The Lineup Page 32

  “I was trying,” she says. “Trying to form trust—”

  “Well, you broke our trust the minute you neglected to tell me about the Carlton meeting. Did you ever think that maybe, just maybe, I would have laughed it off and said, why don’t we give it a try then? The dating?”

  My anger starts to take over again.

  “I . . . I didn’t—”

  “You didn’t, because you were too chickenshit to let me be the man I am. You didn’t give me a goddamn chance, Dottie. If you did, you would have been surprised at how understanding I am.”

  “I see.” She frowns and takes a step back. “You’ll always think the worst of me.” She turns halfway around but pauses. “For what it’s worth, this was how much I’d always planned on donating.” She takes a hiccupped breath. “I believe in what you’re trying to do, your mission. I believe in you, Jason.”

  I stare at the envelope and then back at her, the word “Stop” on the tip of my tongue, but I’m unable to pull the trigger. Because even though I’d love to take her into my arms, there’s still hurt billowing deep inside me. So, maybe I am a fool. A miserable, disconsolate fool. Fuck.

  * * *

  Knock. Knock.

  The door opens and Knox waltzes in looking like he just pulled himself out of a dumpster, wearing holey sweats and a Brentwood Baseball shirt that must be at least a decade old.

  “Come on in,” I say, my head resting against the back of my couch. I’m watching football, not giving two shits who wins, and drowning myself in potato skins.

  Piles and piles of potato skins.

  I’ll need to run at least ten miles a day until spring training to wear off all the fat in these things. Here’s hoping they go straight to my ass and make it even juicier than before.

  Knox grabs a beer from my fridge for the both of us and then flops on my couch next to me. Before he leans all the way back, he picks up a potato skin and shoves the whole thing in his mouth. “These are cold,” he says with a mouthful.

  “Yeah, I made them two hours ago.”

  “Great.” Knox quickly chews and swallows. “We haven’t seen you since the fundraiser. That’s strange for you.”

  “Are you saying I’m an annoying neighbor?”

  “A little.” He chuckles and then nudges my shoulder. “Seriously, dude, what’s up? Still bummed about Dottie?”

  “Bummed? More like confused.” I drag my hand down my face, pausing to rub my eyes for a few seconds. “I don’t know, dude, am I being a fool here?”

  “Want some honesty?”

  “Yeah, I need something, because I’m drowning right now.”

  “Okay.” He sits up and props one leg on the couch so he’s facing me. “What if I told you Dottie is moving back to California?”

  “What?” I sit up, and potato skin flakes fly off my chest. “What do you mean she’s moving to California?”

  “She’s leaving. She popped over to our apartment yesterday and told us the news. She resigned from her job at her dad’s company and is starting a company where she trains women to be their own boss. She’s excited about it, but she said it might be best to have a fresh start, so she’s going back to California.”

  “But . . . what about you guys? The baby?”

  Knox shrugs. “I honestly think it’s too painful for her to stay, be around everyone, around you.”

  “That’s her own damn fault,” I say, even though it feels bitter passing by my lips.

  “Yeah, I get where you’re coming from, man. When Emory broke up with me in college, I was fucking pissed. And then she left without saying bye. It was a tough pill to swallow. I didn’t want to talk to her even though I promised we’d always be friends. Every text I sent her was like swallowing a basketful of knives. I harbored that anger, held on to it for so long, and I punished her because of how angry I was. I said stupid shit, did stupid shit, because I wanted her to hurt as bad as I hurt, and do you know where that got me?”

  “Where?”

  “Eight years of being without my girl because of my stubborn ass. I still don’t agree with what she did, I still think she stole years from our lives of being together. But it forced me to sit back and reflect: did I want to be right? Or did I want to be happy?” He points to his chest and says, “I wanted to be happy. So I chose to forgive and forget, to move on, because we’re humans and we all make mistakes, even if there was intention behind those mistakes.”

  “You think I’m being a fool?” I ask, Knox’s words sinking in with each breath I take.

  “I think you’re a fool if you let her move back to California.” He sips his beer. “What do you want, Jason? Do you want to be happy? Or do you want to be right?”

  Well . . . fuck. When he puts it like that?

  I bite my bottom lip and groan. “I want to be happy . . . and I love her,” I answer wearily.

  “Then be the great man I know you are; go to her and be happy. Be happy for the both of you.”

  The thought of seeing her again turns my nerves inside out and in all honesty, I do want to be happy, but I’m also fucking terrified I’ll get hurt again.

  Chapter Thirty

  DOTTIE

  On a deep breath, I take in my office one last time. Security took my belongings to my car already, but I wanted to spend a few more moments in the office where I became my own.

  This is where I held my first interview as the boss, searching for the right employee.

  This is where I secured one of the biggest deals of my life, proving I belonged in this position.

  This is where my dad held me tight and told me he was proud of the woman I’d become.

  And this is where the love of my life walked in, flowers in hand, with a date in his back pocket.

  This is where it all started, and it’s sad to say goodbye to it, but it’s for the best. I know my new venture will be more satisfying and less stressful. The money obviously won’t be as great, but that’s never been a big deal to me. I want to feel fulfilled. I don’t feel fulfilled in Chicago anymore. Yes, my friends are here and I’ll miss them dearly, but it’s too painful knowing Jason is right across the hall and can pop in anytime when I’m visiting them. And even worse, when the wisest woman on the planet makes Jason her man . . . I wouldn’t survive seeing that.

  I’m the one who messed up, so I’m the one who should leave.

  I give my desk a final once-over and then stand from my chair, just as a tall figure walks into my office.

  I stumble back for a second, startled, until I realize it’s Jason. My heart sinks to my stomach, and my breath escapes me from the mere sight of him.

  He’s so incredibly handsome.

  Not sure if he did it on purpose, but he’s wearing the same thing he wore the first time he waltzed into my office, but this time, the smile he once had has disappeared and in its place is a blank stare, almost as if he doesn’t quite believe that he’s here.

  Why is he here?

  Hope blooms briefly, wondering if he’s here to make up, if he’s here to listen to my pleas again, or if he’s willing to give me one more chance.

  “Hey,” he says gruffly, staring at the floor. “I uh, I heard you were leaving town.”

  Cautiously, I walk toward him and stop a few feet away. With a nervous shake, I say, “Yeah, I leave in a few days.”

  He nods and looks out toward the skyline. “You resigned?”

  I can’t read him and it’s bothering me. Is he happy? Sad? Angry? It almost seems like his emotions were knocked loose from his heart and he’s just a shell of the man I used to know. I could use a hint to why he’s here, anything to ease my building anxiety, anything to help ease the excitement fighting to overtake that anxiety.

  “Yes.” I link my hands together, forcing myself to avoid reaching out and touch him. “For many reasons, but happiness in my job being one of them.”

  His lips twist to the side. “Knox told me.”

  “I assumed. News seems to travel fast between our friends,�
� I say with an awkward chuckle. He doesn’t say anything. “How did the rest of the event go? Did you raise a lot of money?”

  “Yeah.” He finally looks up at me. “Thank you. Not sure if I actually said that or not. But thank you for the donation. It’s going to make a giant difference . . . take us to the next level.”

  “It was our pleasure,” I reply robotically.

  He takes a step forward and my heart lurches in my throat. His gaze lifts, connects with mine, and I swear, in that moment I don’t breathe. Not for a second. Lungs stilled, heartbeat pounding in my ears, I hang in the balance as he takes one more step forward.

  Skin tingling, emotions taut, I sway, despite trying to remain steady as my body trembles with anticipation of why he’s—

  “Here,” he says, holding out a bag I didn’t see when he walked in. Then again, I was distracted by his eyes and the lack of expression on his face.

  “What’s this?” I ask, taking the reusable bag from him. He sticks his hands in his pockets and rocks on his heels while his gaze returns to the floor.

  Is he . . . retreating?

  “Some of your things you left at my place.” My heart tumbles past my ribs and straight to the floor, taking on every cut and scrape along the way. He grips the back of his neck and takes another step back. “I uh . . . didn’t want you to leave without it.”

  I didn’t want you to leave without it. Not, I don’t want you to leave.

  He’s done.

  I swallow the biggest lump in my throat, trying to hold it together in front of him. “Thank you,” I say, my voice a mere whisper . . . choked.

  He takes another step back and as if my heart is attached to a string being dragged by his foot, it follows along.

  “Sure. If I missed anything, I’ll, uh, mail it.”

  I shake my head, trying to plaster on a fake smile, but it comes out weak and ineffective. “No need.” I stare down into the bag, seeing a shampoo bottle, my body lotion . . . and a shirt. He could have thrown this out. He could have done anything with it, other than bring it here where I got my hopes up. Where I thought his presence meant forgiveness. “If I, uh,” I swallow hard again, “haven’t noticed it’s missing in a few weeks . . . probably don’t need it.”

  “Yeah. Sure.” He scratches the top of his head and takes one more step back. “I should go.”

  My teeth chatter, my lips tremble and before he can leave, I call out, “Wait, Jason.” A stray tear falls onto my cheek and I quickly swipe it away as I try to gather myself. When he looks at me, I take a deep breath and say, “I want you to know—”

  Shaking his head, he says, “Let’s not say anything, okay?” I suck in a breath. Right. Say nothing.

  Devoid of emotion, he turns his back toward me and walks out of the office door . . . but not before knocking on the doorframe as what? A final parting goodbye?

  Then he leaves.

  Just like that.

  Out of my world.

  I collapse into a chair and bury my head into my hands as anguish trickles up my spine, sending a wave of heat and humiliation through my veins.

  Burning embarrassment and regret consume me.

  Shame and self-hatred eat me alive.

  And as I sob into my hands, I realize the one thing I cared about the most in this world, just walked out of my door without a care that I’ll be moving away from him.

  It’s over.

  * * *

  “Are you sure you want to drive this to California yourself?” Emory asks, looking at my small moving truck. I only packed the things that mattered to me. Furniture was donated. No need to be reminded of all the surfaces Jason and I had fun on.

  “Yes.” I nod, eyes burning from all the tears I’ve shed over the past few days while finishing my packing. It seemed Jason’s impromptu visit not only unleashed a dam of emotions, but it burned a hole deep inside me, one that I don’t think will ever be repaired.

  Foolish me. I can say I tried. I can also say his passion when things are great translates to exuberance, which turns to desolation when things are bad . . . and that I did that to him. And maybe, he gave me some of his passion, his experience of emotions, because I haven’t stopped aching within.

  Taking a deep breath, I say, “It will give me some nice alone time to think.”

  Emory bites her bottom lip and says, “I’m worried about you, Dottie.”

  “Don’t be.” I give her the best smile I can muster. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Then why are you crying?”

  Am I?

  I wipe at my eyes and feel wetness on my fingers. Clearing my throat, I say, “Sad that I won’t see this baby grow inside of you.” I glance over her shoulder, at the entrance to her building for any familiar figures.

  I said goodbye to Lindsay at her place, then drove to Knox and Emory’s to have one final goodbye. Did I wish I’d see Jason and a miracle would occur and he’d tell me not to go? Tell me to stay because he loves me? Yep. That would be me. The desperate fool.

  “I’ll send you so many pictures,” Emory says, pulling me into a hug. Knox stands silently behind her, hands in his pockets, staring at the sidewalk. He hasn’t said much since they came down from their apartment, but I guess he wouldn’t since I hurt his friend.

  When we pull away, I glance at the entrance again, willing for him to pop out of the doors.

  I then turn my attention to Knox and say, “I’m sorry about everything.”

  He shakes his head. “No need to apologize, Dottie. We’re cool.” He doesn’t hug me, he doesn’t even look at me, and I’m not sure if he’s angry at me, at the situation, or at his friend.

  I look toward the doors, hope falling with every second that passes. I want to delay this parting, wait outside all day, just to see him one more time in person, to hear his voice, take in his fresh smell, to—

  “Sweetie.” Emory takes my hand and forces me to look her in the eyes. “He’s not here.”

  “Oh, I wasn’t—”

  “He’s in the Bahamas. He left a couple days ago.” Emory nibbles on her lip and looks like she’s about to cry.

  Once again, disappointment plummets through me and smashes to the ground.

  “Oh,” I say as more tears fall from my eyes. “Okay, yeah, sure.” I suck in a deep breath as snot starts to drip from my nose. Very unladylike, I dab at it with my long-sleeved T-shirt. “I wasn’t you know, looking for him or anything.”

  “Dottie, your eyes were glued to the door,” Emory points out wearily.

  “I know.” I nod and wipe at my eyes again. “I was just being foolish.” On a deep breath, I say, “Okay, I need to get a move on. Thank you for everything.” I give them both a chaste hug and then step toward my truck. “Send me lots of pictures. Love you guys.”

  I hurtle myself into my truck and fasten my seatbelt. With my hands at ten and two on the steering wheel, I take one more deep breath and then give them a parting wave right before starting the truck.

  It’s time to start a new chapter, even if it feels like this one is unfinished. Even if this one means I’ll be very, very alone.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  JASON

  Knox: I can’t believe you let her fucking leave.

  I stare at the text and then set my phone to the side.

  I can’t believe I let her leave either but the moment I stepped into her office, with the intention of possibly making things right between us, something stopped me. I don’t know what it was but seeing her standing there—in the office where she threw me out—it brought back memories of how she deceived me. And I froze.

  I fucking froze.

  Natalie walks over with a pineapple drink for both of us and sits in her lounge chair. I should be enjoying our gorgeous surroundings and the hot sun beating down on my naked chest. Should. Be.

  Taking the drink from her, I resume staring out at the crystal blue ocean and say, “When is Ansel getting here?”

  “About that.” Natalie leans back on her lounger an
d says, “We’re separated.”

  “What?” I ask, shooting up from my lounge chair to stare at my sister.

  When we rescheduled this trip, Natalie told me Ansel was coming later, I didn’t think he wasn’t coming at all.

  “What do you mean you’re separated? For how long?”

  “Six months,” she answers, avoiding eye contact.

  “Six months?” I shout. “You’ve been separated from your husband for six months and you’re just telling me now? What the fuck, Natalie? Do Mom and Dad know? Joseph?”

  She shakes her head. “You’re the first to know.”

  “What? Why?” Our family has always been close, so this makes no sense at all.

  She removes her sunglasses and swipes at her teary eyes. “Embarrassed. I thought I could make it work. Everyone saw us as the couple that would be together forever and I wanted to prove them right, but Ansel had other ideas.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask through clenched teeth.

  “He said he wasn’t happy. Thought I spent too much time taking care of Joseph, helping you, never giving him attention . . . so he found it some other way.”

  “That son of a bitch,” I say, my jaw clenched so tight I might crack a molar. “He fucking cheated on you?”

  She shrugs as if it’s nothing, but I can see right through her glassy eyes. This is more than nothing. This is devastating. Ansel was her middle school sweetheart, the man she told me after her eighth-grade dance she was going to marry one day. They went to college together, spent every waking moment together. They were the couple to strive to be. She put everything into their marriage, and I remember thinking, I’m going to do the same one day.

  What the fuck?

  “I wasn’t enough,” she says, stirring her drink.

  “Bullshit,” I say, taking her hand in mine. “You are enough, Nat. You are more than enough.”

  She shakes her head. “Not for him.”