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I don’t know if she believes me or not. If she does, she doesn’t say anything. She only shakes her head a little. “I’ve felt the reaction when we’re out together. The looks we get at work functions. The crap you’ll take for me because of my age. The half-truths you need to tell your family. You’re trying to find something through me you missed the first time around. It’s too much. It’s all too much. Actually, meeting your wife officially today puts everything in perspective. Someone like her is what you need. Someone with a certain wisdom and who just knows how to not take away from you.”
“Dylan, you’ve neveroncetaken anything. You’ve only given to me time and time again. How can you think otherwise?”
“Elijah, I don’t think we should see each other outside of the office anymore. If you want Skye to even take over my internship evaluation, I’ll understand.”
This is not just her having a reaction to Tori. This is about something much deeper. This is about what the song said regarding me holding her down. Or maybe, the dance was about me. She was dancing for me. I’m the one gravitating to her and she feels she holds me back.
“Dylan, how can I convince you that what we are is real and works?”
She takes my hand in her lap. “You can’t.”
“Look at me,” I beg her. “Look at me.”
She doesn’t let go of my hand and finally turns her head. “Don’t let anyone dull who you are. Your soul is here in this room.” I inhale deep. “I told you that if you weren’t happy, I’d let you go. I came to find you because I need to tell you something. I want you to know, I still want you to know, I love you. I’m sorry it took me so long to say it out loud. I said it to you once while you slept. I’m sorry that it’s not enough. I still want it to be the last words in this space between us.”
I lean over, pressing my lips deep into her cheek. As I stand, our connection breaks, and I walk away slowly to the stage door. I can feel that hole begin to rip open in my chest again. I can’t turn around to see if she’s watching. I can’t know if she’s crying. I can’t.
The sun that was out on my way to find Dylan has given way to a light rain. The drops cool my neck. I sit motionless on my motorcycle for a long time as the water begins to seep behind the collar of my jacket. I can feel it bleed into the cotton of my T-shirt. I back my bike off the sidewalk. Revving up, I take off down the street and decide to take the long way back, along the Hudson River.
My sunglasses still shield my eyes as I ride. The raindrops are coming faster and harder the longer I roam the parkway. My mind gets lost in my thoughts. I remember everything that happened with Tori and everything I shared with Dylan. It’s nowblending together in a blinding video, ending with the water cutting into my skin like razor blades.
The wind blows into me, pushing my bike toward the puddles pooling on the shoulder. I slow on the throttle as I exit on Seventy-ninth. The wheels catch in a hydroplane. Both lanes are blocked in front of me with cars at the light. If I brake, I’ll flip. If I don’t, I’ll hit one of these cars head-on. I can’t jump the curb. I don’t have the room to lay it down. I can’t…
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Dylan
I pull the sleeves of my sweatshirt down over my hands and curl up on the stage floor. I cry until I can’t cry anymore. I don’t have tears left. He said he loves me. I’ve been told I love you before. It never felt like that. It’s the same feeling I have inside when I dance. It’s a feeling of purity. Fuck, what have I done?
He’ll be better in the long run. So will I, I try to convince myself. He wants a wife and kids. I’m not saying I don’t want that. I do. Just not for a long time. We’re just not at the same points. He says it’s fine. I don’t want just fine for him. He deserves everything he wants right now. He’s waited long enough.
After I peel myself off the floor and pack my bag, the first thing I do is shut my phone off. I know him. He said what he said in the moment, but he always comes back to try and work it out. That’s who he is. I can’t hear that right now. If I have a hope of giving him his freedom, I have to be stronger than he is.
I stand outside my apartment for a long time, trying to find the courage to go up there and start to face the memories. He’s stilleverywhere. I still want those memories, just not today, maybe not even tomorrow. A hotel for the night or two seems to be my only option. I walk to the Washington Square Hotel and get a room.
Closing the blackout shades is the first order of business. Next is sending two emails. One to Eli and copying Professor Stone, stating I won’t be in class tomorrow due to illness. The second is to Skye telling her I won’t be at the office after class for the same reason. A broken heart should be considered an illness.
The down duvet on the hotel bed calms my body enough, sometime around eight, so I can sleep some. I wake up at two to stare at the ceiling in silence until about five in the morning. After I cave and hit the mini bar, I sleep hard from eight until three in the afternoon.
I can’t tell if my stomach is sick because all it’s had in the last thirty-six hours is alcohol, or if it’s the ache in my heart, or some true illness. Food delivery brings me chicken noodle soup, a baguette, and two liters of water. It’s my recovery special.
I’m glad I don’t have Tuesday classes to deal with, but it does mean I have to work ten to six at my internship. I’ll have to see Eli tomorrow. I can’t call out again. We have another presentation at the end of the week for the Roark Foundation. I know how much this means to Eli, Sam, and everyone involved. It still means everything to me. It must come out right.
The soup settles my stomach relatively quickly. I call the front desk for a wake-up call at seven so I can get back to my place, my life, to figure out how all this is going to work.
Even for how much I’ve slept, I don’t move from one position all night. I haven’t been this tired since the nights before my showcase. I’ve never felt emotions like this before. I can only assume one is a product of the other. After settling my bill with the hotel, I make the brisk walk back to my apartment.
I purposely make myself later than usual, so I only have enough time to think about a shower, clothes, hair, and makeup. I don’t want time to look around or get in my head. Get in, get right, and get out is it. I cut it even closer than I intended to with traffic on the subway.
The meeting is right at ten. I wanted to get there thirty minutes early so I can be overly prepared but that didn’t happen. I walk in off the elevator through the glass doors with only about five minutes to spare. I’ll have to wing it as best I can.
I wave at our receptionist. She seems intense on a call. I know she wants me to stay and talk but I point to my watch, letting her know I’m late. I race to the boardroom, smoothing out my skirt and blouse before I give my ponytail one quick fluff. I open the heavy door to find the room empty. Did I get the day wrong? No. Even my calendar had reminders for today. Sam had the day off and was even flying in.
I circle back through the office suites and things are quiet. Too quiet. I don’t get it. This is not how I want to start the day, but I need to find Elijah to figure out what’s going on. All the blinds on the glass exterior of his office are drawn closed. His door is open a crack, however. The large desk chair is spun facing away from the door. I clear my throat to get his attention.
The chair slowly spins toward me but it’s not Eli. His assistant, Anna, is sitting in his seat. I can tell she’s been crying. “Hey. What’s wrong?”
“Oh my God, Dylan. I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for almost two days.”
