Authors: Liz Crowe
****
Craig's jaw ached from clenching it, cursing himself for what he'd done, and left undone. Driving on autopilot, he found himself sitting outside the large, imposing bungalow belonging to one Jack Gordon. He'd been there once before, back while Sara and Jack were still officially together, for a poker night with "the boys." He'd be the first to admit it had been fun. The guy knew how to throw a party even of that size. Staring at the porch light that still shone and a light sheen of frost that tipped the perfectly mown grass of the large front yard, he sensed his wildly beating heart finally slowing. What in the hell he thought he'd do now, he had no idea, but the longer he sat, the calmer he got. The buzz of his phone made him jump, and scrabble down into his jeans pocket for the thing.
"Hey," Suzanne's soft voice on the other end made him close his eyes, regret, embarrassment and anger at himself nearly bowing him over.
"Hey, yourself." He ran hand across his rough jaw. "What's up?" They had been talking a fair bit, easing ever closer to something resembling a date, but Craig kept holding back, not even sure why. Until that moment. He spoke before he could talk himself out of it. "Can I come over?"
"Uh, sure, I'm not exactly…"
"I don't care. I need to talk to you."
"Okay, I'm at one nineteen Barton Drive," she named one of the most exclusive streets in one of Ann Arbor's old-money neighborhoods.
By the time Craig got there, he had nearly backed out of the whole thing, but the sight of her sitting on her massive front porch steps, a small redheaded figure holding two cups of coffee, lifted his heart. He popped a mint into his mouth and got out, leaning on the truck door a minute. She held up one of the steaming mugs.
"I look like ten miles of bad road, sorry." He made his way up and took a seat next to her. She smelled clean, fresh. He took a deep breath. "I have been a real shit in the last twenty four hours."
"Yeah, Jack has a way of bringing that out in people. Don't know why. He really is a nice guy." She leaned into him, making him feel better and worse at the same time.
"Oh, I don't think I'll blame him for this one, Suzanne." He took a sip and watched a squirrel make its way across her lawn. "I, um, she…oh fuck."
She patted his knee. "Take your time."
He took a deep breath. "I'm over her. I think." Suzanne kept quiet, sipping her coffee and staring out into the yard. "But I was a complete shit to her in the meantime. And now I have to leave town for two weeks."
"Don't be so hard on yourself. She'll calm down. She's like her brother that way. They fly off the handle, then spend about a day calming down."
"No, I was really not a nice guy." He put his empty mug down on the step and stood, shoving his hands in his pockets. She pinned him with her deep blue gaze, making his skin pebble a little. Her smile made his shoulders relax.
"Maybe she needed that. I mean, she's pretty damn conflicted right now. You didn't help, being such a nice guy and all." She leaned back on one elbow, never breaking eye contact. He couldn't move. His heart started pounding again. With his own action, he probably had driven her right back into Gordon's arms. Suddenly that didn't seem like such a bad thing.
The craziness of the past months passed through his brain in a montage. Her lips, hands, laugh, sarcastic sense of humor; everything about her that had driven him for so long, started to fade as he watched the slight figure of the woman still sitting at his feet. He reached out a hand and pulled her to standing. She remained on an upper step, nearly at his eye level. She put a hand on his shoulder, the other against his cheek.
"Some people are just meant to be together, Craig no matter how much we might think otherwise. There is no explaining it. I for one, think those two are just such people. And I never, ever thought I'd say that about my friend Jack." Her smile faded, her face took on an almost regretful look. He suddenly felt like a double shit. She'd probably thought the same thing about the man she'd married; the man who'd given her this mansion of a house, and then dropped dead one day from a rogue blood clot in his brain. Without thinking, he pulled her into his arms.
"You are amazing. I'm sorry to dump this on you." She leaned back, then into his ear.
"It's okay. You're pretty amazing yourself." The sudden touch of her lips, soft against his, brought a flush to his whole body. He made himself stop, cradled her face in his hands as he spoke.
"I don't think…" she put a finger to his lips.
"Sometimes you shouldn't think," but she just gave him a quick squeeze before letting him go. "Have a safe trip. Call me." And, with that, she turned and ran back into her house without another word. Craig stared at the place where she'd just been, amazed and a little unnerved by the fluttery sensation in his chest.
****
After about an hour, a scalding hot shower and sips of weak coffee, Sara felt compelled to pull up the photos she kept on her computer and phone from her New Year's vacation with Jack. The photographers had strolled around constantly, snapping pictures you could purchase. Jack had scoffed, kept ignoring them, but when presented with the proofs at checkout, he'd been speechless. She recalled looking over his shoulder at the screen, scalp tingling, as she saw the moments captured between them. She bit her lip, scrolling back through scenes of dinners, sunbathing, on a catamaran for the day. But, the one that had made him purchase the entire lot of them still had the power to leave her breathless.
They sat together on the beach, the sun rising behind them, Sara with her arms and chin resting on her knees and a small smile teasing her lips. Jack had an arm around her shoulders and eyes fixed on her, lips near hear ear. She remembered what he had said right then too. She'd never forget it.
"You are my whole life. And that scares the shit out of me."
She shuddered, recalling that she'd not even answered him. Had been unable to process it. But the photo captured it, forced his voice deep into her brain. She shook her head. She had to erase it from her memory banks and that meant one thing. She swallowed hard, and hit the delete button, as a single tear slid down her face. It seared her nerve endings, nearly made her scramble down to the tiny garbage can icon to retrieve them. But, it had to be done.
She regained her composure and went on a punishing run in the cold afternoon. The mental and literal purge of the men who'd haunted her life for over a year felt good, but not great. The ever-present sting of loss when she realized she couldn't reach out to call Jack that night hurt like nothing she'd ever experienced in her life. Her eyes lit on the embossed deep black invitation to the downtown building opening party. November eighth. The day she would be married. Now it was the day she'd face him, once and for all, in the building they'd worked so hard on, that represented so much of their months together. Wiping her eyes, she stood, still holding the invitation, and wandered into her bedroom to sleep off some of the overindulgence.
Chapter Fifteen
Sara stood in the office break room a few days before the big party; the no one could stop talking about, sipping coffee and staring at the sales board. Squinting, thinking she must be seeing things, she saw the words: 1515 Hill Street, a plum office building listing next to "Craig Robinson." Her hands shook as she put the coffee mug down on the counter.
Holy shit. That was Jack's listing.
They'd been talking about how to market it the week before the tailgate, brainstorming the various businesses they knew who could put the beautiful old building to best use.
The words: "I beat the bastard at his own game," and "you don't know what you heard, Sara," careened through her brain so fast she had to take a seat. Her phone buzzed with a text from Jack.
"Did you like how the invites turned out?"
She smiled at it, finally realizing that she knew what she wanted. That last strange night with Craig had sealed it for her. She didn't answer the text.
He'd been sending texts, emails, and calling. By then she'd become expert at Jack Gordon avoidance and knew what he meant anyway. She'd designed those invitations with him, nearly six months ago. She looked up at the sales board again and then sent a text to Craig, who'd left for Louisville with plans for a mini vacation back home before his brother's wedding.
Two words.
"I'm sorry."
She sent it, then, feeling better than she had in ages, went about the busy day ahead.
During that week, she ran twice a day to keep her head , didn't touch a drop of alcohol, and got plenty of sleep every night. She closed two of her biggest transactions in her career up to that point as well. The amount of the commission checks astounded her, but she channeled Jack and put enough aside for taxes and the rest in her Roth IRA. The irony that he exercised positive control over her still, in spite of her resistance, made it tough to pass on the glass of wine, but she pulled on her running shoes instead.
Try as she would, the man would not leave her thoughts. She decided she'd go to his party, the one she'd help him plan all those months ago, and corner him to talk, really talk. It scared and exhilarated her at the same time, and she determined not to lose her nerve–to have this long-in-coming chat once and for all. Ironically, on the very weekend they would have been married.
By Thursday, she felt strong, alert and in control of her emotions enough to handle, what she knew would be a high-powered event. She'd had some late showings and pulled into her spot, already planning her evening of run, shower, salad and bed and nearly fell over Blake, who sat perched on her porch steps, beer in hand. She frowned, realizing he was already halfway to seriously drunk.
"What are you doing here? What's wrong?" She took a seat next to him.
"He left."
"Who?" But, she knew and her heart sank. "Oh honey," she put her arm around him. He grimaced and shrugged her off.
"Whatever. It's my fault." He put the empty beer bottle down and reached for another. She grabbed it out of his hand.
"Come inside. Let's get some water."
"Leave me alone."
"No, Blake. I'm taking care of you for a change. Now get the hell up and come inside."
He let her lead him in. "Jesus, it's clean in here." He glanced around before flopping down on her couch. "Can I stay? I can't face the house right now." Sara's heart broke for her brother as she watched a tear fall from under the hand he had over his eyes. She sat next to him.
"We suck at this, don't we?" He sat and sucked back the water before groaning and lying back again.
"At what?" He stared up at the ceiling.
"At love."
He snorted and turned on his side. "Yeah, I guess. What's with the extreme organization in here? Hire a maid?"
"No. It's Jack. Sometimes he brings out the good stuff too."
She stood and drew a blanket up over her brother's thin frame. "Stay, sleep it off. But, you have to talk to him. You guys can't…" Her brother held up a hand.
"Stay together anymore apparently."
"Don't be silly Blake. It's a temporary setback. Get your head on straight and work it out with him. You know you want to."
"Big talk from the queen of non-commitment." Instead of making her mad, the comment made her smile.
"Not for much longer. Now sleep."
****
The week had provided enough stress and extra work to keep Jack on his toes. Unable to sleep, with details and last minute dilemmas swirling through his head, he usually gave up and drove down to his building – project he'd birthed, babied, and bullied from concept, to purchase, to fruition over the past year. He would forever associate it with the craziness that was his relationship with Sara. Doing mundane chores like fastening towel rods to freshly painted walls and installing light fixtures in the middle of the night brought him incredible peace. He'd even stayed in one of the empty condos a few nights, waking confused and sore from sleeping on a too-short couch.
But, he had a plan. Every day brought him closer to the one thing he now knew without a doubt he wanted. No detail of the massive party went un-sweated. Nor did the details for the penthouse flat he had outfitted for her. The one he planned to take her to the night of the party, to prove what he wanted, and get her to come to her senses.
They were meant to be together. He merely had to show her.
The Friday before the event he'd been in a sleep-deprived haze, but knew between him, Jason, and the new girl he'd hired a few months ago specifically to implement this party, everything would be absolutely perfect. He took the day off, did his usual ten miles in the November cold and collapsed in bed after a long hot shower, having spent the night before putting the finishing touches on the condo, ordering the finest champagne and making sure the florist remembered to add rose petals to his huge order of arrangements. By midnight that night he'd taken one last look at the place, large four poster bed with restraints, spanking bench and the box containing a new ring, one not so flashy and over the top, more in keeping with how he felt. Solid, sure and willing to prove he could be trusted; an emerald nestled between two diamonds, set in an art deco swirl of platinum.