Found

by Claudia Burgoa

  “That’s crazy talk, Wills,” I say, trying my best to act casually.

  I hope she’ll stop. This conversation is shredding my insides as I think about the many times Scott and I missed out on love. If that’s what we shared.

  “Are you feeling alright?” I feign ignorance while searching for a dress. “Because what you just said makes no sense. Scott was only my friend with benefits. Elliot and I were together for years.”

  She laughs. “Denial, little sister. I like your approach.”

  “Is there something you know that I don’t?”

  “Well, the night I met Scott he spent his evening helping you with your math homework via Skype. Like he did every night. That man sacrificed his evenings to help you with homework? Please, he was just trying to be with you.” She laughs. “I thought he was flirting with me, but he was only annoying Hunter.”

  “Scott already had someone. You. I’ve witnessed it. That hot piece of man has always been by your side. He adores you. The guy goes above and beyond for you. He’s uprooting his life to be close to his Bee.”

  She goes quiet. The pause is too long, deafening. “And you love him too.”

  I hold my breath. I mull her words over as my heart shrinks, thinking about what I might lose. Or I might gain depending on who I choose. But wait, if it was so obvious, why was it that no one noticed? What do I do with that information?

  “Elliot loved you so much,” Willow continues her analysis. “You two were inseparable. I remember him professing his love, and swearing he’d give you everything you wanted. But will he?”

  “What does that mean?” I throw a black strapless gown on the bed.

  “You want someone who will go the distance for you,” she explains. “Will Elliot confront his demons for you? I’m not sure. He’s yet to come to New York to claim his girl and apologize.”

  “Well, I’m here.”

  “Yes, you’re there. But you wouldn’t know if he ever intended to reach out to you, do you? You left because Scott fucked up—twice.”

  “That’s not exactly it,” I defend my stance. “I didn’t come looking for Elliot, and yes I was hurt because Scott didn’t want more with me. But I also felt alone, empty.”

  “I get it, we take a little too much from you, and forget to check if you’re alright. Everything makes sense. The doubts, the need for space and the avoidance.”

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

  “Hey, I’m glad you took off and looked after yourself for a change. I bet trying to please everyone while looking fabulous is exhausting.”

  “I love you,” I say, closing my eyes. “But what do I do?”

  “Follow your heart,” she says. “Everyone deserves a second chance. Scott and Elliot are asking for it. And if you feel like Elliot is the love of your life, go for it. We’ll support you.”

  Is he the love of my life?

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  “Sometimes all you want is one more chance to make it right.” ―Anonymous

  Elliot

  Hazel texted me the information for the gala, including my ticket. She didn’t want me to pick her up because her plus one made it on time. I was close to canceling and staying home for the night. We could do something tomorrow night. But against my better judgment, I borrowed Kyle’s tuxedo and arrived at seven sharp, like she requested. Our table is empty, and the only person I see walking toward me is Scott Everhart.

  “Good evening,” he greets me.

  “Hazel didn’t come with you?”

  He throws me a brief glance and shakes his head without saying a word.

  “I assumed that you were her plus one.”

  “No,” he responds pulling out a chair and sitting down. “Fitz is her date for the night.”

  Her date? Isn’t he gay? I swallow my question and nod.

  He checks his watch and exhales. “They should be here soon unless my brother convinces her to ditch the gala,” he declares, absently.

  “What do you mean?” My eyes open wide.

  I’m not spending the night with Scott Everhart, waiting to see if Hazel shows up or not.

  “Fitzhenry doesn’t like galas. If he’s persuasive enough, they might go somewhere else.” He pulls out his phone, taps it a few times and sighs with relief. “But apparently that’s not the case. They’re running late.”

  Scott signals the waiter. “Do you want something to drink?” I shake my head, and take a glass of champagne from a waitress who passes by.

  A waiter comes over. Scott mumbles something I’m unable to hear and gives him cash. The man disappears, and in a matter of seconds, he brings a tumbler of whiskey and a glass of water for Scott.

  We remain silent for several minutes. My gaze concentrates on the main entrance. I wait for Hazel to arrive, hoping that the tense atmosphere that grows thicker by the second dissipates with her presence. I don’t care for Scott, and the less I have to deal with him, the better.

  “We got your report,” he says, staring at his drink. “Grant Beesley is happy with the progress—and your company.”

  Great, we’re talking about work. At least it’s a safe subject. Better than stay away from Hazel, asshole, she’s my wife.

  “He’s Hazel’s grandfather, isn’t he?” I play along.

  Scott casts a slight glance my way, shaking his head. “Grant is your client,” he waves the hand that holds the drink, and takes a sip of it. “The most important client that your company has according to the information I have.”

  “Waterfront Management is our biggest client—for now,” I agree, resting my hands on the table. “As long as I meet my deadlines, and Hazel is satisfied with my work, I’m set.”

  “You should pay a lot more attention to Grant.” His tone is firm, his eyes determined.

  “If he’s happy with you, you’ll keep your contracts. If he’s not…” He grins. “Well, you’re out of the game.”

  “Wouldn’t you like that?” I counter, scanning the ballroom. “Professionally, Hazel and I have a signed contract. Personally, I’m in a comfortable position. While you’ve been away, things between us have…changed.”

  I finish my champagne. I don’t give a shit about Grant Beesley, or Scott Everhart. I deal with Hazel, and whatever happens between our companies includes a signed contract with a fine that will buffer any cancellation.

  Straightening his back, his frown deepened into a scowl. “In any business, you have to identify your customer and the main player.”

  I wait for him to mention my personal relationship with Hazel, but he doesn’t.

  “Hazel and Grant are a team, but ultimately she follows his lead,” he continues. “I’m surprised that you’re interested in Hazel and yet, you haven’t put any effort into knowing much about her.”

  “I care about her, not her business,” I disclose, clenching my fist. “Her career doesn’t matter.”

  “Unbelievable.” He snorts, drumming his fingers on the table.

  “Your attitude blows my mind,” he says, finishing his drink and setting the glass on the table. “Google Hazel Beesley to find out how important she is in the business world. I’m not sure how much your relationship changed, but you know close to nothing about her.”

  He points at my left hand where I wear my wedding ring. “That’s just a piece of jewelry. It’s what you carry in your heart and your soul that shows how much you love someone.”

  “Mind your own fucking business, Everhart,” I warn him, my breathing quickens.

  “That’s exactly what I’m doing, McFee. I’ve been by her side for a long time. I was there when you decided that Hazel wasn’t worth your time.” He touches his temple. “I know the stories.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  He couldn't understand what it is to lose a parent and have to be in charge of your family. My body shakes with anger. “At nineteen, I had to step into the role of my father and care for my siblings. It wasn’t easy. Hazel was far away, safe.”


  “Safe?” he scowls. “She was traveling every weekend from North Carolina to New York, working her ass off to help you. I saw her struggling to keep her grades up and working full-time.”

  I stare at him, mute.

  “You can make as many excuses as you want, but you failed her,” he declares, clenching his jaw. Leaning closer he continues, “I’ll be watching you.”

  He rises from his seat, nods and leaves me. My blood is boiling, and my heart thundering in my chest.

  ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩

  The moment Hazel steps into the ballroom, my entire body relaxes. I can’t take my eyes off her. That black, long dress molded to her body makes her look stunning. She’s the most beautiful woman in the room. Slowly, she walks around the room greeting everyone she encounters. Fitz is right next to her shaking hands and smiling.

  I push myself away from the wall where I’ve been standing—avoiding Scott—to catch up to Hazel. But stop when I see Scott approaching her. He takes her hand, kisses it, and whispers something in her ear. She lowers her head, squinting her eyes for a moment. She scans the area, fans her face and smirks at him.

  My throat closes up when I watch her give him a hug, and a lingering kiss on the cheek after he says something to her.

  Have they been more than friends?

  I have to ask her about their relationship. What is Scott to her? This situation is infuriating. My blood pressure increases when I think of the years he has spent with her. However, I ignore that and push my way toward the table.

  “Eli, you made it,” she greets me when she reaches her chair.

  I lean forward, but Scott stands up between us pulling out her chair. He pushes it lightly once Hazel sits. He takes a seat right next to her and I try to do the same.

  But Fitz glares at me, “she’s my date.” He sits beside her.

  I take a healthy swig of champagne and stare at my table companions. This will be a long night.

  “McFee.” Fitz nods. “You clean up nicely. So unfortunate that you’re an asshole—and straight.”

  “Fitz,” she warns him. “We agreed on having a peaceful meal.”

  “Fine.” He turns to look at me. “Do you surf often?”

  I blink a couple of times, what the fuck?

  “Hazel mentioned you taught her how to surf. I assume you still do it.”

  “As often as possible,” I reply, clenching my teeth.

  Thankfully, dinner begins, and everyone takes their places. Unfortunately, Fitz focuses his questions on me during the entire meal. When did I decide to go into construction? Do I know how to use a hammer? I swear, he wiggled his eyebrows when he asked me that one. I’m not sure if he’s trying to make me uncomfortable or flirting with me...or both.

  “Do you ever get attached to any of your properties?” Hazel inquires, wiping the corner of her lips after finishing Scott’s chocolate mousse. “As I’m working on my parents’ house, I’m second guessing what I’ll do with it.”

  “It’s different,” I say, placing down my fifth flute of champagne, and taking two more from the tray. I hand one to Hazel. “That’s the house you grew up in, not some property you acquired intending to flip it.”

  “That doesn't answer my question.” Her lips curl into a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

  She moves the glass of champagne toward Scott who returns it to the waiter who’s picking up the empty glasses. It's been like that all night. They don't exchange words, but they split their dinner, she had no trouble stealing his food, and when she needs something he hands it to her.

  “Still, there must be a property you might be in love with.”

  “So far, no.”

  Then, I turn to Scott who has magically appeared a glass of ice and a bottle of sparkling water. How the fuck does he do that? It’s like he reads her mind.

  “What is it that you do, Scott?” I ask him, redirecting the attention I've grown uncomfortable with.

  “Investments,” he responds dryly.

  Hazel rolls her eyes, then looks at me. “Don’t bother. He won’t tell you more than what he just did. He does a lot more than that, but hates to talk about it.”

  “I’m a lawyer,” Fitz intercedes, taking over the conversation once again and flashing me an easy grin.

  “Why don’t you come with me to check the silent auctions?” Hazel rises from her seat, taking my hand.

  “Sorry about that,” she declares, smiling at everyone who is along our pathway. “Fitz can be intense during these gatherings, Scott is always quiet.”

  Quiet? She should’ve heard him a few hours ago. He’s a fucking asshole who should mind his own business, and leave us alone.

  After a deep breath, I smile and speak, “Sounds like you do this often.”

  “Yes, Gramps gets invited to a lot of them. I’ve been his plus one since I moved in with him,” she says, casually as we stop in front of a big basket of wine. “It’s fun, and for a good cause.”

  “You like giving like your parents?” I remember they used to volunteer all around the world.

  She turns to look at me and exhales. “I like to help. A few years back, Harrison, Scott, and I created a foundation,” Hazel explains. “We also have a shelter for homeless teenagers, and work at a soup kitchen almost every Sunday. Helping others and teaching them how to thrive is one of our mottos.”

  She twists her mouth. “Nothing like my parents, though. Never compare me to them,” she declares with a rough tone.

  I open my mouth, but close it when she walks to the next table.

  “This looks like a great gift.” She grabs a pen and scribbles the amount, and some number. Then goes to the next bid and does the same.

  “I think Mr. Bristol wants this trip. Let’s make him work for it a little harder.” She smacks her lips, adding a thousand dollars to the bid. “If he doesn’t want it, we have a trip to Cancun. That’s not bad.”

  We go through the tables, adding a few dollars to some, and hundreds to others. Hazel assures me that people will come back to check on them. They aren’t closing the auction until ten.

  “Are you planning on using all those items?”

  “Huh?” She glances at me and goes back to the next item.

  “No. I only do this to force people to give a little more.” She shrugs, and instead of going back to the table, she heads to the back door.

  “Sorry about tonight, I feel like you aren’t enjoying yourself,” she apologizes, hugging herself and rubbing her bare arms.

  I take off my jacket, covering her shoulders. She scrunches her nose. “This doesn’t smell like you.”

  “Kyle.”

  “Of course, it’s Kyle’s. Does he use it for his stripping gigs?”

  “I stopped doing it a long time ago,” I reassure her.

  “Elliot, that's in the past, remember?”

  “Good.” I grab her hand.

  “I assume we’re ready for the next step.”

  “Next step?” she stutters.

  “For us,” I explain. “Our relationship. Don’t you think it’s time to fix what we had?”

  “Fix?” She frowns, claiming her hand, taking a step backward.

  Her confusion punches me right in the throat, closing my airways.

  “Yes, we can’t just waste the love we’ve shared since we met.” I don’t let her confusion defeat me.

  Her eyes grow wide. “But, Elliot, we’re not fixing what we had. We’re trying to find a new us. Maybe it means we belong together or we’re meant to be just friends.”

  “This.” She moves her index finger between the two of us. “Needs a lot of work and has to take baby steps. We have to take it slow.”

  “As slow as you wish,” I concede. “In the meantime, I promise to treat your heart like a glass slipper.”

  I move forward, closer to her. So close I can feel the warmth of her body. Our noses are almost touching. Taking it slow can include a little indulgence—a bite or two of sweet Hazel. My lips almost touch hers. I can feel them,
taste them. Placing a hand behind her neck, I brush a quick kiss on her lips. The anticipation makes her body shiver, and I can’t wait to touch her sensitive skin.

  “Are you looking for dust in her eye? Because I can help you. I have 20/20 vision.” Fitz’s voice interrupts the moment.

  I officially hate his guts. One more interruption or question, and I’m burying him in the basement of some abandoned house. I'll pour an entire truck of concrete on top of him.

  “What the hell do you want?” I move my gaze toward him.

  The fucker grins like the Cheshire Cat.

  “You should wear a bell around your neck or announce yourself,” Hazel snaps at him.

  “Number two-hundred-and-twenty-three, we have a problem,” he reports, staring at Hazel whose eyes grow wide after he mentions the number she used to bid.

  “That’s my bidding number.” Her head snaps her voice has a tone of urgency. “What happened?”

  “They’re closing the bids in…” He checks his watch. “Five minutes.”

  “No, the program said at ten.”

  Fitz shakes his head. “It closes before the live auction. You can pick up your items at ten.”

  Batting her eyelashes at him, she asks, “Do you have some spare change, Fitzy?” She grins at him. “Or erase my number, please.”

  He nods. “I’ll see what I can do, Beesley.”

  “Give me a couple of minutes, and I’ll be there.” She calls after him.

  I lift her chin, cupping it between my hands. Our eyes meet, mine search for her soul. “I have little to offer, only my heart. My soul. Myself. The promise to love you and protect you.”

  “Be patient with me, my mind isn’t in the right place,” she speaks, and the sorrow in her words weighs on me.

  “I’m willing to try something new. You lead, but take a chance on me.” As I speak, I realize that she needs more than words. She needs all of me to believe how committed I am to us.

  I lean, taking her lips. I pour each emotion running through my soul into the kiss. I deepen it, enjoying the savor of home.

  Breathless, I draw away from her. I want to stake a claim, declare my love for her.