Blended (Redemption #1) (37 page)

Six weeks, two days, thirteen hours, and a couple of seconds.

It’s my count.

The count that gradually grows by the second since I last saw her.

Within those seconds, minutes, hours, and days, I have fought to get my life back. The desperation in my actions hasn’t gone unnoticed by my doctors, and I’ve been told to take it slower more times than I care to count. My recovery has taken three weeks longer than the doctor initially assumed, and because of this delay I have not been able to fly, let alone do much more than focus on my recovery from surgery. I’ve put off all thoughts about her because each time I think about her, it hinders my ability to progress. She’s gone, and I’ve accepted it.

Madelyn was relieved of her duties by yours truly two weeks after Hadley left me. She put up a fight with Jacobs once I told him that I had dismissed her, and she refused to leave. She had to be physically removed from the hotel, and my lawyers are insisting on a restraining order, but since I’m flying back to the States, I couldn’t give a fuck. I do not now, nor ever, have time to waste on women like her.

Isla went back to Chicago two days after I lost sight of Hadley, which I refused to speak to her about. She’s flown back once since then, but I need her in Chicago to maintain Blended. My mother and Adriana left earlier this morning. The two of them are flying ahead of me to set up my life in Chicago. I’ve arranged for some equipment to be delivered as well as a new rehabilitation specialist. Dr. Heath has transferred the documents outlining my medical history to a new doctor in Chicago, who I will be meeting a few days after I fly back.

I’ve been able to walk without the cane or get up without any help for the last two weeks, but I’ve still been told to take it easy. If I overexert myself, I will be doing myself a disservice and the reconstructed nerve may fail me before I’ve given it the adequate amount of time to heal. Or so I’m told.

I’ve been looking forward to being alone for weeks since she left and tonight will be the first time that no one but I will be in this suite—the one place that reminds me of just how strong Hadley is and how she unselfishly put her life on hold to stay at my side.

I remember the night Isla and I got back to the hotel. She helped me to the suite before I dismissed her. It’s when I found Hadley’s note to me lying on a pillow of our bed. I’ve kept the note on me since it stole my soul with its black ink.

I pull out the small sheet of notepad paper that all hotels provide. It’s crumpled up from the number of times that I’ve folded and unfolded it.

Wade,

You stole the doubt that I harbored about myself. Thank you for saving me from my own path of destruction, but I believe that by saving me, I’ve led you down your own. Be brave and find your way back.

Goodbye,

Rye.

I’ve read those words countless times but not once have they made sense to me. Why would she assume that she’s not good for me? Why would she think that I’ve fucked up my life by being with her when, in reality, it’s just the opposite? She pulled me out of the revolving cycle that I had not realized I was captured in.

I’ll find her. I’ve got to, and when I do, I’ll look her in the face and tell her that we both made a mistake. I will get on my knees if I need to in order to win her back because I’m a fool for letting her go so easily, even though I didn’t have much of a choice.

I’m holding out hope that I mean enough to her that she’ll reach out and pull me back into her life, but those chances dissipate with each passing second.

My packing and plane ride were thoroughly uneventful. Due to having my private jet, I did not have to suffer through the layover, but we stopped to refuel at LAX.

I’ve been in the penthouse for a couple of hours now. The thought of her being a mere three blocks away has done something to my head—it’s messed with me in the most sinister of ways. The possibility that she may not be in Chicago anymore is a thought that I choose not to acknowledge. I’m not made out of steel, but she has had me bent out of shape for months now.

I decide to take a walk through the streets of Chicago, to stretch out my legs after sitting still for the flight home. I grab my tailored navy coat and head down the elevator to the lobby of the Waldorf Astoria Chicago Residence. When I purchased the hotel some years back, I ensured that the empty penthouse was converted into my personal residence.

As I walk toward the entrance, I’m greeted by name, and I nod to the front desk women as well as the bellhops as I cover my hands in leather gloves, preparing myself for the chill of Chicago’s late December weather.

“Shall I call a car for you this evening, Mr. Brass?”

“No, thank you, Thomas.”

I walk down North Rush until I reach Argo Tea Café, nestled in Connors Park, and I duck inside to escape the lake-effect snow that has started to fall during my short walk. The café is empty at this hour, particularly with a blizzard on its way in. At the counter, I’m greeted by a stunning twenty-something-year-old blonde.

“Good evening, what can I get for you?” she asks me as her eyes roam from the collar of my coat and down to the Patrick Philip watch gracing my wrist.

“’Evening. I’d like the Italiano Panini and a double espresso.”

She inputs my order into the screen in front of her, and I hand her my credit card, which she stares at before swiping it through the machine.

“Thank you for coming in, Mr. Brass. I’ll bring your order to you when it’s ready.”

“Very well.”

I move to the other side of the café and take a seat while I wait for my order. The café is encased in glass, giving me an unaltered view of the snow falling heavily outside.

To say that I have been a dick toward everyone who works for me, including my own mother, would be an understatement. My decisions with Brass Global have been impacted by my perplexing feelings toward the situations that I have had to deal with in the past two months. The space that separates me from the woman who holds me captive needs to shift because I no longer have the patience to wait this out or worse, live without her.

Decisively, I pull out my phone: I need to try to speak to her before I am fully able to let her go. If she does not want to be with me any longer, then I won’t force her, but I need the closure. I need to say goodbye. It may just be a word, but it’s one that will put the permanent space between us.

I bring the phone to my ear as it begins to ring, and instead of being sent to voicemail, her voice comes across the line.

“Hi, Wade.”

“You answered.”

She’s quiet before she speaks again. “I think I’ve had too many Baileys and hot chocolates. It’s freezing back here. We’re supposed to be hit by a blizzard, and I’m so not ready for this Chicago wintry bullshit.”

She sounds happy and a bit buzzed. Content, though. My smile is unwanted, but hearing that she’s okay is, I tell myself, what I needed to know.

“I know. I’m back.”

The line is quiet for a moment before she speaks away from the phone, but I can still hear her tell someone to hold on. “Sorry about that. How are you? When did you get back?”

“I’ve been better.” My order is brought to me, and I thank the waitress before I continue speaking into the phone. “I arrived back at my penthouse a few hours ago.”

“And you’re feeling all right after the flight? Are you still using the cane? I thought that you would have been back weeks ago.”

“Yes, I’m all right. I’m stiff, but I was told to expect that. I haven’t used the cane in two weeks, and there were some complications in regard to my recovery.”

“Oh,” she says quietly before speaking to someone again. “I know, okay, just wait a minute, Holden.”

Holden? A male’s voice comes across the line. “Damn babe, you do bite.”

I clear my throat and suppress the physical ache in my chest. “You’re busy, Hadley. I’ll let you go.”

“Wade, wait,” she says as she squeals loudly. “Quit it,” she yells with a laugh.

I pull the phone away from my ear and hit the red end button before setting it down next to my sandwich.

She’s content, I tell myself. That’s why you called. It was more of a need to know that she was living her life, rather than to find my own peace. In the last four months, I’ve been physically, mentally, and emotionally fragmented. I’ve survived it all, and I will get through this ache as well. Possibly.

My phone starts to vibrate as I take a bite, but I choose to ignore it. The thought of her finding happiness with another man is like a knife in my chest. I choose not to let it consume me. I decide that I need to live my life and immerse myself into a life of work without sex, this time being successful in separating myself from the addiction.

“Is there anything else I can get for you, Mr. Brass?” the blonde asks me.

“I don’t suppose that you sell whiskey here, do you?”

“No, but there is a whiskey library not too far from here. I’ve been there a few times, and it’s a great place. You should check it out before the storm gets too ugly.”

I smirk to myself: it’s gratifying to know that a personal project has been a hit in the city. “It’s pretty bad right now. You should not be open.”

“The owner just called and told me to close up.”

“I won’t be much longer.”

“Don’t worry about it. I might hit up the whiskey library afterward if you’d like to join me. I can show you where it’s located.”

I think on it for a few seconds and decide that I might as well pay Isla a visit and ensure that she closes up the library and heads home before this storm gets out of hand.

“I’ll call for a driver.”

“Okay, sure. I’ll just finish up. I’m Reagan, by the way.”

I reach my hand out to shake hers. “Waylon.”

She hasn’t stopped talking about herself since we got into my BMW with Jacobs. He throws me a glance in the rearview mirror, evidently unhappy with my decision to be with another woman. I choose to ignore him and try to tune her out as she tells me about her sorority. Fuck, is she old enough to drink?

Jacobs pulls up to Blended, and I get out, leaving Jacobs to help her out of the vehicle.

“Isn’t it gorgeous?” she asks me excitedly as if she’s waiting for my approval. I nod and open the door for her. She walks in ahead of me as a librarian walks by.

“Mr. Brass, I hadn’t realized that you were back. I’ll let Isla know that you are here,” she says and walks into the back where Isla’s office is located.

“Wait, you’ve been here before?” Reagan asks.

I’m about to answer her when Isla comes barreling toward me. She slams her body into mine, and I reach my hand out to lean against the bar top for support. “Wade! Oh, shit, I’m sorry.”

She pulls back before hugging me again. I return my best friend’s hug and place a kiss on the top of her head.

Reagan comes to stand next to me and puts her hand on my arm. I stiffen. Isla’s eyes fall to her and then rise to meet mine again. “What the fuck is this?” she asks as she points to the poor girl with her thumb.

“Isla, this is Reagan. Reagan, this is Isla.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” she beams as Isla is giving her a look of repulsion.

Jesus.