Say You’ll Stay Page 16

  Alyssa took one whiff of the coffee and set it down untouched. “No, I’ll do it. Just take care of yourself.”

  Ugh. Champagne. Always a bad idea. She must’ve made off with most of the bottle. She almost knocked over the half-empty container sitting next to the couch she’d fallen asleep on as she stood up. Dumping the flat, sweet liquid down the sink made her gag. Then she crammed her belongings into her bag, too nauseous to process a pang of regret at the sight of the shoes they’d had so much fun with the night before.

  Fun. Such a loaded word now.

  Alyssa locked herself in the shower and vomited endlessly. Then she scrubbed it down with bleach and scrounged in the cabinets for painkillers. Nothing. Of course. Just her luck.

  Dressed and packed, she stumbled back out to the Escape. Marc took her bag and helped her onto the boat, the brief contact searing through the haze of hangover. As soon as he let go, his expression went distant. Polite.

  Neighborly.

  His were shaded behind sunglasses. “Here. You might need these.”

  The sight of two little pills in the palm of his hand squeezed a few drops of saltwater from her dry tear ducts. “Thanks.”

  “I’ll get us home in time for your flight. Why don’t you go sleep?” The compassion in his voice stung worse than being stood up for your Christmas Eve engagement.

  Alyssa knew she was useless for any kind of sailing lesson. What was the point, since she was headed back to New York? She nodded once, took her mug of cold coffee, and went down to the cabin. There, she crawled into the berth and burrowed into the sheets still smelling of his presence. She cried into them as quietly as she could until the painkillers kicked in and unconsciousness drifted over her like a blanket of snow.

  Upon waking, the headache was gone and she’d rejoined the land of the living. She washed up in the little bathroom and went up to find Marc steering them toward the marina in the distance. Alyssa stood there watching the place creep closer faster than she’d ever imagined a boat could go, trying to find the right words.

  “I’m sorry,” she finally said. Fail. Completely insufficient.

  He was quiet for a long minute. The motor purred gently behind them. “For what?”

  “That I can’t say yes. That I hurt you. It was a weird week, but a good one.” Alyssa exhaled for what might be the first time since the last firework had blinked out the night before.

  They tied down the boat. Marc retrieved her bag from the cabin. And suddenly they were out of time. Alyssa’s mother waved from her car parked at the marina gates.

  “Did you have a fun night together?” she asked as innocently as possible for a mother who had no illusions about what her daughter and neighbor’s son had been up to.

  “Definitely,” replied Marc, as easily as if nothing bad had happened. Alyssa glanced at him sidelong and found the strain at the corners of his mouth and the tight line of his shoulder. Wordlessly, she nodded her agreement. It had been fun. Right up until he’d asked her to drop everything and run off with him, as if her life didn’t matter.

  Alyssa accepted her bag and tried to project as much cheer as she could muster.

  “Let me know when you’re home safe.” They stood there awkwardly, two feet and a million miles apart.

  “Be careful out there sailing,” Alyssa whispered. She reached for his hand and squeezed it.

  Marc pulled her into a stiff hug. Alyssa burrowed her face into his shoulder, pressing all the words she didn’t know how to say into the force of her arms around him. She leaned up and kissed his jaw, tension thick between them, hating this goodbye. Reluctantly, Alyssa broke the embrace and turned toward her mother’s car.

  Then she was off to the airport, reversing the trip she’d made on arrival, no happier and more confused than ever.

  “What’d you do last night?” Janelle hung over the seat.

  “Quit prying, Janie.”

  “It’s okay mom. We had dinner and watched the fireworks from the harbor. It was beautiful. Then I slept in the house and Marc stayed on the boat. We agreed to end it.”

  “You did what?” Her mother and sister gasped in unison.

  Alyssa shrugged. “It’s Marc. You know how he is.”

  Janelle flopped back against the seat. “All that effort for nothing?”

  “Maybe next time you’ll keep your nose out of my rebound business,” Alyssa grumped.

  Catherine side-eyed her. “I’m surprised, Aly. I was certain Marc had grown out of his womanizing.”

  Alyssa flinched. “He has. I think he really has. We didn’t want to do long-distance, and I’m just out of a relationship. It’s the wrong time, that’s all.”

  Her lungs didn’t start drawing air again until she’d made it through security. The boots hanging off her shoulder bag literally kicked her ass every step to the gate, where she discovered her plane was delayed. Finally, alone among strangers, Alyssa watched the sun set over the tarmac and stopped pretending that she hadn’t just walked away from everything she’d been looking for.

  * * *

  She didn’t text that night, though Marc nearly drained his phone’s battery checking it. To keep busy, he went through the ship cabin tossing every unnecessary item into a plastic garbage bag. Though he didn’t have much stuff, he’d managed to fill it most of the way. On the table was a list of items he’d need before he sailed off into the sunset. Provisions. Warm clothes. A better first-aid kit.

  Alyssa.

  Marc tossed the remaining box of condoms into the garbage bag. He wasn’t stocking up on those either. A minute later he took them out again. Maybe Stephan and Julian would want them, but what was the protocol for giving away condoms? Besides, he ought to hang onto at least one, even if he was off women permanently. He might feel differently a few months and continents from now. The torn black box sat on the table, a monument to indecision.

  The minute the permits came through on the project house, he was out of here. Marc didn’t know where he’d land, but he knew he wasn’t coming back to Florida. Once the project house was finished, he’d sell it, take his profits and go live in a cheap country. Maybe find a girl to shack up with and get over Alyssa. If there was any getting over Alyssa. Right now, he wondered how he was still walking around when she’d packed his heart with her to take back to New York like some gruesome trophy.

  His phone beeped. Marc lunged for it.

  Stephan and I are going out for a drink. Come with us. We’re dying to hear how your New Year went.

  Julian. Not Alyssa.

  No. I don’t want a drink, he typed.

  Yes, you do, dumbass. Too late, the text was already flying out into space. All he wanted to know was that she was home safely, and then he’d be done with her.

  Still hungover?

  No seas gilipollas. It was terrible. Everything fell apart with Alyssa. I want to be alone. Marc knew he wasn’t hiding anything. Might as well get it over with.

  Stephan typing now. We’re coming over. With Scotch.

  Joder. Marc’s Spanish didn’t extend much beyond curse words. His parents hadn’t encouraged it. You’re not very literate for a lawyer. A-L-O-N-E. By myself.

  Stephan isn’t an attorney. He’s a mouthy –

  You love my mouth.

  I don’t care who’s got the phone now. I didn’t need to know that, Marc shot back, irritated but half desperate for company. He’d take the needling, meddling kind if he had to. Before he could put it on silent, the phone beeped once more. He turned it over, heart picking up speed thinking it might be from Miss New York.

  We’ll be there in ten.

  Alyssa should’ve been home hours ago. Was a final text message too much to ask?

  * * *

  The elevator was out of service. Again. Alyssa wondered if the landlord had bothered getting it repaired over the holiday week, or if it had been broken the entire time. It was after midnight when she hauled her wheeled suitcase through the door of her apartment, gray snow dripping as it melted ov
er the scuffed wood floor. She set her boots in the hallway to dry off, and hung her coat on the back of the door.

  The apartment smelled different. Not bad. Only different. It didn’t smell like hers. Or maybe it had always smelled musty with a tinge of iron, like water left to boil for too long.

  The keys she’d given Gina lay on the desk that also served as a table. The walls she’d painted French blue, yellow, and white as a student to brighten up the drab space looked childish now, with dark smudges creeping up the wall behind the couch next to the window. The tiny IKEA couch sagged pathetically in the center.

  She’d thought she was done crying, but tears welled up and her cold nose turned warm and runny. Alyssa grabbed a tissue. She opened her suitcase and unpacked her belongings. She wished she was stowing them on Marc’s boat instead of in her apartment.

  The knock on her door startled her so badly, Alyssa’s tears dried mid-snivel. She swiped them away and cracked it open with the chain across the gap. A short, balding man with glasses over sadly hopeful brown eyes stared at her, confused. “Is Gina here?”

  “Who are you?” Alyssa was too drained to care about rudeness. Nobody with manners knocked on someone’s door after one in the morning, not unless you were…

  Making noise.

  “Vernon. I live downstairs. I heard someone walking around, and I thought Gina might’ve come back.” He turned to go.

  “Hey.” Alyssa closed the door long enough to remove the chain. “I’m Alyssa. I’ve lived here for six years. Why didn’t you ever come up before?”

  Vernon shrugged. “You never came downstairs, either.”

  “Fair enough,” Aly replied. No, she’d been locked in a battle of mutual annoyance with this harmless crank. Instead of reaching out to him to solve the problem, she’d retreated into her own misery. It was the same thing she was doing now with Marc, like a hermit crab trying to jam its body into a shell that no longer fit. One thing she loved about Marc was how he kept searching until he found solutions for his problems, no matter how unorthodox. They didn’t have to be perfect, only better than the alternative.

  Loved. Shit. She loved him. Stupid heart.

  Speaking of hermits, Vernon shuffled and made a hrumph noise, bringing her back to reality. “If you see her, would you give her my phone number? I didn’t have a chance to before she left.”

  “I will. Good to finally meet you, Vernon.” Alyssa nearly slammed the door in her haste to get to her phone, only to drop it again. She couldn’t text him in the middle of the night. Tomorrow was plenty soon to reach out to Marc. After she figured out what to tell Dana, her boss, to do with the crappy promotion she couldn’t accept.

  * * *

  I’m back in New York.

  Marc wished she’d called, that she hadn’t waited until Monday afternoon to let him know she was safe, that he wasn’t reduced to texting a thumbs-up emoji as his response. His stomach roiled like the time when he was thirteen and his older cousin had dared him to drink an entire bottle of Tabasco sauce.

  Can you come to the city this Friday morning through Monday afternoon?

  He stared at the glowing screen in his palm until it went black. Then he tapped the button to turn on the screen again. The message was still there. It said exactly what he thought he’d read. His thumb glided over the screen, deleted misspelled words, and tried again. Give me one reason to.

  You’ll try anything twice.

  The words made his stomach flare like an oil rig. He’d said those very words to her. Now she was throwing them back in his face.

  Or not. The phone buzzed in his hand.

  I want another chance. A do-over.

  The first time he’d gone sailing, when the wind had whipped the sail full of wind and the ship had leapt forward beneath his feet so fast he nearly lost his balance, Marc had felt as weightless and breathless as an astronaut. The idea that something as elemental and common as air and water could, when harnessed, send him soaring over the waves had been the closest emotion he’d ever experienced to falling in love. Until now.

  This sensation was a lot worse. Sailing was exhilarating. This was more akin to being dropped out of an airplane without a parachute, like imminent, excruciating death.

  Let’s talk tonight, he sent back, unsure what to think, how to feel. She wanted another chance, and the idea was as heady as inhaling helium. Yet if he hadn’t convinced her that he was crazy about her over the past week, what had changed her mind now?

  * * *

  Alyssa tapped the Skype icon on the first beep. “Hi.”

  “Hi. No video?”

  “I look awful. My plane was massively delayed last night, and I only finished working twenty minutes ago. I’m beat.”

  “Turn on the video, Alyssa. I want to see you.”

  She gave in, mostly because she wanted to see him too. Marc had already seen her hungover; tired couldn’t be any worse. His face pixelated into view on the computer screen.

  “I miss you. I’m so sorry. Is the offer still open?” Don’t cry don’t cry. Jesus. Do. Not. Start. Bawling. Pull up those big girl pants, Aly.

  He didn’t respond for a long time. “Not sure.”

  “You kind of sprung it on me.” Her eyes were hot and her lashes were damp, but she was determined to keep it together.

  Marc stared at her a bit mournfully. His expression told her exactly how hard he’d taken her refusal. He was always easygoing, borderline flippant. Serious was not Marc’s style. “If you’d been paying attention for the last week, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise.”

  “Well, it did. I told you how bad things were with Zach, and how hard it was to end things with him, even though it had been over in any meaningful sense for a long time. You were asking me to jump immediately into another relationship, and I couldn’t. I’d worry about what you were doing, if it’s long distance.”

  “Back to the man-whore problem.” He sighed. “I’d given it up, you know.”

  “I’m glad you made an exception for me.”

  “That wasn’t thought out, and you know it.”

  “On either side. All I’m saying is, it’s a fast track from where we started a week ago to ‘quit your job and sail around the world with me.’ You caught me completely off-guard. I wanted to enjoy New Year’s with you and suddenly you were asking me to change my whole life.”

  The hours she’d spent waiting for her delayed plane had given her the distance she needed to start processing events. Part of the problem was that he didn’t know how to send signals that didn’t read one night stand.

  Agreeing to that silly competition had been the only declaration he knew how to make. Yes, he’d said a few things that strongly suggested he’d wanted more, but when she’d asked him for details he’d been evasive. She’d thought it was pillow talk, until the boat. It was Marc, after all. Convenient, sexy, boy next door. She’d pigeonholed him and refused to budge.

  But that wasn’t Marc as she’d come to know him. He was independent, hardworking, and inventive. She’d been half in love with him before they’d exchanged half a dozen words years ago. Sleeping with him had never been about Zach. It had always been about going after what she’d wanted all along. Somewhere between Tampa and New York, Alyssa had realized that she didn’t need to make a choice between her head and her heart. She needed them working together.

  With help from Dana, her boss, she’d started down the path toward a solution today. Now she had to show Marc that she was serious about making it work with him before sitting him in a conference room and pitching her big idea. He’d endured enough craziness over the past week. They both had.

  “What do you have in mind, Aly?”

  “I’m working on an idea, that’s why I need you here this weekend. I meant it when I said I can’t run off on a whim. Is the offer still open? Or am I burning bridges at work for nothing?”

  A long pause. Thanks to the miracles of video technology, she could watch him rub his jaw as he struggled to answer her questio
n. She’d burned him bad, but she had big plans to make it up to him this weekend. If everything lined up as she hoped it would. She was a walking a high wire with no net.

  “The offer’s still open.” He almost said something more and stopped himself.

  “What?” Aly sat up straighter, wishing she’d worn something more flattering than yoga pants and a loose top.

  “The permits on the project house came through today.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I’m shipping out soon, Aly. If you want to go with me, I need to know. I don’t think I can go back to being friendly over the fence. I can’t watch you go about your life as if being together meant nothing, because it’s meant everything to me.”

  Alyssa sucked in a breath. If her idea didn’t work, she was going to have to make a very tough decision. “A few more days won’t deprive you of checking off your number one bucket list item.”

  The taste of panic rose in her throat. Did she sound too desperate? Too dismissive? She couldn’t compromise on helping her sister, and she needed time.

  “You know I’d do anything for you, Aly.”

  Despite Marc’s resignation, she inhaled with relief.

  “I would for you too, Marc. I know I didn’t show you that. But I’m going to. Come to New York and you’ll see.”

  “Like I said, anything for you, Aly. Get some rest. We’ll talk again later.”

  * * *

  They finally connected again on Wednesday evening. Alyssa had recovered from her flight. This time, her hair hung straight around her face as if she’d blown it dry, and she wore lipstick the color of bricks and blood. Maybe she was trying to torture him. Or maybe she’d been as busy with work as she’d claimed. “How’s the frigid tundra?”

  “You’re about to find out,” she winked. “Bring your warmest coat. Don’t pack light. It’s in the low thirties all week.”

  “I don’t know if I own one.” He relaxed fractionally. At least one of them was feeling upbeat about this visit. The forced passivity of not knowing what would happen on Friday was driving him crazy. How the hell had Alyssa dealt with the suspense of her date week? It sucked lemons.