by Nia Arthurs
“She said you couldn’t,” Michael said, grinning widely. “She never said that you couldn’t send one of your best friends to check up on her.”
“Don’t.” Trenton shook his head. “Just leave her alone.”
“I can just do it without your approval,” Michael said. “I need to do it. I’m afraid you’re going to drop dead one of these days if something doesn’t change.”
“I said don’t go.”
“I have to head to Guatemala for a business conference anyway.”
“Don’t let her see you. It’s what she wants and I want her to be happy.”
“Happy?” Michael scoffed. “In the state that you’re in, you want her to be happy?”
Trenton stared forlornly at his reflection in the mirror. His hair stuck to his head in damp clumps, the dark brown appearing a saturated black. Dark half-moons ringed his eyes and shaded the span of his skin.
Since Breana had gone, his muscles had billowed from the excessive exercise, but his face looked haggard and small. It was far from the handsome physique that he’d prided himself on before he’d met her.
Breana had done this to him, but he would never wish ill on her. Though his heart longed for her and his body longed to be with her, he would give everything to make her smile.
“I want nothing more than that,” he said.
Michael slapped Trenton’s shoulder. “You’re doing your best to scare me away from falling in love, huh?”
He glared over and shrugged so that Michael’s meaty palm fell from his shoulder. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that you spent the entire session making moon eyes at me and talking about my life.”
“Moon eyes?” Michael snorted. “I did not make moon eyes.”
“Is there something you want to tell me, Mikey?”
“You’re not funny, Trenton.” Michael hopped on the balls of his feet and pretended to punch an invisible enemy. “You’re lucky this good friend of yours is even considering going all the way to Guatemala just to spy on your girl. Not anyone would do that, you know.”
“Yeah, you’re a real gem.”
“Thank you,” Michael preened.
Trenton got up and stretched his arms toward the ceiling. Looking over his shoulder, he asked. “You ready for another round?”
Michael’s jaw dropped. “Another—another round? Are you insane?”
Trenton grinned as a glimmer sparkled in his eye. “Let’s do it.”
“Nooo,” Michael groaned, but trudged along behind his friend to hit the weights.
Chapter 7
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Clothes littered every conceivable space of her tiny apartment as if a tornado had ripped through the Guatemalan town and had left pretty dresses in its wake. Breana picked up a red lace number and then discarded it against her bed.
“Ugh! Nothing fits anymore!”
“Breana!” She heard a knock outside her door and froze. Sabrina was early! Panicking, she raced to the door and pulled it open.
Her friend stood on the other side, dressed to impress in a tight black gown that cut off at mid-thighs. The outfit was paired with impressively high wedge heels and large gold hoop earrings.
“You look stunning!” Breana said, giving Sabrina a hug.
“And you look… uh…”
“I know,” Breana frowned, picking at her ratty T-shirt and torn khakis. “I don’t have anything to wear.”
Sabrina peered past her to the clothes that her closet had spit out. “I can see that.”
“I don’t think I’ll be able to go with you tonight,” Breana said, falling into the sofa and picking at a lock of her curly hair. “I hope you’re not too disappointed.”
“I had a feeling you would say that,” Sabrina said, smiling brightly. “That’s why I brought this.” She moved her hand from behind her back and waved a bag in the air.
“What is it?”
“You’re so thin.” Sabrina shook her head and in a slightly scolding tone continued. “I think you’re about the same size as my sixteen-year-old sister. I brought an outfit, so go change and come out so I can do your hair and makeup.”
“But…”
“No!” Sabrina tutted. “I don’t want to hear it! The girls will be expecting us soon. Chop! Chop!”
Breana groaned, but turned around and pulled on the shiny red number. It was a very… Quinceañera-esque outfit with shiny sequins and a tight fit. Shyly, she peeked through the bathroom door.
“I can see you,” Sabrina said as she browsed through a magazine. “Come out.”
Awkwardly, Breana tiptoed out of the bathroom. Sabrina tossed the book and clapped her hands slowly. “You look stunning. You might not even need the makeup.”
“Isn’t it kind of… revealing?”
“Your chest is completely covered up,” Sabrina said, pointing to the high bodice, “and it’s barely showing your legs.”
“But it’s so tight.”
“Yes, I didn’t account for your chuchas.” Sabrina indicated her chest.
“I think I have something more comfortable in the closet—”
“Ah, ah, ah.” Sabrina grabbed Breana’s hand and swung her around so that she fell into the small chair in front of the vanity mirror. “Time’s up. Let me add some mascara and lipstick then we can go.”
Breana sat still as her friend applied the makeup and fixed her hair into an effortless up-do. When she was done, Sabrina barely allowed Breana to breathe before she ushered her through the door.
“We’re going to be late!”
“For what?”
Her question was answered a few minutes later when she, and five of Sabrina’s other friends who spoke an adorable mixture of English and Spanish, filed into a booming, open-aired club.
“Is… this the place?” Breana asked nervously. She’d never been one for drinking or partying with strangers.
“You’ll love it. Trust me. Would you like a drink?”
Breana denied the offer and waited awkwardly by a table as Sabrina and her friends scurried away to return with drinks in their hands. Sabrina climbed into the high stool next to Breana and slid an unopened soda bottle.
“I figured you’d want to fit in,” Sabrina whispered with a wink.
“Thank you,” she replied and popped the cap. “What is this place?”
“It’s a salsa club,” Sabrina yelled, her eyes bouncing with excitement. “It’s one of the most popular entertainments in town.”
“Why?”
“You’ll see.”
At that moment, the lights dimmed and the feedback of the mike reverberated through the room. Breana looked up at the platform where a man in a colorful guayabera shirt and crisp trousers welcomed the crowd.
He spoke in Spanish, so she couldn’t really understand what he was saying, but when the music began to play, she realized the language barrier had no hold on her body. Her toes tapped and, for the first time since coming to Guatemala, she felt a spark of life flaring in her stomach.
“I can see it in your eyes,” Sabrina said, her accent especially thick as she waved her arms. “Let’s dance.”
“I’m married,” Breana said, trying to wave them off.
“It’s not breaking any laws.” When she still continued to hesitate, Sabrina insisted. “If I see any men sniffing around, I’ll fight them off for you, okay? Now, come on! The music is calling!”
Breana put her hand in her friend’s and allowed the shorter woman to lead her into the crowd gathering before the platform.
Tiny Christmas tree lights strung along the beams of the thatched roof added to the air of festivity. The trumpets blared a brassy riff, and the drums kept a staccato rhythm.
As the vocalists crooned about amor and suavecito, Breana allowed herself to let loose and dance. Soon, she got into the groove of things. Her head swung from side to side so that her hair fell around her shoulders. Her hips swayed to the beat and Breana laughed for the first time in a long, long time.
After a while, however, she could tell that Sabrina’s friends were feeling a bit left out. To keep from ruffling any feathers, Breana backed out of the dance floor on the excuse that she was tired and returned to their table.
She had to shake her head at a few men who tried to sit beside her, but for the most part, she was left alone to enjoy her soda and the music that pulsed in the club.
Breana was slurping the last of her drink, when she saw a familiar face pass her table. Unsure if her mind was playing tricks on her or if a friend from Belize had, indeed, skidded past her table, she pushed up and craned her to get a better vantage.
The strobe lights zipping across the backs of the men at the bar was the only thing that greeted her eye. Pulling at the bodice of her dress, Breana moved to take another sip of her soda and realized that she was out.
Eager for something to occupy her hands and give her the illusion of belonging in this loud, passionate place, she stood and made her way to the bar.
“Could I have another cola please?” she asked the bartender.
“Si,” he said, dipping his head and turning to get her another drink. She saw a man pressed against the bar checking her out and rolled her eyes in disgust.
Not today, sir. Not ever.
“Breana,” the man said.
Breana stiffened and whipped her head around. A gasp escaped her mouth as she recognized Michael’s face.
“I wasn’t sure it was you. You look… wow, you look great,” he said.
“Thank you.” Breana put her hand to her chest in embarrassment. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m attending a business conference here. Wow! I never expected to meet like this! I was actually planning to visit you tomorrow. I was going to spy on you.”
“What are the odds,” she said nervously and then paused. “Did you say… you were supposed to ‘spy’ on me?”
“Yup,” Michael admitted, looking at her with frank eyes. “Trenton will kill me if he finds out that I talked to you, but I couldn’t sit back and watch him slowly deteriorate before my eyes any longer.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s lost it, Breana. He’s working all day and barely eats. When he’s not at the office, he’s overdoing it at the gym. It’s not pretty.”
She coughed. “You’re serious?”
“He’s wasting away without you. When are you coming home?”
“I have my mom and… I mean, I can’t.”
“Didn’t you hear me?” Michael said indignantly. “If there’s any part of you that cares about him at all, whatever he did, whatever you need to work through, please get on with it. I don’t think Trenton will last much more at this rate.”
“I don’t know what to say. I—”
“Hey! Get away from my friend!” A voice squeaked before Sabrina jumped on the scene and started swatting her purse at Michael’s head. “She’s married, you pervert!”
“Ow! Ow!” Michael called, shielding his face with his hands.
“Sabrina!” Breana shrieked. “Stop! I know him! I know him!”
“You do?” Sabrina paused, her purse frozen in mid-air.
“Geez! What do you have in that bag? A cement brick?” Michael moaned.
“It’s okay,” Breana said. “He’s Trenton’s friend.”
“You know Trenton?” Sabrina asked, her eyes wide. “Is he okay?”
“He’s not as good as Breana is,” Michael said, rubbing his head. “But he’s still alive.”
“Breana isn’t good,” Sabrina argued. “She almost died because she wasn’t eating. We had to take her to the hospital a few weeks ago.”
“Sabrina!” Breana shrieked.
“If they’re both missing each other,” Michael scrambled to understand, “why aren’t they together?”
“Beats me,” Sabrina said. They both turned and stared at Breana, but she could only look away.
She honestly didn’t know the answer to that question any more.
Chapter 8
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Trenton tapped his fingers against his desk. He checked the time. Sighed. Glanced at his phone. Sighed again. Had Michael seen Breana yet? Was she doing okay? Was she alone? Had she found someone else since she’d been away?
“Sir? Sir!”
“Huh? What?” Trenton snapped to attention and glanced up at Jamison. His assistant wore a pressed checkered shirt and grey pants. His face was fixed in the bland expression that Trenton had come to know and love.
“Are you alright, sir?”
“How long have you been standing there?”
“About two minutes, sir.”
“What is it?”
“The Annual Tourism Awards is asking for a confirmation. Are you attending?”
“No.”
“Sir—”
“Do I look like I’m in the mood to dress up and schmooze with society right now, Jamison?”
“You have a few weeks to get ready to do so, sir.”
“No.”
“Lorde Industries has always attended. It is an excellent place to make contact with present and future clients. Also, George Camal will be there and doing the same.”
Trenton groaned. “Why do you always have to make sense, Jamison?”
“That’s my job, sir.” He came around the computer and logged into the company’s official social media site. The logo that his grandfather had designed himself appeared on the screen. “The company image is doing very well thanks to your bravery during the Barrington and Co crisis. We should capitalize on that,” Jamison said.
Trenton lowered his head to the desk and groaned. Faking smiles and engaging in mindless small talk sounded like torture to him, but he couldn’t let his personal feelings dictate his attitude toward the business.
“Do you… do you think Mrs. Lorde will be back from her Guatemalan trip by then, sir?”
Mindlessly brushing his assistant away, Trenton signed out of the company account and plucked his personal information into the log-in box. Michael couldn’t call him from Guatemala, but perhaps he had left a message.
Had he spoken to Breana? It seemed like something his best friend would do. Michael never was one to follow rules.
“Sir?” Jamison insisted.
“Just a minute, Jamison. I want to know the answer to this question ten times more than you do.”
Trenton’s eyes scoured his inbox, but he found only a few mindless messages from friends he had lost touch with long ago. Withholding his sigh of disappointment, he leaned back in his chair and massaged the bridge of his nose.
Ding!
His head shot up and he glared at Jamison. “If it’s anybody but Ellis, tell them I’m in a terrible mood and they should talk to me later.”
Jamison shook his head and held out his phone. “It wasn’t me, sir.”
“It wasn’t?” Trenton frowned and glanced at his computer screen. To his surprise, he saw a little red icon indicating a new message.
“What is it?” Jamison asked, craning his neck to peer at the screen. Trenton flattened himself against the monitor and glared at the older man.
“Could you excuse me?”
“Of course,” Jamison said. He turned around and glanced over his shoulder for one more peek. Noting that Trenton hadn’t moved an inch, Jamison grudgingly left the office and locked the door behind him.
Rubbing his hands together, Trenton opened the message and nearly fell from his chair. He wiped his eyes. Breathed in and out. Checked his pulse to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating.
The blue bubble remained the same.
Breana had sent him a message.
It was a simple ‘hi’. Two letters. One syllable. It probably wasn’t the message one would expect from a wife estranged from her husband for over two months, but it was more than Trenton would have asked for.
Hi
It was open-ended, welcoming. An invitation for more. Trenton drew the monitor close and kissed it as a maniacal laugh tumbled free from his
chest. She had reached out first!
Straightening his collar, he scooted the chair closer to his desk and poised his fingers over the keys. What should he say? He had to play it cool, not seem overeager. That wouldn’t be attractive.
Trenton typed in several phrases, only to erase them. In the end, he went with a reply that was simple, classic, and concise.
TRENTON: Hi
There.
Having abandoned his nail-biting habits when he was a child, Trenton found himself chewing the life out of a nail as he waited for Breana to acknowledge and reply to his message.
A hundred questions paraded through his mind, but he planned on taking things slow and following her lead. The random decision to reach out to him was probably hard for her, and the last thing he wanted was to chase her away.
BREANA: How are you?
Trenton decided to respond with formality instead of honesty
TRENTON: Fine. And you?
Doubts flooded him as soon as he’d pressed send. Was his reply too dry? Did it seem that he didn’t care? It was the farthest thing from the truth. Should he have been a little more detailed?
Breana shot a message back a few moments later, and Trenton breathed a sigh of relief. Over the next few minutes, they dove into a short conversation that was as shallow as a discussion with a stranger on an airplane.
Despite the slight awkwardness, Trenton was over the moon. Every time the ping declared an incoming message, he felt a shock of electricity jolt his bones.
Trenton was so caught up in Breana’s messages, that when the door opened and his father burst through, he reverted to his thirteen year old self.
“Dad! Don’t you knock!” he bellowed.
Edward Lorde reeled back and clutched his chest. Two months in his tiny Caribbean hometown had turned his usually pale skin and to a near orange shade. Heavy wrinkles spanned the length from his eyes to his hairline.
Edward had been spending half of his time gallivanting Belize with his buddies and the other half breathing down Trenton’s neck about the business.
“Why did you yell, boy? I’m not deaf?”
“I’m sorry.” Trenton ran a hand through his hair. “I’m just… doing something very important right now.” Trenton eyed his computer.