The Perfect Plans Series [Box Set] (52 page)

SEATED CROSS-LEGGED ON the sofa, I stare at my new cell phone, vibrating against the glass-top of the coffee table with each ring, my mother’s picture indicating the caller’s ID. It’s her third time calling today, making me regret finally replacing the one left broken in pieces on the floor of my flat in London over a week ago.
Nine days ago to be exact
-
Alex’s harsh reminder echoes through my head along with each ring from my mother’s call.

“Aren’t you going to answer that?”

Looking up, I find Stacey setting her oversized purse down atop her suitcase, closing the front door.

“Stacey!” I jump up to run into her arms, nearly taking her off her feet. “I’m so glad you’re home!” I’m unable to hold back my looming tears any longer in the arms of my best friend.

“Oh, babe, I’m glad to see you too,” she returns my tight hug, running her hand lovingly along my back. Releasing me with a gentle push, she looks harshly into my eyes, “Now sit your ass down, you have some explaining to do.”

A little taken aback at her firm order, I turn to walk at my own pace back to the sofa, wiping my tear-stained cheeks. “I’ve already told you what happened,” I take my former seat before looking towards her in defensive mode, ready to take whatever my feisty friend has to offer. “I didn’t realize I would have to
explain
myself further, especially to my best friend.”

“Abigail Ryan, don’t you dare try that defensive shit with me -
especially
me. I know you better than anyone, doll face,” she joins me on the sofa.

Ain’t that the truth
, I sigh. I can’t get any bullshit past Stacey. She’s known me much too long, too well. She’s seen me through everything, been my biggest support, from the time we met in high school, through my marriage and it’s subsequent demise - my desires for
more.

“So, have you spoken to your mom yet?” she continues in my silent sulking.

I say nothing, simply shrugging my shoulders in reply.

“Well, at least you managed to replace your damn phone, finally. Does she even know you’re home?”

I roll my eyes, and finally shake my head.

“So, you’re avoiding
everyone
now? That’s a change, isn’t it? You go from years of pretending nothing is wrong in your world to running from it?”

I don’t miss the sternness in her voice, and I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t hitting me in the stomach like a wrecking ball. Deciding to just get it over with, I remain mum. I’m emotionally drained, and really don’t have the energy to fight back right now.

“Let’s cut straight to the point, shall we, my little peach?”

I grimace a little, though its unintentional sarcastic lacing is obvious. I don’t think I’ve ever heard Stacey this pissed - at me, personally, anyway. It’s definitely pushing my defensive buttons.

“This is one of those times when one needs to be reminded that communication via email can lack…how does one put it? Emotion? Tone? Don’t get me wrong, Abs, I was sincere in my open door policy for my bestie - you can crash at my pad anytime. Mi casa es su casa, sweetie. You know how much I love you, right?”

I nod my head, fighting back a renewed well of tears. I do know how much she loves me. As much as I love her.

“Good, because I do. And now that the mushy love shit is out of the way, we can skip the bullshit brigade. Let me begin by correcting any of that lost emotion or mixed signals in my reply,” she pauses to lock our gaze dramatically. “What. The. Fuck. Were. You. Thinking?”

It’s a question. That’s very clear. An answer, however, she is not waiting for.

“Aby, I will always,
always
, have your back. Whatever makes you happy makes me happy. But you spent twelve years,
twelve years
, fighting your own gut instincts to keep
others
happy. And I listened, supported, consoled, without opinion or judgment because I. Love. You. But this? This I will not support. Or console. And I most certainly will not withhold my opinion or judgment. You fucked up. Royally, babe.”

“You weren’t there, Stace! You don’t understand…”

“Wait. Hold up,” she raises her palm towards me, spanning the room around us dramatically in search of something or someone that isn’t there, before looking back at me sarcastically. “I’m sorry, were you expecting the pity train? Sorry, sweet tits, it derailed at the corner of Suck It Up and Butter Cup.”

Ouch. That hurt.
My mouth drops open, my jaw locking beneath my scrunched brows in shocked awe.

“Now, what was it you were going to say?” She offers a closed lip smile, suggestively warning me that her zero-tolerance bullshit policy is now in effect.

“I just needed some time. I didn’t mean to run, Stace. I just didn’t know what else to do.”

“I get that, babe. I really do. And that’s exactly why I called Alex. He’s coming after you, Aby…”

I close my eyes at the mention of his name, the memory of his visit like salt in the oozing wounds from the lashing of his wrath.

“Aby?” she asks, craning her neck towards me. “Please tell me he hasn’t already been here.
Aby
?” Flailing her arms in the air, she bolts from her seat, circling the room in a bizarre, inaudible, ritual type chant.

“Yes,” I manage in a whisper. She doesn’t answer. I’m not even sure she heard me. “He was here. I-I think I’ve lost him…” the event replays torturously in my mind. “I didn’t handle it very well.”

She stops suddenly, “I’m sorry, what? I couldn’t hear you, I must have rolled my eyes out loud.”

Her glare isn’t helping me find my words.

Clasping her palms together at her lips, she inhales a breath of composure before sitting back down beside me. “Okay,” she nods calmly, yet slightly craze-laced, “…just tell me everything that happened.”

SILENCE IS GOLDEN. Unless it’s at the hands of Stacey Stevenson. In which case it means shit’s about to hit the fan. She hasn’t said a word since I spewed every little detail of Alex’s visit - several moments of it repeatedly at her crazed and demanding request. I’m not sure how much longer she plans to sit here staring at me - her internal struggle of judgment versus quest for composure obvious in her gaze, and bleeding into my already crumbling demeanor - but I’m sure that if she doesn’t say something soon, I’m going to explode, myself. I need help right now. Not a scolding. Whether I deserve one or not.

“So, let’s recap, shall we? Just so I’m clear. He flew all the way here, and you sent him away?”

“No…I…not exactly,” I sigh, feeling the numbing walls that I’ve been hiding behind begin to crumble at the hand of her battering.

“Oh, did I use the wrong words? Let me rephrase. He flew all the way here, and you
let
him walk out the door?
After
you left him without a word in London, and he chased you anyway. Better?” She certainly isn’t holding any punches, her honest, in your face harangue effectively silencing me, pushing me deeper into my pit of self-loathing.

Wrapping an arm around my waist I cup my chin in my palm, my eyes pleading with her to understand what I don’t even understand myself.

Her glare doesn’t reflect what I’m looking for. “Do you realize that he must have jumped on the first flight out of London last night after I spoke with him, Aby? Jumped. On. The first flight! Can you believe that?” She’s no longer looking directly at me, her agitated gaze roaming the air around us as though she’s speaking to an imaginary jury ready to convict me with the manslaughter of Alex’s heart. “
And, she let him walk out the damn door?
Un-fucking-believable,” she shakes her head, capturing me in the manic madness behind her eyes. “Well? What the
fuck
, Aby?”

“Stop yelling at me!” I finally scream, lashing out at her prosecution, desperate to feel anything other than this pain. “You do realize that you could have helped the situation, don’t you?” I ignore the bitchy shock she displays. “A heads up about your
little
chat with Alex would have been great.”

“Seriously?” Her stare blasts my desperate attempt to pull her down with me into my pathetic pit of despair.

I’m a mess. Alex is a mess. And now, I’m trying to add Stacey to the mix.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I bury my face in my hands.

“Okay, let’s try going back to the beginning, why
did
you leave London?” she questions in frustration, forcing a calming breath at my wince of her continued harsh tone.

I don’t even know the answer anymore. “I already told you,” I whisper, swallowing back looming tears. I feel like a criminal holed up in the interrogation room, emotionally exhausted and breaking.

“Tell me again. Was it Ben? Julia? The paparazzi? Or, what the bitch told you about how it would affect Liam?
Why
, Aby?”

“Yes…all of it, I guess…”

“You guess? That’s bullshit. You ran because you’re scared!”

“Yes! Yes, I’m scared shitless! Is that what you need to hear? That I’m weak, and pathetic? That I finally had the courage to chase after the life I’ve always imagined, only to turn around and run away from it? Run away from the one man that fills me with so much love and desire…” my words fall away, stolen by the swell of emotion threatening to drown me.

“You’re in love with him,” Stacey’s tone is softened, her gaze alight with sudden understanding, mixed with a glimmer of acclamation for finally breaking through to me.

I close my eyes, the lashes freeing the build of tears to roll down my cheek. “I’m
madly
in love with him,” I correct her on a whisper.

“And that scares you?”

“Yes,” I sniff, wiping my cheeks, looking into her eyes. “But he scares me more.”

Pained confusion sweeps across her face, “I don’t understand, Aby.”

“It’s so much more than
who
Alex is, and what comes with that,” I shake my head, my vision blurring as the tidal wave of emotion washes over me. “The way I feel with him, it…consumes me.
He
consumes me. Everything he is, everything he does, it’s as though I’ve conjured him to life from fantasy.” My teary gaze finds hers, the loving concern I see there giving me the strength to admit my biggest fear, “I’m so afraid of waking up from the fantasy. I don’t think I’m strong enough to survive waking up to find out it isn’t real.”

“Aby,” she exhales my name on a breath of compassion, wrapping me in her arms. “Oh, sweet pea, it’s not about fantasies and perfect plans.”

Oh, God
, I cling to her, sobbing into her shoulder. Why did I let him walk out the door? “I’m such a fool,” I whisper as she pulls back to look at me.

“You spent twelve years denying your feelings, don’t let fear force you to deny them altogether now.”

My eyes bulge at the instant reminder of Andrew’s similar words that day at the café. The memory of my slight defensive snap-reaction to his advice merely adds to my pile-high shit-storm of mistakes and remorse.

“What is it?” Stacey cocks her head in question.

“It’s just that Andrew once said something very similar…” I trail off, reliving the conversation in my mind.

“Did he?” she purses her lips, seemingly impressed, nodding her head. “Smart fella,” she adds with a shrug.

“He was wrong about one thing though.”

“Yeah? What’s that,” she questions, pulling her leg up to lean on it.

“I’m not wearing rose-colored glasses. But I kinda wish I was,” I pout through a lingering cry-fest hiccup.

“No you don’t, buttercup. All they would have done is delay the inevitable. The fear would have surfaced at some point, in some form of doubt along the way. Mind you, you might have been less of an impulsively neurotic spaz about it,” she winks.

The glimmer of a grin sneaks a quirk of my lips before fading quickly into fool’s shame. “He called me a coward.” I have to turn away from the flash of sympathetic pity that floats across Stacey’s face. “And now I’ve lost him. Pushed him away because I
am
a coward.”

“If you stay here and do nothing about it, then yes, I’ll agree with both of you,” she smiles, her eyes widening sarcastically, reaching to wipe a lingering tear. “And what makes you so sure you’ve lost him? I mean, other than crushing his heart twice…but I digress.
What
?” she flinches at my evil eye. “My point is, if you’ll let me finish, he left an invitation for you to talk to him. He's not looking for perfect, pumpkin, he’s looking for honest. So?”

“So, what?”

“So, why are you still sitting here with me?”

“I-I don’t know…” I sit up in awe, my hands darting to my head, my fingers brushing through my hair as I realize the simplicity of her question in stark contrast to my ludicrous response. “I have to go…” I jump up, frantically tidying myself as though I have a coherent thought as to my next step. I need to do something! I need to fight for him. So why do I feel like a fish out of water with no clue how to get myself back into the bowl, when I’m the dumbass that jumped out?

“Take my car…and your phone,” she grabs it, ushering me to the door. “For gawd’s sake, call your equally neurotic mother on the way. I’d hate to think what she’ll do if she doesn’t hear from you soon. Go get him, girl!”