Her

 

Time is

Too Slow for those who Wait,

Too Swift for those who Fear,

Too Long for those who Grieve,

Too Short for those who Rejoice;

But for those who Love,

Time is not.

- Henry Van Dyke

 

 

RISKE

 

The conference was crowded, swarming with soul-suckers.

The Literature Today Summit  was off to a rocky start and from the looks of things, I wasn’t going to make it through the night. One massive brown-nosing session after another, editors, publishing magnates and writers fawned all over each other, making promises they couldn’t keep, engaging in more ass-kissing than you’d find at a foreign sex club.

I was not in the fucking mood.

Tailored tux or not, if Griff and Chris hadn’t been there to crack jokes with or take shots, I would have left the summit a long time ago. I didn’t want to think about the other reason I wouldn’t leave… the certain someone I was waiting to appear any second now…

My instincts told me that she’d show up… but I’d been wrong before. I couldn’t confess how wrong I’d been before—back when I was young and infinitely dumb. Griff nudged my elbow.

“You see her?”

I looked around, my head on a swivel. “See who?”

“Marjorie Peters. She’s looking better since the last time I saw her. Better dye-job. Bigger tits. I wonder who she’s leaving with by the end of the night…”

I glanced over. “By the look of her, nothing but empty deals and a local Botox doc recommendation. She’s dressed like she’s ready to hit the street.”

“Exactly,” Griff hissed in my ear. “She came to find new leads… and fuck. You don’t just wear that type of dress for nothing. She’s got a slit in her dress high enough for me to see the color of her pussy. Means she’s showing it off… and luckily for her, I’m in the mood for some nightly entertainment.”

“And that’s different from every other night for you how…?”

Griff grimaced. “Fuck. I guess it isn’t. But if they keep serving us this beautifully aged Scotch, I might be too out of it to stick it to her.” He swirled his glass. “Might have to pass her to the prodigal virgin.”

“Who?” Chris walked up.

Griff tapped him. “You, Steve Carrell. Step up to the plate. The pickings are massive. There’s a marketing piece of pussy named Sandy on the other side with your name on it. And my pick of the night, Marjorie, if I need a pinch-hitter.”

Chris frowned in Griff’s over-eager face, and the two started to go at it, arguing in the corner of the room while I stalked off, staring down every stairwell, every hidden crevice in the massive event room where the summit was hosted—hoping, praying, really… for even a glimpse of that grin.

Still, no sign of her.

Growing impatient, I went back to the bar at the far side of the room for another glass of their strongest brand of Bourbon. I was on my way to tipping the bartender when I felt a touch from behind me—a light feather across my back that felt warm and familiar… but uninviting. I turned and stared down…right into the face of my unforgettable past.

I blinked, not believing my own eyes.

“Christy?”

“Surprise,” she smiled, long and bright. “Bet you thought you’d never see me again. It’s been a long time, Ethan… or should I say, Brendon? From what I hear, you’ve done alright for yourself.” Her blue eyes flashed. “From what I hear you’d done well enough for a lot of selves. Wealth does become you…”

“And time becomes you,” I returned. Though, it didn’t.

In the ten years since I’d seen her, Christy Nicolson’s eyes had developed a bitterness that you couldn’t shield with Ray Bans. Lines had formed around her mouth and forehead, and with the furrowed look she was giving me, I was sure that more would form. She had lost some of the softness from her face since I’d last seen her—that youthful glow. She couldn’t have been more than twenty-five years old—twenty-six, at the most, and somehow it seemed that life had taken a beating to her, replacing her wide-eyed look of ignorance and faux innocence with something darker, something stonier—and definitely more serious.

Ten seconds of reconnecting, and I already felt bad for her. She’d set a record. I switched the Bourbon in my hands, trying to keep my glare from bearing into hers. I couldn’t help but stare at how much she had changed.

She blinked suddenly and smiled… a feat she’d clearly practiced as a teen and perfected as an adult. Her entire face seemed to light up.

“Oh, come on now. I’m just joshing around. It’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other. You’re a new CEO. I’m now a journalist. I’m actually working on my first novel. I came to Tampa for the Summit and to hopefully pitch my new premise.” She beamed. “I’m very excited.”

I raised my glass. “As you should be.” My eyes wandered, searching for the nearest exit. Until Christy stepped into my line of sight. Under a semi-sheer silver number, she jutted her breasts out and almost into my face. She pouted her red-painted lips, and I knew that if this were nine (and a half) years ago, I might have taken the bait.

But I was no longer a horny teenage boy, obsessed with Bruce Willis movies and bare-backing any pretty girl that passed. Well…at least, the bare-backing part was true enough…

I gave Christy the coldest look I could. “Look, Christy, I’m going to be honest with you. It’s good to see that you’re doing well…” I was working on not lying… “But you’ll excuse me, if I make myself a little scarce this evening, I have a lot of people to meet, hands I promised to shake…”

Her pretty face fell. “You must have talked to my husband. I mean, technically, we’re moving here because of his new promotion…” She pulled her shoulders back. “So, if you did, I have to tell you that we’re…”

I held my hand up. “Whoa. Take a breath… I haven’t talked to any ‘husband,’ Christy. But if I had… I’d have been gone faster than what you’re about to see right now. So, with that, I’ll say ‘It was nice seeing you, I hope you have a lovely evening, and if you meet a man named Lukas Griffin, do all of us a favor… Run.” I touched her elbow gently. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

I was barely clear of Christy when I rounded the corner and ran smack-dab into fucking trouble.

I caught sight of the shimmering dress first before I saw her face. I took in the elegant red outfit that covered her thigh to shoulder before I let my gaze creep its way up into her eyes and hair. She wasn’t facing me. In fact, she hadn’t even seen me. She was talking quickly to a redhead that was just on her rear. Silver earrings dangled from her earlobes and as she motioned towards her equally as animated partner, they swung, shining into her blue eyes to create this chandelier effect. Everything on her seemed to sparkle—from the tips of her shiny shoes to her even shinier hair.

And as she looked up, our eyes accidentally met across the room. Her long lashes widened, reaching for the sky. She stared at me in misty wonder, her irises going glassy as they stared—stuck, unblinkingly, in my direction holding me completely fixed to the carpeted floor.

It was Kat… and it was the angel. The beautiful fairy from the fire, who I stupidly and shockingly hadn’t recognized—not fully anyway. I had pondered for days why I couldn’t get the pretty mythological creature out of my mind. And in that instant, I knew why.

Because I had seen those round, wide eyes in my dreams for nearly a decade…

But in those fantasies they had been lustful and heavily hooded. Not open and angry—not slowly slanting as they were now, stabbing with the hate of a thousand Hell-holes.

She turned on her heel and spun in the other direction. It was then that I noticed that her dress was low-cut below her neck—revealing. Smooth, lightly freckled skin retreated to the other side of the room and out of it, and I almost dropped my drink to follow, her name a shout in the back of my throat that wouldn’t come out.

My mind screamed Kat! I started to follow her. Until someone else’s body came bum-rushing into mine. I glanced up. It was Chris.

“We’ve got to get him out of here,” he huffed, his face red, his ginger-colored hair almost as bright as the hue in his twisting neck as he glanced behind him. I saw what was causing his ire—a drunken Griff, slightly swerving in our direction, his green eyes bright and mischievously bold. He leaned in, smelling like a distillery.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he cried out loud. “This is a party, not a mortuary. And so what, I grabbed DeeDree Brighton’s huge left tit? It was staring right at me. If you hadn’t intervened, I’d be bedding her right now, instead of listening to you lecture me about some cocked-up principles of propriety. What’s a decent Summit without the promise of sex?”

“A normal one,” I stated. I could barely look at the both of them. My head was swimming. In fact, it had taken a dive off the deep end and landed in a pool of fucking “Pitiful”—all for a woman who’d called me “dick-less” just a few nights before.

And I didn’t give a damn.

All I knew was that I had to get my hands on Kat—one way or another. I’d let her slip through my fingers before. I wasn’t about to let her get away again… even if I was technically the one that had upped and left.

I started to search around, but Chris punched my shoulder, jerking his head in the direction of our headstrong best friend. I knew, if left to his own devices, Griff could potentially tear this party (and some married couples) apart. I put one hand on his shoulder and with some prodding and pushing helped Chris to escort our favorite ball-busting bachelor out of the main ballroom hall.

I glanced behind me, hoping that by some magical fate, the woman I’d been waiting for wouldn’t go too far. It was a far-fetched wish, but I had prayed for worst.

I prayed for patience. I prayed for sanity. And nine long years ago, I’d prayed that God would forgive me for fucking up the life of a young, beautiful girl—a girl turned formidable woman who I just couldn’t seem to shake…