by Scott, S. L.
He’s not like that—unreasonable and threatening. Who is this man standing before me? The one who looks so familiar but feels foreign in every other way.
Jean-Luc steps forward and faces Rad. “Is there a problem?”
His accent is much milder now and more in tune with his manners.
Rad’s gaze never sways from mine, ignoring Jean-Luc entirely. He holds out his hand, reaching for me.
In. Front. Of. Everyone.
At least anyone who’s paying attention to us, but that doesn’t seem to be many when I look around at the party happening behind me. It’s a violation of the agreement, either way, and I’m all for chucking that damn deal, but it seems he already did way before now.
I take a breath and place my hand in his despite my better judgment, his touch the match igniting the dwindling embers inside me once again. I needed this. I needed him.
But when I glance at Jean-Luc, his words of warning reappear. No honest man would make a mockery of love. No honest man.
I pull my hand back, burned by him. Again.
Be strong, Tealey.
Confusion rips through Rad’s expression, and he comes forward, whispering, “We need to talk.”
“Do we?”
“Yes.”
One look. That’s all it takes for me to see that he’s done something that can’t be fixed. “I . . .” I start, my breath getting away from me as tears threaten the corners of my eyes. “Why didn’t I see it before now?”
“See what, Tealey?” He comes even closer, desperation coating his tongue. “Talk to me.”
As soon as Rad grabs my hands, Jean-Luc says, “You should not touch her.”
“Fuck off.”
“Rad!” I say, shocked by his behavior.
No, this is not the man I’ve fallen in love with. “I’m glad you showed me your true colors now before you had me fooled completely,” I lie, turning around and walking away. I was fooled by him, head over heels in love with him, but I finally see the truth.
I was never going to be the woman by his side. I would always remain the woman he chose to hide.
His priorities would always take precedence. He might ask me for my opinion or offer to listen to how I feel, but it was never going to really matter.
Rad is successful for a reason. Because he does what it takes to win—both inside and outside the courtroom.
And although he might’ve won my heart, I didn’t win his. And that hurts more than I ever even considered it might.
Rushing through the reception, I search for anyone to help me hold my heart together before it shatters across the dance floor.
I’m smacked in the chest by a bundle of flowers, causing my heart to leap from my body as petals fly everywhere. Reactively, I catch the bouquet before I realize what’s even happening. Cammie screams in delight. “Tealey! You caught the bouquet.” Pointing at me, she’s dancing to the song that just got turned up. “You’re next, baby!”
Cade steals a glance before he takes her hand and spins her around on the dance floor. That’s how it should be—make sure she’s happy. This should be the best day of her life. That means I need to leave. I need to get back to Manhattan and find someplace to hide until I can sort the truth from the lies.
Be brave, Tealey.
I can’t keep the burden of my pain away much longer. I start running, moving as fast as I can into the darkness of the lawn.
It’s not until I reach the side of the house that I fall against it, giving me time to catch my breath.
“Tealey?” Hearing my name has me standing stiff against the siding, praying not to be found. But the tears fall, sending rivulets streaming down my cheeks.
“Tealey, where are you?”
I catch my breath when I realize it’s not Rad but Jackson who’s calling after me. He comes around the corner and stops. No words. Just one look is exchanged between us, and then he opens his arms and holds me.
He doesn’t worry about me soaking his tux or that my makeup might ruin the collar of his shirt. He stands there with me wrapped in his arms and lets me cry until my tears begin stuttering and my eyes dry. I sag against the house again, and when I look into his sympathetic eyes, I say, “I need a favor.”
37
Tealey
My phone died near the same convenience store where Rad and I stopped last time. It’s the same place that holds fun memories of buying all the snacks to have variety . . . and because, typically, he didn’t allow eating in his precious baby. But he allowed me.
Why?
So much doesn’t make sense with him.
This time, I used the restroom to wash off the makeup that streaked down my face. I passed the jelly beans and left the Cheetos. I didn’t buy a bag of popcorn that made my stomach growl. I got back in the car, and a guy named Rod—the similarity not lost on me—drove me straight home.
Home.
That’s a luxury that I no longer have in Manhattan.
Leaning forward, I ask the driver, “Do you have a spare charger?”
“No. I need to use the map. That burns my battery, and I have a long night ahead.”
You’re telling me.
Filing through my memories, from the little moments Rad and I shared—hot dogs at midnight, stolen kisses in the Hamptons, and reading on the couch on Sundays—along with the bigger events from moving day to making love for the first time, I still can’t make sense of how I ended up with a guy named Rod driving me home instead of Rad.
Maybe one day, I’ll have the hindsight of learning the lesson this relationship was meant to teach me. I just hope my heart won’t still be so broken by then.
Leaning my head against the window, I have nothing but miles and time ahead. I stare in the inky night until my eyelids grow as weary as my battered heart. And then close altogether.
“Miss.”
I sigh and then yawn. Opening my eyes, I bolt upright. “Where am I?”
“Home,” Rod says, pointing out the passenger window.
I look, and for a split second, I could feel my soul come alive again—the warmth and comfort, the excitement of the adventure ahead, falling asleep with Rad, and waking up with him. For a split second, I feel wonderful.
And then the feeling vanishes before I have a chance to cling to the memories.
I get out from the back seat. The driver pulls away before I have a chance to thank him, so when it’s me and the building, I take a deep breath and move a few steps closer. I look up, never paying much attention to the other tenants. It always felt like mine and Rad’s. I naïvely started to believe that Poughkeepsie wasn’t my destiny.
I enter the building and tap the elevator, still holding my dead phone in my hand like I can actually check it. It’s painful to be so detached from the world, from my world on any given day, but tonight, I’m feeling especially lonely. Yet I know when I charge it, I’ll either be mad because of the texts Rad’s sent or more shattered by the messages he didn’t. It’s a no-win situation that has me dreading the elevator door opening and finding out.
When I enter the apartment, it feels unexpectedly the same, as if I didn’t have my heart broken by the other occupant and could walk into the bedroom and crawl in bed next to him. Rad would swing his arm wide and wait for me to settle before curling it around me. He’d snore lightly if he drank too much and be spooning me in the morning. My toothbrush would have paste on it when I slipped into the bathroom to get ready for bed. And if I called him about having a hard day, which there have been lots of lately, there’d be a hot bath and a glass of my favorite wine waiting for me.
I don’t realize how long I wander through the apartment—remembering all the ways we had started making this our home and how happy he made me—until my stomach growls, bringing me back to reality. I didn’t have time to eat at the reception before my world exploded, but I just lost an hour daydreaming about what could have been.
Now, there’s nothing left of us.
When I open the cabinet, I don’t
grab one of my mugs. They don’t speak to me the way I need right now. I choose one of his plain white ones and make a cup of hot green tea with chamomile, hoping it will soothe the choppy waters of my feelings.
Taking my tea, I let it steep while I go into my room—the guest room. Guest. I sigh heavily. I’m such a fool. Why’d I ever believe I could be more than a guest in this apartment? More than a visitor passing through at this stage in Rad’s life? Or anything more than a “perk” that he meets after dark?
“That’s it. I’m just one of the myriads of women coming and going through his revolving elevator door.”
My heart hurts even more under that hot dose of reality. I was clearly not as welcome as I thought I was. Are all men jerks? Apparently, it’s an impossible feat to find the man I’m meant to meet from the four million who live in this city.
And worse, I believed Rad was my soul mate.
I plug in my phone, sitting on the edge of the bed, and stare at the black screen. When just the low battery symbol shows up, I distract myself from the anxiety causing my hands to shake.
I need to busy myself, to take my mind off what will or won’t be on that phone when it recharges.
As I look around, my things feel out of place. I feel out of place. How can I stay here any longer when I know the truth?
Maybe Poughkeepsie was the world looking out for me. The universe knew I’d need an exit plan.
“I need to go,” I say, my voice echoing across the room. “Now.”
Jackson gave me the keys to his apartment. I don’t remember the last time I was there, but I remember it being spacious. I can probably move over to Cade and Cammie’s place in Brooklyn tomorrow since they’ll be on their honeymoon. That will give me the privacy I need and the time to find a new place in Poughkeepsie.
Is that where I’m going?
I’m still confused as to where I’m meant to be, and I’m not sure working in another office will make the move worth it.
I just wonder how messy this will be if Rad and I are no longer speaking. Our friends, mutual events, and my heart are jumbled into this mess. Nothing about this breakup will be clean. But will the others even know we broke up since they didn’t know we were dating to begin with?
The thought leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
My screen comes to life just as I change from my bridesmaid’s dress. Slipping on yoga pants and a baggy T-shirt, I stop on the other side of the bed. I’m nervous to get too close, to have my heart take another hit tonight, but there’s no way I can’t look.
When I see the red dot indicating I have messages, I exhale slowly, and whisper, “Don’t hurt me, okay?” And then I pick up the phone and press the icon. Messages populate from six different people: Jackson, Cammie, Cade, Marlow, Amanda, and Rad.
I’m not sure where to start, though my heart, a glutton for punishment, sure does. I read Rad’s first, scrolling to where they began before the wedding.
Rad: Where are you? I have something I want to show you in the media room.
I hate that I smile and that my heart does a somersault.
Rad: I can’t wait to be alone with you tonight.
Rad: What’s going on? What happened? Where are you, baby?
He acts like I did a great disappearing act. Nope. I was right there all along.
Rad: Don’t leave, Tealey. We need to talk.
Yeah, I guess we did need to, after all. I just wonder if he was planning to tell me about the engagement or if the plan was to leave me out of the equation, as usual.
Rad: Talk to me. Please.
I’m not even sure what to think anymore. I hate that he has me second-guessing myself. I did nothing wrong but love him. Love? My stomach clenches, and tears well in my eyes again.
Rad: Why did you leave?
Rad: Call me.
Like a call could cure all our problems. This is too far gone for that.
I can’t worry more about him being upset than the pain he caused me. I need to stop putting others first all the time. It’s a side effect of my job, but I’m always the one taken advantage of.
Considering how early I woke up to start helping and then to get ready for the wedding, I’m surprised I’m not tired. I guess the nap in the car has given me enough energy to get through a bare minimum of the task at hand. I need to make some quick decisions on what I’m taking with me to last for the next week.
I open my suitcase on the bed and scramble to fill it with everything I’ll need, everything that doesn’t include the man I thought made my life complete. When it’s full, I zip it closed and wheel it to the elevator. I don’t know if Rad is coming back to Manhattan tonight or not, but I start moving faster like he just might be. I’m not looking for a confrontation or to work through this. With my emotions in tatters, I’m not clear-headed enough to argue against an attorney who’s out to win.
There’s no winning for either of us. The moment he got engaged to Marlow, he made his decision, and that had nothing to do with me.
Rad’s engaged . . .
I still can’t believe there’s any truth to the rumor. Or is it that I don’t want to believe he’d stoop beneath the morals he claims to have to earn a promotion? Even if it’s fake, like so much has been lately, my feelings weren’t considered.
This is about his ego and his reputation. I never did feed that part of him. I’m sure the Wellington and Marché nuptials announcement should give both Rad and Marlow what they crave most—attention.
No honest man would make a mockery of love. Jean-Luc saw Rad for who he is.
It’s time I do, too.
After getting a minimal charge to my phone, I grab it and the cable and tuck it into my purse that Jackson was kind enough to sneak into the bridal room to retrieve for me. With it anchored around my body, I punch the button to call the elevator and wait anxiously for it to arrive.
When the door slides open, I hold my breath, not breathing again until I see it’s empty. Oh, thank God. Nothing good would have come from an argument at this hour when my nerves are frayed.
From the lobby, I call a car. It only takes a minute, but my hands are shaking more now than before, so I busy myself by pulling up Jackson’s address and memorizing the code just in case my phone dies again.
The car is close, so I push the suitcase onto the sidewalk and look up.
My eyes meet the ones that I equally love and dread. Standing just twenty feet ahead of me with his hands in his pockets, Rad is waiting for me.
Waiting . . .
His real “baby” is parked at the curb. The jacket and bow tie are gone, but he’s still dressed in the tux shirt and pants, the light from above the door shining on his leather shoes. Despite Rad’s hair being a mess—he has a habit of tugging it when he’s stressed—why is he here?
I hate that the bond that tethers us together still exists. The urge to go to him, sweep his hair off his forehead, and embrace him is so strong that I must restrain myself from doing it.
“I’m sorry.” His voice is full of the shame it should be, a tone that knows the damage done.
“For what?” I wipe at my eyes, not wanting him to see how vulnerable I am.
He’s shaking his head as his gaze briefly looks down. “I don’t know. I just don’t want to lose you.”
“That’s not good enough anymore.”
He closes his eyes for a long second. “Why’d you leave?”
“I don’t owe you an answer. I don’t owe you anything.” I take a breath and watch a couple holding hands cut between us on the sidewalk.
“Tell me what I did wrong, Tealey, and I’ll fix it. I’ll do anything to make it better. I thought I was.”
My eyes widen. He can’t be serious. “You thought you were? In what universe were you making things better? Ah. Wait,” I say, sarcasm dripping from my lips. “I get it now.” Leveling him with a glare, I narrow my eyes at him. “You were making it better for yourself. Job well done.” I give him a golf-clap round of applause.
Gripping the handle of my luggage, I start for the curb when I see headlights coming down the street.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Tealey. I know you’re upset, but if you give me a chance to explain—”
“I don’t have to give you anything, Rad,” I snap, the anger preferable to the pain from before. “I don’t owe you more than I’ve already given, and arguing in the middle of a street at one in the morning isn’t something I’m willing to do.”
The silence stretches between us as I inch closer to the curb. He comes closer but is smart enough to keep some distance between us, and asks, “Tealey, stay. Talk to me. We’ll go upstairs for privacy.” I glare at him over my shoulder. “I promise you—”
“Your promises are why we’re in this mess, so don’t get it twisted. And stop making promises you can’t keep.”
Don’t second-guess yourself, Tealey.
I hate that I feel empathy when I see the sadness in his eyes, the frown that his mouth has probably never felt before as me feeling bad, and defeat is probably something his shoulders have never experienced before. But I can’t let him prey on my sympathies anymore either.
I hate that I’m weak to him when I’m the victim.
A blue sedan pulls up behind his car. It’s my ride.
Raising his arms out to his sides, he says, “I still don’t know what we’re fighting about, and you’re running away before we have a chance to work it out.”
“I’m not running.” I stand with my chin raised. “I’m walking right out of your life.”
“Leaving without so much as an explanation.”
“Which is what you gave me. Nothing.”
He flinches from the words.
He was obviously never mine to keep, so I set him free by pushing him away with a bitter goodbye, and say, “Let’s just call it what it is, which was fun.” I shrug. “For a while.”
“Fun?” His face contorts under my neutrality. Good. “Oh, no. You don’t get to demean what we feel—”
“We? You mean me? Because from what I recall, you don’t feel anything at all. Right, Counselor?”
Despite my obvious intent to leave, he comes closer, lowering his voice, but revealing the ire in his eyes. “Feelings? Fuck feelings. They do nothing but shit on logical thinking. Nothing I say is going to change your mind tonight, but I hope that in the morning—”