Mel,
Don’t stress over your finals. You know you’ll do great. When have you ever not aced an exam? I know, I know… except that one spelling test in first grade that you always bring up when I ask that question… so don’t bother replying with that.
But seriously, stand up. Do it. Right now. Stand up, blast that horrible music I know you have on, and dance around your dorm. It will help.
P.S. Why don’t you come visit when you’re done with finals? You can fly home and meet Roman and me there, and maybe your presence will help smooth over the new boyfriend introduction? Yes? Please say yes.
Love you,
Cara(-saurus)
Melissa had sent me an SOS message late last night, panicking over her finals. She’d done this every semester since I’d met her. She was quite the neurotic genius.
I had a feeling her new roommate had something to do with it.
That, or it was the lack of sex.
I really wasn’t sure.
But I really was serious about her coming to visit. I knew she’d come here to help smooth things over for me, but really, I thought we’d done each other a favor. By the time she’d left, her state of mind had seemed to be in a much better place.
Or at least it had been.
For a few days.
I also really loved the idea of having her with me when I introduced Roman to my parents. They had been, understandably, cautious when I told them about the new man in my life. For as long as they could remember, I was going to marry Tyler. Even when I was in high school, they’d thought it was absurd and rolled their eyes, telling me I was far too young for such things.
But now I’d done a complete one-eighty, dumping the long-term boyfriend and replacing him after what seemed like a day.
Okay, it was a few days.
But still…
For my conservative, married-for-a-thousand-years parents, seeing me basically jump in bed with a much older, incredibly rich man, who also happened to be my boss, was… well, startling.
The thought of bringing Roman home to my small town in a few weeks? I might as well be bringing home Ryan Gosling because that was what it felt like.
My mother had already Googled Roman. I hadn’t even known she knew how to do that, and she’d sent his picture around to all her girlfriends. No doubt, the entire town knew about him now.
That meant Tyler’s parents did as well.
The entire situation needed to be handled gently and with tact. I was going to give Roman small-town lessons soon. Possibly as quickly as this evening.
I’d planned on mentioning it to him this morning, over breakfast, but he’d slipped out early, probably for a meeting out of the office that he’d forgotten to mention. So, I tabled it for later, knowing he was busy for the remainder of the day.
And so was I.
I was now working double duty, assisting Roman and looking for a new job.
I’d already sent out my résumé to several local historical societies and museums, but I hadn’t heard a thing, including from Kevin, Roman’s contact at the Transit Society. I was trying to keep my hopes up. I knew Rome hadn’t been built in a day, and all good things came to those who waited. But, really, I was sick of waiting!
Firing up the Internet browser, I began my daily search once more, looking at job listings on every website I could find, in hopes that something new would pop up.
Yesterday, I’d managed to find a position at the Museum of the City of New York.
It was for the janitorial staff.
I’d nearly applied—until the thought of cleaning restrooms scared me off. I was scared of my own.
The day before, I’d applied for a curator position at a small museum in Brooklyn. I’d rolled my eyes as I hit Submit, knowing full well that I was underqualified for the position, but a girl could dream.
“Are you screwing Roman Cavenaugh?”
My heart nearly stopped as I looked up to find Lauren standing above me, her eyes wide and crazy.
How did she always sneak up on me?
“What?” I played dumb.
“Come with me,” she said, reaching for my hand across the desk.
She didn’t care that it was awkward. She didn’t care that she’d knocked half a dozen things off my desk as she dragged me away.
As I looked back, I happened to catch one parting gift.
Roman.
Briefcase in hand, obviously coming back from his morning meeting. His eyes locked on mine and then on Lauren, and in them, I saw fear.
Empty, raw fear.
The last twenty-four hours felt like a blur.
As I sat on a plane, headed for home, I remembered sitting on a highway years earlier. Traffic wasn’t something we encountered much in our rural area, but when an accident occurred, it was bound to happen.
As my mom and I’d sat in the steamy car under the hot summer sun, waiting for traffic to be diverted, that tiny mind of mine had asked, “Why is everyone driving so slow? If the accident has been pulled off to the side and all the lanes are open… why is everyone slowing down?”
My mom had simply smiled and said, “It’s just human nature. It’s hard to drive past something like that and not look.”
I’d always been frustrated with her answer.
Yet as I’d gotten older and encountered my own accidents and traffic jams, I’d find myself following everyone else, slowing to a near halt on the road to get a good look at the wreckage, to see just what had happened.
To realize… it could have been me.
That was how I’d felt over the last twenty-four hours.
Like a passerby in an automobile accident, observing someone else’s pain.
But the pain and suffering was all mine.
It was all mine.
He’d done this. He’d caused this pain.
And the first thing I had done when I realized this was leave.
I couldn’t face Roman now.
Not yet. Maybe not ever.
Not after the conversation I’d had with Lauren. Not knowing what I knew now.
“Are you sleeping with Roman Cavenaugh?” Lauren asked again, clicking the door to the break room securely in place.
I nervously looked around, realizing we were thankfully alone.
“What is going on?” I asked, clearly diverting.
“You’re not going to answer the question? Fine. I’ll do the talking then,” she snapped, pacing back and forth, like a furious caged tiger. “I was top of my class. I had my pick of jobs. I could have gone anywhere, but I came here. I’m smart as hell. The Cavenaughs are lucky to have me. Well, Roman might not feel that way after today.” She laughed.
“Lauren? You’re not making any sense,” I said, taking a step forward.
Maybe the stress of work had gotten to her. Maybe she needed a break. I knew she never liked Roman much, but this? This was like watching someone go manic.
“I’ve been watching him.”
“Who? Roman?” I asked, suddenly fearful.
“Yes. I’ve always known he was a shady guy, but I never knew how bad it was. This? This goes beyond what I thought he was capable of. He was there, Cara,” she said, her eyes blazing. “He set the whole thing up.”
“I don’t understand.”
“The night Tyler cheated on you. He made it happen.”
My body froze.
“He was the one who brought it up to me in the first place. He never speaks to me. He never speaks to anyone really. So, when he suddenly started a conversation with me about your boyfriend at the meeting that day, I thought it was odd. Beyond odd. So, I watched him… financially speaking. I have access to pretty much everything accounting does. A few weeks later, the night Tyler kicked you out of your apartment, he was there. At the strip club. He was stupid enough to use his business credit card for the drink he bought.”
I swallowed audibly.
“That doesn’t mean anything,” I said defensively.
“He knows the stripper, Cara.”
“That still doesn’t mean—”
She laughed, almost painfully. “Are you so enamored by him that you would actually stand here and defend him? Think about it—logically. If you don’t believe me, go ask him yourself.”
And so I had.
Turned out, Lauren was pretty damn smart.
And I was an idiot.
While Roman might not have forced the stripper on Tyler, Roman had persuaded her to hit on him, knowing that he might stumble.
Does Roman know strippers at all the local joints? Or was I just lucky that my boyfriend happened to stumble into the right one?
I really didn’t want to know.
I’d stormed out of his office and never looked back.
I barely remembered the trip to the airport, handing over my luggage and ID in a daze, wanting to fly back to my roots.
Back to my safety net, where everything was easy.
My parents had no idea I was coming. In my haste, I hadn’t bothered calling anyone, even Melissa.
As I exited the small airport, realizing I had no way of actually making it home, I took a left to the small rental car window and got the cheapest car I could, and then I headed west.
Nebraska had already seen its first snow of the year, and much of the ground was covered in bits of leftover snow and ice. I bundled my coat tightly together, wishing I’d packed something warmer, as I lugged my suitcase into the trunk. Knowing the way home like the back of my hand, I found a familiar radio station, silenced my phone, and focused on the road.
The stupid thing about driving alone?
The uninterrupted amount of time it gave you to think.
And thinking was the last thing I wanted to do.
After about an hour and a half, I was in desperate need of a distraction. Fully aware I was about to enter familiar territory, I decided it was time for a food break anyway. Any closer to home, and I’d run the risk of running into familiars, and I wasn’t sure I was ready for that.
Still two towns away, this felt safe.
I pulled into a restaurant I remembered from high school—a dodgy little place that apparently had undergone a recent renovation. It used to be well known for a less than savory reason.
Its real name was The Caddy Shack. What we used to call it when I was young? The Shady Shack.
Although I’d never actually visited, I’d heard rumors. For one reason or another, the restrooms had become legendary.
Not in a name-carving, oh-this-is-a-unique-restroom kind of way.
But in a oh-I-lost-my-virginity-in-that-restroom-too kind of way.
I was guessing the new frilly curtains and flowery wallpaper was a solid effort by the owners to negate that reputation for future generations to come.
I figured, in the light of day, this place and its bad reputation couldn’t do much harm. Plus, I was starving, and besides the bar across the street, this was the only option for miles. I was already showing up at my parents’ door, sad and pathetic because of a boy. I didn’t need to be sad, pathetic, and hungry.
Shutting off the engine, I exited my rental and headed for the door, continuously looking over my shoulder for someone… anyone. I felt like, at any moment, I would run into an old neighbor, my high school English teacher, or the pastor. It was just a matter of time.
And then I’d be plastered with questions.
So many questions.
What are you doing?
Where are you working?
We hear you have a new boyfriend? What’s he like?
What would I say? That I’d just walked out on my job, my boyfriend, and my entire life. That I’d booked the first flight home with my tail between my legs because I was hurting, and all I wanted was my mommy.
I took a deep breath, entering the restaurant and taking the first open table I could find. I did a quick glance around, checking everyone out with silent stealth.
Success!
Not a single face I recognized.
Thank you, Shady Shack.
It didn’t take long for a waitress to serve me, and soon, I was back in fatty heaven, eating a huge steak and mashed potatoes with apple pie and coffee for dessert.
After my record-breaking pig-out, I headed to the restroom before getting back on the road, too blissed out on food to think about anything but getting home. I remembered why I should have waited to pee the second I walked into the ladies’ restroom, hearing heated moans coming from the back stall.
“I told you to lock the door, Marty!”
Marty?
“Well, there wasn’t anyone in the restaurant when we got here, sugar.”
Sugar?
Oh, shit…
“Mom?” I blurted out before my mind warned me otherwise.
“Cara? Is that you?”
Why didn’t I stay silent? Why couldn’t I have just slowly backed away, like any other normal person?
“Surprise,” I said awkwardly, desperately trying not to gag at the thought of my parents doing the nasty at The Shady Shack.
Suddenly, the food I’d just consumed didn’t feel so great, sitting in the bottom of my stomach.
Welcome home, I thought.
Welcome home.
“I wish you had called, honey,” my mom said, handing me a cup of coffee, as she settled onto the sofa next to me. “We would have—”
“Delayed your afternoon plans?” I said, squeezing my eyes shut in a solid attempt to erase the memory from my mind. Hadn’t I endured enough in the last day or so? Hearing my parents get it on in a dirty restroom had to be added to the list?
“I’m sorry about that. It’s just the craziest thing, you know.” She blushed. “Ever since you left, your father and I—”
“Please. Please stop,” I begged, holding my free hand up in protest.
“Okay, okay.” She laughed. “I was just trying to explain.”
“No need. Really, I get it. No more kids—or kid, in your case. You’re shaking things up. As long as you’re happy,” I managed to say, feeling proud of my words.
I was still grossed out—so, so grossed out—but I could find enough maturity in me to be upbeat for my parents.
Growing up, there were times when I’d seen them fight and carry on about one thing or another, and I’d wondered what kept them going. Was it love? Duty?
I was glad to know it was love.
“What brings you home, Cara?” my mother finally asked.
I knew she’d been dying to know the moment she heard my voice calling out to her in that restroom, but she hadn’t said a word until now.
“I needed you,” I simply said.
She smiled, setting her cup of coffee down on the coffee table. “And I’ll always be here. But that’s not the real reason.”
“How did you know Daddy was the one?” I asked, not ready to talk about Roman yet.
She looked out the window to where my father was, laying a fresh coat of salt for the impending inch or two of snow that could fall overnight, and she smiled.
“The first time I tried to imagine life without him, I guess,” she said. “We began dating in college; you know that. But there were a few weeks during our senior year when we broke up. Neither one of us could decide what we wanted to do or where, so rather than make that decision, we just determined a clean break would be best. I walked away, thinking everything would be easier without him. But, as the days went on, there were all these holes in my life where he used to exist. Holes that I’d thought would fill or mend but didn’t. Holes that started to leak tears because I missed him so much.”
“So, you went back to him?”
She shook her head. “He came back to me, filled with the same hollowness that we could only mend if we were together. We might not be the most successful or the most glamorous couple. We’ve led a simple life with plenty of ups and downs. But it’s ours,” she emphasized. “What is this about, Cara? I know you aren’t just curious about your daddy and me.”
I took a long sip of coffee. I smiled to myself because I realized it was the first time my mother had ever made me a cup of coffee. Usually, it was just iced tea or lemonade. Somehow, in the few months I’d been away, I’d transformed into an adult in her eyes, someone she could relax on the sofa with and confide in over coffee.
“I don’t know,” I confessed. “I thought I’d figured it all out, Mom. Everything with Roman… for the first time in my life, it felt so—”
“Right?”
I nodded. “I know we’ve only known each other for a short while, but it just felt exactly right. Not easy or comfortable, like it was with Tyler, but like I’d been waiting for him, and suddenly, there he was.”
“But not anymore?” she asked, warmth in her tone.
“No, that’s the problem. It would be much simpler if I didn’t feel this way… if I could just walk away and never look back. Even though I’m mad and hurt, I still want to run back to him. Why is that?”
“The heart can’t toss aside what it wants just because you’re hurting.”
I shook my head. “You don’t know what he did. You don’t understand.”
And so I made her understand.
I told her everything. From the very beginning.
I didn’t leave anything out—well, maybe the steamy bits. We’d shared enough of that for a lifetime. But the feelings I had for him, the guilt I felt for having feeling for my boss, Tyler’s betrayal… the blissful month that had followed with Roman.
And the day that had ended it all.
She listened patiently, asking questions and nodding her head at the appropriate times. When I’d finished, she took her time in formulating a response. I watched her hands reach for her lukewarm coffee, tenderly wrapping her hands around the worn cup, as she found the words that would no doubt make all the pain go away.
That was why I was here. To make the pain go away.
Moms did that after all. It was their superpower.
“What are you most mad about?”
I looked at her, dumbfounded. That wasn’t supposed to be her response. She was supposed to open her mouth and spout words of wisdom and superior knowledge, making me all better in a single sentence.
Instead, I got this?
“What am I most mad about? Everything,” I answered angrily.
“No, you’ve got to be mad about something specific, or you wouldn’t be here, asking me to figure it out for you. You’d be back in New York, fixing it all by yourself.”
I opened my mouth to retaliate and found no words.
Nada.
“So, answer me. Are you mad at Roman for deceiving you? At Tyler for betraying you? Or at yourself for getting into this situation?”
“Me? Why would I be mad at myself?”
“Well, you’ve always praised yourself for being a levelheaded person. We thought it was a little odd that you never had that normal teenage freak-out most kids have, and honestly, we were kind of looking forward to it after a while. We kept waiting for you to announce you were switching colleges and running off to New York to marry Tyler or something equally as crazy. But you never did. You were always so even-keeled. So, maybe this is your moment?”
“You’re comparing this to something a teenager would do?”
“Well, not all of it. But crawling back home when things didn’t go your way? That certainly is.”
“Mom!” I whined. “You’re supposed to fix this!”
“No, I’m not, baby. You left. You packed up your things, moved away, and declared yourself an adult, remember? Now, it’s time to act like one. If you want me to talk to you like the adult I believe you are, I’m happy to do that, but stop expecting me to fix everything.”
I took a deep breath, realizing she was right.
So right.
I had moved away. Declared myself an adult.
Even I knew, I was being ridiculous. Hiding myself inside my parents’ house wasn’t the answer.
I had made a life in New York, and sooner or later, I’d have to go back.
“I’m mad he didn’t fight for me,” I finally admitted.
“See? Now, we’re getting somewhere. Fight for you how?”
“When I confronted him about everything. I went to him and told him everything Lauren had said to me, and he just sat there, defeated. Like he’d already known exactly what would happen. Like he’d already said good-bye to me.”
My mind flashed back to the night before, how frantic he’d been one minute as we made love, only to stop and savor each second after.
Maybe he’d already said good-bye.
“You didn’t want it to end then? Despite what he did?” my mother asked.
I thought about it, about everything I’d felt over the last twenty-four-plus hours. Hurt, pain, anger, and even fear. I was mad at him. I was angry that he hadn’t just let me figure out my own feelings, so I could have walked away from Tyler when I was ready. Roman had caused me pain by meddling in my breakup with Tyler, this was true, but it was not as much as when I’d walked out of that office door and he hadn’t followed.
He should have followed.
He should have fought for me.
He should have fought for us.
“Can you imagine your life without him? Like I did with your father all those years ago? Can you look ahead—six months from now… a year, three years—and imagine what life would be like without him? Are you happy? Or filled with holes?”
“Holes,” I finally said. “So many holes.”
“Then, you know what to do, sweetheart.” She smiled.
“Yes, but first, I’m going to make him sweat it out for a few days,” I answered with a slight smirk.
“Attagirl.”
If he wouldn’t fight, I would.
Because we deserved a future together. Without holes.
Without regrets.
I stuck to my promise—for the most part.
After about thirty-six hours of family time, watching my parents’ rekindled love for each other… all over the house, I decided it was time to go home.
Funny… that was the first time I’d considered New York home.
I’d packed up my suitcase, kissed my parents on the cheeks, promised to return in a few weeks for Christmas, and boarded a plane for home.
Ready to reclaim my life.
And my man.
But, so far, I hadn’t done either.
I’d had every intention of dropping off my things, marching back out of that apartment, and heading straight for Roman’s, ready to talk some sense into him.
How dare he let me walk away!
I was a damn good catch.
But the minute I’d entered my apartment, the weight of everything that had happened sank back in. Deep into my bones. And I felt the courage and bravery my visit home had instilled in me melting into the floorboards.
The apartment felt different.
Foreign.
I’d always considered the tiny place a consolation prize I’d won fair and square after the less than amicable parting between Tyler and me. But, now, knowing the truth, it suddenly felt all wrong.
Would Tyler have cheated at all if he hadn’t been pushed?
I thought back to all the nights he’d come home late at night, smelling of cheap perfume and expensive booze.
Had Roman just expedited a forgone conclusion? Or had he made Tyler a cheater?
I knew, after my few days of soul-searching in the Midwest, I would have eventually left Tyler, no matter what the reason.
We were wrong for each other.
My feelings for Roman, a man completely Tyler’s opposite, had only proven that further.
Roman had brought out a side of myself that I loved exploring. He’d made me feel daring and beautiful without changing me in the process. Tyler had always been my safe, conventional boyfriend. We’d worked until we hadn’t.
I wasn’t brave enough to admit it.
Tyler had just tried to mold me into someone else.
It had been a disaster in the making. I knew that now. It still hurt to know Roman’s part in it all.
But I hadn’t blindly gone into this relationship. Although I might have fallen for my boss rather hastily, it didn’t mean I was under the foolish impression of what kind of man he was.
I knew him.
All of him.
That was why, out of everything that had transpired, knowing he’d let me go hurt the worst.
Because my Roman? My Roman would have fought.
As the sun set on another day, I knew I wouldn’t make it out of that dark apartment. It was still too soon. But I couldn’t help but want to be close to him.
Grabbing a glass of wine, I sat myself down on the floor in front of the small coffee table still leftover from my days with Tyler. It had been one of my flea-market finds during the first few weeks I’d arrived. Tyler had been bored out of his mind, wandering from seller to seller, bargaining over what he considered junk. To me, it was history, part of someone’s life.
And, now, it was a part of mine.
I lovingly fanned my hand out over the worn wood, admiring each ding and scratch, knowing there was a story or two behind each one. It was the perfect place to discover the stories of the Cavenaugh family.
Ever since the boxes had arrived, I’d set up camp right here on this small table. Not having the space for a proper dining room table, this was the largest work area I had—besides the floor or the kitchen, and I would not allow dirt or food anywhere near these precious documents and photos.
Keeping my wine a good distance away, I took up where I’d left off—somewhere around the turn of the century.
But, for some reason, it didn’t interest me the way it had.
It wasn’t him, and tonight, I really needed Roman.
Going against my highly organized brain, I set the box aside and started searching.
Searching for Roman.
It didn’t take long. Mrs. Cavenaugh had sent everything. Every photo, diploma, and document she had all the way back to Patrick Kavanaugh—the first ancestor from Ireland. I loved that it was spelled differently—the researcher in me wanted to know why.
I spent hours going through Roman’s baby albums and high school yearbooks and reading every mention of him his mother had clipped from the papers. It was completely unorganized, like she’d said, with a mixture of Roman and Jude in several boxes, but I enjoyed it all.
Jude was exactly as Roman had described, studious and determined, while Roman had managed to excel in sports and various other activities.
I spent an entire hour sifting through newspaper clippings, sorting the boys.
Jude’s pile was quite impressive, and I couldn’t help but read a few articles. Most were from his high school paper, an elite prep school I’d never heard of. I focused on one, smiling at a young Jude looking quite bored on a stage with several of his peers. He was a stark contrast to the tattooed hottie he was today. But I could tell it was him by the eyes. He and Roman had very similar eyes.
Just as I was about to set article aside and search for more photos of a young Roman, something caught my eye. A hint of light-colored hair. The way she was looking at him.
I grabbed my magnifying glass immediately.
Every proper historian had a magnifying glass after all.
Looking deep into the old photo, I found her.
Lauren Drake.
I remembered her mentioning when we’d met that she’d briefly attended the same school as Jude. Apparently, that was actually true. Now completely interested in my little find, I read the rest of the article, noting several other pictures had been included.
Nothing about the article was particularly interesting. Just an honors ceremony. A list of awardees, including Jude and Lauren.
Bummer.
With my trusty magnifying glass in hand, I moved on to other pictures, finding nothing of interest, until I came to the last picture. It was an after shot of a parent and a student I didn’t recognize, happily posing for the camera.
That wasn’t the interesting part though.
The background was what had my jaw dropping.
Roman’s father was grabbing the arm of another woman.
Looking closely at the photograph, I gasped.
There would be no sleep for me tonight.