VEGAS follows you home

by Sadie Grubor

  The sound of the door opening intensifies the raw, nervous energy coursing through me. His presence is all-encompassing. The business suit, with its clean, crisp lines and perfect fit over his leanly muscled body, causes my lower belly to clench. I close my eyes and take a breath, trying to calm my increase of body temperature and pulse resulting from just looking at him.

  Upon opening my eyes, the spot where he once stood is empty. He's chosen a seat as far away from me as possible. Our eyes lock for a brief moment and a flash of something I can't read appears. However, the lack of emotion on his face sends a chill across my skin and tension thickens the air between us.

  Dr. Livingston's office door opens, cutting into the silence.

  "Hello," she welcomes. "Please, come in."

  Holding the door open, she motions for us to enter.

  Both of us standing, Damon holds the door open before guiding me into the room by the small of my back. This one small gesture causes tingles to erupt throughout my body.

  "So," Dr. Livingston drawls, sitting behind her desk. "Damon and I spoke previously about the current disagreement between the two of you. I think we should first expand on the current cause of tension. Olivia, can you please tell me about the current dispute?"

  "I wouldn’t say it's a disagreement, but a moment of honesty he didn't want to hear." I fold, unfold, and refold my hands nervously in my lap.

  Damon snorts from his chair on my right.

  "I see." Dr. Livingston smiles. "Damon," she turns her attention on him, "you told Olivia you love her, correct?"

  "Yes." He nods.

  "And?" she presses.

  "And she made sure to correct my misunderstanding by telling me she could never feel anything for me, besides disdain." He growls the last two words.

  "What do you expect, Damon?" My anger flares. "After everything you've done—"

  "I know what I've done." His hard eyes narrow on me. "I've apologized repeatedly for how I behaved, but if you need to hear it again, fine. I'm. Sorry. But I'm not sorry for caring, wanting, and loving you. Is it truly so terrible?" He sounds angry, but his eyes reflect nothing but pain.

  "Do you even realize what you've done? You forced yourself into my life. Uninvited." Tears sting the back of my eyes. "I was happy, content with my life."

  What I don't say, or ask, is whether he realizes how he's made me feel.

  "Happy?" He snorts. "You've been hiding behind a secure routine and single mother label. If I were Isaac, it would—"

  "Don't," I snap. "You don't know a damn thing about him, so don't you dare speak about Ifs."

  You don't know how you've caused me to betray his memory with my feelings for you. I don't say this out loud, but it wraps around my heart like a vice.

  "Let's calm down," Dr. Livingston interrupts. "This is an open and honest place to talk and things can get passionate given the topics addressed, but I would like to make sure we are being fair and keeping the arguing as minimal as possible."

  Damon's eyes level on mine and soften.

  "It wasn't my intention to make you feel this way. I know the mess I've made, but I cannot apologize for wanting to know my son and his mother. I also cannot control how my feelings have developed."

  "Olivia," Dr. Livingston addresses me once more. "Damon feels you started to develop a connection in New York. Do you agree?"

  I open my mouth to disagree, but close it. Damon's plea flashes through my mind. Please try, Olivia.

  "Olivia?" she presses.

  "Yes, I agree. We got closer, but it's not love."

  "A friendship?" She sits back, resting into her high-back leather chair.

  I nod.

  "And the physical relationship?"

  "Too much alcohol," I blurt.

  In my peripheral vision, I see Damon shake his head in silent disagreement.

  "You don't believe the alcohol was the cause?" she asks him.

  "Of course he doesn't," I groan.

  "I'm not saying it didn't play a part, but I don't think blame can be placed on that excuse. I believe the alcohol dropped her inhibitions enough to step out of her safety zone." He turns to me, a determined look on his face. "Allowing a connection beyond friendship to develop."

  The savage inner fire lighting deep within his eyes forces me to look away. The tears threaten to spill over. He's calling me out on the feelings I thought I've been hiding so well. It's not love. I'm not in love.

  "Let's try an exercise," Dr. Livingston interjects, straightening in her chair.

  She weaves her fingers together, resting her hands on the desk.

  "Damon, I want you to explain, calmly, why you felt the need to be so persistent in your pursuit of Olivia. I'd like to understand the reason behind the misleading and forceful nature."

  "I couldn't risk her rejection," he practically whispers. "I knew she would run the first chance she could or would get the authorities involved. The risk of losing them after having just found them…" he inhales a shaky breath, "it was too much for me. It wasn't a risk I could take."

  "And did you think about how your chosen path would make Olivia feel?"

  "Not at the time." He pauses. "Now, I realize how crazy it all seems, but I needed them, had to meet them. I need to know my son."

  "And Olivia?"

  His hesitancy in responding draws my eyes to him. When he speaks, it's with so much emotion, his soul seems bare.

  "The more I know her, the more I need her. She believes my feelings are based on my past, but she's wrong. The way I feel about her surpasses any past emotion I’ve felt for any other woman in my life. I've never felt this strongly, regardless of how quickly it happened."

  He doesn't look at me. Instead, he closes his eyes and takes a shuddering breath.

  My chin wobbles. I clench my teeth. A shiver runs up my spine, but it isn't from fear or annoyance. It's from the pleasure of his words.

  "Olivia?" Dr. Livingston's voice pulls my gaze from Damon.

  "Yes," I breathe out and clear my throat.

  "Do you think you've built a wall or safe haven around you and your life?"

  "Maybe." I bite my lip.

  "Do you think it has something to do with your prior loss?"

  The chin wobbling begins again and I choke out, "I don't know," but even I don't believe my own words.

  "It's okay." She gives a warm smile. "I'm going to ask you a straight forward question. Are you afraid to love?"

  My eyes swim in unshed tears.

  "Maybe," I whisper.

  "Thank you for being honest."

  She looks down at the legal pad on her desk as I wipe away a stray tear. I can feel Damon's eyes on me, studying me. Refusing to look at him, I focus on the back of a picture frame on Dr. Livingston's desk. I distract myself by wondering if it's a picture of a husband, children, or perhaps a wife.

  "Why did you allow Damon around once you returned from Vegas?"

  Surprise widens my eyes. I thought she'd been done with me.

  "I, uh," I stammer. "He was very determined and there were a few threats."

  "How did the threats make you feel?"

  "Scared. Worried."

  "Why not go to authorities?"

  "I thought I could handle it."

  "So, you risked the threats?" Her eyes focus in on me and I shift on the small couch.

  "It was a lot to take in, to process. I just acted on instinct and what my gut was telling me."

  "And your instinct told you his threats were something he wouldn't act on?" She raises her brows.

  My chest tightens and a knot forms in my stomach.

  "No, not exactly. I definitely thought he would get lawyers involved."

  "So, it was just the legal situation you worried about?" She presses further.

  "I didn't want my son taken from me. I thought I could handle things on my own or through my lawyer," I defend.

  "And New York?"

  "It was a means to resolve the situation between us and then move on with my
life." My temper flares.

  "I apologize if I'm upsetting you." Dr. Livingston's eyes soften. "I promise, there is no judging. I am working to open up dialogue by discussing the past situation before we open communication regarding your current relationship."

  Taking a deep breath and exhaling, I nod.

  "Damon, why so many threats?"

  With her redirection of questions, tension melts from my body.

  "I would never hurt either of them," he quips.

  "I understand. But, please, explain."

  "Every step she took away from me, running from me…" he pauses, running his hands over his face, "I still had a few things to work on in regards to dealing with my past. It caused inexcusable reactions and I regret the words I said in anger."

  "Are you still seeing someone to help with the loss of you wife and son?"

  He nods.

  "Good." She smiles.

  Sitting back, she brings up her hands, forming a triangle with her fingers just below her chin.

  "We're almost out of time today, but I would like for both of you to do something for next week."

  Dr. Livingston stands, walks across the room, and returns with a set of small notebooks and a pen.

  "For the next five days, I want you to keep an appreciation list. Try to write down one or two things, each day, of something you like about your partner, er…um…each other, or something you appreciate about them."

  She holds a notebook and pen out to Damon and me.

  "We aren't together every day." I take her offering.

  She nods. "This is why I also mentioned ‘like’. Since you are not living in the same home, when you are not together, try to think of something you like about the other person."

  We sit in silence.

  "This isn't a test." She grins. "It's just an exercise in appreciation and positive feedback. And I think both of you could use that from each other right now. Okay?"

  We both nod before saying goodbye to Dr. Livingston and leaving her office.

  The cool air outside the building reminds me to start wearing a heavier coat. I tighten the thin sweater jacket around me and wait for the bus. Warmth surrounds me and Damon's scent fills my nostrils.

  "You should wear something warmer," he states, settling his suit jacket on my shoulders.

  "I'll be fine." I move to take off the jacket.

  His hands press my shoulders, stopping me.

  "Please." His eyes are as pleading as his voice.

  I nod, biting my bottom lip. My emotions are still raw and oh-so-sensitive. His kindness tugs at my heart.

  "Did you get my message?" I blurt and turn away from his beckoning eyes.

  "Yes. I'll be there." He removes his hands and takes a step back.

  My body sways, just slightly, wanting to stay close.

  "Do you need anything?" he asks, putting an air of detachment between us.

  I shake my head.

  "Can I give you a ride home?" he asks, his tone still cool.

  "No, thank you," I choke out the words.

  Pretending to look down the street for the bus, I hide the wobbly shake of my chin and tears threatening to spill. Damn hormones.

  He stays next to me until the bus arrives. I hand him his jacket before climbing onboard. Our fingers touch briefly and heat zings up my arm. Quickly releasing the expensive clothing, I thank him once more and find a seat.

  Once we pull away from the curb, I break down. All the held back tears and chin wobbles combine into a crescendo of sobs. I garner sympathetic and questioning looks from other passengers, but I’m left alone to expel my emotional turmoil.

  Damon keeps his distance for five days. When he does visit, it's on the morning of Alex's second birthday party. Damon takes him to see his new place while I prepare for the party.

  He's cordial and polite. I hate it. It's irrational and stupid to miss his all-encompassing and intrusive presence, but I do.

  At night, I lie awake too long, going back and forth between the ridiculous part of me who hopes every sound is Damon barging into the room and the rational side, which is on repeat, listing everything crazy he's done.

  The knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts. I turn to see my father enter the apartment.

  "Hey, baby." He steps in close and kisses my head.

  "Hey, Dad."

  "Where's my little buddy?" He glances around the room, searching.

  It's then I notice how much more my father's hair has grayed and thinned. He's still a strong, handsome man, but the signs of aging make me think about how much time we really have in life.

  "Is he sleeping?" He furrows his bushy brows.

  "He's with Damon."

  My father's face turns to stone. "Oh."

  "He's showing Alex his new home and keeping him busy while I get everything transported for the party."

  Moving to the table, I start grabbing bags and packages.

  "Let me get those." My father grabs the items. "I'll take them to my car."

  "Thanks." I smile in appreciation. "I'll go ask Seth to load the cake."

  He nods in acknowledgement, hauling everything out the door.

  At the bottom of the stairs to the bakery kitchen, a wave of dizziness has me grasping for the wall. I prevent myself from falling, but not before twisting my left ankle at a funny angle. A sharp pain shoots up my knee and I sit on a step.

  "You okay?" Seth kneels down, inspecting my foot.

  "Yeah." I nod. "Just twisted it a bit."

  Seth helps me stand and I wince slightly when I put weight on my left foot.

  "Why don't you put some ice on it while I load up the cake?" Seth keeps hold of my arm.

  "I can't. I need to get things loaded up and taken over to the pizza place."

  Stepping away from him, I put weight on my foot again. It's sore, but better.

  "See, I'll be fine." I smile at him. "Can you take the cake out to my dad's car?"

  "Of course." He moves quickly to pull the cake from the cooler and boxes it up.

  With everything loaded, my father drives us over to the pizza shop, which also houses a kid's play area and arcade.

  Mercedes’ car is already there when we pull into the lot and park. Inside, I hear Mercedes issuing orders and requests of the staff.

  "This table needs to be wiped off. Could we get these two wiped down and pushed together?"

  Shaking my head, but smiling, I join her in the designated eating area.

  "What?" she asks. "They should have had this taken care of before we arrived. I called them twice yesterday and provided them a layout for the tables. It should've been ready," she defends.

  "I agree," I reply, still smiling, thankful she's dealing with staff.

  My father sets the boxes and bags on an empty table. I start unpacking, decorating, and setting out his gifts.

  Thirty minutes later, Damon arrives. Alex walks beside him, holding his hand. The sight of them makes my heart skip a beat. I've started noticing more and more similarities between them. With a deep breath, I channel these warm and fuzzy feelings on Alex.

  "Happy birthday, baby," I coo, picking him up into my arms. "Wanna see your cake?"

  "Bob cake?" he asks with a giggle.

  "Yep. It's a SpongeBob house." I bounce him a bit on my hip.

  "Should you lift and bounce him?" Damon asks, brows furrowed and eyes filled with concern.

  My confusion must be evident in my expression. He motions toward my stomach.

  "It's fine," I say, giving him a small smile.

  "Hey, little buddy." My father appears on my right, leaning in to kiss Alex's cheek. "Happy birthday."

  Alex wipes the kiss away and presses into my side.

  "Cake." He pats my chest.

  "Okay, let's go see it."

  I walk Alex to the table where the cake is on display.

  After looking at the cake and presents, I sit at a table with him in my lap. We're watching Mercedes tie yellow and blue balloons to weights in the
center of each table when Alex pushes out of my lap.

  "Dorn!" Alex calls.

  Looking up in the direction he runs toward, I see Mrs. Dorn extending her arms to him. She's just arrived, but being like a grandmother to him, she picks him up before worrying about setting any of her things down.

  "There's my handsome boy." She kisses his cheeks and he giggles.

  I missed having him around this morning, but I’m thankful for this moment to use the restroom.

  Upon exiting the ladies room, I freeze. My father, wearing his serious face, is in what looks like a deep discussion with Damon. Swallowing my nervousness, I walk toward them as quickly as my ankle will allow.

  "Sir, I understand and respect your concern for Olivia and Alex, but keep in mind, he is also my son and she's currently carrying my child. I wouldn't do anything to—"

  "You've already done enough, son," my father cuts Damon off. "Liv told me about your loss and I'm extremely sorry about that."

  Damon's shoulders tense.

  "But that doesn't give you the right to implant yourself in my daughter's life the way you did. She allows you around, but I'm watching you. If you do anything to hurt her, or stress her any further, I will personally make sure—"

  It's my turn to interrupt.

  "Okay, guys. It's a birthday party not a sparring match."

  I step between them, Damon on my left, my father on my right.

  "Perhaps you should've mentioned that to your father before—"

  "Don't you tell me what I need to do," my father says, his voice rising and causing multiple people to look at us.

  "Enough," I whisper harshly, turning to my father. "Dad, I appreciate your chivalry, but please, this is Alex's birthday."

  "Fine," he huffs. "I'm going to see if my grandson wants to play in the ball pit."

  "Great," Damon quips and narrows his eyes. "Tell him daddy will be there soon."

  For a moment, they stare at one another in a silent showdown. My groan pulls their eyes to me before my father walks away.

  Turning, I face Damon.

  "Try to behave."

  "Me?" He gives me an incredulous look. "Your father approached me, not the other way around."

  "Damon," I sigh, "if it was your daughter, what would you do?"