The feeling that overwhelmed me wasn’t disappointment or anger, though. It was shame. Shame for what I’d done four years ago, shame for all the lies I’d told since, shame for allowing Emilia to risk everything she’d built, shame for leading Hayden into thinking that someone he shouldn’t want was someone he did want.
“Emilia, how long will it take you to divvy up my clients among the other assistants?”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because I think I’ve finally learned my lesson.” I heard them call my name as I walked away. But I didn’t turn, and thankfully, they didn’t try to catch up. Because then I’d have to run away, and I didn’t want to do that anymore.
38
Hayden
When Sira’s name popped up on my cell phone, reminding me to change the name in her contact info, I was in the middle of lunch with the president of a small manufacturing business that might be able to help me salvage the Inspex deal. I waited as long as two vibrations before excusing myself, knowing I was probably screwing everything up just so she’d have another chance to tell me to go to hell. But since it seemed unlikely that she would call to tell me to leave her alone, I would answer the phone.
By the time I was far enough away from the table, I’d missed it. So I called her back, hoping I hadn’t blown my last shot. She picked up on the first ring. That was a good sign, wasn’t it?
“I met Clare today.”
I inhaled. “Did you? Why’s that?”
“She wanted to let me know that she supported whatever happened between us.”
“Hopefully, she was more specific than that because I’d hate to think she would support you telling me to fuck off.”
“Yeah, she was more specific.”
I waited. There was so much uncertainty in her voice, so much tension, that I couldn’t tell which way this was going to go. I braced myself for either.
“I’m…” she started. “I can take care of myself.”
“I know you can.” I wanted to say more, but held back, knowing that if I didn’t let her lead, she’d just disappear again.
“Then why did you decide to stick your nose into something you know nothing about?”
“I’m afraid you’re going to have to be a bit more specific now because you seem to know exactly what you’re referring to while I’m not as sure.” She could’ve been talking about her, love, or life in general.
“I don’t need your lawyer, Hayden.”
Oh, that. After Detective Williams had left, I’d called the virtual assistant agency and spoken with the real Sara, just to have a few separate points of reference, to know I wasn’t going crazy and imagining all of this. Unfortunately, as soon as I’d mentioned the name ‘Andi,’ it became pretty clear that I was finally hearing the truth. So I’d called an attorney friend, hoping he knew how I could learn more about the woman I wanted and how I could help her. Even if she didn’t want to be in my life, I wanted her to have a good one.
“I was trying to help,” I said. “I’m sorry if it didn’t.”
“I didn’t do it—what they’re accusing me of. I wasn’t involved at all.”
“I know.”
She laughed. “That’s it? ‘I know?’ How could you possibly know?”
“Because I’ve spent I don’t know how many weeks giving you every reason I could think of for us to be together. And I’ve spent the same amount of time listening to you tell me that, despite what you want, what I was trying so hard to give you, you won’t take it. Because it would be wrong. So knowing what I know about you—as little as that may be—I know you’d never be involved in someone’s death.”
“Why would you believe anything I’ve ever said? I lied to you about everything—who I am, my past, my mistakes. Even my fucking name.”
“I didn’t fall in love with your name. I don’t lay in bed all night thinking about your past or the mistakes you’ve made. I think about you. Your laugh, your body under mine, your cruel comebacks and how they make me feel more alive than I ever have. Those things aren’t fake. They are you.” I swallowed. “I love your mind, and your spirit, and the way you make me feel. I don’t just believe them. I know.”
“I’ve made so many mistakes, Hayden.” Her breath hiccupped. “So many.”
“Yes, you have. You’ve also paid for them. They’ve made you who you are, and I love who you are.”
“You don’t love me. You can’t. You’re just mixing your feelings up. So now that you know I’m full of shit, you should go. You should run away as fast as you can.”
“I want to be there for you.”
“I don’t need you,” she whimpered. “I’m not going to thank you for the lawyer. I’ll pay you back, but I won’t thank you. I don’t need you to rescue me.”
Ah-ha. “That wasn’t my intention. It’s obvious you can take care of yourself.” As soon as I said the words, I wished I could take them back. Because they sounded flippant, bitter, sarcastic. I was none of those things. I was only confused and afraid of hurting her.
“I never asked you to take care of me,” she yelled. “I know I screwed up. I think about it every single day. I can’t stop thinking about it. But I never asked you for help so you can keep your sarcastic comments to yourself.”
“I wasn’t being sarcastic. You’re misunderstanding me, Sar—” My head flopped back on the wall. I should really start listening—not to what she said, because I already did that, every syllable she spoke. But to what she hadn’t said. For months, I didn’t even know her real name.
I didn’t care about the lie itself. But, sadly, it was a sign. A sign that she didn’t trust me enough to come clean, that she didn’t see a future for us. If she had, she would’ve told me. “I want the best for you, and unfortunately, I don’t know what that is. I don’t want to fix you—I think you’re perfect just the way you are. But I would like to help if I can. In any way I can.”
“I don’t need your help.”
“Okay,” I said on an exhale. “Then what do you want me to do?”
“I want you to erase my number and my email address from everywhere they are. I want you to forget my phone number. And if you see me in public, I want you to walk in the other direction. That’s what I want you to do.”
“Don’t ask me to do that.”
“I’m not asking. Goodbye, Hayden.”
“Andi, come on!” I yelled into the phone, her real name so foreign on my tongue. But it was too late. She’d already hung up.
After staring at my phone for a while, I started walking. I wasn’t sure how long, and I wasn’t sure where I was going. When the sun started to go down, I raised my gaze from the sidewalk and looked around. No idea where I was. I had my phone and my wallet but had left my briefcase in the restaurant.
All that walking and still no closer to a way out of the hole I’d dug my way into. Like a grave. I’d fallen a lot in my life, business dealings that failed, personal relationships that fell apart. But I’d always prided myself on being able to pick myself up.
I finally understood why it had been so easy. Because I’d never been that far off the ground. I’d never felt free. Not being fully alive had kept my feet firmly planted. She’d changed that—Andi. Andi had made my chest fill with laughter, my soul fill with hope. So that when I fell, it was from a much higher place. And it hurt a hell of a lot more when I landed.
39
Andi
Every part of me ached, and I was only about halfway through packing up my stuff. Ironically, I used to think of myself as a minimalist. Although, most of it wasn’t mine. Grandma had left lots of souvenirs from a life well-lived, a full and happy one. Those memories needed to be carefully wrapped and labeled for storage until I could afford a place larger than a postage stamp. Selling the house wouldn’t give me all the money I still owed, but after I paid off the mortgage, the rest would help a lot of people regain what they’d lost.
It hurt to sell something that meant so much to my grandmother, but what else
could I do? I needed to start over, and hopefully, there was enough fun stuff to do in heaven that Grandma would never notice.
I’d stopped checking my phone, letting all the calls from Emilia, Sara, and Clare go to voicemail. Once a day, I texted a quick, ‘I’m alive, but can’t talk now. Need more time,’ message back to them so no one would decide to come over to see if I was still breathing.
I wasn’t sure I still was.
Not surprisingly, Hayden hadn’t called. It was fitting that the one time he listened was the time I’d told him to erase me from his life. I told myself the pain in my chest was guilt, not disappointment. Not sadness that I’d let someone down again. Not anxiety over imagining him cursing my name—my real name—and thinking what a fool he was for believing me, trusting me, wanting me. Because if I thought too long on any of those things, I’d start crying. And crying only made the packing go slower and the nights seem longer.
The only thing I had to celebrate was that I wouldn’t have to pay Hayden back too much for the attorney. By the time I’d called the guy to tell him I wouldn’t be needing his services, I was no longer a suspect, and the police had a lead on someone else. I didn’t ask for details—it was hard to care about anything anymore.
Unfortunately, fifty years of clutter covered up a lot of dust, and moving Grandma’s things stirred it all up. When I could no longer stand the taste in my mouth, I walked down to the donut shop. The place seemed different this time, not as safe anymore. Maybe because I knew this neighborhood wouldn’t be my home much longer.
As I passed a liquor store with my half-dozen beauties, I decided I was thirsty. Hell, why not? I grabbed a six-pack of the cheapest beer they had. Maybe I’d just have one, or maybe I’d have all six beers and all six donuts and then spend the rest of the night crying. Ain’t life grand?
When I got back to the house, I saw him. Hayden was sitting in the swing on my front porch as if it was just another night and this was just another visit. As if he’d been here countless times before and had done exactly the same thing. But he’d only been here a couple times…that felt like they’d been seared into my memory with a branding iron. Painful reminders of who I’d almost belonged to but never would.
What is it like to have memories that don’t hurt?
Hayden wore jeans and a sweater, by far the most casual thing I’d ever seen him wear, but nothing could make him look bad. He looked gorgeous, confident, powerful, completely out of my league, so much more than I’d ever deserve.
Under the weight of his stare, I dragged my feet up the sidewalk, words darting around in my mind but not sticking long enough for me to figure out something to say. I slipped my key into the lock and opened the door. I didn’t need to explain myself to him—he knew what he needed to know, anything else would only make him hate me more. And that wouldn’t do either of us any good.
“Can I have one?” His voice made me flinch, cringe, shiver, feel lots of unpleasant stuff.
“Um…sure,” I said. I wanted to just run inside and lock the door behind me, but instead, I tossed my wallet, keys, and donuts inside, pulled a beer from the plastic ring, and handed it to him. Then I grabbed one for myself, set the rest down at my feet, and leaned up against the wood railing.
When he examined the label, I instantly knew he’d probably never had beer in a can before. He cracked it open and took a cautious sip, then another.
“Is Andi short for anything?” he asked calmly.
“Andrea.” I took a long swig—partly so I didn’t have to look at him and partly hoping the alcohol would hit me really fast.
“You got in trouble with the police, what, four years ago?”
I gagged, the beer in my nose instead of where I needed it to go. After my coughing fit was done, I looked at him and nodded. He deserved to know. “My boyfriend at the time asked me to do something for him. I was stupid and was sure he loved me and would ever ask me to do anything that was wrong, so I did it. Turned out only one part of that was true: I was stupid.”
“But you’re paying back what he and his friends took?”
How did he know that? “Clare was right. Throw enough money at something and you can find out whatever you want.”
He shrugged. “You’d be surprised how easy it is. And how inexpensive.” He took another sip of beer. “I spoke to a few of them.”
“A few of whom?”
“The university employees who are receiving funds from an unknown source. They’re very thankful. Why didn’t you ever tell them what you were doing for them?”
I’d never contacted any of them. Never had the guts to. “How do you tell someone that you’re the person responsible for their life savings being stolen? They all saw me at the trial, and they have every right to hate me. So what’s the point of taking credit for the small amount of money I’ve given back to them?”
“Just over eighty-five thousand dollars isn’t a small amount of money.”
“I’ve never added it up.” I kept records of every payment and every family they went to, but tallying it up didn’t seem like anything but a reminder of how much more I owed them. “Doesn’t seem like a lot over four years, though. I wish it could be more.” I wasn’t sure how much longer I could stand to talk about this, but his pause made me even more uncomfortable—wondering how badly he was judging me.
“Why were you so afraid something had happened to Sara the night we first met?” I might’ve been thankful for his switch of topic, but all he’d done was move from one awful discussion to another.
I felt my eyes water. “She trusted the wrong person and got hurt. I don’t know who it was, or what exactly happened, but I understood how she felt because…because I’d done the same thing. Trusted the wrong person and got hurt. But I hadn’t just hurt myself—I’d hurt other people. Even though I can’t stop those people from being hurt again by someone else, I can make sure Sara doesn’t. At least not...”
When he nodded, I took a breath of relief that I didn’t have to keep talking about the past. Until he started speaking again—no subject was safe anymore.
“Only four people know what I’m about to tell you,” he said. “But I want you to know that I don’t expect reciprocity. I’m telling you because I trust you, and I hope that someday you’ll trust me.”
I took a sip and waited for whatever would come next.
“When I was eight, my father almost killed me. I spent four days in the ICU. Eventually, I came home with casts on both of my arms and one leg. But it was fine because my family was rich. We could hire people to push my wheelchair around. We could pay for the best surgeons to make sure there would be no lasting damage. We could donate enough money to the hospital so that people forgot to file a report. So everything was fine.”
He took another drink. “When I was about eleven, I missed a month of school. I couldn’t go because I couldn’t sit down or bend at the waist or knees or take full breaths. But everything was fine, because we had servants who could bring me what I needed and my parents didn’t have to deal with me. Eventually, they sent me away to a boarding school in Connecticut…so they didn’t have to deal with me. I was mostly healed and, by then, I’d learned how to not let the pain show on my face. So everything was fine.”
He stood up, shaking his can slightly. “Can I have another?”
“Sure.” I bent down to get him one, and when I straightened, he was next to me. Not facing me, though. His hands were on the railing, and he was looking out at the street.
“When I was sixteen, Detective Williams was called to my home for a domestic disturbance. That’s how we met, and why he told me about you. Because he’s a good man who tries to help people when they don’t know how to ask for help. A week later, my father came to visit me at school because he thought I’d told Williams about the beatings. That visit led to two weeks at a private hospital because I needed time to heal, and my family was in mourning.” His knuckles were white on the rail.
“Mourning?”
“My
father had a heart attack in my dorm room. I was a certified lifeguard and knew CPR, but I watched him die on the floor next to me.” He rubbed his lips together. “I could’ve…I was bleeding and had a few broken ribs, but I could’ve helped him. I chose not to. I chose to let him die.”
I was frozen, listening to his every word, still holding the beer he’d asked for. He seemed to have forgotten about it, too.
“I told my mother it was because I was injured—my father had gotten upset and had beat me pretty badly, and I was still sore from the last time. But that’s not why I didn’t help him. I didn’t help him because I wanted him to die. I wanted him to leave me alone, and Carson, and my mom. I knew that if I gave him CPR, there was a chance I would save him. Save him, after everything he’d done to us. I couldn’t. So I did what he’d taught me to do, what my family had always done—look away, pretend things were fine and that my father wasn’t using his last breath to curse my name. Pretend I couldn’t feel his grip on my pants weaken and go limp when that breath was over.”
“I’m sorry, Hayden.”
“Me, too. At least, part of me is. But the other part understands why I made the choice I did. That I did it to protect the people I loved.” Blinking, he looked down, his brow tightening when he saw me still holding the beer.
“Am I boring you yet?” he asked, taking the can out of my hand and cracking it open.
“Not at all.” As much as I knew this man, there was so much more to learn. So much that explained why he was the way he was. The more he spoke, the more I respected his strength, and the more courage that gave me. “You can keep talking…if you want to.”
A smile flitted across his mouth. “When I graduated from high school, I went to college at my father’s Alma Mater. I’m not sure if I was a good enough student to be accepted, but I was. And, even though I wasn’t under my father’s fist anymore, I followed his rules, his expectations—my fraternity, area of study, sports, and girlfriends were all exactly as he would have wanted them. He had been successful, and if I wanted to be successful, it was wise to follow his example. And I was fine with that because I did want to succeed. I think. After grad school, I got an interesting job that I was good at and married an amazing woman, whom you met. Everything was…fine.