Chapter Twenty-Three

Carina

SHE CALLED ME. I didn’t answer, so Megan left a voicemail. The boot camp class was practically empty today and it’s a good thing. I was angry. Angry that when I finally tried to move on and had gone a few minutes without thinking of Smith, her call reminded me of everything I try to forget. I’m fooling myself to think anything will take his memory away. The voicemail she left was vague, only that it was important that we meet up to talk. I text her that she can meet me at a café in Gaslamp in ten. There’s no way she’ll meet me on such short notice. It’s my hope anyways.

The drive to the coffee shop I’ve been writing in is a short distance from the gym and from my house. It just opened back up a couple weeks ago and it’s always quiet. Most people still stay home as much as possible. Those with full-time jobs have returned and sometimes I forget 9/11 happened. It’s only a brief memory lapse, though. So much has changed. The way society functions is warped completely. Not for the better. There are metal detectors everywhere and there are still checkpoints along freeways and state borders. Airlines are so strict that it’s almost quicker to drive wherever you need to travel. Civilian militias have formed in backwoods communities and even in some large cities.

Our borders have been closed since the attack and families have been separated all this time. The news still plays constantly, but now stories of Americans trapped in other countries trickle into the mainstream. It’s sad. It’s reality. The television in the café is playing such a story right now. My phone buzzes when I take a seat by the window. It’s a guy I’ve been seeing confirming our plans for tonight. It’s the fourth date and he’s expecting to get laid.

My friends approve of him, but it’s not quite right. Nothing will ever be just so, though. Smith ruined that. Our relationship clogs everything. Taking a sip of my iced black coffee, I open my laptop and start writing an outline for the next chapter I’m working on. It’s a thriller, something completely different. I almost didn’t even want to give my heroine a love interest, but Jaz threatened my life and when it’s all said and done she knows what’s going to sell. A blonde approaches in my peripheral vision and I know who it is before I glance out the window. She still has the it factor. The thing that draws attention from men and women alike. Men want to love her and women want to be her.

She sees me and waves. It’s a small gesture that doesn’t line up with the scowl on her face. She bypasses the counter and heads straight for my table. “If I thought you would actually show up I would have changed,” I say, wrinkling my nose. “I came from the gym,” I explain.

Her hair is glossy and has grown back in. Makeup can’t hide her scars or the rough, red, uneven skin, but it’s easy to not notice it. “It’s important.”

I eye her bare ring finger.

“Obviously,” I reply, closing my laptop and folding my arms on top of it. “No coffee. This must be really bad.”

“An attorney called the house attempting to schedule a meeting with Smith about your book,” Megan explains.

I feel her staring at my face as she speaks. I keep my gaze focused out of the window.

“He mentioned that you wouldn’t be at the meeting.”

I nod. “It’s for the best if I’m not there. I’m confused. Why are you upset? We live in the same city and I’m doing everything I can to avoid Smith…and you.” I contemplated moving away, setting up shop in some Pacific Northwestern town. Somewhere I could wear rain boots every day of the year and drink chai tea, and do yoga, and sleep outside if I felt like it. A place I could start over away from everything in my past. “I’m not ready to move yet. I will, I think. Eventually.” That way Smith won’t haunt every corner and every single favorite place in this city. Living in the house is bad enough, but I haven’t been able to return to Balboa Park either.

Megan untucks her hair from behind her ear so it hides the side of her face. I have to look away. “He says I’m supposed to plan the wedding, Carina. He reassures me a million times a day that he’s excited and can’t wait to get married to me. Every single night he stares at the ceiling, oblivious of everything and anyone around him. It’s not bad memories either. It’s you. You live in my house. You live inside him. It doesn’t matter if I marry him. He’s owned by you.”

My breath hitches. This is unexpected. Smith didn’t count on Megan rebelling away from his master moral plan. “Does he know you’re here?”

“Of course not. Do you know how jealous he’d be if he did know?” She scoffs. It’s a high-pitched noise made out of annoyance. Rubbing her hands together, she says, “I can just see his face when I tell him where I’ve been. He’ll pretend to be mad, but then he’ll ask me questions. Not because he’s curious, because he’s addicted to you and like a junkie, he wants any piece of you he can get. I’m not an idiot.”

“Why do you stay? If you know…then why?” My mouth is dry. “You’re not an idiot, Megan.”

She motions to her face and body. “Look at me. Even if I didn’t look like a burn victim poster child, my heart has always belonged to him. When he came to me and told me he remembered I thought it would go back to the way it was before. You have to understand because you know him—I had to give it another chance. He’s been my love for my whole life. That’s not something you let go of easily. You fight for the important things in life. Giving him another chance was my weak attempt at fighting for us. I didn’t anticipate one thing.”

“What?”

“That what he feels for you doesn’t even touch what he felt for me at the height of our love.” Her eyes turn down in the corner. She covers her mouth to hide a sob. “Competing is exhausting. We have years of memories and your months with him are enough to take me out completely. He lies to protect my feelings. He doesn’t think I know. I’m not sure how he can be so oblivious. He’s pining. He’s broken.”

I brush away a tear with my pointer finger. The news in the background barks out a warning about the militia staging a protest in D.C. They have guns and signs. I take in a breath. I can’t focus. “What do you want me to do? I’ve moved on. I’m done. He made his choice.”

“You don’t love him?” she asks. “Tell him then. In person. That you don’t love him.”

I close my eyes to try to block out the background noise. I can’t understand what she wants and the things she’s saying are confusing me beyond belief. Megan presses her lips together in a firm line. It reminds me of Smith. The way one half of his face is perfect and the other half is marred by scars. Megan’s face looks different than his, but it has the same feeling. Beautiful destruction.

“The meeting. You want me to go,” I say. This has to be why she began the conversation with it. When she sniffles and then nods I go on. “He won’t believe me.”

“Because you do love him.”

It’s my turn. “It doesn’t go away. I will tell him I don’t love him. That he needs to move on with his life, but you need to plan for this to go badly. The last time I saw him...” I explain, trailing off. I didn’t mean to go this far, but now that I’m here I might as well be honest. “He said a lot things.”

“Oh, God. I knew it. How am I supposed to get over him again?” When I do, I’ll let you know, I think.

“Don’t. Live with it. I’m done. I’ll contact my attorney and let him know I’ll be there. It’s to sign the final paperwork for the book and movie options and his percentage shares. If he approaches me, I’ll tell him anything you want me to.”

“Thank you,” she whispers. “It won’t be enough. That’s my fear.” She is so self-conscious it’s hard to be around her. The way she fidgets and looks down. It reminds me of the woman I used to be. That’s the real reason I want to get out of here as quickly as possible. That, and this new information about how sad Smith is. I think deep down every woman wants to know her ex is miserable after a break-up. They say nice things such as wishes for their happiness, but it’s a surface truth. Because if their ex is happy then something must be fundamentally wrong with them and how they conduct their relationships. Humans are selfish to the core.

“This is hard. It’s hard for everyone involved, but you have options. You’re beautiful despite what you see in the mirror. You are the same person. You have so much going for you that any man would be lucky to have you. Smith has to see that.”

She shakes her head. “I have to go. I’m glad to see you doing so well,” she says.

I look down at my sweat soaked workout gear and smirk at her, raising one brow. “Thanks, I think. Sometimes you have to ask questions. Even hard ones,” I explain. “It goes along with the communication clause, you know?”

I hope she knows what I mean. If things are as bad as she says they are, nothing is saving their relationship. After she leaves, I call my attorney and schedule the meeting for the soonest available. The thought of seeing Smith sends butterflies to my stomach and my core clenches. I wonder how long he’ll have this hold on me.

“Forever,” I whisper. Opening my laptop, I write a scene between my characters. They fight and yell and then they make love. For a moment, I feel better.

****

I’m shaking. The office is cold and smells like fresh donuts. My attorney, the fat bald guy who Jaz uses to vet all my contracts, is sitting at the head of the table, prattling on about how awesome it is that we had so many high-priced offers for the novel. I’m also shaking because Jasmine mailed Smith a copy of the book last week. He’s read it.

He’s read my words. My scary, heartrending words. His stories, but my words swirled with fiction in a love story so tragic and beautiful that Hollywood has never seen the likes of. Obviously, hence the reason we’re here to begin with. Jasmine presses her hand in mine. “You look beautiful, Care,” she says, her lips whispering close to my ear. The blinds are open, letting in enough sunlight to brighten the room. With a shaky hand, I sip my coffee. “No more coffee or you’re going to buzz right out of here,” Jasmine chides. I slide the cup away from me.

“You’re right,” I reply, checking my watch. “He should be here any moment. Do you think he’s going to be mad?” I look at my friend, eyes wide and terror transforming my whole demeanor.

She shakes her head. “He was always going to read it. He had to. Remember in the beginning when you started this whole crazy project? You wanted to help people. You wanted to write a story that would mean something to someone. He’s that someone you have the most chance of impacting. The whole world is going to read this story and you need to get used to that fact. Smith is just one of the firsts.”

My heart pounds and the palms of my hands sweat with unease and uncertainty. Moose walks in, with the same terrified look on his face. “Thank God! Finally! I thought you weren’t going to show,” I say. Standing, I leap into his arms to hug him. “They’ll be here any minute. Are you ready for this?”

“Hi to you too, Carina. You’re insane if you think this is a good idea. I almost didn’t come in. I circled the parking lot fifteen times while saying aloud every reason this was going to end badly.” Today he has more to lose than I do.

I swallow hard. “This is the last chance, Moose. And no one will think it’s odd you’re here. Your character is a huge part in the story, remember? Isn’t part of your job description to go with the flow? Form a plan while a horrendous situation is unfolding?”

A sidelong smirk appears. I knew I should play on his strengths. Moose likes his ego stroked. “They’re controlled messes, though. Usually ones we create ourselves,” he replies.

“But I did create this mess. I’m enacting you as king’s hand. Clean thy mess and confess thy sins,” I say, joking. His blue eyes twinkle with mirth. When his dimples show, I know I have him. “You have to be at least a little bit excited?”

“More like ready for the biggest letdown of my life, but hey, in the spirit of your book. One in which you spill so many details and tenuous secrets about my best friend and his bedroom habits, I’m willing to play ball.”

It never occurred to me Smith would have spoken to Moose about the book. “Oh, God. What did he say?” I blink a few times very slowly. I’m pretty sure it’s a defense mechanism because all of a sudden I feel faint, my vision morphing into a tunnel.

The door creaks open to my back and the time is finally here. Moose flashes me a grin and turns a megawatt, exuberant smile at the door. Megan. “I’m sure he’ll tell you himself,” he says, through clenched teeth.

He puts his hand on my shoulder as I spin. Jasmine joins us to my left. All air leaves the room when I see him. I can’t put up a wall or even false pretenses around this man. Smith forces a smile when he sees Moose, but I watch the confusion and hesitance arrive in the same breath. Smith avoids looking at me, which makes it even more awkward because it’s so obvious he’s trying not to look at me. With one arm he’s holding Megan around her waist, like he alone is keeping her standing, but in the other he’s holding my book. The spine bent as if it’s been through the dryer seventeen times in one week. My heart jolts and I feel I may be sick right here on the carpet in front of everyone. One glance at Megan’s face and I know she’s read it. What type of horrendous torture must that have been for her? I can’t even imagine the pain it caused. The anger. The absolute terror of realizing how in love someone else is with her fiancé.

“What are you doing here?” Smith asks Moose. He’s so stunning, standing tall and proud with the air of confidence only worn by those who claim it truthfully. It makes me weak. The last thing I need right now is any form of weakness.

Jasmine squeezes my hand. “I asked him to be here. He plays a large part in Greenleigh’s novel and in turn the character will play a large part in any future movie role. Our attorneys have cut him into the deal as well.”

Moose squeezes my shoulder. I hadn’t told him that yet. It’s a thank you for being here today. The least I can do with my pain money I don’t need. That’s what I refer to it as now. Looking at the cover alone makes me squeamish.

“What she said,” Moose replies.

Smith doesn’t buy. Not even for a second.

Megan watches me so intently that I feel like an actress putting on a show. Do I look pretty enough? Am I missing a line? “Please sit down. Let’s get the process going,” the attorney says. Smith and Megan sit across the table from Moose, Jasmine, and me. Smith’s attorney meanders in and makes his way to a seat near Megan and opens his files. When we’re all seated Smith drops the book in the middle of the long conference table. The loud thud makes everyone jump.

I swallow, close my eyes, and take a few beats to clear my head. He’s so angry I can feel his tremors from across the room.

“Never Forever,” Smith says, quoting the title.

I open my eyes, but he’s pointing a glare at Jasmine. It’s meant for me, but he won’t risk that move. He doesn’t intend to make this any harder on himself.

“A Navy SEAL’s tale of loss, love, and honor.” He reads the tag line through gritted teeth.

“It was beautiful,” Megan says, already tearful. Great. This is how it’s going to go. I turn to my attorney and give him a nod. Make this fast.

He starts in on his speech about the contracts and percentages and all of the other boring math things that go over my head, but are too important to ignore. No one else is listening. They’re too busy tasting the air so thick you can cut through it with a knife. The tension is so visceral that no one is unaffected.

Megan speaks over the bald man. “I said it was beautiful.” So, it begins.

Jasmine sighs. “It’s incredibly beautiful. They’re already billing it this generation’s Romeo and Juliet,” she replies to Megan. “Carina wouldn’t budge on the title. I think it suits it fine enough. It’s simple so people will remember it, yet it still remains integral to the story.”

Smith’s hand shakes as he reaches out for the worn-out proof copy of the book, but ultimately merely lays a hand on top of it. Like a Bible. “This wasn’t what I expected,” he says. “It’s…it’s…too much.”

“Too much what?” I ask, willing him to turn his gaze my way.

He doesn’t, though. He slides it back in front of his chest. His resolve is faltering. I see the cracks in his front. He knows how much this will cost. The price has never been higher. Still, he doesn’t realize Megan already knows. It’s why she’s crying, a mess of tears and insolence as she stares at our story, now a tangible item lying in front of her.

“I don’t want any money from this. I know my name won’t be associated with it, but that’s the only thing I care about. I want to leave today being reassured that this will never come back to me. No matter how big this thing blows up, I don’t want to be this person.” He speaks to me while looking at Jasmine at the same time pointing to the cover of the book.

“You are that person. You can’t pretend you’re not. The rest of the world will never know, Smith. But you will. And that’s the only thing that matters,” I say.

He stares to the right, his jaw working back and forth.

Megan looks at me, her makeup stained face a wash of confusion. “What do you mean?” she asks.

“Why are you so upset with your portrayal, Smith? Look at me,” I command. When he doesn’t budge I yell, “Look at me! You owe me that much!”

Finally he turns, and I see the wetness in his eyes—the burning rage. “Because it’s not fiction,” he says. “Because you told the truth.” His words are laced with pain and everyone in the room silences. In this moment it feels as if the air we’re all breathing is too loud.

I nod. “That’s right. I did. It’s our story and you chose the ending. Megan,” I say, bouncing my gaze back to her. “Moose has something he wants to tell you.”

Smith slits his eyes as he glares at his friend.

Moose opens his folded hands and then clasps them again. “Everyone loves a good underdog story, right?”

“I’m confused,” Megan replies. “Don’t you have something to say, Carina?”

“I’m not telling any lies today, or ever again. I’m sorry. This right here is the table of truth. Let Moose finish.”

Jasmine grabs my leg under the table. We’re both a ball of nerves. If I were a smarter person who had a knack for planning I would have had security here with big, metal sticks. Megan looks at Moose, wipes a few tears from beneath her eyes, and flashes him a small smile.

It gives him the confidence he needs. “I’ve been in love with you for longer than I care to admit,” Moose starts. He looks at his friend across the table.

Smith stands, turns around, and stares out of the window, both hands perched on his hips. Megan stays glued to her seat, her wide beautiful eyes enraptured.

I puff out a breath between closed lips.

Moose stands. “I loved you when he loved you. Before the accident. I know it was wrong and I never would have admitted these feelings to you under any other circumstance, but I want you, Megan.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Smith mutters loud enough for the whole room to hear. He doesn’t turn around, though—his back broad and his stance wide.

“Oh my God,” my attorney says.

I shut him up with a glare, and he takes a seat, eyes flicking back and forth between Smith and Moose. Jasmine giggles. It’s unfolding exactly how I knew it would.

“I wanted you when you were standing next to him at BUD/S graduation, and when you stood by him through every deployment. The envy I felt at watching you love him is something I’m not proud of.”

Megan stands and rounds the table slowly.

He goes on. I smile. Smith remains unmoving.

“When I saw his feelings change I thought yours might too. It was a shot in the dark because how do you penetrate a heart that’s belonged to only one person? Maybe I didn’t have to. Maybe your heart would recognize I’ve been there all along.”

Jasmine leans over. “Soap opera bullshit at its finest,” she snarks.

I shush her. Finally, Smith turns around. Just in time to see Megan stop in front of Moose. I can’t read his expression, but if I had to guess it was indifference and relief, also just as I predicted.

“Why didn’t you say something sooner? You were there for me all that time and I always thought it was because Smith asked you to.” Why would a man in love ask his best friend to be there for his woman? Megan is beyond blinded at this point. It’s sad.

Moose shakes his head. “I wanted to be there for you and I prayed Smith wouldn’t catch on.”

“Enough,” Smith says, cutting an arm through the air. “I’ve assumed this for a long time.” He crosses his arms and if possible, stands taller. “Why not come to me first? Why not tell me first? Your best friend.” He enunciates the words best friend harshly.

“What type of best friend would I be if I admitted feelings for your fiancée? I’ve lived with this for so long it’s become second nature. Telling you was something I never planned on doing. Seeing her happy was the only thing that mattered.”

Megan’s face right now as she gazes at Moose is that of the sun saying hello to the moon for the first time. Relieved. She’s tired. He’s sanctuary.

Moose turns back to face Megan. “And you aren’t happy right now. You haven’t been truly happy since Smith’s accident. Admit it. I know I make you happy. You laugh and smile when we hang out. I can make you happy. Please let me make you happy.”

Megan sobs and covers her face with both hands. When she’s had a moment she looks at Smith. Smith looks at the floor. “He’s right. It’s true. I love him. He does make me happy.” There it is. The simple words I hoped for, but never in a million years envisioned her saying out loud in a room full of people. I thought this conversation would play out in private. “I don’t know how this happened,” she says.

Moose goes to wipe away a tear from her face, but thinks better of it and fists his palm by his side.

I stand, tears running down my own face. Jasmine follows quickly, her hand still entwined with mine. “Finally. Finally someone gets a happily ever after inside this nightmare,” I say, closing my eyes and letting a sad smile creep onto my face. “I’ve signed all the paperwork. Smith, if you could do the same this will be finished.”

“Why did you do this, Carina?” he snarls.

It’s my turn to turn my back. I clear my throat. Jasmine walks to hug Megan and it’s to give me some semblance of peace with my thoughts. You never say the right thing when you need to. It’s the curse of a writer.

“I didn’t do anything. Your absence did this. You have no one to blame but yourself. Sometimes life throws curveballs and you adjust. I think that hanging onto the past is a good thing, until it turns into a detriment in your real life and your future. That’s what happened to me. I became the things that happened to me in my youth.” A tear falls from my chin and lands on the flowered blouse. “The evil translated into personality flaws. Your promises transformed into failed attempts at honor.”

I laugh once. A painful cackle. “And I’m not my past anymore.” Shaking my head, I stand straighter. “Good or bad, the past doesn’t control me.” I turn to Moose. He’s watching me carefully. Like I’m a loaded gun about to fire. “You both deserve each other. Be happy,” I say.

“You only have one life,” I whisper. Mostly for my benefit, but I know Smith heard too. It’s ironic, because he’s had two.