Page 47

Free Falling Without A Parachute

CALLAN

T wenty-nine billion dollars in assets, and I couldn’t buy back the ten seconds it took for Anica to walk out of my life. I stood frozen in place, staring at the closed elevator doors like the ghost of a man watching his own heart flatline on a hospital monitor.

“Cal? Where’s your girl?” Morgan called from the living room.

“She’s not—” I stopped, the words sticking in my throat. “She left.”

I turned back toward the living room, where my three friends lounged like they owned the place. Kris was already helping himself to my most expensive scotch, Morgan was scrolling through his phone with his feet propped on my coffee table, and Chance was examining the waffle maker with interest.

“Left? Like, to get something from her car?” Chance asked, looking up from the kitchen appliance.

“No,” I said flatly. “Like left. Gone. Possibly forever.”

That got their attention. Three heads snapped toward me with varying degrees of confusion.

“What the hell did you do?” Kris demanded, setting down his glass. “It’s been what, an hour since you slept with her? That’s a new record, even for you.”

“I didn’t do anything,” I snapped, stalking to the bar and pouring myself a drink. At ten in the morning. Like the functional adult I clearly was. “She overheard us talking.”

Three identical expressions of realization dawned across their faces, followed quickly by winces.

“The ‘love doesn’t exist’ rant?” Morgan guessed.

“And the ‘just a good time’ comment,” I confirmed, downing half my scotch in one go.

“Shit,” Kris muttered.

“Yeah. Shit.” I dropped into an armchair, scrubbing a hand over my face. “She just... left. Told me she deserves better than someone who thinks love is fiction.”

“She’s not wrong,” Chance pointed out, earning himself a glare from me.

“Whose side are you on?”

“Yours, obviously. Which is why I’m telling you that you fucked up. Badly. Like, textbook ‘How to Ruin a Perfectly Good Thing in Ten Seconds’ level fucked up.”

“I didn’t fuck up,” I insisted, even as a voice in the back of my head called me a liar. “I was honest. I’ve always been honest about not believing in love. She knew that going in.”

“There’s a difference between theoretical skepticism and telling your friends that what you have with someone is ‘just a good time,’” Morgan said. “That’s like telling someone you’re on a diet and then having them catch you behind a dumpster deep-throating a Big Mac.”

Kris snorted. “Graphic, but accurate.”

“You know what? I don’t need this.” I stood, pacing across the living room.

“I don’t need you three idiots analyzing my life.

She wants someone who believes in fairy tales?

Fine. Good luck finding that in Manhattan.

Most men here think ‘emotional intimacy’ is remembering your Starbucks order the morning after. ”

“Come on, man,” Chance said, his perpetually calm demeanor starting to fray around the edges. “This isn’t about fairy tales. It’s about basic human connection.”

“What would you know about it?” I challenged.

“I’ve been married for years,” he reminded me mildly. “To a woman I love more than anything. And yes, I said the L-word. Try not to have an aneurysm.”

“Good for you,” I muttered. “Want a fucking medal?”

Kris let out a low whistle. “Wow. You are deep in denial right now. Like, submerged-at-the-bottom-of-the-Mariana-Trench deep.”

“I’m not in denial, I’m being realistic. Love, at most, is a chemical reaction designed to ensure the continuation of the species. It’s not real, it’s just biology. Attachment. Lust. Comfort. Whatever. People dress it up, but it all comes down to the same thing,” I insisted, refilling my glass.

“If that’s true,” Morgan said, watching me carefully, “then why are you this upset that she left?”

I opened my mouth to respond, then closed it again, the scotch bitter on my tongue.

“I’m not upset,” I lied. “I’m annoyed. Anica’s my wedding planner.”

“Bullshit,” Kris said bluntly. “You’re devastated. I haven’t seen you this rattled since your grandmother had that health scare last year.”

“Fuck off, Kris.”

“He’s right,” Chance added. “Look at yourself, man. You’re pacing. You’re drinking scotch before noon. You can’t even say her name without looking like someone punched you in the gut.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Cal,” Morgan said, setting down his phone and leaning forward. “It’s us. You don’t have to pretend.”

Something inside me cracked, just a little. “Fine. I like her. A lot. She’s smart and funny and doesn’t take my shit, and yes, the sex was mind-blowing. But that doesn’t mean?—”

“That you love her?” Chance finished for me. “Because from where I’m sitting, it looks a hell of a lot like love.”

“It’s not. It’s... attraction. Compatibility. Chemistry. Whatever you want to call it. But it’s not love, because love doesn’t?—”

“Exist. Yeah, we got it the first fifty times,” Kris interrupted, rolling his eyes. “Keep telling yourself that while you drink yourself stupid at ten in the morning over a woman who walked out less than fifteen minutes ago.”

I wanted to argue, to defend myself, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, I sank back into the armchair, my drink forgotten in my hand.

“What am I supposed to do? Call her and say, ‘Sorry I don’t believe in the thing you apparently need me to believe in’? Lie to her?”

“How about,” Chance suggested gently, “you start by asking yourself why you’re so damn terrified of even considering the possibility that love might be real?”

“I’m not terrified. I’m rational.”

“Rational,” Morgan repeated skeptically. “Is that why you’re clutching that glass like it’s a life preserver and you’re drowning?”

I looked down, surprised to find my knuckles white around the tumbler. I set it down, flexing my fingers.

“My parents were married for years before they divorced,” I said after a moment.

“They hated each other. My father cheated constantly. My mother drank. They stayed together for appearances, for business connections, for tax benefits. They never loved each other. Not really. And my grandfather ruined Gram’s life when he left her. ”

“So your sample size for marriage are two shitty examples, and you’ve decided the whole concept is invalid?” Kris asked. “That’s like eating two bad burritos and declaring all Mexican food is poison.”

“It’s not just my parents. Look around. Half of marriages end in divorce. The other half are just people too stubborn or too scared to admit they made a mistake.”

“Or,” Chance countered, “they’re people who found someone they genuinely want to build a life with. Who choose each other, every day, even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.”

I didn’t have a response for that. The certainty in his voice made something twist uncomfortably in my chest.

“I have to call her,” I said abruptly, pulling out my phone.

“That’s probably not the best idea right now,” Morgan cautioned. “You’re upset, she’s upset. Give it some time.”

“How much time?” I demanded. “She thinks I’m a heartless asshole who used her for sex.”

“Well, did you?” Kris asked bluntly.

“No! It wasn’t like that. It was... good. She’s the easiest person to be around. I just… I wasn’t using her.”

“Well, it sounded like it,” Chance said.

I ran a hand through my hair, struggling to find the words. “I mean yes, she’s beautiful. And she calls me on my crap and doesn’t back down. She makes me laugh. She makes me think. She makes me want to be... better.”

The three of them exchanged looks that were far too knowing for my comfort.

“What?” I demanded.

“Nothing,” Kris said, poorly suppressing a smile. “Just listening to you not being in love.”

“Shut up.”

My phone buzzed in my hand, and my heart leapt embarrassingly, hoping it might be Anica. Instead, it was a text from Erika.

Checking in on the bride hunt. Any progress?

I stared at my phone for a long moment before taking a deep breath. The bet. The deadline. The whole reason I’d hired Anica in the first place.

“The bet is off,” I announced, setting down my phone and picking up the drink again.

“What?” Morgan blinked at me. “You’re giving up? Just like that?”

“I’m not giving up,” I corrected. “I’m acknowledging that it was a stupid idea from the start. You guys win. Congratulations. I’ll transfer the money today.”

“Hold on,” Chance held up his hand. “This isn’t about the money, Cal. It never was.”

“Then what was it about?” I challenged.

“It was about trying to prove to us your fucked up notion about love not existing. I think your exact words were that ‘love is a sham.’ You wanted to prove that it didn’t exist and that you could control everything, even something as unpredictable as relationships.

That you could approach marriage like a business transaction and avoid getting hurt. ”

I stared at him. “Yeah well?—”

“And now you’re walking away because you realized you can’t control how you feel about Anica, and it scares the shit out of you because you might actually be falling for her.”

“Free falling without a parachute, I’d say,” Kris added.

Shit. Were they right? I’d spent my entire adult life building walls, constructing a carefully controlled environment where I could dictate the terms of every interaction.

And then Anica had walked in, with her emergency kits and her judgmental eyebrows and her absolute refusal to be impressed by me, and those walls had started to crumble.

“I need to fix this,” I said, standing up so abruptly that my drink sloshed over the edge of the glass.

“And how exactly do you plan to do that? You just spent the last ten minutes insisting love doesn’t exist, and now you want to, what, convince her you’re worth another shot?” Kris asked.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But I have to try.”

I grabbed my phone and dialed Anica’s number, but it went straight to voicemail. I tried again. Nothing. Undeterred, I tried the office line for her office.