Back Where We Belong (A Second Chances New Adult Romance) (9 page)

I'm finding it hard to swallow my
food with Luke sitting there talking to my father. It feels as if a stranger is
sitting there wearing an expensive-looking business suit. Luke has broadened
out in the shoulders and there's a little scar on his cheek that wasn't there
before. Like he got in some kind of fight. He must have tried to pick up some
other guy's girl or something, or maybe he did one deal too many in the wrong
part of town.

He seems to have done well,
though. Dad read about him? Wanted to meet him? I guess if I ever read the business
press, I might have noticed his picture too. Looks like he made it in the end.
Just like he said he would.

You have to be ruthless for that.
Ruthless like he was when he left me. I can feel my stomach knotting with the
memory of how I felt then, that he couldn't even be bothered to let me know.
Funny how that still hurts. God, I hate him for that.

I can't believe my father invited
him. They prattle away about business. There's nothing I can say to add to
their talk about mergers and acquisitions. My father knows that. I'm sure he
knew how the conversation would go, and he still invited Luke to gatecrash our
lunch.

But why the hell did Luke accept
the invitation? Is he really interested in making a business acquaintance of my
father or does he just want to torment me?

Maybe he just wants to show me
he's made it in business because I didn't believe he would. There must be some
satisfaction in that. He doesn't seem the least bit bothered that he ran out on
me.

I tell myself I hate him but I
can't help looking at his hands. He's not wearing a ring. It figures. No one
would pin him down long enough.

I'm stewing a bit in my seat. I
only see my father once every six months and he uses the lunch as an excuse to
get to know Luke.

“So how are things with you, Madison?”
Luke asks after ten minutes of pure business talk. At least he has better
manners than my father on the surface.

“Okay,” I say.

I'm just going to be civil and
get lunch over with, and that will be that.

“You still at college?”

“No. I'm working at an art
gallery.”

“No exhibitions of your own?”

For some reason, I'm pleased he
remembered that I wanted to paint.

“No. I'm just taking a few
classes.”

“I didn't know that,” Dad says.

He doesn't usually ask much about
me. But I'm sure I mentioned the classes once or twice. He probably wasn't
listening. He's often got half an eye on his phone screen over lunch.

Dad asks Luke a question about
some company or other then, and they go back to their business talk. This is
the lunch from hell. I wish it was over.

And then we have eaten, or at
least they have, and I have done the best I can to make it look like I have
been eating. Dad says he must be going, and I know lunch is over, and for some
reason, I'm sad. The ordeal will be over, but Luke will walk away again. And it
has stirred up all those memories that should have stayed buried where they
were, firmly in the past, with a big “Do Not Disturb” sign posted on them.

“Here you go, Madison.” Dad hands
me the usual envelope, my 'payment' for being his daughter for another six
months.

“Thanks,” I say, a lump in my
throat. We talked a little going down in the elevator from his office and that
was about it. Six months conversation in five minutes.

“I'll get the check.” He’s just
going to go back to his office, and that will be that.

“Allow me,” Luke says. “It would
be my pleasure. I can give Madison a ride if you need to get back. I have a car
waiting.”

“Thanks,” Dad says, “and I'll be
in touch about the Higson deal.”

A good lunch for him then.
Business conducted. He kisses me on the cheek, shakes Luke by the hand and
leaves.

He leaves me with Luke.

I don't know what to say. My
heart is thudding as if I'm in real danger. It's ridiculous. The silence hangs
over us. I have to say something.

“What happened to your face?” I blurt
out. Shit! Did I really ask that? How rude is that? I can feel myself blush.
But it's the only thing that came into my mind other than ‘Why did you leave me
like you did,’ and I can't ask that.

I make it a point to be
well-prepared for every meeting. My day doesn't usually hold many surprises.
But when I got in the car this morning, the last thing I expected was to be
sitting here across the table from Madison at any point in the future, never
mind by lunchtime.

I should have left her sitting
there with her father. That would have been the rational thing to do. Or not
accepted his invitation in the first place. But somehow, I couldn't just let
Madison walk out and not know why she left me without a word.

I pride myself on being able to read
people, on being able to understand their strengths, their weaknesses, their
motivations. I'm convinced it's what makes me as successful as I am.

But I got it badly wrong with
Madison back then. Badly. It bugs me how I could have been so wrong about her.

I was just about to make some
cutting remark when she asks me about my scar.

“How the hell do you think I got
that?” I didn't mean it to come out quite like that. I can tell she's taken
aback by my tone. I've been so polite to her so far. Holding it all in. But she
has to know. You don't have a serious fucking car accident and come out totally
unscathed. You can guess, even if you don't bother to turn up to see the guy
you decided to leave in hospital and discover the bandage on his face.

“Did you get into a fight?” she
says.

“No, Madison, I didn't get into a
fight.”

“Well, what then?”

“From the accident.”

“What accident?”

Either she's suddenly become a
really good actress, or she really doesn't know. I'm starting to think she
didn't find out about what happened to me. She never could hide her emotions.
Or I thought she couldn't when I was with her.

“The one I had that summer going
home from your house. After your mother found us.”

She's speechless for a moment.
She didn't know. She left me anyway. But she didn't know. I'm not sure that
feels any better.

“You had an accident? A serious
accident?”

“I was in a coma for a couple of
months, in rehabilitation after that.”

“Oh, my god. I didn't know. Mom
made me go back to Greenwich the next morning before I could get to see you. I
sent you a message. I called you. You never got back to me. I didn't know.”

“Couldn't you have asked my
family?” She gave up on me so easily.

“I called the restaurant. I spoke
to a waitress. No one said anything. It sounded like I was just another girl
chasing you like all the others.”

“You were never like the others.”
I reach out for her hand. She snatches it away as if she’d touched a red-hot
stove. What did I do?

“Sorry,” she says.

What was that all about? Maybe
she's with someone now. I can't believe how much that idea hurts now I know she
didn't mean to leave me.

“You have someone else?” I have
to know.

“No.”

Neither of us says anything. I
think it's all just sinking in how much we lost. I lost months of my life, and
I lost Madison. There's no going back. We've both moved on. But have we really?
Neither of us has anyone else. There have been women since the accident, I'm no
fucking monk, but no one like Madison.

I'm stunned by Luke's revelation.
I can't help thinking if none of that had happened, if we hadn't broken up like
that, I'd still be the person I was that summer before I went to college and my
life was ruined. But now, I don't know. Nothing can be the same. I'm not the
same.

His phone vibrates. He doesn't
even glance at it. He just switches it off.

“So, Madison,” he says. “Fate
created a huge big fucking mess of that!”

He doesn't know the half of it.
Not even a quarter.

When I get out of here I know I'm
going to look up everything about Luke online, but I've got to get out of here.
It's too intense the way he's looking at me. I can't take that just now. I want
to leave but I don't see how I can just slip out. The exit is only six tables
away, but I can't just walk out on Luke, can I? I feel trapped.

“I think I need a drink.” He
calls over the waiter and orders Bourbon.

“What would you like?” he asks.

“Just water, please.”

“Nothing stronger?”

“No, I don't drink much these
days.” Fact is, I never drink alcohol. My friends, those who haven't given up
on me altogether, have stopped trying to persuade me. But not drinking doesn't
really matter at the places I go. I don't go to parties or bars or clubs.
Nowhere dark and crowded and full of men.

Luke doesn't insist or question
me. I like that.

“Do I make you nervous?”

“A bit.” I can’t deny it. It must
be obvious, but I hope he thinks that's just because I haven't seen him in so
long.

“Even though we know each other
so well?”

“That was a long time ago. We
probably both changed.”

“You look exactly the same. Even
more lovely, if anything. Whereas I am damaged beyond repair.”

“That scar suits you.” I can't
bear to think of him as damaged like me. One of us is enough. “It's like nobody
better mess with you.”

“They don't,” he says. “I don't
let them.”

I wish I felt the same. One of
these days I'm going to get out there and stop being scared of life, of
everything. But for now it feels safer in my shell.

“Let me give you a ride
somewhere. You live here in New York?”

“No, back home in Greenwich.”

“Your own place?”

“No, with my mother.” I pull a
face. He must know how much I love that.

“I didn't think you'd still be
living with her.”

I don't have an answer for that,
not one I can give without opening up a whole can of worms.

“I'll get my driver to take you
back there.”

“No.” That comes out far too
sharply, but there's no way I'll get into a car with a guy I don't know. “I'll
just get the train. It's easier. With the traffic and everything.”

“Okay, I'll get him to take you
to the station.”

He waves over the waiter to pay,
and I indicate I'm going to the rest room. I have to get out of there now while
Luke is preoccupied. There's no way I'm getting in that car, and I can't tell
him why. It's as if I can't talk about anything going on in my life without
going into what happened. It's better for him to forget me, even though I know
I'll never be able to forget him.

No one notices me slip out.

After fifteen minutes I know
Madison is not coming back. She must have left. What the fuck did I say to make
her pull some crazy bitch stunt like that? I should just forget her. But I
can't. There's something going on with her. I know there is. Why can't I just
go for some woman who is easy and available? Who the fuck knows? Madison always
brought out the protective streak in me. She's running scared. But from me? I
can't believe that.

When I get in my limo, I ask
Paul, my driver, to go in the direction of Grand Central, but Madison probably
took a taxi or something. It's like I just found her, then I lost her again.
But now I know where she lives. With her fucking mother! I'll not let that
witch put me off so easily this time.

***

I'd like to give Madison's mother
a piece of my mind. If Madison is acting weird, it's bound to be her who's at
the root of it. But once I start thinking straight, I know going to the house
and causing a fight to end all fights is not the smartest idea in the world.
That really would scare Madison off. I'll have to think of something else.

Impatient as ever, I end up
asking Julia to rearrange my meetings for the next day and free up a few hours
in the afternoon. I know I’m giving her a headache, but this can’t wait. Paul
takes me on a tour of the art galleries around Greenwich. We drive around for
over two hours but it seems like Madison vanished.

Ridiculous waste of fucking time!
I know it is. I should have just hired someone to find out where she worked.
Simple enough job, given I know where she lives. But for some reason, I wanted
to be the one to find her. And I wanted to find her today. It reminds me of
looking for her five years ago and failing miserably. Failure is not an option
these days. Not in a business deal, not in finding Madison.

I know I'll have to come back to
Greenwich another time, or find her some other way. But just as I'm telling
Paul to head back to New York, I spot her coming out of a bakery. I get out of
the car.

“Luke!” She stops dead, her mouth
open.

“Don't run out on me this time.”

She blushes. “Sorry.”

“Why did you run off?”

“I don't know.”

“You don't know? We just found
out what happened back then and you thought I needed another Madison style
mystery or something?” This is fucking nuts. But she just looks at me with her
blue-green eyes and I want to know what's going on.

“I just...can't.”

“Can't, or don't want to?”

“Can't.”

“Come out to dinner with me.”

“I can't.”

“You can. We had lunch together.
You can do dinner. Come to dinner with me.”

“Now?” she says.

“Not now. It's three o'clock in
the afternoon. I thought seven or eight tonight might be a better time. More
conventional. Course we could always eat it on the garage roof. You seem to
like it up there.”

She giggles. Fuck, that sound
takes me back. First time I heard it since I saw her again. I'd love to make
her giggle again for quite a different reason.

“I can't tonight. There's an
exhibition at the gallery.”

“Coffee then? Now? I'll just come
back if you don't say yes.”