The space between, p.28
The Space Between, page 28
“And what?” I speak through gritted teeth.
River glances worriedly between me and Dean, but I can’t care how worried he is. River can be the peacemaker some other time.
“And what Dean?”
He closes his eyes, then opens them, a plea for understanding. “I pretended to be you. I told her you did sleep with other women. I said you didn’t want to see her again. Then I deleted the messages and showed you only hers.”
There’s a howling inside me, a desperate howling clawing at my bones.
“You lied.”
Dean’s face is stone. It reminds me of the face he wore at Mom and Dad’s funeral. He didn’t show grief, he didn’t show regret, he didn’t shed a single tear. I thought it was because he wanted to protect us. Now I wonder, was he protecting us, or was he always only protecting himself?
“I lied,” he agrees, then shaking his head he says, “Jace. It was necessary. You were a kid. You didn’t know what love was. She was a crutch and she was holding us back.”
At that, the howling inside me unleashes. I lunge out of my chair, my leg screaming in pain at the sudden movement. I thrust the glass table, turning it over, and charge at Dean.
“Shit,” he says, scrambling back.
The glass table shatters as it hits the ground, spraying shards across the oriental carpet and crunching under my feet as I race at my brother. The vodka spills, soaking the air with its acrid alcohol scent.
“Jace, no!” River shouts.
Too late.
I punch Dean, striking him in the jaw. His head snaps back and his stupidly opulent chair flips, throwing him on his back.
He slides across the polished wood and I jump on him, throwing another punch. He throws out his hands to cover his face and tries to shove me off.
“Jace!” River shouts again.
And then Dallas is there, and River too, both of them tearing me off Dean.
I fight them, my chest heaving, my lungs burning.
“Calm down,” Dallas says in his deep, demanding way.
I try to shake off his hands, but even though I’m six three and built, Dallas is still as immovable as a mountain.
“Jace,” River says, shaking my arm.
I shrug him off and stare at him, unable to believe that my brothers, my own brothers, would’ve done this.
“You knew…” I say to River, my voice aching. “You knew how much she meant to me. Dean, I can understand,” I shoot him a look of loathing, “He cares more about music than people. But you? You know what this did to me.”
And her.
My heart booms in my chest.
She was hurt. She was scared. And then she thought everything I promised her was a lie. So she went back to the life she thought she’d escaped. And now she’s marrying a man she doesn’t love.
“Let me go,” I say, shrugging my arms. “Damn it, let me go.”
“You’re done fighting Dean?” River asks.
I shake my head, not looking at Dean on the wood floor, his lip bleeding, his eye swelling. “I don’t care about Dean. I have to find Andi.”
River and Dallas step back then, letting me free.
“I’m sorry,” Dean says, wiping his lip.
I shake my head. I don’t have time for sorrys.
Andi is getting married tomorrow. That means I only have hours to find her and take us back to where we used to be.
She has to know what happened. She has to know I still love her.
I grab my coat, my wallet, and then sprint toward the suite’s door.
After me, I hear Pauly shout, “Good luck, Jace.”
I don’t need luck. I need a miracle.
49
Jace
* * *
The Tower is as gleaming, golden, and in-your-face as ever. It truly is a monument to the ego of one man and the empire he’s built.
The first time I came here as a seventeen-year-old I was more concerned with looking at her than at the ludicrous amount of marble and mirrors. Now, I’m more concerned with looking for her.
“She’s not here,” her brother Rob Jr says.
He hasn’t aged well. They say you get the face you deserve by the time you’re sixty. Rob Jr got the face he deserved at thirty—all the cruelty, disdain, and malice show in his thin lips, the veins on his nose, and the deep lines on his forehead.
I never knew him, but I heard about him while at Darby, and Andi told me enough for me to know that he isn’t a friend.
He came down to the lobby after the doorman called up to let “the family” know that I was asking to see Andi.
“Where is she?” I ask, keeping my voice even.
At that, Rob Jr looks me up and down, from the scar on my face, to my black leather jacket, all the way down to my leather boots. There are a dozen reflections of the two of us in the mirrors lining the lobby. I see his smile in every one of them before he begins to laugh.
When he does, the sound bounces off the marble and the mirrors.
“Jace Morgan,” he says, baring his teeth in a smile that reminds me of a barracuda.
“Yes.”
He puffs out his chest, sizing me up. “The musician. This is perfect.”
I look around the lobby, measuring the distance between the glass doors and the elevator. I wonder if Andi is upstairs.
The lobby smells like a museum, all cold marble and glass. It feels cold too. Cold and empty. I hate to think of Andi back here, thinking I didn’t want her.
“Do you know where she is?” I ask, my patience straining.
Rob Jr nods and although I don’t trust the delight on his face, he says, “She lives on the Upper West Side now. I’ll give you the address. I hope you convince her to give up Shilling.”
I narrow my eyes. “Why?”
There’s no reason for him to care.
He shrugs, “Because I like it when she makes bad decisions.”
After that, there’s nothing much to say.
50
Jace
* * *
The brownstone is as far from the in-your-face luxury of the Tower as you can possibly get.
It’s an understated three-story home on a quiet side street near Riverside Park. There are flower boxes full of red flowers, and large shining windows built to let in lots of afternoon light. If the Tower is a showpiece, then this is a home.
The sun shines through the green leaves of the gingko tree behind me and down the street a little girl laughs as she runs in front of her mom, pushing a stroller down the sidewalk.
I stand out on this street. It’s for people who have two kids, a dog, and like doing the crossword on lazy Sunday mornings in their cluttered living room. It’s for people who have a home. The only home I’ve ever had is Andi.
Maybe that’s why my hand shakes as I ring the doorbell, the buzzing sound jangling through me.
Sweat trails down my neck as the sun shines down on me. Even so, I’m cold.
On the other side of the door, I hear footsteps. I hold my breath.
Andi.
Andi.
Please.
The door opens.
It’s Reid.
We stare at each other, neither of us speaking for a good twenty seconds.
He’s different than I remember. At Darby he wore arrogance like a suit, and he had a way of looking at you that let you know he was on top and you were far, far, far lower down. His Paul Newman looks, that blond-brown hair, the ice-blue eyes, and carved face always added to the Reid Shilling persona. Now. Not so much.
He’s in old jeans and a t-shirt. He’s even barefoot and his hair is longer and messy, like he just woke up from an afternoon nap.
His cheeks are more gaunt than they once were. He has shadows under his eyes. He’s thinner. It’s all different.
And although he’s not looking at me like I’m beneath him, there’s a bit of that arrogance there still, because the right side of his mouth lifts and he drawls, “I thought you might stop by.”
On the street behind us a car backfires, the noise is loud, like a gunshot, and I flinch. When I look back at Reid he’s studying me, his eyes grave and closed off.
“Hello Reid,” I say.
Reid steps onto the stone stoop and quietly closes the thick wooden front door.
“Jace.”
I stare at the navy blue lacquer of the front door, shiny and glistening in the sun.
“Rob Jr told me Andi lives here. Is she in?” I watch Reid carefully, and when his expression shifts, like a cloud drifting over his face, I lean forward. “I need to speak with her.”
Reid considers me. “I imagine you want to tell her not to marry me tomorrow.”
I don’t say anything. A gust of wind blows past, dragging the warm summer smell of hot concrete and the Hudson on the breeze. It’s been years since I smelled this city smell of baking pavement, sizzling window air conditioners, exhaust, and river. It brings back so many memories. Most of all, it brings back the last summer I was here.
“You know she doesn’t love you,” I say.
Reid’s face stays expressionless, not a flicker of surprise or denial. So he knows. And he’s still going to marry her.
“Is she here?” I ask.
Reid shakes his head. “No.”
I close my eyes, draw a long breath. “You’re going to marry her, even though she doesn’t love you?”
When I open my eyes, Reid’s mouth has lines around it, as if he’s in pain.
“It’s not really any of your business what I do.”
He’s right.
Except.
“I know you don’t care about me, but I think you care about Andi. If you do, don’t marry her. She’ll regret it. She will regret it.”
At that, something flickers in his eyes, like the sun flickering through the leaves behind us, but then it’s gone and he shakes his head. “Maybe. I don’t know.”
I don’t understand him. He has everything. Wealth. Prestige. Family name. A future paved in gold. He has it made and he always has. Why does he want Andi too?
“At least let me know where she is, so I can speak with her.”
Reid doesn’t answer me. Instead he takes his phone from his pocket, hits a number and puts the phone to his ear.
“Jace is here,” he says.
I stand straight, my muscles tensing. Andi’s on the other end.
“No. He didn’t say,” Reid says, eyeing me. “He says if you marry me, you’ll regret it.”
Whatever Andi says back to that makes Reid smile. When he does he turns his face to the side, so I can’t see his expression anymore.
“No…uh huh…no…I’m fine.”
It’s torture not knowing what she’s saying and knowing that she’s on the other end of the phone deciding whether or not she wants to see me.
“Tell her,” I interrupt. “Tell her…” What can I say that Reid will pass on? “That I have a lyric I want her to hear.”
Reid shrugs. “He says he has a lyric.”
He nods, the sun glinting off his hair. “Okay. Sure. See you tomorrow.”
My throat tightens at that, and the warm humid air suddenly feels oppressive.
Reid slips the phone back into his pocket, eyeing me as he does.
“She says she’ll see you.”
Golden relief, like sunshine breaking through the clouds, courses through me.
Reid holds up his hand in the wait gesture. “I’ve wanted to tell you for some time…I’m sorry for how I treated you when we were younger. More sorry than you can know. And maybe someday you’ll forgive me.”
I brush it off. After all, how he treated me pushed Andi and me together. “You’re forgiven. It was years ago.”
Reid looks at me as if I misunderstood. “I meant forgive me for marrying her.”
“You’re not going to marry her if I can help it.”
He nods. “I know.”
He shrugs then and a family walks past, laughing, talking, and dragging their Saint Bernard behind them.
As they pass, Reid gives me Andi’s address, then as I’m turning to go he grabs my forearm to stop me.
I halt, my feet on two different steps.
Reid stares at me for a moment, his eyes weighing me, then says, “You still love her, don’t you?”
I consider not saying anything. I consider shrugging his hand off and running to find Andi, but something in his eyes has me pausing to say, “I never stopped.”
“Will you still love her in six months?”
I frown at him, pull my arm away. “That’s not even a question.”
Reid nods, “And if she gets married. Will you still love her then?”
I shake my head. “She’s not getting married to you.”
“Will you?” he demands.
“Yes,” I say, frustration boiling out of me. “Yes. I will. I will always love her. I can promise that. Maybe you should reconsider tomorrow, knowing that.”
He smiles then, his eyes warming. “Remember you said that. Try not to break her heart tonight. She only just started living again.”
I shake my head.
I told Andi eight years ago that I’d never hurt her. I promised it. She was hurt, we both were, but now I’m trying to fix it.
So I hurry down the street, to Andi.
51
Jace
* * *
Andi throws her door open wide and stands in the doorway, her chin tilted haughtily, her eyes challenging.
I have to fight the urge to step forward and either take her in my arms or fall to my knees and beg her to hear me out.
“Reid said you have a lyric?” she asks, her voice that cold hauteur that she used to do so well. I would laugh when she used it, then roll her under me and kiss her until we were desperate for more.
She changed her outfit since I saw her in the park. She’s in a burgundy silk dress with a gold belt and towering gold heels, the kind of outfit I think her family would approve of. Her honey-amber hair is pulled tightly into an intricate twist and she has deep red lipstick on.
If this moment was the first time I’d ever seen her, I would’ve fallen down on my knees and worshipped her. Seeing her is equal measure heaven and hell. The pain is equal to the pleasure, like I’m sliding down a razor blade, edging between both.
But all the pain could go away in a moment if I could just hold her.
I wonder how much of herself she had to hide away when she came back?
Because even though she’s sleek, poised, and framed by the darkest, grayest apartment I’ve ever seen, I can see the Andi I love peeking out from behind her flat, painfully polite expression.
She thinks I broke my promise.
She thinks I never loved her.
“Can I come in?” I ask, my mouth dry and my heart pounding.
Andi considers my question, the harsh industrial modern light in the hall buzzing overhead.
The building is one of the luxury places that caters to people who want to pay millions for a monochromatic black and gray box with a view of the city beneath them. The dark hall has a cold, depressed feel that extends into Andi’s apartment. The concrete floors. The gray walls. The single gray couch and coffee table. There isn’t any color. There isn’t anything in there that shows me what Andi’s life has been like.
Unless this is what it’s been like.
Finally Andi tilts her head and steps back, her heels echoing on the concrete.
I follow her inside and close the door behind me. The silence of the apartment closes around us, like a gray, smothering blanket. We’re so high up there isn’t any noise from the city, and even though there are windows, all the curtains are drawn, shrouding the room in dim gray light.
I stop at the entry and Andi turns back to me. When she does, the smell of strawberries drifts toward me and I nearly fall to my knees.
“If you’re here to convince me not to marry Reid…” She shakes her head, and the diamonds in her ears flash in the light.
“I’ve missed you, Andi,” I say raggedly. “I’ve missed you every second of every day since the moment you left.”
She lifts her hand to her chest and shakes her head, her eyes wide. “Jace…you can’t…” She swallows and turns aside for a moment then looks back to me. “You show up, eight years late, and tell me you’ve missed me? No.”
“Do you remember the day you left?”
She flinches, it’s almost imperceptible, but I can see the still-sharp memory of pain.
“After you went for a drink I waited for you to come back, and when you didn’t I went looking for you. I found Dallas in the hallway, in the middle of handing out a beating that sent him to prison—”
“What? Dallas—”
“Served sixteen months.”
Something passes across her expression and she clenches her hands. “I thought he didn’t care.”
“He cared. He was gutted when you left.”
“Dallas?” She holds her hand high over her head. “Big guy. Tattooed. Doesn’t trust anyone.”
I smile at her, a warmth starting to fill the cold space between us. “That’s him.”
But then she frowns. “But I saw you. You weren’t with Dallas, you were—”
I hold up my hand. “I was. When he told me what happened I sprinted back to find you. But you weren’t there. Instead, I found River coming out of our room with a hookup from the party. Then Dean told me you’d left.”
“River?”
I step forward, ache to take her hand. “You know I wouldn’t.”
It’s so cold in here, so gray, but I can see it in her eyes, the fear and the hope warring. “I don’t though. Dean said you did. And you wrote me. You said—”
“I didn’t say anything. I went after you. I took Pauly’s motorcycle to catch you. I got in an accident. I was in surgery for sixteen hours, in a medically induced coma for twenty-four. Whatever was said to you, it wasn’t me.”
Andi’s hand shakes as she lifts it toward my face. “You…”
I nod. “I nearly died. This scar on my face is the least of it. It took me months to walk again. More surgeries than I want to remember. But what hurt the most was that you were gone.”
