by Sophia Henry
“I second that emotion,” I answer, repeating his line from earlier.
Zayne spins me around, dips me, and kisses me.
This man is everything I’ve ever wanted in a human being—thoughtful, fun smart, kind. Being with him makes my heart soar. As much as I am ready to get home because I’m so exhausted, I don’t want this time with him to end.
Chapter Nineteen
Zayne
I’ve never confronted my time in Detroit, and the choices I made that led to the demise of my soccer career. When Louis asked me to help him start Ambassador, I dove in headfirst masking the embarrassment and pain of how much I fucked up my life with a new business venture.
The diversion worked for a while. Together, my brother and I created a successful business. We were so busy; it kept my mind off the past—at least at work.
But everything comes full circle, and here I am: Back in Detroit—the most successful I’ve ever been in my career and my personal life—with the girl of my dreams by my side. And it hurts just as bad as the day I left.
This is my chance to stare at that bridge and gaze into the dark, murky water of the Detroit River and prove to myself that I have the strength to let all the pain in my heart go. If I can’t, I’m not sure if I can resist when the darkness takes over, beckoning me to the bottom.
“There’s somewhere I need to go, and I don’t know how I’m going to react once I’m there. Will you come with me?” I ask, holding the car door open for Emily. I’ve just picked her up after her second day at Ace Tattoo. Hopefully, she doesn’t hear the quiver in my voice. I know I can trust her, and I want to share this part of my life with her, but it doesn’t make it any easier.
“You know I’m here for you. I’ll help in any way you need me to.” She stops and wraps her arms around me, squeezing me hard and kissing my neck quickly before sliding into the car. The power of her loving embrace energizes me, strengthening the faith that I can face this with my head high.
We don’t speak the entire ride, which is odd for Emily. She’s usually chattering to fill the silence. Normally, it’s doesn’t bother me. I actually love the way she can keep a conversation going, but I’m glad she can read my vibe and tell I’m not in the mood to talk right now.
I pull into the parking lot at Riverside Park, the place in southwest Detroit where I came to contemplate life right before I decided to jump. The view is magnificent, especially at dusk, when the sky is a pinkish yellow. It’s a breathtaking view of the Ambassador Bridge looming in the forefront, and the skylines of both downtown Detroit and Windsor in the distance.
There’s no reason to go to the bridge itself because we wouldn’t be able to cross anyway. A passport is required for entry into Canada and also to get back into the U.S. It’s not a big deal since I don’t have to physically stand on the bridge to confront my fears. I’m not sure my heart could handle standing at the peak on the American side again.
Panic attacks are scary events. Mentally, I know I’m breathing because I’m gasping for air and can hear the deep, fast inhalation, but I can’t focus enough to slow it down and catch my breath. It feels like there’s a huge weight crushing my chest.
I’ve come too far to turn around, so I creep into a parking spot before cutting off the engine.
Emily places her hand over mine as if she can feel my anxiety. I haven’t told her how my soccer career ended, so she’d never guess the bomb I’m about to drop. I breathe in, taking a moment to enjoy the feeling of having her here to support me.
Then I yank the latch on the door, and rush out, knowing it’s now or never. If I wait, I’ll lose my nerve. Emily gets out silently, following close behind as I walk to one of the benches along the river. Her presence gives me the confidence I need.
Though it’s still Fall, it feels like winter has already ravished the Midwest. Chicago was cold and rainy, and Detroit is no different. A fierce wind blows, lashing at us, making our bodies swerve and sway. The river is a siren, calling to me, leading me to the edge of my greatest fear.
“Ten years ago, I stood up there,” I point toward the bridge. “at that very first peak, and looked down into the water. Even on a day like today, the visibility isn’t great, but at night, it’s completely black.” I lift my head and peer across the river at the Windsor, Ontario, skyline. My thoughts are as murky as the water connecting two countries. “A sea of inky emptiness describes exactly how I felt that day. I don’t have adequate words to describe how rock bottom feels from the top of the world. When there’s only one way to go—down.”
In my peripheral vision, I see Emily cover her mouth with both hands, and her eyes practically bulging out of their sockets. If I thought her reaction was pity, I’d be embarrassed by sharing, but I know it’s not. It’s surprise. To outsiders, I come across as a strong, put-together person, but it took years to build myself into who I am after being at my lowest point—at the highest point of this bridge.
Louis and my parents are the only ones who have seen the darkness behind the confidence. But it’s part of me, and I want to be completely honest and vulnerable. Emily needs to know what happened because I see a future with her.
“Remember how I told you I used to be a professional soccer player?” I ask, tearing my gaze away from the water to look at her. Maybe she can ground me, be the earth I can sink my roots into.
“Yeah.” She nods, without taking her eyes off me. “I wanted to ask you more about it, but it seemed like a subject you wanted to stay away from.” Silvery strands shimmer in the sunlight as her long waves cascade off her shoulders. Her gorgeous, pale skin seems to glow, and her intense blue eyes stand out beneath the bold, black eye makeup she always wears.
She’s radiant. I’m darkness.
“I don’t usually talk about that time of my life. It’s still too difficult.”
“What happened, Zayne? How did you get to the point where you’d even think about this?” She asks, crossing her arms over her chest and hugging herself tightly. I’d forgotten how bone-chilling the wind is by the water.
“I got cut from the team. The GM told me I needed to get my life together.”
“You didn’t have your life together?” Emily asks softly. “I find that hard to believe.”
“It’s true though. I had a multi-million-dollar contract at twenty-years-old. I could buy anything I wanted. I could get into any club, have any girl on my arm. It’s a lot of temptation and freedom. I wasn’t mature enough to handle the balance between being a professional athlete and this new, fast lifestyle.” I shove my hands in my pockets, and lift my shoulders to my ears, trying to shield any exposed skin from the cold.
“No one could tell me that though. I was drinking so much and doing so much coke, I still can’t believe I’m alive today. But I didn’t see a problem with my behavior because it seemed like everyone around me was doing the same thing. Going out every night, drinking and snorting as much as we could afford. It was the lifestyle.” I laugh humorlessly. “I was so stupid. I didn’t think my teammates cared when I came to practice hungover. I didn’t think my coaches noticed when I was a step behind everyone else. But they did, obviously. Especially when I started missing team rides to games, and not getting back to the hotel until hours past curfew.”
“You acted just like millions of other twenty-year-olds—whether they’re athletes or not. When you have the means to party, you do it. We all do. We make stupid choices. We think we’re invincible. It’s how you were at a certain point in your life, not who you are as a person.”
“Right, but most people get the warning and correct their course. But, not me. I kept going, and I failed, Emily. I disappointed my team, coaches, fans—everyone. And I lost everything.”
She steps up to the raised curb, standing next to me without a hint of fear in her features. There’s no railing, that curb is the only thing “protecting” someone from stepping right into the water.
“Or maybe you gained everything, Zayne.” She takes my face firmly in he
r hands, refusing to allow me to look toward the water. Her nose and cheeks are bright pink, freezing in the cold wind. “If you were partying like that, something wasn’t right, whether you realized it or not. The universe has a way of leading us to where we need to be. Maybe being a professional soccer player wasn’t your calling. Maybe it was like, dude—here you go, you got your dream—but it’s not where you’re supposed to be.”
“So you’re saying subconsciously I wanted to sabotage my career?”
“I don’t know. All I know is that life doesn’t always go as we plan. And sometimes it’s easier to hold onto a painful experience, than admit that it may have been the best thing that ever happened to us because it put us on the right course.”
Who the hell is this girl? And how does she have the most insightful things to say?
“It’s your past, Zayne. It’s over. You’ve grown. Changed. You’re here now.” Emily grabs my shoulders and turns me toward her. “You’re alive. You’ve been hugely successful in two career fields. If you want to take a dip in the water, let’s get back to the hotel and jump in the shower. We’ll wash off all the guilt and shame we’ve been carrying around together.”
That’s when it hits me. Emily is nothing like I was when I was her age and confronted with the same temptations she faces now.
Over the last month, I’ve tried to find similarities between us. I’ve tried to make connections because we were both faced with money, fame, and the temptations that come with that lifestyle at a young age. I tried to “save” her from making the mistakes I made.
But the truth is, she doesn’t need me to save her because she’s nothing like me. She doesn’t need my career advice. She’s not snorting coke in the bathroom every chance she gets. She’s not going out and getting drunk every night. She’s made it to every single engagement we’ve had set up for her. She’s been professional and on top of her game every single time.
And she’s a wonderful person. She’s not an arrogant dickbag. She’s fun and sweet and beautiful and compassionate and…nothing like I was.
I take a deep breath, trying to hold back the emotion of my revelation.
“You are a successful human being, Zayne. You stood right here, at the lowest point for your life and you decided to stay here and face life. You’re strong. You matter. You absolutely matter to me. I’ve known you for less than a month, and I can’t imagine my life without you.”
I grab her face and kiss her hard. It helps take my mind off all the emotion of being here. I pull away slightly and whisper onto her lips. “Let’s get back to the hotel. I think I have some shame I need you to wash off me.”
She flicks her tongue over my lips. “I can defiantly help with that.”
I wake up in the most comfortable hotel bed I’ve ever slept in, satiated from fucking for hours, with my girl, the embodiment of everything I could ever want in a woman, lying next to me. This should be the best moment of my existence.
Instead, I’m covered in sweat and fear with a racing heart and a head full of unforgiving thoughts.
The Ambassador Bridge looms above me—mocking me. And I realize I can’t stay. Can’t do this. Can’t be here. Can’t get over everything I lost. Can’t believe I took her to that bridge and let her see the place that broke me.
I can’t even think in complete sentences.
Why the hell did I share the worst night of my life with her?
Now she knows: I’m weak, broken, a fraud. I don’t deserve her beautiful soul. I’m not going to get involved and risk losing something that means so much to me.
I slide out of bed gently, making sure not to wake her. It only takes me a few minutes to get dressed and pull all of my things together.
Before I leave the bedroom, I look back at the angel lying there sleeping peacefully. She’s naked, except for a sheet draped over her stomach and legs, with her arms above her head, crossed at the wrists, exactly like I left them after removing the belt we used to hold them together last night.
She has everything I had at her age, but she’s light years ahead of where I was mentally and professionally. If only I had her to guide me back then, I might not be plagued with the anguish that haunts me today.
I refuse to get in her way. I refuse to be the anvil that brings her down.
Chapter Twenty
Emily
Detroit
My alarm wakes me from the most peaceful night of rest I’ve gotten over the last few weeks. Zayne has a voracious sexual appetite, and while, I enjoyed being woken up in the middle of the night to my wrists tied above my head with a belt and his face between my legs, I barely remember it because I was so exhausted. We definitley need a redo of that.
But nothing makes me happier than getting to be the person who Zayne trusted enough to share such an intense, painful part of his life.
I bite my lip and smile into my pillow, giddy as a girl sleeping with her first boyfriend. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this kind of euphoria over being with someone. But this isn’t just someone, it’s Zayne—and he’s become more important than anyone. My heart soars as I flip over, excited that I get to see his face resting on the pillow next to me.
But Zayne’s not there.
The sheets are turned back, rumpled with the shape of where he slept, but the space is empty.
Before slipping out of bed, I grab my t-shirt off the floor and throw it on quickly. I enter the sitting room expecting to see him lounging on the couch, tapping away on his laptop, but he’s not there. Perplexed, I glance at the bathroom door which is wide open and dark.
“Must be at the gym,” I say out loud, raking my hands through my knotted hair. Time to shower, so I’m halfway done by the time he gets back. Since he gets ready so much faster than I do, it makes sense if I go first and get the process started.
The bathroom counter is where I notice something is off. Zayne’s toothbrush isn’t there. For most people, spotting his blue toothbrush in the mess of my makeup and hair products would be as challenging as catching a lone B in a line of D’s, but that’s precisely why I catch it. Seeing his products among mine was reassuring and exciting. That’s why its absence confuses me.
I check the shelf under the sink where he kept his toiletry kit. It’s not there either. My heart speeds up, and fear propels back to the bedroom. His suitcase is gone. Except for the faint bergamot smell in the air, there’s no hint that he was ever in the room. Before I head back to the living room, I check my phone to see if he texted. Nothing.
What in the world is going on?
I stumble past the pool table before dropping into a lounge chair and picking up the handset on the landline. I press the button to connect me to the front desk then bring the finger to my mouth, biting my nail as I wait for someone to pick up.
“How can I help you, Ms. Commons?” The attendant asks.
“Did Zayne Vitale check into another room?” I ask desperately.
“No, ma’am. He left early this morning.”
“Oh.” Why wouldn’t he tell me he was leaving? Maybe Louis’ wife went into labor. But why wouldn’t he wake me up or text me?
“Is there anything else I can help you with? Would you like breakfast sent to your suite?”
“No. I’m good. Thank you so much.” I hang up the phone gingerly as if everything I touch will disappear like Zayne.
I grab my phone and send him a quick text.
Me: Hey! Where are you? Did Bridget have the babies? I understand if you didn’t want to wake me up when you left, but let me know what’s going on, okay? I’m worried about you.
I toss my phone on the table and head for the shower because despite what’s up with Zayne, I still have a full day of work.
I’m preoccupied the entire day, convinced something isn’t right because Zayne hasn’t answered my text or called all day. If Bridget went into labor, why wouldn’t he send me a text letting me know he’d gone home? I know how much he wanted to be there for his nephews’ birth, and he may be in
uncle right mode now, but, I mean, he’s not the father. After he hugs his brother and holds the babies, he should have time for a quick text.
When I get back to the hotel at the end of the day, I hesitate before pushing through the door. Being alone in the enormous suite envelopes me in loneliness. With the curtains closed, the room is shrouded in darkness. It’s a perfect backdrop for the emptiness in my heart.
Wedge heels were not the best choice in footwear at the end of a month-long tour where I’ve been on my feet for ten to twelve hours every day, but the experience has been worth the pain. Still, I make a mental note to wear my comfy Vans for the rest of the trip.
After kicking off the torture traps, I shuffle toward the bedroom. A piece of bright, white paper on the dark pool table stands out, catching my eye.
Did I miss that this morning?
I snatch it up, breath hitching when I realize it’s a note from Zayne.
EmVee –
I’m sorry you’re reading this instead of hearing it directly from me, but this was the one time I couldn’t express my feelings in person. First, I want to tell you how impressed and extremely proud of you I am. You are one of the most talented artists I’ve ever seen and an amazing business woman. You’re more mature and focused at 22 than I am at 33. I apologize for ever challenging that.
You’ve conducted yourself in a professional manner the entire trip, but I crossed a line over the last two weeks and for that, I’m incredibly sorry. I’m sorry I led you on when I’ll never be able to make you happy. Everything you have going on is everything I don’t want. Your success reminds me of what I had—and how I fucked it all up.
Please forgive me, Emily. I’m not trying to hurt you. I’m trying to protect you. I could never live with myself if I were the dead weight that brought you down to the bottom of the Detroit River with me.