RISE - Part One (The RISE Series Book 1) (5 page)

There's this strange phenomena that has gripped our world today. Back when my parents were my age, celebrities were mysterious oddities. They'd appear in movies, on television or their voice would flow through the radio or fill the room when you played one of their songs. No one followed them on social media. Any television segments or newspaper articles devoted to them generally focused on their latest, and greatest, career achievement.

It's different now. Celebrities, or people who are celebrating their fifteen minutes of fame, interact with the people who have placed them high on their pedestals. They are more accessible now and because of that, they can steer their image directly towards the perceived persona that they want the rest of the world to see. That's exactly what Ansel Rinaldi has done.

"It's him, isn't it?" Landon taps me on the shoulder as if that simple gesture is going to dislodge something within me and everything that has been held back will come flowing out.

"Yes. I dated him." I nod. "We met in school."

His mouth twitches. "He's killing it right now, Tess."

I shouldn't find humor in that statement but I do. Landon doesn't strike me as the type of man who would know who Ansel Rinaldi is. Ansel's core fan base is teenage girls. "You actually know who he is?"

"No," he snaps, a scowl taking over his face. "I mean, I didn't know who he was until Gianna clued me in when I spoke to her yesterday."

I can't tell if I'm more surprised by the fact that Gianna knows who Ansel is or the fact that Landon cares. "Who he is doesn't matter at all. It's over."

He edges forward until his leg is touching mine. "He's filling venues for concerts.  His music is selling like crazy right now and you're telling me it's over?"

I'm mildly offended by the assumption that Ansel's success would somehow impact my desire to marry him. "What does that have to do with anything?"

The question immediately catches him off guard. His hands fist in front of him. "I don't want us to get involved if there's a chance he's going to pop back into the picture."

The chances of Ansel and I getting back together are about the same as the chance of me having sex with Landon Beckett today. "I've told you that it's over. I mean that."

"He's in love with you, Tess." He looks down at my left hand. "I read that letter. He wants to marry you."

He read the disjointed offering of a man who panicked when he feared that I'd reveal one of his secrets to his devoted fans. It was a bribe, pure and simple. It wasn't based in love or the desire to build a life with me. I hadn't even seen him in the four months before he asked me to meet him in Milan. Ansel Rinaldi loves himself and he'll do anything he can to protect his precious image. 

"Landon," I say his name calmly as I push past him. "I thought you brought me here to fuck me. I was hoping you brought me here for that."

I stop when I realize how brazen those words sound. It's what I'm feeling and trying to temper that right now seems unnecessary given the fact that we're wedged in the middle of a conversation about my ex-boyfriend with no ending in sight.

"You're very attractive." I stare up and into his face. "I thought we could have some fun but you're stuck on who my ex is, and I'm trying to put my past in the past, so I'm going to take off."

"I like you, Tess." His hand reaches for my elbow, stalling me mid-step. "I don't want you to go."

Of course he doesn't. He's probably got another hundred questions related to Ansel lined up. "I'm not going to stay."

"Why not?" he asks genuinely, his jaw tightening. "I'm just trying to understand what happened between you and your ex."

"Honestly," I begin before I stop to rest my hand on my stomach as I pull in a heavy breath. "Honestly, it's none of your business. He's part of my past. The relationship has been over for a long time. Besides, I don't generally tell the men I casually sleep with about my ex."

He can't contain the small smile that courses over his lips. "The men you casually sleep with?"

"I don't care about your past girlfriends, or lovers or even your ex-wife if you have one." I turn to face him directly. "I didn't come here to find out about any of that."

"What did you come here for?" There's absolutely no mistaking the challenge in his voice.

I want to say it. My body needs to say it. I want him. I want him to take me to his bed and fuck me into tomorrow. I want to forget that he read that letter. I want to forget that he knows that Ansel exists, but I'm not about to give him that satisfaction. "I came here for lunch."

His entire face shifts as he throws his head back in raucous laughter.  "Lunch it is then."

"Why didn't you tell Gabriel about this when you saw him earlier?" He motions towards my smartphone with the fork he's holding between his fingers. "You should have told him."

After Landon had prepared a spring lettuce, cranberry and feta cheese salad, we'd settled into a conversation about my work. I had explained, with no shortage of details, my plan for the opening of the Liore boutique in Los Angeles.

He may not be a fashion expert, but he's a close friend of Gabriel's and if I can impress him that will hopefully translate into him singing my praises the next time he's in the offices of Foster Enterprises.

"Were you on your way to see him when we bumped into each other?" I ask before I take another drink from the glass of white wine he poured for me.

He nods as he chews. He swallows hard, his eyes never leaving mine. "I told him I'd stop by. We don't see each other a lot anymore."

It's a perfect segue into a conversation focused solely on him. "Have you known Gabriel a long time?"

"Years," he says gruffly. "He's a good guy."

I realize that he's not going to drop any breadcrumbs to lead me along so I'll need to push to know more. "When did you meet?"

His brow cocks and I can sense that he's trying to mask the surprise that he feels. He looks down at his almost empty plate before he places the fork on the table. "I met Gabriel the day of the accident."

I'm not a mind reader. I haven't done any research into Landon's past because I've frankly been too focused on my career. He was a nice distraction at the fashion show. He had crossed my mind more times than I want to admit and when I stepped into his path at the deli I assumed it was fate. That assumption and my hope were both lost when he bolted after my father's incessant calls at the restaurant. Now, as I sit here, I realize that he's carrying his own demons.

"What accident?"  I try not to sound insensitive.

He finishes the wine in his glass in one large gulp. His hands fold together on the table and just as his eyes catch mine, his lips part as he heaves a deep breath. "We were on vacation. My father took me out fishing and there was an accident."

I rub my hand over my brow. If I thought he was prying when he was asking me pointed questions about Ansel, I couldn't have predicted how my own curiosity would be yearning now, to know more. I'm going to ask the obvious question even though I fully expect he'll be the one telling me it's none of my business. "What happened?"

"We weren't experienced." Something in his voice shifts.  "It was a small rented boat. My father moved too quickly and the boat rolled."

I can't imagine the panic that must overtake a person when they are thrust into the water like that. I'm an avid swimmer and fortunately, when I was a child, my parents insisted that my siblings and I all took swimming lessons. It may not save me if I'm ever in the same position as Landon was, but it gave my parents the peace of mind in knowing that we'd all have a fighting chance if our lives depended on it.

"Neither of us thought to put on a life jacket." He studies my face. I can't tell if he's looking for a specific reaction or not but I'm mesmerized by each word he's sharing and I doubt that my expression is hiding any of that.

"He couldn't swim?" I pull on the bottom of the wine glass, bringing it closer to me.

"No." His eyes close briefly. "I held onto his hand for as long as I could but it was so much. At some point he put his wedding ring on my finger before he was swept away."

I want to ask questions but those answers don't matter. Finding out exactly how old he was that day won't change the facts. It's not going to alter the course of history if I carry the knowledge of how he survived and his father didn’t. The only thing that does matter is that I can sense from the sorrow in his voice and the way he's carrying the guilt with him that it's a loss that has touched him at his core.

"Gabriel and his brothers were in another boat. They saw me clinging to the bottom of our boat after it capsized."

It's a horrible way to meet someone who will become one of your closest friends in life but maybe that's why their connection is as strong as it seems to be. "They saved you?"

"Gabriel and his brother, Caleb, dived in the water. They searched for my father." His voice cracks slightly as he continues. "Their younger brother, Asher, called for help."

I don't have to ask if it was too late. "I'm so sorry."

"I held onto that boat for hours I think." His eyes dart around the room, finally focusing on a framed picture of a man with two teenage boys. It is obvious one is Landon when he was younger. The other bears a resemblance to him. It has to be his brother. 

"They took me to the hospital. My brother and mother came. It was the worst day of my life."

I reach forward to cover his hand with mine. His head shifts slightly as he scoops my hand in his, weaving his fingers between my own.

"I can't imagine losing my dad."  I cringe as I hear the words leave my lips. They sound much more insensitive than I mean for them to. My father is essentially the person I rely on most in the world and the thought of waking up one day, without him, is terrifying to me.

"I hope you won't experience it for years, Tess." He pulls our hands to his face, sweeping his lips over my palm. "It's hell. Everything changed after that day."

"Lunch was delicious." I turn to where he's standing next to me on the crowded street. It's mid-afternoon in Manhattan and that means that finding a quiet spot to thank him properly for not only the delicious salad, but the meaningful conversation, is impossible.

"I told you I could cook even if it was just a salad." He reaches forward to tenderly push a piece of my hair that had fallen onto my cheek behind my ear. "It's windy today."

"It is," I say quietly. I don't want to turn and walk into the building that houses my office without saying something about the trust that I know he placed in me when he told me about his dad.

After we'd finished our lunch in silence, he'd cleared our plates and then he excused himself to make a phone call. I'd stood and walked around the living room. As I did I studied all the pictures he had on display. I know that his father was an instrumental part of his life before he drowned.

There were images of a young Landon dressed in a football uniform with his father's arm proudly draped over his shoulder. There was a small photograph hung on the wall of Landon's brother holding a birthday cake, the candles ablaze as his family watched.

I'd scanned each picture carefully, soaking in the small details of his father's appearance. He was rugged and handsome. A slight beard covered his jaw too, his hair was longer than Landon's is now and a pendant, in the shape of a circle hung around his neck in each image. He was the epitome of what you'd expect any father would be. Strong, virile and happy.

I realized quickly that there weren't any pictures of Landon's brother or mother recently. Each picture that was on display captured a moment set in time many years ago.

"I'm sorry about all the questions." His eyes dart to the left to where a group of schoolchildren are approaching. "Your relationship with Ansel isn't my business. You're right."

I feel an instant pang of regret for spitting those words out at him. "You were curious. I understand that. I'm sorry if I offended you but there's nothing left between me and him. That marriage proposal was a last attempt on his part but he knows, just as well as I do, that we're done for good."

Another gust of unexpected wind brings his fingers back to my face. He cups both of my cheeks in his hands, pushing aside the wayward pieces of my long hair that are blowing in the breeze. "I'd like to see you again. Can I cook you dinner? Or we can go to a restaurant if you'd be more comfortable."

He has the soul of a gentleman wrapped in a body made to fuck a woman senseless. If there's anything wrong with him, it's definitely not apparent to me yet. He can't be perfect. I know that, but he might be as close to ideal as anyone I've ever met. "I'd like to have dinner."

"I'm leaving tonight for four days." He glances down at my watch. "I'll call you once I'm back in New York."

I feel bereft at the thought of him getting on an airplane and jetting off to some faraway place. After what we shared today, I feel bound to him in a way that isn't about my body's desire to be with him intimately. It's more about a deeper connection. I can't tell him that. I need to play the part of the sophisticated woman who doesn't pine for any man. "I hope it's a safe trip."

"You stay safe while I'm gone." He leans forward, his lips part and on that busy street, he leans down and kisses me softly.

***

As much as I despise certain facets of the Internet, it provides a wealth of information that just can't be found anywhere else.  After Landon kissed me goodbye and turned to walk down the street, I stopped in at the café that is housed in the same building as my office. I bought an iced coffee, and now an hour later as I finally take the last sip, I shift my gaze from my laptop's screen to my smartphone.

My father has called me twice today to check in and both times, taking the call wasn't a possibility. The first time was when Landon and I were getting out of the cab on the street in front of his building. We had both stopped at the first sound of my phone's chime but I didn't move to answer it. He ignored it as well.

The second call came less than five minutes ago. I was reading one of many archived news articles written about that summer day more than a decade ago in the water off Martha's Vineyard.

Landon's father, Frederick, had rented a cabin along the shores of one of the many tourist hot spots for a family vacation. He'd taken his son out fishing late in the afternoon, and within hours, the beach was swarming with rescue personnel.

The reporter who wrote one of the articles had interviewed Landon's younger brother, Dane, about the tragedy. He had been quoted as saying that he believed his father would make it. His dad never gave up and he knew, in his heart, that his father was clinging to a rock or a jetty waiting for rescuers.

The articles continued for days with the mission shifting from a rescue operation to a recovery endeavor. Finally, after days of searching, the first responders went back to helping others and in the last article I could find related to the accident, there was a picture of Landon, Dane and their mother, spreading flowers on the shoreline as they accepted that the water had taken Frederick from them forever.

It was an unspeakable loss forever documented in sullen pictures and words. It defined Landon and his family and as I think about the photographs I saw in his apartment that captured the bond he had with his dad, I reach for my phone to call mine.