The Beginning of Always (55 page)

She was me.

I recognized the scene. It was the summer that Alistair had run away from St. Haven; he was helping his dad mend fences on the far side of their property. Nicolas and I had made it a routine to go out to Blair Farms and harass Alistair while he worked. He didn’t act it, but I knew he enjoyed our company.

At least, I thought I knew it until he left town without telling anyone, not even me.

Sadness twisted in my chest, mingled with confusion. Questions about why he still held on to this old photo, years later, percolated into my mind. They wondered, they searched …

But with a shake of my head, I thrust myself out of the past and into the present. The harsh reality of now thudded and screamed, reminding me of what was at stake.

“Where’d you get this?” I snapped the book close, shuttering my teenage self away. “Why do you have this?”

“This is Mr. Blair’s.”

“So my ex-boyfriend uses a photo of me as a bookmark. Big deal, who—” But before I finished my sentence, Gertrude, who had by now made it within arm’s length of me, shot her hands out and gripped my wrists. I widened my eyes in surprise and then immediately narrowed them in irritation; her grip was hard and those claws of hers dug into my flesh.

“Gertrude, let me go. I’m warning you.”

There was a staredown between us, and while I waffled on whether to slap her or punch her, Gertrude released me and stepped back.

“Please.” Her eyes turned soft and those harsh lines of her face diminished. “Just hear me out.”

Before I could answer, Gertrude began pacing, walking short, frantic lines in front of me. Her voice was strained.

“Four years ago, Mr. Blair had a fire at his old building. Electrical problem in his neighbor’s apartment. The sprinklers weren’t enough. The flames engulfed the entire floor within minutes. It was in the middle of the night, and he was asleep. As his emergency contact, I got a call from the police at two a.m.

“I raced to the hospital. The firefighters told me other residents had said Mr. Blair went back into the building three times to evacuate his neighbors, but went back a fourth time even though everyone was accounted for at that point. Everyone told him not to go in, that the fire was out of control. He told them he needed to grab something important from his apartment, something he couldn’t let go of, something he couldn’t live without. The firefighters found him collapsed in the stairwell, unconscious and suffering from smoke inhalation.

“The hospital gave me his effects while he was in treatment. He had nothing on him, except the item which he risked his life for. This book.” Gertrude waved a palm in the book’s direction. “I thought he was insane. The book wasn’t valuable, just the average rerelease you could find in the bookstore. It was only when Train showed up and opened it that we realized it wasn’t the book he was saving, but the picture.

“That picture. That picture of you.” Gertrude jabbed a finger in my direction. “Thomas and I had spent hours trying to figure out who the girl in the picture was. When Alistair woke up in the hospital, the first thing he asked was if the book was intact. He asked me to keep this in our company safe. He said it was his most prized possession. He literally risked his life for it.”

My face was growing hot with each word, each syllable and each claim Gertrude was slinging around.

“Then you arrived, fresh from nowhere with an assignment to profile him. You immediately struck me as unnervingly familiar, and finally, I realized it.”

Gertrude stopped pacing. “You are the girl from the photo. You now just as much as confirmed what we all suspected. Mr. Blair has loved you for years, since forever it seems.”

The initial shock wore off and I gave a heady exhale to dislodge the thoughts.

“I’m not sure how telling me this changes anything. Nothing matters beyond the reality of now.” I zipped my duffel bag with finality, then dragged it onto the floor.

Gertrude was struck by my reaction. “How can you be so callous?” she cried.

“Me? Callous? That’s rich coming from you, Gertrude.” Now I really had to laugh. “Maybe I am callous. Maybe I am heartless. I’ve had to be to survive what he’s put me through, what life has put me through. So Alistair almost killed himself to save a picture of me? I don’t know what to think of that, but it doesn’t justify the events of now. Nothing does. He makes his own choices, and I won’t even begin to try to understand his justifications for them.”

“Do you think he’d go through all this trouble just to punish you? He was never out to drive you out of a job or to shutter the
Journal
. He … he …”

“He what?” I challenged.

“I can’t say for sure why he did it, but I can guess. He wanted you to write the profile. I don’t know, maybe to get close to you or something. But he wanted control over the situation. Worst-case was that he stopped the piece from publishing with his clout as owner. That’s it.”

“
That’s it?
” I nearly screeched with fury. “You guys asked for an article, forced me to be around him nearly twenty-four seven, lying to me the whole time. I write the thing, really try to validate all that time, all that work, and he was just planning on killing it? That’s it? Do you know how emotionally torturous these past weeks have been?”

It was all so incredible. The delusions of these people. It would be almost hilarious if my career hadn’t just been crushed to nothing with all these libelous reports.

The headlines flashed in my memory, racing across my mind’s eye to remind me what exactly everyone now thought of me.

REPORTING FROM THE BEDROOM

$69/SQ FT

MEET MANHATTAN’S HOTTEST RENTAL

I wanted to scream. And the terrible thing was that it was all true. Every salacious word, each letter. I wanted them to be wrong. I wished I had held myself back. If I just hadn’t fallen into this again with him, then at least the articles would be wrong. Or I wouldn’t be so stupidly wounded at this betrayal if I had just stopped myself from trusting him again.

But now, all of this was the same as before. The agony, the doubt, the mind games. All the same, but infinitely worse because it was played out in the public sphere and splayed across every trashy street corner. Obscene amounts of money were involved.

My career, meticulously crafted, a reputation built over all these years, now gone. All for dumb nostalgic longing.

I was so angry. At myself. At Alistair. At the press. At the city. At the world.

Gertrude was still trying to salvage the situation, but it was as useful as trying to squeeze blood from a stone. “You know, I don’t know. Maybe he bought the
Journal
to help your career. Make you editor …”

I threw my hands up in the air in a sign of defeat. “You people are seriously crazy. I don’t want my … my …” I struggled with a word to use for Alistair. Instead I just continued, “I don’t want Alistair to buy my way up the ladder. That’s insulting! In the sincerest sense.”

I snatched my duffel off the floor and twirled around to leave, but Gertrude lunged for me and grasped my upper arm to stop me. She desperately called out, “Mr. Blair really cares about you, Ms. Reynolds!”

I wrenched my arm away from her touch. She took a step back at the warning glare I threw her way.

“Get your hands off me. And tell your employer to screw off. I’m leaving.”

“Wait, stop!”

I didn’t answer. I quickly charged out into the hallway. Train was waiting for me at the front door with his arms crossed across his massive chest, but with an uncomfortable expression on his face.

“Miss.” He blocked the exit. I moved to one side to walk around him, but he shifted his weight and stopped me.

“Let me through, Train.”

He shook his head slowly. “I can’t.”

“Get. Out. Of. The. Way,” I seethed, and my fists balled in anger.

Train returned me a pleading look in his eyes but didn’t move. I gave a scream of frustration through clenched teeth.

“What is this? You guys are holding me hostage? What the hell is going on?”

“Boss wants to see you.”

“Bo—
Boss?
” I was raging. “Alistair wants to see me?
Alistair?
He wants to see me?” I was nearly crazed with emotion and indignation. “That bastard!” I screamed.

“Miss …”

“Let me through!”

I shoved Train aside, but it was as effective as a fight against a brick wall. I reared back, ready to charge through, when with no warning Train moved towards me and swept me off the floor into his arms. One beefy forearm hit the back of my knees gently so that I buckled and lost my balance, and the other forearm braced my back for the fall. I let go of my luggage in shock and before I knew it, I was cradled against Train’s chest, his tie tangling in my hands as I flailed about.

“What the hell!” I was beyond emotion now. I was in the territory of visceral reaction.

“I’m sorry, miss.”

I thrashed in his grip, screaming, “Damn you! Damn you all!”

But Train ignored me, holding tight no matter how I fought. Gertrude entered the room. She cleared her throat and, with a nod towards Train, she scooped up my bag and exited through the front door, gesturing for Train to follow her.

It was useless. I stopped struggling and just let Train walk me to the garage elevators. His arms were warm and strong around me. I just gave up and dug my face into his chest, trying to even my breathing, wanting the anger and endorphins to drain from my body.

“It’s going to be okay, miss. It’s going to be okay,” Train said softly.

I gave a low, sad laugh without humor. “No, it’s not. Not at all,” I murmured back, dread and sadness filtering between the seams of my anger.

The truth always comes out, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t do so violently, traumatically … in absolutes.

Chapter 31

O
ur car slid slowly down the crowded streets, windshield wipers cutting through the afternoon downpour. Gertrude was sitting to my left, her hands fussing nervously as she cast me anxious glances. It was strange witnessing her so uncomfortable. I would have enjoyed it, if I hadn’t been so dead set on hating all of them.

“Mr. Blair is waiting for us at his Upper East Side apartment.” She paused, then added, “The one he purchased for you.” She cleared her throat before continuing, “There’ll be less press there. Most aren’t aware of its existence, so it’s a lot safer than the hotel.”

I didn’t answer.

At my silence, Train peeked nervously at us through the rearview mirror. They were both on edge, completely discomfited by everything. Now that Alistair’s personal business had been shoved into the forefront of tabloid news, this new development tested their abilities.

It tested their questions about their boss’s personal life.

Or it must have—why else would Gertrude believe now would be the right time for her question? She cleared her throat again before saying uneasily, “You know … every year, he’d take July twenty-first off.”

She paused, waiting for me to chime in.

I disappointed her, only the sound of the car slicing through water filling the cab, the action hurtling me closer to the discontent of the future.

“Nothing could ever be scheduled on that day. He’d disappear. Not even Train would know where he’d go. Are you aware of any significance to that day?”

My mom had first gotten sick in July, all those years ago.

And then, years later, our baby had died in July.

And the year after the loss, we had long since broken up, our paths in separate directions already settled.

“I have no idea,” I murmured in response.

The dreary landscape slid on by, the dampness not just outside the window any longer. I touched my cheeks, brushing away my tears.

When we arrived at the apartment, its gold-hued facade winking at me from between sheets of rain, Train slowed down and stopped in front of the garage entrance. As the gate ticked up slowly, I grew impatient to get this over with. When the gate was halfway up, I wrenched open the car door and tore out of the car, the rain slamming against my face. The main entrance was half a block down, and I strode angrily towards it. Within seconds I was drenched; within a minute, I was at the gate.

To my shock, there was a small crowd of reporters just beyond the security booth. They stood huddled underneath a sea of black umbrellas, the rain and change in location most likely deterring a larger showing. But when they caught sight of me coming down the sidewalk, the mass moved as one, lunging and swarming. Microphones and professional cameras threw themselves in my path and questions assailing me from all sides.

“Ms. Reynolds, is it true you’re in a relationship with Alistair Blair?”

“Did you sleep with him, Ms. Reynolds? Quote for the
Post
?”

“Reports say you were you once pregnant with his child. Are you pregnant now? Where is the baby now?”

I tried my best to push past them, but the crowd was too insistent. It seized and constricted and I was jostled roughly, rain in my face and all sorts of hard items hitting my body.

I was thankful for the rain. The city wouldn’t see my tears.

A large mass came behind and pushed a path forward, shoving faceless reporters out of the way and nearly picking me up to lead me past the gates. Once we were inside the courtyard, I stalked off without thanking Train or even acknowledging his presence. The courtyard was empty, the rain having chased any interested stragglers back indoors.