Quest (The Boys of RDA Book 4)

by MEGAN MATTHEWS

  “Do you care at all?” I try one last time. Fingers crossed he’ll tell me it was a horrible joke or a colossal misunderstanding.

  That he knows better. The Grant Moore who played basketball for four hours in my gym would never do something so disastrous to the families I’ve pledged to support.

  The reassurance never comes.

  His eyes narrow in question and he studies me. Like he can’t figure out what the problem is. My heart cracks and I stare into his blue eyes imploring him to do the right thing.

  “Of course.” I suck in a breath at his words. “I don’t want to make your job harder.”

  “The kids, Grant!”

  With my heart crushed — it couldn’t be worse if he tore it from my chest and threw it on the sidewalk — I give up hope. Grant and I are from different sides of the track. Different worlds. Two completely different existences that so happen to take up space on the same little city on the bay.

  “These are people. How will they feed their children?”

  The rain picks up, becoming more than the occasional San Francisco afternoon shower. As the cold droplets hit my head and run down my face, I don’t move to wipe them away. They hide the tears tracking beside them.

  Grant reaches out once again and waves me under the awning he’s taken refuge under. But I shake my head refusing the offer. When his fingertips graze my shoulder, I bat his hands away and take another step back.

  “Why? Why would you do it? Did one of your friends want a new yacht?” I’m yelling again… or still. I’m not sure if I ever stopped.

  Through his actions Grant became the exact person he promised he wasn’t. I can’t process the changes happening to my world. Here, on the sidewalk in front of a Mexican restaurant on the east side, I lose hope for Grant and me.

  “People get new jobs, Clare.”

  “Where?” I scream the words, thankful no one else is on the sidewalk in this rain. “With five, ten, fifteen years’ seniority? Benefits? You’re blind to the world around you.”

  “You’re the one having trouble seeing how life works.”

  “You’re right.” I take another step back, my head shaking in disbelief even with the evidence in front of me. “You definitely had me fooled.”

  He blinks twice and shakes his head in slow motion. It’s like I see the wheels of his brain turning when he figures out exactly what I’m here to do. “What are you saying?”

  “It’s over.” Raindrops hit the pavement louder, each one sounding like small doors slamming closed on our relationship.

  The door to my possible future with Grant. Slam.

  The door to Travis’ college education. Slam.

  The opportunities for this generation and next in Hunter’s Point. Slam.

  “Don’t do this, Clare.” Grant’s face pinches together. His lips squeeze tight, forming a straight line as his head continues to shake back and forth.

  “It’s already done.” My body doesn’t want to force the oxygen from my lungs, but I say the words breathlessly. “I can’t do this.”

  Grant takes a step toward me as I step back. Our own choreographed dance of death. “Don’t leave me. Not like this.”

  No longer covered by the awning, rain collects on his ever perfect hair as it beats against his head. His black suit jacket darkens with the wet stain. The words circle around in the air between us and Grant’s face pales.

  Anger and sadness swirl around in my stomach. At war with what I have to do and what I want to do. “This is who I am Grant. If I don’t protect them, who will? Why didn’t you see that?”

  How could he not have anticipated this outcome? The actions he makes in a board room have consequences for me and others in the city after he heads home for the day.

  “I’ll fix this. Let me fix it.” With both hands held out he takes two more steps toward me.

  My red, tear-filled eyes meet his — also wet with more than simply rain. I step back, but don’t have the strength to force another. I refuse to break down totally. I’ve already tried harder for Grant in the last two weeks than I have in a lifetime of relationships. If I want to continue breathing tomorrow, I can’t give him another tear today.

  “This is never going to work. This is who I am.” I pull on my rain soaked sweatshirt.

  “Clare…”

  With a deep breath I deliver the final blow. “I would never be with someone like you.”

  I use all the air in my lungs to rush the sentence out, which leaves me gasping for my next breath.

  Holy shit. I’m breaking up with Grant.

  And he’s letting me.

  He steps forward again, “I love you.”

  “Don’t be crazy.”

  “This is me being very not crazy.”

  In my moment of confusion, he latches on to my hands squeezing tightly, but I shake them away. “You just met me.”

  “I’ve known since the first night I saw you. I’ve been waiting for you to catch up.”

  “Stop!” My heart races and I brace myself with my palms on my knees. I close my eyes as the rain beats on my back.

  “No. Not until you open your eyes and see.”

  I sniffle, the first sign I’m losing my grip. “I see you,” I say standing again. “That’s the problem. I see a man who laid off over one hundred hard-working people to raise his stock a few pennies.”

  Grant’s soaked jacket weighs down on his shoulder. His hair falls across his forehead almost in his eyes. The rain continues dripping down his face, but he doesn’t wipe it away.

  “Did you think of me?” It’s too late, but I want him to grab me and kiss me and promise me when I wake up tomorrow we can be together.

  “You’re always on my mind. You always come first.”

  “Don’t lie. You didn’t think of me at all.”

  “The choices I’m making now will build a future for us.”

  My forehead pinches together creating those wrinkles I hate. “You think I want a future built on the back of someone else? Someone’s pain and misery? You don’t know me.” My hand covers the left side of my chest where a heart used to be. “Not here. Where it counts.”

  Grant’s mouth falls open, but he’s silent.

  “It’s over.”

  He wobbles toward me, his legs shaky. “No. Please no,” he begs.

  Lost in my own sorrow, Grant catches up and wraps his arms around my middle, but they’re cold from the rain and not filled with the lifesaving heat I seek. “Let me fix this.”

  I push him away, angry he isn’t the man I need or want and sad I’ll never become the girl he’s looking for. “There is no fix. It’s too late.”

  “But I need you, Clare.”

  I take another slow breath worried about how many more I have before I give in and regret it. I need Grant too, but I can’t have him. If I sell my soul tonight, I’ll never be able to buy it back.

  Some of us are not meant to have the perfect happily ever after. Some of us must learn to love those small flicker of moments when you’re happy. Those are all we get so we must make do.

  “It’s over, Grant.”

  He grabs at me and I rip my arm away. “What can I do?”

  I’ve backed up enough I rest against the cab door. With my arm extended behind me I hold the door handle ready to make a quick escape. “Go back to your life. Meet a nice girl. Be happy.”

  “There is no happy for me without you.” A tear, or a raindrop moves over the curve of his cheek and down the side of his face. Grant reaches out and wipes it away. It’s my time to go.

  He reaches for me one last time, but I move to the side and open the cab door. “I’m sorry. I’m not the girl for you.”

  I slide into the seat of the cab, my clothing sticking against the fake leather. My stringy red hair clings to my cheeks and forehead. I brush it away and turn around in my seat to look out the back window.

  Grant stands beside the sidewalk, his hand outstretched as if he could reach me. We leave the parking lot and he
falls to his knees in the rain. A clap of thunder shakes the cab and Grant braces himself on the cold wet sidewalk with two flat palms. The rain falls around him and sooner than I’m ready, my view is obliterated by the distance as the cab carries me off to the safety of my home.

  With my arms wrapped against the chill, I lower my head so the cabbie doesn’t see me cry, although there’s no way to stop the silent sobs that escape.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “Clare, you have a visitor,” Drew yells from downstairs.

  I sigh and snuggle back under the covers. Over the last two days I’ve found myself in bed any moment I wasn’t at the center trying to calm the fears of everyone there. My idea of hiding under the covers seemed the reasonable choice for dealing with my own insecurities and sadness. Saturday morning is my time to lie in bed and wallow. Everyone should get a good wallow period after a breakup, right? I haven’t had a chance to really wallow.

  Footsteps pound on the stairs, the walls shaking. I hold my breath and wait to find out if it’s one RDA girl who showed up or if they came with the whole crew. I didn’t make the breakup public knowledge, but I’m sure it’s made the rounds by now. They have alarm devices implanted on them that light up whenever anyone’s in trouble. Although, if I’m honest, having girlfriends right now isn’t so bad. There’s a chance they brought ice cream. Please let them have ice cream.

  And liquor.

  Drew’s head clears my doorway, but he stops before entering my room. Which is suspicious. “You need to go downstairs and talk to him.”

  I sit up in bed. “You did not?” My best friend in the entire world is not stupid enough to let Grant Moore III in our house.

  “What was I supposed to do, Clare? He’s taken up station on our front porch.”

  He did. I can’t believe he did. “I have nothing else to say to him.”

  “Well then let him talk,” Drew says and then his head disappears. His door shuts across the hall a few seconds later.

  There’s nothing more either of us should have to say to one another. Grant had his chance to explain Thursday. I’ve watched what happens to a woman when she loses herself for a man and I’m determined to never let it happen to me.

  I throw back the covers and slide my sock-covered feet out of bed. I’ve been unable to get warm since Thursday night. The rain seeped into my skin reducing my core temperature. I tug on my red flannel pajama pants pulling them up so I look a bit put together. The Giants t-shirt I stole from Grant after the baseball game is another matter. I’m unwilling to let him see me wearing it so I hurry to throw on a clean sweatshirt. The San Francisco Youth Center’s logo is prominently displayed on the left side as another reminder to Grant of his actions. I have to live with them every day. So should he.

  My feet are slow going down the steps. Grant stands in the entryway and I stop before I make it to him. There are dark circles under his eyes and he hasn’t put gel in his hair this morning. The strands cling to the side more from his fingers than the style. He’s wearing his normal Grant gear — a pair of jeans and a dark blue polo shirt — but the shirt is at least two sizes too big. Frankly he looks like hell. Which is hard for Grant.

  It’s nice to know he’s as affected by our breakup as I am. As soon as the words crawl into my brain space, I mentally slap myself. I’m not ready to hit the angry phase of this breakup. I’m still in the middle of sadness. I haven’t had the wallow yet.

  “Clare,” he says my name and takes a step forward, but I raise a hand out to block the path.

  I’m not strong enough for Grant to touch me. If I allow that, we’ll end up in a hug, and then I’ll cry and get snot all over his shirt. It will be horrible and in the end it won’t change anything.

  He lowers his hands and turns back to the open front door. On the porch sit two large brown boxes stacked on top of one another. In front of them a large vase of lilies. The clear crystal vase is like the one I threw away last night when I came down for dinner. I don’t need any more reminders of Grant in my house.

  “I brought gifts.”

  I huff at whatever he’s collected out there. “I don’t want gifts.”

  “I need to say I’m sorry.”

  The empty cavity in my chest where I used to store a heart hurts. Physical pain travels through my body. The pain has to stop. I’ll do anything to make it stop and get back to my pre-Grant life. “And what gifts did you bring to say you’re sorry?”

  Grant smiles, probably because he thinks I’m going to love his apology. More proof he doesn’t get me at all. He walks to the front door and steps over the threshold stopping on the other side of the porch.

  My steps follow him, but not completely out. A hand lands on the door handle and I meet his eyes for a second before I say, “I’m sorry.” The door shuts, my hand refusing to let go right away.

  He knocks on the wood. “Clare, don’t be this way.”

  Slower, because I’m a little more dead inside, I latch the deadbolt and turn, walk up the stairs, and crawl into bed. The blankets cover my face and block out the light. I prefer to live in darkness for the time being.

  “That was shitty.” Drew rips the covers off my body and deposits them at my feet.

  I grab at the pile and try to pull them up but he sits on the end of my bed. “It’s funny how you want to tell me what’s shitty. How about the person I thought was my best friend who let him in to begin with?”

  “So this is how you plan to go on for the rest your life? You run away whenever there’s a problem.”

  “It’s worked for me so far.” I make one last ditch attempt to reach the covers and tug as hard as possible, but Drew doesn’t budge. I sit up, agitated that not only am I cold again, but my best friend is a moron.

  He shakes his head in disbelief. “You’re supposed to be the smart one.”

  “You’re supposed to be the supportive one,” I lob my insult back.

  Drew stands up from the bed and takes the covers with him. “I’ve supported you through a lot of crap, Clare. But this decision is by far the dumbest one you’ve ever made.”

  “Excuse me? How is standing up for my morals dumb?”

  “You’re dumping Grant because you guys got serious, and you got scared.”

  My mouth drops open. “I am not. I broke up with Grant because he bought Del Fray to use their technology and then closed the plant. He’s laid off employees without a single drop of concern.”

  Drew’s expression now matches my own. “He did what?”

  The few moments of adrenaline from our fight drain away leaving me more exhausted. “I really don’t want to talk about it, Drew, but I couldn’t stay with Grant and go to work on Monday morning.”

  “He didn’t tell me that part of the story. Just you were upset and broke up with him without letting him fix the problem. Are you sure he bought the factory?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure,” I breathe out the words and lie back. “I need my best friend right now. I need you to be on my side not on his.”

  Drew pushes me to the side of the bed and crawls in pulling the covers up around us. “I am and forever will be on your side, Clare. Grant is now dead to any of us who live in this house.” He squeezes me in a hug sure to do damage to my ribs from the tightness.

  “We don’t need to go so far. Just don’t open the door for him anymore, please.”

  “Done. And to make up for my mistake, I’ll cook you bacon for lunch. Put it on a sandwich.”

  The chime from the front doorbell punctuates the end of his words. “If you let him in the house again we will have problems,” I say to Drew as he eyes my open door with distrust.

  He pats my bedspread, missing my leg by a few inches. “Don’t worry I think it’s someone better.” He pauses for a moment. “Or worse. It depends on how you look at it.”

  “I don’t know what that means but I’m worried.” I throw the covers off and follow him down the stairs my stomach tight with question.

  He laughs. “It’s not what you t
hink. I scheduled a tour for our potential new roommate today.”

  “If you’re lying and it’s Grant I’m moving out.”

  Drew stops at the bottom of the steps waiting for me to catch up to him. “I promise I won’t open the door for Grant while you’re here. Come meet our new roommate. He’ll be invading our kitchen and bathroom soon.”

  Drew is way too happy about getting a new roommate. If he hadn’t already said it was a he I’d expect a platinum bottle blonde on the other side of the door.

  “Where did you find this one?” I should probably change out of the flannel pajamas and sweatshirt, but it’s Saturday morning and if this guy is going to live here, it’s a sight he should get used to seeing.

  Drew stops for a second in the entryway. “Craigslist. Where else?”

  Craigslist. Of course. I roll my eyes but have a big and bright smile on my face by the time he opens the door.

  It doesn’t last long. I blink to make sure the man doesn’t disappear. Someone is playing a practical joke on us. There’s no other reason for the white guy television version of Urkel to be on our front porch.

  His light-colored jeans are held up by a pair of rainbow suspenders you’d only find in a bad nineties TV show. My eyes stop abruptly on the white piece of cardboard sticking out from his white dress shirt pocket. The man is wearing a pocket protector. I didn’t think those were a real product. Where do you buy a pocket protector? My smile fades as I contemplate the company who is selling these to people. Haven’t they ever heard of a pen cap?

  “Jesse, come right in. Did you have trouble finding the place?” Drew is first to recover from his shock.

  Jesse uses an index finger to push his glasses further up his nose. “You weren’t lying when you said the big blue Victorian would be hard to miss.” The words sound snotty.

  This house is a piece of architectural greatness. He better hope he didn’t snub it. Drew pats me on the shoulder, aware I’m seconds away from kicking our potential new roommate out. This place is my baby, and it costs as much as one to live here, too.