Page 25 of When Javi Dumped Mari

Javi

Two Years and Two Months Before the Wedding

Ihear a familiar voice and my brain is overrun with memories. Of all the poor decisions I’ve made in my life—and there have been many —ghosting Mari is the one I regret the most. I think about that choice every day.

No, my mind must be tricking me. Cruelly playing out a scenario in which Mari and I are still friends and I didn’t just abandon her. Well, abandon might be too strong a word. Mari didn’t need me. I needed her. And yet I cut her out of my life as if she didn’t matter. How fucking wrong I was.

But wait. This person’s saying my name.

“Javi? Javier Báez?” they repeat.

I look up, and there she is. Marisol Campos. The friend who got away.

My hands tingle, and a wave of heat washes over me.

As if joy is coursing through my body and can no longer be contained in such a small space.

Then reality sets in. What I did. What she didn’t deserve.

She remembers too, apparently, because the lightness in her eyes quickly fades, replaced by a dazed expression.

People are bustling around us, but I only have eyes for her.

My gaze is greedy, bouncing around as I take in what time has changed.

She’s leaner, especially in the face, her cheeks more sculpted than I remember.

Her hair’s just as curly but now sits on her shoulders.

And maybe it’s a little lighter? Her clothing is refined.

Elegant. A sumptuous coat that flares out at her hips, a long skirt that ends below her knees, and a pair of brown leather boots that add inches to her stature.

She looks…expensive. I don’t know how else to put it.

And she’s waiting for me to acknowledge her.

“Marisol Campos,” I manage to say.

“Javier Báez.”

“I can’t believe it’s you.”

“Same.”

The word floats in the air, then plummets to the ground. I’m the villain here. She knows it. I know it. It’s an uncomfortable status for me. I’d rather be invisible and unproblematic. In this situation, I’m anything but.

She squints at me. “It’s been…what? Six years?”

“Six years and three months.” Her eyes widen, so I shrug and add, “Give or take.” I clear my throat. “What brings you to Central Park?”

So. Fucking. Awkward.

“One of my clients is in the film. Chanelle Heyward.”

My eyes bulge. That’s big-time. Chanelle is one of the film’s leads.

“What about you?” she asks.

“I’m an extra.”

She nods. There’s nothing to say, really. But I can tell she has questions. Or perhaps I just want to give her answers. Well, as much as I can.

“It’s amazing to see you again. Do you have time to catch up later?” I ask, my words tumbling out in a rush. “Maybe we could grab a drink somewhere?”

She tilts her head, assessing me. Probably seconds from chewing my ass out. “I’m here on business,” she finally says, “and my schedule’s really tight. I don’t have any time to catch up, unfortunately. I need to do a walk-through of a client’s premises tonight. But maybe next time I’m in town?”

“Sure, sure, I understand. Of course you have things to do.”

She chews on her lower lip a moment, then says, “You could come with me? To do the walk-through, I mean. It’s in Chelsea, though, so I’m not sure if that’s too much of a hassle.”

A chance to reconnect with Mari? I’d agree to climb Mount Everest for an opportunity like this. “No, no. That’s not a hassle at all. Whatever, whenever. Just tell me where I need to be.”

She nods, her expression painfully bland. It’s only right, but it still hurts.

“I’ll text you the address,” she says. “You have the same number?”

“I do.”

She looks up from her phone. “I do too.”

It’s an accusation. Every bit of it justified. After all, the rift between us is of my own making. What will she see when she texts? Will she see the last messages she sent me? My stomach twists at the thought.

Seconds later, my phone buzzes. I quickly glance at Mari’s message, noting that it’s nothing more than a downtown address.

As if that’s all she’s willing to commit to writing under the circumstances.

I fully understand. I did this to myself.

But I also want to undo it—even though I don’t deserve to.

“I’ll be there, Mari. I…” I was going to say “I promise,” but what a fucking joke that would be.

“I’m looking forward to it,” I tell her, genuinely meaning it.

“Great,” she says, her small smile flipping the switch on her lifeless expression and giving me hope that I’ll get the do-over I so desperately want. “I’ll see you then.”

She walks away without a backward glance, and I watch her until she disappears into Chanelle Heyward’s trailer.

I don’t know what my future holds, but now I’m wondering if Mari was always meant to be in it. If this is my second chance, I’m going to do my level best not to mess up.

***

Could this be the place? It’s eerie as hell. And why are some of the windows boarded up?

I glance at the address Mari sent me, then stare at the building number above the brownstone’s door. The 2 is barely hanging on. Yup, this is the right location, but what is it?

I jump when I feel a tap at my shoulder.

“Hey, you,” Mari says, smiling brightly.

She’s still wearing the same expensive-ass-looking coat, but she’s changed into jeans and sneakers.

Reminds me of the old Mari. Before she became a big-time lawyer.

Yeah, I looked her up—for the first time in a while—and my girl’s been kicking ass and taking names.

This year, she made Forbes magazine’s 30 Under 30 list in Law & Policy.

A year before that, her local bar association nominated her for a rising star award.

I couldn’t find an Instagram account (the old one had been deactivated), so I know nothing about her personal life, not that IG is a reliable source in any case.

One thing’s for sure: Mari’s on the path to greatness, while I’m still asking for directions.

I point at the building. “We’re headed in here?”

“Yeah,” she says with a decisive nod. “I’m doing a walk-through of the premises to advise my clients about any liability issues.

They want to hard launch as soon as possible.

Since they plan to serve liquor, it’s especially important that they minimize their exposure to legal complaints.

I told them about you, and they gave me permission to have you tag along.

I was thinking you and I could talk at the bar afterward. ”

“Sounds good to me,” I say, trying to peer through a curtainless window. “So, this place. It’s like a modern-day speakeasy?”

She grins. “Of sorts. The liquor’s legal, of course.”

“I meant the vibe.”

“Oh, I know what you meant, but I don’t want to say too much. It’s better if you experience it yourself.” She gestures at the short flight of stairs leading to the basement level. “Shall we?”

I follow her to the entrance, and suddenly the door’s opening—seemingly on its own. It’s pitch-black in there, but mist, or maybe smoke, is emanating from inside.

I’m fully prepared to run and drag Mari with me, but she crosses the threshold and immediately looks around, her phone in hand as if she’s readying to take notes.

I guess we’re doing this—whatever “this” is.

Making the sign of the cross, I step up to the door and follow her inside.