Catch

by Bladon, Deborah

Athena sent me a text thanking Keats and me for donating the bouquet to one of the nursing homes in the city. She noted that she was breaking it up into smaller bouquets so everyone would have a bit of sunshine to brighten their day.

  Keats canceled our dinner with the Newmans without a word to me.

  Arietta assured me that it was likely because Fletcher chose Finn over him.

  That might be true, but why would Keats not tell me that? Why is he still avoiding me?

  I glance down at the only text he sent to me.

  Keats: I need time.

  I turn my phone’s screen to show Bianca the text message.

  Her eyes close. “Fuck.”

  My eyes tear. “It’s the same.”

  “No,” she insists. “This is not the same.”

  It’s close enough.

  “I need to go away.”

  My instinct to hide from the world kicked in almost immediately. I’ve learned that pain follows you everywhere you go, but it’s easier to deal with when you’re not in the same city as the person who broke your heart.

  “I’ll go with you,” she offers. “I can rent a car. I remember how to get there.”

  Bianca put her life on hold to go to the Adirondack Mountains with me just days after Kollin dumped me. We stayed at my parents’ remote cabin near Tupper Lake. We hiked, we fished, we swam in the water, and I healed.

  “I want to go alone.”

  Her head shakes. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Maren. If you want my advice, I think you should talk to Keats first. How do you know this isn’t how he processes losing a potential client? Maybe he’s sulking.”

  Maybe he’s a cold-hearted jerk.

  “I need to go away.” I shake my head. “I have a lot to think about.”

  She knows that I met with Royce, but I didn’t tell her that he offered me the opportunity of a lifetime. It reaches beyond the promotion I wanted.

  I explained to him that I needed to talk to my boyfriend because the decision would impact both of us.

  Us.

  There is no us.

  She moves closer. She tugs locks of my hair out from under the neckline of the hoodie I’m wearing. “Promise me you’ll be careful. Don’t swim alone, and when you go to town, you’ll call me?”

  I nod.

  “I’ll help you pack.”

  I turn to her. “Dudley needs to go back to Keats. I don’t think Arietta will give him up.”

  She wraps her arm around my shoulder. “I’ll take care of it. I’ll take of it all.”

  I know she will. She did the last time I was left with nothing but empty words and a broken heart.

  ***

  Charming is the word my dad uses to describe our family cabin. My mom’s positive spin on it is that it’s quaint.

  I love it because it’s remote.

  The cabin consists of six-hundred feet of cramped space, including one bedroom, a bathroom, a small kitchen, and three plastic chairs next to a round table.

  There’s no television here. WiFi and cell service don’t exist in this part of the state.

  This is the place my parents always brought me when they needed an escape from the demands of New York City.

  I drop my bag and the keys from the rental car on the table.

  I look around at the dusty interior of the cabin.

  Pressing the light switch, I gaze up at the strings of small white lights my dad hung up years ago. It was magical to me then, and it still is.

  This place is nothing like my apartment in Manhattan, but I love it here. I need to be here.

  I drop onto the old blue and green checkered sofa that doubles as a pullout bed.

  Circling my arms around my chest, I sob.

  I cry for what I’ve lost in the past and for what I’ve lost now.

  I thought I had a chance at real happiness, but maybe that’s not how my story is supposed to end.

  Chapter 56

  Keats

  Scrubbing my hand over the back of my neck, I glance outside my townhouse for the fiftieth fucking time.

  “The goddamn package isn’t here,” I say to the guy I’m talking to. “If you delivered it, it’s fucking invisible.”

  “Oh, no, Keats,” a quiet voice says.

  Shit.

  I turn to see Stevie standing ten feet away from me.

  I shake my head, trying to mouth an apology to her. I’m losing it. I am fucking losing it because I miss Maren.

  “Maybe someone snatched it off your porch, sir,” he says into my ear. “Did you ever think of that?”

  I peer out the window to look at my stoop again. “I didn’t.”

  “If you have surveillance equipment, I suggest you check that before you call back again.”

  He hangs up.

  I don’t blame him. I was a dick. I admit it.

  I shove the phone into the back pocket of my jeans.

  “You swore,” Stevie points out. “What’s wrong, Keats?”

  Berk wanders into the room. He knows the story. I laid it all out last night for him after Stevie went to bed.

  He told me to stop punishing Maren for Amber’s misdeeds.

  Then he scolded me for putting so much pressure on myself to land a deal with Fletcher.

  I needed the lecture.

  It’s been a long time coming.

  When you’re cheated on, you question your worth. I know that. I felt it.

  I tied mine to my work, so whenever I’d lose a potential client, it hit hard.

  That’s what happened when Earl Newman told me I was the wrong man for the job.

  He was right.

  I am the wrong man.

  I’ve taken on too much to prove a point to no one but myself.

  My life needs an overhaul beginning with my relationship with Maren.

  I’ve tried texting her twice today. My call to her went straight to voicemail, and she hasn’t been at work in two days.

  I want to talk to her. Even if she breaks my heart, I need to know what she wants and who she wants.

  “Did you find out where the package is, Keats?” Stevie asks.

  I drag myself back into this moment in time. My niece is looking for the new sneakers I ordered for her. Who the fuck knew that a kid’s feet could outgrow a pair of shoes in a month?

  “He said the package was delivered. I need to check the doorbell camera footage to see if someone took it.”

  Stevie gasps as she clings to Budley. “Someone stole my shoes? Call the police, Daddy.”

  Berk chuckles. “Let’s try and solve this mystery ourselves first.”

  She bounces up and down. “I am a super good detective. I always find your phone when you hide it.”

  I nod my head in agreement. “She has a valid point.”

  Stevie taps her fingers on my wrist. “Look at the doorbell camera so we can see who the bad guy is.”

  My money is on Mrs. Comtors. I caught her red-handed when she tried to lift the flowerpot that used to sit on my stoop.

  I carried it the two blocks to her place and warned her to keep her hands off my stuff.

  She winked and told me if she were thirty years younger, my stuff would be happy to have her hands on it.

  I open the doorbell app and scroll through the dated footage. The delivery information puts the package on my stoop the afternoon that the Newmans were supposed to come for dinner.

  I start the video at the time I left to walk to a bodega three blocks from here. I passed that fucking diner where I saw Maren and the blond guy.

  I fast forward through it quickly, only picking up shots of people strolling past my townhouse.

  I slow it when a white delivery van stops.

  Stevie yanks on my forearm. “I want to see it too. Please, Keats.”

  I drop to one knee and hold the phone between us. “That’s when the sneakers were delivered.”

  She leans closer to the screen. “My shoes. I see the box.”

  We watch as a delivery guy rings the bel
l. He says something, but I don’t have the voice feature activated during recordings, so I read his lips.

  “Where are you, Mr. Morgan? Answer the damn door, so I can get something to eat.”

  I shake my head.

  He takes another deep breath before he drops the box at his feet and leaves.

  “He just left them there.” Stevie shrugs. “He didn’t care.”

  Berk walks up behind us. “He did his job. It’s not his fault if someone took them.”

  I fast forward through the footage again. A few dogs walk by with their owners. I have to stop so Stevie can admire them.

  When I spot a flash of red hair in the corner of the frame, my heart stalls in my chest.

  “That’s Maren!” Stevie screams. “I see Maren.”

  So do I.

  I check the timestamp. It’s less than an hour after I saw her at the diner.

  I was with Earl Newman then being chastised for lying to his family about my relationship with Maren.

  I didn’t tell him that I fell in love with her.

  Maren approaches my stoop dressed in jeans and a white sweater. The low-heeled boots on her feet are worn on the toes. Her hair is blowing in the light breeze.

  She looks just as she did at the diner.

  The three of us watch in silence as she knocks on the door twice. Her finger reaches out to ring the bell, and then again.

  Her brow furrows as she yanks her phone out of her bag.

  I watch her fingers move over the screen.

  She’s trying to call me. The timestamp on the video matches the missed call on my phone. The voicemail she left was quick and to the point. “I’m standing on your stoop. Open the door.”

  She tilts her head. Her lips move, and I lean closer to the screen.

  “ Where are you ?”

  Her finger jabs the doorbell again.

  She tries to call again. When I listened to the second voicemail message yesterday, I heard the slight panic in her voice, and I see it on her face now. “Keats, I need to prepare for the party. The caterers are coming soon. Let me in.”

  “Maren wants to see you, I think.” Stevie elbows me.

  I don’t respond. I’m riveted to the screen watching every move Maren makes.

  She finally takes a step back, glances up at the front of the house, and then looks directly at the door.

  “ Please, be okay, Keats. I love you .”

  The phone tumbles from my shaking hands.

  Berk’s hand lands on my shoulder. “I saw it too. I read her lips.”

  “What did she say?” Stevie’s gaze volleys between her dad and me.

  “She said she loved me.” I don’t recognize my voice.

  Stevie drops Budley so she can cradle my face in her small hands. “You love her too, don’t you?”

  Tears prick at the corners of my eyes. “I do.”

  “I want to be a flower girl at your wedding.” She smiles. “I promise I’ll do my best, Keats.”

  “I promise to do my best too.” I kiss her forehead. “I’m going to do everything I can to get Maren back.”

  Chapter 57

  Keats

  Arietta, Maren’s roommate, is a goddamn ghost.

  I swear to fuck I can never catch her at home. Or she’s actively avoiding me because she wants to keep Dudley forever.

  I’m leaning toward the second explanation since Maren told me that Arietta loves that dog.

  Ricky raises a hand in the air to me.

  It’s the fifth time he’s done that since I sat down on this bench twenty minutes ago. Tonight, Arietta isn’t going to win this silent battle we’re in the middle of.

  I’m staying put until she gets home from work or takes Dudley for a walk before bed.

  Ricky scurries across the marble floor toward the door of the building.

  I lined his palm with a hundred dollar bill with the hope that he’d tell me if Arietta is already upstairs.

  After he pocketed the cash, he explained that he lives by the rule of conscience.

  I asked what the fuck that was. He laughed and said it meant that he couldn’t sell out the residents of the building.

  I would have saved myself some money if I knew that sooner.

  He opens the door and smiles.

  In walks a brunette that I recognize immediately.

  Maybe my luck is changing for the better.

  I bolt to my feet and sprint toward her. She stops as soon as she notices me on the approach.

  “Bianca,” I call out.

  Her blue eyes narrow. “What are you doing here?”

  Isn’t it obvious? I’m here to find Maren.

  “I need to see Maren.” I take a step to the left to try and lure her away from Ricky.

  I don’t need the doorman in my business. He’s not my friend. He’s not even my informant. He’s a guy who stole a hundred dollars from me.

  “You hurt her,” she accuses.

  I nod. “I did. I’m so fucking sorry for that.”

  “You should be sorry. You need to apologize to Maren, not me.”

  She’s right. I want to do that. “I can’t find her.”

  Her gaze hits the floor. She leans back on her heels. “Do you care about her, Keats?”

  “I love her,” I say with conviction. “I am so fucking crazy about her.”

  Her gaze darts to the elevator. “Let’s go somewhere to talk. I came to get the dog from Arietta to bring him to you, but that can wait.”

  Everything can wait until I have Maren back in my arms.

  ***

  Never underestimate the power of your words.

  It’s a mistake I’ve made countless times in the past. I did it again with Maren.

  Bianca told me everything hours ago as we sat at a café facing each other.

  Maren went to meet her boss the afternoon Earl Newman told me to go to hell.

  That was Royce Knott she was hugging. He took off because his longtime girlfriend had dumped him, and while he was gone, his brother fired Maren.

  That embrace was innocent. It was Maren being compassionate because that’s who she is.

  Even after everything she’s been through.

  I glance out the window of the car into the darkness. I called up the driver I’ve used on occasion and offered him a ridiculous amount of money to make the five-hour drive to take me to Tupper Lake. Bianca drew me a map to the location of the cabin where Maren is staying.

  She did it from memory because she was here with her once.

  It was days after Maren lost her baby. She was bleeding when her boyfriend, Kollin, took her to the hospital. When the doctor came in to tell them that the child growing inside of Maren for twenty-two weeks had died, Kollin rushed out of the examining room.

  An hour later, he sent a three-word text to Maren: I need time.

  He never spoke to her again. He packed up her belongings that afternoon and had them sent to her parents’ apartment. He arranged for the manager of Human Resources to fire her hours later under the guise that they were cutting costs.

  She didn’t give him the son they were expecting, so he pushed her out of his life with a short text message.

  “How much longer?” I ask the driver, my impatience seeping into my tone.

  “We’re five minutes out, Mr. Morgan.”

  Just five more minutes until I can tell Maren I love her.

  I rest my head back on the seat, close my eyes, and hope to hell she’ll forgive me.

  Chapter 58

  Maren

  I fell asleep after a late dinner.

  I made myself a meal that consisted of scrambled eggs and fruit. I stopped to buy supplies at a store in Tupper Lake before I drove up to the cabin. The couple that runs the store recognized me from the visits I used to make with my parents.

  A sense of nostalgia rushed through me as they talked about how happy we always looked on our way to our retreats.

  I’ve always viewed my time here like that - a retreat.
<
br />   It’s an escape from the stress of New York City and a chance to recharge and revaluate my life.

  Sitting up in the bed, I hear the crunching sound of gravel.

  That can only signal that a vehicle is making its way down the road that leads here and to a few other cabins.

  I glance at the digital alarm clock on the bedside table.

  It’s almost three a.m., so I’ve been asleep for more than four hours.

  I swing my feet over the side of the bed. I let out a short, quick breath when I feel the coolness of the old wood floors on my toes.

  Wrapping one of the thin white blankets on the bed around myself, I stand.

  I didn’t consider how cold the nights get at this time of year when I was packing. I should have brought something warmer than a pair of yoga shorts and a T-shirt to sleep in.

  I take a step toward the kitchen to get a glass of water when I hear a light tap on the front door. It’s the only door in and out of the cabin.

  Fear grips me from the inside out.

  I move fast, grasping in the dark for the baseball bat that my dad always kept hidden next to the bed.

  He never needed it. The only people who stopped at the cabin were the neighbors. Their visits usually involved a campfire by the lake and cookies with mugs filled with hot chocolate or apple cider.

  Another knock fills the silence.

  I walk on shaking legs to the doorway of the bedroom. That gives me a clear line of sight to the door of the cabin, but it’s solid wood so I can’t see who is standing on the other side.

  I inch closer, holding the bat in the air.

  Another knock greets me.

  I could pretend I’m not here, but that won’t scare away a would-be intruder, so I call out, “Who is it?”

  “It’s me.”

  I stumble forward. Keats is here? How?

  “Maren, please let me in. Please.”

  I move to the door and turn the rusted lock. When I swing the door open, I have to blink twice. “You’re here? You came all this way?”

  He smiles. “I’d go to the ends of the earth for you, Maren. I love you.”

  ***