by C. J. Wells
Wrapping an arm around my waist I cup my chin in my palm, my eyes pleading with her to understand what I don’t even understand myself.
Her glare doesn’t reflect what I’m looking for. “Do you realize that he must have jumped on the first flight out of London last night after I spoke with him, Aby? Jumped. On. The first flight! Can you believe that?” She’s no longer looking directly at me, her agitated gaze roaming the air around us as though she’s speaking to an imaginary jury ready to convict me with the manslaughter of Alex’s heart. “And, she let him walk out the damn door? Un-fucking-believable,” she shakes her head, capturing me in the manic madness behind her eyes. “Well? What the fuck, Aby?”
“Stop yelling at me!” I finally scream, lashing out at her prosecution, desperate to feel anything other than this pain. “You do realize that you could have helped the situation, don’t you?” I ignore the bitchy shock she displays. “A heads up about your little chat with Alex would have been great.”
“Seriously?” Her stare blasts my desperate attempt to pull her down with me into my pathetic pit of despair.
I’m a mess. Alex is a mess. And now, I’m trying to add Stacey to the mix. What the hell is wrong with me? I bury my face in my hands.
“Okay, let’s try going back to the beginning, why did you leave London?” she questions in frustration, forcing a calming breath at my wince of her continued harsh tone.
I don’t even know the answer anymore. “I already told you,” I whisper, swallowing back looming tears. I feel like a criminal holed up in the interrogation room, emotionally exhausted and breaking.
“Tell me again. Was it Ben? Julia? The paparazzi? Or, what the bitch told you about how it would affect Liam? Why, Aby?”
“Yes…all of it, I guess…”
“You guess? That’s bullshit. You ran because you’re scared!”
“Yes! Yes, I’m scared shitless! Is that what you need to hear? That I’m weak, and pathetic? That I finally had the courage to chase after the life I’ve always imagined, only to turn around and run away from it? Run away from the one man that fills me with so much love and desire…” my words fall away, stolen by the swell of emotion threatening to drown me.
“You’re in love with him,” Stacey’s tone is softened, her gaze alight with sudden understanding, mixed with a glimmer of acclamation for finally breaking through to me.
I close my eyes, the lashes freeing the build of tears to roll down my cheek. “I’m madly in love with him,” I correct her on a whisper.
“And that scares you?”
“Yes,” I sniff, wiping my cheeks, looking into her eyes. “But he scares me more.”
Pained confusion sweeps across her face, “I don’t understand, Aby.”
“It’s so much more than who Alex is, and what comes with that,” I shake my head, my vision blurring as the tidal wave of emotion washes over me. “The way I feel with him, it…consumes me. He consumes me. Everything he is, everything he does, it’s as though I’ve conjured him to life from fantasy.” My teary gaze finds hers, the loving concern I see there giving me the strength to admit my biggest fear, “I’m so afraid of waking up from the fantasy. I don’t think I’m strong enough to survive waking up to find out it isn’t real.”
“Aby,” she exhales my name on a breath of compassion, wrapping me in her arms. “Oh, sweet pea, it’s not about fantasies and perfect plans.”
Oh, God, I cling to her, sobbing into her shoulder. Why did I let him walk out the door? “I’m such a fool,” I whisper as she pulls back to look at me.
“You spent twelve years denying your feelings, don’t let fear force you to deny them altogether now.”
My eyes bulge at the instant reminder of Andrew’s similar words that day at the café. The memory of my slight defensive snap-reaction to his advice merely adds to my pile-high shit-storm of mistakes and remorse.
“What is it?” Stacey cocks her head in question.
“It’s just that Andrew once said something very similar…” I trail off, reliving the conversation in my mind.
“Did he?” she purses her lips, seemingly impressed, nodding her head. “Smart fella,” she adds with a shrug.
“He was wrong about one thing though.”
“Yeah? What’s that,” she questions, pulling her leg up to lean on it.
“I’m not wearing rose-colored glasses. But I kinda wish I was,” I pout through a lingering cry-fest hiccup.
“No you don’t, buttercup. All they would have done is delay the inevitable. The fear would have surfaced at some point, in some form of doubt along the way. Mind you, you might have been less of an impulsively neurotic spaz about it,” she winks.
The glimmer of a grin sneaks a quirk of my lips before fading quickly into fool’s shame. “He called me a coward.” I have to turn away from the flash of sympathetic pity that floats across Stacey’s face. “And now I’ve lost him. Pushed him away because I am a coward.”
“If you stay here and do nothing about it, then yes, I’ll agree with both of you,” she smiles, her eyes widening sarcastically, reaching to wipe a lingering tear. “And what makes you so sure you’ve lost him? I mean, other than crushing his heart twice…but I digress. What?” she flinches at my evil eye. “My point is, if you’ll let me finish, he left an invitation for you to talk to him. He's not looking for perfect, pumpkin, he’s looking for honest. So?”
“So, what?”
“So, why are you still sitting here with me?”
“I-I don’t know…” I sit up in awe, my hands darting to my head, my fingers brushing through my hair as I realize the simplicity of her question in stark contrast to my ludicrous response. “I have to go…” I jump up, frantically tidying myself as though I have a coherent thought as to my next step. I need to do something! I need to fight for him. So why do I feel like a fish out of water with no clue how to get myself back into the bowl, when I’m the dumbass that jumped out?
“Take my car…and your phone,” she grabs it, ushering me to the door. “For gawd’s sake, call your equally neurotic mother on the way. I’d hate to think what she’ll do if she doesn’t hear from you soon. Go get him, girl!”
ONE HUNDRED YARDS. The short distance stretches out before me, yet I’m frozen in place, staring at the Ritz Carlton from Stacey’s parked car. I feel sick, replaying different scenarios with Alex over and over in my head. What should I say? What will he say? Oh God. My future - a future for which I seemingly could have ruined indefinitely due to my stupidity - is waiting just across the street. And what am I doing? Sweating. Sitting. Staring. And sweating.
Brushing the back of my sweater sleeve across my forehead, I jump at the shrill ring of my cell phone to see my mother’s caller ID flashing across the screen once more. Dammit. I need to answer, if only to ensure that she doesn’t call incessantly while I’m trying my damnedest to beg Alex’s forgiveness. I should have just called her as Stacey suggested. But my head isn’t exactly on straight. Not to mention, my mother may just twist it a little more.
“Hi, Mom,” I reluctantly answer, stretching my neck in preparation.
“Abigail Ryan! For the love of all that’s holy, why are you avoiding my calls? And why didn’t you tell me you were home? Your father is having a fit! This isn’t right, Aby. We’ve been worried sick!” she yells, making me cringe.
“I know…I’m sorry, Mom. Something came up and I had to come home quickly. I meant to call, but…” I stop mid-sentence, unsure how to phrase it. I can’t very well admit that I’ve been in such a distraught place that the mere thought of seeing my family made me physically ill. No, that wouldn’t be good at all.
“Aby, I just don’t understand you. I had to find out from Liam. Liam! My ex-son-in-law had to tell me that my own daughter was home!”
“What? Liam told you?” I question, bewildered and suddenly sidetracked from my obvious scolding.
“Yes, sweetie. I do speak with Liam from time to time. He called to say goodbye, given he’s le
aving for his trip. Funny how he calls and not my own daughter. Imagine my surprise when he expressed that he’d just said goodbye to you! In person!”
Hold up…My mom talks to Liam? WTF? Do I tell her that I find it completely inappropriate that she still speaks to him? Remind her that he’s no longer an intricate part of my life? Sure, he’s my friend, but my mom still acts as though he’s a part of the family. Once again, I feel the sinking sensation of ‘failure’ running through my head - my mother’s constant meanderings that I’d ruined a perfectly good marriage, and her inability to acknowledge my choices, without judgment. Why the hell can’t she just accept that I’m a grown woman, capable of making my own decisions, for me! Ugh!
“Mom, I get that you think I messed up, that I should still be with Liam, but I’m not. And no matter what you think, that’s a good thing. I need you to support my decision, and…stop talking to Liam!” my voice raises slightly.
“Aby, I do support your decision. Not initially, but I do now. I don’t understand it, but that’s not for me to say. I’m just worried about you, honey. You don’t seem yourself.”
I was myself, finally. At least I was beginning to be - my thoughts instantly return to Alex, my gaze darting fleetingly to the hotel, perusing each window as though in question of which room he’s occupying right at this moment. “I know exactly who I am, Mom,” I finally reply, knowing this is my moment to fight. To fight for Alex, and the person I spent so many years denying - me. “I’m a girl who decided to go for it.” And that’s exactly what I plan to do. “I’ll come see you tomorrow,” I add, not giving her a chance to reply. “I need to take care of something important.”
“O-okay…”
“You’ll see me tomorrow, I promise,” I reassure her quickly.
“I love you, Aby…”
“I love you too, Mom,” I end the call with a sigh of guilt. But I will make it up to her. Right now, I have to make it up to Alex. Taking another enormous breath, I smile at my reflection in the rearview mirror, fully prepared to win back the man that I love.
YOU CAN DO this, Aby. Everything you want - no, NEED - is waiting for you behind this door.
Dammit this is tough. I’m standing here like a fool, staring at the door of Alex’s hotel room, nerves twisted and knotted once more. Does he even want to see me? Yes, he does. He left the window open himself. But, will he like what I have to say? I have to tell him the real reason I left. Admit that I fucked up. My God, if it wasn’t for Stacey, I wouldn’t even be standing here right now ready to fight for the man I love, fully understanding that I left him for all the wrong reasons, ashamed that I allowed the lines of my fantasy dream-come-true to blur against the reality of… reality itself.
My typical self-doubt always seems to take over at moments like this. With Alex laying his heart on the line for me earlier, I should feel confident that he’d open his arms to me now. But knowing and actually believing are two very different things.
Gripping my sweaty forehead in angst, I begin a defeated pace of the hallway. I simply need a few more minutes to wrap my head around what I’m going to say. Delay the inevitable groveling Alex so surely deserves. I’m certainly not opposed to begging. God knows I deserve it. I’ve made so many mistakes.
“God, I’m an idiot”, I mutter to myself, absently walking back and forth, shaking my head at my stupidity. Okay, enough pussyfoot dilly-dallying…
Marching to his door, I knock twice, my nervous breaths slightly accelerated. I purse my lips at the lack of response, waiting a few minutes before knocking again, a little harder this time. With each passing second going unanswered, my heart rate rockets, my initial doubt taking root. Oh, God…he’s gone. I’ve lost him. My chest constricts, my breaths coming in anguished pants, hyperventilation setting in with each frantic knock of my knuckles against the door.
“Alex? Are you in there?” I plead, to no avail.
My world starts to spin, crumble, and panic sets in. Swallowing a sob in forfeit, I begrudgingly turn to leave, tears welling in my eyes. I’m shattered, torn apart at the seams.
Grabbing my cell, I frantically dial Stacey’s number, needing guidance as to what I should do. Do I rush to the airport? Do I follow him to London?
“Aby?” she answers on the first ring.
“Stacey, he’s not here. I don’t know what to do...” I manage, my tone defeated as the threatening tears spill down my cheeks, blurring my vision.
“What? What do you mean he’s not there?”
“He’s g-gone,” my voice cracks at the lashing reality of it.
“Babe, calm down. What do you mean he’s gone?”
“I me-e-an he’s really gone. Literally! There’s no answer at his room,” I reach the bank of elevators, looking back down the empty hallway in regret.
“Honey, maybe he’s just gone out,” she tries to plead rationally, but my head full of frantic thoughts isn’t registering.
“No, Stace. He’s gone. I’m too late!”
“Aby! Calm the fuck down and breathe! I need you to be strong right now! You will get him back. Listen to me…come back to my place, we’ll figure out a plan. You’ll just have to talk to him in London, babe. Don’t worry. Come home, we’ll figure this out together.”
Her lucidity calms me marginally, my breathing evening out as I push the elevator button. She’s right. I’ll just follow him to London. I’ll do whatever necessary to win him back. “Okay, I’m coming home. But I’m afraid, Stace. What if I’ve lost him?”
“Impossible, sugar plum. Everything will work out, I promise.”
“I’m just such a fucking idiot. Why did I run?” I mutter, a renewed well of tears threatening.
“I know, sweetie. We all make mistakes. It’s how you deal with them that matter. And, you will fix this.”
A ding signals the elevator’s arrival, and I absently swipe at my cheeks, wiping away the residual tears in hopes of exiting without looking like a blubbering idiot. The doors slide open, and I’m stopped dead in my tracks.
Alex.
ALEX STANDS ALONE, unmoving in the elevator cab, staring blankly at me. He looks amazing, as always. And even more so with his muscles bulging, overemphasized beneath the damp, clinging black workout shirt he’s wearing. Clearly, he’s just returned from the gym. He’s sweaty, and breathless - though the latter is very plausibly at the hands of my sudden appearance. And judging by the pulse of his clenching jaw, it’s also possibly not a pleasant revelation. Regardless, I can’t help but devour him with my gaze, my eyes dropping to the loose fitting gym pants hanging sexily from his lean hips, before working their way back up. His brown curls slightly damp and in disarray, hang partially over his forehead, framing his incredible blue eyes - eyes fixated on me.
My mouth is watering at the image and all I can manage to do is gawk at him, my cell phone held to my ear, Stacey’s repeated calls for my attention a muffled distraction.
“Aby? Can you hear me? Are you still there?” she repeats, finally jarring me from my stupor.
“I’ll call you back,” I mumble, disengaging the call, unable to tear my gaze from Alex moving to stand before me.
“What are you doing here?” his tone is flat, though I sense a hint of light in his eyes - my hopeful imagination perhaps?
“I came to see you,” I manage, my voice broken and raspy.
He searches my eyes for a moment before turning, without a word, to walk down the hallway, leaving me standing in place. The cold gesture tears me apart.
Closing my eyes on a deep intake of breath, I wipe my cheeks in hopes of erasing any signs of my meltdown, following dutifully behind him, stopping to stand by his side as we reach his room. “Can I come in?” I ask as he inserts the key card, his lack of acknowledgement or words confirming my fears - This isn’t going to be easy.
His expression is completely unreadable. Although it doesn’t help that he avoids my gaze before opening the door, forfeiting his typical gentlemanly gesture to hold it open as he makes his way
into the living area of the suite, tossing his gym bag to the floor.
With another breath of composure, I adjust my shirt at the waist and steel myself for the inevitable conversation ahead, following him in. This is it. Time to start begging…if that’s what it takes.
The twinkling lights and flashing billboards of the Toronto city-skyline frame his stunning form as he stands staring out at the night sky. My breath hitches at the sight of him; the beautifully decorated suite and incredible view from the large window paling in comparison to this beautiful man. The man I ran away from. The man I love.
“Well, you’re here,” he begins without turning, his tone almost void of emotion. “Perhaps now would be a good time to elaborate on the purpose of your visit,” he adds, his arms folded as he turns to face me.
“I’m here because…I love you,” I barely manage the words, swallowing the lump in my throat, fighting my lingering tears.
Flinching at my statement, awed emotion flashes across his face as he bites the corner of his mouth, his eyes gleaming slightly at the return of his clenching jaw. “You love me?” he spits the sentiment back in my face, his mouth parted through angered breaths.
“Yes,” I whisper, taken aback by his vehemence; a fresh stabbing ache in my chest making it suddenly harder to breathe.
The smirk of disgust he flashes sends a shudder down my spine. “Love doesn’t mean anything without trust. Not to me,” the latter comes out on a slight snarl before he turns away once more. “Words are cheap, and yet the cost of believing yours seems rather high,” he adds, staring out the window.
“Alex, I’m sorry I hurt you. And I’m so sorry that I’ve made you doubt me…”
“Doubt you?” he spins around. “Lying tends to have that affect, sweetheart,” his harsh use of the word renews a shiver, a deliciously cold, yet delicious, current flooding through my trembling fear.