Found at the Jazz Club Page 13

  Everything inside her shook. She clutched the screenplay to her chest. Within these pages were the raw emotions of what she felt for Brady. For anyone else to read it meant flaying herself wide open. “It’s not yours to read. No one needs to read it.” Her hands shook, and the paper wrinkled in her fists as her throat closed off with panic.

  Mac stood and approached her slowly with one hand out to placate her. “Hey, calm down. It’s okay.”

  She shook her head as she backed away. He didn’t understand. It would never be okay again.

  “Emily.” Mac’s voice had softened. “What happened, babe? Why are you back in Denver?”

  She glanced around her office, looking for some way to avoid this discussion. But her gaze came back to him and she frowned at him. “How did you even know I was in town?” She wasn’t scheduled to come home until January second.

  “Brady called me. He was worried about you and wanted me to check on you.”

  Brady. Her chest hurt, and she pressed her fist against it. Could she be having a heart attack? She swayed a little bit and reached down to her desk to steady herself just as Mac lunged and caught her. He lowered her back to her couch with a huff of frustration. “Dammit, Em. When was the last time you ate? Other women gorge on cookie dough when they’re heartbroken. Not you. You just forget to eat.”

  She sank her pounding head into her hands. Food? Her stomach roiled at even the thought. There was no way she could eat. “I’m fine. I just didn’t sleep very well and could use some coffee.”

  Mac scoffed. “Yeah, that’s what happens when you sleep on the couch. From the pile of empty K-cups in your desk trashcan, I’m thinking you’re already overdosing on caffeine. Stay here. I’ll go find something.”

  She let her eyes drift closed, and she pulled the quilt back over her head. Mac could do whatever he wanted. It didn’t matter to her.

  But when Mac came back, he brought something that smelled decadently greasy. She poked her head out of the blanket and eyed the McDonald’s bag in his hand suspiciously. “What do you have there?”

  He raised a challenging eyebrow at her. “Sustenance. No one, not even the heartbroken, can resist a McDonald’s breakfast biscuit. Come on. Come out, and I’ll share it with you.”

  She reached out, and Mac didn’t even try to hide his triumphant smile as he handed it to her. She dug in, suddenly famished.

  Mac kicked his feet up on her desk while she inhaled the breakfast McMuffin and drank her orange juice. “Thanks,” she mumbled as she cleaned her fingers on her napkin.

  “So, you ready to tell me what happened?”

  “I’d really rather not talk about it.”

  Mac nodded. “Okay, then tell me about that screenplay.” He gestured to her bookcase where she’d squirreled away her precious words.

  It hurt to look at the pages, although that hadn’t kept her from working on it late into the night last night after she got home. It had become her new obsession, her outlet for all the emotions that Brady stirred within her. She could never share that screenplay with anyone. Even knowing Mac had read part of it filled her with dread. Now, he would see how foolish she’d been...falling in love with someone over a decade younger than her.

  She shook her head.

  Mac flung out his arms in frustration and blew out a breath. “Then tell me this. Why are you sleeping in here?”

  “I couldn’t sleep in my bed.” It still smelled like Brady. She should have washed her sheets, but she was weak and hadn’t been willing to give up her one tiny connection to him yet.

  Mac frowned at her. “You know, you have a whole house filled with extra beds upstairs.”

  She did, but those rooms felt so cold. Last night, she had just wanted to feel warm. She needed the comfort of her own space to try to thaw the ice within her. But if she told Mac that, he would just lecture her again about selling this house.

  “You know,” Mac said conversationally although pain etched his gaze. “It makes me feel like a crap friend when you won’t tell me the most basic details of what’s hurting you.”

  “I fucked up. Why do you need to hear about that?” she asked softly. “You’ve been my best friend long enough that you know that’s the normal MO for me when it comes to relationships. This isn’t anything new. I fell in love with the wrong guy. You and I both know the way this plays out.”

  Mac had been her best friend through all three of her previous divorces. In fact, she’d moved in with him, and he’d nursed her back to health after Trace’s betrayal and her major surgery. Mac knew better than anyone else how the next few weeks would go. She’d hibernate and work and eventually revive again. She’d survived before. She’d survive again. This wasn’t a maiden voyage on the merry-go-round of Emily’s love life for everyone. She just thought she’d learned her lesson about riding it before. The fun wasn’t worth the nausea at the end.

  Just thinking about it brought the nausea back. Now, she was regretting that breakfast.

  “Maybe,” Mac said slowly. “I’ll admit I was completely shocked to find out you got married in Vegas, but a lot of that was because I don’t think you’ve put your last marriage to rest.”

  That stopped her spinning mind. “What? Of course, I’ve gotten over it. If you think I want to get back together with Trace, you’re certifiable.” Time away from her ex had given her the perspective to realize just how one-sided that relationship had been. He’d been an immature child, only wanting to play at life. He hadn’t wanted anything real. Emily had spent her marriage looking at Trace through rose-colored glasses. The fallout had cleared up that rose-coloring right away.

  Mac nodded. “No, you’re right. I’ll agree you’ve gotten over Trace. What you haven’t gotten over is your self-inflicted guilt for falling for him in the first place, for what you see as your failure to make that marriage succeed. Hell, Emily, you’re still living in a shrine to that marriage, although from what I can tell, you hate this house. You only live in two rooms out of the over a dozen that are in here. You haven’t forgiven yourself for not succeeding there, and you continue to punish yourself for it.”

  She shook her head at the pure lunacy coming out of his mouth. It hadn’t been like that. She’d stayed here because...

  Well, at first because she had been too mentally exhausted to even think about moving, but that had been over four years ago. Why was she still living here? Mac was right. Besides her office and her bedroom, the rest of the house gave her claustrophobia. But she wasn’t punishing herself, was she?

  She considered the nursery on the second floor that still was decorated for a baby that would never arrive. Her throat grew thick.

  Mac strode over and enveloped her in a big hug. “Oh, Emily. I wish I could wave my hands and make it all be okay, but I can’t. What I can do is be your friend and tell you some hard truths.”

  She wasn’t sure she was ready to hear them. Didn’t she already feel bad enough?

  He pulled away from her to look her in the eye. “You’ve always been hardest on yourself, and I know a lot of that comes from the perfectionism that your dad demanded of you. But you know what? It’s time for you to live your life for you. It’s time to grow up.”

  “Hey, I’m thirty-seven years old. I think I did that decades ago.”

  “Then you need to act like it.” He frowned. “I don’t know where Brady fits in there for you, but I have a feeling whether you’re lying to yourself about it or not that you do. Give yourself a couple of days. Then I want you to read your screenplay. Not as the author but as an editor. See how good it really is. But also, see the emotions that you were putting into it. As someone who channels emotions into the story, I can see the truth. I think you will, too.”

  He looked down at his watch. “Are you going to be okay? I’m supposed to meet Tommy, but if you need me to—”

  She shook her head and shoved him toward the door. “Go. Pep talk received. I’ll be fine. Go sex up your hot husband, and I’ll sort my life. You’ve done you
r best friend duties.”

  He stopped and kissed her forehead. “My best friend duties are never done. I’m always here for you. You know that, right?”

  Her throat closed up again. She was so lucky to have him in her life. “Yeah, I do. Thanks, Mac. I’ll call.”

  “Promise?”

  “Yeah, for real. I promise.”

  Then Mac was gone, and Emily sat alone inside her empty, rambling house thinking about everything he’d said.

  Slowly, she walked through the big house. Her marriage to Trace seemed so long ago now, but as she crossed the gleaming wood floors, she saw the ghosts of a happier time between them. They’d had so much fun renovating this house. Most of it hadn’t been to her style, but it had made Trace happy so she’d gone along with his choices.

  Why was she hanging onto it? He’d given her the house in the divorce because of his cheating, but it had always meant more to him than her. Mac was right on that.

  She stopped outside the nursery and hesitated before opening the door. The last time she’d been in this room had been two weeks after she’d lost the baby and her ability to have any more children. That night, she’d cried herself to sleep on the floor.

  Her housekeeper cleaned the room, but Emily had never stepped foot into it since that night.

  She took a deep breath and turned the knob and stepped over the threshold.

  FIVE HOURS LATER, THE entire nursery had been packed. A weight had lifted off Emily’s chest as she worked. That weight had been holding her down for so long, she hadn’t realized it was even there. Feeling pounds lighter, Emily tread down the stairs, intent on calling a donation truck and a realtor to come by. It was time to put all these old ghosts to rest.

  In her office, she powered on her cell phone. She had several new texts. Her finger hovered over the button. Were they from Brady? She’d never know until she gathered the courage to check it.

  The first was from last night.

  December 28; 10:47 pm

  Brady: My bed is empty without you here. I miss you and will prove myself. I love you, Emily. Only you. Forever. Goodnight, love.

  Tingling erupted in her fingers and toes. She wanted that to be true, but she couldn’t trust love again. It didn’t last, and in the end, it just hurt more.

  The next text had today’s date.

  December 29; 6:12 am

  Brady: Good morning, love. I dreamt of you last night. All good things. It will work out. You’ll see. I love you, Emily. No matter how much time you take. Forever.

  Emily took a shuddery breath. She debated texting him back. Her fingers twitched with the need to do exactly that, but in the end, she shut off her phone and shoved it into a desk drawer. She wasn’t ready. Not yet.

  Chapter Twenty

  Brady smiled as he watched the little ones toasting their marshmallows in the big fireplace of the main house. For New Year’s Eve, all the kids got to stay up, hopped up on sugar and excitement about skipping bedtimes. For those who got sleepy, there were piles of sleeping bags and pillows in the corner.

  Sabrina dropped into the chair beside his. She licked her fingers, cleaning off the sticky marshmallow goo from helping supervise a couple of the older Gresham boys who now sat in the corner with melted chocolate smeared all over their faces.

  “This right here is the only thing that could convince me to have kids,” she said on a moan.

  He grinned. “Kids so hopped up on chocolate and lack of sleep that they won’t calm down until two or three a.m.?”

  She giggled. “No, definitely not. It’s all about the junk food.” She smacked her lips. “What about you? Are you rethinking the whole baby thing?”

  “No, I’m fine with never having kids of my own. Or if she wants, we can adopt. I just want Emily in my life.”

  “Have you talked to her?”

  “No, I text her first thing every morning and last thing at night before I go to bed, but she’s never responded.”

  A couple of times, there had been those teasing bouncing dots after sending her a text, but so far, there’d been no response. In the meantime, he’d taken the women’s advice and channeled his emotions into the music for his album. The music was flowing better than ever.

  “Maybe it’s time to step it up,” Sabrina said. “It is New Year’s Eve. If you’re serious about a future with her, it only makes sense to go into the New Year talking to her. Call her. It’s only ten more minutes until the calendar turns over.”

  That was actually a good idea. “Thanks, Sabrina. I think I’ll will.” He palmed his cell phone as he stepped out onto the covered deck. A fire blazed in the built-in fireplace out here, too. Outdoor, propane space heaters had been set up to keep the area temperate. He’d needed an excuse to call her. He wanted to reach out to Emily so badly it hurt.

  Butterflies erupted low in his belly. If she hung up on him, he’d be devastated. He wouldn’t give up, but a little sign that she still had feelings for him would help him not feel so much like a stalker.

  Before he could talk himself out of it, he hit her contact information and dialed.

  She answered almost immediately. “Brady?” Her voice sounded breathy and dare he say it...hopeful?

  “Happy New Year’s Eve, beautiful. I hope I didn’t wake you.”

  “No, I was just doing some work and realized it had begun to snow. I was actually looking out my doors to the garden, watching it fall and thinking of you.” Her voice was hardly more than a whisper, lending to the intimacy of having her voice in his ear.

  He closed his eyes in relief. “I thought you were supposed to be off work until January.”

  “Oh. Yeah, I am. I was just... This is something I’m doing for me.” She sounded unsure. The Emily he’d known had never been unsure.

  “I’m intrigued.”

  “Maybe someday, I’ll let you read it.”

  Read it? She’d been writing while he composed that week she’d been here, but she’d never shared what she’d been working on. He was even more intrigued now. Was it still the same project? “I’d really like that, Emily.”

  Quiet filled the connection. His hands flexed with the need to touch her. Even hearing her voice made him yearn for more. “I kind of expected that you’d be out on the town tonight.”

  “No.” She chuckled softly, a sound that he felt low in his gut. “I decided a quiet night was more apropos this year. What are you all doing?”

  “I’m out on the deck, watching it snow. They just fed the kids s’mores, so I figured I needed to escape before things got too sticky.”

  “Mmm, s’mores. I haven’t had one of those in years. I wonder if they’re still as good now.”

  He wanted to say something about if she’d stayed, she could have shared one with him, but why torture them both? He cleared his throat. “So tell me, what does Emily Gre— Um, sorry. I meant Emily Hodges. What kind of New Year’s resolutions do you make?”

  Uncomfortable silence filled the line as Brady called himself all kinds of an idiot. He’d almost called her Emily Gresham. One misstep and he’d ruined it. He couldn’t help it. He still considered her his wife, no matter what paperwork had been filed.

  Finally she cleared her throat and answered, “This year, it’s all about fixing past mistakes and vowing never to make more like them in the future.”

  He closed his eyes and banged his head on the deck post. He hated that she considered him one of those mistakes. From the very beginning, he’d messed up with her.

  “What about you?” she asked. “Any major resolutions?”

  “I have lots of big goals. I plan to spend all year, working on them if I have to. I’m hoping to land some big deals that will have a major impact on the future.” Emily played huge into that, but so did his music career—both in movies and as an individual artist. He had big plans. If he could succeed—most especially in his pursuit of her—everything about his life would shift and be so much better.

  A year from now, life could be so different. />
  The countdown to midnight rang out into the night from inside. “They’re counting down. Four-three-two-one. Happy New Year, Emily. I love you.”

  “Happy New Year, Brady. May all your dreams come true.” In a whispering voice, she added, “I miss you.”

  His heart soared with a tiny bit of hope to start the New Year.

  “I miss you, too, Emily.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  After New Year’s Eve, Emily awoke to a text from Brady every morning and got another every night, but they also talked on the phone every single night, too. It had been almost six weeks since that phone call on New Year’s Eve, and everything about Emily’s world had shifted.

  This morning, she had closed on the sale of her house in Denver, and now, she drove to meet Mac for coffee before flying out to New York City. He stood, pulled out a chair for her at his table, and handed her the coffee he’d already ordered.

  “Thanks,” she murmured.

  “How are you doing?” he asked.

  She was well aware of the dark circles under her eyes and that the lack of sleep the last few weeks had taken a toll on her. She’d also lost weight. “I’m good. It was a ton of work to get everything packed up and sorted, but the money’s been exchanged and the paperwork is all signed and dusted.”

  She took a sip of her coffee. “Honestly, it felt liberating to hand over the keys. You were right. Holding onto that house was holding me down.” That house had allowed her to wallow in what she saw as her failure. Like something was wrong with her for not being able to have a baby.

  She’d mourned the divorce and her ability to have babies, but she had missed what she was really doing, holing up in that house with all that grief. She had been feeding her fear, her fear of getting hurt again, her fear of loving again.

  Falling in love with Brady meant that she had to face all those fears and take control of them. If she wanted him in her life she had to move past being terrified all the time. It hadn’t been easy, but it had been something she’d had to do...for their future. Six weeks later, she felt like she was in a place where she could live again.