Heading East (Part 2 of 2) (The True North Series) (2 page)

2

LUKE

The room was dim and the music obnoxious: typical of this bar. I relaxed into the leather armchair and quietly studied the people around me, those optimistic souls who still hoped they’d find love or, at the very least, temporary companionship in a place like this: men and women dressed to the nines, drinking and cavorting like they did back in their twenties, back when being irresponsible was still an acceptable pastime.

It was a sad sight indeed, to see these otherwise mature people acting like they’d never aged.
But the saddest of all? That I found myself among them once again.

I sighed and took a sip from my tumbler of bourbon, turning my attention back to my friends. I tried to tune in to their conversation about the latest football game, but couldn’t find it in me to care. After a few minutes I excused myself and headed to the bar.

As I ordered another drink, I felt a hand land on my arm. “Hi there,” said a feminine voice, one that was definitely not the voice I wanted to hear.

I turned to find an attractive woman with deep auburn hair and light skin smiling at me.  “Hi Sylvi,” I said, giving her an obligatory peck on the cheek.

“I haven’t seen you in months,” she said, perching on a stool and making a show of crossing one shapely leg over the other. “Where have you been?”

“He’s been at home, living like an old recluse. I had to bribe him to get him to come out with us tonight,” my friend Decker said, appearing on my other side. “Nice to see you, Syl.”

She raised one thin eyebrow. “Why would you deprive the women of New York that body of yours?” she asked with a pointed look at my crotch.

I turned away and took a drink in order to avoid talking. A tall blonde woman walked by and my eyes immediately followed her around the room until she turned her head and I was able to see her face. Another sip and I turned my attention back to the people before me.

“Our boy here is trying to be a better man,” Decker said. “I don’t know whether to applaud him or ask if he’d been body snatched.”

My fingers tightened around the glass tumbler as I shot Decker a frustrated look. Decker held his hands up and, with a grin, backed away.

Sylvi played with her silver necklace, tracing a finger along her collarbone. “Were you ever planning on calling me again?”

I gave her my full attention, taking in that petite body I knew to be well versed in carnal pleasure. I had called her on more than one occasion in the past, and we’d used each other to satisfy our sexual needs. I’d be lying if I said the thought of sleeping with her no longer tempted me. “I’ve been preoccupied.”

She leaned forward, her cleavage on full display, and whispered, “I’d like to keep you preoccupied for the night.”

My dick jumped to attention. After months of forced celibacy, the sight of a beautiful woman throwing herself at me was like a starving man being handed a chocolate bar. Unfortunately, what would temporarily satisfy the hunger would eventually be my undoing. Still, that didn’t stop me from taking in the ample cleavage peeking over her top, her tiny waist, and those rounded hips that could rock a man into oblivion.

I licked my lips. “Let’s get out of here, Syl.”

We took a taxi back to her apartment, pawing at each other in the backseat. My hands traveled all over without apology, shamelessly grabbing handfuls of her ass and breasts. I kissed her neck and her bare shoulder, but couldn’t bring myself to kiss her lips.

Once I’d paid the driver I practically carried Sylvi up the stairs, pressing her against the wall in the elevator. My body was crying out for release, begging me to bury myself in the nearest willing woman—but as we stood in front of her door, as I gazed at her lovely face, I came to a crushing realization. Sylvi, for all her unrestrained sensuality, would only serve as a temporary salve to the ache.

“I’m sorry, Sylvi,” I said, filled with a strange sense of shame. I touched her face and wiped away smeared lipstick from her chin with my thumb. “I can’t do this. I won’t use you like this.”

“Why not?” she asked, the anger brewing beneath the calm surface.

I opened my mouth but couldn’t find the right words to explain to this woman why I wouldn’t be sleeping with her tonight. “My conscience won’t allow me to take advantage of you,” was my weak reply.

Her eyes flashed. “Bullshit. When did you develop a conscience?”

I bent down to kiss her cheek but she angled away, her face flushing a deep red. “I’m trying to do the honorable thing here, Syl. I no longer want to be that guy who changed women like he changed clothes.”

“Honor has never suited you, Luke,” she said, trying another tactic. She came closer and ran a fingernail down the column of my neck. “I like you best sweat-covered and fucking the hell out of me.”

I stifled a groan when her finger trailed down the front of my pants. “Syl, don’t,” I said, grasping her wrist. I brought her hand up to my mouth and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “It’s not you. I’m just done with that lifestyle.”

She jerked back, her lips pursed. “This is a hell of a time for your newfound morals to kick in,” she spat out, opening her door and stepping inside. “You should have just left me at the bar,” she added and slammed the door.

I spent the rest of the weekend on my own, unable to bear anyone’s company. More often than not I’d usually meet up with a few guys for Monday brunch, but today I felt like being alone with my thoughts. More and more I felt detached from my usual group of friends, since everything we used to have in common—women, drinking, occasional drug use—no longer interested me. It was only after Decker had threatened to tell the guys what had happened in Alaska that I even agreed to go out with them at all.

I’d tried to have fun, to join in the revelry, but it seemed every time I turned around I ran into a woman I knew. For someone who was trying to become a better man, seeing proof that I was once a promiscuous degenerate was not exactly welcome.

So I went to a Japanese restaurant and ate my sushi in relative silence, with only my thoughts to keep me company. I wondered about Kat, about what she was doing at that moment all the way across the continent. I wondered if she thought about me, if she would ever find it in her to forgive me. It didn’t seem likely, but even in one of the most expensive cities in the world hope was still free.

On my way back home I was preparing to cross the street when a golden-haired woman walked by me at a fast clip. My eyes followed her, as they have for every blonde since returning to New York, in hopes that one day it would be Kat that would turn around.

“Give it up, Harrington,” I said under my breath, letting the air out of my lungs. It had been months and I hadn’t heard from her. If she was ever going to forgive me it would have happened already.

I turned my head to get one final glimpse of the woman who was looking around—the telltale motion of a lost person—affording me a brief glimpse of her profile.

I sucked in a breath.
That can’t be.

I moved fast, making my way through the pedestrian traffic, trying not to lose sight of my target. Because I wasn’t paying attention I bumped into an older gentleman, knocking the cane clear from his hands.

“Hey!”

“I’m sorry, sir,” I said, quickly retrieving the cane from the ground. “I apologize.” When I turned back, the woman was gone.

I jogged until I reached the corner, grateful that my height afforded me a good vantage point, but a quick scan of the intersecting streets revealed nothing. I spun in place, wondering where she could have gone, when I spotted the entrance to the underground train station.

My determination roared to life as I strode forward and looked around. I would find that blonde then, when I was satisfied that it wasn’t Kat at all, I would go back to my office and forget this ever happened. I’d stop chasing the memory of a woman who wanted nothing to do with me.

I went through the turnstile and scanned the two facing platforms, finding them emptied from the recently departed train.

As I made my way out I shook my head, laughing at my stupidity. Of course it wasn’t Kat. The Katherine Hollister I knew was stubborn and would never listen to me about going back to school. Even if she did, she’d never willingly choose to live in New York. She hated crowds, couldn’t even go shopping in a mall without suffering a panic attack.

I turned towards the exit when I spotted a lone figure with her back pressed against the wall. She was looking down, sending her blonde hair spilling down around her face. I blinked a few times, not altogether sure she was really there. It was possible I wanted to see Kat so badly I was imagining her in this very train station with her book bag clutched in her arms as her chest rose and fell.

“Kat?”

She looked up and those blue eyes froze me in place. She looked stunned for a moment, then awareness crept in as her eyes flew around my face. “Luke?”

I approached cautiously, blinking once, twice. “Yes. It’s me.”

Then she did the last thing I expected: she pushed away from the wall and threw her arms around me, pressing her face into my chest.

I was momentarily stunned until my body reacted
on its own and pulled her in. I held her to me, breathing in her familiar scent, overwhelmed with nostalgia. I slid a hand up her back and tangled my fingers in her hair, still unable to believe she was here. “What’s wrong, Kat? Are you alright?”

Her limbs trembled as she held me. “I’ll be alright. Just give me a second,” she said in a voice that was so unlike her usual brash, confident self.

I pivoted slightly so that I was completely shielding her from the world, allowing her a few minutes to catch her breath. I’d done this for her once; I’d gladly do it again. “Pretend it’s just you and me,” I said, crushing her against me. “There’s nobody else here but the two of us.”

We stood there for a long, quiet moment, encased in our own little bubble. Eventually her breathing slowed and she pulled away; I held on until she was out of reach.

“I didn’t mean to do that,” she said, her eyes anywhere but on me. Her eyebrows were drawn and her lips were in a thin line of agitation. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

She looked around. “I was trying to find my school from my new apartment but I got on the wrong train and then there were all these people and it’s so hot down here…” Her eyes flicked up to me. “I freaked out. I didn’t mean to grab you.”

What she meant was that she didn’t mean to unwittingly ask for my help. Even after all this time it killed her to need someone else. “So you really did it.”

She looked ready for a fight when she asked, “Did what?”

“Moved here for school.”

She lifted her chin. “I didn’t come here for you.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“The meaning was implied.”

I blew out a frustrated breath, ready to say something else that would no doubt rile her further, when she suddenly said, “I don’t think I can do it.”

I stared at her, at the uncertainty clouding her features. “What can’t you do?”

She motioned around us. “I’m a cliché. I’m the proverbial fish out of water, and I hate it. I fucking hate feeling this way, like every time I turn a corner I don’t know where I’ll be,” she confessed in that soft, raspy voice.

This person before me was far removed from the confident, brash person I’d met in Alaska. It pained me to see her so lost and afraid. “Hey, you’re The Badass of Sommers Lane, remember?”

Her lips thinned. “I don’t know what I was thinking, coming here.” She reached up and ran her trembling fingers through her hair.

I touched her shoulder. “Kat, you’ll be fine.”

“Will I?”

I fought the need to throw my arms around her again, knowing she would just as likely to kick my ass as accept my comfort. “Do you want to go get some coffee?” I asked instead. “There’s a place right down the street.”

Kat glanced over my shoulder at the loud screeching sound of a train approaching, carrying hundreds of people towards the station. “Let’s go,” she said, almost making a grab for my hand then changing her mind.

We walked side by side to the coffee shop in silence, and it gave me a chance to really take her in. She was dressed much like before with her loose jeans, purple Chuck Taylors, and a black hooded sweatshirt, a leather book bag slung across her body. As usual, she wore no makeup on her face and she looked all the more lovely for it.

I opened the door for her but Kat, being
who she is, held out her hand and said, “Go ahead.”

We went to a table in a quiet corner in the back, away from the bustle of city life.

“What would you like?” I asked, taking off my suit jacket and hanging it on the back of the chair.

She sat down. “Anything with caffeine.”

I never took my eyes off her as I stood in line, still a little frazzled by her appearance in New York. I’d gone many months without looking at her face—save for the blurry photo Decker had taken of us back at the mall in Anchorage—and I wasn’t about to give up the opportunity now. Even if she kept frowning at me.