CHAPTER TWO

 

 

ASH

“This rain is something, isn’t it?” The cab driver peers through the windscreen as he rubs gnarled fingers over the thinning hair on top of his head, forcing gray wisps to stand upright.

“It’s fitting.” I dig through my purse to hand him my credit card.

He ignores my comment, while he charges my card. The windshield wipers beat against the glass, wh-whomp, wh-whomp, pushing fat droplets into semi-circles. “Are you sure this is where you want me to drop you?”

“Yes.” I grip the handle of my carry-on until my knuckles pop and then slot my card back in my purse. A slash of white paint across the windows of the blue-gray sandstone building on the corner declares it to be Sweets N Soul.

Sam Sweets is finally doing what he always wanted. Living the dream. His dream. The corners of my mouth waiver upwards with pride, before falling as flat as I feel inside. I shouldn’t have come here. I shouldn’t bring trouble to his door when he’s finally got it all together, but it’s like my feet beat their own path, and I’m just following. It’s muscle memory from all the times we’ve done this before.

“This isn’t smart.” Not after I made him believe I was much happier without him.

“Sorry?”

I catch the cab driver’s gaze in the mirror. Bushy gray eyebrows frame almost opaque blue eyes. “Nothing. No. Never mind. What time is it?”

“Quarter past eleven,” he says without glancing at the clock on the dash.

Maybe the restaurant won’t still be open. I exhale, push out a thick breath as I pull the handle and shove open the door. He’s probably with his girlfriend. She has to be his girlfriend by now, doesn’t she? He was slobbering after her the last time I’d seen them both. And she’s a sweet girl. A great friend. We’re not quite as good friends as his sister and I, but Mandy had fit into our little group the moment we met. Almost as though she’d always been there. Although she and Sam don’t have that much in common. Can she really make him happy? My case catches on the doorframe, thumps to the ground and slaps water from the pavement. Great.

“Hope your evening gets better,” the driver says as I shut the door.

“Hope so too,” I mutter under my breath. There’s fat chance of that happening.

The cab peels away, its tires spinning in the water and spraying me. I yelp as I jump out of the way. Cold, so cold. My skin goose bumps and I immediately start to shiver. Squeezing my eyes shut, I wrinkle my nose, count to three. When I open them again, I watch taillights flash on at the other end of the block and turn off as the cab drifts left.

Right. Rock music pumps out of a building at the other end of the block. Outside, under the large umbrellas a small group of guys and girls shelter from the rain, most likely waiting for a ride home from Mayhem Avenue. I’ve been inside a few times. With Summer. With Mandy. If I go now I can still get a drink at the bar. I could warm up with a shot or two. Ugh, but there are people there—lots of them, probably—and after the last couple days having some stranger treat me as though we’re intimate before we’ve exchanged names is too much to bear.

I reach for my shoulder bag. I should just call another cab and go...where? I can’t go home, can’t go back and face the other ladies at the share apartment. I could go to Summer’s. She’d be home with her boyfriends. My whole body responds with a violent cringe to the idea of having to tell her how badly I’ve screwed up.

I go left, dragging my case behind me. The shoulder strap of my bag slides down my arm as I limp toward Sam’s restaurant on one broken heel. It’s quiet, almost dark except for a dim glow from somewhere inside. The brick is cold under my fingers, the windows glazed with raindrops. Water rushes along the gutter at the edge of the pavement as I peer into the dining room.

Bare tables with chairs stacked on top fill the space. Other than that, it’s empty, devoid of people, cutlery, and china. Shoving the sodden bangs that are dripping water in my eyes out of my face, I cup my hand to the pane. Four tinted cylindrical pendants hang above the bar, their light illuminating the rows of bottles behind it. To the side brighter light spills through the portholes and the cracks of the kitchen doors.

I jump when they swing open almost violently and Sam stalks into view. He yanks at the buttons on his chef’s coat, dragging it off and discarding it over a tall backed stool before he pulls a bottle from one of the shelves and snags a shot glass from behind the bar. He sets both down in front of him, his hands fisted on the surface beside them and bows his head. His shoulders rise and fall heavily.

He knows, doesn’t he? He has to be aware. My insides twist themselves up tighter than a steel spring, and I glance at the ground beside my feet to keep from heaving. He’s seen the video that prick made of me. I should have expected it. Deep down I did, but some naïve part of me hoped... but the whole world has seen me having sex with two men. The airline has seen it. My colleagues have seen it. My father...

An inch of deep amber liquid spills into the glass from the bottle Sam’s holding, and I lick my lips. I can almost taste the cognac he drinks. Sweet and smooth. It’s nothing we haven’t shared before. He lifts it to his lips, and I swallow the excess moisture in my mouth. He has a girlfriend now, and even if he didn’t I’m a fool for coming here. After the last time.

He sets the glass down. Pours another drink. I step back from the window. No, I should never have come here. A frown ripples across his forehead, like a shadow of a thought forming and he scrubs at his stubble darkened jaw. Blue eyes widen as they connect with mine, and his lips part on my name. “Ash?”

I’m glued to the spot, like so many times before. He digs a crest into his hair as we both stand motionless. It’s gotten darker without the Californian sun. It suits him more than I could have imagined.

“Ash,” he repeats, as though he doesn’t quite trust his own eyes. Then he’s moving, rushing to unlock the plate glass door between us. “Ash?”

“Sam.” My voice cracks, despite my best intentions. I didn’t come here to be taken care of. I came here to hide. Just for a few days. Until I work out how to deal with the shit show my life has suddenly become.

“What are you doing here?” Heedless of the rain he steps out into the street. Water droplets quickly cling to the tips of his hair and his eyebrows. They soak into his under shirt.

I shiver and hug one arm to my belly. How could I have been so stupid about Luca? How do I look Sam in the eye without seeing disappointment reflected back at me? Twisting away from him, I glance back at Mayhem.

“Don’t do that,” he says, his hand finding mine and squeezing until I turn back to him. “Don’t act like I don’t know you better than that.”

“This was a bad idea. I’m sorry. I didn’t think. I just...” His solid chest moves under my gaze, in, out, in. There’s a thumb sized bruise near his collarbone. Her thumb? “You’re probably busy. I should go and call a cab. Really. I don’t know why I keep—”

He doesn’t let go of my hand as I try to walk away and still retain some semblance of poise. Ha. Pride, dignity. Too bad none of that seemed to matter before. Now when I have none, I desperately want to hold onto the shreds. His fingers tighten like a steel trap, and he makes a humming sound in his throat. “Because you need a friend. And I’m here. Just come inside, Ash. Just come in and get warm and have a drink with me. Tell me why you’re here.”

I’m not sure. Besides the obvious need to be invisible for a few days, there’s no sense to me seeking out Sam. But I do. Again and again and again. Even when I shouldn’t. Because he’s the only one who knows me all the way through to my bones.

“Okay.” I give up on changing my trajectory, and make promises instead. “For a few minutes. One drink. Just long enough to call a cab.”

“Okay,” he agrees, tugging me closer and holding our locked hands between our chests. “As long as you need. Not one minute less.”

***

I slide the shower screen door open and step onto the fluffy loop mat. Sam’s place is a tiny two rooms tucked away behind the storage area above the restaurant. It’s not even an apartment, just a storage space converted into a bedroom and bathroom. That he would live this close to work is unsurprisingly Sam like. His apartment in California had only been a block away from Josef’s, the restaurant he left to start up his own business.

My stomach grumbles at the faint aroma of what was probably an amazing dinner. I haven’t eaten anything since when? This morning? No, it was last night. The mini apple bran muffin I snagged before my meeting with the airline’s human resources officer doesn’t count since it barely stuck to my insides long enough for her to play the video.

She was so smug, sitting across the desk from me while the audio rolled on and on and on. At first I’d sat there, listening to my own voice, to that of Luca, and the other pilot as though it was something new and foreign to me. It still didn’t seem real that something like that could happen. A cold sheen of sweat had made my palms clammy, my brain sluggish. And she’d smiled the kind of prim smile one does when their job is made easy for them.

“As you can imagine this isn’t the kind of publicity we need at One Sky Airlines.” She pushes a thick document in front of me and holds out a pen. Black, with the One Sky logo printed down the side in gold. “Unfortunately, we have to let you go.”

What can I possibly say? That I didn’t know. That I never thought the whole world would see my hoo-ha. That I didn’t think we’d get caught having sex in the cabin mere yards from where passengers sat. I’m such an idiot.

She steamrolls on before I can come up with anything to say in my defense. “Our lawyers have drawn up a document. It states that you are no longer a part of the One Sky family, and that your actions were outside of our code of conduct. It also mentions that your actions are in no way the responsibility of the airline, that you waive your right to company representation in case of lawsuit, and that you will not be involved past this point with Captain Luca Moretti and Captain Matt Britton.

“What?” I drag my attention from the one sheet document in front of me at Luca’s name. He hasn’t answered my calls or texts since sometime last night. Was that when this thing broke?

“Both parties have been reprimanded, Miss Durum. They’ll have to make a formal apology and statement for their behavior.”

“Captain Moretti gets to keep his job?”

“Moretti and Britton have assured us that it won’t happen again.”

“It won’t,” I agree. Why do they get to keep their jobs and I get fed to the sharks like so much chum? Did Luca agree to this?

“Sign it, Miss Durum,” she urges, tapping one shiny French tipped nail against the document. “Or the airline might be inclined to sue.”

The pen drags, pushing deep black grooves into the paper as, with a shaky hand, I scrawl my name in the places marked by yellow tape. I drop the pen the second I finish the flick of the ‘m’, and push the document back across the tabletop. “There.”

“Thank you.” Picking up the papers, she stands. “And good luck with the rest of your career.”

I’m shaking on the inside, but somehow I manage to get to my feet. How could Luca do this and get away with it while it costs me my job and my privacy?

 

“Ash?” Sam knocks on the bathroom door.

“Yes.” Distracted, I rub the towel over my body in jerky movements. Losing my job sucks, but it doesn’t really matter. It’s not like I relied on it financially. It was more about being independent than it was about money. Luca, on the other hand... I thought we were more than a few stopovers and a couple of weekends in Venice. Not love, but maybe... I hoped he could touch something inside me. Instead all I found with him was a constant sort of numbness and a lousy sex tape.

“I put some clothes out on the bed for you.”

I pause with one foot in the air, the towel dangling from my hand. Are they things Mandy left here? Please no. But my own clothes are soaked, and my suitcase doesn’t have anything warm in it since I came straight from the airline. What choice do I have? “Okay.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Starving,” I say without thinking. It takes me aback. Why is it so easy to not second guess myself around him? Probably because I’ve known him forever. All my life. His father used to tell me about how Sam would race up to my mother’s belly and whisper to me. No one knows what he said though. Sam doesn’t even remember.

“I’ll make you something. Come back downstairs to the restaurant when you’re ready.”

“Okay.” I drop the towel over the rail and face the mirror. There’s pink in my cheeks from the heat in the shower, and my dark hair is full of tangles and snags. It takes me one drawer to find a comb. His system hasn’t changed in years. Another drawer and I find a toothbrush still in its box. Pink. Does that mean she stays here sometimes? What if they really are meant for each other like Mandy kept saying the last time I saw her?

I tear open the wrap anyway, slather some of his toothpaste on the bristles. This one’s mine. The mint tingles my mouth while I brush. Maybe it wakes up my brain. Sam does deserve to be happy. If anyone does it’s him. With Mandy, if that’s what it takes. It’s a good thing. I rinse the toothbrush and drop it in the mug he’s using as a holder. World’s No. 1 Dad it says in the crabbiest of handwriting. I still remember when it was full of pens and markers, sitting on his dad’s desk in his home office.

I wince each time I catch a snarl with the comb. There’s nothing too girly in Sam’s bathroom, beside the pink toothbrush, so maybe his relationship isn’t that serious yet. There was a time when he went out and bought me a big plastic bag full of lotions and cosmetics and told me he’d have a drawer just for me as long as I needed it. A drawer that had slowly morphed into several in the bathroom and half his closet. Of course he wouldn’t have kept any of that stuff. There’s not a tub, tube, or palette in sight. It’s only Sam, and he’s seen you worse.

I leave the safety of his bathroom to find the clothes he left for me. Olive green sweats so worn they’re beyond soft, a white T-shirt that comes almost down to my knees, and one of his sweaters. The white knit one with the hood. I pick it up and rub my cheek against it. I can’t believe he kept it all these years.

My mouth starts to water as the aroma from the kitchen gets stronger in the apartment. It makes my stomach grumble and clench until it forms a stone in the pit of my soul. He cooks. That’s what he does. A million meals for a million different people. But this was mine. Was. No point going there.

Pulling the hoody on over the T-shirt and sweats, I find a pair of long fuzzy white socks with pink heels and toes. He’s not mine anymore. He hasn’t been in a long time, and now he’s probably someone else’s. I was right about coming here being a mistake. I’m too messed up, and he doesn’t need to deal with it. I glance around the neat room to try and locate my phone. I must have left it downstairs. I’ll call a cab. I’ll find a hotel. Anywhere has to be smarter than here. What was I thinking running to Sam?