by Cindi Madsen
I swallowed past the lump in my throat and pulled back. “I don’t know. I…” The logical side of me said it was important for him to be in his son’s life. That he could be a good dad if he tried. But there was still jealousy and anger and suspicion about his ex. I didn’t know where any of it left me, or if it was anything I could simply be okay with, especially when he’d chosen to tell me now instead of when so much pain could’ve been avoided.
Holding back tears was now taking an epic amount of control. They lodged in my eyes, burning with the need to be let out, but I dug my nails into my palms, refocusing the pain there. “I need some time to process. And I need to pack up my things.” I made the mistake of looking at him again. Vulnerability swam in his eyes, and I could see the stress hanging on him. Maybe he’d been hurting as badly as I’d been these past few weeks, but was that for me? Or because of his current situation? “Could you go? While I pack up my stuff? I just can’t…I can’t do this right now.”
He exhaled and hung his head. “Sure. The place is yours for tonight. I’ll stay at my parents’ so you can take your time. But just pack up what you need, and leave the rest here so you don’t have to deal with putting everything into storage. At least let me do that much.”
I bit my lip, trying to distract myself from the barrage of emotions swirling through me. “Fine.”
“We’ll talk later, though?”
I reluctantly nodded.
“I know I screwed up, but it’s not because I don’t love you,” he said, and the thickness in his voice made it hard to keep from crumpling to the floor and giving in to the grief tearing at my insides. He dropped a kiss on my cheek and brushed past me, leaving me in the house alone.
Tears broke free and slipped down my face. I didn’t bother holding them back anymore or even wiping them away. As soon as my body stopped trembling, I packed a couple boxes of clothes and other items I’d need over the next few weeks. With Grant gone, I was tempted to sleep over in the comfortable bed instead of spending another night on Jillian’s couch. But looking at it was enough for me to start thinking of all the nights I’d spent cuddled up next to Grant, and that was a slippery slope with more heartache written all over it. So I texted to let him know I wouldn’t be staying overnight and asking him to come back and take care of Cupid.
I hated saying good-bye to my furball, and I made sure to spoil him with extra treats so he’d remember whom he loved more. By the time I was driving away, the only thing that was clear was that I was more confused than ever.
Chapter Four
The circuit training class was step one of my get-in-shape plan, but after hauling a couple of loads from Grant’s yesterday, and an especially restless night on Jillian’s couch, my muscles ached. I dragged myself up to Jillian’s third-floor apartment—I wanted to catch the elevator, but one of my goals was taking the stairs instead. Stupid goals that I couldn’t not follow through with. When I got inside, I rubbed at the knot forming in my back. What was that all about?
That class was supposed to make me feel strong and empowered, not weak. And definitely not old.
At least the form on my hook is still solid, even if my swing’s a little weaker than it used to be. As I’d thrown it during the kickboxing circuit, I’d thought of Brendan mentioning it, and the way he’d rubbed his jaw afterward. When I was younger, I had a huge competitive streak, and I’d loved that Brendan didn’t just let me win because I was a girl, almost as much as I hated losing because I was smaller. Once in a while I’d surprised him, though, like that day he’d first learned what messing with me could earn him.
Admittedly, the competitive streak was still there, but now it was channeled into meeting goals and pulling off perfect events despite what life threw at me. Of course, being able to move was also important to my job, and with how stiff I was getting already, that might be a problem. Luckily my appointments today were all in the afternoon, so I decided a soak in the apartment hot tub might work some magic on my cramping limbs and help me feel ready for the day. Especially since first up was cake tasting for the Phelps/Watson wedding, a couple so lovey-dovey that even in my former obsessed-with-love state, I thought they were overly mushy. I could only imagine the havoc they’d wreak on my current confused-if-I-even-believed-in-love condition.
At least the class at the gym had helped me focus on completing the moves and trying to get more oxygen to my lungs instead of everything Grant had said last night. But now it was running through my mind again, the way it had on a constant loop as I’d tried to sleep. Over the past couple of weeks, I’d imagined a lot of scenarios and excuses he might give—horrible ones about not loving me or another woman—so I’d been relieved when he’d given one that was actually decent-ish.
But now he wanted me to just forgive and forget, with a side of help-me-meet-my-kid. Clearly there were still a lot of questions that needed answering. Like why hadn’t he confided in me instead of shutting down? Why hadn’t he said something pre-wedding, regardless of knowing whether it was true?
Then, the one that stopped me from giving up on Grant altogether: What if this was my shot at love and I threw it away because I was angry? I knew there were ups and downs in every relationship. The hard part was figuring out if it was salvageable, despite the downs, differences, and past mistakes. If only I had a crystal ball, it’d be a much easier decision.
When I came out of the bathroom wearing my red bikini, towel slung over my shoulder, Jillian was at the dining table, steaming mug of coffee in hand as she studied her laptop screen. “How are you feeling about things this morning?” she asked, the same tight-lipped expression on her face as she’d had last night when I relayed the bomb Grant dropped about being a baby daddy. There was no doubt which side of the debate she was on.
“I know you think it’s stupid to even consider giving him another chance, but you didn’t see his face. He didn’t know about the kid for two whole years, and it is life-changing.”
“So is being too much of a wuss to tell the person you claim to love that you’re not going to show up for your wedding. That was life-changing for both of you.”
“You’re right. And I’m not saying I can ever fully forgive him, or that I even am giving him another chance for sure. I’m just saying I can see why he might freak out. He said he needs me, and the fact of the matter is, my feelings for him didn’t just turn off because he didn’t show up on that beach.” Until I’d said it, I didn’t realize how true it was. Figuring out what it all meant in the grand scheme of things was the real challenge.
Jillian’s blue eyes lifted to me, and there was concern with an edge of pity. “I know, D, which is what worries me. I don’t want you to get hurt again. That boy screws up one more time, and I’m seriously gonna show him the definition of balls julienne.” Since I’d seen her wield a knife, that visual was way too graphic.
“I’m glad you have my back—so much so that I’m going to need brain bleach to get that image out of my head—but like I said, I’m still not sure what I’m going to do. Right now my plans involve soaking in a hot tub and making it through one more day of wedding planning.” I tilted my head toward the door. “Wanna come with?”
Jillian waved me off. “I’ve got to get all these invoices done. Have fun. Meet a hot guy.” She flashed me a quick smile that said she was teasing but wouldn’t mind if it happened.
“I’ll see what I can do,” I said with a laugh, and headed outside—taking the stairs again.
An older gentleman and a woman about my age were already in the hot tub. They both looked at me, and I sorta felt like changing my mind. But it might seem rude, I’d come all the way down, and my back was still aching. So I sank into the water, frowning at the lukewarm temperature.
I glanced at the timer dial on the wall. “Need me to turn on the jets?”
“They are on,” the man said.
Okay, so the water was lukewarm and the jets nonexistent. Grant didn’t have a pool or hot tub, but he did have a ginormous tub w
ith high-powered jets and an extra-large water heater that lasted for hours. Speaking of baths, it felt like I was taking one with this woman and her dad. In swimsuits. Double awkward.
But as the woman chatted about the weather, I thought that at least they were friendly. And it was nice for the daughter to keep checking on her father, asking about his sore back—apparently I had the same issue as a man in his sixties. Stellar.
When the woman leaned over, kissed the guy on the lips, and asked if he was ready to get out—adding a “babe” to the end of her question—I realized they weren’t father and daughter, but a couple. I managed to wave good-bye, wondering about how that worked in the bedroom, then wishing my thoughts hadn’t ventured down that disturbing path. Maybe that was what I needed—a groom too old to run.
I snort-laughed at myself, because I was sexy like that. My phone rang, and I glanced at it, perched on my towel out of reach. With a wedding this Sunday, I didn’t dare ignore it. Hell hath no fury like a bride in an emergency ignored.
With a sigh, I hauled myself out of the pathetic excuse for a hot tub and stared at my phone’s display. Grant. I so wasn’t ready to deal. But I always worried it had something to do with Cupid, and I was a sucker for my dog. And okay, maybe just a sucker all around. Ever since I’d seen him last night, I craved seeing him again, while thinking I shouldn’t want to.
“You answered,” he said, and I could hear the relief in his voice.
“Is Cupid okay?”
“He’s good. He misses you, though. I do, too. The house is way too empty without you here.”
My throat tightened. My yo-yoing emotions were driving me crazy. One hour I missed him, the next I wished we’d never met. I’d been ready to graffiti the bridal pictures in my office yesterday, and now a pang of longing for the chance of still being Grant’s bride went through my chest. But I thought of Jillian telling me to be careful, and my sense of self-preservation kicked in. “This isn’t exactly giving me space, Grant.”
“And that’s what you want? I thought maybe after you had some time to think about what I said yesterday… Honestly, I hoped that you’d want to set up a time to talk some more.”
I gripped my phone tighter. It’d be so easy to throw on some clothes, drive over to his place, and fall into his arms. I missed the way we used to sleep, me tucked against his side, his arm draped over my waist. I missed the dimpled smile he flashed as we’d get ready for our workdays together—he knew not to start a conversation until after coffee. I longed for the kisses hello when we arrived back home. It wasn’t as simple as breaking up with an ex. It was losing the life I planned and the guy who knew me better than almost anyone else.
But I again wondered if I could really ever get over how he’d left me alone in a wedding dress, waiting and waiting. If I could move past the awful days following.
“Dakota?”
“I don’t know,” I said, which was at least honest. “I’ve got several appointments over the next few days and I’ve got a wedding on Sunday. I need to get through those things before I can even start processing your news about having a son.”
“Okay. When you’re ready to talk, you know where to find me. Good luck with the wedding.”
I couldn’t help flinching. After pulling off close to fifty weddings over the past three years, I no longer got nervous about them. I simply checked my lists and took problems head-on. But my failure to wed made me question if I’d ever pull off another event again. Which was stupid.
Right?
As I told Grant good-bye, a new couple entered the hot tub, the guy and girl much closer to the same age than the previous one. They started kissing, not super graphic or anything, but a press of the lips here and there as they spoke, whispering and laughing, that glow of love radiating from them. I’d never been one of those little girls obsessed with fairy tales or romance when I was younger. I was much more interested in sports—I guess part of me always thought I needed to keep my coach father happy so he wouldn’t be upset he’d been stuck with me.
Then, I really wasn’t sure quite when it’d happened, but suddenly I started looking at boys for more than if I wanted them on my team because they were good at sports, and more how they filled out their clothes and if they had cute smiles they’d flash at me when I made a great catch. That was when the butterflies started, and after a few boyfriends who taught me how nice hand-holding and kissing could be, I finally got what the fuss about love was.
My job wasn’t so much about being obsessed with love as the ability to organize and orchestrate every minute detail. But I’d always get a happy buzz when betrothed couples came in so obviously in love. When I’d been on that cruise ship, though, the pain of being stood up at the altar so raw it felt like I’d lost every part of who I was, I’d looked around at all the other couples and thought love, love, everywhere, and not a drop for me. Then I’d stared at them, so much bitterness pumping through me that I was sure I’d never be happy again.
Right now I was surreptitiously checking out the kissing couple, trying to gauge where my love-o-meter was hitting, from loathing to empathy butterflies. It didn’t give me a happy buzz, but I didn’t want to scoop up water, toss it on them, and tell them to get a room. So I supposed it was progress.
Somewhere around progress I’d turned into a creeper—or so the couple thought, judging from the way they were both looking at me. Yes, I’d been staring at them, but in my defense, it was more like through them.
Well, my love-o-meter toward them was dipping, that was for sure. “Those jets suck, huh?” I asked, attempting a solidarity smile.
Apparently talking was not the way to go, since the guy pulled the girl closer, as if he needed to block her from me.
Now that I was feeling super cool, I decided to take my sore, pathetic self back up to Jillian’s. She was still typing away, papers stacked all around her. When I saw my suitcases crammed in the corner, along with the two huge boxes I’d brought yesterday, I wondered if it wouldn’t be better to give in and stay at Grant’s—he at least had extra bedrooms, and I could sleep with Cupid curled up at the foot of my bed.
Bad idea. Then he’ll think we’re cool, and we’re most definitely not cool.
I wasn’t going to let myself be one of those girls who got pushed around and just went with whatever her significant other said—I’d had those brides, too. No, Grant needed to earn another chance, not expect one.
“I forgot to tell you I have another dinner to cater tonight,” Jillian said. “This entire week is crazy, but Sunday after the wedding we’ll celebrate.”
Yeah, by crashing and thanking our lucky stars we were done, the way we always did after a wedding. I nodded, though, so she knew I was on board, and went to get ready for the cake tasting, telling myself despite the overly sugary PDA from my couple, I’d get cake. Then tonight, I’d have to resist buying another gallon of ice cream and sitting in front of the TV while eating straight from the carton. The quiet late nights were the worst, the times I missed Grant the most.
Maybe I should call Brendan. Or even swing by and see him at work. I hadn’t been to the new Aces Casino yet—I steered clear of the Strip most of the time, actually. But it’d be something different, and it’d be fun to talk to him again. Originally I’d told myself I’d wait to finish catching up with him until I’d gotten my life together, but with all the complications, that was going to take longer than I thought it would. And regardless of what I decided about Grant, I definitely needed all the friends I could get.
What if I start crying or have another breakdown in front of him, though? That’ll be so embarrassing.
I told myself that I didn’t need anyone else. That I’d be just fine on my own.
But I had a feeling it might be a while until I actually believed it.
Chapter Five
Apartment hunting wasn’t going so well. Vegas was such a clash of extremes, which fit the city’s vibe and definitely made for an interesting mix of characters, but it made finding a
place to live more of a challenge. My options were ritzy, you-can’t-afford-groceries-if-you-live-here, or carry-a-weapon-’cause-you’ll-need-one. There were a few more in the Goldilocks just-right range, but they meant driving across the busiest part of town at rush hour, when people were flocking to the Strip and trying to get to whichever spectacular show they’d booked or one of the many all-you-can-eat-and-drink buffets. With all the driving I did anyway, the thought of being stuck in that traffic made me want to cry.
In between office appointments, I sent emails to a few apartment complexes to ask for more information and see if they had openings, and then called my dad back, since he’d left a message. When I told him I hadn’t found a place yet, he said, “I can clean out your room if you need me to. You know I’d be happy to have you.”
“Yeah, but like I said before, the drive would be killer, and you wouldn’t be so happy to have Cupid.”
“I could take allergy pills. And if he stayed outside most of the time…”
While Cupid enjoyed a good run, chasing butterflies and lizards, or a game of fetch, he was also spoiled and enjoyed long naps in cool air-conditioning and sleeping at the foot of my bed. Not to mention Dad’s yard was tiny and, ever since the city went bonkers about the pollen of olive trees, banned any future planting, and asked residents to keep old ones trimmed to practically nothing, it had almost no shade. “Really, I’m close to finding a new place,” I lied, closing out of my apartment search window and opening up my calendar. “How’re the boys looking this year? You had camp this morning, right?”
I entered a couple of appointments and added notes on my to-do list as he told me about the defensive line, how the past few years training his quarterback were paying off, and how they were working on a zone blitz but it wasn’t going so well yet. Summers didn’t mean time off from football as far as Dad was concerned. There were constant training camps, and with the season nearing, he’d torture the boys with two-a-day practices.