Page 96 of Last Fall

“When everyone’s back next week we’ll have to have a dinner to celebrate,” she said, parking the car in thedriveway.

Next week. Seven days apart. “Does it get easier? This spending long stretches of time in differentplaces?”

June frequently traveled with the team and Roman was often on the road visiting hisclients.

“I think it’s hardest in the beginning. You’re just starting to get some momentum andboomyou’re apart for days. It’s almost like starting over again. Plus all you want to do is be together so every second you’re apart is torture. So, yes it gets easier. But I won’t lie, I miss him like crazy everysingletime.”

I was afraid she was going to say that. “When do youleave?”

“I’m joining them for the second set of games in Toronto. My flight is early Friday morning.” She seemed to have something else to say so I waited instead of jumping out to start on my luggage. “I’ve seen some couples fall apart because of the intensity of the schedule. It’s a lot of time apart. A lot of time exhausted and under pressure. And then in the offseason everything flips around and they’re home everyday. The couples that make it find a system that works for them. Your relationship with Erik won’t be like Carrie and Wes’s or mine and Roman’s. It will be yours and no one else’s. Figure out what you want and what you can’t live with, and be honest. The sooner the better. They’re favored to win their division and there will be nothing more intense and stressful than the next fewweeks.”

Great.Add in my own whirlwind of career change and we were a couple of nut jobs, not a coupleinlove.

* * *

Ithrewmyself into finishing Jessica and Ryan’s book, up all hours of the day and night writing, turning into the absent-minded zombie writer I secretly enjoyedbeing.

And very sweetly, Erik checked in to make sure I was eating and sleeping. I woke up to cute text messages reminding mefood is fuelandcaffeine is not meant to replacewater.

Whatever. Clearly he’d learn there was no coming between me and coffee. I managed to keep so busy I had no time to do anything except write andsleep.

Until I finished thestupidbook.

I kept staring at the blinking cursor but ...nope. That was where the book ended. Their journey to lovewasdone.

I checked my inbox but Sonya, my editor, kept insisting edits wouldn’t be back on book three for at least another two weeks.Thewitch!

My lovely assistant had everything inorder.Nerd!

I could start another indie project. Maybe not a romance since I just finished one and my own life was enough to deal with.The Butterfly Rebellioncould surely use anewbook.

Or maybe not a book. That involved a lot ofcommitment.

Maybe a short story. Or aspin-off!

But the stupid words wouldn’t come. I closed mylaptop.

I cleaned the bathroom. Mopped the kitchen. Washed the car. June and Roman were both in Toronto and I had that big empty house all tomyself.

With nothing to do butthink.

So I sat down at the kitchen table with a legal pad, a pen, andanidea.

The darkness and I were going to have alittlechat.

I imagined opening that door I kept shut in my mind was a lot like an old black and white vampire movie when they open the creaky wooden door and a hundred bats wentflyingpast.

My parents loved him.Every relationship has its struggles. He loves you so much. Work through it. It will beworthit.

My friends hated him.He’s...an asshole and we don’t want to be around him anymore. You’re always welcome, but don’tbringhim.

And me? Well, I think I waslonely.

Loneliness proved to be my vulnerability. The perfect opportunity for Tony to exploit. Meeting a slightly older, much more successful, incredibly sexy man at a bar before our respective dinners one night was exciting. When he called immediately asking for a date, I was thrilled. He took me to expensive restaurants, was respectful, he showed off his intellect, power, wealth, and all I thought of it at the time was how incredibly lucky someone like me was to be getting the attention of someonelikehim.

Don’t get me wrong. I didn’t think poorly of myself or have a horrible childhood. I just...never fit. My mother was a lead accountant for a large corporation and my father was a very sought after financial consultant. They were numbers people with busy schedules. My brother followed right in their footsteps while I was...different. The oddball. The dreamer who wanted to be a writer. They insisted I get my MBA. They constantly reminded me that starving artists can’t pay their bills. They made sense. I could always writelater.

I never felt that loving acceptance from my family and while I was a good student and completely capable at my job, these weren’t my kind of people. They didn’t wake up from dreams and feel compelled to spend the rest of the night writing. They didn’t listen to music with their eyes closed and their hearts open. And so as a result I was constantly, perpetually,lonely.

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