Chapter 11
Cal
I’ve got to get Mackenzie out of my head.
Visions of her long hair fanned out on my pillow, the smile that makes her blue eyes shine like she has a happy secret.
For a while I thought I was her happy secret.
Nope. Now she wants to fake date, and then she doesn’t even set up a fake date for this weekend.
Is she expecting me to set up a fake date?
I don’t even know what qualifies. So here I am on a Saturday night in the city with some of my old coworkers, grabbing a beer at an Irish pub we used to meet at regularly.
Conversation circles around who will make partner next.
This is partly why I left. The insane competition and hours and for what?
To work even more hours and then collapse from exhaustion, a heart attack, or worse.
Things changed for me at work when a partner in my firm got a late-stage cancer diagnosis. He regretted missing so much in life, always chained to his desk. That combined with memories of Mom’s own cancer struggle put me on a different path. A better path.
“How’s small-town life treating you, Cal?” Jack asks.
“Good,” I say. “I like being my own boss. Better work-life balance.”
“Yeah, but what a pay cut,” Jack says with a bark of a laugh.
The group, two men and two women, all nod and give each other looks. I’m sure they’ve all discussed me and concluded I’m crazy for giving up big money for what they see as a small life.
“It’s been really good so far,” I say, smiling as I think of Mackenzie. But then I remember the way she bolted the last time I saw her, and basically disappeared from my life. What went wrong?
Jack claps me on the back. “Good for you.” He sounds insincere.
“Happy for you,” Sara says, sounding equally insincere.
I set my beer on the bar. “Gotta run. Good to see you all.”
This elicits a round of “Aww!” “It’s early!” “Stay!”
I smile. “Got to meet up with Rayna. The final splitting of our stuff.”
“Oof! Don’t be a stranger,” Jack says.
I nod, but he’s already turned back to the group. Conversation resumes quickly. I throw some bills on the bar and head for the door. The moment I step outside, I feel like I can breathe again. I don’t miss the cramped bar scene. Not like Happy Endings where you get some elbow room.
Guess I’m not much of a city person anymore. Only took a month in Clover Park to make the city lose its shine.
A few minutes later, I’ve got a ride to my old apartment building. Rayna took over my lease with a new roommate, which was fine by me. When she texted asking me to stop by and pick up some stuff of mine, I was tempted to tell her to toss it, but since I was going to be in the city anyway, I agreed.
I’ll just go in, grab my box of stuff, load up my car in the parking garage, and head back home.
Clover Park is home now. In no small part due to Mackenzie.
What is going on with us? It’s complicated like she said before.
I’m confused and disappointed. I was starting to get into the fake-dating scheme.
It’s not like I want something serious. Not anymore.
Learned my lesson. Relationships and I don’t get along.
And I can’t forget that Hailey warned Mackenzie away from me.
I owe Hailey a lot. Not only did she introduce me around town, but she continues to invite me to local events that could help me make even more connections. Her reach is wide, and her rep is gold.
Enough about Mackenzie and the entire Campbell family. I can’t believe how much headspace she takes up. Somehow my work-life balance has tipped into hardly ever focusing on work and exclusively thinking of one person.
I shake it off and press the intercom buzzer to get into my old apartment building. The door unlocks, and I head upstairs.
When I walk into the apartment, I find Rayna and a guy I’ve never seen before sitting on the couch. He’s got a mane of messy curly blond hair, a ripped T-shirt, jogging pants, and bare feet. Is this the roommate?
Rayna leaps up. “Hi, Cal.”
“Hi.”
“This isn’t what it looks like,” she says, gesturing behind her. “He’s paying to stay on the couch. My roommate’s out with her friends.”
“None of my business,” I say, surprised how little it bothers me. I used to get worked up every time she met up with her ex for drinks or dinner or some rally. She can be with any guy she wants now. I’m over it.
Blondie sits up and puts an arm around her. “I’m not just a couch surfer. I’m her guy.”
“He’s not.” She turns to him. “Couch surfing is over. Go now, please.”
He grabs his coat and backpack from a nearby chair and slips on his sandals by the door. “This is messed up.”
Rayna shuts the door behind him and locks it.
I exhale sharply. She knew I was coming over and waited until I got here to tell him to leave.
She wants me to be jealous. It occurs to me she wanted me to be jealous of her ex, too, not just shove his superior emotional availability in my face like she always said.
Either way, I was jealous that she was out with him so much, but now, well, if Rayna wants to hook up with random couch surfers, it’s none of my business.
I haven’t exactly been lonely since our breakup.
“My stuff?” I ask.
“In the bedroom.” She gestures for me to follow. “It’s heavy. I found a lot of your books mixed in with mine and some other things.”
Rayna stops next to the bed, folding her hands together in front of her. “Cal, I’m sorry about the way things ended. I shouldn’t have thrown your law books at you.”
I freeze, surprised by her apology. I was just as much to blame for letting things go on so long when I was unhappy. “It’s okay. I’m sorry things ended so badly between us.”
She nods, her brown eyes shiny with tears. “I wish I could take it all back. It was my own expectations that made me upset. We never talked about marriage. I can wait as long as you need. Cal, I still love you.”
“I think you had the right idea,” I say as gently as I can manage. “We weren’t meant to be for the long haul, and you were the one brave enough to face it.”
“I was wrong.”
“No, you weren’t. It’s better that we both move on.
” I clear my throat, about to attempt amends in foreign emotional territory.
“I, uh, should’ve been more honest with you about the way I was feeling after you moved in.
I was in over my head. We were in different places, and I’m sorry for any hurt I caused you. ”
She crumples into tears and leans into my shoulder. I hold her, feeling bad about her tears while at the same time wanting to leave. This was our relationship in a nutshell.
After a few minutes, Rayna lifts her head and tries to kiss me. I shift away in time.
She wipes her eyes. “It’s really over?”
“Yes.”
She sniffles. “Your stuff is in the closet.” She leaves, shutting the door behind her.
I go to the closet and pull out a box with several books, along with mementos she must’ve saved from our relationship.
A dried rose, a cocktail napkin, concert ticket stubs, a birthday card, and my old jersey.
I’m glad to get my jersey back. She liked to sleep in it.
I don’t have the equivalent box of relationship stuff to give her.
I guess I wasn’t sentimental about our time together.
Is this what she meant when she complained I was closed off, or was it that I never liked to talk about deep emotional stuff?
How can you talk about something you no longer feel?
When I step out of the room with my box, she says, “Cal, I thought you should know my therapist says you need therapy. If you never open your heart, you’ll never be happy.”
“How’s that working out for you?”
Her face crumples. I take a step toward her, instantly regretting the words, and she holds up her palms. Dammit. I always end up saying the wrong thing when someone gets emotional.
“Rayna, I’m sorry. I’m not cut out for relationships. I hope you find a man you deserve. Not that couch-surfer guy. Someone who appreciates you.”
She throws her hands in the air. “You say things like that right after stomping on my feelings, showing a glimmer of boyfriend potential. This is why you drive me crazy!”
“Okay.”
She goes into the bedroom and slams the door.
I let out a breath of relief and walk toward the front door. The bedroom door opens again, and she yells, “I hope you’re happy in your new place because I’m very happy!”
I’m not unhappy. But I don’t say that. I don’t say anything at all. Her ever-changing moods aren’t my problem anymore.
Mackenzie
An eternity and two mojitos later, I’m bouncing along in time to the music when Harper grabs my arm. “Come on, Shayla’s here.”
I follow her upstairs, as does the muscular guy barely wearing a shirt she latched onto, Felipe. Girls’ night plus one. Honestly, I wasn’t exactly eager to meet someone new. It’s better this way. Focus on work. I’m not even sure I want to fake date anymore. Men are exhausting.
The private upstairs space has a sleek vibe with leather sofas and chairs, cool sconces, its own bar, and a view of the dance floor.
I immediately spot Shayla’s beaming smile as she approaches.
Her long blonde hair is dyed red for her new role.
It suits her. Two hulking bodyguards stand a short distance away.
Oh, look! She brought some unexpected guests sitting at a table in the back—my business partners, Owen and Nathan. Otherwise known as Shayla’s husband/Harper’s big brother (Owen) and Harper’s sworn enemy (Nathan). Our old roommate Olivia’s here too!
“Shayla!” I throw my arms around her. “It’s been too long.”
“I know, I know!”
I pull back to smile at her. “Working nonstop. I forgive you.”
Olivia, a no-nonsense brunette, approaches wearing a loose navy dress with her signature black steel-toed boots. She’s Shayla’s assistant for now. She went to film school and has big goals. I swear she’ll run Hollywood one day. “How’s it going?” Olivia says. “Keeping busy?”