Mine After Dark

by Marie Force

  When my cosmo and his Budweiser had been delivered, he offered a toast. “To new friends.”

  I touched my glass to his bottle. “To new friends.”

  “So, where’re you from, Ava?”

  “New York.”

  “I thought I heard New Yawk in your voice.”

  I batted my eyelashes at him. “So four years at the University of California San Diego didn’t scrub the New York out of me?”

  Laughing, he said, “Hardly. I know some guys from New York. One of them is from Staten Island, which is about as New York as it gets. I know New York when I hear it.”

  “I’m from Purchase, upstate from the city. What about you?”

  “I’m from all over. My old man is a retired general. You name it, I’ve lived there.”

  “Where’s home?”

  “Right here.” He turned that intense gaze on me, and I went stupid in the head. I couldn’t see anything but him. We might as well have been alone in the crowded bar for all I knew. Unlike my friend, who loved men in uniform, I was never turned on by the uniform. Until then. Until John. “You want to get out of here?”

  I swallowed hard. It wasn’t like me to leave a bar with a man I’d just met. “And go where?”

  “Somewhere we can talk.”

  “What do you want to talk about?”

  He leaned in so his lips were close to my ear. “Everything. I want to know every single thing there is to know about you.”

  * * *

  That’s how we started. We were intense from the first second we met until the last time I saw him five years ago today. I can’t believe it’s been five years since I looked into those incredible blue eyes or woke to him on the pillow next to me or heard his voice in my ear, whispering words that’re permanently carved into my heart as he made love to me.

  The worst part is I have no idea where he is. I don’t know if he’s alive or dead, being held captive or if he’s living his life somewhere else with someone else. I don’t know, and the not knowing is the hardest thing I’ve ever dealt with.

  I love him as much today as I ever did. No amount of time could ever change that simple fact of my life. We had two beautiful, magnificent years together, caught up in our own little bubble. He never met my family. I never met his. We didn’t make couple friends. We didn’t talk about the future. We didn’t need to. Our future was decided that first night, and it would take care of itself in due time. I honestly and naïvely believed that.

  Now, with hindsight, I realize the bubble was strategic on his part. He gave me everything he had to give, including no promise of tomorrow.

  Five years ago today, we watched the horror unfold on live television. A US-based cruise ship blown up by suicide bombers. Four thousand lives extinguished in a heartbeat. Our world permanently changed once again, our country declaring yet another war on terrorists. After 9/11 we thought we’d seen everything. We were wrong.

  “I have to go,” he said, grabbing the duffel that stood ready in the front hall closet. He called it his “go bag.” I’d thought nothing of it.

  “Where’re you going?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “When will you be back?”

  “I don’t know that either.” He held my face in his hands and gazed at me, seemingly trying to memorize my every feature. “I love you. I’ll always love you.” Then he kissed me as passionately as he ever had and was gone, out the door in a flash of camouflage.

  I never saw him again.

  I’m not his wife or even his fiancée, so no one notified me of his whereabouts. And three months after he left, when I found a way onto the base in a desperate quest for information, no one there could tell me anything either. I tried to locate his parents and other people he mentioned, but it was like they didn’t exist. I could find no record of a retired general named West in the Marine Corps, Army or Air Force.

  Furthermore, an exhaustive search for information on the John West I had known led nowhere. No high school, no college, no military service, no nothing.

  Sometimes I wonder if I dreamed the two years we spent together, doing mundane things like grocery shopping, cooking, watching TV and sleeping together after long days at work. But then I’d remember the blissful passion, the scorching pleasure, the desire that ruled us from the beginning, and I’d know I didn’t dream him. I didn’t dream us. We were real, and he was everything to me.

  Sitting on the floor in our apartment, surrounded by boxes, I take a few minutes before the movers arrive to memorize every detail of the place where we lived together. I’ve packed his things along with mine, and I’m moving home to New York. Today was my deadline. I gave it five years, and I simply can’t do it anymore. I can’t sit in our home among our things, waiting for something that’s never going to happen.

  It’s over. It’s time for me to move on. It’s probably long past time, if I’m being honest with myself. And though I know it’s the right move at the right time, that doesn’t mean my heart isn’t shattering all over again as I dismantle the place where we were us.

  My sister is getting married next month. I promised her I’d be home in time to hold her hand through the festivities. Other than occasional trips home for holidays and other occasions, I’ve been gone more than ten years. I bear no resemblance whatsoever to the girl who left home at eighteen seeking independence from her overbearing family at a faraway college out West.

  I accomplished all my goals, finishing college, landing a decent job and falling in love with the man of my dreams. I found out what happens when dreams come true and how painful it is when they blow up in your face.

  It’s time now to set new goals, to start over, to begin a life that doesn’t have John at the center of it the way it did here. It’ll be nice to be back with people who love me and care about me, even if they tend toward smothering at times. That’s looking rather good to me after years of loneliness and grief.

  The intercom sounds to let me know the movers are here. I pick myself up off the floor and steel my heart for the day ahead. I can do this. I’ve been through worse, and I’ll survive this the same way I’ve survived everything else. Despite my resolve, my eyes fill with tears as I press the button that opens the door downstairs to the movers.

  It doesn’t take them long to pack my belongings into their truck. I keep with me the things that can’t be replaced—precious photos, gifts he gave me, the clothing he left behind. After taking a final look around the apartment, I pack those boxes into my car, turn my apartment keys into the leasing office and head east, feeling as if I’m leaving behind everything that ever mattered to me.

  It’s like I’m losing him all over again. I cry all the way through the desert of Southern California and well into Arizona. I relive every minute I can remember, every conversation, every special moment. I think about what it was like to make love with him and wonder how I’ll ever to do that with anyone but him. Maybe I won’t. Maybe that part of my life ended with him, and even though I’m only twenty-eight now, I’m okay with that possibility. Once you’ve experienced perfection, it’s hard to imagine settling for anything less.

  The tears finally dry up somewhere in northern Arizona, but the ache inside… I take that with me all the way to New York, where I will try my very best to pick up the pieces of my shattered life and put them back together into some new version of myself.

  After all, what choice do I have?

  * * *

  CHAPTER ONE

  AVA

  My sister, Camille, doesn’t do anything halfway, including get married. She’s one of those girls I’d love to hate if she weren’t my beloved sister. Three years behind me in high school, she was class president, captain of the cheerleading squad, valedictorian and homecoming queen. I’m sure the teachers who had me first wondered how the same genes could’ve produced two such different sisters. Why do you think I moved so far from home to go to college and stayed there afterward? At least in San Diego, no one ever compared me to my rock star l
ittle sister.

  A few weeks ago, she graduated from Yale Law School, at the top of her class, of course, and made Law Review, had offers from every big firm in the country and sported a three-carat diamond on her finger from the son of the New York governor.

  Like I said, she doesn’t do anything halfway. So here I am at the Waldorf Astoria in New York City, standing beside my sister as she marries Robert James Tilden III in a lavish ceremony. Did I mention she’s also freaking gorgeous? Well, she is, and never more so than today. She’s glowing with happiness and excitement and unfettered joy that serves as a bitter reminder of everything I’ve lost.

  Pass the champagne.

  If ever there was a time to get rip-roaring drunk, this is it. Rob arranged for hotel rooms for every member of the wedding party, so no one has to drive or even function after the reception. I plan to take full advantage of my new brother-in-law’s generosity up to and including room service breakfast.

  Camille grasps my arm as we make our way from the rooftop where the happy couple exchanged vows to the ballroom where the reception will be held. “Help me pee,” she whispers.

  I follow her to the restroom, where an attendant greets us and congratulates the bride.

  “Thank you so much,” Camille says with a gracious smile for the woman.

  “Use the handicapped stall,” the attendant says. “There’s more room.”

  “Good call,” I say as we enter the roomy stall where Camille teaches me how to bustle her dress. I get it pinned up as best I can and then hold it out of harm’s way while she hovers over the toilet to take care of business.

  “This wasn’t in my maid-of-honor job description.”

  She laughs. “Sorry, but this is what sisters are for. And I’m so glad you’re here.”

  “Me, too.” And I mean that sincerely. “I love seeing you so happy.”

  “I am happy, but I’ll be even happier tomorrow. I’m so ready for a vacation after planning a wedding during the last year of law school. If that doesn’t kill me, nothing will. Two weeks of sand, sun, sex and booze. Bring it on.”

  My heart aches with envy, making me feel small and petty. What I wouldn’t give for two weeks in the tropics with John. What I wouldn’t give to simply know he’s alive. I shake off those thoughts. This isn’t the time to wallow in the past. Today is about Camille and Rob, and I’m determined to keep my focus on her.

  She stands and hurls herself into my arms. “I love you so much, Ava. I’m so glad you’re back home where you belong.”

  Blinking back tears, I return her embrace. “Love you, too.” It’s good to be home. Whether I’m back where I belong is questionable. I have no idea anymore where I belong, but I’m going to figure that out. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else but with you today.” That much is certainly true.

  After she washes her hands at the sink inside the stall, she hooks her arm through mine to lead me out of the restroom as the attendant looks on with amusement. “Let’s get this party started.”

  We line up outside the ballroom, and I’m paired with the best man, Rob’s brother, Eric. My sister has married into a rather fantastic gene pool. Not only are the Tildens wealthy and successful, they’re incredibly good-looking, too. Rob is a triplet, having shared the womb with Eric and their sister Amelia, whom they call Amy. They make a striking trio—Rob and Amy resemble their father, with dark hair and eyes, while Eric favors their blonde, hazel-eyed mother. Despite their different coloring, there’s a definite resemblance among the three of them as well as their younger sister, Julianne, a blonde spitfire who’s kept us laughing all weekend.

  I instantly love the Tildens and can see why my sister is gone over Rob, who dotes on her to the point of nausea for the rest of us. I’ll give them a pass since it’s their wedding weekend, but the words get a room have frequently come to mind during the festivities.

  “For Christ’s sake,” Eric mutters while we wait to be introduced. “Save it for the honeymoon.”

  I glance over my shoulder to see Rob and Camille engaged in yet another passionate lip-lock and laugh at the look of disgust on Eric’s handsome face. “They can’t help themselves.”

  “I need a drink. The wedding party is allowed to drink, right?”

  “God, I hope so.”

  “You’re up,” the wedding coordinator, a peppy woman named Mimi, says after Julianne and Rob’s cousin Nate are introduced.

  “Ready?” Eric asks, extending his arm to me.

  I tuck my hand into the crook of his elbow. “Ready.”

  “Please join me in welcoming our best man, the brother of the groom, Eric Tilden, and our maid of honor, the sister of the bride, Ava Lucas.” The DJ draws out every syllable of my name, making me Avaaaaaa Luuuuucasssss.

  We walk in to thunderous applause from the nearly five hundred guests in the ballroom. I’ll admit to being intimidated by the crowd and the noise, both of which have me hanging on to Eric a little more tightly.

  As if he can feel my tension, Eric covers my hand on his arm with his free hand, and the gesture comforts me.

  We stand on the side of the huge dance floor with the rest of the wedding party.

  “And now, please welcome our bride and groom, Rob and Camille Tilden!”

  The applause is deafening as the happy couple makes their way into the room, stopping for hugs and kisses from friends and family. They’ve been deliriously happy for two years now, ever since they met at a fundraiser for Rob’s dad when Camille was finishing her first year of law school. Rob managed his father’s campaign and runs his New York City office.

  “Can we drink yet?” Eric speaks close to my ear so only I will hear him.

  “Counting the minutes.” I glance up at him and realize he’s focused on me, not the bride and groom. The subtle, rich scent of his cologne surrounds me, making me want to lean in closer to him. This is, I realize in a moment of despair, the closest I’ve been to any man since the day John kissed me goodbye and disappeared from my life.

  I shiver even though the room isn’t cold. If anything, it’s overly warm.

  “Are you okay?” Eric asks.

  I nod, but my heart aches. What I wouldn’t give to have the man I love with me today, to celebrate my sister’s marriage, to meet my family, to dance the night away. Even in the midst of so much happiness and joy, grief overwhelms me.

  “It’s kind of disgusting, isn’t it?” Eric asks as he twirls me around on the dance floor after the wedding party is invited to join the bride and groom as they dance to “The Best Is Yet to Come” by Frank Sinatra.

  “What is?”

  “How perfect they are.” He points his chin toward Rob and Camille, who are so caught up in each other, the hundreds of other people in the room might not exist for all they care.

  “It’s not disgusting. They’re perfect for each other.”

  He pulls back ever so slightly to look down at me with an impish twinkle in his eyes. “You don’t think it’s the tiniest bit disgusting that any two people can be that gorgeous and that successful?”

  I’ll never admit to having had a few of those thoughts myself. “No, of course not. She’s my sister. I’m very proud of her—and happy for her.”

  “Uh-huh. Okay. If you say so.”

  Why is he trying to bait me? “I say so.”

  “You don’t think it’s the tiniest bit unfair that they got it all—looks, smarts, true love, great jobs and a fab apartment? How much you want to bet they’re going to have ugly kids?”

  It’s such an outrageous statement that I can’t contain the gurgle of nervous laughter that erupts from my chest.

  “Ah-ha! I knew it! You totally think their kids will be ugly.”

  “I do not! Don’t say that. He’s your brother. You’re supposed to love him.”

  “I do love him, but sometimes I want to punch his lights out. Everything comes so easily to him. He’s never had to really work for anything in his life.”

  “And you have?”

&nbs
p; “I’ve worked hard for everything I have. Still do.”

  “What do you do?”

  “I spend years researching a single company for the fund I work for, only to be shot down when I bring it to the acquisitions team. Then I have to find another company, spend years working on that proposal and hope it doesn’t get shot down, too. I’m one-for-four over three years.”

  “That sounds rather…”

  “Depressing?”

  “Is it?”

  “It can be. It’s a major bummer to invest all that time and effort only to be shot down at committee.” He leans in a little closer, again closer than any man has been to me since John left. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. Those companies I spend all that time researching?”

  I nod, intrigued by his secret.

  “I’ve invested personally in every one of them, and they’ve yielded spectacular results.”

  “Then the time wasn’t wasted.”

  “Not at all.” He gazes down at me, seeming to take a visual inventory of my features in a way that reminds me of John doing the same thing the night we met—and again on the day he walked out of my life. The memory hits me like a punch to the gut, stealing the breath from my lungs. “You’re very pretty, but of course you know that.”

  The most beautiful girl I ever met. John’s husky, sexy voice pops into my head, and I’m transported right back to the bedroom we painted a light gray, the bed we chose together, the sheets tangled around our bodies as he made fierce love to me, whispering sweet words I’ve never forgotten.

  “Ava? Are you okay?”

  Eric’s voice startles me, sucking me out of memories I wish I could wallow in. They come less frequently than they used to, and I live in fear of losing them forever at some point.

  “Ava?”

  I glance up at him, embarrassed to realize he’s stopped moving and is looking at me with concern.