Page 50 of Shattered Dreams

“I don’t need her to give me anything.”

“You know what I mean, but yes, you do. You need her to tell you she didn’t leave you because of what or who you are. That she left because she didn’t love you the way you loved her. There’s no one to blame when that happens, Gage. That’s love.”

We go back into the living room and keep packing, and I turn my mother’s advice over in my head. I haven’t thought about Viv in a long time, not in any tangible sense. Thoughts and feelings of regret that hit me out of nowhere, and yeah, I did have a hard time after she left me. I didn’t want Zarah to have any more to worry about and I never told her. I know she’s jealous of Sierra and I didn’t help while we were broken up, but I’m not still in love with Viv, don’t wonder how she’s doing or if she popped out two point five kids and she’s living in a house in the suburbs and drives a minivan. In fact, I haven’t checked up on her to know if she married the douchebag she dumped me for.

“Have you ever cheated on Rourke?” I ask out of curiosity.

“I did a couple of times,” she admits softly, “with a doctor I met at one of Rourke’s dinners. Rourke bought stock in a pharmaceutical company and they were working together on a drug trial. He caught me at a time when I was a little lonely, resenting Rourke for going to DC without me. I know if he doesn’t invite me to go he has other plans, meaning women, and I wanted to pay him back.”

Wow. I didn’t expect that. “Did Rourke find out?”

Mom shakes her head. “No. I felt too guilty and broke it off. He was engaged at the time, and our affair caused him some problems. He didn’t deserve it, and I’ve always felt horrible about that. Sometimes I’ll see him at a fundraiser and get swept away when he touches my hand or kisses my cheek, the way he smells, the way he wears a suit. But I love Rourke, and it was just a short time in my life when I needed something else. I’m over it now, and I’m settled. I want that for you, too. I’d like grandbabies, while I’m still young enough to enjoy them.” She sighs.

Running my fingers over a journalism textbook, I say, “I’m sorry about Max.”

“I am too, but everything happens for a reason. If he were still alive, maybe he and Zarah would be married. Your brother gave you a second chance at love.” She squeezes my hand. “Don’t let hard feelings waste it.”

In the briefest hint of a truce, I tangle our fingers. “I won’t.”

“Good. Now, let’s get moving. We’ve barely made a dent and it’s after ten.”

I slide my phone out of my pocket to check the time, and she’s right. We’ve been talking for over an hour and haven’t gotten anything done. My home screen is blank—Zarah didn’t text me a last-minute goodbye or a couple of kissing emojis. I hope the trip is the start of the kind of life she’s looking for. I’m not a fool and don’t think I can be everything she needs. If I was stupid enough to think that, she’s proven me wrong several times.

As we fold Max’s clothes and pack them to drop them off at a thrift store, I roll around what Mom suggested. Maybe I will hunt Viv down. If she’s in the area, I’ll go see her, talk. Maybe my emotions and hurt feelingsareclouding history and things weren’t as bad as they seemed. If she’s not in the city, I’ll put it away for good.

I find Viv’s current address easy enough, searching the public records database. My mother’s question about sacrifices scratches at my skin like a bug bite. What would I sacrifice to keep Zarah in my life? A job I like? My apartment? I figured one day we would find something together. Maybe not this year, or even the next, but I never thought we’d move into my little apartment. I would never give up Baby. Any woman who has a problem with my dog wouldn’t be a good fit.

That’s what I wish I would have told my mom. Like all good comebacks, I think of this later. You may be willing to make sacrifices to keep someone you love, but if they love you back, they wouldn’t ask.

Compromise and sacrifice are two different things. I’m fully willing to compromise as long as I’m not the only one doing it.

It surprises me Viv lives in a rundown part of King’s Crossing, in an old apartment building that has seen better days. In fact, Pop and I questioned tenants not long ago who live in a building not far from here.

I find a parking spot on the street, and Baby watches out the window, her attention piqued. My truck fits into the neighborhood about as well as I did at Max’s award dinner, and I’m reluctant to leave it unsupervised. It doesn’t matter I feel more at home here on the sidewalk than I do when I’m staring up at Maddox Industries. I don’t want it to matter I’m more at ease nodding at the homeless man shivering in the cold on Viv’s building’s stoop than I am clearing security every time I see Zarah at the penthouse.

I shove a five dollar bill into the old man’s hand, and he thanks me, his smile thin and white cataracts clouding his eyes.

The vestibule is clean, if not a little musty, but the lock on the security door is broken.

My picture of Viv living in the suburbs couldn’t have been further from where she really ended up. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea after all.

I reach the fourth floor, and children’s music tinkles down the hallway. I stop at 405 and knock. There’s a rustling, as if she’s looking through the peephole, and then she opens the door.

She’s as beautiful as she ever was, but tired.

Life hasn’t been kind since we broke up.

“Gage. What are you doing here?”

“I stopped by to talk. I’m sorry I didn’t call first. If it’s not a good time, I can go.”

I drink her in. She’s taller than Zarah by half a foot, long blonde hair and faded brown eyes. She’s put on a little weight, but she carries it well, her worn jeans clinging to ample hips and thighs.

A little girl runs up behind her and peers around Viv’s leg, staring curiously at Baby.

“This is Lacey,” Viv says, brushing hair out of her daughter’s eyes.

I search for a clue she’s mine, but she’s too young and there’s no sign of me in her features.

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