Take on Me

by Sarah Mayberry

  For a second, a terrible longing welled up inside him. Like a Norman Rockwell painting, the images in his mind were too pure, too shiny and perfect. He knew they were idealized, unrealistic. But he wanted them. He wanted her, so badly. It was the first time he’d admitted as much to himself, and the realization rocked him to the core. He’d avoided emotional involvement his whole life for this exact reason—nothing was ever going to come of him caring for Sadie Post except unhappiness.

  He wasn’t ready to share his life with anyone. There were still things to put in place, heights to scale, challenges to conquer. He didn’t have room for anyone else. Not until he’d achieved his goals. Five years from now, once his movie career was well established. Maybe ten years—then he’d have enough money and enough points on the scoreboard to think about a wife and family.

  He’d learned the hard way about having goals and achieving them—he’d still be flipping burgers in a diner if he hadn’t had the discipline to beat his dyslexia. He wasn’t about to set all that aside because Sadie Post set his world on fire. Too much was at stake to indulge himself that way.

  She was already at her desk when he walked in, but she didn’t look up when he passed her doorway. To his surprise, he saw that the lights were on in Claudia’s and Grace’s offices, too. Both of them gave him a cool, unflinching look when he nodded a greeting. He smiled grimly to himself as he shrugged out of his leather jacket. The wagons had well and truly been circled.

  He tried to talk to Sadie a number of times throughout the day, but each time either Claudia or Grace quickly stepped up to interrupt the conversation. Those wagons again—and he was definitely on the wrong side of the circle. As the three of them exited the offices in a tight little gaggle at the end of the day, he felt a stirring of what felt distinctly like jealousy. He’d grown used to sharing his days with Sadie over the past month. He looked forward to her laughter, her sly digs, her ready wit. He knew he had no right to her friendship now—he was the last person she wanted to hang with after the ham-fisted way he’d handled himself the previous evening. But as he watched the way she tempered her long-legged stride to match Claudia’s shorter one, and the way she laughingly smoothed Grace’s rumpled coat collar into place, he felt more alone than he’d ever felt in his life before. He missed her already, and she’d barely been gone from his life for a day

  By the middle of the following week he was desperate to speak to her. Claudia and Grace ensured they were never alone with each other, and he’d grown increasingly frustrated. He needed to know she was okay. And to apologize for being such a jerk when she’d told him how she felt. Then he could let it rest. It wasn’t the whole truth, but it was good enough to get past his internal editor.

  Which was why he was lying in wait for her in the parking lot on Wednesday morning, standing in the shadows of the building like a cut-rate stalker. Eventually she arrived, and he saw dark circles under her eyes as she got out of her car. Since he’d been having trouble sleeping himself, he wondered if she’d been lying awake thinking about him the way he’d been thinking about her. Not only about the sex—although he thought about that a lot. But he also thought about the way her nose wrinkled when she laughed, and the way she smelled. And the way she had of looking him dead in the eye and nailing him with a killer line.

  “Sadie,” he said, pushing off from the wall and striding toward her.

  Her head swung sharply around and he saw the unmasked pain in her eyes before she brought the shutters down. Tucking her satchel under her arm, she pursed her lips.

  “If this is about work, we can talk inside,” she said.

  “I wanted to see how you’re doing,” he said, instantly feeling like a complete idiot. It was obvious how she was doing—she was sad and lonely. About as sad and lonely as he was.

  “It’s okay, Dylan—I’m not about to dissolve into a screaming heap because you don’t return my feelings,” she said. “No need to feel obligated or uncomfortable.”

  She started to walk away, and he reached out to grab her arm. She flinched from him and he felt a pathetic flare of triumph. She was afraid to be close to him, afraid that the old heat would take over if her skin touched his.

  “I’m sorry. About last week. I was an ass,” he said, holding up both hands to assure her that he wasn’t going to touch her.

  “Yeah, you were. Don’t worry—next time I feel the urge to tell you that I love you, I’ll shoot myself in the foot or something slightly less painful.”

  She started to head off again, and the sight of her walking away from him burst something inside him. Before he knew it, he was talking.

  “It wasn’t just about the sex. I mean, for me, as well. I—I have feelings for you,” he said.

  She stopped, then slowly turned to face him. Her face was very still.

  “And?”

  He shrugged. “And I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let it get out of control, but I didn’t admit to myself how I felt until it was too late.”

  She shook her head, bemused. “Let me get this straight. You’re sorry you have feelings for me?” she asked.

  “Yes. No.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, trying to order his thoughts. “I don’t mean it like that. I’m sorry if I hurt you, if I led you on. I didn’t mean for that to happen. It was supposed to be fun.”

  “How can you lead me on if you have feelings for me, too?” she asked.

  “Because it can’t go anywhere, Sadie. It would only end in disaster. There’s no time for us. Not for a long time. I’ve got commitments next year, one of the networks is interested in a show I pitched. And I’ve had some interest in my screenplay. I can’t walk away from those opportunities. There’s no room in my life for anything serious.”

  She stared at him for a long moment, then her eyebrows rose and a dawning light came into her eyes.

  “My God. I’ve been kicking myself for the past few days for being stupid enough to fall in love with someone who doesn’t love me back, but now I get it. You’re the dumb ass, not me. You’re going to let us slip through your fingers because you think that rewriting the past is more important than the future.”

  “What? This has nothing to do with the past,” he said impatiently.

  “Yeah? You’re one of the most successful, talented, driven people I know. And you’re going to miss out on life because you’re so busy trying to gain the approval of all those people who let you down when you were a kid.”

  His head reared back as he snorted. “What a load of bullshit.”

  “Is it? You’re independently wealthy, you have a great home, a Ducati—you’ve got it all. But none of that’s enough for you, is it? Because you still hear their voices in your head telling you you’re no good. When is enough going to be enough, Dylan? When are you going to stop trying to prove them wrong?”

  He flinched, then took a step away from her. “Someone’s been watching a little too much Oprah,” he said derisively.

  “You’re a fool.” She reached out a hand and ran a finger along the tender skin of his inner arm. About a million neurons fired inside him all at once and a surge of desire rocketed to his groin.

  “Do you really think that something so perfect comes along more than once in a lifetime? And you’re going to throw it away,” Sadie said sadly.

  He stared at her. She closed her eyes for a long beat, almost as though she was making a wish or saying a prayer, then she opened them again and leaned close to kiss him on the cheek.

  “Goodbye, Dylan,” she said.

  Then she walked away from him.

  He let her go. It was for the best. As for the psychobabble bullshit she’d dumped on him—he knew what was going on in his own head, thank you very much. His obligation to her was over. No more loitering around feeling guilty—they were square.

  The kicker came when he saw the neatly addressed envelope on his desk when he entered his office. He stared at the small card it enclosed for a few beats before letting out a short, sharp bark of laughte
r. An invitation to the Grovedale High School reunion. How ridiculously appropriate.

  Screwing it into a tight ball, he flipped it into the trash without a second thought.

  FOUR WEEKS LATER Sadie stood at the photocopier, a stack of papers in her hands. She’d finished her copying long ago, but she still hovered, shamelessly eavesdropping on the conversation she could hear drifting out from the story room. A small smile curved her lips as she listened to Dylan’s humorous account of a recent restaurant outing with his friend Olly. She missed his way with words so much, the gravel he got in his voice when he was trying not to crack up and spoil a punch line, the way his dark eyes sparkled with suppressed laughter. She missed so many things about him.

  Once again the familiar impulse gripped her, and she clenched her hands around her paperwork to stop herself from racing next door and throwing herself at his feet and begging him to give them a chance. It was too sad for words. She’d fallen in love with a man who was so obsessed with proving himself to the world that he’d shut himself off to all other aspects of life.

  In the room next door, someone made a low comment she couldn’t quite catch, and suddenly Dylan’s rich, low laugh rang out. Something twisted deep inside her at the sound as she remembered the laughter they’d shared as they made love in the wilds of the Big Bear camping grounds. Hot tears filled her eyes and she blinked them away furiously. Scuttling back to the sanctuary of her office, she shut the door and faced an awful truth.

  She was right back where she’d started all those years ago—she was in love with Dylan Anderson, with not a chance in hell of getting what she wanted. She might as well be Beanpole Sadie again, slinking self-consciously down the halls of Grovedale High, hanging out for any scrap of attention that the untouchable Dylan might throw her way.

  The thought was so crushing that for a moment she was filled with despair. All the old self-doubt washed over her. For a second she slumped into her chair, letting her hair hang over her face the way it had all those years ago.

  The sounds of the office receded into the distance as she wallowed in her unrequited longing. Why couldn’t he love her the way she loved him? What was wrong with her?

  Then the phone rang on her desk and she was jolted back to the here and now. Her gaze traveled across the paperwork on her desk to the posters on her wall and down to her much-loved, battle-scarred satchel on the floor as the phone shrilled out its call like a metaphysical alarm clock. Finally her gaze settled on the invitation to her high-school reunion she’d received a month ago. At the time, she’d been fresh from Dylan’s rejection and she’d tossed it in the bin. Grace had rescued it and pinned it to her board.

  “You never know. It might be good to exorcise a few demons,” she’d said.

  Now Sadie’s spine straightened as her focus sharpened on the small square of card.

  Shy Sadie Post was dead, never to return. She might still love Dylan Anderson, but she was no wallflower anymore, standing by waiting for him to gift her with his attention. Not this time around.

  Finally the phone stopped ringing as the caller gave up, and Sadie picked up the receiver to make her own call.

  “Grace, I need your help,” she said when her friend picked up across the office. “I need to find a dress. A really spectacular dress…”

  THE YEARS ROLLED BACK as Dylan cruised into the darkened parking lot at Grovedale High the following evening. He hadn’t planned on coming. He hadn’t even consciously remembered the date or time of the reunion. But somehow he’d found himself gravitating to his old stomping ground as night fell. Lines of cars filled the bulk of the lot, signaling a strong turnout—it seemed nostalgia was a big draw card. He parked his bike off to one side and sat for a moment, listening to the throb of music leaking out from the opened doors to the gym. He could just imagine all the old hits they’d dust off for the night—the big-hair bands, the bouncy-girl pop and bad electronica. Easing his helmet off, he slid off his bike and struck out into the school, veering away from the gym. He told himself he would just take a quick walk down memory lane before heading home. He didn’t want to chew the fat with old school friends and play the so-what-do-you-do-now game.

  The corridors were dark. He inhaled deeply, smelling dust and old school lunches and cheap perfume. He passed the door to the principal’s office, pausing for a moment to eye the scarred oak surface. The times he’d sat out here, waiting to be disciplined for one thing or another…

  He shook his head and moved on, passing the shadowed alcove under the stairs where he’d felt up Karla Bond, and winding up in front of the door to his most dreaded class—American Lit. On impulse he tried the door handle, but it was locked. He smiled at the symbology—it was true, you could never really go back.

  Inevitably, he found himself drifting toward the gym. The music grew louder, and finally he stepped into the cavernous space. Only it didn’t seem half as big as he’d remembered, and the bleachers looked tired, the floor grimy and marked. The walls could have done with a good coat of paint, and the school logo needed a serious redesign.

  The lighting had been dimmed to what someone probably thought was nightclub level, and an effort had been made to recreate the crepe-paper-fueled atmosphere of past school dances. Groups of people milled everywhere, the bulk of them congregating around a large buffet, although a few brave souls were trying out old moves on a make-shift dance floor.

  Dylan hovered in the doorway, hands stuffed into the pockets of his leather jacket.

  Why was he here? Two women who looked vaguely like older, tireder versions of Cindi Young and Carol Martin glanced his way, and someone who might have been a much fatter, balder version of his old friend Buddy Markham waved a greeting. Resigning himself to the inevitable, he started to make his way toward Buddy. Then the back of Dylan’s neck prickled and an odd hush fell over the room. He didn’t need to look to know who had just come in, but he turned around all the same.

  She stood in the doorway, a glittering goddess in a shiny silver minidress, her long legs even longer than usual thanks to a pair of strappy silver sandals, her hair piled on top of her head in a do that managed to be both sexy and elegant at the same time. All around him, men were sucking in beer bellies, tucking in shirttails and smoothing hands over receding hairlines. He smiled a little grimly to himself. For a woman who’d accused him of trying to rewrite history, she was taking a pretty good stab at it herself.

  Quite simply, she took his breath away. But then, she’d been doing that ever since she’d reentered his life a few short months ago.

  “Sadie Post! I can’t believe it!” the dumpy woman handing out sticky labels at the door screeched loudly. A stir rippled through the gym, closely followed by the buzz of excited conversation. And still every eye was glued to her.

  He took an instinctive step forward, knowing how hard this must be for her. These people had witnessed her humiliation at his hands. She wouldn’t be human if she didn’t want to turn tail and run.

  But she didn’t run. Far from it. Instead, she squared her shoulders and stuck her chest out and started the long walk to the buffet table. Every male eye followed her—most of the female eyes, too. She moved with a slow, slinky, feline grace, her hips swaying seductively, a small, confident smile playing about her lips.

  He wanted to cheer her on, to stand on a chair and raise a round of applause.

  She was magnificent. Courageous. Stunning. And she’d once been his.

  The thought stopped him in his tracks before he’d even started to move toward her. He corrected his path, aiming for the bleachers so he could keep an eye on her from a distance. He was about to sit when he saw him, the thin, gaunt face triggering a host of unhappy memories. Dylan’s eyes narrowed. Same hawklike honker, same grim lips. The hair was grayer, the beard whiter, but the heavy-rimmed spectacles hadn’t changed, along with the tweed jacket with its worn leather elbow patches.

  McMasters. The asshole. Dylan’s hands slid out of his pockets as he started walking, honing
in on his old American Lit teacher like a heat-seeking missile.

  SADIE’S HEART WAS BEATING at about a million miles an hour. Back home with Claudia and Grace doing her hair and makeup, this had seemed like a much better idea. But now she realized she was in way over her head. She didn’t recognize a single soul, and the eye-catching dress Grace had helped her choose was drawing far too much attention.

  But she couldn’t go yet. She’d made a deal with herself—one lap of the gym, just to show herself that she’d moved on and put the old ghosts to rest. Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm her nerves. These people didn’t matter—tonight was for her, not for them.

  The buffet table seemed miles away, but finally she was standing in front of the punch bowl, an array of finger food spread out on either side of her. Lifting the ladle, she poured herself a cup, then sniffed the bright orange liquid to check for alcohol. Not surprisingly, she caught a whiff of spirits and wrinkled her nose. Still, there was something to be said for Dutch courage.

  Taking a tentative sip, she gasped as the punch burned all the way down her throat. Her eyes watered, but she suppressed a cough manfully before dumping her cup on the table. Too much courage could be a dangerous thing, and she had work to do—namely, a single lap of the gym to complete.

  Summoning the casually confident almost-smile she’d practiced all afternoon with Grace and Claudia, she began to saunter her way past her former classmates. A redheaded man with a prominent Adam’s apple and a long-distance runner’s physique gave her a nervous smile and a wave before flushing rosily. Beyond him, a brunette she vaguely remembered but couldn’t quite place stared at her belligerently, her narrowed gaze assessing Sadie’s dress critically.

  Her cheek muscles were starting to ache, but she kept her smile firmly in place. Not for love or money was she going to show a moment of weakness.

  Looming up on her left was a tubby blonde in a too-tight red dress. With a shock she recognized Cindi Young, former cheerleader and object of Sadie’s adolescent envy. Unconsciously she injected some extra sass into her walk. Cindi had made her life hell after prom, never letting anyone forget what Dylan had done to her.