Chapter 10
Ten
AUGUST CURRENT DAY (WEDNESDAY)
I ’m exhausted.
I barely slept last night—Ali stayed up as late as she could manage watching movies with me, but even long after she was asleep, I stared at the TV. I wasn’t even watching the movies, just hoping it’d eventually hypnotize me or lull me to sleep so I could stop thinking so damn much.
About my dad.
About how to explain the cut on my cheek if I can’t cover it with makeup.
About the company.
About how to save the jobs of these people that I had a hand in hiring.
About Warren—mostly about Warren.
About if I should let him explain what happened six years ago.
I want to know—I want to know so badly, which is the exact reason I won’t let him tell me. He’s been back for two days, and I already feel the pull between us growing just as it did back then. If nothing changes, then eventually, it’ll get too strong, and everything will come out in a rush just like it did at karaoke that night eight years ago. But this time everything that comes out might not be good.
Warren was at Kallia again this morning, waiting with two coffees in hand, but as we walked to the office, I didn’t hear a word he said.
“Analise?” he asks, concerned, and it’s that tone that snaps me out of it.
“Huh?” I look up, trying to figure out what street corner we’re at. I’m not sure how long I zoned out for.
“Are you okay?” He’s regarding me with the intensity of a current lover—not a past one. “You’ve barely said a word all morning.”
“I’m sorry.” I sigh, looking at my reflection in the building behind him to make sure the layers of concealer Ali helped me put on this morning to cover the cut and redness are still doing their job. It’s sore as hell and has me worrying others will be able to notice, but it’s not swollen, and the makeup covered it better than I expected. His eyes pass over my cheek without stopping. “I didn’t have the best night.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, hopeful, but I shake my head, thinking of what happened and all that he wasn’t here for that led up to that point.
“Not particularly.”
“Oh, okay.” His face falls but I just turn to keep walking. I still feel so empty right now. Trying to conceal an entire part of my life is draining. Dealing with that part of my life is draining. I’m just trying to make it through the day at this point, going through the motions.
He follows, but looks distressed.
A block later he stops and turns to me. “Does this have anything to do with the texts I sent you last night?”
Now, it’s my turn to be confused. “What texts?”
“You didn’t get my texts? Your number’s still the same, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” I say, then trail off. After I called Ali, I didn’t look at my phone for the rest of the night and I never checked it this morning either—now that I think of it, it’s probably dead. I don’t remember charging it at all, and it was already in my bag this morning. “Oh, I haven’t checked my phone since yesterday afternoon.”
“Analise, are you sure you’re okay?” He puts his hands on my shoulders and examines my face in excruciating detail—but still, thankfully, misses any signs of my injury. My heart flutters at the care and worry in his eyes, and I know I probably shouldn’t, but the feeling of needing to be held by him is so strong that I just throw my arms around him and bury my face in his chest. He freezes. “Okay, you’re really starting to worry me now.”
I laugh for the first time this morning and his body relaxes around me as his arms slide over my shoulders and around my back.
“I’m sorry I didn’t see your messages,” I murmur into his chest.
“I feel stupid for bringing it up,” he says. “I was just worried you were mad at me.”
I smile. “No, I’m not mad at you . . . this time.”
His body shakes around me as he chuckles and I melt a little bit further into him.
“You know, I think I might prefer it if you were.” He squeezes tighter. “Because at least then I would know what was bothering you instead of being completely in the dark and having no clue what to do to help.”
“For now, you just being here is enough,” I whisper. And it is—I feel better just being around him. He’s the one I’ve wanted to turn to every time something bad—or good—happened the past six years.
But he wasn’t there.
And I want to make sure I’m not falling back into him just because he’s here and it’s easy. We need to talk before I can let myself want this again.
I squeeze him one last time before pulling away, my smile not as bright as it was a moment ago. “Now, come on, we have a meeting in a few minutes.”
* * *
The day is busy for both of us and, other than the meetings we’re in together, reviewing our business model, or going through what he’s researched already to see if we can keep the companies separate, I don’t see him much. But the first chance I get, I read his messages, and they make my whole day.
Warren
I have no excuse for not reaching out over the past six years. All I can say is that there wasn’t a single day that passed that I didn’t think about reaching out, that I didn’t almost reach out. I made a huge mistake back then and I never knew how to explain why I did it. Most days I couldn’t even justify to myself why I did it. I know I hurt you and I will never blame you for not trusting me or not wanting to be around me, but I just wanted to say I’m glad the universe brought us back together—if only to give me the chance to apologize.
A few hours after, late into the night, he sent a second message.
Warren
Come to think of it, I probably should’ve made sure this is still your number . . . if it’s not, I apologize to you, stranger, for the heartfelt message.
That one made me laugh.
At the end of the day, I go to find him and stop outside one of the conference rooms with a smile on my face. He’s deep in concentration and the way one of his eyes narrows as his mouth twists to the side makes me feel like we’re back at Triniti. I could never resist staring at his cute, concentrated face even then.
He looks up and does a double take when he notices me watching, a sly smile growing across his face. He motions with his head for me to enter.
“You almost ready to go?” I ask, now glad that he’d been invited to this outing earlier in the week. It saves me the trouble of finding an excuse to invite him myself.
“This feels a lot like déjà vu.” He smiles. “Catching you watching me while I work and heading out together after.”
Even I can’t stop the smile from blooming on my face. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” His smile turns wicked and his voice lowers. “You know I like to take it slow until you’re begging for more.”
My heart starts racing and I try to subtly press my thighs together, aching for the friction the memories tease. His eyes slowly drift down my body and his smile grows more devilish.
I scowl at him. “All right, if you’re not ready to go in five, you’re walking alone.”
“Oh, I’ll be ready,” he drawls, and I turn to leave before I get myself into trouble—or more trouble than I’m already in, because who am I kidding, I’m in trouble . But when he adds, “Analise,” in that slow, sexy voice, I have to grab the doorframe to stabilize myself because my legs have gone weak. He chuckles as I walk away, and I spend the next minutes trying to compose myself before he’s ready to go.
* * *
“Wow, this place hasn’t changed at all,” Warren says when we step into The Dizzy Acorn. He stops and takes a look around until his eyes stop on the chalkboard next to the bar—the trivia leaderboard. A slow smile grows on his lips. “No one’s beat our score yet?”
“Are you kidding?” I grin. “No one can beat The Summers .”
The bar is more crowded than usual for a Wednesday night, and as we’re weaving our way through the crowd, a man stumbles back into the woman in front of me and it causes her to splash her drink onto my face and all over my blazer. I gasp as a sticky, brown liquor drips down my sleeve.
I’m so distracted by the drink all over me that I get bounced around the crowd, unable to find my footing to keep pushing through, until a warm, sturdy hand links with mine and light pressure on my lower back guides me to the table where our friends are waiting with questioning glances at the dark stains on my tan blazer, as well as the reality of Warren being here, and Warren’s hand in mine.
I pull my hand away, even though the warmth is comforting, and smile at the group. “So, in case anyone doesn’t know yet, Warren is in town.”
He waves but his attention is solely on me. “Sorry, guys, can you give us one minute?” He grabs my hand again and pulls us off to the side of the bar that’s not as crowded and flags a bartender down. “A glass of water and two Blue Moons.”
I look over at him, eyebrows raised, and he hesitates. “That’s still your favorite, right?”
“It’s perfect.”
“Good.” His smile is blinding. “Now, take off your jacket.”
I cough out a laugh. “What?”
He grabs a stack of napkins as the water and beers get set in front of us. He hands over his card, then says, “Come on, jacket off.”
When I don’t move fast enough, he reaches out and unbuttons the blazer, gently sliding it off my shoulders, and my traitorous heart starts racing. After dipping the napkins in the water, he starts to wipe the liquor off my arms then lightly dabs at my chin and cheeks.
Our eyes meet and he keeps slowly dabbing, but without reason now. I lift my hand to his and squeeze. “Thank you.”
“And here take this.” He slides his own blazer off his shoulders and holds it for me to slip into.
I hope he doesn’t catch the sharp intake of breath that slips through at the sight of him in just the fitted button-up. I turn quickly so he doesn’t catch the color in my cheeks and slip into the suit jacket. I take a deep breath of it, savoring the smell of him I’ve been missing before turning back around. His hands move to the lapels, and he pulls it snug around me.
“It smells good,” I say. “It smells like you.”
He smiles but then his eyes rove over my face and rage builds in them. His hands tighten on the jacket. “What is that ?”
I tilt my head, unsure of what he’s asking about until his hand reaches for my cheek and I remember the layers of makeup that covered the cut. The layers that must’ve gotten wiped away by the water and the napkins.
“It’s nothing.” I turn away and look down. “I’m going to use the restroom. I’ll be back at the table in a second.”
He almost doesn’t let me go, but I grab my purse and walk away. Shame creeps up my face and shows itself as red on my cheeks. I’m almost certain he only let me go because we just got here and by my reaction, he could tell there’s a lot to this story, and there’s no way he’s going to let this be for long—not with how angry he is. But what do I say? The truth requires a lot of background explanation that’s heavy for day three of reconnecting.
The cut doesn’t hurt so bad anymore, but it doesn’t look pretty. It was deeper than I originally thought so there’s a small scab that formed, and there’s a bright red ring of skin surrounding it. It looks more severe than it is; it’s not a big deal.
After adding new layers of makeup to cover the evidence of last night’s disaster, I head back out and smile when I find Ali, Trent, Sterling, and Warren all laughing together.
“Hey, guys,” I say as I approach. “Sorry about that, I guess someone didn’t like the color of my jacket.”
Ali looks conflicted about Warren’s jacket on me, and my jacket on the back of his chair. I discreetly shake my head at her. It’s nothing. But it’s definitely not nothing—not to me. Trent and Sterling both look unsure how to act with the two of us in the same room again—Ali must not have told them what she knew—and when Warren pulls out the chair beside him for me, they look between themselves.
“In case this hasn’t been covered yet,” I say, breaking the silence first, “Warren is the CFO of Vitality. I didn’t know he was coming. We’re working together, but he goes back to D.C. in a week and a half. So, let’s stop being weird about it now.”
Sterling laughs, his body relaxing, and guilt rolls through me realizing he’s probably relieved I’m not going to break down and cry even though I’m nowhere near drunk enough to reach that stage even on a bad day. I owe them a lot for putting up with me and taking care of me on those nights. I’ve been such a mess, but they loved me just the same.
“What I wouldn’t give to be a fly on the wall in your meetings,” Sterling adds, still chuckling. While the others are still deciding how to handle this, Sterling pulls us all easily into smiles. “When you two were on the same side it was a deadly combination, but on opposite sides? That has to be entertaining for everyone else.”
The corner of my lip pulls up as Warren laughs and answers, “She ripped me to shreds in a meeting the other day.”
“Yeah, because your proposal makes no sense at all,” I say immediately, and catch Ali laughing under her breath.
“Maybe from your side,” he adds, turning to look at me. A lighthearted smile is still present on his face. This is why things worked so well between us—we could leave work at work. If we ever disagreed about something work related, it never transferred to a personal fight. In fact, I always suspected he liked it. The more heated things got in a meeting, the hotter the passion in the bedroom became.
“What about the side where all the work Transcend has done to further value-based care and create an environment where providers and patients can thrive will be undone by this decision?” I ask, and for the first time in this conversation, his smile falls away.
“Well, shit.” He runs a hand through his hair and takes a long sip of his drink. “When you put it like that, I feel like an ass for even suggesting it.”
“You should,” I add, trying to act serious, but a teasing smile is creeping on my face. Ali and Sterling can’t hold it back and laughs sputter out. Warren’s smile is back too. “I told you I’d fight for what was best for my company, and it definitely isn’t your plan.”
“Don’t worry,” he says, softly, fondly, sweetly , and my eyes widen when they meet his. “You eviscerated my plan so completely that after you left yesterday Peter told me to focus on helping you find a solution while we’re here.”
I’m trapped in his stare and the emotions I find there—emotions I’ve told myself for so long that he couldn’t still feel. Sterling clears his throat dramatically and I blink rapidly as I turn back to the group. I don’t know what I feel right now, what I want. This whole situation is not what I expected it to be, yet our connection is still what it’s always been. He’s still everything I never stopped loving, and he’s still leaving again next week.
I don’t know where that leaves me.
“Enough about work.” I smile, but it’s not as natural as it should be.
Sterling leads us to a new topic and as conversation picks up, everyone seems like they’re growing comfortable with Warren being back—everyone except Trent. He still wears a frown and looks between us with trepidation. I narrow my eyes at him in question and he looks away. I glance at Ali and she just shrugs. Trent was closest with Warren; I expected him to be happiest that he was back.
Did something happen between them after we broke up?
Ali forces us all out onto the dance floor once the crowd thins out a bit and the playlist switches over to more upbeat music. It’s not long before he grabs my hand and pulls me into him as the music slows. Slow dancing in the middle of a crowd has always been our thing and I feel trapped in this moment, in this memory, with him. When I finally get the courage to look up into his eyes, he’s frowning, and his jaw is clenched tight.
Instinctually, I reach up and run my fingers down his cheek and across his jaw. His eyes widen as I ask, “What’s on your mind?”
He nuzzles his cheek into my hand, his five o’clock shadow scraping against my skin, and I shiver at the feeling. He speaks into my hand when he says, “Are you going to tell me who did that to your face, or am I going to have to interrogate every person I know you were in contact with yesterday?”
I stop dancing. My arms go weak and would’ve dropped if he hadn’t caught my wrists and pulled my hands to his chest. I whisper, ashamed of the truth. “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Are you going to make me wipe off the fresh layers of makeup you added earlier to prove a point?” He stares at me, and when I don’t move or speak, he moves his hand to my cheek. I press my lips together in preparation, but when his thumb hits a spot that’s still tender, I flinch and grab his hand to stop him. Anger flares in his eyes. “Analise, I swear if you don’t tell me what happened I will turn into a fucking FBI agent and track down whoever did this.”
“Right, because you’re just so good at everything,” I deflect, looking away.
“Analise.” His grip tightens on my hands.
I hesitate. I’ve wished he was here to talk to so many times, but now that he is, I don’t want him to know.
But if things continue down the path they are, I don’t want us to fall into the same patterns we did last time—not saying how we truly felt when things weren’t ideal, withholding certain important facts that had large implications on our decisions. I close my eyes and sigh. I don’t have a good enough lie anyway.
“It was my dad,” I mumble, so low that he can’t possibly hear me over the noise in the bar.
“What was that?”
I take a deep breath then look up at him with tears in my eyes. “My dad did it.”
Now it’s his turn to go completely still. “Your . . . dad?” he croaks out, blinking and shaking his head. “But . . . he was . . .”
He trails off, but he doesn’t have to finish.
I know.
My dad was the dad everyone loved to be around. He was the one always telling cheesy jokes that you couldn’t help but laugh at. He was an amazing man and an even better dad. He and Warren were so close back then. I can see in his eyes—Warren can’t connect that man with the cut on my face.
I blink and tears drop down my face. Before they hit my chin, his hand is there wiping them away. That simple gesture crumbles the last of my walls. The last of my resolve to keep him at a distance, to not let myself get too close, disappears. I don’t want to keep pushing him away, not when it feels so much better to have him close.
“A year and a half after you left, my mom died.”
“Your mom died?” He pulls me into his arms, but he has no clue that the worst is yet to come. “I’m so sorry, I know how close you two were.”
“It happened so fast, it was probably easier that way.” I shrug when he pulls back to look at me. I’ve had a lot of time to come to terms with all of this. I don’t need him to fix me, I’ve already fixed myself. “It was hard for me, but I dealt with it. I got through it. My dad didn’t.” I look away as another tear falls. “He didn’t know how to deal with it, so he turned to bourbon, and he never stopped. He’s not himself anymore. I tend to avoid him as much as possible, but yesterday was the anniversary of her death and I try to at least visit him then. She’d be so sad to see what he’s become, and I miss having my dad, but when I try to help him, he doesn’t react well.” I gesture to my cheek. “Yesterday, he threw a glass cup at my face.”
The way his face darkens at the words has me quickly adding, “I moved out of the way in time, but it shattered against the wall and a shard got me.”
“Are you fucking kidding me, Analise,” he says so loud that everyone near us looks our way. I glance around and catch Ali’s eyes, who takes one look at my tear-filled eyes and gives me a smile of encouragement knowing what I’m telling him. Noticing where Ali’s gaze has gone, Trent looks over and frowns. “I don’t care if he is your dad. I want to fucking kill him for hurting you.” His hold on me is tightening and his breathing picks-up. “What if you hadn’t moved out of the way? What if that shard flew into your eye? You could’ve been seriously injured.”
“But I wasn’t,” I say softly, trying to calm him. My hand moves to lay against his chest. His heartbeat is wild and fast. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this angry before and it brings more tears to my eyes. This anger is for me, because someone hurt me .
Because he still cares for me.
His eyes widen. “That’s why you reacted the way you did when I brought up your dad the other night.” I nod as he whispers, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
“I know,” I say, matter-of-factly, and the unsaid words are clear: Because you weren’t here.
His face crumples in pain, and I don’t try to comfort him. No matter how much I’m enjoying having him back, he’s acting like he’s looking for something more than friendship between us again and I don’t think I can do that unless he understands and owns up to all of the hurt he caused. I’m not the same girl I was six years ago who was willing to overlook the signs that were right in front of her because he said he loved me. If we ever try again, I need to know things will be different.
“Are you going to see your mom while you’re in town?” I ask after a few minutes of silence. It’s only about a two-hour drive from here instead of the eight-hour drive—or a flight—from where he lives now.
“I told her I’d try, but I didn’t know what free time I’d have this trip.” He always wears the sweetest smile when he talks about his mom. “She loves coming out to D.C., and I still call her weekly, but she’d love it if I finally made it back home.”
“You haven’t been home recently?” I ask, pretending I don’t know this information already. Because he doesn’t know that while he hasn’t been back home in the six years since he left, I’ve been to his home.
“No.” His voice is small and he looks down at our feet that are only shuffling side to side at this point. I want to ask about the red flush on his cheeks, but I have a sneaking suspicion it’ll only bring us back to the same silence we just got out of.
I would tell him about my visits, but considering I already had plans to go to Boston this weekend long before he got here, it might be fun to make this a surprise.
At the end of the night, I walk with Warren back to his hotel and we both pause outside, not wanting to separate and risk ruining this bridge that’s building between us. One storm could bring it crumbling down, but a few more connections and it’ll be strong enough to bear weight. The distance between us is shrinking, but it’s not gone just yet.
“Oh, don’t forget this,” he says, breaking the silence as he hands me my stained jacket.
“Right, thanks.” I take it and look down at the jacket I’m wearing—his jacket. I suck in one last breath of his smell before starting to shrug out of it. “I guess I should give you this back.”
But before it slips off my shoulders, he grabs both sides and wraps it back around me, using it to pull me closer to him. His lips brush against my neck up to my ear. “Keep it, you look sexy as hell in my clothes.”
“I—” I start but don’t know what I want to say. Do I ask him to tell me everything? Do I wait for him to understand that’s what I need? I don’t know what the right answer is, so no words come out.
“I know, me too,” he says with a sad smile. It’s the first sign he’s given me that he understands. That maybe, just maybe, he’s trying to figure out how to tell me the same way I’m trying to figure out how to ask. He said in his text that he made a mistake and didn’t know how to explain it. I hope he’s trying to figure it out, because when he leans in and kisses my cheek, exactly where the cut is, my stomach does somersaults. It’s so tender and intimate that my lower lip trembles and I have to hold my jacket tighter in my hands to keep from reaching out to him. “Goodnight, Analise.”
“Goodnight, Warren,” I say. But when he starts to walk away, I reach out and grab his hand—just long enough to make him look over his shoulder. “I’m glad the universe brought us back together too.”
And it’s the truth. It’s what needed to happen, even if we don’t end up together and all I get out of this is the closure I’ve been searching for all these years.
His responding smile is bright enough to light the whole city.