Chapter 29
Warner
The darkness of night lifts from the Eiffel Tower she left on my console. What little light morning dares to bring allows my eyes to focus on the trinket when I wish she had taken it, like she removed herself from my life.
Did I tell her to go? I had no other choice when she wouldn’t even fight for the little that was real in our relationship.
I would have. I can handle yelling. It’s the silence that killed the possibility.
We could have fought through it to get to the truth and built a new foundation from there.
But she packed her bags so fast that we weren’t given the option.
My phone lights up with another message.
I always check just in case it’s Delaney.
It’s not this time, just like the past four weren’t.
All are from Jimmy. I finally reach for it on the coffee table and flip it open, only reading the last one: You better reply or I’m going to assume you were in another accident.
To be fair, it was a hit-and-run. Describing the driver to the police would be easy: Shorter, about chest high, long brown hair that’s probably twisted up on her head, most likely wearing a stolen Harvard T-shirt, these incredible blue eyes that look at me like I hung the stars and moon when she’s not mad at me, which is quite a bit of the time, and considers cookies in bed an aphrodisiac.
I text: I’m alive. I don’t mention barely, though I feel my life slipping away from me again. Stop making your bride jealous by bugging me and enjoy the honeymoon.
When the screen brightens with another text, I feel my heart kick in again. But it’s not from her. Jimmy replies: Glad you’re alive. Beers when I get back from Aruba.
I stare at the screen for so long that I only see spots when I look away. I toss my phone to the other side of the couch and drop my head into my hand. I know I shouldn’t, but I already miss Delaney so fucking much.
She’s a habit. That’s all. A bad one at that. I’ve broken bad habits before. Twenty-one days. That’s all it will take to get her out of my system. Focus on that, Landers.
Lying down, I rest my head on the couch cushion with my broken arm anchored by my bicep.
Seeing how the black ink bled into the fibers of the cast makes me realize nothing, no matter the intention, is only perfect for a short time.
The lowercase “i” with a heart dotted was a distinctly Delaney choice when she could have chosen capitalization.
I not only lost her and her spirit filling the vacancies in this place, but now I’m stuck staring at a blobby heart until this cast comes off.
Getting upset after the fact won’t do me any good. I close my eyes, wishing the amnesia I had also involved the time I spent with her. The short time we were together caused more damage than the accident, but being trapped in these memories hurts more than any injuries I sustained.
My eyes grow heavy in the early morning hours . . .
A long-overdue contract finally hits my inbox first thing on Monday.
I open it and start reading through the details.
My supposed “closer,” Carl, failed the company on this deal.
We should have been signing papers, not sending them through both legal teams for a fourth round of negotiations.
It’s time for me to step in. If he can’t get this deal closed, I will.
I messaged Jocelyn to order lunch for both of us so we can go over every page of this contract. Four hours, a storm brewing outside, two Italian subs, and more cups of coffee than I remember later, we sit back in the chairs of the conference room and look at each other, shocked by the findings.
Jocelyn doesn’t jump in, so I finally say, “Mystery solved. Now I know why she asked me for five million dollars.”
“Did you give it to her?” There’s no judgment in her tone. I think she’d like to hear that I did. Unfortunately, that’s not how things turned out.
I release a breath that’s needed to get off my chest for a long time. “I didn’t. But if I had known the circumstances for why she needed the money, I might have considered it.”
“It wouldn’t have been a wise investment, but I wouldn’t blame you if you did. Must have been difficult to say no even without the facts.”
I stare out the window where rain has been threatening the city all day. “This changes everything.”
Taking the long way home meant catching a cab to the West Side and standing across the street from Bayetti’s restaurant like a creeper.
I only catch a glimpse of her here and there as she leads guests to their tables.
The few times I’ve stopped by to spy on her were in the evening, so I’m not sure if she’s a teacher by trade during the day, but she spends the evenings working the hostess stand for her family.
It gives me a good view of her when she’s weaving through the tables and satisfies some innate urge I have to still connect with her despite making no contact.
The sky finally decides to open up and pour down. I duck under an awning that doesn’t give much cover. I should get out of here despite already being soaked. But I stay a minute longer, needing it to soak her in as well.
Her eyes meet mine, sending me back into the shadows, but there’s no hiding. She’s seen me, so I raise my hand just the slightest as I hide my cast under my jacket and leave like I’m not going to be back here before the end of the week again.
Six weeks later . . .
“The last X-ray looked good. You healed nicely.” The doctor taps on the cast like he expects it to crumble. “I bet you’re ready to get this cast off.”
Staring at the colorful get-well messages from some of my coworkers, Jocelyn’s purple calligraphy signature, and Jimmy’s artistic interpretation of eating a hot dog that suits more the toilet humor of his college frat days than a CEO in New York, I feel sentimental that they’ll be gone.
I’d gotten used to letting go of things being a specific way and started to go with the flow on others.
Seeing the scribbles didn’t kill me and brought me much-needed smiles when no one else was around.
It’s strange how I finally put myself out there only to still end up alone anyway. “Yeah, but can you do me a favor?”
“Sure,” he says, with a giant pair of scissor-looking tools in hand.
“Save this one for me.”
He tilts his head and reads, “I love you, Hotshot.” I should be embarrassed letting a professional read something that probably seems so silly to him, but to me, it’s been a lifeline.
That and the elastic hairband she left for me to use to protect my cast in the shower.
I guess I won’t need that anymore. He chuckles. “Girlfriend?”
“Wife.” The word slips from my tongue before I can stop myself.
The first cut is made, jerking my arm to the side. “I didn’t realize you were married.”
“I, um . . . it’s complicated.” I steady my arm against my leg as he slices down the center.
“Isn’t it always?” He sets the tool next to me and says, “My wife lives in Aspen year-round.”
The cracking open of the cast reveals my pale and skinny forearm and hand. Oh, how I’ve missed you. “And you live here in the city?”
“It’s complicated.” He chuckles.
“Sounds like it.”
He cuts around the section I requested for him to save and hands it to me. “How does your arm feel?”
I open and close my fist a couple of times. “Good.”
“That’s good. You can wash your arm up at the sink and then go to the nurses’ station for instructions on care.” He heads to the door, but before he leaves, he adds, “Good luck with the complication.”
“Thanks.” I’m not sure why I reply like Delaney is still in my life when she’s not. “You, too.”
I leave the office and head four blocks uptown to meet my mother for dinner since I’m in the area. She’s made a conscious effort to stay in touch, and we’ve been meeting for a meal every other week. I think that’s more than we did when I was a child.
I find her sitting at a table in the front corner.
She waved, though the hostess was already expecting me.
I suspect my mom showed her a photo of me.
She’s been more interested in my dating life since she met Delaney and now knows I’m single again.
When I think about it, she’s been more invested in my life in general since Jimmy’s reception.
After showing off my healed arm, we order drinks and the nightly special at Johnathon’s Bistro.
Over a bourbon for me, and a glass of white wine for her, she tells me how she secured the committee chair position for the Upper East Side Social for next year and is quite pleased with herself.
I hold my glass up. “Where there’s a will. ”
“There’s a way,” she says, tapping her glass to mine.
It reminds me of something I’ve been meaning to talk to her about. “My father always said nothing is safe in this city—”
“Yes,” she says with her eyes on the task of cutting into the pork chop. Her face sours. “Not if I have a say. I always disliked that saying.”
“I said it recently.”
She pauses with her fork in one hand and the knife in the other, both aimed in my direction. Looking at me, she asks, “Why?”
“I don’t know. It just came out.”
“Well, why are you mentioning it, then?”
“I don’t know.” I don’t know how to answer her question, though I search the restaurant to see if the answer is hidden in the decor or on a server’s face.
No luck. I look back at her and add, “The words rolled off my tongue as if they were my own. The strange part is that I thought I’d feel better repeating his mantra. I felt worse. I still do.”
Her hair is pulled back and held tight, so there’s no hiding her feelings. It’s written in the expression on her face. Lowering her fork and knife, she taps the cloth napkin to the corners of her mouth. “There’s more to this story. Do you care to elaborate?”