Sticks & Stones

by Rachael Brownell

Tyler Small.

  The man who led me to believe he didn’t know me, but yet he understood my pain. The man who claimed he wanted to help me. The man who, when I was in high school, dated the person who made my life a living hell.

  I wish I could forget about him.

  I wish every moment I spent with him, every kiss, every feeling I felt for him could be erased.

  If only…

  “Come on, Reese. I’ll pick you up at seven o’clock. We don't have to stay more than an hour. It would be good for you to make an appearance. You’re the one that sold them the building after all.”

  “You sold them the building, Ireland.”

  “Yes, but your name is on all the paperwork. I’m sure they’d like to meet the woman behind the name.”

  My name. Yes, it’s fantastic. Which name is that again? Jane or Reese? I seem to be confused about who I am these days. It took me a week after returning home to figure it out. I was still so caught up in being Jane that I wasn’t answering when people called me Reese. Once I adjusted, I still introduced myself as Jane a few times. Life got confusing. It still is at times.

  “What do you say?”

  “I’m not sure I can. I have plans tonight.” That was a lie. I condemned Hunter for lying yet I’ve found that it’s easier to do than tell the truth. Especially lately.

  “Right. You and whom?”

  “Why does someone else have to be involved? Can’t I have plans with myself?”

  “Sure you can. But if those plans involve crying into your pillow, you need to cancel them. I can’t let you live like this anymore. As your best friend, I refuse. So, I’m picking you up at seven. Be ready or I’ll dress you myself.”

  She leaves without giving me a chance to fight her on this. I realize I’m being immature, locking myself away like I have been. Maybe it’s time to pull up my big girl panties and face life again. I’ve overcome this once before, I can do it again. I don’t have a choice. I can’t live like this for the rest of my life. Things have to change. Sooner rather than later.

  Finding something to wear is more of a challenge than I expected. I opt for a simple pant suit, something I can hide behind. People will be expecting a business woman, anyway.

  “That’s what you’re wearing?” Ireland exclaims as soon as I open the door.

  “Yeah. Let’s go,” I reply quickly, attempting to push past her and close the door before she gets any ideas. Knowing her, she would push me back inside and play dress up until she was happy with my outfit. I don’t really care what I wear, so she shouldn't either.

  “I can’t believe you put on fresh work clothes for this. You do realize this is a grand opening, right? Black tie. Big sponsors. Big money.”

  “So basically you’re telling me I should have worn my little black dress, a pair of heels and done something more with my hair.”

  “Basically,” she replies, a hint of sarcasm in her voice, as she turns off my street.

  The ride is quiet after that. I keep my eyes focused on the passing buildings of downtown Denver. If I look in her direction, she’ll want to start a conversation. She has me trapped in her car right now. Unable to escape, I know what she’ll want to talk about. To avoid that topic, I avoid eye contact. It’s all I can do right now.

  As she pulls up behind a large, two-story building, I let out a sigh of relief. I’ve avoided her barrage of questions. The ride home is still a concern, but the next hour of my life is going to be Hunter free.

  “Why are we parking back here?” I ask when she pulls into a spot reserved for “employees only.”

  “VIP entrance. This way we don't have to go through the front and get bombarded by everyone you know.”

  “I know people here?”

  “Yes, Reese. You know people everywhere, or they know you. I know you’re living under a rock right now, but that doesn’t mean people have forgotten about you. Your name is attached to this building and this business.”

  Ugh! I should have fought harder. I could be in front of my television right now, in my yoga pants, watching a string of romantic, tear-jerking movies. Instead, I’ve lost the will to fight Ireland, and I’m here. With my peers. Wishing I wasn’t.

  “Ready?” she asks as she opens her door and steps out.

  She’s not waiting for me to reply. That’s becoming an annoying habit of hers. At the office, I can call her out. Right now, we’re friends. I choose not to be her boss outside the office, but I’m starting to rethink that a little at the moment.

  Opening the passenger door, I push myself out of the seat. Once I’m clear, I slam the door, catching her attention. She shoots me a glare out of the corner of her eye but doesn’t say anything. Her car is her baby. It was her first “real” investment after her first big commission came in. That’s why I knew slamming the door would get under her skin.

  Meeting her at the back of the car, I loop my arm with hers, calling a truce for the night. It’s going to suck enough, I at least need my wing woman by my side. Not that she would ever leave me, but I’d rather not take my chances.

  We’re escorted through a series of hallways lined with offices. I hear music and laughter filtering from up ahead. Forcing myself to smile, Ireland and I step into the main room of the building and are immediately the center of attention.

  Familiar faces clap and cheer. Waving at them, I attempt to step away from the spotlight that feels like it’s shining on me, but Ireland doesn’t budge. She’s holding my arm tight, prohibiting me from going far.

  “Hello, everyone! I’m Paul and I would like to thank you all for being here tonight to celebrate the opening of the Jane Project. The inspiration for the center was a girl named Jane. She was someone who was picked on–bullied if you will. All for the entertainment of others. We all know someone like Jane, don’t we? Maybe you were like Jane.”

  The Jane Project? What? Where the hell are we?

  “The Jane Project was created to help support young individuals like her. The ones who are dealing with emotional problems, focusing on those being bullied in school. We need to help them understand they’re not alone. The words of others don’t define who they are or who they can become. So, without further ado, I give you the founder of the Jane Project, Tyler Small.”

  I’m going to kill my best friend. Dead. No trace of her body will be found. I’ll pay someone to feed her to the sharks off the coast of Hawaii. Better yet, the alligators that live in the Florida swamps.

  “Welcome, everyone, and thank you for being here. It means a lot to see so many familiar faces here to support us on day one.”

  Closing my eyes, I picture his face. He’s grinning at me, his eyes telling me what he wants. He wants me.

  Shaking my head, I shake away all thoughts of Hunter, or at least I try. He’s still on the microphone, talking. He’s going to be hard to avoid if this is his grand opening.

  “You’re dead. You know that, right?” I whisper to Ireland.

  “I’ll take my chances,” she replies, smirking, not an ounce of concern in her voice.

  “As long as you know,” I state, attempting to unwrap my arm from hers to no avail.

  “Oh, I know. And the best is yet to come. I’ll understand if you want to hug me later. I’ll accept that as your apology for threatening my life. That’s what best friends do. They forgive.”

  “As I was saying,” he continues, “this project is near and dear to my heart. There was a time in my life when I was on the other side of the coin, and I honestly didn’t like it. Thankfully, I got smart and pulled myself out of a bad situation. That doesn’t mean everyone is able to, and that’s what the center is all about. We’re here to support those that need a little help. And thanks to all your donations, the Jane Project is going to be around to help a number of young adults for a long time. So please, raise your glasses for a toast. To all those that have helped to make this center a reality and to Reese Kennedy for giving me the nudge I needed to realize my true calling in life. Cheers!”

&nbs
p; The Jane Project.

  That’s all I can focus on.

  What is happening here?

  “Are you all right?” Ireland asks.

  “I don’t know. Why is he doing this?”

  “I think there’s someone else more qualified to answer that question,” she says, finally releasing my arm and backing away slowly. “Remember I love you and that you love me. You don’t really want to kill me. I’ll accept that hug here in about an hour, okay?”

  “Where are you going?” She continues to back away even after I call her name a few times. Once she disappears into the crowd, I let out a huff. That’s when the scent of his aftershave assaults me. I close my eyes and breathe it in, remembering what it felt like to be in his arms.

  I’m going to kill her.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Hunter

  Ireland came through. She promised she would but I had my doubts. It’s been a little over six months since I last laid eyes on her. Her eyes haunt me every night. They were filled with so much pain and anger.

  I’ve sent her flowers every week since then. Surprisingly, she hasn’t reached out to me yet. I was expecting her to at least call and tell me to stop sending them, not that I would have.

  Between Ireland and Paul, they’ve kept me from going insane. If it weren’t for them helping me, I can’t say the center would have ever come to fruition.

  When I approached Ireland a few weeks after coming home to check on Reese, she hung up on me. I knew I needed backup, so I had Paul give it a shot. He got her into bed, but that’s where the communication ended. I needed an “in” with her, and when the idea came to me, I knew she couldn’t turn down the opportunity.

  We met at Paul’s office, common ground. I ran my idea by her and she softened immediately. Once we had the bones of the plan on paper, she started hunting for the space. That was her contribution. Paul was in charge of human resources, interviewing and hiring all the staff. Mine? I was in charge of all the marketing and advertising as well as funding.

  Knowing that we would need some generous donations, I started calling in any favor that was owed to me. Thankfully, my name had rebounded in the corporate world slightly. I got shot down a few times, but most people were on board with what I was trying to do. Either they were bullied themselves or knew someone who was. Contributing to the Jane Project meant a lot to them. In a way, they finally found a way to stand up to their bullies.

  The last piece of the puzzle was to get Reese here. She was the reason for all of this. Whether she likes it or not, I did this for her. I can’t take back what happened ten years ago, but I can try to make up for it. Even after today, I plan to do everything I can to make it up to her.

  “You look beautiful,” I whisper in her ear.

  I knew the moment she realized I was standing behind her, but she has yet to turn to face me. I can’t even begin to imagine how hard this is for her, but she’s stronger than anyone I know. She can handle this. If I thought this would break her, I never would have asked Ireland to bring her here.

  “Thank you.”

  “Reese,” I start, but I’m not really sure what to say. I’m sorry will never be enough to encompass how awful I felt for not coming clean with her sooner. I should have been the one to tell her, I wanted to be. If Tiffanie hadn’t recognized me–no, I can’t blame her anymore. This was my fault. I caused her this pain, and I need to own that.

  “Can I get you a drink?” I ask when she doesn’t reply.

  “No, thank you.”

  “Water? Red wine?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “How about some food? The hors d’oeuvres are amazing.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Can we go into my office and talk, then?” I beg. She’s not giving me anything. Her voice is composed and confident. It’s as if I have no effect on her whatsoever. I know that’s not the case, however, judging by the slouch of her shoulders.

  Waiting patiently for her to respond, I take a sip of my champagne. It’s awful. I’m not sure why people like this stuff. I prefer wine or beer. Too many bubbles. It’s going to give me heartburn if I drink anymore.

  Someone calls my name from behind me, attracting my attention away from Reese. When I look back, she’s gone. It took only a mere second for her to escape, but she saw her window of opportunity, and she took it. She can’t go far. I’ll find her again. If I have to corner her to get her to talk to me, I will. I’m not above begging at this point. I need to see her face. Her eyes will tell me everything I need to know about how she really feels about me.

  On one hand, I’m scared she’s harboring her hatred for me. On the other, I’m hopeful she’s still in love with me. Even though I can tell she hasn’t completely forgive me, I’m hoping the way she felt for me hasn’t changed over time.

  Keeping a close watch for any signs of Reese, I mingle with Denver’s finest. They’ve each given a generous amount of their fortunes to make this center the best it can be. When we open the doors Monday morning, I pray I make them proud of their investment.

  We’ve had an overwhelming amount of interest the last few days. Parents wanting to sign their kids up for counseling or after school activities. Adults looking for counseling themselves. We’re hosting three seminars the first week in an attempt to help parents understand what their kids are going through. The following week, we have three more seminars on how to help their kids deal with how their feeling.

  I’d love for Reese to speak to both the parents and kids. I’m hoping she’ll want to be a program mentor. She always has a ton on her plate, but this will be healing for her, as well. Her demons are attacking her right now, and talking through why will help her put them to rest for good. If she can find the courage to speak up.

  Ireland’s working on it.

  At least she says she is. Reese still won’t tell her what happened. I gave her a brief overview of the situation, enough for her to understand what Reese might be feeling and why she might not want to talk about it. She smacked me, left a red mark on my face for hours. Then she blamed herself.

  Hiring me was her idea.

  Canceling the reservation for my room was her way of pushing us together.

  She’s the one who picked Reese up at the airport when she came home after the reunion.

  Of course, she asked questions, tried to get her to talk. She figured we had a fight, that things just didn’t work out. She never thought I broke her heart. It wasn’t even on her radar at the time.

  From there, once she was over the fact that I “broke” her best friend, she got on board with the plan. She’s done everything she could to try and get Reese to see me, talk to me. Nothing had worked, and a few months ago, she said she was done trying. I was shocked. It was like she flipped a switch and changed sides overnight.

  When she came up with the plan to bring her here tonight, I found a renewed faith in Ireland. I’m hoping, before the end of the night, Reese will let me explain everything to her. At the very least, I’d like her to yell at me. That would be a sign she still cares. Otherwise, I’m back to square one, and I don’t have a backup plan. This is my one shot to win her back.

  “Tyler,” a voice calls from behind me. I know that voice. I’m not sure he’s ever called me by my first name. On a good day, it was always Mr. Small. Normally, it was something condescending like dumb ass. Delinquent. Prick. His final words to me included calling me a fucking idiot.

  He was the one person I tried to avoid as I sought out donations for the center. Why would he donate? After the way we left things, him firing me after finding me in bed with his daughter, I can’t imagine he would want to help me succeed in life. Even if it meant doing something amazing for others.

  Turning slowly, I find myself toe to toe, nose to nose with none other than Mr. Jack Carrington. The owner of Denver’s largest advertising firm. Charity’s father. My former boss. A man who took me under his wing and groomed me for a seat at the top. A seat I threw away for a risky fling
I knew would never last. She wasn’t even my type. It was the chase I couldn’t turn down. Once I caught her was when things went to shit.

  “Mr. Carrington, sir. It’s nice to see you.”

  “No, it’s not, Tyler. No need to lie. You’re obviously surprised I’m here,” he states, his disdain for me still apparent.

  Do I play nice or stand my ground? He’s on my turf now. He’s no longer in a position of authority over me. He can’t control my every move, and I owe him nothing as far as I’m concerned.

  “I wasn’t aware you were on the guest list,” I say, standing my ground and making sure to maintain eye contact so he knows I’m not about to back down to him.

  “I wasn’t.”

  “Then why are you here?” I ask, already tired of the game he’s trying to play with me. I don’t have time for this. There’s an entire room of people I need to entertain and a woman among them I need to find before she runs away from me again.

  “I have a proposition for you. A business proposition,” he replies.

  “I’m not sure I’m interested in doing business with you again. It didn’t work out last time.”

  “That’s because you broke my rules.”

  “Well, that’s the thing, sir. I don’t play by anyone else’s rules anymore. This,” I say, motioning around me, “is all mine. I’m in charge now. I make the rules, and break them if I want to.”

  “I see that, and a fine job you’ve done of making something of yourself, son.”

  “Don’t call me that. I have a father.” The anger in my voice is apparent. He’s getting under my skin, and as much as I didn’t want to let it happen, he’s done a damn good job of it.

  “Look, Tyler. I’m not here to piss you off. I’m here to offer you help if you want it.”

  “Your money is no good here. There’s a reason I didn’t seek you out and ask for a donation. I don’t want your money,” I reply, my voice rising higher and higher the angrier I get.

  “I’m not offering you money. I’m offering you the services of the company. Free promotion. Free advertising. You were a great asset to the company once, and I’m sure you can do great things without our help. But, we have connections that you don’t. We can focus on the advertising and promotion while you run the day-to-day operations.”