IMPULSE: Companion to The PULSE Series (5 page)

I take in a deep breath. "I can't imagine how hard it was to lose her." I must have said that same phrase to him a dozen or more times since I met him. Each time I say it holds more and more meaning.

"I feel like an idiot. I wanted to give my granddaughters a chance in life. They're both in broken marriages, they have children, and they need my help." He wrings his hands together. "Nancy and I were going to build a big house with the money from the investments. The girls and their kids were going to live with us. You have to get that back for me."

I push my hands against my desk, slowly pulling myself up. He's right. I have to do something. I can't let that asshole get away with this. "Leave it to me, Mr. Wilkinson. You picked the right man for the job." The words sound believable, now I just have to make them come true.

"Did it go okay at the office today?" Jessica asks, as she picks at the vegetable ragout she made for the two of us for dinner.

I take a heavy mouthful of food and chew it slowly. I feel spent. After my meeting with Mr. Wilkinson, I had gone down to the bar down the street from my office. Two glasses of bourbon later and I still feel like shit. I know she's waiting to talk about what's bothering me." It was fine," I say before shoveling another forkful of food into my mouth.

She moves the food around on her plate. I've only seen her take a small bite. "I know you're under a lot of stress. I know your job isn't easy."

The words are meant to pacify me. She's not that interested in my job. It's not her fault. When we first got together she asked me a lot of questions about what I do for a living. Back then, I only was interested in one thing. I wanted to fuck and that was it. I hate that I didn't give her more of myself in the beginning. "It's just a tough case. There's a lot of pressure."

She picks up her glass of red wine and only takes a very small sip before she places it back down. "I know you can't talk about it. There's that whole lawyer and client confidentiality thing."

I nod. She's right. I can't give her the specifics. I can talk in generalities though. "My client lost everything. He lost his wife and his life savings almost at the same time."

She pulls her hand up to her chest as if she's warding off something that might touch her heart. "That's horrible, Nathan. Were they married a long time?"

I swallow what's left in my own wine glass. "They were married for fifty-four years."

She lets out a little gasp as if there's not enough air in the room." That's so long. They must have gotten married very young."

I don't want the words to bother me but they do. I'm thirty-two years old. I want to be married and I want to be a father. I want all of that with Jessica and I want it now. "He told me that he can't remember what it was like before he married her."

Her bottom lip trembles as if the words have cut right to her core. "That's beautiful. That's true love."

I push on, not to explain more about my client but to touch that part of her. I want her to be open and vulnerable. I want her to take inspiration from a love that is that deep and enduring. "The first day that I met him, he told me something."

She leans forward on the table, her elbows resting on either side of her plate. "What was it? What did he say?"

I mimic her stance and cover her hands with mine. I look straight into her beautiful blue eyes as I say, "he told me he was the luckiest. He said every day before he gets out of bed he thinks about her and how lucky he is to love her."

She looks down at our hands. "You mean how lucky he was to love her. I mean before she..."

"Died?" I interrupt. "No that's not what I mean."

She bites the corner of her bottom lip. I know that she's searching for the right thing to say. This conversation is touching her the same way it's touching me. "What do you mean?"

I swallow hard before I pull in a heavy deep breath. "He loves her as much today as he did the day he married her. He told me he'll never stop loving her. She owns the other half of his heart."

Her eyes fill with tears, her hands grab tightly to mine as she whispers the words, "You own my heart too. You do."

***

"What the hell you talking about?" I ask, the tone of my voice unmistakably loud and clear.

She pushes past me the entire time whispering something into the microphone attached to her earpiece. "I don't have time for this right now. Can't you see we're completely full?"

I quickly pull my eyes around the near capacity restaurant. "I don't care. Where the fuck is Jessica?"

She turns sharply to face me. "I'm a hostess. I'm not a babysitter. I don't know where Jessica Roth is. I do know that she called in sick only an hour before we opened. It's the third time in the past month."

The third time in a month? What the hell is going on? Jessica hasn't been sick. I stopped at the apartment on my way home from work to drop off my laptop and she wasn't there. I came here to see her because I felt badly about last night. I got called into conference call right after dinner. We were both overwrought with emotion after talking about Mr. Wilkinson and his wife's death.

"I don't have time to stand and talk to you." The hostess isn't very hospitable. "When you do see her you should tell her that she's on dangerous ground right now. There are a lot of people that want to work here."

I shift on my feet and step closer to her, blocking her path away from me. The only way around me is through me. "My name is Nathan Moore. I'm an attorney." Hell, yes, I'm going to play that card. "It sounds as though you're threatening Ms. Roth."

"You're an attorney," she says the words with obvious disdain. "I should've known by the suit. What's with all the suits who want to talk to Jessica? Is she in some kind of trouble?"

Again, I'm being thrown into the middle of the ring of confusion that is Jessica's life. "What did the other suit want?" Christ, let there be only one other man in a suit looking to talk to my suddenly popular girlfriend.

She scans her eyes over my face before they dart behind me. "I'm too busy for this. He looked like an attorney too."

I step forward a touch. Intimidating this woman isn't going to be easy. It's obvious that she thinks her hostess job is vital to the earth continuing to spin on its axis. "What did he look like?" I don't know why I'm asking. I have no idea what guy in a suit would be coming to talk to Jessica at work. I also have no clue why the fuck she hasn't talked to me about it.

She stomps her foot as if that's going to magically make me disappear. "He was older than you. I'd say he's even more handsome than you." There's no mistaking the spite dripping from that.

Whatever. Jesus, this woman is annoying as all fuck. She must be new, that, or she's so forgettable that I can't place her within my mind. "Did you see him talking to Jessica?" I know I sound desperate. That's because I am. Obviously, I need to look to anyone, including this stranger, to help me understand what's going on with the woman I'm sharing my bed with.

"Yes." Her eyes spring back to my face. "They talked in the corner and then she started crying and he took off." Her hand flies through the air past my head towards the entrance to Axel NY.

"He was only in here the one time?" The question doesn't come out with all the apprehension I'm feeling. Shit. Who is the guy she's talking about?

"No." She stops as if she's unwilling to share more. I'd venture a guess that it's more about her enjoying being the one in control. She knows she's dangling something I want right in front of my face and I'm going to have to acquiesce to whatever she wants to get it from her.

"Listen," I pause. My eyes search her plain black dress for a nametag. There's nothing.

"Sasha," she offers.

Sasha? Really? The only Sasha I knew was back in Boston. I met her in a club and she definitely lived up to the name. This Sasha looks like she doesn't even comprehend the meaning of the word sexy. She's serious, through and through.

"Sasha," I repeat back in an even a tone as I can muster. "Did the man who came to see Jessica only visit her here once?" That sounds semi-professional.

"You're dating her, aren't you?" She just went off the track at full speed. "I've seen you in here before. I saw your hand on her ass."

Guilty as charged. How am I supposed to keep my hands off Jessica? That's almost impossible. "We do date, yes." Stilted much, Nathan?

"Is she dating him too?" There's a question I never saw coming. "I mean, does she have a thing for lawyers?"

I pull my hands to my face, massaging my temples with brisk, easy circles. "She has a thing for me," I say with confidence. I'd bet my right hand and foot that Jessica's not cheating on me. That can't be what's going on. Maybe that's just my male pride talking, but the way that woman looks at me and the way she reacts to my body, I know there's little chance that she's jumping into another guy's bed.

"She kissed him."

The proclamation bounces around in my ears before it sinks into my brain. "Jessica kissed him?" I repeat back. I didn't hear that correctly. There's no way in hell Jessica put her lips on another man.

"I saw it with my own two eyes." Her hand darts into the air and she points at her face. "When she first saw him, she kissed him."

On the lips, I want to ask but I'm not a middle school kid who just found out his girlfriend made out with the opposing school's football team captain. I'm an accomplished lawyer, I own an apartment that borders on Central Park, I have more money than most people make in ten lifetimes. I'm confident. I don't fall to pieces because of a kiss.

"Sorry to break it to you." She taps me lightly on the shoulder.

"What?" I spit back.

"Sorry to be the one to tell you that Jess is getting it on with someone else." She breezes past me then and I don't try and stop her. I can't. I can't move. All I can think about is my beautiful Jessica, tucked into the arms of another man, her lips coursing hot over inch of him. My hand darts into the inner pocket of my suit jacket. I reach for the box. It's the same box I've carried with me for the past six months. It's my future. It's the ring I've been trying to give her. The same ring she'll never accept. Maybe now the reason is clear. It's not only clear; it's fucking wearing a suit.

"Jessica," I scream her name as I charge through the door of our apartment. I went to the bar next to Axel after Sasha made me feel like a goddamn nothing. I had three bourbons and now I'm in prime argument mode. I've had to defend myself time and time again in this relationship. I've never cheated on Jessica. I've come clean with everything. Now it's her turn.

I'm greeted with sullen silence. I toss my suit jacket on the couch. My thumb traces a quick path over my smartphone's screen. I pull up my text messages. There isn't one response to the six text messages I've sent her in the past hour. Wherever the fuck she is right now, it's obvious I'm her last priority.

"Nathan?" Her voice enters the space before I even notice that she's opened the door. She couldn't have been more than a few feet behind me when I walked into the building. "Why are you standing in the dark?" She flips the light switch on and two cool, pale ceiling lights flicker on.

"I just got here." I don't turn to look at her. I swear I'll fucking lose it if she's standing there in her chef's jacket. If she lies to me about being at work I'll move out. I can't stomach the thought of another man kissing her. How the hell am I supposed to act if she's been fucking some other guy's brains out?

I hear her drop her purse on the table next to the door. The sharp rattle of her keys hitting the wood follows. "Did you work late?"

I don't want to be interrogated right now. "No." It's blunt and direct. It's a sign of how frustrated I am right now. "Did you?"

There's a heavy sense of hesitation in the air. I can hear her labored breathing. "No," she says quietly.

She doesn't expand and I have to grab the edge of the couch to steady myself. Christ, I love her so much. My heart is literally caving in right now. Don't let this be my reality. Please let there be some logical explanation for why she has been missing work. I need to hear that Sasha didn't actually see Jessica kissing anyone. I want a redo of this entire night.

"How was work?" I push the question out. I do it because I need a place to start. It's one of the fundamental principles I learned in law school. Give the defendant just enough rope to hang themselves.

I hear her shuffle her feet. I can't tell if she's pulling off her shoes or putting them back on so she can race back out the door. Jessica can't handle confrontation. If there's a fight, she's going to look for the nearest exit. I've worked hard with her, over the course of the past year, to push back on her natural instinct to race out of the room when we have an issue. Right now, I'm scared that if she runs, I may never see her again.

"Jessica," I say her name as much to gain her attention as to quiet my own raging confusion. "I asked you a question."

"I know." Her voice is low and edgy. I can hear the apprehension in it.

I flip around on my heel. It shouldn’t be this complicated. I shouldn’t have to ask her the same question twice before I get a definitive answer. It's a simple question. I just want an answer. "I…" my voice halts as I look at her. She's wearing one of my t-shirts under her black cardigan. The jeans she's wearing are rolled up at the hem but there's no mistaking that she stepped in a few puddles on her way home. Her hair is a matted mess. "Jessica." I reach for her but she takes a step back.