If I Break (13 page)

I stop in front of it, and he looks at me expectantly.

“Okay, what about this one?” I ask him curiously. I watch him as he steps closer and examines the painting.

“
A Sunday at La Grande Jatte
,” he reads.--

“So do you like this one?” I ask him.

He shrugs. “It’s okay,” he says dryly.

“Okay?” I laugh in disbelief. “Georges Seurat was mastering the form of pointillism before it was even thought of, really. These all just started out as dots and look….” I trail off, feeling his body heat behind me. I stop mid-sentence. I feel his warm breath against my neck as he brushes my hair aside with one hand. His other hand finds my waist and his fingers start to slowly slide down it reaching my hip.

“Like I said before,” his fingers trail down my neck as his lips glaze my ear. “I think there are much more interesting things to look at,” he whispers.

Lauren get a grip; just calm down
. I can’t help how my body just reacted to that and he barely touched me, but it was in all the right places. STOP! I fold my arms across my chest, just to make sure he doesn’t see exactly how obviously my body reacted.

“Don’t you think?” He retorts playfully, walking away backwards with a smile. God help me. We’ve only been here an hour and I’m having thoughts about him that really should be more like fourth or fifth date thoughts. I take a deep breath, trying to regain my composure before joining him in front of a huge black-and-white photograph of the ocean.

“This, I like,” he says, gazing into it. I look at it; I’ve never really been into photography, but I have to agree, this is beautiful.

“I can see why,” I state becoming mesmerized by it.

“It’s real. No embellishments or sensors. It’s just what it is,” he says quietly.

“So, what type of drawings do you do?” He breaks the spell and turns his attention back to me.

I smile. “What type of work do you do?”

“A lot.” He smirks at me.

“So do I,” I grin. If he doesn’t want to tell me anything, I won’t tell him anything either.

“I’ll show you my favorite painting,” I smile at him and lead him to the last place I remembered it was. Luckily, it’s still there, so I don’t look like an idiot.

“Degas is my absolute favorite painter; the way he captures light and color is just amazing.”

“
The Dance Lessons
,” he reads off the information card below. “I saw this in Washington last year.”

“I think they made a trade for another painting. Wait, you were in a museum?” I smirk at him.

“Something like that,” he hints. He loves to talk in codes.

“Hmmm, a hint... Do you work in a museum? You’re an art collector? Or you’re a notorious thief, and you’re scoping out your next grab,” I guess, joking with him.

“You really want to know what I do?” he says with a sly grin. Suddenly, he gets serious, stepping closer and holding my gaze. I stop my eyes from drifting to his lips. He leans down slowly and whispers. “I work for the mob.”

I sigh and gently push him away, seeing the wide smile on his face. “Fine, fine I’ll stop asking,” I assure him. “It is legal, right?” I ask unsurely.

He casually shrugs with a slight smile. “Maybe, maybe not,” he says, even more cryptically. I roll my eyes at him. Suddenly, his jacket pocket begins to buzz and he pulls out his phone.

“This will only be a minute,” he promises and I nod excusing him. I hear him say, “Hello?” as he walks a little ways down the hall.

A voice at my side interrupts my enjoyment of the view that is walking away from me.

“Hi, I’m Darrell Comings, a photographer from
The Journal
. Do you mind if I take a picture of you looking at this painting?” he asks already prepping his camera. I don’t even know where this guy came from.

“Um… sure,” I say, but when I look back down the hall. Cal is nowhere to be seen. I could have sworn he was just there.

The cameraman ushers me in front of a painting. “Just look up at the painting naturally,” he orders. I look up at the painting, seeing it for the first time.

“Is that good?” I ask, feeling small butterflies in my stomach.

“Perfect, stay still,” I hear the quiet click of the camera, followed by, “You’re done.”

“Thank you,” he smiles, and he and his companion walk away.

I look through the crowd, trying to spot Cal. Walking out to the main hall of the museum, I observe the crowd of people, all impeccably dressed, and servers carrying trays of expensive champagne, navigating between them all; the comforting quiet of the other section being replaced with a low hum of chattering, clicking heels, and soft piano music playing overhead.

I make my way through the crowd trying to spot my handsome, six-foot something companion and I feel someone lightly grab my arm; I let out a sigh of relief until I see that’s its Jason.

“Lauren, I thought it was you,” he says happily.

“Hi,” I say trying to match his enthusiasm. God, I don’t want to get stuck talking to him all night. I continue to glance around, hoping to spot Cal somewhere.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, oblivious to my anxiousness.

“I… I was invited,”

“Really?” he asks stepping forward, a little too close for my liking. I step back, trying to reclaim my comfort zone that he’s invading, but he continues to move in on me.

“I’m really sorry about dinner. My boss called,” he explains. Too busy to call and see if I made it home safely, hmm?

“It’s fine; I understand.” God, why am I so nice all the time?

“Yeah, well. I know this was the second time. I really just want to apologize; it won’t happen again,” he assures me. I know it won’t happen again because we’ll never be on a date again. We both stand around awkwardly, and I start to scan the crowd for Cal.

“Would you like some champagne or something?” he asks.

“No, I’m fine,” I smile weakly. “Your eye looks better,” I tell him. It’s still a bit swollen but the makeup over it is doing its best job to hide it.

“Oh yeah. It feels a little better,” he says, running his hand across it. He smiles at me. “Y-You look beautiful,” he says as his eyes drift from my legs upward. I wrap my arms around myself out of irritation; I feel like he can see through my clothes, and it’s creepy.

“Thank you. I like your suit,” I reply mechanically.

“Thanks, I just bought it.” He says tracing the rim of it proudly. “Umm, are you doing anything after this?” he asks moving closer to me again..

“Actually…” I say, starting to excuse myself from another date of boring torture, when I feel a strong arm wrap around my waist, and Cal is back at my side, looking down at me with an arched brow and a sexy smile.

“I lost you for a minute,” he says.

“It was more like I lost you,” I retort, thankful for his return. For a moment I forget Jason is even standing here. I glance over to see him looking annoyed, but more confused.

“Jason, this is Cal; Cal, Jason,” I introduce them. I should feel awkward about this, but I’m more amused than anything.

Jason sticks out his hand, and Cal takes it; for a moment a look of anger is across Jason’s face.

“The infamous Cal,” he laughs tightly and runs his hand across the bruise over his eye. I then remember that Cal is the reason that he has the bruise. I glance at Cal, and see his expression still calm and a smug if I’m reading it right.

“Lauren, I thought you would keep our midnight escapades a secret,” he says pulling me closer. I look over at Jason, who is turning red from either anger or embarrassment; I’m not sure which. I feel a little sorry for him, but I’m unwilling to pull away from my comfortable position in Cal’s arms.

“Well, I better get going. I have a lot to write for the paper,” he bumbles, already starting to walk away.

“It was nice seeing you,” I give him a slight wave. “Oh, Jason you may want to get that looked at,” Cal says, gesturing to the cut above his eye. Jason presses his lips together tightly and walks away in a huff. I let out a much needed sigh of relief.

“So let me know if I’m wrong, but you seem to have lot of options here?” He laughs amused.

“Are you implying something sir?” I say, hoping my sarcasm covers my embarrassment.

“Oh no. It’s just. I thought I was on a playing field all my own,” he says, crossing his arms. A smug grin on his face.

“You don’t seem to be the type that’s easily intimidated,” I retort, playing along.

“Oh I’m not,” he laughs haughtily,“ I guess I’m going to have to do something to make myself more memorable,” he says leaving me behind with a seductive smile that I can’t help but follow.

May 9th 2011

I’ve been tiptoeing around the house for the past few hours, admittedly trying to avoid Raven. I haven’t faced her since the most embarrassing moment of my life happened. I suspect she left quite soon after she found Cal and I in the pantry. We’ve run the poor woman out of her own house. How terrible is that?

I’ve been trying to think where I can go to use a Wi-Fi connection in Saginaw. My mind has been all over the place, coming up with ideas and dreams about opening my gallery. I don’t know why I never thought of it myself. I smile, thinking about the epiphany Cal had this morning. He can be distant, aloof, and distracted most of the time, but however far his mind is, it doesn’t change the fact that he knows me—what makes me happy. And at this point, he should know what makes me sad, too—what can hurt me deep down to the core.

I head downstairs to see that Cal has fallen asleep on the couch watching
Sports Center
. I smile and snuggle in beside him. I inhale his scent; after all of these years, I still can’t believe how good he smells all the time. He adjusts his position to let me climb up beside him. I reach for the remote resting on his chest, but he grabs it.

“You’re sleeping,” I whine.

“But I’m still listening to it,” he retorts, his eyes still closed.

“You’re so selfish,” I pout, snuggling closer and enjoying his warmth.

“No, you were just too chicken to come downstairs first,” he retorts.

“How did that go...with Raven?”

“It went fine. I apologized and told her it was my fault.”

“How did she take it?”

“She said she was young once and for you not to worry about it. I told you she’s gotten pantry action before,” he snickers.

I swat him playfully. “Have you talked to Dexter yet?”

“No, he’s in Ireland. Why?”

“Well, you said coming back here could have messed up a business deal for him. I wanted to make sure everything was ok between you two.”

“Yeah, it’s something I was working on—on my own. I wasn’t going to tell Dex until it was secured. It’s not a big deal.”

“Well, what was it you were…” I trail off as his phone starts to ring. I can see the caller ID from here. It’s him.

“Speak of the devil,” he laughs before picking it up.

“Dex! How’s the whiskey over there?” he asks, a wide smile on his face. I hear Dexter’s voice on the other end, but it’s not loud and joking like he usually is with Cal. After a few moments, Cal’s smile fades into something more serious.

“Cal, what’s wrong?” I ask, noticing his demeanor change. His face shows something I’ve never seen before.

“Yeah, I’m still here,” he says, almost absentmindedly. His face is drawn into a look of concern, but his eyes are almost glazed over. He slowly sits up, forcing me to sit up as well. “When did they get that information? How bad is it? …Yeah, she’s here. We’re in Saginaw at her aunt’s.”

He stands up and walks to the other side of the room. I stand up too, following behind him. He puts the phone down to his side.

“I need a minute, ok?” he says. His voice is unsteady, and it makes my heart beat faster. I’ve never seen him this way before.

“Babe, what’s wrong?” Instinct is screaming at me not to leave him alone.

“I need a minute.” His voice is cold and stern. Against my better judgment, I nod and step back to let him walk out the front door. I watch him from the window, pacing back and forth as he continues to talk on the phone. I’ve never seen him distraught before, angry yes, but not this. I’d give anything to hear what is being said. I’m getting a sinking feeling in my stomach—the same one I get when I see the familiar bag he takes on his overnight trips, except this is worse.

Raven’s car pulls up. I watch as she passes Cal on her way into the house. He acknowledges her, but continues pacing and talking. I meet her at the door.

“Honey, is everything ok with Cal? He seems upset,” she asks closing the door. “Are you ok?” she asks, touching my shoulder.

“I-I don’t know. He got a phone call from Dexter, and, whatever he’s saying, it-it’s not good,” I explain, folding my arms around myself.

We both stand there, watching him through the window. “Is it something going on back home?” she asks.

“I don’t know. It could be, but I think it’s something more than that. Did he look angry to you?”

“No, more like worried or alarmed,” she says, confirming my fears. In three years, I’ve never seen him afraid or alarmed about anything.

“Cal doesn’t get like that over work,” I say aloud, but more to myself. Cal is good at what he does, and I would say he’s dedicated, but it doesn't affect him like this, there was only one other time I seen him emotional about work and, well that was right before things started to change between Cal and I, still this is different. He finally puts the phone down and runs his hands through his hair in frustration. I head towards the door, and Raven gently grasps my arm.

“Honey, maybe you should give him a minute,” she says. I watch him kick the dust as if it’s someone’s head.

“I can’t,” I say apologetically. Maybe he does need a moment, but I can’t help it. I have to know what’s going on, and if he’s ok. I quickly run down the stairs.

“Cal, what’s wrong? What happened?”

He glances at me briefly and turns his attention back to the ground.

“What’s wrong? Talk to me,” I plead. I move closer to him and hold his face in my hands. For a second, he’s vulnerable and the gray eyes that engulf me are the seldom-appearing faint green. He opens his mouth, beginning to speak, and I imagine he’s about to tell me what’s wrong. He’s finally going to let me in on whatever it is that’s bothering him. The thing that keeps slipping between him and I, pulling us apart is about to be revealed. And then just as quickly as the moment came it passes, it's gone. His expression turns cold, and he takes my hand off of his face and walks away from me, heading swiftly towards the house.