Unforgiven Page 3

  “You look like hell,” he observes, taking me in from head to toe.

  “Thanks.” I offer him a sarcastic smile. “I moved to hell, so I only thought it was fitting to look like my surroundings.”

  “I didn’t force you to take the job, Lindsay…”

  “No, but you told me I’d be making a huge mistake if I didn’t,” I cut him off. He sighs and I notice his jaw muscles flexing as a flush crawls across his face, turning it bright red. He’s most likely pondering a brilliant, yet snarky comeback laced with curse words, and it looks like it might damn near kill him. Our foul mouths are so similar one could quite possibly mistake him for my father.

  “I’m excited about this opportunity, Jack, but at the same time… I left everything and everyone I’ve ever known or cared about in North Carolina. I have nothing here but this job.” My voice is quiet… tired. I see his face soften slightly when I share my fears.

  “It’s a one-year contract, Lindsay. That’s it. If you hate it, you can move closer to home. I can’t guarantee that WXZI will have anything for you, but maybe we can get you to Raleigh or Charlotte.” He looks away from me, most likely annoyed at the prospect that I’d take him up on that offer right about now if I could.

  “One year,” I whisper.

  “One year,” he repeats and nods his head.

  Shoving his hands into his front pockets, he pulls out a key chain that has two keys attached. “Keys to your downtown condo.” He drops them into the palm of my hand. “Twenty-second floor, one down from the penthouse level. It has a great view of the Phoenix skyline. You’ll love it. It’s fully furnished and ready for you.”

  I nod my head and look at the two keys in my hand before tossing them into my handbag.

  “Let’s get to baggage claim and get your suitcase. I need to get you to the car dealership so you can get your lease since I’m on an afternoon flight back to Chicago.” He begins walking toward the escalators that will take us down to baggage claim before turning back to look at me. Raising his eyebrows, he shakes his head, but keeps walking. “Let’s go, Lindsay,” he orders me, and I fall into step behind him.

  “How do people fucking breathe in this heat?” I complain as the stifling Phoenix heat all but collapses my lungs. Jack lifts my suitcase and sets it into the back of his rented Cadillac Escalade.

  “You’ll get used to it. It’s a dry heat,” he smirks at me as he pulls his Ray Bans from the top of his head and pushes them onto his face. “I guess a convertible is out of the question for you?” He chuckles to himself. The trip from the airport to the car dealership takes no more than ten minutes. I study the blue sky that is covered in a light brown layer of smog, but not enough to detract from the beauty of the brown mountains and palm-tree-lined streets. Even though it’s August and pushing one hundred and fifteen degrees, people are out and about and not bothered by the extreme heat.

  I don’t even notice we’ve arrived at the dealership until Jack cuts the engine and opens his door. I follow him inside and take a seat in the modern lounge. Jack is the master negotiator. He knows what I want and, since it’s a lease, it’s basically just formalities and paperwork. One hour later, Jack is tossing my suitcase into the back of a silver Lexus IS 350 and sending me on my way to the new downtown condo I’m renting.

  “Go get settled. Be positive. You’re going to love it here. I promise,” he says as he rests both of his hands on my shoulders. “Everything is set up at the condo. All you have to do is get some groceries.” He glances at the time on his phone. “I have to get going or I’ll miss my flight. Call me if you need anything.” I nod and swallow hard. Even though Jack is generally an asshole, he’s the only person I have at this moment. He slides into his car and gives me a short wave as he pulls away, leaving me on my own.

  I sit in my car for a few moments, letting the last few weeks of my life swirl in my head like a video on replay. To say I left things with Matt on pleasant terms would be incorrect. I crushed him. I broke him into a million pieces and I left him in North Carolina while I chased a dream I wasn’t even sure I wanted anymore. His words echo in my head one thousand times a day. “I’d choose you because I love you and you mean more to me than any job or any opportunity. But, Lindsay, I will not stop you from chasing this dream.”

  I sync my phone’s Bluetooth to the car and punch in the address of my condo into the navigation system, and then merge my car into traffic. Phoenix is a gorgeous city. In most large cities, the buildings are practically on top of each other. It’s not like that here. Every building sits on a perfectly coiffed lot. Cactus and boulders are part of most of the landscapes; so different from everything I’m used to. Driving downtown is easier than I anticipated and I find my condominium easily. Easing my small car into a spot on the street with a parking meter, I put the car in park and take in the downtown skyline.

  My condominium must have been a recently converted office building. It takes up a full city block and sits above a bank. Across the street is a gorgeous stone building that is modern, yet not obnoxious, as it blends in well with the other downtown buildings, and a light rail train blows by on the tracks that run down the center of the street. I finally summon the courage to leave the safety of the cool air-conditioned car to check out my new home.

  I pull open the large glass doors that lead into a gorgeous modern glass and marble atrium. A concierge desk sits just inside the main entrance and an older man stands behind the desk dressed in a full suit—I feel miserable for him, dressed like that in this heat. I must look lost because he quickly steps out from around the desk and moves toward me with a welcoming smile on his face.

  “Good afternoon, miss. How may I be of assistance?” His voice has a heavy Spanish accent and his dark brown eyes dance when he speaks.

  “I’m Lindsay Christianson. I’m moving into 2202.”

  “Oh yes, Ms. Christianson. I’ve been waiting for you.” He holds up his index finger, gesturing for me to wait for him as he quickly walks back to the desk and pulls a large manila envelope from beneath it. “In here is your garage access card. Swipe the card across the pad and the gate will rise. Your spot is clearly marked by your unit number. I’ve included brochures and pamphlets to all the downtown restaurants, theaters, and the closest shopping areas.”

  “Thank you,” I respond, grateful to have all of this information.

  “Any packages that come, I will sign for and hold here at the desk. Mailboxes are over there.” He points to a wall that houses an entire section of gold mailboxes just next to the elevators. “Again, yours is marked by your unit number. The key for the mailbox is also in that envelope. Please let me know if there is anything I can do for you, Ms. Christianson.” I turn slowly and take in the huge lobby atrium full of large, lush plants and small indoor trees.

  “There is something,” I say as I turn back toward him. “What’s your name?”

  “My apologies, Ms. Christianson. Please forgive me. I am Marco.”

  “Marco, please call me Lindsay.”

  “Very well. Welcome to your new home.” He nods at me and strides back to the tall desk, where he positions himself just as he was when I entered the lobby. I almost snorted when he said the word “home.” Phoenix will never be home to me. I make my way to the four sets of elevators that sit across the lobby opposite the mailboxes, making note of where my mailbox is located. I don’t have to wait for an elevator, as one is waiting with the doors open. I enter and press the button with the twenty-two on it. The elevator rises quickly and my stomach does a little flip as it quickly halts at the twenty-second floor. The doors open and I step into the hall, which smells of fresh paint. Even the corridors are exquisite, decorated with high-end mirrors and lush plants. I follow the ascending door numbers to the right, which lead me to the end of the hall, a corner unit.

  Inserting the key into the lock, I turn the knob and push open the door. My eyes widen as I step into pure luxury. I’ve never seen a place like this—ever. The floor is covered in real da
rk wood, laid into a herringbone pattern. The kitchen is huge for a condo, with an oversized kitchen island. Every surface is covered in light-colored granite and every appliance is state of the art stainless steel.

  The condo has been fully furnished with top-of-the-line décor and appliances—Jack did this, of course. Cream-colored leather couches and oversized chairs are positioned in the center of the living room. Plush cream throw rugs sit under the furniture, giving the room some warmth. Large throw pillows line the couches and chairs. The entire living area in the condo is floor-to-ceiling windows, with a south-facing view of a gorgeous mountain range. Long, sheer curtains line the walls, breaking up the floor-to-ceiling wall of windows.

  Off of the main living area is an open door and, as I approach, I can see it’s a bedroom. Inside sits a king size four-poster bed covered in light cream bedding—everything in this condo is cream. Again, there are decorative pillows strewn everywhere in this room; on the bed, covering the chaise lounge that sits in a corner and even on the bench at the end of the bed. I take a seat on the edge of the bed and lie back. With my feet dangling, I take a deep breath and close my tired eyes. While everything here is gorgeous—stunning, to be exact—I’d rather be with Matt in his smaller, cozy house… wrapped in his arms. It’s the only place I really feel at home.

  Lindsay left for Arizona and I let her go without a fight. I left her standing in my living room weeks ago, crying, and I walked out. I was bitter and hurt and I was a giant prick to her. I didn’t say goodbye to her—because I couldn’t. It would have destroyed me. A year and a half ago, I almost lost her in a car accident. I almost died that day—thinking of what my life would be like without her. Today, I’m fully aware of what it feels like to be dead—not physically dead, but emotionally. Emotionally, I’m a dead man. She was everything to me—everything.

  Every time my phone chimes with a text message, or rings—I jump in anticipation that it’s her. It never is. Landon and Reagan have been calling and texting non-stop for the last week, but I don’t care to talk to them—or anyone, for that matter. I only want to hear Lindsay’s voice, see Lindsay’s messages on my phone.

  I pull the bottle opener from the drawer and pop the cap off another bottle of Dos Equis, tossing the cap and opener onto the kitchen counter. I let the cool, yet sharp liquid slide down my throat as I look around my filthy kitchen. The kitchen island and counters are littered with beer bottles and empty take-out containers. When Lindsay was here, everything in this house was in its place, clean—perfect. Everything was perfect with her. Now my house looks like the bachelor pad of a twenty-two-year-old college senior, not a thirty-two-year-old police officer.

  “Matt?” I hear the recognizable voice of Reagan as my front door squeaks open.

  “In here,” I mumble back, hoping she doesn’t hear me and will just go away. No such luck. I hear the front door close and her heels click against the hardwood floor, becoming louder as she nears. She stops and watches me as I toss my head back and take another pull from the bottle of beer in my hand. Her eyebrows raise and her lips curl in disgust. I know I’m a fucking mess, and I can only imagine what I look like.

  “It’s ten in the morning. How many of those have you had?” She nods toward the beer in my hand.

  “A few,” I answer her curtly. A few, or six, I think to myself, lifting the bottle to my lips and emptying the rest of the cool contents down my throat. I belch loudly and toss the beer bottle into the kitchen sink on top of a stack of dirty dishes.

  “Seriously?” she says, scrunching her nose in revulsion as she walks further into the kitchen and sets her purse on the kitchen table.

  “What? You live with Landon and that man can burp.” I chuckle to myself, realizing how obnoxious I must sound. I reach for the door of the refrigerator and locate another tall green bottle and pull it out.

  “Not so fast,” Reagan snaps as she snatches the bottle from my hand and pushes the refrigerator door closed abruptly.

  “Give it back.”

  “Not until we talk.”

  “There’s really nothing to talk about.” I cross my arms over my bare chest, realizing for the first time since she got here that I’m standing in a pair of jeans that are unbuttoned and nothing else.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure about that. There’s a lot to talk about—let’s start with why you won’t return our calls or texts?”

  “Because I’m dealing with shit right now and I don’t want to talk to anybody.” She leans back against the fridge door and juggles the cold bottle of beer back and forth between her hands.

  “So drinking your life away and living in squalor is how you’re going to handle this?” Her eyes move from the stack of dirty dishes to the kitchen island full of empty bottles and take-out containers.

  “For right now, yes.”

  “Matt,” she whispers. “Let us help you.”

  “Help me what, Reagan? I’m fucking lost. I can’t think, I can’t sleep.” I turn my head to look out the kitchen window as my voice trails off. “I fucking miss her.”

  “I know you do,” she whispers as she sets the beer bottle on the counter and pulls me into a hug. “We all miss her. But, Matt, we miss you too. You shut us out.” She pulls away, but rests her hands on my biceps. Reagan’s mannerisms, even the simplest of touches, remind me of Lindsay. Her soft eyes and caring nature remind me of everything I’m missing—everything I no longer have.

  “Let me help you get this house in order. It looks like a fucking frat house.” She shakes her head as she lowers her hands and begins pulling empty beer bottles out of the sink. I take the beer bottle from the counter and stuff it back into the fridge.

  “You don’t have to do that, you know,” I say as I watch her pull the recycle bucket out of the kitchen pantry and start stuffing it with the empty bottles.

  “I know.” She smiles softly. “I want to. Why don’t you go shower? It looks like you could use one.”

  “Is that your way of telling me I look like shit?” I jokingly ask her.

  “Yes. And you smell like it too,” she smirks.

  Standing under the scalding water, I inhale sharply as the water bites at my skin. The pain feels good. It momentarily pulls me away from the pain that is tearing through my heart. I reach for the shampoo from the corner shelf and am instantly reminded of Lindsay when I see a bottle that she left behind. I pull it from the shelf and open the lid, bringing it to my nose. I inhale the sweet floral scent and am flooded with memories of my nose pressed to her head. Opening the shower door, I toss the bottle across the bathroom until it lands on the floor next to the trash can. I scrub my tired body and pray I can scrub away the hurt at the same time.

  The house smells of cleaning solution and looks like it did weeks ago before Lindsay left me. Reagan is loading the dishwasher and I walk in to find a sparkling clean kitchen. Everything is neat and tidy and in its place, a far cry from how it was when she got here.

  “Almost done.” She smiles.

  “You didn’t have to do this. I would have gotten around to it eventually.”

  “Pfft,” she snorts. “After the mold started taking over? I’m glad to help. But in return, you’re going to do something for me.” She wipes her hands on a kitchen towel and cocks her head to the side just a little bit. She’s demanding, and gorgeous. I can understand why Landon is hopelessly in love with her.

  “Oh, I am, huh?”

  “Yeah, you are. You’re coming over for dinner tonight. I know you’re off work for the weekend—and we decided this morning to have a little impromptu dinner party. So your house is clean—sleep off the beer you’ve been drinking like it’s what’s keeping you alive…”

  “It is what’s been keeping me alive,” I mumble.

  “Matt, what I’m trying to say is, this sucks. I know it does. Trust me. But you need to start moving on. You’re a gorgeous and fun guy…”

  “Does your fiancé know you just called me gorgeous?” I joke with her. She rolls her eyes at m
e and sighs.

  “Please?” she asks.

  “Okay, I’ll be there. What time and what do you want me to bring?”

  “Be there at six and you don’t need to bring anything. Just shave that fuzz off your face,” she teases me about my lame attempt at growing facial hair as an act of rebellion against Lindsay leaving. “And, Matt…” She pulls her purse off the kitchen table and takes out her car keys. “You better show up.”

  “I’ll be there. I promise.”

  “Sober.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I wink at her.

  “See you in a few hours.”

  “Thanks again, Reagan. I mean it.”

  “Anytime.” She smiles at me and gives me a little wave as she leaves me standing in my kitchen. Looking around, I see that Reagan has put her own little touches in my kitchen. A towel hanging from the handle on the oven door, a scented candle that has never been lit is now making my kitchen smell like sugar cookies, and a post-it note on my refrigerator reads “Look Forward With Hope” with a little smiley face underneath it. For the first time in weeks, I feel a smile tug at my lips.

  I drive up the long, newly paved driveway at Landon and Reagan’s new house and am in complete awe of the gorgeous home. Enormous isn’t sufficient enough a word for this custom house. I park my Tahoe and take notice of the spectacular multi-colored pavers that circle a large fountain in their driveway. They have a fountain in the middle of their driveway. I chuckle to myself. I grab the bouquet of flowers I stopped and picked up for Reagan as I step out of my car and take in the enormity of this house. Over the top. I wouldn’t expect anything less from my best friend. The oversized glass and wrought-iron front doors swing open and Reagan bounds down the stone stairs.