by Stella Rhys
A fun fact I conveniently forgot about till yesterday’s calls.
He’d ignored two in a row while we were in the kitchen before turning his phone face down, and though it struck me as odd, I’d told myself it was probably work. Though if work called twice in a row, it would probably indicate some kind of urgency, which we all know Iain Thorn would never ignore, I thought now, finally allowing myself to do what I wouldn’t yesterday, which was wonder about the name I’d caught on the screen.
Camila.
And I was wondering now about Iain too, of course, since I was starting to remember that there was still a lot left to wonder about him—namely what had caused him to just up and disappear five years ago.
For so long, it wasn’t my business.
It certainly felt like it was, but I couldn’t actually make that claim to anyone besides me and my broken teenaged heart. So I just swallowed it.
But after this particular weekend, I couldn’t anymore.
It felt different after this weekend. Like I had more of a right to wonder, which was why I was doing exactly that—wondering about him like I did at seventeen. Once again dying to know why he left so suddenly.
Camila, perhaps?
“Thinking about your boy?” Freya teased, nudging me briefly out of my haze.
I blinked then laughed. “Actually, no.” A girl, I thought as I joked to Freya that I was thinking about how big her new office would be. And for the next few minutes, we talked with such genuine interest about her promotion that I didn’t even realize half my mind had gone somewhere else entirely.
It wasn’t till our conversation ended that I finally realized, because I looked down to find myself hitting enter on my phone, and staring at the search results in my inbox.
Two emails.
From me. To Iain.
From five years ago. When he left.
Okay, Holland, I immediately warned myself. I mean I could understand how my mind had come here. But is this really the best idea? I questioned, mostly because there was a point as recent as my freshman year of college that I’d still memorized every embarrassing word I’d written to him. But after hard work and some much-needed growing up, I’d actually managed to forget them.
Till now.
Alright, fuck it.
With a gulp of good ol’ morning champagne, I grabbed my phone again, and with some half-assed justification about how these emails were good for balancing my feelings, I clicked on the first one.
And read with a half-wince on my face.
Hi Iain!
Happy New Year! Hope you had a Merry Christmas too. We definitely missed you here. Dad tried to make the cafezinho the way you do in hopes of making Mom rage less because she was so tired and stressed about hosting people. But he messed it up horribly and it tasted so bad I think it made her rage more lol.
Adam said you did Christmas at home in Scarsdale. I’ve never been to that part of New York but it looks really pretty! How was it? P.S Dad bought you and Adam those Burton snowboarding socks for Christmas and I wasn’t supposed to tell you but Adam took yours so you should definitely get them back from him ASAP!
Holland
Okay.
Not as bad as I remembered, I concluded. There was nothing particularly cringey about what seventeen-year-old me wrote, but as my heart gave a little twist, I realized that that wasn’t why I’d forced myself to forget the email.
It was more because I’d worked so hard to sound so breezy when in fact, I’d been embarrassingly devastated that Iain didn’t visit that Christmas. There’d been a time when he hadn’t visited before—just the year prior—but then, Adam had told us in advance. He and Iain had graduated Stanford Law and just started working at Engelman Sports in L.A. They were too swamped to come back for Thanksgiving or Christmas, which was rough, but at least I knew to expect it.
But this time, I hadn’t realized Iain wouldn’t be coming till Adam walked in alone completely nonchalant, as if he hadn’t spent the past five years coming back with Iain in tow. When Dad asked where Iain was, all Adam mumbled was, “Yeah, I dunno, I guess he went to his dad’s,” before hugging my grandma, ruffling my hair and going upstairs to his room.
I remembered exchanging a funny look with Dad, because we all knew how Iain felt about his dad.
But then it was never addressed beyond that.
At least not to me.
Dad had looked upset, even disturbed as he went upstairs to have a conversation with Adam. But I already knew then I’d never know the details of it, because I was a kid and I was left out of that kind of stuff.
God, I thought, grimacing over the fact that I’d been so hurt, and I hadn’t even known at the time that Iain would never visit my house again.
Alright, Holland, that’s enough. Stop doing this, I told myself firmly, but it was in vain because with a quick click I was onto the next email I’d sent him all those years back.
Hey! Guess you actually moved to Manhattan. So you actually live closer to us than Adam does now and Dad and I both agree you’re more welcome in our home than he is, so please feel free to visit whenever even if he’s not with you. We mean it!
P.S they talked about you on SportsCenter! Congrats on the new client!! I’ll go out and buy a Drew Maddox jersey STAT.
Oof.
Okay. That one hurt.
“Hey. You okay, love?” Freya touched my shoulder as I suddenly put down my phone. She studied me. “Oh, honey. You look like a girl who had champagne first thing in the morning instead of breakfast.”
I laughed at her teasing, putting a hand to my stomach though the discomfort was in my chest. “Yeah, I think I might need to grab something to eat.”
“Go, go! Take a fifteen. Go outside. Grab some fresh air.”
I nodded, and with the rest of the team cooing at me like I was a little baby, I headed out of the conference room to take the elevator downstairs.
Well. You did this to yourself, I reasoned as I crossed the lobby of our building and went outside, with no particular destination in mind besides a place where I didn’t feel mentally like crap.
So this right here, I reminded myself as I walked up Fifth Avenue, is the danger of opening up your crush on Iain Thorn again.
He was easily one of the most complicated places in my brain to revisit.
Mostly because I had been so teenaged-in love with him back in the day, and as much as I wanted to believe I’d grown up since then—as much as I knew I very much had—I was still kind of Team Teen Holland in regards to the way Iain just poof and disappeared without saying goodbye.
No, he didn’t owe me anything, and no, we weren’t technically friends.
But still.
He could’ve emailed back a single line, or even passed a message along through Adam.
But he never did, and while I’d let go of my need to understand why years ago, that need had definitely just clawed its way back to the forefront of my mind.
Partly because of Camila.
Partly because of the emails.
But mostly because I knew that there was an expiration date to our arrangement, and despite the fact that I’d been telling myself I had everything completely under control, I did have feelings for Iain.
And not just dreamy, teenaged ones this time.
Real ones.
I didn’t want to, but I could finally admit it to myself, and just as I did, I felt my phone buzz in my hand.
IAIN: I shouldn’t take two days off when it’s this busy
Paused on the sidewalk, I stared.
Mostly at the word shouldn’t, because I’d learned that with me, Iain sometimes interchanged the words should and would.
So biting my lip, I fired off a simple three words.
ME: But would you?
I waited awhile for him to respond, and in that time, I told myself to just relax.
But once I was back at the office, sitting among my tipsy team at our desks, I finally got his one-word reply, and though I wanted n
othing more than to dial back my heart at least a bit, it sent me right back over the moon.
IAIN: Yes
23
IAIN
Fucking. Hell.
I dragged my hand down my face as I sat at my desk, staring in stunned disbelief. The office of Thorn Sports was in chaos today, and hell week was still in full swing.
Of course, I had everything managed.
The morning had started with a long-scouted prospect being lured by a rival agency, so I video called him to discuss contract details while a colleague flew to Texas to sign him in person.
Then I had a six-time All-Star threaten to retire unless he got a trade to New York, so now I was on the horn with the Empires’ front office, discussing all possible scenarios and seamlessly pushing back on any of their doubts about my client.
The only thing I wasn’t fully prepared for was what I was currently staring at on my phone: the latest selfie that Holland had sent me.
She’d sent a couple a day since Monday, each one somehow better than the last. And now this one continued the pattern, because for fuck’s sake, she’d somehow taken her own upskirt while wearing a floral sundress in the conference room of her office.
For the love of God, Holland, I wanted to curse at her as I adjusted my cock under my desk.
Judging from the angle, she’d set her phone down on her chair, because it looked like she was just getting up from her seat, and from this gloriously torturous backside view, I could see everything from her blonde hair hanging between her bare shoulder blades to her hands perched on the curve of her back as she arched her tight little body, angling herself perfectly to show her skirt fluttering airily around the toned backs of her thighs, her perky, round ass and that naked pussy that looked so pink and pretty all I could think about was kissing it. Parting her with my tongue and tasting her juices.
Within seconds of looking at the photo I was hard. And crazy.
Though it didn’t hinder my call since thankfully, I’d long mastered the skill of faking normal.
“Look, Craig, you said yourself you’ve had your eye on Perez, and I understand you’re hesitant about trading for him when he’s got just a year left on his contract, but I’ve got your payroll in front of me right now,” I said, still staring at Holland’s upskirt and saving it to my phone as another one of her texts came in. “It says you’re not going to be able to afford him once he hits the open market next year, and now that Watt’s down, you need a lefty reliever STAT,” I pointed out, my voice easy despite my jaw ticking tighter as I read her latest text.
HOLLAND: Want the view from the front?
She didn’t wait for my reply before she sent it, launching me into full fucking animal mode just as I was finishing my case.
“So unless you want to get killed by Houston’s lefty bats again this postseason, trading for Perez is your best bet,” I said, sounding terser than I meant to, but I couldn’t help it thanks to Holland’s latest picture—a bathroom selfie with the skirt of her dress pulled up to flash her fully bare, apparently freshly waxed pussy that looked so soft, so smooth and goddamned perfect I had to mutter “Christ” against my fist as Craig begrudgingly conceded to my point.
Which was very much a good thing, and I made sure to express that I was pleased to hear his change of heart.
But I couldn’t quite celebrate by the time I hung up, because I was in the middle of torture so brutal I was already looking at my schedule for the day and deciding which meetings were going to be nixed so I could see Holland before our scheduled meet time of 7PM.
But just as I decided on which of my meetings were getting moved, Erica stuck her head in, and before she even said a word, my jaw clenched.
“What?” I said, though I already knew because I’d already gotten this awkward, apologetic look from her several times over the past few days, and it was always for the same topic.
“She called twice while you were on the phone,” Erica said quickly. “Said you can’t keep ignoring her calls and to check your texts.”
I gritted my teeth, holding my dead stare on Erica for another few moments before grabbing hold of my phone and looking at what I knew had been there all day.
But had been avoiding for good reason.
CAMILA: I really can’t go another week without seeing you.
CAMILA: I need you here tonight
24
HOLLAND
I frowned, looking up from my computer as Freya strolled over to my desk and set on its corner a signature Minx shopping bag—powder blue with the pearly white lettering that had had my heart since I was fourteen.
I cocked my head. “What’s this?” I asked.
“A gift. Heard someone got their first Brazilian wax on Monday and I figured it was the most appropriate way of saying congrats and enjoy,” she said, tossing me a wink before strutting off.
I laughed, peeking into the bag to see the silkiest satin and lace. Barely any of it, but that was the point.
“Thank you,” I called over my shoulder to Freya, all smiles, because it was just one of those good days.
New lingerie aside, I was indeed freshly waxed and it was finally fucking Wednesday. I couldn’t wait to see Iain, and it didn’t help that I was about to put the finishing touches of planning for his birthday this weekend. I’d confirmed with him yesterday that he could really take off both Saturday and Sunday, and since he’d said yes, I’d been narrowing down my choices of bed and breakfasts.
Now if you’ll just respond to my latest texts, that’d be perfect, I thought, smiling wryly as I imagined Iain’s reaction to the pictures I’d sent today.
And just as I did, my phone buzzed on my table.
There he is.
I grabbed it excitedly, but my heart stopped when I looked at the name on the screen.
Mom.
I stared.
Holy shit.
I froze in my chair. Another second ticked by and then my pulse kicked into gear, starting to pound now and getting faster by the second because my phone was still buzzing in my hand.
Because it wasn’t a text. She was calling.
From back home. She was on the other line right this second. Holding her phone to her ear, probably sitting at the edge of her bed as she waited for me to pick up.
It would be our first time hearing each other’s voices in two months.
Nine weeks, to be exact.
That was how long it had been since my mom and I last spoke. How long it had been since she was in the driveway, shoving my dad, screaming at him to stop me with her eyes swollen beyond recognition from crying the entire night. I’d had hot tears in my eyes but no words left on my lips, calmly putting my suitcases in the trunk of the cab that I’d splurged on, because I knew she’d never let me get to the bus stop on foot let alone drive me.
“How could you do this to me? How could you be such an ungrateful little bitch to me?”
First time she called me a bitch. Last words she yelled at me as the car pulled out of the driveway.
And that was how we left off.
Well. Maybe she’s taken these past couple months to think and reflect on why I left home the way I did, I reasoned, swallowing the knot in my throat. But it came right back.
Or maybe she’s finally lost it because withholding contact for two months didn’t break me.
Wishful thinking had me torn, telling myself it could be either. Regardless, I didn’t pick up. I was at work, now wasn’t the time, and I—
Oh God.
A voicemail.
I stared at the little red notification, a chill going up my spine.
But another few seconds of staring and my mind was made. I wasn’t going to listen.
At some point, but not now.
As much as I wanted to believe that she’d called to be reasonable with me, to say she was hurt but she understood why I left, there was a slim chance that those words were actually waiting for me in that voicemail, and I wasn’t about to let her ruin my good day
.
But just as I affirmed that decision with myself, my phone buzzed with a text.
From Iain.
Just the sight of his name on my screen eased my hammering pulse, and with an eager swipe of my thumb, I opened the text.
But then I read it.
IAIN: Holland I’m so sorry but I have to cancel. Something important came up.
I stared.
And then I stared some more.
You have got to be fucking kidding me.
I clenched my jaw, outwardly calm at my desk, but inwardly fuming as I just sat there in pure disbelief.
This. Fucking. Day.
I tried typing something back but stopped, my head suddenly spinning because my mind was still racing over my mom’s voicemail, but on top of that I was just stunned, unsure of who I was currently more pissed at—Iain or myself.
Because he was the asshole who had made me wait three days to see him before canceling last minute by text, but I was the idiot who had spent as much time as I did missing him.
Thinking about him. Buying a new outfit for him, waxing for him and planning an entire birthday for him.
Okay. Dial it way the fuck back, I told myself, forcing myself to breathe and to be calm. To recognize that I was emotional right now because my day had just taken a nosedive, but it didn’t have to be a tailspin.
That was what I told myself at least.
What I did, however, was suddenly shove my earphones in my ear and hit play on my mom’s voicemail, feeling the blood instantly drain from my face because it started mid-sob.
The kind of hysterical, screaming sob you heard in horror movies, when the menacing killer finally had his victim cornered.
My stare went instinctively dead as I heard her ragged bawling, and the moment she gave her usual threat, I felt myself go blank. Empty. My heart was still slamming and my every muscle was tense but I wasn’t fully there anymore.