The Lover's Game (5 page)

I nodded, realizing this was my cue to leave. For some reason, I could sense that Grayson was irritated. I didn’t know whether it was because I wasn’t excited to do nude jobs or because he wasn’t pleased with my answers. For all I knew, the interview had taken more time than he had intended to give it. Whatever the case, I decided not to analyze the situation too much.

I sat up and straightened my dress. “Thank you for taking a chance on me. It means a lot to me.” I smiled and headed for the door, not waiting for his reply. From the corner of my eyes, I caught Grayson looking at my profile, his fingers rubbing his chin in thought. I wondered about his true impression of me, but even more so, I wondered what Jett would have said about my new job—if we were still together.

“W
oo-hoo,” Thalia shouted the moment we were alone. “You’re in.”

As I stepped out of the building, the cold air whipped my hair into my face. I had no clue how late it was, but after Thalia’s repeated, if not desperate, attempts to convince me to let her drive me home rather than take a taxi, I gave in. There was no sense in wasting money I didn’t have or in hurting her feelings after she had done so much for me already.

Throughout the drive to Brooklyn Heights, I absent-mindedly listened to Thalia’s recollection of all the jobs she had been booked for. I was physically present, but my mind was elsewhere.

It was clear to me that Jett’s home was no longer mine and that I had to break off our relationship as soon as possible. Lots of people end relationships over the phone these days, don’t they? To make sure he wouldn’t reply, I figured I could call at four a.m. or during the day when he was at the office. I had no idea what I’d say, but I figured being short and blunt—without causing any more unnecessary drama—was the best way to go. Something like, “It’s over. Don’t contact me again. Bye and good luck screwing the next idiot. Oh, and by the way, I quit.”

Scratch the last couple parts.

I had to make sure to let him know I was completely over him—without sounding spiteful or accusatory. To make sure, he didn’t come back for answers, I would simply proclaim, “It’s not you. It’s me,” in my most convincing tone, even though that wasn’t entirely true. Of course it was always about them.

But what about the gifts?

Unintentionally, I touched the diamond pendant around my neck, realizing that it wasn’t quite over until I returned the few gifts he had given me during our time together. Obviously, I couldn’t keep them from a moral standpoint, as well as due to the fact that they’d always act as painful reminders of all the good times we had spent together. Happy times that had been nothing but illusions, cobwebs of dreams and lies.

Leaving a phone message wasn’t good enough. I’d have to write him a brief note and include it in a parcel I’d send together with the necklace. And maybe—sometime in the future, when I felt stronger and over him—I’d leave him a message on his answering machine to ask for my meager belongings, maybe tell him to
FedEx
them to me.

Eventually, we reached Brooklyn Heights, and I asked Thalia to drop me off around the corner and farther down the street from where I used to live.

Although I would have liked to consider Thalia as a new friend, there was no need to let her know my exact address. Trust wasn’t easily built. While I liked her, I still had to build trust, not only to her but also to myself and to everyone around me. In the past few months, I had been more gullible than ever before. It had all been too easy to fall in love with Jett, to freely give my heart away, hoping for the best. I had been too quick to invite him into my bed and even quicker in my hopes to marry him.

Now I could see how stupid I had been and I wasn’t ready yet—if ever—to return to my old life, to be the old, naïve Brooke who believed in fairy tales. If anything, the whole lesson taught me to never again trust a sexy guy in a tailored suit, and particularly not one with eyes as smoldering as fire, a body that could turn on the heat, and a voice that would melt away any woman’s last inhibition.

As soon as we arrived, Thalia stopped the car. I said goodbye, then watched her drive away. For a few seconds, I stood under the street lamp, aware that I was alone on a deserted street in the middle of the night. I dreaded the imminent conversation with Sylvie almost as much I dreaded returning to an empty room in a tiny apartment, the meager surroundings I had lived in for many years before moving in with Jett. Deep down, I was afraid of returning to my old, lonely life.

My heart sank at the thought of that unknown future. Touching my stomach, I imagined my life without Jett. It was depressing to realize that I’d have to give birth alone to a child and raise her without a father. And how would I answer my baby’s questions about her father was when I couldn’t bear to ever see him again? Would I be able to cope? Work would keep me busy, but what would happen when I was alone—at home—in bed with nothing but my dark thoughts to keep me company? I could control those thoughts during the day, when I was busy, but I feared those moments of complete depression and utter humiliation at night, when my solitude would result in obsession and isolation, and all the questions and fears would come circling back. There was no doubt about the fact that, sooner or later, Jett would want to see me, if only to demand an explanation for my sudden disappearance and my avoidance of him—not because he cared, but because of his gigantic ego. I feared the moment when he’d appear in front of Sylvie’s door. What if I wasn’t strong enough to resist him? What if his words drew me back to him, because I was still not over him, and I allowed him to deceive me all over again?

I shuddered at the thought.

That can never happen, Stewart.

Never.

He had broken my heart in so many places I’d never be complete again. My heart still ached, and the image of them kissing would be forever etched in my mind. For the sake of my sanity, I had to stay away from him—if only I knew how.

Believing lies was easy when the truth was too painful to accept.

My hands itched to switch on my cell phone, because a part of me just didn’t want to give up hope. I longed to hear Jett’s voice, and yet another part of me wanted to make his life a living hell for destroying
us
and everything I had believed in.

The thought of taking him back after his betrayal enraged me so much that I quickened my pace, as if there was some slight possibility that I could outrun my own masochistic urges and stop hurting myself. Whatever his intentions, Jett was not good for me. Staying with him and allowing him to deceive me. Even seeing him again wouldn’t be good for my mental health. It would all be too tempting to recount the positive times and forget about the bad ones; I’d foolishly forgive his cheating while allowing one excuse after another until my confidence would die like a frog in a boiling pot.

Somewhere in the distance, a bird screeched, and I couldn’t help but think of Grayson’s words about nightingales and the need to find one’s path. For me, that path was just beginning.

Wrapping my coat tighter around me, I hurried to get to my destination.

The street was dark and eerily quiet. Police sirens echoed in the distance, and then the silence resumed. I rounded the corner. Ahead was the familiar five-story building. Other than a little light coming from a window on the second floor, all apartments were bathed in darkness. Reaching the front door, I tried to push the key into the lock when it slipped out of my cold hand and dropped to the ground, the sound unnaturally loud in the quietness. I winced. For a second, I had the image of someone opening a window and telling me to shut up, but no one stirred. As I bent down to recover the keys, I heard a different sound. Soft, thudding steps carried over from my right, and for a brief moment I caught a flash of movement, from the periphery of my vision.

Someone was following me.

My heart almost stopped in my chest, then picked up with incredible speed. The hairs on my arms rose. I turned my head, panic rising inside me, and peered around me. I had been so absorbed in my thoughts about the future that it hadn’t occurred to me that someone might be following or watching me. Not once had I bothered to look behind me.

Talk about being careless.

It was New York City—not exactly the safest place in the world at night. Pressing my handbag against my chest, I scanned the dark street again, ready to scream my lungs out of my chest if need be, but there was no one. The realization that I was overreacting didn’t manage to calm me.

With shaky hands, I quickly snatched the key off the ground and let myself into the building, then slammed the door behind me. My breath came shallow and fast as I strained to listen for any sounds. Except for the wind swirling and hissing outside the windows, there was silence, but I couldn’t shake off the feeling that, in that very instant, I was being watched.

Could it be Jett?

It had to be him. The thought that it might be someone else perturbed me. However, I had to take that into account and be prepared for anything. For a few minutes I just stood there, the image from before replaying in my mind on a constant loop while my eyes continued to scan the street outside the glass door.

Whatever that flash of movement had been, it had happened too quickly, and the thudding sound had been too sudden. Was it possible that I was being paranoid?

Again and again, my eyes scanned the streets. Apart from a few passing vehicles, the night remained as quiet as a tomb. No one walked past. No one emerged from behind the bushes and trees that were bathed in darkness. Eventually, I decided that maybe my nerves were overworked and my unsettled mind had played a trick on me. Not only was I tired, but I also had a hard day behind me.

Riding the elevator up to the fifth floor to our small apartment, I decided that I had to deal with my stress level. Jett had occupied my mind for too long; he had become a distraction from more important issues. If I wanted to build my life without him, I needed to take a break from even thinking about him. My thoughts and feelings for him had become a bitter poison to my soul, and there was only one solution: I had to get rid of them—the anger, the denial, the pity. Anything would do, as long as my thoughts stopped circling back to him and I would stop seeing his face in my mind. I figured, once I arrived home, I’d write a list so that I’d never forget what Jett had done to me and learn to accept what had happened in order to leave the past behind.

I
pushed the key into the lock and let myself in, welcoming the faint smell of my former home and the silence that seemed to penetrate every wall. Sylvie’s designer handbag, coat, and heels were gone, meaning she was out, probably working late or on a date. Dropping my handbag on the old coffee table in the hall, I kicked off my shoes, and headed into the kitchen to make myself a sandwich. I ate slowly, taking measured bites, then slumped onto the bed in my room. My body felt exhausted, but I was unable to close my eyes and rest because of the racing thoughts in my mind.

Eventually, I couldn’t bear the mental torture anymore. I had to check if the legal firm had called back, so I switched on my cell phone, ignoring the hammering in my chest at the thought that Jett might have tried to contact me. I was afraid of his next lie, afraid that hearing his voice or even reading his texts might catapult me back onto dangerous terrain, where each word was like a double-sided blade: beautiful to look at but too dangerous to come close to.

The screen came to life and sure enough, text messages and call notifications began to pop up one after another. My skin prickled as my fingers swiped over the message button.

Crap.

Two text messages and eight calls. And all were from Jett.

Still no reply from the legal firm. But it was a weekend, so I wasn’t particularly surprised. Sinking back against the cushions, I stared at Jett’s name, a part of me wondering what he had to say while a different part of me wished I could just tell him to go to hell. While it wasn’t like me to seek confrontation, the silence suffocated me. With a sigh, I unclasped the necklace from around my neck and locked it inside a drawer—the action making me feel better already, as though I was finally taking my fate into my own hands. Yet sadness continued to linger inside my heart. As the seconds turned to minutes, my indecision tugged at me, until I couldn’t bear it any longer. I had to read his messages. At least one. Without hesitation, almost automatically, I opened the first text message.