“My God, he’s going to hate me,” she presumed.
“Well, maybe if he was ten or fifteen,” I said, assuming she was talking about Kellen. “But he’s only four. He’s not going to hate you. But he’s made his choice. He wants his daddy. You didn’t grow up without your father, and I didn’t grow up without mine. Regardless of the circumstances, why should he?”
I now had one minute before my briefing with Wesley and Morgan.
“Listen, Caela. Sorry to rush off, but I don’t want Wes and Morgan waiting on me. You know how I hate walking into these meetings late. We’ll finish this later. Deal?”
“Sure. Sure,” she said, exiting my office.
When I walked out of my office behind Caela and looked down the hall, Morgan had just turned into the conference room. I wasn’t sure if Wesley had entered ahead of him. When I walked into the conference room, Morgan was the only one seated around the mahogany boat-shaped conference table. Eight empty chairs and he chose the one to the far end of the room.
He sat reclined in the black leather conference chair, his left leg crossed over his right ankle to knee, his left elbow rested on the arm of the chair, and his hand pulling at the invisible hairs on his chin. For the first time since his hire, I paid attention to how handsome he actually was.
“Morgan, good morning,” I greeted, and then opened my notebook in front of me. “Sorry I’m late.”
“Good morning, Mr. Harrison,” he responded in a voice much deeper than his age suggested. He kept his focus across the room. “It’s all right. I’m sure you had other things to take care of this morning.” I smiled at his assumption. What did he know that I didn’t? I wasn’t sure what other things Morgan was talking about, but I wasn’t going to entertain his response.
Although I had told the staff I didn’t mind if they addressed me using my first name, and most of them had followed my instruction, Morgan was adamant in using the formal Mr. Jackson. I stopped correcting him.
“Is Wesley on his way?” I asked, taking my seat in one of the chairs on the side. I hated sitting at the head of the table.
“He was finishing up a call when I stopped by his office,” Morgan said. His face had an unusual seriousness about it.
“Morgan is everything okay?”
“Everything is fine,” he responded. “Why do you ask?”
“Sorry I’m late, fellas,” Wesley interrupted. He walked across the room and occupied one of the chairs across from me. “That was your boy, Copeland, I was just talking with.”
“My boy?” I laughed. “What’s the problem?” I asked, bracing myself for what might be. Lord knows I couldn’t handle any other stressors right now. Dealing with Jackson, Dexter, and “Bran” was enough.
“Nah, no problem at all,” Wesley said with coolness.
“Good.”
“Well…” Wesley added.
“I knew it.” I sat back in my chair and clasped my hands behind my head. “Lay it on me.”
“Calm down. It’s nothing major. He called to cancel the site visit we had planned two weeks from today. He says he’s heading to Breckenridge Ski Resort for an early Christmas vacation with Mr. Flynn.”
“He could have spared you the details,” I said, smiling.
“Come on, man! This is Charney we’re talking about. You know how it is with him.”
Mr. Charney Copeland can be a little too transparent whenever he’s comfortable with you. Turning to Morgan, I asked, “Have you taken care of those invoices with Turner Construction?
“Those invoices, Mr. Harrison, have been taken care of.”
Is it me or does Morgan sound like he has a big chip on his shoulders? I thought. Morgan was the epitome of formality, but this was a little much. “And…”
“And we are still operating under budget. We’ll definitely be able to improve both our top and bottom lines once this project is completed.”
“Which is exactly what we want,” Wesley added.
“Anything else going on I should know about that hasn’t been brought to my attention?” I asked, looking at Wesley, and then at Morgan.
“Janelle Glennon from Welsh Industries called this morning,” Morgan explained. “She says you two have been playing phone tag all month.”
“That’s the understatement of the year. Were you able to confirm the meeting with Mr. Welch?”
“She says to have the proposal ready the first week of January,” Morgan said, keeping his eyes on his leather bound planner where he kept all his notes. He was meticulously prepared.
“And is that something you can do?”
“It shouldn’t be a problem, assuming I’m still going to be working with Ms. Dumarko and Mr. Jones.”
I guess I’m not the only one he was being formal with. “Of course. Well…” I said as I got up and closed my notebook. “Yet another successful meeting. You gentlemen keep up the good work.”
Wesley got up. “Yes, boss,” he said, jokingly, and shook my hand. He exited the conference room, turning towards his office.
Morgan got up, closed his planner, and started towards the door. I interrupted his depart. “Morgan, may I speak with you for a minute?” He paused briefly, and then turned to face me. I closed the door and walked and stood closer to him. “Is something bothering you? Would you like to talk about it?”
“I’d rather not. It’s kind of personal and I don’t want to discuss my personal business on the job.”
“Understand. But if you change your mind, you know where my office is,” I said, and began to leave the room.
“I’m concerned about a buddy of mine,” Morgan said when I neared the door. He placed his planner on the table and stood with his hands in his pockets. He looked guarded, disinclined. His voice had taken on an adolescent tone. He didn’t sound like the confident, knowledgeable young man who had just sat in our meeting or the person Wesley and I had interviewed over a year ago.
“What’s the concern?” I asked.
“My friend is in a situation I think she needs to get out of before she loses everything. I’m trying not to give advice, especially since she hasn’t asked for any, but it’s getting to where if she doesn’t get out now, someone is going to get hurt.”
“Don’t you think she knows what she’s doing?”
“I know she doesn’t know what she’s doing and she’s going
to lose the best thing she’s ever had.”
“What makes you so sure?” I asked, searching in his eyes.
“I don’t know. A gut feeling, I guess,” he said, looking away.
Then a disturbing thought entered my mind. Could it be? No, it couldn’t. Could Morgan and Bran be one and the same?
“How old is she?”
“Huh?” I could tell my question caught him off guard. It made me wonder if Morgan was making up his story as he went along, doing what he needed to throw me off his trail. Maybe he figured I was on to him, and he had told me more than he needed to.
“The friend you’re concerned about. How old is she?” I asked to clarify.
“That’s not important,” he said, grabbing his planner from the table and making his way towards the door. “I think I’ve said enough.”
“Listen, I’m sure your friend will figure things out, but not until she is ready. So, cut her some slack. I’m sure she has the situation under control. If she is making a mistake, it’s her mistake to make.”
“You’re right. I just don’t think it’s a mistake worth making. But I guess that’s my opinion. I’ll try to take what you said into consideration, but I’m not making any promises,” he said, looking directly at me. He turned and walked out the door.
My heart leaped. “Fair enough,” I said and walked out of the room behind him.
When I got back to my office and was seated behind my desk, I had several texts, messages, and missed phone calls.
Hey. I sent you an email with my itinerary. Alaina and I are coming on the 23rd, and I hope it’s still ok we stay with you, in your g
uest room. Please text or email me later when you get this. Love you, Trev.
-Den K.
Wassup baby? Hit me back when you get this.
- Dex
I frowned after reading the last text, not at the message, but at the person it came from. Dexter hadn’t said much to me since lunch at La Tomate. I’m not sure if I had crossed the line when I asked him about his father again. It’s not like I held his head under water and forced him to speak. Realizing I still hadn’t responded to Jackson’s message he sent this morning, I decided to call him. After three rings, he answered.
“Hello,” he said. I knew he hadn’t looked at the screen since that wasn’t his usual greeting whenever I called.
“Hello?” I said. “This is Trevor.”
“I’m sorry, babe. What’s going on?”
In the background I heard, “Table for two?” and a male voice responded, “Yes, please.”
“Where are you?” I asked, looking at my watch. It was 10:45 am.
“I’m having a late breakfast,” Jackson responded.
“Okay, but you didn’t answer my question.”
“Look, Trevor. I’ll call you back.” And the phone was silent.
Did Jackson just put me on pause? I thought aloud, but my phone screen was black.
I threw my cell phone on my desk, pressed the page button on my desk phone, and summoned Caela to my office. When she entered, I threw my question at her. “The evening Jackson and I had dinner at my dad’s, where did you see him?”
“Java House, on the other side of town. Why?” Caela asked. She folded her hands and stood with attitude.
“Nothing. Thank you.”
“Trevor, don’t dismiss me like that,” she said, closing my office door behind her. “What’s going on?”
“I’m not sure. As soon as I find out, I’ll let you know,” I said, placing my phone in the case and grabbing my wallet from my desk drawer. “Can I use your car keys?”
“Not until you tell me what’s going on.”
“Fine! Suit yourself.”
I rushed passed Caela, opened the door, and turned towards the exit.
“Wait a minute,” she whispered. She walked swiftly over to her desk, fumbled through her black Dooney and Bourke Hobo, and then handed me her keys.
“Thank you,” I said, heading towards the elevators. “Answer your phone in a few minutes.”
“Okay.”
26
Nothing, Nothing, Nothing
Jackson…
This meeting had regret written all over it. But, here I was sitting and talking with him. A caramel macchiato and a Canadian croissant with bacon and imported Swiss cheese sat in a plate in front of me.
“Didn’t you get my message?” he asked, sticking the fork in his salmon salad. He still held the fork the same way. With his index finger extended down the handle, he placed the fork and its contents of salmon and greens in his mouth with the tines curving down. He closed his luscious lips together and slowly pulled the fork from his mouth. I tried not to stare at him, but my eyes temporarily had a mind of their own. I’d always loved his lips and that little mole on the left side of his nose was always so sexy to me. Nothing about Ethan Angelo Overstreet had changed. Not too much about me had changed, either, except over time I had developed an ability to resist him without even trying. Before, it took effort and a nice prayer.
“Are you asking me why I didn’t respond? I told you. There’s no need to tell me every time a meeting with one of your clients brings you to the area.”
“Why is it such a big problem for you to see me?”
“I never said seeing you was a problem. You had your issues you had to deal with, and I have a relationship I need to focus on.”
“So you just forgot about us?”
“I can’t forget about something that never was. That was the cruel reality I had to come to terms with. See, ‘us’ was factual in my mind, but never existed in yours. I had broken an important rule, falling in love with someone who never loved me,” I explained. “You can’t ask about me forgetting about us when we never existed.”
“So, you’re happy?” Ethan asked, as if I had given him any reasons to think I wasn’t.
“Weren’t you? Your exact words, if I can remember correctly, were, ‘I don’t need any complications in my life. I’m happy the way things are’. Please correct me if I’m wrong. I didn’t want to be anyone’s complication, or the cause of anyone’s unhappiness, so I left you alone. Was it hard? Yes, but what did you expect me to do?” I wasn’t sure this was a conversation we should be having here, if at all, but here we were. I thought both our actions had made things crystal clear. He got what he wanted, and though it took me a little while, so did I.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Am I happy?” I repeated. “Yes, I’m happy,” I said with confidence.
“So there’s no chance for us?”
Between Ethan’s questions and my answers, Angie Stone’s “Here We Go Again” played through my mind:
Oh oh, here we go again
Trying to make it right
When it don’t make sense
“Now you’re asking for the same chance I would have done anything for, that I did anything for? You can’t be serious,” I said as the chorus began to fade. But he was serious. “It was you who didn’t give us a chance,” I continued.
“What about Gavin?”
“What about him? You know damn well he had nothing to do with any of the decisions you made. You did spend some time convincing yourself I was still in love with him, didn’t you? And with that in the back of your mind, you had to step back. Don’t get me wrong, if that was how you felt, by all means, protect your heart.”
“Then why are you…?” he interrupted.
“I’m not finished. Whatever feelings you thought I still had for Gavin weren’t the issue. You wanted to be single and free. You wanted to entertain others while you entertained your clients, the ladies who threw themselves at you, and the men, too. You got what you wanted. So tell me again, Ethan, why are we here having this conversation when all I’ve done was allow you the happy, uncomplicated life you wanted?”
I began folding my sandwich. My caramel macchiato was almost ice cold, and I wouldn’t be eating the croissant without first tossing it in a microwave. I stood up and grabbed my keys and cell phone.
“Why didn’t you wait?”
My heart was laughing. My mind was smiling, but there was an absolute look of seriousness on my face. Ethan was serious, too. He sounded like he was pleading his case, and I didn’t know how much more of it I could listen to. He wanted me to wait, I thought.
“How could I wait when you gave me nothing to wait for?
All you knew was that I loved you, and I guess you thought as long as I loved you, I wasn’t going anywhere. You know what happens when you’re the only one loving, when the love you give is never given back to you?” He sat there staring up at me. “I stopped paying attention to what I felt for you, and started listening to how you made me feel, and what I heard didn’t sound good.”
“So that’s it?” he asked as if he hadn’t heard a word I’ve said.
“I’m done. And you should be, too,” I suggested.
“You know nothing should come between us.” He was still sitting. His slanted eyes stared at me with sadness. I hated seeing him like that: weak, vulnerable, and regretful. Then I remembered how many times I had that same feeling, that same look because of him.
I smiled. “It’s funny. I once felt the same way about you. There were times when I felt I couldn’t stop loving you. I didn’t know what else to do. But as you can see, I figured it out. You, the person I loved, made me afraid to fall in love. You made me build up a wall no other love could break down. What makes you think I want to learn the same lesson twice?”
“I do love you, Jackson. I still love you,” he said, whispering. His admission had fallen on ears that had waited to hear those words
when they would have mattered.
“I’m sorry,” I said, looking at him with painless eyes. “That’s a tough place to be in all by yourself, isn’t it?”
27
It Seems To Never Last
Trevor…
I hoped I hadn’t missed what I had raced across town to see. I pulled into a parking space a few feet up from Java House. I adjusted the rearview mirror so I could see whomever would come out of the coffee shop. There I was slouched in my seat like I was on a stakeout, a hired Thomas Magnum, Private Investigator.
What the hell am I doing here? I thought to myself.
Was I here to confirm what I thought all along and wanted to match a face to those thoughts? Or was I here looking for a validation for my own actions?
After Jackson appeared outside Java, a man with remarkable stature followed behind him. While he talked, Jackson turned around to respond.
Damn. I wish I knew what they were saying.
I picked up my phone and quickly pressed the numbers to call Caela. “Come on, girl, please pick up,” I mumbled.
Caela answered, “Trevor, where are you? What’s going on?”
“I may be able to answer your questions in a few, but first I need you to do something for me.”
“What?” she yells into the phone.
“The guy you saw with Jackson, can you describe him for me?”
“Gorgeous. That just about sums it up for me.”
“Stop joking, please. Look, I need a little more than that.”
“You know that guy who plays catch for the Redskins?” she continued.
“You mean, wide receiver,” I corrected with an immediate smile. “Which one?”
“Number 23.”
“DeAngelo Hall?”
“That’s him.”
“You know nothing about football. He plays cornerback,” I corrected, injecting my limited knowledge.