Landry pats my leg and laughs. “You still not get any?”
“Does your vagina ever stop talking?”
“Only when there’s something in her mouth!” She makes an O with her actual mouth then some lewd movement with her fist to emphasize.
“Way too early in the morning for that. Just start the car and get me out of here before I cause any more damage,” I grumble, slouching in my seat. I can feel him watching from his window, the weight of those tumultuous blue eyes aimed right at me, but I don’t look. I’m not scared of what they’d tell me; I’m terrified that I’d want to do something about it.
“What damage? You talking about Jarrett?” she asks.
“Mostly yes. I mean, let’s not forget the ordeal between Liz and Sommerlyn at breakfast, also about me. But Jarrett and Rhett fighting is my main concern. Jarrett punched him, Landry!”
“Yeah, he told me. Trust me, babe, they’re brothers; it’s not the first time punches have been thrown. Jarrett’s just in a funk. He’ll get over it, and when he does, what then? Have you told your dad about all your big plans?”
The mere thought of that conversation—and by conversation, I mean all-out threats-and-insults warfare—makes me cringe. But my father’s never chosen me. My journey might entail a little more work, but it ensures raw talent and passion prevail.
“No, what’s the point of getting him all worked up if Rhett and Jarrett haven’t even agreed yet? Landry!” I scream, instinctively covering her with my left arm and grabbing the edge of my seat with my right. “That was a red light you just ran!”
I don’t hear her excuse, only… “I’ve been stopping on green since the night we met.” His words pop into my frazzled mind and calm the havoc.
And speak of the wordsmith… my phone dings with a text.
Rubik’s Cube: And she cooks too.
He programmed himself into my phone as “Rubik’s Cube.” Yes, I’m composed of all girl parts, so of course I’m already wondering what my name is in his phone. Any female who denies they’d do the same thing is lying. No- you don’t have to be thirteen years old to appreciate the “little touches.” It’s those kind of cynical thoughts that are killing romance!
“What was that giggle/sigh thing you just did?” Landry asks, popping my bubble. “Is that Rhett texting you?”
“Yeah,” I whisper, staring at my phone.
“Then never mind, I know what that sound was.”
Me: She does? Sounds like a great girl, this she. Anyone I know?
“Reece?” Landry drawls my name condescendingly, once again barging into the moment I’m trying to have. “Babe, you know I love you. You’re my best friend, and I’m totally on board for your hookin’ up with that hottie and letting go some. But promise me you won’t get too attached.”
Rubik’s Cube: She’s an exception…al girl, the prettiest of remedies. And now she’s gone again. At least she used the door this time.
“Too late.” I sigh. “Turn around!”
“What? No, that would most definitely fall under getting attached. Make him come to you.”
“Psshh.” I flit a dismissive wave at her. “All girls do the wait for him to come to them thing. I’m an exception.” I smile. “The strong woman who isn’t secretly waiting to be rescued is hot. It’s going to be the new trend, I can feel it. Now turn this car around!” I’m flying on instinct here, no practice at this sort of thing whatsoever.
Rubik’s Cube: Too much?
I got so caught up in my crusade, I forgot to text him back, and now he’s thinking he spooked me; which he did anything but. My fingers are a little shaky with adrenaline, and Landry’s weaving in and out of traffic like a maniac, looking for a place to turn around, but I manage to type out a reply.
Me: Not at all.
Rubik’s Cube: Good. Starting out the day with breakfast in bed…Idk Reece, but I want to.
Me: I think I know exactly what you’re saying.
Should I tell him I’m coming back or surprise him? My phone vibrates again. Decision made for me—neither.
Rubik’s Cube: Wish me luck, I’m heading to gym with Jarrett. Gotta talk 2 him, worried.
Leave him alone, Reece. You’ve given him plenty to deal with that’s more important than your romanticism. He needs to sort things out, not be distracted.
“Wait,” I yell to stop Landry from turning at what appears to not be a turning lane. “Never mind, just go on to the airport.”
“Your white steed decide to go in the shop there, Juliet?” She laughs, but only slightly, and flips an illegal U-ey in the middle of the road. “Listen, that plan may have been a bit impetuous, but it doesn’t mean things won’t still work out. Rumor has it Rhett doesn’t do relationships or encores, but if anyone can change him, it’s you.”
Me: Good luck. Ttyl.
By the grace of God, in direct opposition to Landry’s driving, I make it to the airport alive.
The trip to LAX isn’t a terribly long flight, but it’s long enough for me to reorganize my thoughts. What do I do if Jarrett doesn’t change his mind? What am I willing to sacrifice in search of “what if?”
Ozzie greets me at LAX alone, which makes me as relieved as it does leery. Not one call or text from my father or Warrick the whole time I was gone, and no “welcome home” barrage this time?
“Sweetpea, missed you.” Oz sets my bag aside and hauls me into a burly hug. “So how was your trip?”
My shoulders slump. “Ugh. Confusing, rocky, wonderful, back to confusing.”
“Your calendar’s empty today. We’ll take the long-cut home, and you can tell me all about it.” He opens my door and ushers me into the backseat.
First thing I do is kick off my shoes then flop back on the long, plush leather seat. “Where are the jackals?” I ask when he’s in the car.
“Closed door meetings. Have been since you left. They smell trouble. Thought you’d marry Warrick, play wifey, and let him run the show, and now I think they’ve figured out that plan might not run as smooth as they’d hoped. What about you and the boy? How’d that go?”
I throw my arm over my eyes and groan. “He’s not a boy
, Ozzie. He’s a twenty-six-year-old, gorgeous, intelligent, creative man. And I’m not sure yet. I think he wants to be on board, but his brother, not so much. They need time to sort it out.”
“What’s your gut tell you, sweetpea?”
That I’m a ninny who dreams too big. “To have faith. There’s something way down under the surface with him. Something deep there, Oz. I just… I just know it.”
“Okay, then what are you gonna do?”
“I’ll tell ya what I’m gonna do.” I sit up and lean over the back of the seat, closer to him. “I’m gonna let that faith steer.”
“That’s my girl. World wouldn’t run without some of it somewhere.” He chuckles, deep, and robust. My Oz knows me, so he knows that’s all I have to say for now, and he heads for my apartment.
Once I’m inside, I leave the unpacking for later and head to the kitchen for a glass of wine. But first, I stop by my idock and turn on some Civil Wars. It’s always warm enough to sit outside in L.A., so I take my glass of moscato out on the patio. With my feet propped up on the railing and music wafting through the open french doors, I realize it’s not a bad life. I’m only twenty-one, so there’s no hurry to figure it all out, right?
Then why do I feel so close to having it all figured out…my forever kind of happy brushing the ends of my fingertips yet just out of reach?
By Tuesday afternoon, still not a peep from Rhett. Landry’s clueless as to what’s going on there because she’s working nights and sleeping days, so I’m beyond impatient and in the foulest mood I can ever remember being in. I’ve typed out a text to him who knows how many times, but deleted it just as many. That damn Dane Cook is wrong by the way—texting is just as daunting for women. When I’ve got myself all geared up to ask—in all caps—how you go from “She’s an exception” to days of incommunicado, I chicken out and play Devil’s advocate. I don’t want to push too hard or make him feel as though he has to choose between me and Jarrett.
Considering all that, the ugly turn this board meeting’s taking probably doesn’t need saying.
“Darling, really, Warrick and I are happy to handle this if you have things you need to do. I’m sure your mother would love to take you shopping. For wedding items, perhaps?”