Royally Yours

by Amy Brent

  I laughed. “Dad doesn’t exactly have a firm hand, and Blake wouldn’t listen to him anyway. I’ll take care of it. He’ll go away eventually. I need to get back to work, Mom. You guys have fun and I’ll see you when you get back.”

  “Okay, take care and write lots!”

  I hung up the phone, switched it to silent and returned my focus to my laptop screen. I had a lot in my head I wanted to get on the page, but my concentration was shit. I took a few deep breaths, lined my fingers up on the keyboard and prepared to let the words flow.

  The doorbell rang.

  I yelled in frustration. “Dammit!”

  Throwing my chair back, I stalked to the door, yanking it open to see a huge bouquet of mixed roses.

  “Can I help you?” I asked, hopeful the flowers were from a certain someone. I fought down the butterflies suddenly tickling the inside of my belly.

  “Delivery,” the young kid squawked.

  “No shit,” I mumbled, under my breath.

  “Calla Fanning?” he asked, with uncertainty.

  “Yes, that’s me.”

  “Have a nice day,” he said, thrusting the vase in my hands and practically running in the opposite direction.

  “Thank you,” I yelled after him, taking the flowers inside.

  I shut the door and dug around in the flowers, looking for the card. I was anxious to see if they were from Jake. Deep down I knew that was impossible, but a girl could dream. I pulled open the card and almost through the flowers at the door. Blake.

  I stomped back into the office, grabbed my phone and called the man. “Stop!” I shouted when he picked up the phone.

  “You got my flowers?” he asked, trying to talk in a sultry voice.

  “Stop, Blake. It’s never going to happen. We’re over. You had years to do all of this and you didn’t. It’s too late.”

  “It’s never too late,” he retorted. “You know we do this. Stop playing so hard to get.”

  “I’m not, Blake. This is real. We are not meant to be together. We want different things. We are two very different people. It’s time to move on,” I told him, trying to keep my cool.

  “I’m sorry I broke up with you. I didn’t know how much I loved you until you were gone. When I thought I lost you, I realized how important you were in my life,” he whined. “You can’t hold the other stuff against me. We both made mistakes.”

  “Too little, too late. Blake, seriously, this isn’t ever going to happen. We’re not right for each other. You know that. You are only doing this because I’m the one who called it quits. I’m sure it hurts your ego, but that’s too bad. I don’t want to play this game anymore. I’ve got to get back to work. Please, stop calling and don’t you dare show up at my house again,” I warned. “Let it go. Move on. Go call Tina or whatever her name was.”

  “I already apologized for that. She and I are no longer seeing each other,” he said, frustration in his voice.

  I scoffed. “That’s unfortunate, because now you actually are single. This is when you’re supposed to look for another woman, not when you’re involved with one,” I said, laying on the sarcasm.

  “Quit bringing that up. That was months ago,” he shot back.

  “Yes, it was, and it should have been a sign for me then. You weren’t happy. You don’t love me,” I said, not upset by the words at all. It was actually a relief.

  “Calla, we can talk and work this out. I’ll move into that house. We’ll make a real go of it this time.”

  “No.”

  “I got us tickets to that play you wanted to see in New York. We’ll have a nice dinner, see the play and then see the city. I rented a hotel room and everything. We’ll have a lovely weekend.”

  “Goodbye, Blake.”

  I hung up and felt supremely satisfied. I didn’t feel the least bit sad about letting the man go. The woman I was last week would be scrambling to get him back. Falling at his feet because he’d sent flowers. That woman was gone.

  Jake had dared me not to fall for him. I had failed. I lost. Somehow, I had fallen for the Viking lookalike. It didn’t make any sense and I knew we could never be together, but he occupied my mind, body and soul now. There was no room for Blake, or any other man.

  I knew Jake wasn’t really boyfriend material. He had made that very clear. I couldn’t show up at his door and pour out my heart. That would only make me look like a fool, which I knew and had accepted. I had the memories of our time together and that’s what I would hold onto. I’d had an absolutely wicked experience with him and I would cherish every second of it forever.

  Sitting back down at the desk, I prepared to write. I stared at the flashing cursor, willing my fingers to move, but nothing happened. My concentration had been broken with thoughts of Jake and all the elusive what-ifs.

  I stared at the screen a little longer, a million thoughts running through my head. Clearly, I was going to go crazy if I stayed put. I felt the itch to run. I couldn’t fault Jake for his commitment phobia because I had it as well. I couldn’t even commit to living in one place for more than a week or two before I got the itch to move on.

  I felt the itch. I had to go. I grabbed my phone and called Holly.

  “Hey!” she greeted. “I thought you were working?”

  I groaned. “I am. I mean, I’m supposed to be, but I can’t. Does the publisher still want me to do that little press tour?”

  “I can ask. I told them no, though. I thought you didn’t want to do it?” she asked, worry in her voice.

  “I didn’t, but now I think it would be a good idea. I need to stay busy,” I told her.

  “Calla, you are busy. You have a deadline coming up, remember?” she gently prodded.

  I rolled my eyes, even if she couldn’t see me do it. “Yes, I know. I need a little outside stimulation to find my groove.”

  “Okay, I’ll call and see what I can set up. What are you up for?” she asked, knowing me all too well.

  The press tour thing wasn’t something I enjoyed at all. It always made me nervous. My writing allowed me to be somewhat anonymous. When I had to go out and actually meet the people who read my books, I always felt lacking. Like they expected someone like Jackie Collins to be sitting at the table. Instead, they got plain old me.

  “Thanks. Let me know. I’ll pack and can be ready to go tonight or first thing in the morning.”

  She laughed. “Oh, I see what’s happening.”

  “What?” I asked defensively.

  “It’s time to move. I’ll book your favorite hotel and clear off my couch,” she teased.

  I sighed, Holly knew me too well. “Thanks, Hol. I’m going to get back to work now.”

  With a plan in place, I felt better. I had to keep myself busy or I would sit and bellyache over unrequited love. I could pour all those feeling and emotions into my book, instead. I had to throw myself into my work or I was going to find myself on his doorstep, throwing myself at him.

  That was something I couldn’t do—to myself, or to him. I did have some pride. He had made his position very clear and I would respect that. He liked his lonely little life upon the mountain, so I wouldn’t intrude. We had great sex. That was it. Great sex did not make for commitment.

  Occasionally, I wondered if he would mind a little sex now and then. Like maybe we could work out a deal where I would pop over for a weekend once a month. We could have hot sext for days and then go back to our regular lives.

  “Yeah right, Calla,” I groaned, shaking my head.

  It would be lying to myself, and setting myself up for serious heartbreak. I couldn’t just have sex with the man. I wanted more—he didn’t. It was best to leave it alone. The ache I felt would fade. My work would help dull the pain.

  “Work Calla. Come on. You have to work.”

  Pushing all thoughts of Jake out of my head, I focused on my character. Before I knew it, I was writing about Jake. He had just become the star of the story. Of course, his name was now Drake and instead of blonde hai
r, it was brown. I smiled as I wrote, filling in all the character traits with the same ones Jake possessed. He would be immortalized forever in my new book. Hopefully, he never read it and recognized himself.

  I blushed thinking about him reading the words I wrote about him.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Jake

  I was miserable. Completely fucking miserable and I didn’t know how to make it go away. I never thought it would end like this. I had fucked plenty of women, some several times on several different occasions, but never had I been left feeling like this. I missed Calla like an amputee missed a limb. She was a part of me and now that she was gone, I felt lost.

  It sucked, and I couldn’t even call her to tell her how I felt. She hadn’t asked if I’d wanted her number. She never really told me where she lived, either, so I had nothing to go on.

  “Just like all those years ago,” I muttered, staring at the ceiling while lying in bed.

  Though I had gotten pissed at her for not reaching out to tell me about the baby back then, I hadn’t left her with anything to go on. Now I found myself in the same boat. Karma was a real bitch.

  It was ten o’clock in the morning and I was laying in bed. I knew I was acting like silly girl mooning over a lost boyfriend, but my brain just wouldn’t let me move on. No matter how hard I worked outside, she was always there. I went to town with the intent to find a quick fuck, but it didn’t work for me. None of the women at the bar had looked like Calla. When I looked for someone completely opposite of Calla, it did nothing for me. I knew I would only embarrass myself if I even tried to have sex with one of them.

  Closing my eyes, I imagined her and Blake having sex. The thought made me see red. That scrawny puke could never please her like I could. I knew that with every fiber of my being. The thought of him touching her made me want to smash something.

  Throwing off the blankets, I got out of bed. I had to get moving and find something to occupy my thoughts or I would likely go into a murderous rage.

  A knock on the door startled me.

  “Good job,” I growled at Casper, happily curled up on the couch. “What kind of guard dog are you?”

  I walked to the door, pulled it open and was a little surprised to see Gabe. “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  He shrugged and held up a bottle of whiskey. “I wanted a drink, but I didn’t want to drink alone. I figured you could use a little company. Now move out of the way and let me in.”

  I sighed, pulled the door open wider and moved aside.

  Gabe stomped his feet a few times before walking inside and stripping off his gear. “Hold that,” he growled, handing me the bottle of whiskey.

  Heading for the kitchen, I pulled a couple glasses out of the cupboard. Filling them both with the stout whiskey, I handed him one of the glasses.

  “What’s really up?” I asked, knowing the man well enough to know he didn’t pop over for a little day drinking without good reason.

  He sat down at the table and waited for me to join him. “I figured you could use a good, stiff drink. You need to get drunk.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “I do?”

  He nodded his slowly. “Yep. Don’t pretend you don’t.”

  I exhaled a long, drawn out breath. “I do.”

  “Good. Drink up.”

  Looking at the glass, I sipped the stout liquor, feeling the fire run down my throat and land in my empty stomach. Gabe was a wise man. I wasn’t sure how he knew, but he did. I was thankful to have him in my life. He started to talk about the old times in the Army. We shared the good times, ignoring the bad.

  When the bottle got about halfway down, the conversation changed as it was prone to do when the liquor was freely flowing.

  “Did you have foster parents?” he asked.

  “Nope. I lived on the streets, dodging the social service people as best I could—for years.”

  He shook his head. “That’s too bad. I didn’t have the greatest family life, but I did have my mom. At least when she was sober.”

  With a shrug of my shoulders, I went on. “I had heard too many stories about the system, and figured I was better off on my own than getting tossed around for being a tough kid.”

  “My wife and I were going to foster, but that didn’t turn out as planned,” Gabe said, looking into his glass.

  “You were married?”

  He nodded. “Yep. Ten years. She waited for me to get done with the Army. She couldn’t have kids, which was fine by me. We had started the process to become foster parents.”

  When he stopped talking, I looked up to try and gauge what he was feeling. I knew better than to ask a probing question. If he wanted to tell me, he would.

  “I bet that was a tedious process,” I said, for lack of anything better to say.

  He nodded. “It was. We were waiting to hear back when I got the call at work. Shauna had been killed in a head-on collision with a drunk driver. I guess you could say it messed me up a little. I sold everything. Everything—right down to the furniture, and bought my place up here. I couldn’t stand to be around other people and hated everyone for a long time. I trusted no one. No one could ever replace what I had lost and I was sick of everyone telling me how sorry they were.”

  I nodded my head. “That sucks. I won’t say it, but you know I am really sorry it happened. It just doesn’t seem right.”

  Gabe shook his head and downed the remainder of his drink. “It wasn’t right, but I don’t regret the time I had with her. If it wasn’t for Shauna, I’d have been one of those veterans who ended up putting a bullet in my brain. There were some real hard times back then. It wasn’t just the war. It was everything that had built up for decades. It could have really messed me up, but she was my anchor. She got me through it all.”

  “I’m glad you had her,” I said, having a feeling I’d just discovered his real reason for coming over.

  “You need a good woman,” Gabe said, the alcohol making him melancholy.

  “I don’t know that I do. They complicate things,” I replied.

  Gabe scoffed. “They make things interesting. They keep you on your toes. A man needs that sometimes. It’s too easy to become a hermit, shutting yourself away from the world.”

  “Isn’t that why we both moved here? We both wanted to get away from it all?”

  He smiled, “Back then, sure. But you can’t tell me you don’t miss her.”

  I shrugged a shoulder. “I’ll get over it.”

  He shook his head. “Why though? Why do you have to get over it? Why can’t you let her make you happy?”

  “I’m not the man for her. She deserves more than I can give,” I replied, honestly.

  “You don’t know that. Women have a way of proving us wrong. They change us. They reach into our souls and pull out the men we really are. They make us better—if we let them,” he lectured.

  I grinned. “Have another drink, old man. You’re getting sappy on me.”

  Gabe chuckled. “You’re scared. I get it. Admit you’re a big pussy and I won’t mention it again.”

  “I’m not afraid. What am I afraid of?”

  “Love. Getting hurt. Being abandoned.”

  “Holy fuck, Gabe. You sound like a damn shrink now,” I growled, filling his glass and mine with the remainder of the bottle.

  He put his glass down and looked me straight in the eyes. “Don’t throw away your chance at happiness, Jake. This girl got to you. I can see that. You never know if you’re ready to settle down unless you try. What’s the worst that can happen? You guys figure out it isn’t working and you go your separate ways. You’ve got nothing to lose.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think I can do that, Gabe. I don’t want to do all that messy relationship stuff. I’m not the kind of guy who knows what to say or how to care for another person. It isn’t in my DNA.”

  “Bullshit. DNA doesn’t have shit to do with it. You do it and figure it out as you go.”

  “Can we talk about s
omething else? You’re depressing me,” I moaned.

  He started laughing. “I’m about drunk, anyway. I need to be carting my ass home before I can’t walk. I don’t want you to have to come looking for me.”

  “Want to sit here for a while and let it fade?”

  “Hell no. I got a good buzz going. I want to go home, kick back and relax, then pass out in my chair like a real drunk.”

  I had to laugh because I was the same way. I liked to pass out in my own place, too. Waking up after drinking in a strange place was never fun.

  “All right, let me get you some coffee, at least.”

  “No way! Didn’t you hear me? I don’t want to get sober after I worked so hard to get drunk,” he grumbled.

  “Fine. Keep your radio on and let me know when you make it home,” I ordered.

  The man stood, swayed a little before righting himself and managed to get dressed. “Damn, that was some good whiskey,” he said, with a droopy grin.

  I was feeling the effects myself and had to hold on to the wall to keep from swaying. “Yeah, it was. Thanks for coming over and getting me drunk in the middle of the day.”

  “No problem. Think about what I said, Jake. Don’t end up like me, all old and alone.”

  “Gabe, you’re not that old, and there are plenty of women in town who would love to be with you.”

  “I know, but they’re all old,” he scowled.

  I threw my head back and laughed. “You’re not rich enough to land one of the young ones, man. Take what you can get.”

  “I’m just fine the way I am. Take care.”

  “Don’t forget to let me know you made it,” I reminded him as he walked out the door.

  “Ya, ya,” he mumbled, walking down the steps.

  I looked at the clock, noting the time. I wrote it down and put it in the center of the table, just in case I forgot. I knew Gabe was made of tough stuff, but I didn’t want him falling down drunk in a snow bank and freezing to death.

  Making my way to the couch, I sank into the cushion. Gabe’s lecture kept running through my head. I felt bad for the guy. I hadn’t known he’d been married. I never wanted to feel that kind of pain, and I knew I closed myself off for protection. I didn’t need a shrink to tell me that.