Together Again

by Aria Ford

  I think we almost did it before the sound of a polishing machine brought us both back to the present.

  “We should go,” I said, surprised at myself and how sore the thought of parting made my heart feel. I’d just found him again! How could I leave?

  “It looks like the mall’s about to close,” he agreed, chuckling self-consciously.

  “Mm,” I said, noting how most of the shops were already shutting their doors, a cleaner starting to work her way down the central hallway. The lights in some of the stores were already off, customers drifting through the doors before us.

  “Macy,” he said softly. “It’s been so good to see you.”

  I sighed. “You too.” I started to walk away, then closed my eyes, catching myself. “Are you working here long?” I asked.

  “Next year or so,” he said with a shrug. “That’s the plan. It’s good,” he said. “Money’s not bad. And the social aspect.” He was looking at me when he said that, a smile turning up the corners of his mouth. I felt my heart dance as I looked into those mischievous eyes of his.

  “I should go,” I said firmly. “See you around.”

  “See you around,” he agreed. I made myself walk away. Step to the door. One foot, then another.

  I turned around in the entranceway. He was where he’d been when I left, standing outside the boutique store, looking at the door. Staring after me. I swallowed hard.

  “Maddox Jefferson,” I said under my breath. “I don’t know if I’m really mad right now, or really, really happy.”

  I slid into my car and closed the door, putting my bags on the seat beside me. I leaned against the steering wheel and sighed. My heart was thumping, my body shivering. My toes tingled. In short, I felt alive.

  More alive, I realized slowly as I turned the key to start up, than I had felt in a long, long time.

  If I was honest with myself—something I always was—I had to admit it. I hadn’t felt this alive since I last saw Maddox Jefferson.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Maddox

  I couldn’t concentrate for the rest of the night. It was just as well my shift ended at eight, or I would have been useless for anything. All the street gangs in LA could have wandered through the mall and I probably wouldn’t have noticed. My mind was filled with thoughts of her.

  I drove home in a daze, my body tense with a sort of shaky longing I could barely control. It wasn’t like I’d been on my own for very long—about a month or two—but my loins ached as if I’d been craving release for ages.

  At home, I left the car in the garage, running up the three flights of stairs to my apartment. I threw open the door and collapsed on my bed, still in my working uniform.

  I can’t believe that even happened.

  It still made no sense. As I lay there, contemplating the ceiling, my phone rang. I groaned. That must be Neville, my friend. I promised I’d tell him how the day went in the mall, my second shift there so far.

  “Hi?”

  “Hi!” Neville said. “How was it?”

  “Um…I dunno,” I said. Stupid answer, really. But what was I supposed to tell him? I couldn’t exactly say; guess what? I just saw the girl of my dreams again after years and years since I walked out on her.

  Just thinking about it like that made it sound strange.

  He laughed. “That’s a bit weird,” he commented lightly. “Seriously, Jeffers. How was it?”

  I sighed. “It was okay. Not demanding or anything. I felt a bit ridiculous,” I added, attempting at a laugh. “I mean, you try standing outside an underwear emporium with a gun at your hip.”

  He whistled. “That sounds like a great job. I want to swap with you.”

  I laughed. “It’s not like I get to see people trying on lingerie, Nev.”

  “No,” he sighed. “I guess not. Pity, that. Anyway. You keen to come out?”

  I shrugged. “Dunno, Neville,” I said wearily. “I got morning shift tomorrow. And I should catch up on sleep for the week…got another night shift on the weekend.”

  “Oh.” He sounded disappointed. “That’s a pity. I had planned to go down to the pub. But not so much fun to go alone, I think.”

  “No,” I commented. “I’ll tell you what. One drink. And then you chase me outta there. Okay?”

  He laughed. “I’m not gonna chase you anywhere, Mr. Quarterback.”

  I chuckled. “Look who’s talking.” Neville had been in the military for a few years and he was still built like someone I seriously wouldn’t want to mess with.

  “I don’t think I’m that threatening,” Neville said primly. I laughed.

  “You can’t fool me.”

  He chuckled and hung up. Of all the people I’d known from my high-school years, Neville Drummond was the only guy I’d kept in touch with. There had been some sort of unifying factor between us. Besides the fact that we both had weird first names, we’d both been from different backgrounds than the rest of them. Neville’s dad had been a military guy who’d fallen on hard times and we’d grown up in similar neighborhoods. We were both physically strong and talented and were there on sports scholarships—he for track and me for football.

  We’d both finished high school and gone on to other things—me to more football, him to the military. And we’d both found similar things to do with life after: Neville and I were both trainers in our spare time. I had a few personal clients that I took part time for outdoor workouts. Nev did it full time at the same place, Crossfield Gym.

  I put on my coat and headed out into the night.

  “Nev!” I greeted him as I walked into our favorite meeting place. I took a seat opposite him, and he grinned.

  “Same as usual?”

  “Sure. Thanks.”

  We placed our order and chatted as we waited.

  “How was work?”

  “Not bad,” Neville said, rolling his eyes. “No more frustrating than usual. I wonder sometimes if I’m very bad at talking or other people are bad at listening.”

  I chuckled. “Never figured that out either, Nev.”

  He raised a brow at me, not sure if I was teasing. I was. He laughed. “Damn you,” he said affectionately. “Now, tell me the truth. Are you meeting babes on this new job of yours?”

  I closed my eyes and wondered what I could say. “I did meet someone,” I said, deciding to be honest. I could do with someone’s honest advice about this anyhow.

  “Oh?” His eyes lit up. “Who is she?”

  I sighed. “It’s complicated.”

  “Nothing is too complicated for two brains to solve,” he said loftily. Our beers arrived, and he thanked the waiter. He took a swig of his, grinning as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Tell me about it.”

  I lifted my glass, studying the amber depths of the liquid as if it held all the answers. “Well,” I said after a wait, “don’t laugh, Nev, but I met her years ago already. She was…special to me.”

  “Oh?” Neville was watching me with interest, and he didn’t look like he was teasing. “You dated her, then?”

  “I did,” I agreed. “Not for a long time, really.” It had been eight months which, for teens, is an inordinately long time.

  “It’s not like these things can be counted in time.”

  “True,” I said. “It’s funny,” I added, sighing. “I can’t get her out of my head.”

  “Are you seeing her again?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “You know what, Nev?”

  “What?”

  “I didn’t even have the guts to give her my number.”

  He whistled. “That’s bad.”

  I looked at him from under my brows. “Tell me about it.”

  He laughed. “That’s bad,” he said again.

  I huffed a sigh. “I didn’t mean actually tell me about it. I know already. I’m so dumb.” I was mad at myself, really mad. I still didn’t understand why I hadn’t just asked her if I could call her sometime. I guess because I wasn’t sure about anything an
ymore.

  Would she even want to see me again?

  Probably not.

  “You know, Jeffers…she’s online somewhere. You can probably contact her right now, if you want.”

  I nodded. It was something I hadn’t thought much about, but he was right. “Mm,” I said, hesitant. I drank another swig of my drink. It didn’t help to clear my head.

  “Well?” he asked insistently. “Why don’t you go for it. Can’t hurt, can it?”

  “Maybe it could,” I said touchily.

  “Don’t see how,” he said equitably. The bowl of peanuts had arrived and he took a handful, crunching blithely.

  His geniality wore on my nerves. I drank down half the glass in one go, brooding. “Dunno either,” I muttered.

  “See?” Neville said cheerily. “You feel better already.”

  I groaned. “No, I don’t,” I said. “I’m still as confused as anything. I just feel irritated too now. With myself. With you. With everything, I guess.”

  He chuckled. “That’s my job,” he said. “Irritate the hell out of people so they do what I say just to get rid of me. Usually works.”

  I looked at him and couldn’t help laughing. “Neville.”

  “What?” he asked, smiling at me.

  “Times like this, I dunno if I hate you or love you,” I said fondly.

  “You love me, Jeffers,” he said with a grin. “Don’t doubt it for a second. Now, what do you think about this new trend in cardio boxing?”

  I sighed. The last thing I wanted to do was talk about work. I was still thinking about Macy, my mind somewhere between elation and terror. It was hard to bring myself down to the everyday world of training and guarding and training again.

  “Well,” I said, taking a handful from the bowl between us as I thought about his question, “I guess the benefits are that it’s something that you can adapt very easily to your client’s needs…”

  I found myself getting immersed in the conversation before I’d even really thought about it. That side of my work really interested me and Neville had chosen the right subject if his aim was distracting me from my worries. In fact, it was only after I’d been sitting there chatting with him about personalized workout strategies for an hour that I realized he meant to distract me.

  “So,” he said with a grin. “You gonna look this bird up or what?”

  “She’s not a bird,” I said testily. My response was immediate and it was only when I caught his low chuckle that I realized I’d let him push my buttons again.

  “You really like her,” he said, black eyes warm with a gentle teasing.

  “Yes,” I sighed, putting my elbows on the table and resting my forehead on my cupped hands. “I like her. I liked her. She’ll always be special.”

  “Well, then,” he said with that small smile lifting the corner of his mouth again. “What are you waiting for? Look her up. Or I will,” he added, pulling out his iPhone.

  I reached out a hand. “Don’t even think about it,” I warned.

  He laughed. “I don’t know her name, Jeffers. Relax, man. I wouldn’t do that to you anyway.”

  I sighed. “I know you wouldn’t. You’re a good friend, Nev. You are—even if sometimes I want to bust your nose for you. You’re the best friend I could ever want.”

  “I like my nose the way it is,” he said with a laugh. “I could put a handle on it and call it a blade. Now, while we’re on the subject of busting things, do you think management would mind if I reserved the punch bags this week?”

  I shrugged. “You can ask.”

  “You can ask,” he countered. “They like you more than they like me.”

  I rolled my eyes at him. “Nev, you know what…”

  We both ended up laughing. When I finally left, lightheaded after three beers and hoping I could find my way home safely, I felt better than I had for a long time.

  At home, after my safe and event-free arrival, I collapsed wearily onto the sofa. I guess maybe if I hadn’t been so sleepy, if I’d been thinking clearly and not been so hopelessly confused by all my emotions and Nev talking me in circles for the last two hours, I’d not have done it.

  As it was, I took out my phone and searched for Macy Trent. Found her profile online. Messaged her at the email address that was provided.

  Hey, Macy, I typed. It was nice seeing you. Like to meet for a coffee this morning? Maddox.

  I sent it without thinking about it. As soon as it had gone, I regretted it. Wished I could withdraw it. But it was too late. It had gone.

  “Oh, well,” I sighed. I put my phone in my training bag in preparation for tomorrow and dragged myself to the bathroom, putting my head under the shower as soon as I was undressed. As the bathroom filled with minty-flavored steam, I felt my muscles relax and my head started to clear.

  I can’t believe that I feel like this. That I still did that. Messaged her out of the blue like that.

  I felt mildly amazed by my own response to Macy, and my action in messaging her. But I’d done it now, for whatever outcome.

  As I slid into bed, it occurred to me that she was probably over me. She’d been the one who’d walked away without looking back this evening, I reminded myself harshly.

  “When she finds my message, I doubt she’ll even bother to send me a reply.”

  If I was honest with myself, that was what bothered me the most. All my inadequacies still lurked down there, still coming from our time together all those years ago.

  I remembered back to that day when I’d finally decided I was no good for her—the day at the family dinner when I’d embarrassed myself so outstandingly.

  I had been seated beside her, my chest tight in my new suit, clean linen napkin perched awkwardly on my knee, hands rigid at my sides.

  My leg, in a habit that had grown over our months of dating, was pressed to her own leg, our knees touching. We always sat like that. I don’t know why. I guess the contact was necessary and comfortable.

  “Macy?” I’d whispered.

  She glanced sideways at me. “What?”

  “Why is your aunt staring at me?”

  She’d looked over and frowned. The other adults were mostly chatting among themselves, courteously ignoring me, but her aunt had fixed me with a baneful grimace.

  “Oh!” she said. “Maddox…that’s the wrong knife and fork. This is the fish. You’re supposed to use these ones…”

  I wanted to die of embarrassment as she passed me the right ones. I caught her father looking over at us with a frown. As if it wasn’t bad enough to be here, in this ultrachic environment in a suit that didn’t quite fit me and was overly starched, with people talking about the stock market. Now my girl had to show me which knife and fork set to use!

  Across the table, the aunt gave a sniff. It was a very small, very surreptitious sniff, but I still heard it. She looked away, turning pointedly to her son, who sat a few seats down the table from me.

  “Morton, could you pass me the salt, please? I would ask him, but…” she made a significant face. I swallowed. The him was probably me. Her son passed her the salt from further down the table—it was a long, thin table with about nine people per side. I wanted to vanish.

  Macy looked at me, her face tight with worry. I could only imagine what she was feeling. She must have wished I would disappear.

  “Macy, dear,” her mother, Mrs. Trent, a dark-haired lady with big earnest eyes asked tenderly. “Are you alright? You look a little flushed.”

  “I’m fine, mom,” she ground out. “Just tired.”

  We sat through that dinner somehow, with her aunt keeping an eye on me, her father silent and her mother concerned, and when I got out of there I’d sworn to myself it was the last time I was going to put her through something like that.

  I told my own mother about it, later, and she’d sympathized.

  “It’s not your world, Maddox,” she said gently. “I think it’s better to stick to your own world.”

  I nodded. Mom had married som
eone who wasn’t part of her world—she was the daughter of a professor and an artist. My dad owned the corner café. I knew how tough it had been for her and so I took her word for it.

  She was right. It was better to stick to your own world. I couldn’t expect anything else to work.

  Not really.

  Which was why, as I fell asleep that night, I didn’t think that I would hear from Macy again. Mixing worlds just didn’t make sense, even when they, of their own jurisdiction, seemed hell-bent on wanting to collide.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Macy

  I sat up in bed, wiping sleep from my eyelids. I stretched and yawned. This was it. The day of the party.

  I slid out of the coverlets and tiptoed to the shower, feeling oddly excited. It was my last day at work without my dad being there too and I felt confident with what I’d managed to achieve during his absence. I noticed, as I slid under the warm stream of water in the shower, that I was quite cheerful.

  I guess it was odd, being excited about a party when it was the first party in a while I was going to attend as a singleton. But as it happened, going without Valery Olenov—handsome, charming, and ruthlessly unkind—on my tail was going to be a pleasant change. He never failed to pick apart whatever I’d said and done at a public event afterward. I was glad to be rid of him: if he hadn’t been a son of one of dad’s associates I would probably have ended it much faster. I was relieved to be free of him, I thought.