Home to You (39 page)

TEN DAYS. IT HAD BEEN ten days of living without Jake. Ten days of sorrow, heartache, and a hurt so deep that tears wouldn’t even surface. But ten days felt like an eternity without him. An eternity because even though we’d lived apart for three years, I always knew he was there for me. But now, sitting on the couch in Em’s dark living room, the bright display of my phone the only light in the room, I couldn’t even bear to look at his texts. Bear the thought of listening to his messages, and even the sight of his name on the screen made me nauseated.

I didn’t hate him. The complete opposite. I loved him so much I felt crippled by it. So much that in the wee hours of the night, I began to doubt everything I saw, regret everything I said.

He’d left me alone for five days, and that was when he began calling. In my heart, I knew he deserved to be heard, but I wasn’t strong enough yet. I’d been through too much in the past few weeks, and I didn’t know my mind anymore. Let alone trust my judgment enough to know if he was telling the truth.

Exasperated, I gripped the bridge of my nose, and read Rick’s email for the tenth time.

Ms. McGregor,

You’re either in, or you’re out.

I need you to do a shoot for me tomorrow evening. I’ll give you until midnight.

Rick

Simple and direct. Either I went to work, or he’d find someone else. I had twenty minutes left to decide.

Fuck.
The tune of
Jeopardy!
played in my head. I wasn’t ready, but what could I do? My excuse about the bruises didn’t hold water any longer, and deep down I knew I had to move on. Em had been nothing but gracious, but I couldn’t live with her forever. I had to face my life and pick up the pieces that were left for me.

Keys jingling in the lock pulled my attention, and Em’s hourglass silhouette appeared in the doorway.
 

“You’re still up,” she stated, then closed the door behind her.
 

“Yeah.”
 

She flicked on the kitchen light, gestured to the phone in my hand, and asked the question she’d asked at least a dozen times since I’d moved in. “Did you talk to him?”

My shoulders slumped. I didn’t have to say anything—my silence was answer enough.
 

She nodded, kicked off her heels, and pulled a pint of
Häagen-Dazs
Dulce De Leche out of the freezer.  

“How was your date?” I asked, needing to change the subject. She cared about me, she cared about Jake. I understood that. But I wasn’t ready.
 

She shrugged, took two spoons out of the drawer, and joined me on the couch. “You can’t avoid him forever.” Her voice soft and pleading. “If you only knew how much he was hurting—”

“Him?” I cut her off, my chest so tight that I could barely speak. “Do you think this has been easy for
me
?” I was dying inside. Could she not see that?

I stood up and began pacing the floor. Trying to get a grip on my emotions before I said something stupid. “Do you think I like
this
?” I waved my hand over my body, still in the boxers and T-shirt I’d worn to bed the night before, the hair I hadn’t washed in three days. “But I need to move on, Em. It’s better this way. It’s better it ends now than in ten years when I wouldn’t be able to survive.”
 

“Oh, because you’re surviving so well right now?” She didn’t yell, but her voice was firmer than I’d ever heard before.
 

I stopped and covered my quivering lips with my fingers. I wanted her to see my pain only a minute ago, but now I felt vulnerable—weak.
 

“Katie, he loves you…”

I closed my eyes, trying to shut her out. To go to the blank place in my head that kept me from feeling the magnitude of my hurt. But she wouldn’t stop.

“Do you know how we met?”
 

I didn’t answer, but she continued anyway. “We were both shit-faced in a bar, and he kept talking about this girl. A girl who was beautiful, and smart, and the only person in the world who knew the real him. The girl he was too stupid to hold on to.
 

“I was suspicious when he told me about his friend
Katie
who was moving in with him, but when I saw the way he looked at you when he thought no one was watching...I knew. He’d been talking about
you.
He loves you.”
 

I wiped at tears with the back of my hand. “He was mourning the loss of his best friend.”
 

“Yeah,
you
.”
 

I shook my head.
 

“You know the code to his house?” She continued. “
Five four eight, five two eight
? That’s you, Katie.
Kit Kat
.”
 

I turned to face her. Tears clouded my vision, and she pulled me into her arms. “Just talk to him.”
 

But I couldn’t. I wasn’t ready. I needed my heart to heal. I needed to get over him first… “I can’t.”

She didn’t push me any further. I think she sensed I’d had enough. But as I sat on the couch after she went to bed, I realized she was right. I wasn’t surviving. I was wallowing in hurt, self-pity, and it was time for me to get over it.
 

I picked up my phone from the coffee table and punched in my reply to Rick.
 

We need to talk. Meet me tomorrow, 10 a.m. Starbucks on Melrose and Fairfax.

Katie

Part of me feared I was making a big mistake, but the other part was proud. I was taking a stand for myself, and I wouldn’t back down.

I forced myself to take a shower, dressed in fresh pajamas and climbed in beside the already-sleeping Em. My hand found the sea glass under my pillow, and my stomach twisted in knots about my future. Consumed with all the things Em had told me about Jake I began to think—had it really been me he’d told her about all those years ago? I rolled over on my side, grabbed my phone from the nightstand, and punched out the code Jake had given me the first day I’d come home. Five four eight, five two eight.
 

 
Kit Kat.
 

Parked in front of Starbucks the next day, I glanced to my makeup-clad face in the rearview mirror, then covered the remaining bruises with a pair of sunglasses. Rick’s curt reply had been waiting for me when I woke up that morning.
 

O.K.

That was it. No signature. No nothing, and my stomach had been in knots ever since. I fished some change from my bag, climbed out of my car, and fed coins in the meter. My eyes locking on Rick right way. He was leaning back in a chair the way he’d been the first time we met. He looked exactly the same: designer jeans, white linen shirt, his legs stretched out in front of him. But this time
I
was different. This time I wouldn’t be intimidated. I might not have control over whom I fell in love with, but I was in total control over my career.
 

“Rick,” I said in greeting as I approached the table.
 

“Ms. McGregor.” He sat up. “Can I get you something to drink?”
 

He started to stand, but I shook him off and sat in the chair across from him. I wasn’t here for coffee. I would say my piece, and if he didn’t like it, I didn’t need a reason to have to stick around.
 

He eyed me over, and I touched the rim of my glasses, hoping their camouflage was large enough to cover the still-yellowed bruise.
 

“I’ve come to negotiate.” I cleared my throat and sucked in a breath before I spoke again. “I’ll take the job, but I won’t be your beck and call girl.” My tone was firm, final, confident; I was proud of myself.
 

He sat back in his chair, his dark brow cocked, but he actually grinned a little. Not in facetious way—he looked happy. “Go on.”   

“I’ll require twenty-four hours notice, and there
will
be times I say no. I have my own clients, and they come first.”
 

He pressed his fingers to his lips, considering me. “And if I don’t agree?”
 

I sat a little straighter. “Then you’ll have to find someone else.”
 

He grinned—wide and casual. “You surprise me, Ms. McGregor. All the time, you surprise me.”
 

Relief flooded me, and my shoulders relaxed a little. He surprised me, too. I wasn’t sure what I’d been expecting, but this wasn’t it.  

He sat forward again. “What makes you think I’ll agree to this?”
 

“Because I’m good. You said so yourself.” I hoped it was true. I needed the money, but I wouldn’t put my own clients second.
 

He chuckled. “So I did.” He took a sip from his paper cup. “I’m usually more guarded than that.” The right corner of his mouth lifted. “Fine. I’ll give you twenty-four hours.” He braced his elbows, then sat forward. “Now, tell me what happened to your face.”
 

I shouldn’t have been surprised. He was a photographer; his job required him to notice details—but there was genuine concern in his eyes I didn’t know what to do with. It was in that moment, staring into the questioning eyes of my boss, that I realized I’d misjudged Rick Henderson. Yes, he was odd, gruff, but I sensed he really cared about my well being.
 

I didn’t know why, maybe because I needed someone to talk to, or maybe because in that moment I saw him as a friend, but I opened up to him. I told him about all that transpired after I left him at the wedding. About finding Grace, Kevin’s attack, all my uncertainty about Jake, my future—and he listened.
Only
listened. He didn’t offer advice, didn’t tell me what to do or whom to call. And it was exactly what I needed.
 

A WEEK LATER, I PLACED my mug in the center console and checked the address Rick sent me again. This was only the second job he’d given me after our conversation at Starbucks, and I was still nervous as hell. I would’ve been nervous under any circumstance, but the field before me looked like the kind you’d see on CNN in a missing-persons report. A deep-set panic churned in my belly, but I pushed my fears aside. My job description could easily be “Single girl for hire, ready to meet you in any abandoned or secluded location of choice. Will bring incredibly overpriced equipment for your disposal.” I needed to get over my fears.

I threw the car in park and pulled the visor down to check my reflection. There was a hint of a yellow bruise on my left cheek, but with the disguise of makeup, you could barely see it. My hair was brushed and pulled back into a high ponytail, and I was dressed in my normal photography garb. Black slacks, black top, and comfortable shoes. Nothing fancy, but it was a vast improvement from the state I was in only days ago.

As much as I wanted to hide away, I couldn’t run scared anymore. Kevin was behind bars and the likelihood of a psychopath booking a photographer just so he could kill her in broad daylight was slim to none. Regardless, I made a mental note to sign up for a self-defense class before I climbed out of the car.   

A couple parked cars sat beside mine, but I was twenty minutes early and didn’t see any sign of the client anywhere. The field was overgrown and golden from the summer sun, and a bank of trees swayed off in the distance.
 

Something fragrant and earthy hit my nose, and I let my thoughts linger on in the cool breeze. The sun was low in the sky, and its amber light was cast over everything it touched. Just then, off in the distance, a flash of color caught my eye high above the tree line.
Red.
I squinted, and stepped to the side to get a better look. Maybe it wasn’t the field I was here for after all.
 

Damn.
I fired off a text to Rick asking for more details, but nervous flutters began to beat away in my abdomen, and I knew I needed to investigate.

The crisp weeds crackled under my feet as I moved across the field. Spurs from foxtails clung to my wool slacks, and I became nervous about holes and snakes I was sure lingered under the brush.
 

When I looked up again, there behind the tall trees were a whole rainbow of colors. A patchwork illuminated by the setting sun. The hot air balloon was secured to a large wicker basket with its door swung wide open and tethers anchoring it to the ground.