Chapter 5
Chapter
Being stuck in an elevator with Adam Harper does warrant a fit of hysteria, but I’m saved when three men in business suits step in between us on the seventeenth floor.
As if they’re burning a hole through the side of my skull, I can feel Adam’s eyes on me.
But my attention stays focused on the numbers above the elevator doors, slowly decreasing by each second.
Once we reach ground level, I adjust my stance and prepare to make a run for it.
The doors open and I push through everybody, heading for the exit.
“June,” Adam calls, but I ignore the sound of his voice and keep moving.
The smell of fresh air, or at least open air, fills my lungs and I’m able to think a little more clearly.
Adam’s voice pleads over the sounds of traffic and I stop and turn around, unintentionally allowing him to catch up.
Once he gets within two feet of me, he takes a step back, mindful of my personal space.
“I didn’t know you were going to be here, June,” he says, and I believe him. I don’t know the person standing in front of me, at least not anymore, but I do know Adam wouldn’t want our reunion to be like this.
“Me either,” I say, swiping my hair out of my face.
We stand awkwardly in the middle of the sidewalk while people walk around us, yet neither he nor I move.
I do my best to not make eye contact, but I keep looking back at the details on his face.
The way his clothes hang on his body and how he’s taller than I remember.
It’s like meeting someone who’s on TV—you know more than you want to admit about their physical appearance, but it’s hard to believe they’re really in front of you.
“I had no idea about Stanley,” he says with regret in his voice.
There’s a knot in my chest but I push myself to respond.
“What are we going to do? This is insane, Adam.” My voice shakes a little, not used to saying his name out loud. He wipes a hand over his face like he’s thinking, contemplating. I’m positive he wants the money as much as I do—how could he not?
“I mean, we sell it. Right?” he says.
“I-I guess,” I say. I’ve had just enough time to think about this as he has.
I close my eyes for a moment, collecting myself, attempting to process everything.
There is no way I can be expected to make a rational decision right now.
While getting rid of this problem as fast as possible sounds more than appealing, it also means security for a long time.
We have to be strategic. The alternative is we don’t sell it, but that would mean owning property together.
“If we keep it…” I start. “What would that even look like?”
“It wouldn’t be a permanent solution,” he says. “I just don’t want to make any rash decisions.”
“Who’s making rash decisions?” I say defensively.
“Nothing, never mind.” He runs his hand through his hair, the way he always used to when he was stressed, and it’s frustratingly distracting.
“What are you trying to say?”
“Nothing,” he says firmly, and then scratches above his eyebrow. “Look, I don’t want to argue. Can we just take a night before we decide what to do?”
My head shakes. “I can’t.”
I don’t even know exactly what I can’t. Simply talking about this is painful enough.
I can’t bear the thought of what happens after today, after the next ten minutes.
Adam Harper is the one person who can make me feel like everything is going to be okay and at the same time the only person who can thoroughly crush my entire world.
“June, please,” he presses.
Adam’s eyes are deep and darker than I remember, desperately searching for an answer, but there’s pain behind them that’s making me consider what he’s asking.
He’s not just asking me to come to a solution about the house with him, he’s asking me to put our history aside, to forget everything that’s happened.
To pretend like I haven’t been trying to bury my feelings and push through the pain and heartbreak for five years.
So if he’s asking me to do all of that, I don’t think I can.
“June?” he repeats, and it brings me back to reality.
“O-Okay,” I hear myself say for some reason.
“Okay?” His eyes lighten with relief.
I’m not on board with this and almost every part of me is screaming to run away, except the part of me that’s Adam’s. A part that has always been Adam’s, and I’m learning, no matter how much I resist, maybe always willbe.
“Let’s take the night,” I nod, mostly telling myself. “And I’m going to pay you back that deposit. It just happened so fast and—”
“It’s fine,” he says.
“I’m paying you back,” I press. “Half of that house is mine too.”
“Okay. No rush.”
“You’re not doing me any favors, Adam.”
“Of course not.” He shakes his head. My instinct is to say something clever, to banter, because that’s what comes naturally when I’m with him.
Adam brings out a side of me I have to otherwise force with anyone else.
But we’re not doing this, so I don’t say anything.
He takes a look at his phone and puts it back in his pocket, “I, uh, I’ve got to head to work, but are you busy tomorrow?
Maybe we can meet at Perry and take a look at everything. ”
Oh right. I didn’t even think of actually going back to the house. I feel sick again.
“Sure,” I say, remembering that my flight is tomorrow evening. That should give me enough time to figure out what the hell I’m going to do. “Eleven?”
“That works,” he says. “And if we need to bring anyone else into this conversation, that’s fine too.”
I give him a blank stare. “You mean lawyers?”
“Yeah, or…” He looks down and scratches the side of his nose. “Anyone else this might invol—”
“I think this should be a conversation between us for right now,” I say curtly.
“Right,” he says, nodding. “Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He starts walking in the other direction, and once he’s out of sight I remember to breathe again.
When I get back to the hotel I open an unread email from Theo.
Hey June,
How’s New York? Still waiting to hear an update on an audition. Regardless, there might be another guest spot on NCIS, they have your self-tape. Will let you know what they say.
Theo
A guest spot is always good news—it usually holds me over for a couple of months until the next job. But as I read this, there’s nothing I’m excited about. I’m grateful, and always will be, to continue working, but is it selfish to not be excited?
I mark the email as unread to remind myself to call her in the morning.
The shower water runs so hot that I can hardly feel my own skin anymore. The steam fills the bathroom until I can barely see anything but fog in front of me, similar to my mind.
My thoughts wander as my fingertips begin to prune. I’m well aware that I live a fortunate life, but this house could be the means to a different life. How can I turn that down?
And then there’s Adam. How can he possibly be okay with this? What does his life look like? Where does he live? What does he do? Is he with anyone? Is he with her ? Stop it. I lift my face up to the showerhead and let my mind become a blank slate.
When I wake the next morning, although it’s debatable if you could call last night a legitimate night of sleep, I go for a walk to clear my head.
I wind up at the Elk, one of the coffee shops I used to go to almost every day once I had enough expendable income.
When I step through the doors, my senses take over and it feels like visiting an old friend.
A few minor differences through the years, but there’s something familiar, comforting, about reuniting.
In a way, that’s how the whole city feels.
As I sip my pecan latte, I gradually become more alert and acknowledge how alive New York is before eight o’clock.
There’s something gratifying about how life on the West Coast is slower, but the electricity that flows through Manhattan is unmatched.
There’s no final destination on my morning stroll, yet I feel like I have purpose, like everyone around me has purpose.
These are people who choose to wake up and do something with their day, even if it is just walking, and that’s admirable.
I didn’t realize I was homesick for a place that I refused to think of as home.
Meeting Adam in a couple of hours has nothing to do with me buying a new sweater. It also has nothing to do with me spending a few extra minutes on my hair and makeup. While taking a final look at myself in the mirror, I catch an incoming call from Theo.
“Hey!” I answer, hoping that there’s good news on the other end.
“So, update…” she says, and her tone gives me an uneasy feeling. One audition is all I need to write off this trip. Just one. “The NCIS thing isn’t going to happen, unfortunately. I’m sorry.”
“Oh…” I sit on the edge of the bed, not upset about NCIS in the slightest. “All good.”
“But on the bright side, it looks like we’re on track to set up a meeting with the producers of Les Mis. They haven’t even started auditions but—”
“Wait.” I stand up. “ Les Mis ?!” I search my brain, because she never mentioned anything about Les Misérables.
“I told you about this last week,” she says in a you weren’t listening tone. “It’s a huge deal too—it’s been fourteen years since they’ve been on Broadway.”
Although I’m not as in touch with the theater scene as I used to be, I know that a revival of Les Misérables is a huge deal.
“You never mentioned anything specific, Theo!”