Someone Like You

by Brittney Sahin

  “We were just leaving.”

  “Then you can leave. Lily will stay,” I bite back.

  She sighs. “Ten minutes, and I don’t want to see you again until we have our lawyers present. I mean it.”

  I ignore her, knowing next Sunday I’ll be back.

  I leave the playground twenty minutes later, pissed about the short time, but I didn’t want to fight in front of Lily. And then I spend the rest of the day drifting around the city like a man lost at sea.

  As the sun drops from the sky and the moon makes its debut, I find myself lying on the couch on the deck of my boat, looking at a selfie I took of Lily and me earlier. She has her tongue playfully sticking out with bunny ears over my head.

  A message pops up from Grace.

  Did you get to see Lily today?

  I focus on her question, surprised she’s thinking about me after what happened to her today.

  I sit upright and type a response.

  Yes. At the park.

  I send it and wait, my body growing strangely calm.

  That’s good. I hope you’re doing okay. Sorry again about earlier.

  Why is she apologizing? For her brother or for her panic attack? I really hope she sees someone for that.

  Are YOU okay?

  I delete the line and try again.

  Can I come over? I don’t want you to be alone.

  I stand and delete the message again. Before I have a chance to write something else, Grace has sent me another text.

  I’m not going into work tomorrow or Tuesday. Could you hold off on the remodel?

  I squint at the message as if I didn’t read it right. Shit, she must be worse than I thought. I should call her—or go to her.

  I’m coming over.

  I send it before I have a chance to hesitate.

  No, I’m okay. Tell Bella if we fall behind schedule don’t stress.

  She seems a little cold. Distant. But it’s hard to assess someone based on a few texts. But still, she must be struggling with what she learned today, and what if she has another anxiety attack? It’s great news that the police found the asshole who almost—shit, I can’t even finish that thought.

  Don’t worry about the remodel right now. I want to come over. Let me be there for you.

  The message delivers, and I wait.

  And wait.

  And as I continue to wait, the minutes ticking by, I realize I’ve never sat around waiting for a woman to call or text me—EVER.

  I’ve waited on ops. I’ve had to sit in the desert, in the bushes, in the freezing ass ocean and wait. I know how to wait for missions. I did—I keep forgetting I won’t ever be on an op again.

  But this type of waiting is god-awful.

  No, scratch that. It’s fucking horrible.

  And this can only mean one thing—this thing between us…it’s something more.

  17

  Grace

  “You’re in your pajamas, for Christ’s sake. You’re not acting like the woman I raised,” my mom says.

  “At what point did you actually raise me? Nannies, boarding school…neither of you did anything. Maybe that’s a good thing, though. Maybe I’d be more like you guys if you had,” I snap.

  Mom relaxes on my bed, but Dad remains in front of me where I’m sitting on the couch, his arms in his signature crossed pose to intimidate. I tuck a pillow against my chest and rest my head on the back of the couch, eyeing my father without a care in the world. But that’s what four vodka tonics at three in the afternoon will do to you.

  You become ballsy and stand up to your dictator father.

  “What’s wrong with you? Is this about the lineup tomorrow?” My dad shakes his head and waves dismissively. “Hell, it’s not even a lineup. You and Corbin just have to look at a few photos. Make an ID.” He sighs, but it comes across more like a hiss—like a hiss from a cobra. The king fucking cobra. “And it cost me an awful lot of money to convince them to come all the way here so you wouldn’t have to go back. I don’t see any appreciation.”

  Is he serious?

  “Take a shower and get cleaned up. It’s time to move on.” He points toward the bathroom as if I don’t know the way around my bedroom.

  “Move on? Are you for real? The guy was going to kill me, and God knows what else.” If he had rape—I can’t finish that thought. There’s not enough alcohol in me, yet, to allow myself to tackle that “what if” scenario. It’s bad enough my nightmares give me a play-by-play of what could have happened if Corbin hadn’t saved me.

  “Well, he didn’t. And right now, we have other problems to face.” He crosses his arms and glances at Mom as if she’s supposed to interject.

  “Yes, dear, you have a guest coming later today.” She plasters on a fake, tight-lipped smile.

  “Who?” But I already know the answer. I can see it on my father’s face. I never truly thought it would come to this—that I would have to tell my father “hell no” to his face.

  “Patrick never left New York. He’s still here, and he wants to see you again.” Dad grips the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes. “I don’t like asking you to do this. I don’t want to force you into a relationship the way—”

  “You two were?” I stand. “The way you pushed Cade into his engagement?”

  “That’s not fair. Or true,” my mom rushes out while narrowing her eyes.

  “I guess when you lie to yourself for so long, the lies become truths.” I flick my wrist, move to the window, and hit the automatic switch by the blinds, opening them.

  They slide up, but instead of beams from an afternoon sun blinding me, there’s only a dense and overwhelming shot of grayness. Cloudy skies and a light rain that streaks down my window like the slow drop of oil on a canvas.

  How perfect.

  “I won’t marry someone for the sake of a business merger. Maybe you could have bullied me into it a few months ago, but not now. Things have changed.” My back is still to them because I don’t know if I have the courage to say this to their faces. “This is 2017, F.Y.I. Maybe you didn’t get the memo.” I fake a laugh. Maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe I’ve totally lost my mind, but I can’t grin and bear it anymore. “Perhaps you should fire your admin.”

  I bite my tongue and don’t go as far as to mention the fact I know he’s screwed her. So cliché. I mean, come on, if you’re going to be a lying cheat, at least be original about it. Maybe fuck Greg, the doorman at our office building. Now that’d be interesting.

  I cringe at my dark thoughts. This is my life, but I don’t want it to be.

  I get a taste of freedom every time I’m with Noah, and it’s addicting.

  I want to strip the chains of this last name, and I want to run. I want to dance naked while listening to the record player and not worry about what anyone would think.

  I want…Noah.

  “We heard about the carpenter. You’ve done this before.” My mother is behind me. I can smell her sharp perfume, and it almost makes me feel a little dizzy. “You’ve dated men you know we would never approve of just to make sure we’re paying attention.” Her hand touches my back, and although I flinch, I don’t face her. “And believe me, we’re paying attention right now.”

  I can’t look her in the eyes—a woman who’s supposed to protect me and do what’s best for me. She only cares about what’s in the best interest for the family name.

  “Cade needs to mind his own business.” I press my forehead against the glass, straining to hear the soft sounds of the rain.

  “He didn’t tell us—”

  “Then who did?” I cut her off. There’s no way Corbin said anything, and my parents don’t know my neighbor that well. Cade only knows Evan because they belong to the same gym.

  “Patrick saw you with him,” Dad says.

  Is the guy stalking me? My skin crawls with unease as I process what he said.

  “You know you could never truly be happy with someone like him. He’s not like us, dear.” My mom presses he
r hand to my shoulder and squeezes as if I’ll suddenly have an aha moment and be cured of my insanity.

  “Someone like him?” My shoulders shudder, betraying the sudden emotions threading through me. “I hope you’re referring to Patrick because then you’re dead-on!”

  I face my mom, and her hand drops.

  “Don’t be absurd. You know exactly who I was speaking about.”

  “And you know nothing about him,” I say through clenched teeth.

  “We don’t need to.” My dad comes next to Mom.

  She shoots him a nervous look as if she’s clueless as to how to handle my defiance.

  “He’s married, has a five-year-old daughter, and he makes less than fifty thousand a year.” His brows slant. “Five. Zero. Did you hear me?”

  He’s not emphasizing the marriage part—it’s the money part. Always.

  “Leave.” The intensity of my anger is piling up so high, I don’t know if I’ll be able to wrangle in my control much longer. “And tell Patrick I won’t open the door if he shows up.”

  Dad makes a tsk noise. “Maybe once this Greek thing is behind you, you’ll come to your senses again.”

  Greek thing? Yes, the annoying Greek thing where I was almost killed.

  My parents finally start for my bedroom door.

  “Wait.” I step in front of them and hold out my hand. “I want your key.”

  “Key?” Dad’s brows pinch together.

  “I don’t want anyone I don’t trust having a key to my place.” I raise my palm higher and closer to his face.

  “You’re being ridiculous.” But he shoves his hand into his pocket and works the key off the chain.

  “You too, Mom.” I grip the key I’d given my father and assess my mother, trying to get a read on her.

  “I don’t even know what to say. I barely recognize you anymore,” Mom says in a low voice as she digs into her purse.

  “I think that’s a good thing.” And I mean it wholeheartedly. Once I have both keys, I wave toward the living room.

  “Take some time off work this week and think, Grace. And when you have your head back on, make the right decision, because I don’t want to have to make it for you.” His voice has my skin pebbling and my chest tightening, because I know my father doesn’t make empty threats.

  I need less than thirty seconds to ID the man. His face has haunted me for weeks.

  “That’s him. I’m one hundred percent certain.” I shut my eyes, not wanting to look at the photo any longer. He’s already left an imprint in my brain, but having an image of him right in front of my eyes is suffocating.

  The nightmares tonight will be more vivid than normal, more gut-wrenching and painful—if that’s even possible. Last night my dreams shredded me, and I was all alone.

  Thankfully Patrick never showed up, but neither did Noah. I’m sure it’s because I never responded to his last message on Sunday night. I’m not sure why I’m afraid to reach out to him. Maybe it’s because I feel that I need him.

  He makes the monsters go away. I sound like a kid saying that, but it’s true. The darkness slips away when he’s around, and in its place is all this light. Bright and intoxicating light.

  And I want it desperately. I want his light to wrap me up and take me away, out of this city.

  But we’re both married to this city in completely different ways.

  Even if I turn my back on my family for a chance to be with someone like him, he said that he could never give me more.

  He was always honest.

  But I didn’t expect this, to feel like this.

  “Grace?”

  I open my eyes to see Corbin approaching me.

  “Are you done?” he asks.

  “Yeah. You?” I gulp, chills spreading across my skin.

  “Yeah.” They didn’t want us in the same room when we IDed the man so we couldn’t influence one another.

  “Did you recognize him?”

  He nods. “You?”

  “Yeah.” I don’t need to ask who he pointed out. Number one, two, three, four, or five. We both know it was Number Four.

  Four. A number I’ll hate maybe forever.

  “Can we go now?” Corbin asks the officer next to the Greek official collecting the photos off the metal table, which looks like it doubles for autopsies.

  “We’ll be in touch about the trial. Here’s my card if you need to reach me,” the Greek officer, named Stefano, says as he hands Corbin the card.

  I’m in a trance or something. “Trial?”

  “Yes. It can take some time to have a trial, but you’ll need to testify,” Stefano answers.

  “Like, how long?” Corbin asks.

  “Two months.” Stefano shrugs. “Two years. The courts are pretty backed up, but this guy was a very wanted man. We might try to process it faster to get him sentenced.”

  How can I ever face Number Four in person? How can I possibly be in the same room with him?

  I can’t go back to Greece.

  “You okay?” Corbin wraps an arm around my shoulder and pulls me against him. “Thank you, sir.” He nods at Stefano, but I can barely see straight.

  I don’t even remember walking out of the building.

  I have no clue how I ended up in front of Corbin’s apartment door.

  Everything is one big blur.

  Number Four—his face is all I can see.

  The knife to my throat. The rough sound of his voice at my ear. His other hand sliding up my skirt as he held me in place and I was unable to move.

  “Shit.” He pats his pockets. “I either left my keys back there or at the office before I left for the meeting.”

  “I really should go anyways.”

  “I can get the super to let us in.”

  “No. I mean, yes—for you. But I think I have somewhere else I need to be right now,” I say, in a bit of a daze still.

  He presses a hand to the wall at my side and angles his head, studying me. “The handyman?”

  “Don’t call him that.” I shake my head, now pulled out of my stupor.

  “Embarrassed or—”

  “No, I just mean…he has a name. And I expect that shit from Cade, not you.”

  Corbin drops his hand and steps back, his brows scrunching together. “Fuck. You really like this guy, don’t you?”

  “I, um…”

  He exhales. “Don’t let Dad or Cade stand in your way then.”

  I don’t know what to say. I’m not even sure how I feel.

  “I should go.” I start to turn, but his hand on my forearm stops me.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  His words flit through my mind for a brief moment. “I will be,” I say as the knot tightens in my stomach, locking all of my emotions in place where I’m fighting the current again—a battle I can’t win.

  Once outside, the sounds of the busy New York streets overwhelm me. The commotion, the lights, the people, the traffic. I need it to stop—all the noise. And since Corbin’s driver brought us to his place, my driver, Frank, isn’t here for a ride.

  I hail a taxi and give the destination. And as I sit in the back of the cab, Corbin’s words about Noah roll around in my head, playing on repeat like an annoying commercial.

  “Ma’am.”

  I glance at the driver in the rearview mirror, realizing we’ve pulled up to the curb already. I grab a few bills from my wallet. “Thanks.”

  I get out of the car and look at the Hudson. I was having dinner nearby when that pilot landed his plane on this very river. The historic rescue without a single loss of life.

  Miracles do happen.

  That crash on the water is a testament to that.

  So, anything is possible. Noah and I—it’s possible, right?

  I count the number of boats as I pass them on the docks. I don’t have OCD, but they distract me from the water. It’s cloudy out, and a strong breeze is making the water rise too high. The sound of it beating against the sides of the boats I pass h
as me on edge.

  So, I count.

  I focus on the yachts, the small fishing boats, the speed boats. I don’t see anyone on them as I walk, and I assume it’s because a storm is coming. How does Noah sleep on his boat in a storm? I can’t imagine.

  I stop counting when I find his boat. Madeline.

  I wonder what Madeline was like. Was the couple truly, madly, and deeply in love? Does that kind of love even exist?

  I hear Noah’s voice before I see him. He’s coming out of his cabin, his phone pressed to his ear. His eyes catch mine the second he’s on deck.

  “I have to go,” he says into the phone and lowers it from his ear. “Hi. Are you okay?” He tosses his phone on the couch and steps onto the dock, closing the space between us. He braces my forearms, and I drag my gaze up to meet his intense eyes.

  “I’m sorry you haven’t heard from me…but it’s done. I identified the guy.” My knees are weak, and if he weren’t holding on to me, I’d fall.

  “Come on.” He helps me on board. Once we’re below deck, he asks, “What happens now?”

  I like that he knows the water is too much for me to deal with today. I sit on the edge of the bed and kick off my nude flats as he joins me. “I’ll have to go to court to testify in the trial.”

  The same room as Number Four.

  Face to face.

  Speak before him.

  Relive that night.

  My hands cover my face as I try to fight back the emotions twining around my neck, cutting off my oxygen.

  He touches my back. “When?”

  “I don’t know.” I drop my arms and ball my hands on my lap.

  “I won’t let him hurt you,” he says in a deep voice as our eyes meet.

  “He’ll be in handcuffs. I should be okay.” I swallow.

  “I don’t care. I need to be with you.” Slight lines appear on his forehead.

  “You want to come to Greece?” I ask in disbelief.

  He nods.

  “That’s not necessary. We’re—”

  “Friends. And I’m always there for a friend.”

  Friends. Can I ever be friends with him? Did I ever think it was possible to only be friends with Noah Dalton?