One Last Shot (Pub Fiction #3)

by Gillian Jones

  “Okay, so spill. Get it all out, big boy, maybe I can help. Give you a woman’s perspective.”

  With that, we spend the next few hours talking, drinking and eating, and becoming fast friends.

  I hear Justin’s voice giving me shit and I’m pulled back to the conversation at hand.

  “Shit, yeah, I might have mentioned her a time or two,” I shrug, taking a drink of my crisp beer.

  See? I’m shit at moving on. I’m not ready plus, I simply don’t want to.

  “Do you really wanna talk about her?” he asks.

  “Who? Lorelei or Emily?” I ask, putting my beer down on the sleek tabletop.

  “No. Claire, asshole. That’s who. This talking about her with your dates clearly isn’t working. You can’t talk about Claire to potential girlfriends.”

  “No. I don’t want to talk about her. And no way are any of these chicks gonna be my girlfriend.” I pick up my beer and down it, before starting to pour more.

  “I’m sorry, man.” Justin pulls the pitcher away, filling a glass for Ryker who just strode up to our table, before I finished the whole thing. “I’m the worst at this shit. You are clearly not ready to see new people.”

  “I agree. You gonna back off now?” I ask, a bit more harshly than I meant to. “Sorry, man, I know you’re just trying to help. But I’m still fucked up over this whole thing.”

  “Listen, brother, I get it. Now, I know I’m the resident idiot here since the last serious relationship I had was never, and I know I should be the last person to offer advice, but honestly I think you’re making a mistake. Claire loves you. And you love her. She just needs to learn to trust herself to let go. I say call her,” Justin says, like it’s just that easy.

  “I can’t, man, it’s not that simple. I’m too mad right now to see her or talk to her. It’s like she played this hard-to-get game and I liked it. Thrived on it, and she did too. But I’ve waited and pined long enough. It looks like she’s never gonna be ready, so I need to figure out a way to move on. Eventually. For now I’m just gonna focus on work, and finding a Matt who can exist without the hope of getting to love Claire in this lifetime. I love her, but, fuck, I need to move on.”

  I’m almost 27. I can’t live in Knox limbo anymore.

  I can’t keep being like this.

  I’m not living—I’m just fucking waiting.

  I’m done…I need to be.

  Truth be told, even if she were to give us one last shot, part of me wonders if she’d just spend all her time mourning the loss of us anyway, acting like we were over before we actually got started?

  “I gotta say, I agree with Justin,” Ryker says. “You love her. You gotta bide your time and make a play again when the time is right. If it helps, I know she’s been miserable. We almost had to come home ’cause Kat was worried about her. I’m not supposed to say shit about it to you, but you’re my boy, so…”

  “Is she okay?” I interject, a feeling of unease taking over.

  “Yeah, and from what I heard she’s been making some changes. Went to see her parents finally.”

  “Wow, that’s huge. Good for her,” I say, despite feeling a tinge of hurt because I had no idea. I cringe thinking about what I’m missing. I’ve got mixed emotions about this. I mean, of course I’m happy for her, it’s about time she deals with all the shit she’s been carrying around, but at the same time, I hate that I didn’t have a clue she’d gone to the one place I’d always secretly hoped she’d go with me, or at least take me to meet them sometime. I know her parents mean everything to her so for Claire this is a major step. A step I wish I could have been there to support.

  “Don’t sweat it,” Ryker punches my shoulder, “she’s still your Holy Grail. You two are gonna be just fine. Mary’s been helping her. She’s doing well, just give her time and she’ll come around. Trust in Cupid.”

  With that said, Ryker orders another pitcher, thank Christ, ’cause I need it.

  I spend the rest of the night listening to Ryk and Justin go on about the new renovations we’d like to have done, and a possible budget for new equipment. I nod when required, add in “yeps” and “yeahs” when appropriate. I try really hard to show interest I don’t feel.

  My mind is reeling with all things Claire Knox.

  Maybe there is still an inkling of hope for us, after all?

  Fuck, I hope so.

  Chapter 28

  Claire

  It’s been two weeks since I had my little session of revelations with Kat at Fine Grind. I have yet to reach out to Matt—because honestly I’ve been scared shitless of how I’m going to say all the things he deserves to hear.

  This morning, however, I woke with my resolve strongly in place. It was time to extend that proverbial olive branch. I finally made the decision and I texted him.

  Me: Hey Matty, I’m not a photographer, but I can picture you and me together! Can we talk?

  “Uh, maybe not.” I shake my head, deleting each word. “We aren’t quite there yet, are we?” I sigh and try again.

  Me: Hi Matt. It’s Claire. I really want to live in your socks so I can be with you every step of the way!

  “Gah, what the hell is wrong with me? Why is this so hard? No more silly Internet pick-up lines. This is serious,” I chastise, while I delete once again.

  In the end I type a simple text asking him to meet me. I don’t tell him why or what the place is, and thankfully his response was a positive, like Kat predicted it would be. Albeit a bit slowly, he did finally respond and I was feeling relieved.

  I plan on revealing a lot to Matt about what I’ve been doing the last month, and I’m a nervous wreck about it. Thank goodness Kat knows how to control me, she’s made the executive decision that some much-needed retail therapy is in order. If you ask Kat, it’s a surefire way to keep my mind off the fact that I’ll be seeing Matty on Sunday, which is in two days. She’s right, I need to get out of the house and do something. I’ve been a walking disaster since I texted him. And with the end of summer break honing in on us both, we decided that was another perfect excuse to spend the afternoon together, getting our traditional mani-pedi’s, followed up by the planned shopping spree. Teachers need back to school clothes, too, right?

  “Are you sure he won’t be here?” I ask a bit nervously, still not too happy with Kat’s little bombshell that we needed to stop at The Locker Room first before heading to Pen Centre to get our shop on.

  “Nah, he’s out all day. He had to go to some conference thingy this morning. I guess Matt drew the short end of the stick; he had to drive to Toronto to sit and hear all about some new training system BowFlex is trying to get sports medicine clinics to buy. He’s not due back until tomorrow, so you, my friend, are safe for another day,” she admonishes, hitting the lock on her key fob.

  Stepping into The Locker Room, I smile when we see Deanna sitting behind her desk.

  “Hey, Deanna, is Ryker in his office?” Kat asks.

  Apparently bringing your hubby lunch is one of the cutesy wifely duties you take on as a newlywed. I guess Kat’s been doing that since they’ve been back from their honeymoon. It’s completely adorable and makes me want to gag at how sweet it friggin’ is. Like she legit has a little cooler bag, with a homemade lunch tucked inside.

  “Yes, he actually just finished with a client. Head on up, he’s expecting you,” she smiles.

  “Oh, I bet he is,” I say. “Should I wait here and keep Deanna company while you go deliver his…lunch?” Deanna and I burst out laughing.

  Kat grins.

  “No, it’s okay. Besides, there’s no time for that today—I’m afraid our spa appointment is in twenty minutes,” she says, looking at her watch. “Ryker hates rushing his…lunch,” she raises her brows suggestively, “so just pop up with me. It’ll be safe and quick. Promise.”

  “For some reason that doesn’t make me feel better…at all.” I shake my head, following behind her. “Wish me luck, D, and we so need a night out soon,” I say over my
shoulder as we walk toward the entrance to the main area of the rehab centre. I whisper to Kat: “We need to give that girl a makeover and get her a man. She’s way too hot to hide behind those glasses and those grandma clothes.”

  “Want to know what I think?” Kat asks as we walk.

  “Obviously.”

  “I think she’s got a secret crush on Justin. I’ve caught her staring a few times since we all went to Pub Fiction for our staff holiday party. Deanna is definitely smitten with the man.”

  “Oh, Jesus, we need to get her rehabilitated, stat. That man is nothing but heartbreak waiting to happen for a girl like her.” I stop beside Kat, as she grabs a Blue Cherry Gatorade from the vending machine.

  “Really, he can’t get his own drink? What the hell is poor little Rykie going do when you’re back teaching everyday?” I ask, holding open the glass door which leads out onto the floor.

  “I’m sure he’ll think of something. Besides it’s not like it’s far. I think I might be able to sneak off down the road every once in a while,” she says, eyeing me suggestively.

  “Dude, you sure you don’t want me to go wait with Deanna? You’ve got this whole raunchy porno movie vibe going, and the last thing I wanna bear witness to is ‘The Office: Kitty Kat Does Ryker’.”

  We both laugh out loud as we leave the vending machine area. After some more coaxing, she convinces me that I’ll be safe from Kat-Ryk screenplay—at least for today.

  We chitchat about how far this place has come since the guys opened it a few years ago. It’s awesome to see how well it’s doing. They’ve worked hard to make a name for the place and it shows. I follow close to Kat while my eyes take in all the equipment, the gym, and the many patients, as we cross the expansive training and rehab centre’s main floor.

  I’m about half way across the mats when I hear it. That voice. That familiar voice, the one whose pull washes over me and causes instant heart palpitations along with a definite jolt of panic. It’s him. Matty.

  I know I should keep walking, I know it. And I know it would be best to avoid him until our scheduled meet. My brain knows this. It’s too bad that my heart and every feeling down to the marrow of my bones won’t let me. Even after the way things ended, it’s like I’m tethered to this man, no matter what words might spew from my mouth, or his. God, why can’t I just walk on?

  Looking around the room, like the glutton for hurt I am, my eyes land on him within seconds. And I swear the Claire goddesses are NOT on my side today at all. He’s kneeling in front of a beautiful blonde. Oh, but not only is he kneeling in front of her, his hands are running along her left leg. I get that it’s a job requiring “hands on”, but this…is more, this looks fucking intimate, the lingering touch, the appearance of gentle rubbing. God, I feel sick. Tears burn the back of my eyes immediately, my brain suddenly conjuring up a new porn video, one without Kat and Ryker—now it’s “Matty Does Blondie and Her Name Isn’t Claire”.

  I feel like a part of me just died with the thought of Matty with another woman. One I told him to go find. What the fuck have I done? Please don’t let me be too late. An uneasy feeling settles in my stomach as Blondie rests her hand on his shoulder. My shoulder.

  Walking in slow motion, I round the edge of the gym toward the stairs, stairs leading to the offices, ones I should be running to. Unfortunately, I can’t seem to communicate an SOS to my legs, or my eyes for that matter. I can’t keep my eyes off of them or make my legs pick up speed to take us to safety. I’m in so much shock that I almost walk right into one of the elliptical machines. Luckily, everyone seems too busy to notice the klutz who’s gawking like some kind of wayward perv.

  “Kat,” I whisper-yell, as she’s so far ahead of me and I’ve stopped full-on to have an emotional breakdown. I can see his face from this angle, and what I see steals the final breath from my lungs, instantly making me wilt. Matty’s smiling up at Blondie now, looking at her, giving her the look I always felt was reserved specifically for me. A look of admiration, humour, longing and love. A look that he can’t be giving to her. A gasp escapes me just as Kat sidles back beside me.

  “Claire, why’d you sto—” she cuts herself off, following my line of sight.

  “Who is that, Kat?” I ask, my voice weak, a whisper.

  “That’s Mercedes.”

  “Fuck, of course it is,” I sneer. “Who is she, though?”

  “I’m not going to lie to you. They went out a few times last year. They’ve been cozy in the past. But I didn’t think she was coming in anymore. Matty had ended it after a month or two, and she didn’t think she could handle him working on her anymore. She, of course, wanted what he didn’t want to give her. Mercedes is supposed to be Justin’s patient now, or so I thought,” Kat answers, her confusion as evident as mine.

  “Well, it doesn’t seem like it’s an issue now, does it? She likes my Matty’s hands just fine, doesn’t she?”

  “I’m sorry, Claire. I don’t know why he’s even here. He’s supposed to be in Toronto. Let’s go ask Ryker, he’ll tell us what the hell’s going on.”

  God, what have I done? I cover my mouth. My eyes sting at the realization: I did this. I could have been happy. Instead I’ve made a shithouse mess for all involved. “I’m so stupid, Kat. Fuck, I’ve been so, so, so wrong. I love him. He totally is my Dorothy. I pushed him to this. I’m an idiot. I guess my text was too little to late.” My knees almost give way as tunnel vision takes over. I teeter on my feet, forcing my legs to run up the stairs. I need to get away.

  “Claire, wait!” Kat calls from behind me, trying to follow. Once she catches up, she pulls me into Ryker’s office and locks the door behind us, giving me space to completely shatter.

  Chapter 29

  Matt

  I check the text from Claire for the tenth time before returning my phone to my office desk. She’d texted out of the blue yesterday morning and I’ve got this feeling of “it’s too good to be true” going on. Hence the checking it over and over again like some crazed lunatic. Hell, maybe I am crazy. Luckily, the message does, in fact, exist and I’m gonna see my girl in a couple of days.

  “Now to figure out what the hell to say,” I whisper to myself, considering the vagueness of the message. Is this a good sign? Are we going to make up? Fuck, I hate this. Seeing the message after our long stalemate, I can’t lie, I was fired right the fuck up at seeing her name appear on the screen.

  Sugarshack: Matty, Hi. It’s me. Sorry it’s been so long but I was hoping if you’re free Sunday evening you could meet me at 743 Hartzel Rd at seven? I have something I’d like to share with you.

  After thinking about it for more than an hour, I responded. Of course I’d be going. I did, however, need to play it cool. I’d spent too long being the pussy in this relationship. It might have been a dick move, but I wanted Claire to be the one festering for a change. This was the first time in two years that I’d gotten a text from her. I’d been the one texting her while she was in Ottawa, and, of course, she never replied. So, this is…what, progress? A reason to hope? Or is it a simply a case of wishful thinking?

  Me: Sure. I can do that.

  Sugarshack: Thanks Matty. See you Sunday.

  Me: Looking forward to it.

  ’Cause I really fucking am.

  It’s been almost a month since the wedding. A month since I left her in the washroom. A fucking month of trying to get her out of my head. According to Ryker, she’s doing well, information I had mixed feelings about. Despite me telling him at Pub Fiction a while back that I no longer wanted to hear this shit, the bastard has taken it upon himself to ensure that I get an almost daily summary of all things Claire. Sure, I only want her to be happy, but I’d be happier if I was a contributing factor to her happiness. It’s what I thought was going to be my lot in life since the day I met her.

  Ryker insists on updating me about every other aspect of her life, too, including if she’s dating or not. Claire told me to see other women (or, rather, all but ordered me t
o). But according to Ryker and Kat, she’s full of shit and doesn’t want either of us dating—she regrets saying it. Apparently she never made the date with Jude like she’d told me she was going to, and Ryker says she’s been asking about me a shit-ton, asking whether or not I’ve been seeing anyone and hinting for more details. Fuck, this woman is infuriating.

  I wish she’d grow the balls to ask me all this shit herself. I’d be more than happy to tell her that it’s still only her. Maybe Sunday I’ll get the chance.

  The glimmer of hope I had is getting a bit bigger with each revelation from Kat and Ryker. And that thing today with Mercedes only proved what I already knew. Claire’s the only girl I want. Regardless of me telling her otherwise, or trying to convince myself that I don’t want her anymore, I do, and I probably won’t ever stop. I haven’t dated since the epic fails with Emily and what’s-her-face a few weeks back, and I don’t plan on dating anyone else anytime soon either, unless it’s a date with Claire, of course.

  It’s obvious that Mercedes still wants me. Every time she sees me she makes it obvious. Unfortunately for her, we had our fun and despite her wishing for another chance, I’m not interested. The only girl who gets chance after chance with me is the one who’s got me so twisted up inside. Claire Knox affects me like no other. I would give that girl a million chances despite knowing better. What’s that saying: “you can’t choose who you love”?

  Claire’s text message had left me giddy as fuck, knowing I was gonna see her on Sunday, that she wants to see me. Too bad it was Mercedes who got to enjoy my lightened mood. I felt a little guilty after our session, like I may have given Mercedes the wrong impression by being overly friendly. But I was happy, for the first time in weeks.

  Mercedes was all up on me during her appointment today, and she’s not even my patient anymore. It was part of the deal I’d made with Justin when he agreed to take my spot at the conference in Toronto today, fitting in his regular patients between my own.