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But she seems addicted to the power of her life. She wants all the stress. Every time she’s been out at the ranch, I thought she was letting go. I thought I was her home like she was mine. Maybe I’m wrong, though. Maybe it’s all in my head and she was longing to be back at the office the entire time.
Now I feel used. I have to think she didn’t do that on purpose. Did she see the hurt on my face? Did she notice how hard I was let down when she waved me out the door? At the same time that I feel she must be oblivious, I wonder how she could be if she claims to have feelings for me. She’s showing me that work is more important to her than anything else.
I want no part of that life.
As I pull out of the parking space, I feel a pit forming in my stomach. I know what I need to do, but it’s not going to be easy. Taking a deep breath, I reach for my phone and dial the number for my plane’s staff.
“Hi, this is Ryan Fields,” I say as soon as someone answers on the other end.
“Mr. Fields, how can we assist you?” The voice on the other end is pleasant and professional.
“I need you to prep the plane for a return flight,” I tell them, trying to keep my voice calm.
There’s a pause on the other end before they respond. “Sir, we’ve already landed back in Dallas. We weren’t expecting you back until the end of the weekend.”
I close my eyes and take another deep breath, trying not to let my frustration show in my voice. “I know, but plans have changed. Please get everything ready to pick me up in Houston as soon as possible.”
“Yes, sir. We’ll take care of it,” the person on the line responds before hanging up.
I toss my phone onto the passenger seat and grip the steering wheel tightly as I start driving towards the airport. This was not how I planned this trip to go. I thought we would have some time together, or at least a brief meal together.
I know she’s busy, but I feel rejected and pushed off to the side. It was a mistake coming here. I’m embarrassed and hurt for being discarded.
The more I think about it, the angrier I get. She knows how much this ranch means to me and how hard it is for me to leave it behind even for a few days. And yet she couldn’t even make an effort to spend some quality time with me while we were together.
No more. I’m done with this. I can’t keep putting myself through this disappointment and frustration until the timing is perfect for her.
Now I have to wait a couple of hours for them to get the fuck back here. I want to be back on the ranch. I need to get on a horse and gallop. I can’t stand being away from there any longer than I absolutely have to be. I get a text from Julia as I’m heading into the hangar to wait until the plane gets back.
Julia: I miss you already. Sorry I had to rush you out like that. I have a lot going on today.
What do I say to that? I’m not sure if she means it or if she really understands that I’m hurt. I can’t tell her that over text. I don’t want to say the wrong thing out of anger.
Ryan: We’ll talk later. I’m about to board.
There, that at least buys me some time. I put in my earbuds and turn off my notifications. I’m only keeping my phone on for music. I have a couple good plane books in my bag. Hopefully I can use it all to escape this day. I don’t want to associate sex with Julia with the feeling of being rushed out the door, of being used. I don’t want to link her to being hurt.
When I get back, I’m going to have a lot to think about. This isn’t the first time she’s chosen work over time together. I know I surprised her, but she couldn’t even stop to have lunch with me? I’m good for more than a few orgasms. I want more than that.
Do I just need to end things with her now? Hell, I know my mother is going to try to talk me out of breaking up with Julia. But it’s my life, and Mom understands that.
I’m not sure I’m there yet. I should be but there’s something about her that makes me want to keep trying, that makes me think she’ll be worth all of this work getting past her walls. Between the two of us, there are solutions. She doesn’t have to do everything at that company, even if she is the big boss. She’s trained others to work the way she does.
How can I get her to loosen the reins there a little? I don’t need her to give up who she is or what she loves to do. All I really want is for her to be present when we’re together, to give me some ounce of caring beyond when I’m inside her.
I know one thing for sure: it’ll be a long time before I surprise her like this again, if I ever do at all. And that thought makes me sad. Why should I have to hold back on my romantic gestures just because she’s too busy for me? But then again, maybe it’s not just about being busy. Maybe it’s something deeper, something that I need to understand and address with her.
For me, I like the sun beaming high in the sky over the lush green grass. The scent of sawdust is comforting, familiar. It's real, tangible, unlike the phantom world I once inhabited.
When I’m working on sanding down the rough edges of what will be wooden art furniture, sweat beads on my brow, my muscles work steadily. The manual labor grounds me, and it’s a far cry from the corporate circus that used to be my life. Back then, it was all sharp suits and sharper smiles, everything a transaction, every handshake a calculation.
My mind drifts back to those boardroom battles and penthouse parties. I was the man with the Midas touch, everything I laid my hands on turned to gold. But nobody cared for the hand, only for the gold it provided. Friends, or those masquerading as such, circled like vultures, eyes gleaming with greed.
"Hey, Ry!" Parker, my brother, would holler across the room, a genuine smile on his face. But he was the exception. Most just wanted a piece of the pie. Girlfriends came and went, their affection as flimsy as the paper contracts we signed.
I let out a chuckle, mirthless and short. Love, it seemed, had its price tag, and mine was set high. Until the day it wasn't. The day my world almost went black for good, when the doctors weren't sure I'd wake up again.
The chest under my palms is taking shape, but the memories are sharper now, cutting deep. Hospital rooms have a sterile smell that's the antithesis of life; it clung to my skin, a constant reminder of my mortality. Mom sat by my side, worry lines etched deep into her face, while Parker's jokes tried to pierce the gloom.
