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Am I trying at all? It’s been two years, and I’m mourning my first love like a widow. At some point, dance won’t fill every space in my life. Casey’s handsome, educated, funny, and one hell of a dancer. I’m attracted to him and way past the rebound point. If I was looking for a prospect, I have one hell of a contender right in front of me.
Contender.
It was just a dream, Harper.
I blow out a frustrated breath and level with Casey.
“You’re right. And it’s been this way for far too long. I can’t make any promises. That said, do you still want to date me?”
“I already knew that, so yeah.” He pushes the hair away from my face. “So, what do you say? We start slow. Coffee first, and then we can work our way up to dinner.”
I pull on my beanie and nod. “Okay.”
Lance
I can’t feel my balls. I’ve never in my life been this damn cold. I was nowhere near prepared for a New York winter when I got on the plane. All of my rounds in the amateur league consisted mostly of bouts in the Southeast. This cold is far more bitter. Mouth closed tight, I tread the sidewalk with my hands stuffed in my jeans eyeing each apartment building. Most days, I could give zero shits about posting my status, but tonight I thank God for social media. While waiting to board, I’d searched for Harper. I knew she no longer lived in the same place that she moved to when she took off to the city. She told me then that they were looking for something bigger. This led to stalking those closest to her to search for any clue of Harper’s address. I’d started with her sister, Kandace, who’d visited a little over a year ago. She’d posted a picture of the place John Lennon lived and died, so I know Harper lives on this street because the caption said, “my sister lives on the street John Lennon lived and died.” Morbid, but factual, and the reason I’m on 72nd Street.
It’s not like I could call and ask her dear old dad. The last time I saw him, he was in the headlines, and it had little to do with coaching ball. There was far more going on with Ryan Elliot that year than we all thought. It hadn’t been so much me dating his daughter that had caused a rift in the team, though I know it had everything to do with his hatred for me. It appeared Coach Elliot was hiding a few secrets himself, and that scandal had rocked its way into national news. It was all I could do to keep from reaching out to Harper.
But I didn’t.
Another regret.
Coach might have been the wedge to come between us back then, but he was no one to regard or respect now.
Fuck him.
But that was then and there. This place may be the perfect backdrop for a fresh start for us, at least for the time being. Though this city is anything but welcoming. Stepping over the lines on the sidewalk, I try to picture it through Harper’s eyes. So far, New York City is a whole lot of sensory overload—brightly lit marquees, metal and glass skyscrapers with residential huts in between corner stores and eateries. Horns are a constant background noise, in addition to the piss-poor hospitality, and mind-numbing cold. For Harper, it’s home, for me, it’s a different universe. One I’d gladly enter just to get a glimpse of her in it.
Searching for any sign of the lit front door, I begin to question my tactic. This half-assed plan is straight from a lunatic’s imagination. René had been the key to getting me this far. After seeing Kandace’s post, I searched for René and found he recently posted a selfie in front of his building, where I know they still live together. Behind him in the shot were twin lit candy canes on the front door of the lobby, the numbers blurred by the vanity filter magnifying his face.
I have a street and a clue as to which building, and if I was taking stalking 101, I’d ace that shit. I’m not sure what that makes me, but I’m assuming somewhere between desperate and creeper.
Desperate seems the right word for the moment.
I can’t shake her. No matter how much time has passed.
With every step I take, I curse the fact that at any point, I could have made this same trip two years sooner and maybe salvaged our relationship.
It’s been two years.
Two years.
Do I even know her anymore? Have I changed?
Am I chasing what was and what no longer exists?
“Fuck it.” Pushing those thoughts away, I cross the street and resume my search. I’m determined to see this through, to either fuel or snuff out any lingering hopes.
I’m a few blocks down when I see the lights on the door. Speeding up, I’m there in seconds and through the doors looking at her mailbox.
Medrano/Elliot 21B
Surely it can’t be this simple?
Entering the elevator, palms sweaty, I keep my eyes trained on the threadbare maroon carpet.
“I’ll still feel the same way about you, even years from now. I know it. I know myself. I probably won’t ever stop loving you.”
