Something's Come Up (17 page)

“I can carry mine.” She spoke softly, and it was hard to tell what was underneath her tone.

“I’ve got it.” I shrugged and held both bags in my hands.

She tugged on the handle to her bag. “I don’t
need
you to carry my bag.”

I smiled, clenching my back teeth. “Well, I need to carry it. Shut up and let me do it.” I playfully elbowed her arm and she rolled her eyes.

For the time being, it seemed, things were back to whatever normal we’d had before Rome.
Normal
, though, wasn’t something I was ready for with a woman. And she made it very clear she wasn’t normal.

As we waited by the luggage carousel for our baggage, I overheard Steph arguing with someone on the phone.

“JFK… Yes, now. I’ll pay double, I just need to get to The Dakota—”

I snatched her phone away from her and pressed “End.”

“What the fuck, Pace?” She swatted for her phone, but I held it up.

“You’re not getting a ride from anyone. I parked my car here, remember?”

“It’ll be easier if I get my own ride.”

I spotted our luggage and dove for it, breaking off her argument. I set our suitcases next to me and handed back her phone, turning to walk toward the parking garage. She followed. Once we reached my car, I opened the back and tossed our luggage in. She stood just to the side of the car with her arms folded across her chest.

“Look, Red, just get in.”

“I’m good. Really.”

“Your luggage is already in my car, and you followed me out here under your own volition. Just get the hell in and we can talk.”

She climbed in and started playing with her phone as I pulled out of the parkade.

Once we were out of the airport and back in the thick city traffic, Steph started pushing buttons on the stereo. I placed my hand over hers.

“Let’s talk.”

“Okay.” She sighed and sat back in her seat.

“I think… I think it’s safe to say we can’t do this anymore.”

“I agree. We killed the joy.” Her tone was flat but sane.

I nodded. “We did.” I thought back to the first time I saw her at the photo shoot, bent over her camera bag like an open invitation into my life.

She shifted in her seat, facing me. “Look. I don’t want to be one of those annoying, bitter couples that continues to hang out for no apparent reason. We had our fun, Cary. Let’s not spoil the good stuff by dragging this out.”

My chest hurt a little, and that was exactly why we had to go through what we were going through. I didn’t have the time or emotional space for that kind of…emotion. I told myself it would only suck for a few days.

“Pace?” Steph snapped her fingers as I navigated toward Central Park.

“Huh? Yeah, sorry.”

“So…we’re good here? I don’t think I left any shit at your place.”

I chuckled. “No, I don’t think so.”

She’d left a pair of panties there the night before we left for Rome, but I’d be keeping those. I smiled as I reached for the “play” button on the CD player. Like a smack in the face, Louis Armstrong’s “If I Could Be with You (One Hour Tonight)” came on. Steph had indulged me and let me teach her the ways of Louis. On our way to the airport—which seemed like a lifetime ago—she had
only
shut up during
this
song, which happened to be my favorite. I was stuck. I couldn’t turn it off and I couldn’t listen to it for one more second.

“Turn it off. I don’t need your fancy goodbye.” She didn’t move to change the song.

“That’s not what this is…” Each note tore a tiny hole in my facade.

“Sure it is.” She grinned and leaned her head against the glass. I made a move to change the station, but she stilled my hand with hers. She said nothing but her eyes briefly met mine. When she turned her gaze back to the window, I realized I’d been holding my breath. Her silence was all I’d needed to understand that this car ride marked the end of something significant to her. With Red, sometimes what she didn’t say spoke volumes.

Our drive ended before the song did, but she made no move until the last note sank into the static of the recording.

“Well...” I reached my hand for the door handle, but she jumped out before I did.

“Don’t. No deep-dipped kiss, no longing gaze. Just open the back so I can get my shit and get inside. It’s fucking freezing.”

With a grin, I pushed the button to release the back. The luggage hit the sidewalk and she slammed the tailgate shut. I rolled down the window and stuck out my head as the wind whipped icy snow pellets into my eyes. The scene reminded me of that movie she took me to see…
Casablanca.
She turned to face me and I couldn’t resist.

“Of all the rib joints in all the city, you had to walk into mine...” I had to speak over the howling wind, but I still managed to grin.

In true Steph Brier fashion, she smirked like a shrew and flipped me off, turning on her platform heels and walking away.

I ducked back into the car and put up the window. Shaking my head, I turned on Jay-Z and drove to my side of the Park.

A couple of days after Easter, when my parents were in town for the week, I’d received a card from Steph. I left it on the kitchen counter, above the trash can, trying to decide what to do with it. Which was a righteous mistake.

I was at the bar pouring my mother her “holiday tolerator” when I heard her gasp so loudly I was sure I needed to perform CPR on her. Racing to the foyer, I found her clutching Steph’s card in her hand, her skin pale as...well...as a Brier’s.

“Tell me you aren’t serious with this...this…” she trailed off and, taking her drink from my hand, thrust the card into my gut.

Astonished, I looked down at the Photoshopped Easter card from Steph. She’d take a tradition picture everyone’s familiar with of the Virgin Mary gazing down into the radiant face of baby Jesus, but where the son of God should have been, Steph had inserted a gigantic black penis.

The caption read, “He is Risen.”

She hadn’t signed her name.

T
he familiar strains of Mary J. Blige woke me and the light of sunrise seared my retinas as I tried to open my eyes. The music stopped and I heard Steph’s voice, gravely with the inactivity of sleep.

“Yeah?”

I wanted to laugh when I heard my little white girl’s ringtone was “I’m Goin’ Down.”

She sighed tiredly. “Cheyenne, pipe the fuck down. I’m fine. What’s up?”

Cheyenne? Who the hell names their kid Cheyenne?

“Screw Kevin and the horse he rode in on. I’m not ready to talk to that tool. Tell him I’m out of the country and you don’t have my new number.”

She stood and started dressing. “Top secret assignment? What? Really? Who else knows?”

She turned over and mouthed the word “sorry” to me. I waved her off.

“I'll talk to Dad this morning and see what’s up. Tell Gerald I’ll be back early tomorrow. How urgent? Christ. I’m a photographer, not a miracle worker. I promise you, Cheyenne, she’s going to look like shit no matter who shoots her. Fine. I’ll catch the earliest flight home and hire someone to drive the car back.”

She tossed her phone on the bed, put her hands on her hips, and shrugged. “Well, Cary, duty calls.”

I sat up, stretching my arms overhead, still feeling the place on my shoulder where she’d rested her head most of the night. She’d die if she knew, so I decided to keep that to myself. “Everything okay?”

“It is. In this industry, emergencies are never
emergencies.
” She crawled back on the bed, straddling me.

I grabbed her hips and pushed her down, needing to feel her pressure there for just a minute more. “I’ll give you a ride to the airport, that way you don’t have to pay for someone to drive it from there. You can leave it here.”

“Stay in bed,” she whispered, kissing me once on the mouth. “You look too good naked to fuck it up with clothes.”

I laughed and she slid off me, tying her hair back. “It’s fine, really. I’ve got to drive Adrian back to Barnstable this morning to get his car anyway. I’m surprised he hasn’t been banging on the door yet.”

She hesitated for a second, but finally nodded. “Fine, but hurry up and shower. I know you can’t leave the house without smelling springtime fresh, and I’m not gonna sit around all morning. I’ll start the coffee.”

I stood and smacked her ass. “You’re a bossy little thing, you know that?”

She smacked mine back. “Get going.”

I didn’t turn the shower as hot as I normally do, needing the cool water to bring me back to reality. Last night was amazing, but we had no time for a repeat. Red was leaving today. Yesterday morning, I woke up having not thought about her more than a few times over the past few years, only when we would send wildly inappropriate cards to each other. She kind of got the ball rolling with that Easter card my mom saw, then I’d paid her back with a card I’d found that had shaved cats on it. I’ll spare you the inside, but I sent it to her office. Even after all that, I never expected to wake up with her in bed again. It’d be a bitch to watch her go, but making her come took that sting away.

I turned off the shower ten minutes later and dried quickly. “Be ready in a sec,” I called into the kitchen, where I smelled coffee brewing.

“That’s…nice.” Adrian’s voice startled me and I walked into the kitchen, where I found him sitting alone. He wore sunglasses and sipped his coffee gingerly.

I looked around. “Where’s Steph?”

He twisted his face. “Keep your voice down. Steph? Who—ooh! Shit! That wasn’t a dream, that fine piece of ass was here last night?”

“Red?” I called, walking back down the hallway. When she was nowhere to be found, I returned to the kitchen. “How long have you been in here?”

“Long enough to pour coffee into this mug.” Adrian dumped several teaspoons of sugar into his cup, stirring it a few times before taking a sip.

“Gimme a sec to get dressed,” I said as I walked back to my bedroom.

I wasn’t surprised that she left as suddenly as she came, it was her style—love ‘em and leave ‘em. It was good to see some things hadn’t changed. I sat on the edge of my bed and pointed the remote at the stereo, pressing “play.” Nothing happened. I tried again, and still nothing.

I knew I’d been playing that Louis Armstrong CD as we fell asleep last night, but I walked over to the cabinet and looked through the cases anyway, though I was certain I hadn’t put it away. My CDs are in alphabetical order, but the Louis one was right on top where I’d left it when I put the CD in the stereo. When I opened the case, I laughed out loud.

The cd was gone, and in its place was a post-it note in Red’s borderline-psychotic scrawl:

Thanks for the memories.

Leaving the note in place, I closed the case and tucked it back in its space on the shelf. I’d come up with a plan for that later.

Adrian looked up at me, amused, when I sauntered back into the kitchen, dressed and smiling. “She bail on you, bro?”

I wanted to smack the foolish grin from his face. “Nah, she had an early flight. Ready to go?”

He swallowed the rest of his coffee and headed for the door. “Yeah, let’s go.”

As we walked down the hallway, I threw my arm around his shoulder. “I don’t know why you expend so much effort on one girl. Especially a redhead, for the love of God.”

Adrian grinned. “Judging by that assprint on your living room window, I’d say you know exactly why.”

My shoulders shook as I tried to stifle a laugh, biting my lip. I knew last night wasn’t the last I’d see of Stephanie Brier, and I looked forward to the day we’d stumble into one another again. In the meantime, though, I had some serious work to do.

 

We’d like to thank:

Michelle Warren at Indie Book Covers for our fabulous cover and art work, Erin Roth at Wise Owl Editing for her sharp eyes, and Charles Sheehan-Miles for his formatting ingenuity. 

Our beta readers: Laura Wilson, Tamron Davis, Amy Lane, Meghan Moss, Sarah Griffin, and Tanya Spence Hall. Your support and insight helped shape this into the masterpiece everyone else gets to read. Thanks for reading the crap first. 

Our significant others, because it’s obligatory to do so when in the throes of greatness

Most importantly, we’d like to thank the fans of “Fury” and “Reckless Abandon” for their enthusiasm over the merging of some of our favorite characters.