by L. P. Dover
Natalie O’Brien was my high school sweetheart and the one I let slip through my fingers. We wanted, and it seems, achieved different dreams. Our relationship started when we were sixteen. It was during the summer leading into our junior year of high school. We’d known each other for a while and hung out with the same crowd, although I was a bit of a music geek back in those days. The jocks liked to taunt me, but whatever.
The nerd in me liked to throw these dumb garage parties with my rag tag band. I always invited the whole school, hoping ten or twenty people would show up. My first one yielded mine, the other band members parents, and a neighbor, who only came over to tell us to quit with the racket. But that summer, the one where Natalie came with her friends . . . it was life changing.
I knew from the moment I tripped over the amp cord and busted my knee open she was my angel. She, the cute brunette with brown eyes full of caring and expression, expertly cleaned and bandaged my knee so I could perform. All night, every song I sang, I looked directly at her. The next Monday at school, I made sure to stumble and fall, right in front of her. It was sly, but I knew no other way to get her attention. My clumsiness worked and we started dating—right up until August after we graduated high school. By then, I had a following. During the middle of our senior year, some media student asked if he could make videos of me performing. Sure, why not, I had nothing to lose. He helped me create a video channel and overnight I had thousands of people listening to me sing. By weeks end, I had a million followers and several offers from labels and agents.
When you’re eighteen, you shouldn’t have to face life altering decisions. I wanted to, but never asked Natalie to come with me to Los Angeles. She wanted college and never asked me to go with her. Back then, maybe I would’ve. Ask me today, and the answer is yes. I would’ve followed her anywhere knowing what I know now. Life’s funny that way.
The elevator doors open one floor above where Natalie is. I pull up Jordan’s text and look at the number. It’s obvious by the loud music playing. “Low key, my ass,” I mumble as my knuckles wrap on the door in quick succession. It swings up, the person on the other side is holding a beer and his eyes go wide.
“No fucking way . . .”
Yes, fucking way.
“. . . when Jordan said . . .”
The guy doesn’t finish his sentence. Really, what’s he going to say? Jordan is a liar? Not likely. While I don’t keep in touch with many friends from high school. By many I mean more than one, Jordan has always been a good friend to me. He doesn’t care about my life, my status or any of that shit. He cares about me. I spot him across the room and head in his direction. He puts his arm around me and introduces me to the woman he’s speaking with, Carmen.
She shakes my hand, a dainty and not firm shake. She bats her eyes, her long fake lashes looking like butterfly wings and I want to ask her if she has something caught in her eye. She puckers her lips, almost as if her drink is sour.
“Nice to meet you,” I say to her. I’m polite, even if my thoughts aren’t.
“The pleasure is all mine,” she purrs. I feel my lips form into a thin line as I nod. Great, perfect.
“I’m going to mingle,” I tell Jordan. I’m not, but standing here is not an option either. I take the six-pack I bought into the kitchen and open the fridge. There are multiple buckets of ice with bottles, cans, different kind of drinks, and bottles of champagne spread around, but I prefer mine out of the refrigerator. It’s safer this way.
After taking a bottle from the pack, I pop the top and slip it into my pocket. Call it hazards of the job and whatnot. Aside from the loud music, there doesn’t seem to be a lot of people here. Maybe as it becomes later, more will show up. With my beer in my hand, I survey the apartment. It’s nice, with a great view and some classic artwork on the walls, which interests me. While it wasn’t how I thought I spend my New Year’s, it’s better than sitting at my parents, alone.
I peruse. Check out the art, and look—but don’t touch—the decorative vases and such on the tables. Whoever lives here seems sophisticated and if I had to guess probably holds a nine-to-five in the banking district, especially to be able to afford a place like this.
The apartment has an impressive view of the harbor. I try to count the boats out there having parties but lose track after ten. It’s crazy how people in New England treat storms. The nonchalant attitude of “eh, it’s just snow” doesn’t deter anyone from changing their plans. Evident by my parents going out and the boats anchored not too far from shore.
“You’ll be able to see the fireworks from here,” a voice interrupts my thoughts.
I turn slightly to find a well-dressed woman standing beside me. She has one arm crossed under her breasts and the other holds a glass of white wine. “Jordan told me he invited you. This whole time I thought he was kidding when he said you were friends.”
“I’m assuming this is your place?”
She sighs, drops her arm down to her side and looks over the party. I follow, wondering what she sees. “It is.” She looks around and smiles. “The view makes the price worth it.”
I would agree with her, although there isn’t much to look at except for the lights coming from the boats. It’s pitch-black and thankfully has stopped snowing. She walks off without introducing herself and heads over to another guest. I think about leaving, or at least heading downstairs to where Natalie is. Right now, I’d rather spend what little time I have left in Boston with her than be up here.
Jordan approaches, slaps his hand down on my back and says, “Happy fucking New Year, man.” He’s drunk. Drunk Jordan is usually the life of the party, unless you’re in Los Angeles and he’s drunk at a social event. Over the years, he’s come out to visit and we’ve gone to a few events. Tuxedos, open bars, the whole Hollywood glam lifestyle, and while I enjoy having him there, sometimes he’s too over the top for these stuffy executives.
“Happy New Year. Thanks for having me over. Who’s the woman?” I nod toward my former conversation partner.
Jordan looks over his shoulder, back and me and smiles. “Ramona. She works for the Celtics, upper management or something in legal, I think. Her husband left her for a younger version, a cheerleader or something. We bang every now and again. Neither of us are looking for anything but sex so it works out, especially on nights like tonight.”
“Yeah, she has a nice place.”
“She hates it but got it in the divorce, so she stays.”
I don’t really have anything to say in response, so I change the subject. “Do you remember Natalie O’Brien?”
Jordan’s eyes go wide. “Dude, you had such a hard on for her in high school.”
Still do.
“Yeah, I remember her, why?” he asks.
“I ran into her at the store.”
“She still cute?”
“She’s gorgeous,” I tell him.
He pushes me slightly. “Ah, Bren, you got a little crush.”
I can’t help but smile back. “Tell me it won’t work. Tell me I’m being stupid and thinking about her is going to get me nowhere. Tell me I shouldn’t text her.”
Jordan stops smiling and looks at me seriously. “Did you get her number?”
I nod as my hand grips the phone in my pocket. “She’s downstairs at another party too.”
Jordan’s hand is back on my shoulder and he pulls me toward him slightly. “Really? What are the odds?”
“Dunno, I never look at the odds, but I’m wondering—”
“Nah, man. Look around.” He turns me toward the living room. “You have your pick of pussy. Each one guaranteed not to call you the next day, not to hound you with memories from high school. We’ve moved on, man. Gotta leave the past in the past and welcome in the new year with someone you don’t have to remember the name of in the morning.”
I don’t agree with him. I’m not him and I’m definitely not what people would call the “Hollywood type”. Hook-ups have never been my thing. Sure, women throw t
hemselves at me, wanting to spend time with me, but none of them interest me. One time, I tried to take a woman on a date, she wanted sex. I saw right through her the minute she snapped a picture of us and put it on her Instagram. The one real relationship I had, ended abruptly. One minute, we’re living together and the next, I’m single and have no idea what happened. Jordan may be okay with the bang ‘em and leave ‘em lifestyle, but it’s not for me.
Besides, I can’t get my mind off Natalie and knowing she’s downstairs, it’s where I want to be. A couple of Jordan’s friends join us, creating a little circle. The chit chat is idle, what do you do for work, which when I’m asked, usually results in a fangirl or boy moment or a “yeah, I thought you looked familiar” sort of thing. All while the door keeps opening, people are coming and going, making me wonder what else I could be doing tonight.
Natalie—not that I could be doing her—but spending time with her. I could take her on a date or bring food to the hospital for her since I’m assuming, she’ll have to work if tonight is her only night off. I have two days to spend time with someone I’ve missed and I might as well take advantage of what’s in front of me.
I catch Jordan staring at me and look at him oddly. “What?”
“You’re seriously standing here, surrounded by hot, single women, and thinking about your high school ex?” He grabs both my shoulders and shakes them. “What is wrong with you?”
“Nostalgic, I guess?”
“It’s a New Year’s Eve party. Each of these women would love to take you back to their place and bang the fuck out of you.”
“That’s just it, J. I get this all the time. I can fucking snap my fingers and five chicks will line up for a chase. Maybe I want something different.”
“You want what you lost, is that it?”
I shrug. “Maybe. Or maybe I want to spend a couple of hours with someone I know I have a connection with. What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing, man. I will never understand your emo moody ass, but the women dig ya. Go get Natalie, bring her up here. I want to see what ten years has done to her.”
With that, I walk out of the apartment, down the hall and to the elevator . . . and wait.
Four
Natalie
As soon as I got out of the elevator, it took a while for it to really sink in on what just happened. I never thought I’d see Brennan McLean again and then there he was, right in front of me. I waited outside of Emerson’s door, leaning against it while I recollected every single thing Brennan and I talked about tonight. Yes, he’s famous now, but to me he will always be just Brennan, the guy I fell in love with back in high school.
The door swings open behind me and I shriek as I lose my balance.
“Oh my God,” Emerson laughs as she steadies me, “there you are.” She grabs one of the six packs of beer out of my hands before they fall to the floor.
I turn around and slap a hand to my chest. “You scared me.”
Emerson giggles and I can tell she’s already had a little too much to drink. She’s wearing a glittery gold top that shows off her shoulders that also goes along with her skinny jeans and gold heels. Her blonde hair is in long curls down her back and her makeup is absolutely perfect. She’s gorgeous and here I am in a sweater and snow boots.
She grabs the other six pack of beer in my hands and passes them to the first person she finds behind her. It’s a guy I’ve never seen before, but he had the build of a police officer. He has to be one of Callum’s friends. In my mind, I groan. I’m supposed to meet one of his fellow police buddies tonight.
Emerson flings her arms around my neck. “I was coming out into the hall to call you. It’s much quieter out here.”
The sound of music makes its way outside, but I hear more voices than music. My eyes widen when I see all the people in the apartment. Granted, she has a large home, but there are people everywhere. I recognize some of them from the hospital, but there are a lot I don’t know.
“Did you invite the whole city?” I ask with a laugh.
Emerson lets me go and glances back at the crowd of people. “I’ll probably never have another New Year’s Eve off ever again. Callum and I thought we’d start this new year off with a bang.” She turns back to me and takes my hand. “Come on. Let’s get you a drink.”
She pulls me inside and drags me down the hall to her bedroom. “Where are we going?”
She looks at me over her shoulder. “You think I’m going to leave my good wine out for everyone to drink?”
When we get to her bedroom, she shuts the door. “You can leave your stuff in here if you want.” I take my coat off and set it on the bed. My hair is a mess so I run my fingers through it as best as I can. On her dresser are three bottles of her favorite Riesling wine. One of the bottles is almost empty. She picks it up and pours the rest into an empty wine glass she has set to the side.
“I wanted to wait on you to start, but you took forever to get here.” She fills my glass to the top and carefully hands it to me.
“Maybe it’s because someone had me stop by the store,” I say, taking a huge sip of the wine. And because I ran into one of my ex-boyfriends who also happens to be famous now. Other than people I went to high school with, no one knows about my past with Brennan. I doubt anyone would believe me anyway. I’m not the glamorous type he goes for now. Scrubs are my daily wardrobe and I usually leave work with blood on my clothes. Not exactly part of the rich and famous crowd.
Emerson holds up her glass and taps it against mine. “Thank you for going to the store. You’re here now which means we can party. Also, Zeke’s ready to meet you. I think you’ll like him.”
I try to appear excited to meet him, but all I can think about is Brennan. My phone is in my back pocket, but who am I kidding to think he’ll call. He’s probably at Jordan’s party getting drunk and hooking up with women. Plastering on a smile, I salute her with my glass and take another huge gulp. I’m going to need it to get through the night if Zeke turns out to be a douche.
Emerson leads me out of the bedroom and past the kitchen to the living room where Callum is standing by the couch, telling one of his many stories from being on the force. There are about twenty people listening to him, all engaged in every single word that comes out of his mouth. He’s tall with light brown, closely shaved hair and he’s built like a bodybuilder. With him being a Boston cop, there’s always something crazy going on, but Callum loves the danger. Whether it be murders, burglaries, gang fights, or high-speed chases, he’s been in the crossfire more times than I can count. I’ve seen the toll it’s taken on Emerson, but she loves him and it’s what Callum wants to do.
Emerson nudges me in the side and leans in close. “That’s Zeke,” she says. I follow her line of sight to a man in the corner, dressed in a pair of gray slacks and a light blue button down that hugs his muscular arms. His hair is dark and from where I stand, I can tell his eyes are a bright blue. He’s very good looking and he’s laughing along with whatever Callum is announcing to the room. Maybe if I hadn’t seen Brennan, I’d be more excited about meeting him.
Emerson grabs my arm and pulls me to the other side of the living room toward Zeke. “I’ll introduce you.”
He sees us coming before we even get to him and he smiles. Emerson puts her arm around me and grins at him. “Zeke, this is my best friend, Natalie. She’s the one I was telling you about.”
Zeke’s smile widens and he holds out a hand. “Ah, yes. I’ve heard a lot about you. It’s nice to meet you.”
I shake his hand and grin back. “It’s nice to meet you too.”
Emerson tries to whisper in my ear, but it turns out to be her normal voice. “I’m going to give you two some time to talk.” She pats my shoulder and leaves, dancing to the sound of the music as she walks through the crowd.
Zeke chuckles as he watches her. “I’m surprised we haven’t met before. Callum and I hang out a good bit.”
Sighing, I take another sip of my wine. “I work a lot
,” I inform him. “You wouldn’t believe the number of of patients we get in the ER every day.”
He nods. “I can imagine. I bet you see all sorts of stuff in there.”
I go on to tell him some of my most interesting stories, one of which happened to be a middle-aged man with part of a bar stool leg stuck in his anus. He said he’d fallen on the broken chair and left it at that. I really didn’t want to know the details.
Zeke and I talk for a few more minutes about random things about our jobs. My wine glass goes empty and I really wish I had more. It just so happens that Emerson comes by to save me.
“Girl, you need more wine.” She loops her arm with mine and starts to pull me away. “I’ll bring her right back, Zeke. Can’t let her go dry on you.” Her comment garners the attention of others and I can feel the blood rushing to my cheeks. Emerson slaps a hand over her mouth and gasps. “Oh my God, did I really just say that?”
“That’s hot,” someone yells from across the room. “Can I come watch?”
Callum throws his hands up in the air. “Hey, if anyone’s going to watch, it’ll be me.”
He winks at Emerson and she rolls her eyes. “You all need to get your minds out of the gutter,” she hollers out to everyone. Then she winks at me. “Come on. You need more to drink.”
I follow her back to her bedroom and she shuts the door behind us. She pours me more wine and then flops down on her bed. “I could really use a nap right now.”
Giggling, I sit down beside her. “Sorry, Em. There’s still four more hours till midnight. You have to stay awake until then.”
She sits up and sighs. “Hopefully I can last. I’m sure I’ll regret all this wine tomorrow morning.”