Authors: Karen-Anne Stewart
“Jason called you?” Jess asks, saving me from thinking of things I shouldn’t think of.
Tonight is a reminder of how Emma is the polar opposite of what I need, of what I need to want. “He came by Dur Acier.”
Her response is a soft sigh.
“Look, Jess. You know I love you, right?”
“Yeah, I do. And you know that I love you.”
Squeezing her shoulder, I lean my head against the top of hers, “Jason loves you, too. Differently, I mean,” I stumble with my words, completely out of my element. “I love you like family, someone I would fight an army for. Jason loves you like one of those whipped pansy’s who carries his girlfriend’s purses around the mall for hours. He isn’t the man from that stupid ass animated movie you used to beg me watch when we were kids, but he’s a good man, and I’m pretty damn sure he would fight an army for you, too. He’d lose, but that’s not the point.”
“Are you trying to say that you love me, but Jason’s
in
love with me?” Jess asks, her eyes brightening a little when she smiles, “because I already knew that.”
“I know you knew about us, but I wasn’t so sure if you knew about him, and I’m fairly sure that he’s not so sure about you and me.”
“What?”
“Dammit, Jess, you know what I mean!”
“Sadly, I do,” she teases, “but you really suck when it comes to talking about feelings.”
“I find that to be a positive characteristic I possess,” I laugh. Taking a deep breath, I nudge her with my elbow, “You need to tell him, Jess. Everything.”
“That’s not going to happen,” Jess replies flatly.
I let it go, knowing her reasons. Jason won’t though, not anymore; that was evident tonight. This is her choice to make, I won’t force the issue. “Alright, but if you change your mind, I think he’ll take it a lot better than you’re giving him credit for.”
“I know he will. That’s not why I don’t want to tell him.” Jess looks up at me, the tears glistening on her cheeks just like twenty years ago, “He has this idea of me, like I’m invincible. When I look at him, I see what he sees, and I need that! I need to feel strong, like he believes me to be, not like who I am.”
Grabbing her arm, I pull her to where she’s facing me. “That’s enough!” I yell, “you are who he sees you to be. If you weren’t strong, you wouldn’t be sitting right here at this moment.”
“We both know that the only reason I’m sitting here, the only reason that I’m alive, is because you saved me,” she yells back.
“You did the hard part, I just changed your location; you saved yourself. Jason will see that truth as clearly as I do.”
I watch as her anger starts to fade when my words sink in. After several seconds, she pushes me, laughing, “For someone who doesn’t believe in love, you sure are pushing for me to embrace it with Jason.”
“I didn’t say that it doesn’t exist. I just don’t believe in it for me,” I clarify, helping her to her feet. “I want you to be happy.”
“I want the same for you, Breck.”
My cell phone rings before I can respond, Emma’s name illuminated on the screen. My thoughts stray, betraying me.
Fuck
. Hitting the off button, I shove the phone back in my pocket. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
“Was that Jason?”
“No,” I answer, hesitating before continuing, “it was Emma.”
Panic flashes across Jess’ face, “Did Jason tell her anything? I don’t want her to know anything about my past?”
“He left a message for her to call if she saw you. That’s all I know,” I answer bitterly. “You said she’s different, Jess. If you really believed that, you wouldn’t be worrying about her judging you.”
Her eyes fall, and I close mine, taking a deep breath, “I’m sorry.”
“She is different. The past is easier left in the past,” she looks at me pointedly, “but, you can’t hide it forever. You’re right; I do need to tell Jason.”
“Go straight home. Call me when you get there,” I demand, returning her pointed look.
“I stopped taking orders from you years ago,” she laughs.
“You never took orders from me,” I remind her.
“Not without pitching a fit. I’ll text you when I get there.”
Closing her door, I hold up my cell and she nods, smiling.
Cranking the heat in my vehicle, I stare at my phone, waiting several seconds before listening to the message Emma left. Not wanting to, I return her call.
“Is Jess alright?” she asks, worry spilling into her words. “Jason said she still wasn’t home yet.”
“She’s on her way home now. She just had a hard night. Don’t call her tonight. I will see you Thursday evening,” I state curtly.
There are a few seconds of silence before I hear Emma’s soft voice again, “Okay. If I can do anything, just let me know.”
I hear another voice in the background, a man reprimanding her about being on her phone. I can tell by the nervous tone of Emma’s response to the man that she’s not used to being reprimanded, probably because she’s never broken one damn rule in her pristine life.
“I have to go,” Emma states quickly, her words rushed, “tell her to call me if she needs me.”
The man’s voice calls her name in a voice too sharp for my liking, and anger riots inside of me again. The phone goes dead, and part of me wants to head to the gallery and defend Emma, smashing my fist against his head, which further infuriates me. I don’t want to care. Tossing the phone on the seat next to me, I head towards the closest bar instead, needing to find someone to get my head back where it needs to be, which is as far away from Emma as possible.
There are several women whose body language shows that they are very willing participants as I walk by. Two blondes in the corner catch my attention, and one simple nod their way brings them strolling towards me as I take a seat at the bar. The taller one is a real blonde, the other’s comes from a bottle. Both are attractive and eager. That’s good enough for me. I halfway listen as they ramble for a few moments while I let two shots of whiskey run down my throat before slipping my hands around their waists, leading them towards the door.
Emma
Jess has dismissed last night as some major hormonal time of the month ordeal and waves it off without talking about it while she pours me a drink. She’s getting the beers ready to take to the grunge band that’s playing tonight when a couple of guys start shoving and yelling at the bar. Jess jerks her head towards Jason, who slides over the counter and steps in between the two just in time to catch a fist full of knuckles.
“Shit!” Jess leaves the tray on the bar and tries to demand the men to knock it off, but a beer bottle is thrown, smashing a few inches away from me at the bar, the dark liquid and glass splashing me.
The fight quickly spreads into an affray of arms, fists, and bodies being thrust left and right. Jess heads towards the door to get Gavin from outside. I’ve seen a couple of fights between some of Justin’s jock friends who had too much to drink at parties back home, but this is insane. The crowded space in front of the bar has turned into a wrestling and boxing match, and I scoot back to avoid more shattered glass when I slam into a sharp elbow sending me stumbling forward. Panic ensues as I hit the ground and am knocked back and forth, keeping me from scrambling to my feet. A pair of large, strong hands wrap around my waist, sweeping me off the ground and landing me on top of the counter.
“Get behind the bar and stay there,” Breck demands gruffly, directly before grabbing the tattooed fist of a shaved headed man whose intent was to send his fist into the crew cut military looking Goliath.
Breck twists the man’s arm behind his back, slamming his face against the bar. No gratitude is bestowed by Goliath as he throws a punch at Breck, who ducks, landing his elbow against the man’s ribs, then administering a sharp jab and an upward thrust of his forearm into Goliath’s nose. Blood streams as he falls backwards. The scene in front of me passes in a minute but it seems like it’s playing in slow motion as I watch Breck single handedly defusing a large part of the melee, dodging fists and elbows as he lands perfectly precise blows too many times for me to keep count.
I’m in a state of stunned awe, horrified, mesmerized, and more than a little ashamed at how I’m completely turned on watching Breck’s toned body twist and turn, his shirt pressing tight against the outline of his chiseled muscles when he takes down man after man. Gavin reaches the bar and flashes an exuberant grin as he joins in the brawl. The difference between the two is staggering. Gavin seems to be thoroughly enjoying the violent chaos, while Breck’s eyes are hard and calculated as he seems to find no amusement in the serious damage he’s causing.
Jess climbs over the top of the bar with me and grabs my arm, pulling me flush with her to the opposite counter. Her eyes bounce between Jason, Gavin, and Breck, not fazed in the least. She grabs a pitcher of water and throws the whole thing at a long-haired, pierced broad shouldered man who is gaining the upper hand on Jason. A few more faces are bloodied before the fight is contained.
Breck’s chest rises and falls from his exertion. His brow has a sheen of sweat and the veins on his neck are pulsating. I watch how eerily calm he is as he glances around the room, his fists still tightly coiled and ready to strike.
Jess hauls herself on the bar, pushing to her feet, “If you are still in one piece, then count yourself as one lucky sonofabitch and have a beer on the house, but if you’re one of the bleeding assholes, get the hell out of my bar and don’t even think about dragging your ass back until you sleep it off, or you won’t be able to walk out of here next time.”
Gavin slaps the back of Breck’s shoulder, absolutely beaming, “Oh hell, yeah. Now, that’s what I call a good night.”
Seemingly satisfied that all the potential threats have been neutralized, Breck’s gaze lands on mine, and I’m amazed that he went through all of what I just had a front row seat to untouched. I check out the small cut above Gavin’s eye, just shy of his temple, before cringing when I see Jason. His eye and nose are busted and bleeding. Breck shows no signs of what happened, other than looking as if he finished a heavy workout.
Jess grabs Jason’s chin, inspecting his bloodied face before pushing her thumb against the side of his nose.
“Damn, Jess, cut it out,” he snaps, knocking her hand away.
She laughs, “Not broken this time.”
Jason must see the residual shock registered on my face because he clicks his chin up when he looks at me, “You alright, Em?”
Jess slides back over the bar top, plopping down in front of me and wrapping my arm in hers, grinning, “This is her first party; she’ll be just fine, won’t you?”
Shaking it off, I scan the crowd that is now back to normal, drinking and talking like what just happened is a perfectly normal occurrence. “This happen a lot? Broken noses, bloody floors, and all that?”
Breck’s gaze turns hard again as he barks, “Oh, that’s right. You’re of the philosophy of turning the other cheek.”
Indignation rises, tinting my cheeks at his scoffing tone, “No. I – um- I mean-” not sure what I’m trying to say, I shut up, trying to match his admonishing stare but it comes out more like a twisted awed curiosity, “how did you do that?”
Gavin’s hand soundly slaps Breck’s back again, “Our boy here can kick some serious ass, go all the way to the pros, if he’d just embrace what he’s got.”
Breck shrugs Gavin’s hand away as Jess’ glare to shut up seems to mute Gavin. With one quick glimpse, Breck inspects me, “Were you hurt?” The words are gruff but there’s the tiniest flash of concern in his eyes.
“No – sorry,” I state hurriedly, realizing that I didn’t thank him for getting me out of the stampede before I did get hurt, “thank you for moving me.”
That strong, lightly specked jaw is still wound tight when he gives a sharp nod, “Don’t be late tomorrow.”
Wanting to be a smartass, I refrain from saluting at his order and let it go as he turns to leave.
“You just got here,” Gavin blurts, “throw him a beer, Jess.”
“Not tonight,” he mumbles before walking away.
I watch how the crowd thins, moving out of Breck’s way as he walks by. His reputation seems to include more than just being a god and Casanova; apparently, he’s also feared.
͠
My lunch hour zooms by, not surprisingly; it’s always the fastest hour of the day, but time has seemed to have sped up through the entire morning. Usually, I welcome a quick work day; they don’t occur often, but not today. Time can drag for as long as it wants until 6:00 p.m. I’d even welcome Mr. Harris demanding I stay late, but no such luck since he’s out of the office at a conference until Monday.
Trying to distract myself from the upcoming meeting with Breck, I think back to my phone call with Jess this morning, still worried about whatever happened. She sounded fine, just like always. After her assuring me that everything’s good and telling me that we’ll talk more this weekend, my worry subsided.
Justin calls and, foolishly, I answer, knowing I have to talk to him at some point, especially since I haven’t returned his call from Saturday.
“I was worried about you, Emma!” he lectures, “I’ve been calling for six days.”
“I know, I’m sorry. I’ve been really busy.”
His voice holds less of an edge when he asks, “Are you coming home for Thanksgiving?”
Dreading the repercussion, I decide to go ahead and get it over with, “I can’t make it. I have to work the next day and there’s an important exhibit at the gallery the following Saturday.”
A painful silence tugs at my heart.
“Does your dad know?”
“Yeah, I told him a few days ago. He understands,” I state, wishing I had enough courage to tell him that he should, too.
“Tyler’s getting married next month.”
“Give your brother my congratulations,” I state, meaning it; I like Tyler, Justin’s older brother, he has always been nice to me.
“Now’s probably not the time to give him your well wishes. Lucy’s pregnant.”
“Oh,” is all I can manage to say, knowing that Justin’s family is extremely traditional. I hope Tyler and Lucy are in love and aren’t being pressured into something because of the situation. “Is Tyler happy about getting married?”
“Guess it doesn’t matter now.”
“They don’t have to marry,” I state the obvious.
“Your father’s a preacher, how can you even say that? You’re the one who insisted we wait because we weren’t married,” Justin scolds.
Hearing his calm admonition reaffirms that leaving was the right thing. He never yelled at me, never swore when he was mad, which always somehow made me feel worse when I knew he was angry but wouldn’t show it. Not that I want to be yelled at, but some form of emotion would have possibly sparked at least a little passion between us. It’s hard to know what someone really feels if they are always being polite. I guess that’s why he was shocked when I told him I was leaving. I was just as polite as he was.
“I just mean that they don’t have to jump into marriage because of the baby. Tyler would do his part and be there for the child without having to give his life to someone if they aren’t in love.”
“He should’ve thought of that before being stupid.”
I can tell this isn’t going anywhere so I change the subject, “How is your job going?”
Justin’s voice becomes less melancholy as he announces, “I got a promotion last week.”
“That’s wonderful,” I tell him excitedly. I know how hard he worked for the engineering position. “I’m proud of you.”
“With the raise, I’m thinking of building a house on the piece of land you love so much.”
My chest tightens.
His voice is strained, “We used to talk about us building a house near the pond.”
He talked about us building a house. I listened.
“I have a meeting with the owner of a gallery in a couple of weeks,” I make my own announcement, trying to change the subject as my stomach ties in knots just thinking about it.
“Will you at least be home for Christmas?”
A hollow ache fills me when he says nothing about my paintings or the meeting. “Yes.” I don’t want to. I want to see Dad, but I don’t want to go home.
“Great. I can show you the house plans if you want.”
“Congratulations on your promotion and the house, Justin,” I state, avoiding the offer, “I have to go, my break’s almost over.”
“I’ll talk to you soon, Emma.”
“Okay,” I tell him instead of what I want to say. Why can’t I just tell him goodbye, for good?
Feeling defeated, I throw away the empty sandwich wrapper and head towards my desk.
“You look like someone just took your candy?” Braden teases.
“Just a bit distracted,” I smile, not wanting my personal life to trickle into my professional. My meeting with Breck tonight intrudes my mind; I guess it’s a little too late for that.
Dur Acier is
a beautiful piece of architecture constructed in the sixties and built on to over the years. As I enter the building, I admire the contemporary touches of the original era, especially the use of windows optimizing the natural light, mixed with more modern styles that incorporate an air of openness to new ideas while maintaining the integrity of the older set of values. I would like to meet Harrison Steele. Research on his company provided me with the feeling that he is very much like how he planned his building.
My stomach lurches as I step on the elevator. Absently smoothing my blouse, I wonder if I’m dressed appropriately. Taking a quick peek in the reflection on the shiny metal wall, I scrutinize my caramel and white plaid scarf, the light blue cotton button-up underneath that is cut just low enough to be a little seducing while remaining professional, and brown wool dress slacks. Dark toffee heeled boots finish the look. Not having a nice jacket, I left my comfortable, toasty one in the car. Deciding to leave my hair down, I took the time to straighten it, not realizing the forecast is calling for rain until I heard that bit of irritating news on the car radio. This was the longest I took to get ready, ever, and I rationalize the extra time on my hair and wardrobe, telling myself that I’m just being professional.
As soon as I step into the lobby of Breck’s office, I’m greeted warmly by the receptionist, “So, you’re the country bumpkin?” Pushing up stylish square frames, he extends his hand to me with a wide, friendly grin.
I immediately like him.
“I’m Prayton.”
“Emma. Nice to meet you,” I return his smile as I shake his hand.
“Mr. Steele is in a meeting, but he shouldn’t be too much longer. Would you like a coffee or tea while you wait?” Prayton gestures to a plush seat in the corner as he grabs his own coffee cup that has a picture of an owl wearing the same style of frames.