RISE - Part Two (The RISE Series Book 2) Page 2

  "How did you find me?" I blurt the question out as I glance over his shoulder to where a group of women have gathered. I can't judge their age by the way they're dressed or the make-up that accentuates their features. They may be in high school, or college. For all I know they're all my age. It hardly matters.

  What does matter is that they're following his every move. They all carry the same hopeful expression on their faces that he'll turn around and pull one of them from the crowd and into his hotel room. I've seen that same look on the faces of hundreds of women backstage at Ansel's concerts in the past. I don't need to see it again.

  "The mailing address on your website is that building." As his hand flies in the air towards the building that houses my office, I catch a quick glimpse of the plain silver band on the pinkie finger of his right hand. It's been there since I slid it onto his finger years ago. It was meant to be a treasured reminder of our undying love for one another.

  I watch as his eyes catch mine before they fall to my own hands. I'd taken off the matching band from my finger more than a year ago. I'd carelessly tossed it out of the window of a car as it raced down an expressway in Germany. Anger was the fuel behind my drive to rid myself of the reminder of the love we once shared and as Ansel yelled at the driver to stop the car so he could get out to search for the ring, I'd felt a regret that was only momentary. When I'd finally glanced through the rear window of the car expecting to find Ansel stopping traffic so he could retrieve that small band of silver, he'd been standing on the shoulder of the road, a wide smile on his face while he talked on his smartphone.

  We hadn't spoken of the ring since then and even though he bought me two others, more elaborate and dotted with diamonds to replace the thin, inexpensive one, I hadn't worn either. The meaning that the discarded ring held couldn't be found in a replacement because it didn't exist anymore. My feelings for Ansel had died before we even got in the car that day.

  "I didn't expect to see you again," I say hoping that my words will pull his gaze away from my hands. "What do you want?"

  His lips part slightly as he absorbs how terse my tone is. "I came to New York to see you."

  No. He came to New York to further his career, which isn't surprising at all. Singers come and go and they're only as relevant as their next chart topping hit. Ansel has done something that most aspiring singers his age only dream of. He's made a name for himself and he's created a following that will carry him from one song release to another. All of his dreams have come true and the buzz surrounding his presence in New York is proof of that. I should know. I must have skimmed past at least five articles written about him in the newspapers I bought earlier.

  "You didn't come to see me, Ansel," I correct him. "I know that you had some work to do here."

  It takes only a brief second before my words register with him. He absorbs them as he always does. "You've been checking up on me? You wouldn't know that unless you've been following what I'm doing."

  No. I would know that if I were scouring the news for information about my lover's father.

  I spent enough time with Ansel to know that once his ego has been fed, whether intentional or not, it's a beast to be reckoned with. Every ounce of humble pride that Ansel may have once possessed was torn from him when he signed a recording contract.

  If the man believes that I've been keeping tabs on his movements, or even his career, it's going to recreate a dynamic that I've worked hard to disengage myself from. I'm the first to admit, to myself, that I was once addicted to every article written online about him. I'd wake up early, before class, to scour the Internet for anything on social media about his concerts the night before. I craved information about him. Looking back now, I know that it was born from a desire to feel more connected to him than I did. It didn't take long before I realized that regardless of how many pictures I'd see of his smiling face, or how many music bloggers wrote about how spectacular his concerts were, our futures would never align.

  "I wasn't checking up on you." I look towards the growing group of women who are staring at us. "I saw your name in the paper today. That's how I knew you were here."

  I intentionally neglect to mention the fact that my best friend is one of his biggest fans. I don't want Ansel to carry any knowledge about the life that I'm building for myself here. My relationship with Lilly is none of his business and I intend to keep it that way.

  "Do you have time for a drink?"

  I glance down at the watch on my wrist. It's near five and after I'd locked up my office for the day, I'd carried all the newspapers down to the basement of the building to shove them into a large recycling bin. I had held my breath every step of the way, hoping that Landon would suddenly appear wanting to talk about last night.

  "I can't," I say truthfully. It's not that I have plans beyond trying to call Landon again. Emotionally I can't deal with Ansel today. I don't want to hear his empty pleas about needing me in his life. I'm nothing more than a reminder of who he once was.

  "What about tomorrow?" He turns to the side when he hears one of the women behind him scream his name. "I can pick you up early. We could have breakfast at that little place on the Upper East Side. I can't remember the name right now, but I remember the food."

  I remember everything about it, including the stains on the light blue tablecloth and the scent of dark coffee that wafted through the air. The waitress had commented on how in love we were and as we shared a breakfast of poached eggs and toast, we'd promised each other that we'd eat there each time we were back in the city.

  "I'm not interested, Ansel," I mutter. "I don't want to see you again."

  "You don't mean that," he says hoarsely. "I just want to talk, Tess. Just give me that chance."

  I don't respond. I can't. My gaze is riveted to the growing group of women who are milling about behind us. They've all turned to the right. I look in the same direction, curious about what has taken their interest away from Ansel.

  I feel a smile pulling on the corners of my mouth as I see him approaching. He's walking faster than he usually does, his hands tucked into the front pocket of his jeans. He's wearing the same clothing he did when he kissed me goodbye on the street in front of his apartment last night. It's Landon and right now, the only person in the world I want to talk to is him.

  Chapter 4

  In life there are experiences you want to avoid. I've been told, or actually I've read in countless women's magazines, that being in the same place with an ex-boyfriend and a current boyfriend, or lover, is one of those experiences. The advice may serve you well if one of those men isn't mature, well-mannered and completely confident. Luckily for me, Landon is every one of those things and more.

  "You two are seeing each other?" Ansel asks the question with a little too much apprehension in his tone and with not enough eye contact with Landon. He's actually darting his gaze from my face to where Landon rested his hand around my shoulder after he kissed me on my cheek.

  "Tess and I are dating," Landon offers.

  "Dating?" Ansel repeats back as he rubs his hand over his bristled chin. "You're dating Tess?"

  I'd absorb the words as an insult based solely on the disgusted look on his face if I didn't know him any better. Ansel's uncomfortable and when that happens he reverts back to the teenage boy I first met. He can't hide his emotions if he's upset and judging by the way he's tapping his leather boot against the sidewalk, I'd wager a guess that he's about to march away in a huff. Unless he's gained a boatload of emotional maturity since I saw him in Milan, his need to shut down and leave when he feels overwhelmed is kicking in.

  "I am." Landon cocks a brow. "We've been getting to know each other. She's amazing."

  Ansel's feet shuffle slightly in place. "Tess is a great girl."

  "She's an incredible woman," Landon corrects him with a ghost of a grin. "She's one of the most fascinating people I've ever met."

  I watch Ansel's expression knowing that at any second he's going to feign an excuse abou
t having to leave so he can meet a fan or he'll say he needs to get back to the recording studio. He's not above plugging his own career, even if it's in the middle of a desperate attempt to get away from an emotionally charged situation.

  "I actually have to go." He waves his hand over my head. "I'm meeting my New York fan club."

  Landon and I turn in the direction he's pointing. The large group that had been gathered across the street must have decided that waiting longer than ten minutes for a chance to talk to Ansel was long enough. Only a handful of women remain now and as one catches a glimpse of Ansel looking towards her, she yells his name.

  "That's my cue." His hand leaps awkwardly in the air towards Landon before he abruptly pulls it back. "It was good to see you, Tess and to meet you too."

  I sigh in relief as he finally brushes past me, leaving me alone with the man whose touch I've been craving all day.

  ***

  "I'm not saying this to be facetious," he pauses before he continues. "I've got nothing against the guy but where's the appeal?"

  I cock both brows as I work to stifle a laugh. "You're asking me what's appealing about Ansel? If you are, I am the wrong person to ask."

  He digs his wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans. "You dated him. Was he always like that?"

  "Like what?" I ask as I watch him lean forward to hand a few bills to the taxi driver as the car pulls up to the curb in front of his apartment.

  "Like that," he repeats back. "You know what I mean."

  I do know what he means and I also know that he's been trying to lighten the mood since he hailed a taxi for us. He'd pulled my hand into his after we'd settled in the car and as the driver maneuvered through the late afternoon traffic, I hadn't asked Landon about his father.

  He hadn't spoken much either except for a mumbled apology about not answering my calls earlier because he was busy with the police. He simply held onto me as his thumb stroked the palm of my hand. It was a quiet gesture and even though I thought I needed more, it satiated everything within me. The connection between us is palpable. I feel that now more than ever.

  As we slide across the torn, weathered vinyl seat of the taxi, I know that he came to my office to find me, not because he wanted to avoid the awkward silence that often invades a phone call when there's an elephant in the room but because he wants to look at me as he explains what happened last night.

  "I want you to come up to my place." He gestures towards the front doors of his building with his chin. "I'll need to shower and change but can we talk after that?"

  I stare down at his hands. They're fisted together in front of him. "Have you been home since last night?"

  "No," he says through a heavy sigh. "I stuck around because I wanted to talk to him."

  I don't need any clarification beyond that. He wanted to speak to his father and for that I can't blame him. I don't know any of the details. I've convinced myself that Landon hasn't been harboring the secret that his father has been alive all these years. I want to believe that his presence last night was as much a shock to Landon as it was to me. I know that I'm basing that on want and not reality at this point.

  "Did you talk to him?" I ask, not only because it's expected but also because my curiosity is pushing me towards asking questions he's probably not ready to answer.

  "He refused." He rests his hand on my back before he takes a step towards the building. "He's pissed that I set him up with the police."

  As I fall in step beside him I feel the weight of the world drop from my shoulders. He's a good man. If I had any lingering doubt about that it's disappeared with his words.

  Chapter 5

  "I had no idea you'd be standing in the lobby last night." He tugs on the drawstring at the waist of the dark sweatpants he pulled on after he showered. He's not wearing a shirt and I'm not complaining. I love looking at his body, his smile and the way his entire face comes alive when our eyes lock.

  "I forgot my keys." I skim my hands over my jean covered thighs. "Like I said last night, I tried to call you to get my keys back but you didn't answer."

  He rakes his hand through his still damp hair. "I was nervous. I called one of the detectives after my father made contact. I didn't look at my phone again."

  Of course he didn't. I can't fault him for not answering my calls. All day I've tried to put myself in his shoes and I've failed each time. I love my father. I will mourn endlessly if he takes his last breath before I take mine. It's hard to imagine how I'd feel if I thought he had died, only to discover that he was still alive.

  I reach for his hand when he lowers himself onto the sofa next to me. "How did it happen? How did your dad end up here?"

  He squeezes my hand briefly before he pulls his free. I feel bereft at the loss of his touch. I stare at his hand wanting the motion to be nothing more than part of his need to compose himself but the heave of his chest as he draws in a deep breath says more than the silence that has overtaken the space.

  "I need a drink." He's on his feet quickly. "Do you want some wine?"

  I may not want any wine, but I think I'm going to need some. "Half a glass of whatever you have is fine."

  I don't turn towards the kitchen. I listen intently as I hear a cupboard door opening and the unmistakable sound of glasses being placed on the counter. There's a shuffle and then the faint echo of liquid being poured into one glass and then another. I hear nothing for more than a minute before the sound of liquid filling a glass breaks the silence. As I look at the familiar pictures of Landon and his family I realize that he must have emptied a full glass of wine with one swallow.

  As much as I don't want to give him a way out of our conversation, I feel obligated to make the offer. "I can come back tomorrow if you want to sleep."

  I see a glass being offered out of the corner of my eye. I reach for it. I'm grateful for the taste of the full bodied merlot, as well as the comfort it provides. As I take a small sip, I'm granted a brief reprieve from the stilted exchange we've had up to this point.

  "I want you to stay, Tess." He brings the wineglass in his hand to his lips and takes a heavy swallow as he settles back on the sofa next to me. "I need to explain some things to you."

  They're the very same words that Ansel used several months ago during a conversation we had over dinner. Back then, the words didn't carry any promise of understanding. They were a precursor to a litany of excuses about why he couldn't be the man I wanted, and needed, him to be.

  "I'm listening," I say quietly as I place the wineglass down on the table in front of the sofa.

  He follows my lead, setting his glass next to mine before he turns towards me, bending his right leg at the knee so he can face me directly. "I don't know where to start."

  I tap my fingers against his calf. "The beginning is always the best place. Just start there."

  He nods as he rests his hand over mine. "It all started on the flight you were on. It was that day when you flew back from Milan."

  If words could cause whiplash, I'd be unable to move. I stare at his face even though his eyes are trained on my legs. How did we move from talking about his father to talking about me? I don't want to wander down the short memory lane we've established for ourselves. I want to know about Frederick and how exactly he ended up in this very apartment less than twenty-four hours ago.

  "I remember the flight," I stop myself, unsure of how to move the conversation back to his dad.

  He swallows hard as he pinches the bridge of his nose. "I saw you sitting in a chair near the gate in the airport before boarding. I literally stopped walking, Tess."

  The admission catches me off guard. I had been so engrossed in answering work emails that day that I hadn't glanced up after I'd settled into a seat right after I got to the gate. I didn't stop looking at my smartphone until I boarded. "You saw me before I even boarded the airplane?"

  "It was when I was boarding with the rest of the crew." He closes his eyes briefly before he looks at my face. "You didn't even look up
when I cleared my throat. I just wanted to see your face. I knew it had to be beautiful but I wanted to see it."

  I really need to stop obsessing over my work. I had zoned out that day, like I do most days. Building my business has been what drives me since I graduated. It's all that's really mattered, beyond my family, until now. "I didn't know that. I had no idea."

  "I had to board so I walked away." He moistens his bottom lip with his tongue. "When I turned away from you to head towards the gate, that's when I saw him."

  I furrow my brow as I try to make sense out of what he just said. "Who did you see?"

  "My father," he says gruffly. "I saw my father waiting to board that same flight."

  Chapter 6

  I wait for him to pick up the now stalled conversation. I hadn't responded after he told me that he saw his father in Milan, at the airport. I thought my silence would push him into another confession but it hadn't. All it did was make him reach forward to pull the wineglass back into his hand.

  I breathe deeply as I watch him finish the last traces of the red wine. He licks his lips scooping up any remaining droplets. His hand scurries across his jaw and over his beard before it settles on his neck. "I didn't know it was him at the time. I thought he was just another man who resembled my dad."

  "You've seen other men who resembled your dad before?" I spit the question out hurriedly and with little thought attached to it. It sounds insignificant and misplaced given the fact that he's trying to tell me about how his father came back into his life.

  He rests the glass back on the table. "My mom took my brother and me to see a therapist about six months after the accident. We weren't adjusting and she thought it would help us both."

  It's not a direct answer to my question but I know it's his way of working himself up to an actual response. "Did it help?"

  He nods. "I told her that I was constantly looking for my dad in the faces of other men. She told me that was normal given the fact that his body was never recovered."