by Max Monroe
“Shit,” I muttered and bent down to pick up the fruit before someone tripped or ran over them with their cart.
As I reached for the last one sitting below the cartons holding the pineapples, Remy’s face came into view again, his gaze locked with mine as he picked up my apple and set it back into my produce bag.
“Thanks,” I said, and we both stood up from our crouched positions.
He offered a soft smile. “It’s been a long time, Charlotte.”
“It has.” I nodded and fidgeted with the plastic bag in my hands. “How are you, Remy?”
“I’m good. How are you?”
Cripes, this was awkward. It was like neither of us knew what to say, even though we each had a million things we wanted to say.
“I’m good.”
“So, you’re back—” he started to ask, while I simultaneously said, “It’s good to see you.”
“Shit. Sorry.” I laughed nervously, and he smiled.
“So, you’re back in New York?”
“Yep,” I answered. “I moved back permanently this past year.”
“Still with the same job?”
“Uh-huh. Still working for CMI.”
“That’s good.”
“Thanks,” I said for lack of anything better to say. It wasn’t easy seeing your ex-fiancé in general, much less in the middle of the produce aisle at the grocery store. Eventually, I found a good topic to hopefully mix things up from our new pattern of using the word good every thirty seconds. “So, how’s Winnie?”
He slipped his hands into his pockets and rocked back and forth on his feet. “She’s good.”
“That’s good to hear.”
Fucking hell. How many times had we said the word good in the span of five minutes?
The count had to be up to fifty by this point.
“She’s really happy. Married,” he added. “And has a little girl that I adore.”
“I’m so glad to hear that.” I smiled even though I already knew those things. The idea of Winnie happy made me happy. Even though I’d lost contact with her once Remy and I had split, I still cared about her. She’d been a huge part of my life when I was with her brother.
“And I bet you’re an awesome uncle.”
“Of course I am,” he teased. If there was one thing about Remy that I loved, it was his sense of humor. He’d given me so many funny memories during our relationship.
“Always with the ego,” I joked back, and he laughed.
We stared at one another for a quiet moment, until I admitted, “It’s really good to see you, Rem.” It was the truth. It felt good to see him smile and laugh. I guess it simply felt good to see him. To feel that he was doing okay.
I was honestly surprised by that reaction. Sure, I’d gained closure and moved on over the past twelve years, but there had always been that underlying discomfort related to just the sound of his name.
“It’s really good to see you too, Char.”
“Well,” I started and held up my bag of apples, “I guess I better finish up if I have any hopes of getting through the check-out line before they close.”
He nodded in understanding, but before we said goodbye, he locked his gaze with mine and reached out his hand to gently grip my arm. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “For everything. For the way our relationship ended. For being a selfish idiot and giving you an ultimatum, instead of being the supportive partner you deserved.”
“Wow, Rem.” I blinked once, twice, three times as my brain digested his words. “That means a lot,” I finally responded once I’d gotten past the whole shock of it all. “I really appreciate that, but you’re not the only one who should be apologizing.”
He tilted his head to the side, and his brow rose in surprise.
“I’m sorry for the way I handled it in the end,” I said. “I was young and extremely naïve, but that wasn’t an excuse. I should have come to you sooner about the job offer. I should have talked to you about it before the night before our wedding. I was just scared and unsure, and I really loved you. I was afraid I’d lose you.”
“I really appreciate that, Char,” he said quietly. “It means a lot.”
“For what it’s worth, I could never regret our relationship. Even after all the bad things that were said between us, I’m still thankful for the happy memories you gave me.”
“Me too,” he agreed. “Our intentions for getting married were right, but we just weren’t right for one another, huh?”
I nodded. “I couldn’t agree more.”
Remy moved toward me, wrapping his arms around my shoulders and pulling me in for a tight but brief hug. “It was good to see you, Char,” he whispered into my ear. “I’m happy you’re doing good.”
And then he flashed his adorable signature smile, offered a little wave goodbye, and walked away, leaving me standing in the produce section with a brain full of nonsense.
The closure with Remy was a relief, but the truth was I was anything but happy.
Bitingly cold beer in hand and the comfort of a plush pillow under my coffee table-elevated feet, I scrolled through the channels until I came to the one that would feature me.
Tonight, I’d be making a splash into reality television, and I doubted I’d ever be dry again. I dreaded the forthcoming recognition and the prying questions into my personal business.
I feared the mockery they’d make of my carefully crafted career.
And I dreaded the moment Charlotte walked onto the screen at the same time I longed for it.
It’d been too long since I’d seen her—too long since I’d smelled the lavender in her perfume and too long since I’d tasted wine on her tipsy, trivia-night lips.
With her on my mind and her absence leaning on the bruises on my heart, I made a decision.
Brave or stupid, the result was undisclosed, but my phone felt weighty in my hand as I moved to my contacts to dial the number and put it to my ear.
The sound felt painful, like each bell was a toll toward the end of my existence as I knew it, but luckily, she didn’t make me wait too long.
“Hello?” she answered on the second ring.
“Hey, Winnie. You got a sec?”
I heard her moving around a room, and then the sound of a creaking door pulling closed behind her. All the background noise dulled completely, and a new level of nerves descended thanks to the eerie silence.
“Yeah, of course. You sound really serious.”
I sighed and rubbed at my phoneless temple. “I just need to talk to you about something.”
“You do know your show’s about to start, don’t you? Georgia and Cassie came over for a viewing. They’re obsessed.”
“Oh, I know it’s about to come on,” I confirmed. “That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.”
Her voice was soft, maybe a little scared, as she questioned, “Yeah?”
I took two sharp breaths and then dove right in. There was literally no time left to handle this on my own, and if I didn’t come clean now, the show would do it for me. Some inkling told me this was the better way. “I know you’ve been imagining what light the show would paint me in, but I think you should worry about something else.”
“What?”
I rubbed painfully at the surface of my forehead with the tips of my fingers. “It’s Charlotte.”
“Charlotte? What are you talking about?”
“My ex-girlfriend, the one who, in the interest of full disclosure, I probably won’t ever be over, is Charlotte Hollis.”
“Charlotte Hollis,” she whispered.
I closed my eyes and let my head fall back on the couch with a thud. I had a feeling I probably wouldn’t be able to hold it up myself after she got done with me. “Yep.”
I wasn’t ready, though, for the power of her reaction—and the sound of her tears.
“Oh Jesus. Are you crying?” I pounded my fist against my forehead. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know who she was. I never would have started something w
ith her if I’d known the history between her and Remy. I found out early on about the wedding, or the non-wedding, I guess, but I didn’t know who the groom was until the weekend she was supposed to meet Lexi. I—”
“Nick,” she called, interrupting me.
“Yeah?”
“Shut up.”
“Win, I’m sorry.”
“I said, shut up!” she snapped.
My eyebrows were drawn, but I did as I was told and shut my mouth.
“I get it now…why you’ve been so upset. Charlotte is… Charlotte was…she was my sister. I loved her, and I miss her every day. She cut all contact with me after what happened with Remy, and I never blamed her, but I…I missed her. I still do. So, I get it. I get why you can’t get over her, and more than that, I don’t think you should.”
“Win…”
“It happened twelve years ago, Nick. We were all kids. Hell, what happened between us went on for seven years, and three with you like you are now, and I’ve forgiven you. I think I can handle you and Charlotte together after twelve. Unless you fucked it up for some other reason.”
“No,” I laughed. “The family relation is about the only reason.”
“I had a feeling. You’re not all that bad when you’re not knocking people up.”
Ouch. Still, I deserved it. So I ignored it.
“What about Remy?”
She sighed. “Remy needs to face that demon head on. He’s never been truthful with himself about how much of that was his fault or how Charlotte didn’t have to be his only. That she wasn’t his only.”
“Yeah, but I’m not sure I want to be a part of him learning that lesson. He hates me enough.”
“Too bad. And shame on you for not telling me earlier! I could have saved us all the three months of you doing your best impression of Hobo Joe.”
“I don’t know if it’s that simple. Char…she’s texted me a few times…and I didn’t answer her with anything worthwhile…or sometimes at all. It was just too hard.”
“She’ll get over it if you’re honest with her. She might knee you in the nuts, but I’m not entirely opposed to that.”
“Great,” I commented. “Does that come before or after the black eye from Remy?”
“Well, I’d say before. He can’t get mad until he actually sees you together, and to see you together, you have to win her back. Duh.”
I winced. “Yeah, about that. I’m pretty sure it’s going to come out whether we’re back together or not.”
“How?”
“The show. I really wasn’t mindful of the cameras when it came to my interactions with Charlotte,” I admitted. “I didn’t really know I had a reason to be at the time.”
“Hmm,” she murmured. “Okay, so you get the black eye first. That might actually go a long way in your fight to win Charlotte back.”
“To remind her of all the conflict and strife she’s involved in? I think not.”
“Chicks dig scars, Dr. Raines. Chicks dig scars.”
I heard nothing more but a sniffle or two before the line went dead. I supposed Winnie had said all she’d needed to say on the matter, and that was that.
My heart raced as I tried to organize the completely unexpected outcome of that conversation in my head. I felt wild and wondrous, and like maybe there was a chance I could have everything I wanted. Before I lost the nerve, I opened my text messages to find Charlotte.
I had so much to say and no easy way to do it.
So there was only one option—to bite the bullet.
Me: Can we talk?
I paced, glanced at the clock hanging over my kitchen sink, and then I paced again.
Five minutes until showtime…
I was torn. Did I watch Nick’s first episode of The Doctor Is In? Or did I avoid it like the plague?
Not to mention, by watching his episodes, I’d have to see his handsome face again, hear his voice, watch his smile, and I dreaded it would destroy any progress I’d made toward moving on.
Well, not that I’d actually moved on, or come close to moving on, but I at least kept telling myself that I needed to move on. That counted for something, right?
God, I was pathetic.
And obviously, I knew deep down, once the clock struck eight, I’d be scrambling to the sofa, grabbing the remote, and clicking the television on. Not to mention, I’d already set up an automatic recording for every The Doctor Is In episode that would ever air.
Yeah, I really was pathetic.
But the sad reality was that I wanted to watch the show because I missed Nick. And more than that, it was pretty much all I had left of him.
Well, I guessed it was either the show or social media stalking. And since Nick wasn’t really the type of guy to keep his Facebook profile updated, I had to obsessively watch his reality docuseries in hopes that I’d see his face grace the camera during Dr. Obscene’s and Dr. Erotic’s episodes.
But now, his episodes were getting ready to air, which meant that Nick’s face would be on camera nearly the whole damn time. Depending on what footage they used in the early filming process, I also might make a cameo or two.
I silently prayed that wasn’t the case. The last thing I wanted was a reminder of how happy I used to be.
But more importantly, I wondered, would his episodes of the series somehow be completely different from his counterparts? Or would they use everything they could find to make the show as juicy and sensationalized as possible?
I knew the true answer to those questions, and I had a strong feeling tidbits of our past relationship would end up broadcasted for the world to see.
I thought back to that one day in his office, when we’d been just in the midst of having sex on his desk, and the cameraguy’s knocking presence on the other side of the door had startled us both. Nausea rolled up my throat at the reminder.
Fucking hell. I wanted to watch it, but I feared those episodes would make me face the reality of the situation—Nick’s episodes were about to show all of the things we had tried to keep secret.
What would that do to him? To Winnie?
And subsequently, to his relationship with his daughter?
The last thing I wanted was to see a worst-case scenario outcome for Nick and Lexi.
I glanced at the clock again and watched as the minute hand clicked into the eight o’clock place. Showtime.
Before I could stop myself, or even try to stop myself, I snagged the remote from the coffee table and flipped on the television. Immediately, my eyes caught sight of the familiar The Doctor Is In logo on the screen.
Shit. It was really happening. Nick’s episodes were getting ready to air right the fuck now.
I attempted to sit down, but when the camera footage zoomed in to Nick’s office, and then his handsome, gorgeous face filled the screen, I hopped off the couch and turned my back to the TV.
His smooth as honey voice filled my living room as he introduced himself and his practice and invited viewers into his world of medicine.
God, just the sound of his voice made my heart ache.
I fucking missed him, and nothing was more painful than missing someone you knew you could never have. It was like your soul throbbed painfully over the reality that you’d have to spend the rest of your life missing that special person. That there was nothing you could do to fix the situation.
By the time the music started up again, and what I assumed were the flash of words related to stir intrigue with the viewers, I couldn’t take it. Even though I wasn’t even looking at the screen, I still couldn’t take it. Just the sound of his voice was too much for me.
I flipped off the television and walked into my bedroom, cursing myself the whole way there. I felt like a pathetic coward. We hadn’t been together for a while now, but yet, I couldn’t even watch his stupid reality show. It was insane. What was wrong with me?
You still love him.
Yeah. I still loved him.
That was the crux of the situation. And when you still
loved someone, just the mere sight of them or the sound of their voice was enough to intensify the already difficult emotions of losing them.
A text notification pinged from my phone and echoed into the hallway.
Even though it was probably Harper or Ivy or Doreen, I walked back out into the living room and grabbed my phone off the kitchen counter. The instant I unlocked the home screen and tapped on my message inbox, I couldn’t believe my eyes.
Nick: Can we talk?
My heart screamed, Yes! Go to him now!
But my brain protested, No…don’t even go there. Seeing him in person would be too much right now.
Holy hell. I didn’t know which was the right option.
I mean, we weren’t together, hadn’t been together for months.
What more was there to talk about?
Instead of responding to him right away, I locked my phone screen and slipped on my shoes. I grabbed my keys and purse and headed for the door.
I needed a walk. I needed to breathe in the city, the people, the buildings, the life. I needed to clear my head and find some semblance of peace from the constant tug-of-war my head and heart were providing.
Instead of losing my mind inside of my apartment, while watching a fucking reality series make a mockery out of my life and career, I decided to take a day off and get away from the city—and hopefully away from streets filled with people who now thought they knew something about me.
Twenty-four hours ago, I’d sent Charlotte a text message, asking her if we could talk. She still hadn’t responded, and I wasn’t sure if it was because she was scared or she really had moved on from us—from me.
God, I fucking hated the idea of her already moving on with someone else.
It felt like the absolute most wrong thing in the entire world.
She belonged with me.
As I walked up the gravel driveway, my shoes crinkling against the rock and sand, I realized it’d been years since I’d stood here, on the threshold of all of my mistakes.