by M. Leighton
Jake shakes his head, still quiet.
Mind spinning and whirling, I sink back into the chair. It’s sometime after that when Jake finally speaks.
“Are you ever going to tell me what happened in Aspen?”
I raise watering, burning eyes to my ex, who is watching me with a grim expression on his face.
“Something I never expected,” I tell him.
He smiles a humorless smile, his gaze narrowing on me. “Somehow I did. He’s Dash Grainger. No woman can resist him. Why should you be any different?”
“Jake, it’s not like that. It’s not…it wasn’t what you think.”
“I might’ve believed that before you left. I might’ve thought you were better, stronger than that, but now…”
He looks disgusted with me, which both pains and angers me.
“I’m not that kind of woman, and you damn well know it.”
“I thought I did.”
I exhale into the back of my throat. “Don’t be an asshole, Jake.”
“I’m not.”
“You know what?” I begin, whirling around to collect my panties from the chair. “Never mind. This isn’t your problem. I’m going home. See you tomorrow, Jake.”
I’m nearly out of the bullpen when I hear his voice, uttering my name so softly I could almost have missed it entirely. “Dilyn?”
I turn, meeting his eyes, realizing in this moment that we were never meant to be. Knowing without a doubt, all the way down into my soul. “Goodbye, Jake.”
I don’t wait for his response. We both know it won’t make any difference. This is not just goodbye for the night.
It’s goodbye forever.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Dilyn
For three days I’ve tried every long shot, ridiculous, pathetic way I can think of to reach Dash. I’ve pulled the press card, I’ve pulled the woman card, I’ve pulled the “I’ll owe you one” card, and no one is biting.
I’ve tried every back door way I know of to find out where he might be staying in the city, but I’ve come up empty-handed at every turn. As I suspected, when a man like Dash doesn’t want to be found, he won’t be.
Until he surfaces in the most public—and excruciating—of ways.
I’m on my way back from an assignment, walking up the street toward my building when I pass a bar with one of its many televisions tuned to a sports station that’s covering Dash.
Dash and his social life.
I see the picture of his smiling face and it literally stops me in my tracks. I stare through the glass, mesmerized, thinking how much shaggier his hair seems now, how much blacker his eyes are in real life, how much more richly tanned his skin looks in the waning light of a fire.
I’m physically staggered by it, by the sight of him, and the depth of my feelings for him. I’ve ceased wondering how love could happen so quickly. I’m done trying to excuse it and chalk it up to something else. I’ve just given in to the facts—I’m in love with Dash Grainger, for better or worse. It is what it is, but without the happily ever after I’d dared hope for.
Stupid heart.
What it is is pure, unadulterated agony when the camera pans back and captures the full picture—the one of him snuggled up to one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen.
As is the case with many sports bars, the sound isn’t on, so the caption shows at the bottom of the screen, which I read as the white writing ticks by.
“Champion snowboarder and sought-after eligible bachelor, Dash Grainger, has been spotted once again with Swedish super model, Carmella. According to a spokesman from the model’s camp, Carmella and Dash have recently reconciled after three years of separation. The couple started the rumor mill churning when speculation about an impending engagement surfaced. Sources confirm that, earlier in the month, Grainger was seen leaving a Los Angeles jeweler who is renowned for his selection of loose diamonds.”
The report scrolls on, but I have to turn away, a wave of nausea rolling through my stomach.
I meant nothing to him. I can’t have meant anything to Dash if he picked up and went on with his life, with his love life this easily.
It meant nothing.
That night…all that we shared…all that I felt…
It meant nothing to him.
We meant nothing to him.
I meant nothing to him.
And, oh, Jesus God, that hurts!
Because he meant everything to me.
And, even now, standing in the bitter cold outside a bar in downtown Philly, watching the man I love smile with another woman, he still means everything to me.
********
The thing about media is that it’s great when you want information, but not so much when you’re trying to avoid it.
And I’m trying to avoid any information I can about Dash Grainger.
Every word, every photograph, every video clip is like a knife to my heart. One would think after seeing it everywhere, hearing it everywhere—for weeks—I’d have become immune.
Not so.
It hurts just as much, maybe worse, with every day that passes.
Even now, two weeks later, it still hurts.
That’s why I avoid it. As much as possible, I try to keep every media outlet tuned to stations that couldn’t care less about an Olympic snowboarder and his new love. It’s the only way I can lead some semblance of a healthy, sane life. I go through the days on autopilot, hoping nothing will trigger a tailspin that will send me crashing into a mountainside of agony.
“So, what’s on the New Year’s resolution list this year, D?” Jake asks me as he passes my cubicle. “You’re usually knee-deep into some sort of self-help shit by now.”
I cast him a sidelong glance. “That doesn’t make me sound flaky at all.”
“I didn’t mean it that way and you know it.”
And he’s right—I do know it. For years, it’s been a bit of a joke between us. Everyone knows how I am in January. But everyone also knows how I am in February. In 2014, the office actually took bets to see how long I’d last as a vegan. No one won. Everyone assumed I’d make it more than two days.
But I didn’t.
When I don’t make any move to answer him or comment further, Jake prompts, “What got the axe this year? Coffee? Reality television? Pants with stripes?”
I don’t want to tell him that there was only one thing I needed to give up this year. I don’t want to tell him that I’m more addicted to it, to him than I was to a hamburger in 2014. This is much worse. And as much as I want to, as imperative as it is that I put Dash Grainger behind me and accept that I didn’t really mean anything to him, I just can’t seem to do it. The crevasse in my heart is only widening with every passing day, rather than shrinking like I hoped it would. Rather than healing like I need it to.
“Oh,” Jake interrupts my thoughts with, his expression going dim. “I guess I should’ve known the answer to that.” After a couple of uncomfortable minutes, he adds, “I suppose I should tell you now, then.”
My heart plummets. The tone of his voice tells me that I will not like what comes next. “What? Tell me what now?”
“His agent called yesterday. Wants you to do a follow-up to the interview. Apparently he has some news.”
News.
That speaks volumes. In this business, “news” often translates into “announcement.” And since Dash and an old love have reconciled, I can imagine what that announcement might be.
When all the blood drains away from my face, my head swims lightly, like I’ve got an unpleasant buzz. “Can someone else cover it?”
Jake shakes his head slowly. “Has to be you. You had the original byline.”
“Oh God!” I double over, wondering how in blue hell I’m going to face Dash and his beautiful new fiancée. Because I know that’s what this is about. It’s about announcing to the world that he’s officially off the market. It’s about shattering the dreams and fantasies of women across the globe. It’s about
destroying what’s left of my heart. Crushing it, like he crushes the slopes.
“Would it help if I go?”
I straighten and lift my eyes to my ex-boyfriend’s. Somehow he’s managed to be civil with me this week, even kind. But I know how much it must hurt him to even offer such a thing. And I know how much it will hurt him if I accept.
But that’s exactly what I want to do.
“I couldn’t ask you to do that, Jake. Not after…”
Jake’s grin is wry and lopsided. “I’m a big boy. I can deal. I’m your boss first and foremost now, and if one of my people needs some back up, I’ll give it to them.”
His words are bold, but I know him well enough to know that he doesn’t feel quite as bulletproof as he’s letting on. “I’m glad one of us can be a mature, rational adult.”
“I think this will be good for both of us. So I’m going.”
“How on earth do you imagine this will be good for either of us?”
“Closure. We all need it.”
I can’t really argue that. Dash is like the world’s biggest splinter. He’s under my skin in the worst way. And deep. I need to grit my teeth and pull it out so that the wound can start to heal. Maybe this is the way to do it. See him face to face, see how happy he is, how perfect he and Swedish Barbie are together, so I can begin the long, painful road of moving on. And at least I’ll have a friend by my side. Moral support in my time of need. Because I’m certain I’ll be in need for quite a while after this.
I stand, giving Jake my best wobbly smile. “You really are a great guy, you know that?”
His expression turns more melancholy, his smile melting away like Frosty the Snowman’s in the sun. “Just not great enough.”
Before I can respond, he turns to walk away, throwing over his shoulder, “We fly out Saturday morning at seven forty. Be ready.”
I don’t stop him to ask for any details, like where we are flying to and how long we’ll be there. Or why he already had Starla make reservations for both of us. I know he needs to go. And I know I need to let him.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Dilyn
The boardwalk at Santa Monica Pier—it’s as lively and picturesque in person as it’s portrayed in movies. It’s the visual epitome of California life. There are lots of smiles, lots of blondes, and lots of skin.
Lots of skin.
It’s warm here, even in January. Warm and humid and…beachy. Every facet of the environment is the absolute antithesis of where you’d expect to find a snowboarding champion.
So, the question is, why is a snowboarding champion here?
Jake and I have discussed this at length—why the interview had to be done here. We’ve speculated about everything from a movie deal to a California wedding to a reality show, but have absolutely nothing concrete to go on. So here we are, in the land of all things beautiful, watching. Waiting. Wondering.
I glance at my watch. We’re a few minutes early, so I walk to the railing to look out at the turquoise water, closing my eyes to the light breeze that ruffles my hair. When I inhale the perfect California air, when it soothes me down to my core, I have to wonder if maybe this is why Dash chose to have his follow-up done here—the calm. There’s a frenetic energy to the boardwalk itself, but the ocean that lies beyond…it’s the picture, the sound, the very smell of tranquility. A tiny bubble of perfection.
Until I open my eyes.
My gaze is drawn to a dark head as it moves up the beach toward me. I don’t have to be able to see him up close to know it’s Dash. I’d recognize that walk, that build, that irresistible pull he has anywhere.
My stomach lurches into my throat for about ten seconds. Right up until I see the lovely creature walking at his side, holding his hand.
And then it plummets into my open-toed shoes.
I watch as they approach. Even from here, I can see she’s stunning. Just as stunning as she is on television and on the covers of magazines. Maybe even more so.
I stand, my feet glued to the wooden planks of the boardwalk, and wait for them to reach me. She laughs about something. I see it from the corner of my eye, eyes that are trained unwaveringly on Dash’s.
Just like his are trained unwaveringly on mine.
It’s as though our gazes would’ve, should’ve drifted past one another, but they got stuck, like a faulty door latch or a stubborn window. Somehow, we got stuck on each other.
My guts coil into a writhing mass of anxiety and agony. I knew this would be hard, but even I may have underestimated just how hard.
I can’t help wondering if it would have made a difference if Jake hadn’t kissed me when Dash arrived at the office. Would I be the one holding his hand right now? Or did his card mean nothing when I’d thought it meant he cared?
My eyes flicker over to the woman as they approach. Is she his cliff? Will he stop seeking his highs because he’s found the one person who makes them obsolete? Is this the woman who is everything I am not?
I glance back to Dash, but he looks away. Since Jake and I are on the boardwalk, they have to walk around to get up on it. I’m actually grateful for the break from his disconcertingly piercing gaze, though, as it gives me a few minutes to compose myself.
If that’s even possible at this point.
A voice sounds right by my ear. “You okay? You don’t look like you’re even breathing.”
I jump in alarm, grabbing my fluttering heart. “Oh, Jesus, you scared me.”
“Sorry.”
I turn to face Jake, his eyes scanning my expression then narrowing as they meet mine.
“Never mind. He must be here.”
I don’t answer.
God, am I that transparent?
I need to chill. I don’t want Dash to ever know he’s wrecked me the way he has. He never promised me anything. I need to remember that and at least appear poised and professional. Unaffected.
Like he so obviously is.
Impulsively, I throw my arms around Jake’s neck and hug him tightly. “Thank you for coming with me,” I mutter against his shoulder. When I lean back, I smile up into his face. “I don’t know how much I’d need some moral support, even though you apparently did.”
Jake shrugs, not fully able to hide the pain this is causing him. “It’s what any good boss would do.”
I stop him before he can turn away. “It’s what any good man would do. It’s what any good friend would do. You’re more than just a boss to me. You always will be.”
“But not nearly as much as I want to be.”
I ease back a step. I don’t know what to say to that, so I say nothing, unwilling to hurt him anymore than I already have. I wish I could love him like he loves me. It would be so much easier. So much less painful. But I just…can’t. No matter how much sense it makes to my head, my heart just won’t get on board.
A throat clearing draws my attention to Dash. He and his gorgeous companion have arrived and are standing within a couple feet of us.
I stare at him, like a mute, pathetic dumbass. Despite seeing him walking up the beach, despite giving myself a dozen pep talks over the last few hours, despite the memories, the hopes, the pain and the time that has passed, I am once again completely unprepared for Dash and what his presence does to me. Those eyes…and the way he watches me, like he’s looking into me and seeing things I don’t want him to find… It’s unnerving.
But most of all, I’m unprepared for the little flicker of want and then the pain that I see flash through those eyes before he turns his attention to Jake.
Dash offers his hand. “We haven’t officially met. Dash Grainger.”
Jake shakes it, giving Dash a professional if tight smile. “Jacob Mullally.”
“Do you normally travel with your journalists? Or is this a…preferential thing?”
My eyes widen.
Oh shit!
It never occurred to me that Dash might antagonize Jake. I mean, why the hell would he? He’s the one who walked away from me.
Jake stiffens visibly, his spine straightening to bring him up closer to Dash’s six-foot-plus height. “I like to tag along any time I feel there might be a problem.”
The two men eye each other like two cocks getting ready to rip each other to shreds, but then Dash cracks a grin that nearly buckles my knees. “No problem here, man. I’m cool.”
His inky eyes dart to mine for a brief moment before he turns to look at his girlfriend and then brings her hand to his mouth to kiss her knuckles, smiling at her over them. She blushes beautifully and, for a second, I consider pushing her over the railing. But, clearly, that would be insane.
Wouldn’t it?
For a few seconds, I’m lost in that fantasy. In my mind, I can actually hear her surprised scream followed by a big splash when she hits bottom. Then I take a moment to wallow in the pleasure of hearing her delightful whining from the edge of the surf. I picture her emerging like a drowned rat, mascara running, blonde hair stringy. I almost smile at the imagery.
But then she leans into Dash, pressing her whole rail-thin body against the rock-hard length of his. That breaks the spell and I grit my teeth.
“So, where would you like to do this? Did you have a particular restaurant in mind? Or down on the beach?” I ask, digging deeply and desperately for the reporter in me, the serious journalist who would never let a playboy celebrity like this ruffle her feathers.
“Down on the beach,” Carmella suggests in her thickly accented voice, bouncing like a gleeful child trying to persuade her Dash daddy to let her go play in the sand.
Blech!
I smile around my clenched teeth until I can say, “Then the beach it is. Let’s head down there. I’ll text our photographer and let him know where we’ll be. He’s supposed to meet us here in about fifteen minutes.”
I take out my phone, ignoring the tremble in my fingers as I text Travers, who was in Cali for another shoot anyway, and let him know where we’re going. I feel the weight of Dash’s dark, discerning eyes as I tuck my phone away and turn to smile up at Jake. “Ready?”
He smiles down at me, steady and unwavering love in his gaze. “Ready.”