CHAPTER 30
Evan has movies, an entire closet of them. It’s like he’s never heard of Netflix. We lounge on the couch, watching two in a row. My pick: Midnight in Paris. His pick: Tommy Boy.
Aggie says you can tell a lot about a person by the movies they choose. I’m worried for what his choice means. Either way I’m happy to give my mind a rest. I’m afraid if I push for more memories and I can’t find any, it will return me to my state of mind from this morning—overwhelmed and confused. For once I want to look on the bright side and enjoy the small victory.
“I’m sorry you didn’t finish the race,” I say.
“Not even worried about it. Except that we need a rematch.” His eyebrows pop.
“Why do you need a rematch if you’re so certain you’ll win?”
“It’s not about winning, it’s because I want to spend more time with you, friend.”
An unwanted zap of excitement races down my arm. To ignore the comment, I focus on my glass of water, chugging the rest. After I place it on the end table, I press my hands between my knees and hedge into a subject I’ve been avoiding.
“Is that what you wanted to talk to me about?”
“Part of it.” He lifts the remote and presses a button. The screen pauses and the room falls silent.
“So talk,” I say, though I’m unsure if I’m ready to hear, but as it turns out, facing my fear isn’t always a bad thing. Even if it’s hard, even if I have a panic attack, something good may come out of it.
He slides his palms over his thighs, appearing antsy and unsure. “There are things I want to tell you, but some of it may not matter in the long run. But what I can share today is I was wrong.”
“I like where this is going.” I turn to him. I fold my knees beneath me and anchor one elbow on the back of the sofa.
He places a hand over mine where it rests on my thigh. When the warmth of him spreads across my skin, I twist my fingers with his. My skin tingles, and I squeeze tight. He looks at our hands bound and says, “I was wrong about us. The truth is, it wasn’t you I was worried about not being able to deal with a one-night stand. It was me.”
His words break as he stumbles over them. “Because of my past... I was worried I may not be able to handle it. And instead of admitting that, I put it on you. A douche move, but yeah. And I was right. I couldn’t deal. I want you to know it was one of the best nights of my life, and I’d like more of them with you. I’d like more of everything with you, Cait.”
My chest feels fluttery and anxious. I should focus on the fact that he’s telling me he’s into me. Instead, I’m curious about the woman he can’t forget. The only other person he’s been with. The one whose picture probably hangs on his wall a few feet away. But does it matter? Does she matter? She’s not here and I am.
“So what does it mean?” I can’t bring my gaze to meet his.
“I guess it doesn’t mean anything unless you want it to.”
I swallow. There it is. I can have it all. All the crushing I’ve been doing can live in real spot in my life. Evan’s giving himself to me. All I have to do is take him. Can I do this? Can I tell him about my past? Will it matter to him that part of my life is missing? Will he want to deal with the panic attacks, the depression, the crying, and the overbearing parents?
If I were Evan, I wouldn’t. How can I ask someone to accept them when I can barely stand them myself? How can I imagine a future with him when I know very little about my own past? There’s a lifetime of good and bad that made me who I am, and I don’t even know what those things are. I can’t explain why I do anything I do. I have no reference for any decision I make.
His mouth draws tight before he continues, “I don’t expect a response. You’ve already told me what you wanted from this, but I needed to tell you where I stand, and I’m sorry for being such an ass.”
I nod. What I want to tell him is I lied a little too. I lied to myself. If I could brush aside my drama, I’d very much like to see where this goes. This is what I wanted after our first night. A chance. And now he wants to give us a chance. I’m scared of what will happen if I give in to him, and I’m scared of what will happen if I don’t.
“Can we...?” I pause to find the words that will make sense. But instead of words, I curl my body into his and place my head on his shoulder. I’m close enough I can hear his breathing and watch the rise and fall of his chest. I place my hand over his thumping heart.
He drops his arm around my back and folds me into his body heat before kissing my forehead. My skin ignites at his touch but this is enough. I only need us to be who we are right now. No commitments, no explanations, only discovering each other as the moments arise.
He increases the volume for the next movie. It’s one a.m. and we’re back to his choice. “You’ll love this one,” he says. The title, Spaceballs, appears on the screen.
***
In the middle of the night, I wake to an arm draped over my waist. I turn and find Evan sleeping peacefully. He must have carried me to his bed. I reach out to touch his face. Brushing his stubble beneath my palm wakes him, and his hooded eyes open. I slide closer forcing our breath to commingle and our knees to touch. When he rubs his hand down my back, I sigh.
All the good things I have are because I listened to my heart: moving and taking a job in Chicago, befriending Aggie, and finding Ozzy. I need to believe Evan can be part of the good too. That all of those things combined can give me a beautiful future while my mind reconstructs my past and navigates a way to open my heart. It’s scary, yes, but I often find my bravery in the inky darkness of the night. I blame the glittering gems dotting the sky. The stars make me believe I can do anything.
I softly touch my lips to his. I’m giving into what I’ve been denying myself—true happiness. This is real. Evan is real. We are real.
Tonight we only kiss. At accepting who he is to me, there’s no rush to push forward. We have plenty of time to get to know each other, and I need to take this slow. When we make love again, I want it to be like it’s the very first time. And when it happens, I want it to be real love. Not lust. Not pretend.
We spoon, thighs against thighs. My hips press into the curve of his pelvis. His hand reaches over my stomach, tucking me tight. His chin rests on my shoulder where he blows across my ear, rustling my hair. It tickles my cheek as we drift back asleep.
It’s early when I sneak out of Evan’s bed and return to my apartment. There I shower and dress. At six a.m., I step into the lobby of my office building. Just as the doors to the elevators begin to slide close, I snap an arm between them. The sensor dings and the doors divide again, but I hold my breath when I see who’s inside.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
James resigns a smile. It’s not as bright as the other times, but only a few days ago he was vying for my heart. Now he knows we’ll never be anything beyond this.
“I thought you were ill?”
“It was nothing. Just a little bug,” I lie.
“I have an early meeting with Linden.”
James must see the alarm in my eyes, and he continues, “I’m afraid there’s a problem with the lease. I guess he didn’t discuss it with you yet.”
“Nothing too serious, I hope?” I shift my stance.
Before he can answer, the elevator doors ding and slide open. At the office floor, Linden stands inside the lobby. He’s already waiting for James. Not good. I tense, back rigid. Linden ignores the fact that I’m here when he forbade it and extends his hand to James.
“Nice to see you again,” he says.
“Same,” James responds.
“Take a seat in my office. How do you like your coffee?” He leads James away. After he confirms his order, I follow Linden to the kitchen. His movements are curt, controlled. This is mad Linden. I’ve seen it before, many times. He might be ticked, but I’m something more.
“Did you get my message?” he asks.
“I must have missed the one about your meeting with James.”
He sighs. His coloring fades from red to normal. “Rockford decided to renew their lease.”
Disappointment swirls in my chest as understanding takes shape. I rock back a step. This is the company that currently controls the rooftop to the Kinzie building. The rooftop I promised James’s company. It’s the main component that sold them on the property.
“But Rockford already started construction on their new offices in the Wabash building. I’ve seen the photos.”
“That deal’s dead. They renewed Kinzie for another ten years.”
Locked inside, a tight lump bobs in my throat. Stinging tears prick the edges of my eyes. I suck in a breath to fight them off and lift my chin and chest. I will not break in front of him.
“I know you’re upset.” He places a hand on my shoulder.
He has no clue. My house is slipping further away. Will Ozzy be able to hold out until my next big commission? Who knows when that will happen. Or will he finally entertain the other offers he’s been ignoring? Even though he hasn’t said so, I’ve suspected for a while now he needs the money, but he has too much pride to mention any financial distress.
“I’ll find them something else.” I slip into an optimistic mask. The threatening tears are gone and replaced with determination.
“I know you will, but we’ve showed them every suitable space on the market. For now, go home. You look like shit.”
He ushers me to the elevator and continues, “I don’t want to see you here for a week, or I will fire your ass. Understood?”
After I relent with a nod, he presses the button. The elevator doors glide open. Linden watches me enter as if he needs to ensure my exit. Inside the cab, I turn to face him, feeling defeated.
“Maybe you need a vacation? I know Evan needs one,” Linden says, wagging his brows. He’s laughing at my dropped jaw as the doors slide shut. Now I’m not only sad, I’m mortified he knows about us. I lean against the wall and squeeze my eyes closed.
Back at my building, I knock on Evan’s door. He answers, still half asleep. His hair’s tangled and mussed. He’s shirtless and wearing boxer briefs. He scratches his ass and gives me a sloppy grin. He’s adorable.
“I knew you would go anyway.” He yawns and steps aside.
His expression becomes alarmed when I sweep in and rip off my scarf and jacket.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
I frown and drop my things on the nearest chair. “The deal’s fallen through.”
He pulls me to him, arms splaying across my back, and mine across his. In his embrace, I’m fortified and secure. I’m not alone. With Evan beside me, I can conquer anything, even this small setback. Though I don’t understand why, I feel it as strongly as the quickening beat of my heart.
“I know you don’t like to lose, but there will be other commissions. Besides, no one else will want that ugly haunted house, anyway,” he jokes.
With my face snuggled into his chest, I laugh. Even though I’d like nothing more than a good cry. “Let’s hope.”
“Come on, I’ll make you breakfast.” He kisses my forehead and drags me to the kitchen. I lean on the counter as he opens the refrigerator, digging for ingredients.
“Damn, I’m out of milk.”
“I have some.”
“Stay right there.” He taps the counter twice and swipes my keys before running off. From inside the apartment, I hear him scale the stairs. I stop listening when he hits the second landing, because my interest has fallen on the ajar second bedroom door, the same locked door I’ve tried to open several times before now.
I stand and cross the room. I push the door wide with my fingertip. It groans open. I flick on the light and step inside. Standing in the middle, I turn in a circle. This room is different from the rest of the apartment. Instead of a mature bachelor pad, this looks like it belongs to a student. It’s as if Evan took his room from college and placed it right here, except it wouldn’t be his room; it’s too feminine. I can tell by the color scheme and scattered items. Pretty watercolor images of hot pink lips are hung in black frames. Posters of bands cover one wall. And there’s an art deco dressing table with perfumes, jewelry, and framed photos. Not to mention the pile of dirty clothing in a hamper—a woman’s bra sits on top.
In confusion, I inspect the nearest photograph, looking for the girl Evan has never forgotten. I search for the face in the photo hanging in his hallway. I find her—as expected. My heart plummets into my gut. Anxiety swirls, making my stomach queasy. My hand clenches the frame, lifting it. Is this her room?
I don’t want to, but for confirmation, I lift another photo and stare. This one I have to clench with two hands. The blood rushes out of my fingers, turning them pale. This photo’s of an embracing couple, dressed for a fancy dinner. They’re happy, smiling and clearly in love, but this is not the same girl. Not even close.
“Cait?” Evan’s voice breaks through my confusion. I blink. He’s standing at the door with a milk jug in his grip, watching me.
Mental gymnastics does not even describe what’s happening in my brain as I struggle to understand. But there’s one thought, one question that’s absolutely clear, and I need to hear the answer from his lips to confirm I haven’t gone certifiably insane.
My lips tremble when I ask, “You knew me already—before?”