Page 1 of Worthy Now
One
Tessa
Los Angeles (48 hours before returning to Jenkins Creek)
“Tessa, Paul is on the phone for you again,” my roommate, Caleb, calls out from the living room, and I barely suppress my groan of irritation. Paul is a fellow writer at the magazine I work for and has been trying to coax me into going out with him for months now.
He’s one of those self-important people who consider themselves God’s gift to womankind—“Quite the catch.” To quote the man himself—and he just can’t seem to graspwhy lil ol’ me isn’t falling all over myself for a chance to date him. Not only is Paul’s arrogance off-putting, but he also sports one of the most awful comb-overs I’ve ever seen, and, as if that isn’t bad enough, he also has terrible BO. Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not superficial. I don’t mind a receding hairline, and I actually quite like a buzzed head. It’s the confidence I find myself drawn to. Take Jason Statham, for example. He hasn’t rocked a full head of hair since starring in ‘Revolver,’and he’s owned the bald look ever since. Women find him attractive because he doesn’t care. His hair loss is a non-issue. Maybe if Paul wasn’t so desperate to cover up what, in my mind, is simply a part of the natural aging process, I’d be able to take him more seriously. I know his hair loss is not something he has control over. What he most definitely can control, though, is his personal hygiene. I mean, how hard is it to take a shower and slap on some deodorant? We shouldn’t all have to smell the man the second he enters the office building. But even if I could somehow overlook all that, the simple fact remains that Paul McGowan is a total narcissist who likes the sound of his own voice just a little too much. Giving a long-suffering sigh, I exit my bedroom and mentally prepare myself for yet another one-sided conversation.
When I enter the living room, Caleb greets me with a pitying look while he holds out the phone for me. I reluctantly snatch up the offending item and bring it to my ear, gripping it so hard myknuckles turn white. I grit my teeth as I bite out what I hope is a cheery, “Hello,” and brace myself for Paul’s nasally voice.
“Teresa, sweetheart. How are you?” Not waiting for an answer because, let’s face it, he doesn’t care one way or another; he forges on. “I just got word there’s this grand opening for a new speakeasy downtown—invite-only, very exclusive—and they’re looking for press coverage. Figured you might appreciate the opportunity to tag along. I can pick you up around nine?”
“I don’t cover the entertainment news, Paul. You and I both know that,” I reply, trying not to let my annoyance show as I give my roommate the eyeroll I’ve been holding back since he revealed the identity of my caller. Caleb chuckles and pours me a much-needed glass of red wine, which I graciously accept. Forcing myself not to down it in one gulp to help get me through the duration of this call, I settle for a generous sip instead. It’s barely dinner time, after all.
Paul makes a sound that oozes irritation, obviously irked that I’m forcing him to admit to the real reason behind his call, which—shocker—is all about him and his inflated ego.
“You and I both know you don’t show up to these types of events without a plus one, and you, my dear, make for a delicious piece of arm candy. It never hurts to make a good impression, and us showing up together would certainly turn heads.”
I know his chauvinistic comment was meant to be a compliment, but I couldn’t be more offended. A delicious piece of arm candy? Really? “You’re a big boy, Paul. I’m sure you’ll figure out how to make an impression all on your own. You don’t need me to hold your hand. Besides, I already have plans tonight.”
“Oh?” he asks, clearly puzzled by my lack of interest. He shouldn’t be, given I’ve been turning down his never-ending slew of selfless opportunities for weeks. “Well, how about dinner tomorrow then? I can—”
“Unfortunately, I already have plans for tomorrow, as well,” I rudely cut in. “And the night after that. Come to think of it, my entire month is looking rather booked. And even if it wasn’t, I really don’t think it’s a good idea to mix business with pleasure, Paul. The last thing I want is for things to get awkward around the office. You know, on the off chance that things don’t work out between us,” I drawl, shoving a finger down my throat and tilting the phone away from my face to muffle the gagging sound, leaving my friend in stitches on the couch. I’m not cruel by nature, but Paul and his highly insensitive remarks bring out the worst in me.
“Well, I can’t say I’m happy about it, but I guess I understand where you’re coming from. I wouldn’t want to be the reason you’re uncomfortable at work. I imagine it would be rather difficulthaving to be around the person that broke your heart day in and day out, and I’m told I’m a tough guy to get over.”
I’m sure you are, I think to myself, biting my tongue as to not give voice to the many colorful replies currently running through my mind.
“That would be a truly unbearable situation. I’m glad we can agree on that.” Chugging the remainder of my wine, I backhand a snorting Caleb across the chest and struggle to tamp down my own laughter. “Well, have a great time at your event, Paul. I’ll see you Monday, bright and early.” Stabbing the end call button harder than necessary I give a pained groan and flop onto the couch beside Caleb, who looks like listening to me placate my pushy co-worker has been the highlight of his day.
“You suck, you know that, right?” I say, rolling my face toward my friend so I can hit him with a fierce glare.
“You know you love me,” he huffs out between fits of laughter as he presses a hand to his quivering stomach. I arch an unimpressed eyebrow. “Oh, come on,” he wails when my stony mask doesn’t crack. “I can’t help that watching you squirm is so damn entertaining. I live a boring and uneventful life. Gotta take my enjoyment where I can get it.” Letting out a sound of irritation, I draw my thighs up to my chest and rest my chin on my knees.
“Poor Paul. If he wasn’t such a pompous ass, I’d feel sorry for him. All jokes aside, though. I know Mr. Pretentious isn’t an option, because he’s a pig, but one of these days you may want to consider giving one of the many decent, single men in this beautiful city a chance. Either that or bite the bullet and go after the one you really want.”
My eyes pop open wide, and I gape at my best friend, refusing to believe he actually had the gall to go there. There’s an unspoken agreement between us. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is off-topic. And in all the years we’ve known each other, my outspoken and straight-forward roommate has never broken said agreement—until now. Caleb and I met during our first year of college and felt an instant connection. We were both a little lost at the time, neither one of us feeling like we quite fit in on campus. Him because he was struggling with his sexuality, having been raised in a very strict, catholic household where he wasn’t allowed to express himself in the way he should’ve been able to. Me, because I was too heartbroken—too riddled with guilt—to embrace college life, let alone be sociable. One day we were randomly partnered up for a creative writing assignment, and the rest is history. I was in no condition to even think about dating during those first initial weeks at Walter Cronkite, and the fact that Caleb had just come out as gay, which pretty much ensured there was about a zeropercent chance he’d ever make a pass at me, solidified that he was just the type of friend I desperately needed.
When we graduated and were faced with the age-old question of what to do with the rest of our lives, we decided to move to LA together to start our new realities, safe in the knowledge that we had someone to rely on if things didn’t pan out the way we’d envisioned.
Here we are, three years later, still thick as thieves and no closer to figuring out what the future holds. Sure, I have a job I love, and I’m well on my way to making a name for myself as an indie author in the spicy romance genre. But do I feel fulfilled in any other aspect of my life? Can’t say that I do. I love Caleb more than words could ever express. He’s been my rock since I left Jenkins Creek, and I don’t know what I would’ve done without him. Doesn’t mean I don’t regularly feel the urge to wring his skinny little neck.
“I don’t want to talk about him,” I grit out in a tone that lets him know he’s stepped over the imaginary line I drew in the sand so many years ago.
“I know you don’t. But frankly, I don’t think I care anymore. I’ve been tiptoeing around the issue for as long as I’ve known you because I thought you’d eventually pull that pretty head out of your ass and do something about it. But it’s become painfully clear that I might be waiting a long damn time, and as your bestfriend in the whole entire world, it is my duty to tell you when you’re sabotaging your own happiness.” He pauses then and lays a gentle hand on mine, giving it a squeeze. “It’s been seven years since you made a mistake that cost you the man you clearly never got over, and it’s time you stopped punishing yourself. You were a child back then, love. You don’t deserve to suffer for the rest of your life because of a choice you made when you were too naïve and impressionable to know better. You owe it to yourself to find out if whatever you had with Jake is salvageable. And who knows? Maybe he’s long since gotten over it and doesn’t even blame you anymore. Have you ever considered that he might even be happy to see you? That he might value a chance to have a conversation so you can both let go of the past and move on with your lives? Whether it be together or apart.”
“I’m not punishing myself,” I begin to argue, but I know my attempt is futile when Caleb gives me a pointed look that suggests I might be able to pull one over on other people, but he knows me far too well. I blow out a defeated sigh and try again. “I know the way things ended between me and Jake isn’t all my fault. Yes, I made mistakes, but so did he. Me not dating has nothing to do with my past and everything to do with the fact that each and every guy I’ve gone out with over the years has ended up being a bitter disappointment, and I’m just not looking for more of the same.”
I try hard to sound convincing, but my excuses sound lackluster, even to my own ears. I want to believe that my pathetic love life has nothing to do with the tragic end to my one and only relationship, but every time I remember Jake’s crestfallen expression the day I broke his heart, I know I’m lying to myself.
One sentence is all it took to tear his world apart. And he got his revenge the day he returned the favor when I finally worked up the courage to face him again, only to find out the boy I’d agonized over for weeks had already moved on. We hurt each other in the worst possible ways. Left gaping wounds on each other’s hearts. Deep, ugly scars on our souls. And I’m not talking about the kind that fades with time. I’m talking about the permanent type. The kind you might be able to forget about for a time but rear their ugly heads just often enough to remind you of your foolishness in a way that makes it impossible to ignore your own shortcomings. The funny thing is, neither of us meant to go for the jugular, yet that’s exactly what we did. The look on Jake’s face when I told him I’d slept with someone else will haunt me for the rest of my days. His pain-filled eyes and the utter agony twisting his features still plagues me in my dreams. And all it took for the painful memory to come rushing back and pull me under like a tidal wave, was a single mention of his name. Four seemingly innocent letters thatserve as a trigger, causing that last fateful conversation to play in my mind like a horror movie I just can’t bring myself to switch off.
“What is it, baby?” he asks, brows drawn together in confusion. “I understand we can’t just go back to the way things were and that we still have a lot to work through, but surely you can forgive me now that you know I didn’t sleep with anyone?”
Swallowing past the boulder-sized lump constricting my aching throat, I force myself to look at the boy who’s held my heart since I first laid eyes on him, preparing myself to break the one he’s entrusted me with in return.
“You may not have slept with anyone, Jake, but I did,” I say in a broken whisper and watch as his every hope and dream crumble right before my eyes. He rears back like I’ve physically struck him. Gawking up at me, unable to comprehend the meaning behind my words. I take in the utter devastation splayed across his features as he inhales a shaky breath and slowly rises to his feet. His movements are sluggish, like his body’s trying to catch up to what his subconscious already knows.
