Chapter 11
11
Morgan
“M organ, I need that write-up before lunch,” one of my colleagues shouts, zooming by as if the building’s on fire.
“I’ll have it to you then,” I reply evenly, barely controlling the urge to roll my eyes at the unnecessary urgency.
It’s not like I don’t know. Herbert has mentioned that he needs the memo three times already today. I get it. Priorities, priorities.
Outside, a winter chill lingers in the air. The sky is filled with heavy clouds and icy days. The sunlight that hits my cubicle consists of nothing but thin, weak rays, so my entire life feels like a little gray bubble that I might never escape. Especially because by the time I get out of work, the sun has long since set and I’m faced with gray sidewalks, gray clouds, gray buildings, and even gray people.
I sigh deeply as I turn back to my old desktop. It’s been getting slower and slower over the last two weeks as if it, too, is in a deep funk. I move the mouse, but the cursor is frozen in place. Damn it. I smack the side of my monitor, hoping that this old trick might urge some life into it, but the screen continues to be stuck as it tries to save a document.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I groan and bury my face in my hands.
I glance down at my poorly ironed blouse and notice a soy sauce stain. “Well, that’s just great,” I mutter, snatching my water bottle and a napkin. I soak the napkin for a moment and then begin blotting at the stain, knowing that it’s pointless because everything seems pointless these days.
Ever since I returned to the city a little over two weeks ago, I’ve been out of sorts. Everything is janky and somehow just off . I’ve missed trains that I used to be able to take with my eyes closed. I’ve misplaced more than one important document. Stained clothing is a daily occurrence.
“What is wrong with me?” I mutter.
I throw the useless napkin in the trash and lean back in my chair before letting out a giant huff.
I know exactly what’s wrong with me, but I refuse to admit it. Or at least I won’t admit it out loud: I miss Brax.
At first, I tried to convince myself that what I’m really missing is the thrill of being with someone like Brax: a sexy island stud who showed me a good time. I can admit that we had a ball together. Hell, I can admit that we had the hottest sex ever. It was better than any I’ve ever experienced and probably better than any I ever will experience again. Because how will I find a man with a huge knot at the base of his cock? He was an anomaly, and there’s no other man with that kind of physique.
But all of my thoughts are just excuses, no matter how I try to rationalize our time together because only one sentiment really matters, and that’s that I miss him.
The admission comes crashing down on me, and I swallow hard to fight back the tears that constantly threaten to spill over.
Get it together, Morgan.
I know that the likelihood of seeing Brax again is next to nothing unless I return to Mirago. Which of course I can’t do because I’m not going to pursue a man who isn’t even willing to visit me on the mainland.
I wince, knowing that the thought isn’t entirely fair.
Brax has the right to stay on his island, just as I have the right to leave it. We’re both adults, and we make our own choices.
Still, it doesn’t make me feel any better, knowing that he would never leave his home. Not even for me. Not even for a trip.
I guess I just cared about him more than he did me.
I shake my head. It’s not helpful to keep revisiting this argument because nothing’s going to change. But every day, like clockwork, I find myself wondering what if …
“Get back to work, Morgan,” I berate myself quietly.
A quick glance at my computer reveals that the stupid thing is finally functioning once more. Thank god. Needing some help to keep my mind off of all of the ‘what could have been’ thoughts, I slip on my headphones and begin to blast old school rock.
For a while, the distraction works. I dive into another project, moving to the music as I type furiously, my fingers hitting the keys in time to the beat. Outside, the cold rain continues to pelt down against the windowpanes.
The next time I look up, at least an hour has passed.
I blink a few times, surprised. I take off the headphones and stretch back into my chair.
Well, one hour down, a lifetime to go.
My bitter spiral doesn’t seem to be ending, so I wonder if a slight change of scenery might do the trick.
I grab my well-used coffee mug and slink out of my cubicle. It’s getting close to lunch time and the office is emptying out. I’m grateful for the quiet because it means that no one sees the frown on my face. Or at least they can’t be bothered to comment on it directly.
Good luck finally strikes when I find that the coffee pot in the community kitchen is not only full, but freshly made too. I pour myself a steaming cup and inhale deeply, soaking in the comforting aroma.
“Ah, Morgan!” Michael, our overly chipper HR lead, bounces into the room. “Coffee huh?”
I wince but don’t turn around, pretending that I’m still busy at the counter. I like Michael because he’s a friendly, grandfatherly type. But I don’t feel like being social at the moment.
“Yep,” I tell him, dumping creamer into my mug.
“Great! I’m showing our newest hire around but figured we could both use a cup of joe. Oh, this is Morgan.”
“Hi Morgan.”
The voice is deep, and oddly familiar. Could it be…? I spin around so quickly that I almost drop my steaming mug. As it is, a small amount of hot liquid splashes out of the rim and onto the floor, but I don’t care. My world feels like it’s crashing in on itself, and I’m not sure if it’s a good or bad sensation.
“Hi,” I respond breathlessly, my heart beating uncontrollably. “It’s nice to see you, Brax.”
“Oh great, you two have met already!” Michael chirps, oblivious to the lightning crashing in the room. “Braxton, sugar or cream in your coffee?”
“Black, thanks.” My lover remains in the entryway, his blue eyes observing me in detail. He’s huge, with the broad shoulders that I remember, and that massive, deep chest. But his black hair is brushed back neatly, and he’s dressed in office-appropriate workwear, including a button-down and pressed pants. Where’s his loincloth? Where are the soft sandals he wore around Mirago?
I pull at my ratty cardigan and absently run a hand through my hair, which I’m certain I haven’t washed all week.
“So Braxton, did you tell Morgan what you’ll be doing here?”
Yeah, that’d be nice to know! My heart is beating so loudly I’m sure that both men can hear the loud thumps. I grip the edge of the counter for support—and to fight the urge to run into Brax’s arms.
“Braxton is joining the Public Works team upstairs, focusing on environmental impact projects,” Michael explains, handing Brax a coffee as he talks. “Where are you from again, Brax?”
“A small island in the Caribbean,” he answers, still watching me. “It’s tiny, and it’s in trouble because global warming has been destroying the waters around our island for years. Now, there’s a rapid increase in aquatic wildlife dying off too,” he explains, looking directly at me the entire time. I can’t read his expression.
“Right,” Michael adds, “and Brax has been working for years on how to counter this problem in his homeland. He’s been successful too! Now, he brings his methods of aquatic preservation to New York because we’re also experiencing the effects of climate change.”
I stare at Brax, trying to grasp all of this new information even as I grapple with my shock.
“So, you’re moving to New York?” I ask in a faint voice. Michael gives me a strange look but doesn’t say anything.
“I am,” Brax says simply. “There’s a lot for me here. I hope so, anyways.”
My heart pounds at his words and I clench the countertop tightly.
“Well, I’m curious to hear more about your vision,” I manage to say in a steady voice. “You’ll be an asset to the city.” Meanwhile, my heart is a flurry of emotions—surprise, panic, joy. A little bit of anger.
“Ah crackerjack,” Michael interrupts. We both look at him. “I spilled some coffee on my tie. Give me a second, Braxton. I better go see what I can do about it in the bathroom because dry cleaning in this city is not cheap.”
Michael scoots around Brax, forcing him to step further into the tiny break room before exiting. We’re suddenly very close, and very much alone.
“Morgan,” he starts just as I speak.
“What are you doing here?” I hiss.
Brax winces. “I wanted to talk to you, but I didn’t know how to find you. I just knew that you worked here.”
“And so you decide to get a job in my building? At my place of employment?” I demand, my voice full of … something. I’m not sure why I’m so mad at Brax, but I can’t control my emotions. “ You’re the one who didn’t want to pursue anything,” I hiss under my breath. “You let me get on a plane and was pretty clear that you wouldn’t be in touch—”
Brax just shakes his head. He holds up a hand to touch me but puts it back down again immediately.
“Morgan, I want to talk to you. I want to talk about all of this, but not here.”
Of course, I agree. I want, no I need , to talk to him, to know what the hell is going on and if he’s actually planning on staying in New York. Or if this is all just a ruse to visit me and then leave me heartbroken once more.
I decide to be honest with Brax. “I don’t know if I can talk to you,” I say in an even voice. “We’re co-workers now, and that kind of conversation isn’t appropriate. Nor is it normal.” It’s painful to speak the words out loud, but he needs to understand just how hurt I am. How much I’ve longed for him. How I thought he was a piece of my past, but never my future.
Brax closes his eyes. “Please, give me a chance, okay? After work today. We’ll talk. We can get everything out in the open. Please.”
“You can’t just show up and do whatever you want,” I hiss again, although his presence is exactly what I want.
“But now, I’m here,” he responds in an even tone. “After work? I’m begging you, Morgan.”
I hesitate but then give him a small nod, too scared that if I speak again, I might start crying.
Fortunately, I hear Michael’s steps as he rounds the corner back into the break room. If he notices the weird tension, he doesn’t say anything.
“Well, that tie will be soaking for the next bit. Nice to run into you, Morgan, and thanks for entertaining the new guy for a minute there while I was occupied. But now I have to get him back to more appointments and paperwork. Braxton, shall we?”
“Yeah, sounds great. Morgan, nice to see you.”
Brax backs out of the doorway, keeping his gaze trained on me until he disappears. As soon as they’re gone, I wheel around and grip the counter with both hands, my breath coming out in short, ragged spurts.
Why the hell is Brax here?
He claims it’s for some job, but more than anything, I hope it’s for me. That he’s had a change of heart. That he really does care about me more than he ever let on.
It has to be…
Because if it’s not, if he’s just come to visit or apologize but do nothing to change our situation, I’m not sure if I’ll ever recover.
Please, please, please…
I glance at the clock hanging above the doorway. It reads 12:03.
Five more hours until I know what fate has in store.