Not Looking for Love: Episode 6 (A New Adult Contemporary Romance Novel) (6 page)

"I guess you'll find out eventually…" He sighs. "Vlado heads a large organization. They deal with all sorts of things, including rare, expensive cars. Which you'll be helping them with. And that's all you need to know."

"What are the other things they deal with?" I ask, imitating his business-like tone.
 

"Like I said, nothing for you to worry about right now," Mike says.
 

"You seem to be in it pretty good. Why do you need me?" Whatever all of this is, it doesn't seem like anything I'll be able to walk away from. Ever. Unless I'm dead.
 

"You'll get a call pretty soon with further instructions, maybe as soon as tomorrow," Mike says. "So how about that drink in the city."

"I wanna go home," I mutter. Crawl under the covers and not think of anything at all. But it's like the middle of the afternoon, and it doesn't look like tomorrow will be any better.

"To that sorry ass apartment?" Mike snorts. "Come on, Scott. Get a normal place already."

"I had a normal place, back in Connecticut," I mumble, staring out the window. We're on the expressway, the cars whizzing by making me nauseous.
 

"That was just a nice interlude for you," Mike says.

What a quaint way to put it. Interlude. I didn't even know he knew that word. But I guess he's right. Gail and me together was just a wishful intermission.

"That's the exit," I say pointing at the sign that will take us back home.
 

Mike mutters something under his breath, probably cursing me, but pulls off the expressway.
 

I get out of the car in front of the bakery, ignore him saying goodbye and that he'll call me soon.

Ava's been. The whole apartment smells of the lasagna she brought, the smell mixing with the pine cleaner she uses to wash the floors. I wish she'd stop coming, and, at the same time, wish she was still here.

I take a bite of the lasagna, but I can hardly swallow it. The brownish red color of it reminds me too much of that poor man's face. Then I'm pacing again, because I can't sit still, can't stop seeing the dying guy, can't stop thinking about the fucked up mess I'm in, how it’s so much worse than anything I've ever faced, and there’s no way out.

If I leave right now, I can still catch the bank in Connecticut. I need some money. And maybe being in the same town as Gail will make me see this more clearly.
 

I get to the bank with barely ten minutes to spare and take out a couple of thousand, since I don't know when I'll have the nerve to come back here again.

Being in the same town as Gail solves nothing. All it does is bring my need to see her bubbling to the surface, until I'm parked across the street from the apartment, gripping the steering wheel so hard my forearms are cramping up. I can't go in, but I want to.

The windows are dark and none of the lights come on for the whole hour I'm sitting there. She's not home. But I could call her. Meet her. Tell her everything. Then she would understand why we can't be together. It's that last thought that stops me. It’s selfish. Knowing nothing, she’s safe and alive. If I tell her, she could be dead.

My need to see her is so strong, I feel her sitting in the car next to me, smell her, feel her soft skin against mine as I stretch out my hand to grip her imaginary one. If I could just hold her one last time, feel her body pressed against mine, that would be enough. It really would.
 
The fact that she probably hates me for what I did hurts, but it’s a drop in the ocean compared to the all-consuming pain of not being able to be with her.

My phone rings and I snatch it out of my pocket. Maybe Gail knows I'm here, is calling me to come in. But it's not that phone ringing. It's the one Mike gave me.

"Where are you?" Mike snarls as I pick up.

I'm just sitting there with my mouth open, no response coming to me.
 

"I went down to the beach," I lie, my heart thundering in my chest. Does he know I’m in Connecticut? How much proof does Mike need to carry out his threat? Not much probably, he's a psycho.

“A bit cold for swimming, don’t you think?” he asks.

I start the engine and drive off, fear making my breath catch in my throat. This was such a dumb idea. What if he goes after Gail now? It's what he wants to do. I know it.

"You sure you don’t wanna do something tonight?" he asks, and my relief is so great I almost say yes. Until I remember what he is.

"I think I'll just stay in and think about shit," I say instead, regaining some composure. What I actually want to say is, “No way, psycho’.

Maybe he hears it anyway because the line goes real quiet like the connection dropped.
 

"Some other time then," he says, and there's such hurt in his voice I just want to scream at him. He's the fucking psycho. If he wants to hang out, he has to start acting normal. But I'm not sure he can.
 

"Yeah," I mutter and hang up before I say anything more. This whole situation is so beyond fucked up, I don’t even know how to begin unraveling it.

"You're early," Phillipa says when I show up at her house at six fifteen. She eyes my bag. "You're staying the night?"

I shrug and squeeze past her into the hall. "I might, if you don't mind."

She gives me a sad, knowing smile and nods, gripping both of my hands in hers. "I would love it."

I look away first, pull my hands from her grasp gently. "So, how about some wine?"

I stride off towards the kitchen, fighting against the tremors rising in my chest. I promised myself I wouldn't talk about Scott tonight, or even think about him, but Phillipa’s knowing look just made a lie of that. Scott and me spent a few very nice nights here, mornings and afternoons too, some of the best ever. Thinking I could forget all about him here was a dumb idea. Impossible. But it might be impossible for me to forget all about him anywhere.
 

Phillipa followed me into the kitchen, is watching me stare at the kitchen table where Scott ate a sandwich once, years ago it seems now.

I clear my throat and head for the fridge. She has a couple of bottles of white wine. I grab the one that's open and set it on the counter too hard before I reach for the glasses.

"If there's anything you want to talk about, Gail, I'm here for you, you know that," Phillipa says, as I hand her one of the glasses.

"Scott left me again," I blurt out, tears hot in my throat. Somehow saying it makes it real. And now I'll cry, maybe never stop.

Tears are streaming down my face as I walk to the living room and plop down on the couch.

Phillipa sits next to me, takes the bottle from my hands. "I'm so sorry to hear that, Gail."

I wipe my tears away on my sleeve, surprised when new ones don't follow. "I'm not taking him back this time."

I can't believe how firm my voice is, how much of that statement I actually truly believe.

"You probably shouldn't," Phillipa mutters, pouring the wine for us. "I mean, enough is enough, right?"

She holds her glass up for a salute and I clink mine against it, the clear ring echoing in the room. "Enough is enough."

"Love is a strange and complicated thing," she muses, leaning back against the cushions. "Sometimes, even when it's stronger than anything, it still can't last."

"You and Holly?" I ask, before thinking. I shouldn't just blurt out these insensitive things.
 

She shrugs. "Wasn't meant to be, I guess."

I turn to her and raise my glass again. "I'll drink to that."

And she joins the toast, smiling crookedly with no real mirth. I see that Phillipa doesn't want to talk about what happened between her and her girlfriend. I guess that pain is still too raw.

But for all my promises, I tell her everything. How I found out about Scott helping Mike, yelled at him, how he cheated on me, left in the middle of the night. Tears are streaming down my face again by the time I tell her of the late night phone calls. Mostly because I realize I want him to call me right now. Because I'd forgive him on the spot, if only he came home. Though maybe that's just the wine talking.

"Maybe he's just protecting you," she says once I'm done talking, and I'm just staring off into space again, trying not to imagine falling asleep in Scott's arms tonight.

"He doesn't need to keep me safe!" I exclaim. "I can take care of myself. He just has to be with me."

"It's a thing with men," she says. "Take my two brothers for example, being overprotective is like breathing to them."

"Well, brothers sure…" I let my voice trail off, not sure where I was going with this. ‘They're family’, I guess I wanted to say. But I want Scott to be my family too.

Phillipa pours more wine for both of us. We've finished two bottles already and her face is starting to look a little fuzzy.
 

"What I meant was, with his crazy brother and all, I'm not surprised he doesn't want you involved," Phillipa continues. "For your own good."

"He picked a funny way of showing me he cares. Sleeping with his ex and storming off in the middle of the night," I counter. "I'm sure there must be other ways. Better ways."

I pause to drink off the rest of my wine.
 

"As they say, the simplest explanation is usually the right one," I continue. "Scott just doesn't want me in his life."
 

I came to the same conclusion as Phillipa in the beginning. But then I followed it to this much more logical version.
 

And it hurts to know it. It's a sharp, relentless, stinging pain right in my heart, and it hardly ever really goes away. I’m just getting better at ignoring it.

"We'll be just fine, whatever the truth is," Phillipa says, and raises her glass.

"That we will," I answer and clink mine against hers again, drink the last few drops. And I know it for the truth with a certainty I haven't felt in months. Even though a soft feeling of homesickness and love, belonging and wistfulness is snaking through my chest now, taking the edges off the sharp stinging pain of truth. Even for all the knowing, I wouldn't say no to Scott if he came back right now. I'd never say no to him, for as long as I will live.

How hard is it to get out of an apartment lease? I've been going back and forth with the landlord for the better part of the week. In the end, I just let him keep the deposit, because I want to be over and done with it. But at least all the arguing and emailing gave me something to do, filled my thoughts with something other than being mad at Scott and being in love with Scott.

I've been staying at Phillipa’s since Wednesday. And after a lot of deliberation, and countless instances of almost calling Scott to come get his stuff, I finally told the movers to put the boxes of his things in the basement of this house. I can call him later, when I'm less volatile, when I know better that we're through. Or better yet, he can call me. Until then, I won't be too happy having it all so near, but I can't throw it out either.

Phillipa cracks open my bedroom door and sticks her head in. "Feel like some dinner?"

I slam the textbook shut and nod, rubbing my eyes. I've been reading and rereading the same paragraph for what feels like hours anyway. Besides I have all the time to study now, will probably stay up till two or three in the morning doing it, like I've been this last week after there was nothing more for me to pack or clean.