Jack & Sadie

by JB Salsbury

  “Have a good night,” he says, but he doesn’t say it as though he means it. It feels more like he is telling me to go fuck myself.

  “Whatever,” I mumble, and I steer Anaya toward another bridesmaid who is dancing by herself. I drop Anaya off with her. “Make sure she gets back to her room safely.”

  I pull my tie loose from my neck and head out in search of the employee exit.

  Chapter Three

  Sadie

  “Whoa, what are you doing?”

  I startle at the sound of Ricky’s voice and turn to find him standing at the top of the stairs to my loft bedroom/studio, his eyes wide on the canvas in front of me.

  He takes a few steps toward it. “Why are you painting over it?”

  After avoiding Jack at the wedding last night, I managed to finish my shift in the kitchen, buried safely in the hotel basement, where he’d never find me. But seeing him sent my mind back to all those years ago, when life was much less complicated. Emotions were cut-and-dry and I could trust everything I felt.

  I look at the canvas that was once a mix of blues, blacks, and reds, now mostly covered in white Gesso. “I woke up this morning and decided I didn’t love it.”

  “But you’ve been working on that one for days.”

  I’d lain in bed and dwelled on the moment that things changed between Jack and me, the boy I’d always considered to be the other side of my heart. When I woke up and looked at the painting I had been working on all week, I hated it. I hated it for the part of me it represented.

  I shrug. “I know, but… I didn’t love it.”

  He blows out a breath. “Is it even possible to love these?”

  The concern in his voice makes me want to scream, but I don’t. “I think so.”

  His gaze travels around the room, taking in all the canvases covered in sheets. “How many will there be?”

  “As many as it takes.”

  He looks at me as if he can’t decide whether to say what he’s thinking or drop the conversation all together. It doesn’t really matter—he’s not nearly as disturbed by my project as I am. I just hide it better.

  I clear my throat and give him my most genuine forced smile. “Stop looking at me like that. I’m fine. I woke up feeling a little distracted, that’s all.” I swipe the Gesso on the canvas.

  “This wouldn’t have anything to do with the handsome executive type asking about you at the wedding last night, would it?”

  The brush stills on the canvas. “Maybe.”

  His face comes into view, his gaze knowing. “You haven’t talked about him in a while.”

  I continue brushing. “I know.”

  “He seemed really interested in reconnecting—”

  “He’s not. He lives in New York. He’s moved on and so have I.” The words rush from my lips and I suck in a shaky breath.

  “I have to hand it to him, he’s persistent. Which reminds me, we need to go pick up your car. I’ve never had to smuggle you out of the parking garage lying on the floorboards before.”

  “I didn’t expect him to be there waiting.” God, he’d looked so pathetic and beautiful at the same time, slouched against a wall in his tux, open collar, jacket balled in his lap, and sound asleep. “It’s for the best things didn’t work out between us back then. Trust me.”

  I feel his gaze narrow on me, and I refuse to look even as my cheeks grow hot.

  “Whatever you say.” Ricky heads over to the only window in my room and cranks it open. “You’re killing brain cells with the fumes.” He runs a hand over the surfboard propped against the wall, collecting dust. “We missed you this morning. The waves were so clean. You would’ve loved it. Might be time to give it another shot.”

  I stare at Ricky until he can’t hold my gaze any longer and he looks away. “Maybe after my show…”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ll try to get back out there.”

  “And dating?”

  I hide behind my canvas so he can’t see me, and I close my eyes with a shudder. “Yeah, that too.”

  “Mm-hm.” He doesn’t believe me.

  I don’t believe me either.

  Jack

  Facebook. Nothing.

  Instagram. Not even a hashtag.

  Twitter. Snapchat. Fucking Linkedin.

  Not a single whisper of Sadie Slade.

  If not for the subtle ache and emptiness I’ve felt in my chest since seeing her two days ago, I’d question if she even existed at all.

  I punch in her name again, searching Google for any kind of social media site related to Sadie, and come up with absolutely nothing. How is that possible?

  I slam my laptop closed and lean back in my desk chair, rubbing my eyes. I’m so damn tired. I left the parking garage the morning after Tanner’s wedding with barely enough time to shower, grab my stuff, and get to the airport.

  Needing to hear her voice and find out where she’s disappeared to, I’d called her old number—only to be met with an automated voice telling me the number was no longer in service. So I called my mom the second my plane landed and asked her for Sadie’s number. She gave me the only number she had, which also happened to be the number I had that was disconnected.

  I stayed up all night, searching for her online. Dragging my ass out of bed this morning to get to the office on time was torture, but here I am, half asleep, running on caffeine fumes, and totally confused.

  There’s a knock on my door. “Meeting with the myBubble people in twenty.”

  My eyes dart up to see Tanner standing in my doorway, looking nothing like a man who just got married in his suit, tie, and Ferragamos. “Shouldn’t you be on your honeymoon?”

  “Money first.” He winks.

  I’d laugh at how idiotic he sounds if I didn’t feel so bad for him. What happens if he loses his job or becomes sick and can’t work? All his self-worth is tied up in his ability to make money. A sluggish whisper in my brain suggests I may be like Tanner, but I push the voice away and call it a liar.

  “Is it possible for a person to leave no cyber footprint? To just disappear?”

  “People don’t disappear.” He drops into the wingback in my office. “Why?”

  “I’ve searched for Sadie everywhere and she doesn’t exist.”

  “So she’s not a social media person. There are people who are like that, ya know.”

  “She was all over it when we were in college.”

  “People go offline all the time.” His eyes narrow. “You cyber-stalking her?”

  The collar of my dress shirt seems to tighten like a noose. “Something feels off. She avoided me at your wedding. She’s closed all her social media accounts. I tried her number and it’s disconnected. Her new number isn’t listed anywhere.”

  “Call her parents and get her new number. Her parents love you.”

  I lift a brow.

  He rolls his eyes. “Okay, her mom loves you.”

  “I don’t want to seem too obvious.”

  He seems exhausted by the conversation. “What other choice do you have?”

  He’s right. The sooner I can get a hold of Sadie and put all my concerns to rest, the sooner I can get back to focusing on work.

  I grab my desk phone. Having dialed Sadie’s parents’ phone number my entire life, the digits come back easily. Her mom picks up on the second ring.

  “Mrs. Slade, hi, it’s Jackson.”

  “Who?”

  “Oh, um, Jack, Blake and Layla’s—”

  “Jack! Hey, how are you? And why are you calling me Mrs. Slade?” She laughs, and it’s warm and familiar.

  Sadie’s mom, Raven, was our high school’s MILF. Not only was she smokin’ hot, but she could also replace a transmission and rebuild an engine. She always had grease stains on her tank tops. I could see the appeal, but I never lusted for Sadie’s mom because I had my own personal version. I had Sadie.

  We shoot the shit and exchange small talk, most of which is inconveniently free of Sadie’s name.


  The clock is ticking—I have a meeting—so I get to the point. “Hey, I’ve been trying to get ahold of Sadie, but must’ve lost her new number.”

  She rattles off the number and I scribble it on a legal pad, excitement billowing in my chest. That was easier than I thought.

  We say our goodbyes and my hand quakes when I punch in the numbers. It rings as Tanner watches, eagerly thumping his fingers on his thigh. I want to hear her voice. After too many rings, her voicemail picks up, and it’s not her voice. It’s the automated outgoing message followed by a beep.

  What the hell!

  I hang up and try again.

  And again.

  And one more time.

  No answer.

  I try for a fifth time and decide to leave a message.

  “Sadie, it’s Jackson. I, uh… I missed you after the wedding. I hope it’s okay I got your new number from your mom. I mean…” I chuckle. “I’m sure you’re cool with it, right? It’s not like you got your number changed to avoid me.”

  Tanner’s face scrunches up as if he’s in pain listening me to fumble.

  “If you get some free time, give me a call. I’d really like to talk to you. Okay. Call me.” I scare myself as the words “I love you” want to roll off my tongue. Old habit.

  I hang up before I embarrass myself further and grab my files for our meeting. “I can see you laughing at me.”

  Tanner laughs out loud as we head down the hallway toward the conference room. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you so shaken.”

  “I’m not shaken.”

  “Dude. You are.”

  Chapter Four

  Sadie

  “Are you going to get that?”

  The vibration of my phone from my purse fills the quiet art studio at Southern Cal Community College for the thousandth time today, and Paula, a fellow student, has reached her limit.

  “I’m sorry.” I grab my phone and the caller ID makes my heart thunder. Again. New York area code. My phone has been blowing up since Jack left San Diego, and it’s no mystery why. My mom told me he called, asking for my number. She was surprised he didn’t already have it.

  That’s because she doesn’t know the truth about why I changed it. She doesn’t know the truth about a lot of things. If I told her, my parents would wrap me in bubble wrap, drag me back to Las Vegas, and lock me in my old bedroom. I love my parents more than anything, but they’re stupid overprotective.

  I hit Decline on Jack’s call and don’t even have my phone shoved back into my purse yet when it vibrates in my hand. This time, I turn it off and get back to my painting.

  If only I could silence my brain as easily as I can my phone, build a permanent dam to keep the memories from flooding in. Because every good memory of Jack reminds me of all we lost, and my mind spirals from there, bringing me back to that night on the beach.

  Mr. Tull, my professor, makes his way around the room and I hold my breath as he stops behind my left shoulder.

  “What an interesting… concept?”

  “Thank you,” I say, even though I can tell by the way his voice went up an octave that he’s totally disturbed by the subject matter.

  “The blood is very realistic.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Will you be attending the L’Atru gallery opening this weekend? I think you’ll find a kinship in Steve Winnow’s work. It’s very provocative.”

  I set down my brush and shrug. “I don’t know.”

  “I suggest you come.” He moseys on over to Paula’s painting of a fruit bowl.

  A night out. Alone. No Ricky.

  Am I ready for that?

  Jack

  One week has passed since I saw Sadie. An entire week of her avoiding my calls.

  I did a thorough job of stalking her online, digging at every nugget of information only to slam face-first into dead end after dead end. Then I remembered she used to talk about her roommate, Dawn Arroyo. I never would’ve remembered the name except we went to school with a kid named Duane Arroyo and used to joke about them being related. After hunting down Dawn’s page, the most I could find on Sadie were old photos from years ago.

  From what I gather, Dawn lived with Sadie for a little over a year before she fell in love, got married, and moved to Florida. After she moved, there’s no photographic evidence that they’d seen each other or spoken again.

  I memorized—and okay, fine, maybe I saved—a few (all) of the photos of Sadie from Dawn’s page, mostly selfies of them at various places—coffee shops, the beach, sushi dates. My favorite was Sadie holding a surfboard. It had been taken when we were still technically together. How did I never know my girl surfed?

  Ex-girl.

  Fuck you, brain!

  She’s wearing a rash guard and blue bikini bottoms, her smile brighter than the sun that brings out the freckles on her perfect nose. God, she’s so fucking beautiful it hurts to look at her.

  “How long?” Tanner’s voice comes from behind me.

  I slam my laptop closed. “I’m finished with the proposal for the myBubble campaign—”

  “Don’t change the subject, you fucking creeper.” He walks around my desk, grinning like he caught me with monkey porn, and drops into a seat. “Have you been stalking Sadie all week?”

  I don’t answer because he obviously already knows.

  He shakes his head.

  I reopen my laptop, no use hiding it. “She’s avoiding me.” I shift in my desk chair, feeling uncomfortable. I’m too hot and my suit pants feel too tight. “I hate that she won’t talk to me. I’m frustrated and… itchy.”

  “That’s called jock itch,” my assistant, Andrea, says as she breezes into the room with file folders clutched to her chest. “They make ointment for that.”

  “You’re hilarious,” I say as I take the offered documents.

  “Girl problems?” She nods toward the open laptop with the photo of Sadie and her surfboard.

  “Is nothing sacred?” I stare between my best friend and assistant, who look at me as if I’m speaking a new language. I roll my eyes. “Yes, okay. Maybe.”

  Andrea props a hip on my desk. “One-night stand gone wrong?”

  “No.”

  “Ol’ Jackson here ran into his ex in San Diego,” Tanner explains. “He’s looking to reconnect, but she won’t answer his calls.”

  Andrea sucks air through her teeth. “Ouch. Bruised ego then.”

  “No. It’s not that.” Maybe it is a little. “I’m curious what she’s been up to, that’s all. If she had social media, I could get all caught up on her life and move on. I don’t understand why she won’t talk to me.”

  “Why’d you guys break up?” Andrea’s eyes tighten to little slits. “You didn’t cheat on her, did you?”

  I’m already shaking my head. “It was nothing like that. Long distance relationship became too much. I guess we grew apart.”

  “You guess?” Tanner laughs.

  Andrea squeezes my shoulder. “Give her some time. Women are complicated. She’ll either come around eventually or she won’t.” She straightens and gathers her files.

  “That’s not helpful,” I mumble while fixating on Sadie’s photo.

  “You have a conference call at three,” Andrea says as she walks from my office, closing the door.

  “You know…” Tanner leans over my desk and tosses the myBubble proposal in front of me. “Sadie might be interested in a smaller, more exclusive social media app.”

  The myBubble people had explained that their biggest selling point was the app’s exclusivity keeping out people their users don’t want in.

  “If she won’t accept my calls, she won’t accept a myBubble request from me.”

  He shrugs. “Maybe not from you.”

  “You’re saying I should pretend to be some other guy?”

  He sighs. “Try to keep up. Lesson one? Chicks don’t trust men to be their friends. They know we all secretly jerk off to fantasies of them naked.”

 
; I open my mouth then slam it shut. “You were friends with Sadie in high school.”

  “If you’re asking me if I ever rubbed one out to thoughts of Sadie naked, the answer is hell yes. And so did every other dude who knew her.”

  I cup my head in my hands. “Please, stop talking.”

  “Wake the fuck up.” He throws a stack of Post-its at me. “If you want her to open up, you’ll have to friend her as someone she can trust.” He nods toward my computer. “Are you understanding me now?”

  “You’re suggesting I catfish Dawn to connect with Sadie?”

  “Yes, dumbass! Get in her head, find out how she feels about you, figure out what the fuck happened that made her hate you. Once you have all the info, you’ll have a better chance at coming up with the proper ammunition to launch your attack—”

  “I don’t want to attack her, I want to…” What do I want? “I want to know her again.”

  “Exactly.” He points at the file folder. “And there’s your in. So what are you waiting for?”

  Sadie

  “Have you ever heard of myBubble?” I grab my purse from my locker at work while Ricky bundles his tie and apron, waiting for me.

  We had a small dinner to work tonight, only twenty-five people, and they weren’t big drinkers, so we managed to get off before nine o’clock.

  “I thought you weren’t on social media anymore?”

  I shrug, and we walk together through the kitchen to the garage where Ricky’s truck is parked. “I’m not, but I got a text from an app called myBubble saying Dawn wants to reconnect. Must be new. I’ve never heard of it.”

  “Dawn Duckface?”

  “Yep, selfie-queen of So Cal CC.”

  He chuckles. “Whatever happened to that girl?”

  “She moved to Florida, remember?”

  He doesn’t answer.

  “You went to her going away party.”

  “I remember the party, just not where she moved.” He hits the key fob to unlock the doors and we climb inside.