Crushed (Crystal Brook Billionaires) (25 page)

At least I had the wedding to contend with. The rapidly approaching event was more than just an excuse to be unavailable. Running around and getting things ready for it kept me occupied for at least a few hours of the day.

Once it had come and gone, though, I didn’t know what I would do to keep myself distracted.

My phone started ringing, and I lifted myself up for the first time that morning to unhook it from its charger on the floor.

“Hey, Radha,” I said, excited to see my friend’s number.

“Hey,” she echoed over the sound of traffic. “I haven’t heard from you all week!”

“Yeah, it’s been… crazy.”

“I bet. Is Gwen getting nervous?”

“Her head is about to explode, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

She laughed. “What about you?”

“Am I nervous?”

“No, I just meant how are you?”

“Oh. I’m… all right.” I ran my hand over the crocheted blanket I’d pulled out of the closet the night before for the first time since getting home.

“Have you seen You-Know-Who?”

“Not since the whole jet thing.”

Radha sighed like the very thought of air travel caused her immense pleasure. “I think he’s in love with you.”

A flutter started in my stomach. “Really?”

“Oh, yeah.”

The fluttering sensation turned into a sick one. “He can’t be.”

“Huh? Why do you say that?”

“Because it’s just not good. I’ll only hurt him.”

Radha was quiet.

“I wish you could agree with me,” I said. “But you’re not going to, are you?”

“There’s always hope left, Claire.”

“What makes you even say he’s in love with me? You don’t know him.”

“Yeah, but I’ve heard a lot about him from you. The things he does for you. Not just any guy will do those things for just any woman.”

“He has plenty of money. It’s no problem for him to whisk a girl away on a jet or take her to the Met Gala.”

“I’m not talking about those things.”

“Oh,” I dumbly responded.

Some thumping sounded from down the hall. My family was up and moving around.

“I’m talking about how sweet he’s been to you. Really, Claire, he sounds… amazing.”

“I know, I know.” As if I needed reminding. “How’s work?”

“Blah. Same old, same old. This city is driving me crazy.”

“I may never go back.” The words flew from my mouth.

“What? Are you serious?”

“No… well, maybe.”

“So you are falling for him.”

“I… that’s beside the point.”

She scoffed. “Okay.”

Someone knocked on my door. “Claire,” came Mom’s voice. “Gwen is here. Do you want to come on down and grab some breakfast, sweetie?”

I pulled the phone away from my face. “Be right there!” I called out. “I have to go,” I told Radha.

“Okay, we can talk about this next time. I hope you’re having a good time there.”

“I am. Talk to you later.”

“Bye.”

I hung up and tossed the phone on the bed before sitting up and heading downstairs.

Gwen sat at the kitchen table, her wedding planning notebook open in front of her. When she looked up at me, her eyes narrowed. “Why are you in pajamas?”

“I just woke up.”

“We’re going to get my dress. Remember?”

I went to the fridge and pulled out the orange juice. “Damn. That’s right.”

Her face turned scary. “We have to go in, like two minutes.”

“Okay. I’ll be ready. Don’t worry.”

A frantic look entered her eyes. “Claire.”

I chugged some juice right from the carton. “I’m getting ready.”

She snapped her notebook shut and stood up. “Go get dressed!”

“What about breakfast?”

“Get dressed!” she shrieked.

“Make me a pop tart please,” I said over my shoulder as I left the kitchen.

Five minutes later, we were in Gwen’s car, my sister clutching the steering wheel tightly as she navigated traffic. I broke a piece off of my strawberry pop tart and tossed it in my mouth.

“Why do you need me to come anyway?” I asked, feeling twice as surly as when I’d first gone into the kitchen. My hair was a mess, and I didn’t have any makeup on. I’d pulled some jeans on, but thanks to having not done any laundry in weeks, hadn’t been able to find a clean shirt. I’d had to settle with throwing a Bill Cosby sweater of Dad’s over my heart splattered pajama tank top. Basically, I looked like Grade A shit.

“It’s a big dress. Two people need to carry it so it doesn’t wrinkle.”

I stared at her, trying to figure out whether or not she was being serious.

“We wouldn’t have to pick the dress up if it wasn’t for you,” she went on.

I continued to stare at the beast that used to be my sister. “Huh?”

“You’re the one who told me to watch what I ate so I wouldn’t gain weight and not be able to fit into my dress. And now look. I was so obsessed with not gaining weight that I lost weight!” She lifted one of her hands from the wheel and waved it around like a crazy person.

I laughed out loud, and she shot me a withering look.

“Gwen,” I said seriously. “You honestly can’t believe what you’re saying. You lost weight because you’re so stressed out. You’re freaking out over everything, and that’s why you had to get the dress altered. So stop being such a bitch and take a Valium or something.”

“You’re the bitch!” she yelled.

“Or maybe a horse tranquilizer. I don’t know if human drugs will work on you.” I broke off another piece of pop tart and threw it at her.

“I’m driving!”

“Yeah, well maybe you should pull over,” I snapped. “Because you’re being really fucking emotional and you’re going to kill someone if you don’t calm down.”

Her shoulders slumped. “Is that Owen?”

“Huh?”

“There.”

I followed her gaze to the little patch of green next to the library. It was on the other side of the road, but Owen faced us, his hands in the front pocket of his pants. I sucked in a sharp breath. Maybe it was the unruliness of his hair or the plaid lumberjack shirt he had on, but somehow he looked even better than he had two weeks ago.

He wasn’t alone. A girl with long, dark hair stood only inches away from him. Owen laughed and nodded his head, gazing all the while at her.

And then they were gone. The car bumped down the road, leaving the scene behind.

I slumped back in my seat. “Yeah, that was him.”

Gwen was quiet.

I peeked over at her. She lifted her shoulders slightly, but I had no clue what the gesture was supposed to mean.

“What?” I asked.

“Maybe that was a friend he was with.”

“I wasn’t even wondering.”

That was a lie. Big time.

“We could drive by on the way back and see if he’s still there.”

“Dude. Gwen. I’m not interested in him.”

“You basically already told me you were.”

“When?”

“Forever ago. At the cocktail bar.”

“Yeah, don’t remind me of that night…” I crossed my arms and looked out the window.

“He wants to be your friend.”

I swiveled my gaze to land on her. “What’s with all these women thinking they know what Owen’s thinking and feeling? What are you, the dick whisperer?”

Her lips pursed. “I thought we were done fighting. God, you really are in an awful mood. Just because Owen has a life doesn’t mean…” She bit down on her bottom lip.

“It doesn’t mean what?”

“I dunno,” she mumbled.

“What were you going to say?”

“I don’t know! But God, he’s so cute and so nice. I wish that…” Her sentence trailed off yet again.

“That the timing was better?” I sighed and ran my palms over my face. At least without makeup on I could do that one thing.

“Yeah. But it’s not, I understand that. You’re not ready. You guys could be friends though.”

“I’m trying.”

“It sucks that you have to see him with other women.”

I shook my head in disbelief. “You just said that it might have been a friend he was with.”

“Oh. Right.”

“You are really not on top of your game right now.”

“I know,” she wailed. “I’m freaking out.”

“It’s gonna be okay. I’m sorry for being so mean.”

“Me too. Back to Owen.”

“No.”

“We have to talk about him. I can’t handle anything else right now.”

I sighed and leaned my head against the window. “All right. Talk away.”

“Being friends is good. You’ll get to know each other better. It’ll be safer, you know? And then maybe one day the timing will be right.”

“I’ve been trying. It’s hard. I want to hump his leg whenever I’m around him.”

“Ew.”

“It’s not that gross in my imagination.”

Gwen wrinkled her nose and turned onto the highway. Ten more minutes and we would be at the dress maker’s place. “Well, play games with yourself.”

“Huh?”

“You know, just pretend… that he’s not hot. Or keep thinking about how bad he probably is in bed.”

“Too late.”

She gasped. “No!”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I wanted to forget.”

She made a whimpering sound. “It was amazing, wasn’t it?”

“Of course.”

“Of course,” she sighed.

“But it’s too much. I don’t think I can handle it.” Frustrated beyond belief, I raked my fingers through my hair. Who was that girl Owen had been standing with? Someone he was dating? If so, how long had he been seeing her? Could he be getting over me?

That last question hurt the most.

“Then don’t put yourself in that situation,” Gwen said. “You have to do what’s right for you.”

“Yeah,” I mumbled. “I know.”

I leaned my head back and closed my eyes, wondering more than ever before just what was right for me.

The dress was big. I’ll give Gwen that. It had a train the likes of which only princesses probably still wore. It didn’t need two people to carry it, but I shut my mouth and helped anyway. That’s what sisters were for.

We laid it gently in the back seat and then took off.

“I have to stop at Freddy’s,” Gwen announced. “Just for a few minutes. Is that all right?”

I shrugged. “Yeah. I’ll get started writing emails on my phone.”

We got lucky with a spot being available right in front of the shop. Gwen locked the car doors, then double checked the security situation by pulling on two of the handles.

I turned away so she wouldn’t see my smirk. Downtown Crystal Brook wasn’t exactly crime stricken, and no one was going to steal her wedding dress.

Once inside, she went immediately to the counter and started talking to the barista there. I’d left my phone in the car, but instead of going back and grabbing it so I could check the morning’s mail, I ambled over to the book section. The new releases table had been updated with a few extra colorful covers that hadn’t been there the day before.

I ran my hand along the edge of the table, reading the titles.
South of New Brunswick,
Trisha Williams…
Anything That Happens,
Karen Eder…
Living Colors,
Peter Moria.

My breath caught in my throat. In a millisecond, hot lava appeared in my veins, first filling me with agony and then cooling to harden and weigh me down right where I stood. Too heavy to move, too paralyzed to think, I only hovered there and stared at the book cover.

It was white, with colored streaks of light zigzagging all across it. It was thick too.

So his publisher had let him keep all the poems after all.

I wanted to read it. I didn’t want to read it. I wanted to pick it up and cradle it, press it against my chest and see if I could discover any semblance there of the man who wrote the words on the pages. I wanted to take all the copies and burn them. Dump them in a trash can and then light it on fire so I’d never have to think about them again.

“I’m sorry.” Gwen stepped up next to me. “I’m sorry,” she repeated. “Oh my God.”

She grabbed the display copy, tearing it off the little wooden stand, and then snatched up the stack of books behind it as well.

“I pre-ordered these months ago,” she explained, her eyes wide. “And then I was going to cancel the order. Oh my God, I thought I canceled the order. Jesus… I forgot. Kieran put the new releases out yesterday when I wasn’t here. If I’d have seen it…”

She stared at me, frantic. “Claire? Are you all right? I’m sorry. I’m getting rid of them. You’ll never see them again.”

“I had forgotten…”

“What?”

I pushed back the tears. “That his book was coming out.” I gasped through the assault of emotions. “God, I hate myself.”

Pain hit Gwen’s face. “For forgetting? No. Claire, don’t say that.”

Nausea hit me. Any second and I would dry heave. “Am I forgetting about him?”

She still stared at me, probably too afraid to answer. I wasn’t asking her anyway. I was asking the world — the same old world that never turned up any answers anyhow.

“You’re not,” she finally said. “But… but do you really want to read this?”

I looked at the books crowded in her arms. “I do…one day. You can put them back, Gwen. Don’t take them away because of me.”

“No, I don’t have to—”

“Put them back,” I said, a little too fiercely.

She turned away from me and started arranging them back on the table. “We can leave now. I’m ready.”

“Can I have one of those books?”

“Yeah.” She sounded uncertain, but she handed one to me anyway. It was cool in my hand, the freshly cut edges of the pages sharp.

It was, other than the shirt he’d left at my apartment that was now shoved into my bottom drawer, the only thing I had to remember Peter by.

“I need to go to Costco,” Gwen said. “And then I need to pick up the mason jars. Unless they have them at Costco. But I want the kind with the small tops…” Her voice got smaller as she talked, until it faded away altogether. She looked at me. “Mason jars just don’t matter at all,” she murmured. “Do they?”

I snorted. “No, they don’t.”

She sighed. “Come on. Do you want me to drive you back to Mom and Dad’s?”

“No, thanks. I’ll walk. If they don’t have the jars at Costco, call me, and I’ll run to the craft store. Maybe they’ll have them.”

She started walking to the door. “You don’t have to do that. Why don’t you take the day off?”