Just a Number (43 page)

I
t pissed me off that I had to stay at the office so long. Sometimes it was a major pain in the ass being the only one I could trust to get the job done when some idiot who clearly wasn’t even worth his pay grade fucked shit up.

Of course, I would be lying if I don’t also admit to being a little relieved.

It wasn’t a lie when I told her I was looking forward to meeting up with her at the nightclub she and her friends were going to, but I was anxious about being in a social setting with her peers. I don’t doubt our relationship, but I also can’t deny my nerves. We’ve gone public, but I still worry about what her friends might say. It’s ridiculous, there’s no doubt about that, but it doesn’t make it any less real.  What if her friends didn’t understand and she was ostracized for it?

Not that the decision would be in my hands, anyway; as the minutes ticked by, my chances of meeting up with her evaporated. I was stuck in a twelve-storey hellhole, waiting for the president of the rival company we were in the process of buying out to fax over the final paperwork. Why it took as long as it did, I had no idea.

After texting her again, Amelia assured me she wasn’t upset, but I could tell she wasn’t thrilled with the idea, either. She was really excited about seeing how I fit into that part of her life. While I’m more than a little nervous about the outcome, I decide that I am willing to make a small sacrifice if it’s going to make her happy.

I text her periodically throughout the night, but hear nothing in return. I don’t hold this against her, because she’s probably just having a good time and isn’t checking her phone every five minutes like I am…

Okay, so maybe I check it every minute or two.

I finally hear back at eleven that they’ll get to the paperwork first thing in the morning. While I know I should be happy I can finally leave this godforsaken building after fifteen hours in it, I’m actually even more pissed off than before, having missed out on an entire evening with Amelia for nothing.

Vowing to make the best of a shitty situation, I get in my car and head to the club, calling again to let her know I’m on my way. She doesn’t answer. There’s a slight drizzle as I navigate the streets, and I can slowly feel my anger ebb as my anticipation sets in. I might not get to mingle with her friends for very long before they’re all ready to leave, but a little is better than nothing at all…unless they’ve all already left. I suppose that’s always a possibility, too.

Parking is damn near impossible when I arrive forty minutes later, but I eventually find a spot a couple blocks away and decide to walk. I pay the cover charge and head inside to see if I can find Amelia. If I don’t see her, I’ll have to try calling her again to make sure she made it home all right. I’d hate to worry.

Wall-to-wall bodies greet me as I cross the threshold. It smells of stale booze, and the music is way too loud. How these kids can hear anything is beyond my comprehension.

God, when did I get so old? I’m sure things haven’t changed
that much
since I was this age.

I make it through the first wave of hormonal young adults, and I’m just about to walk toward the bar when the crowd clears a path leading to the dance floor. I glance at first, and when I don’t see her I turn back in my original direction. Then, out of my periphery, I see a flash, feel that pull she has over me, and I look back again.

There, in the middle of the dance floor, is Amelia. Her eyes are closed, lips moving as she sways to the loud and fast music playing. She looks so beautiful—although a little drunk—and when I see another man pressed up against her back, his hands on her hips, I see red.  I keep my eyes on them as he takes her hand and spins her before pulling her against him, and she laughs. I push through the crowd that suddenly gets in my way. My heart beats louder than the music until my blood pulsing through my veins is all I can hear.

I reach them in less than a minute, though it feels like longer, and I yank the guy off Amelia. She stumbles, but I’m not fully focused on her as I pull my fist back and slam it into this asshole’s face. His nose gives under the force of my punch, and he falls to the ground. Bodies circle around us, gasps and cries of shock breaking through the pounding of my own heart. Somewhere in the distance, I hear a voice cry, “Hey!” but my focus is on the man on the dance floor who’s starting to stand.

I’m about to demand he stay down if he knows what’s good for him when someone grabs me and tries to turn me. Ready to tell whomever it is to mind their own goddamn business, I whip around, only to be met with alarm and confusion.

“Owen?” Amelia says, almost as though she’s unsure what she’s seeing. She blinks, clenching her eyes shut for a moment. When she opens them, I’m still here, and she’s still confused. She looks completely smashed, swaying from leg to leg to keep her balance. “Wh-what are you doing here?”

I open my mouth to demand an explanation when she fully realizes what just happened. “What the hell are you
doing
?” she cries, pushing past me and kneeling next to the guy who was practically fucking her on the dance floor. She cradles his head in her lap and inspects his nose beneath his bloodied hand while I just stand there, flabbergasted. Is this really happening?

“What the hell am
I
doing? Care to explain what it is the two of you were up to a minute ago?”

Another man rushes toward Amelia and this
boy
. Amelia stands the minute he takes over and approaches me. “Dancing. You know, what us crazy kids do at these clubs.”

The crowd is forced to break up around us again as several burly guys approach. Bouncers. Their hulking size and angry expressions tell me that much.

“What seems to be the problem here?” one of them asks, looking from me to the man on the ground, then toward Amelia. “Miss, maybe you need to take your father outside and get him home.”

“He’s not my father!” she shouts at the same time I yell, “I’m not her father!”

Yes, I can understand the misconception, but it’s still maddening to hear it over and over again.

“Well, regardless of who he is,” the bouncer continues, “he needs to leave. Either of his own volition, or by force.”

Amelia looks up at me, and her eyes narrow angrily before she storms past me. The line she makes toward the front door is anything but straight, and I can feel the waves of anger rolling off of her as I try to catch up to her.

“Amelia! Amelia, wait,” I call after her, but she doesn’t stop. Once we’re outside, I reach for her and grab her arm. “Amelia, listen to me—”

She whips around so fast, I fear she might stumble given her drunken state. “No,
you
listen.” She thrusts a finger in my direction. “I have never been so humiliated in all my life…which, granted, isn’t all that long, but—”

“
You’re
humiliated?” I demand, my own anger and jealousy hitting an all-time high. “What exactly were you doing in there?”

Her mouth hangs open mid-sentence, and her eyebrows shoot up in disbelief. “What was I doing? I was fucking
dancing
.”

“Is that what you call that? You might as well have been fucking him right there in the middle of the club.”

Amelia’s mouth snaps shut and she starts shaking her head as she takes a few unsteady steps back. “How can you even say that to me? Are you really that insecure in our relationship that you would think I would screw around on you?”

“His hands were all over you!”

She’s quiet for a second, possibly trying to gauge something. “Did you even look at him before you attacked?” she inquires, her tone leveling out as she crosses her arms. I stand there, unsure why this even matters given the way his body was pressed against hers. “The man you punched was Justin. My friend from high school.”

I fail to see where this is going or what point she’s trying to make.

“He’s gay. So congratu-fucking-lations. You punched a guy who was absolutely no threat to you.” With that, she turns on her heel and starts to walk away from me.

I have no idea where she’s heading, but I follow her. Her words swirl around in my head as I try to reconcile it all. I’ve taken a few steps before I remember hearing her talking about Justin and how he came out to his parents in junior year.

I’m such an asshole.

“Amelia, please wait,” I plead, my jealousy disappearing completely and my guilt settling like lead in my stomach, displacing but not eliminating the waves of anger that still flow through me. She continues to walk away, ignoring me as I catch up. The rain picks up until it’s pouring, but Amelia crosses her arms in front of her and trudges along. I grab her arm and turn her to me. She’s still angry, but I can’t risk her getting sick. “Let me give you a ride home, at least. Maybe we can talk a little more and I can explain myself.”

“No, thanks,” she says, teeth chattering. “I’ll find a cab.”

Releasing a frustrated groan, I roll my eyes and push my hands through my soaking wet hair. “Don’t be like this.”

She seems to weigh her options as the rain continues to soak us both through, finally acquiescing. We aren’t far from my car, thanks to her walking in its direction inadvertently. The walk is quiet, and I can’t blame her for not wanting to talk to me. I had acted without thinking, letting my past dictate how I react to situations I might not fully understand. Gretchen’s indiscretions caused this lack of trust that festered beneath the surface, waiting for any given opportunity to burst forth. Even without cause, it would seem.

I open the passenger side door for her when we reach the lot, and she climbs in. When I slide behind the wheel and start the car, I notice Amelia shivering uncontrollably. Turning around, I reach into the backseat and grab a sweater I’d thrown there. “Here,” I tell her. “Put this on. I’ll turn up the heat.”

Amelia seems hesitant, but takes it and pulls it over her head, letting her common sense guide her over her obvious displeasure with me. After buckling her seatbelt, she crosses her arms across her chest and looks out the window. I don’t foresee us having a conversation in the car, and maybe that’s best; perhaps we should wait until morning. Perhaps we should sit with everything that happened tonight and talk about it with a fresh outlook.

When I roll the car to a stop just outside her apartment building, I throw it into park and turn to her. She’s resting her head against the back of the seat, still staring out the window. “Can I come up so we can talk about what happened?”

No answer.

Sighing, I rub my hands over my face. “Look, I know you’re pissed at me, and you have every reason to be, but please don’t ignore me. I’m sorry.”

Her chest rises with a deep intake of breath, and her head lolls to the left until she’s facing me. That’s when I realize she’s not ignoring me; she’s sleeping.

I turn the car off and step out into the rain, heading over to her side and picking her up so I can carry her inside. She melts against my body, arms draped lightly around my neck as her head rests on my shoulder, and I walk us up the stairs and down the hall to her apartment.

I make my way to her bed, but find it covered with a mountain of clothes that she must have tried on and abandoned when deciding what to wear tonight. The couch is clear, though, so I lay her down, grab the blanket from the end of her bed and cover her with it after removing her boots and setting them on the floor next to her. Then I lift her feet and sit on the couch beneath them and wait.

It’s all I can do, at this point—wait for her to wake up and hear me out. I just hope she’ll listen.

32. If I Could Turn Back Time

A
steady bass drum solo is being played on my brain as I breech the barrier between sleep and awake. The sunlight hits my closed eyelids, making the pain even worse. Groaning, I pull my blanket over my head and stretch my body long. When I move my feet, I gasp, startled when I realize they’re resting on something…some
one.

A hand runs up and down my calf, and I slowly peek out from behind the blanket to find Owen at the end of my couch, his head resting on the back at an uncomfortable angle. His even breaths tell me he’s sleeping, and I smile, curious at first how we wound up here…