Page 63 of Giovanni
Her words hit me with a jolt. These are words that I would have loved to hear last year amidst those dark, lonely, and drunken nights. But now, things are different. In Kacie, I’ve found not just friendship but a meaningful connection. The openness and trust we share is something I’ve never experienced before.
She knows my proclivities, understands my struggles, and supports my dreams. Her acceptance and belief in who I am and want to be is a rare gift. This newfound relationship with Kacie is precious, something I cherish and would never jeopardize. It’sa kind of respect and partnership I know is worth more than any fleeting temptation. Something I’d never for a line I shouldn’t even be approaching with Jenna.
“Jenna—”
Her face crumples slightly.
“I know it’s wrong. I’m engaged, and we’re about to post our engagement photos in the paper, but I can’t help how I feel. When I saw you again after being away for a couple of weeks, it hit me. I’m not in love with him. I’m in love with you.”
Before I can respond, she steps forward and wraps her arms around me in a hug. It’s meant to be comforting, but then she leans in, her lips finding mine. I’m so shocked that I don’t react other than reactively cupping my hands on her waist to firmly push her away.
“No! I’m with someone.”
She steps back, her eyes narrowing with a viciousness I’ve never seen before.
“You can’t be talking about that fat old lady. I’ve seen the way she looks at you. It’s not right.”
She ignites a flame of anger within me, her tone and implications about Kacie making my hands tremble with barely contained rage. The audacity of her judgment sets my blood boiling. I step closer, my voice low but seething with anger.
“You’re completely out of line. How dare you say that about her. Who are you to judge Kacie or our relationship? What we have is more real and meaningful than you could possibly understand.”
Her face registers shock at my reaction, but there’s a stubborn defiance in her eyes.
“Gio, I just thought?—”
“No,” I cut her off, my voice stern as I tower over her to drive home my point. “You didn’t think. You don’t get to comment on my personal life or insult someone I care deeply about.”
The air between us crackles with my fiery response. The gym’s distant sounds fade into irrelevance. Jenna looks taken aback, perhaps not expecting such a strong reaction on my part. I couldn’t care less. She crossed a line admitting her feelings, knowing I was involved, and another insulting Kacie. Whatever acquaintanceship we had is over.
“Our relationship is strictly professional, and that’s how it will stay. I’m committed to Kacie, and your opinion is repugnant and irrelevant. If you need assistance, ask another employee of this place. Otherwise, do not approach me again.”
She steps back, surprise registering on her face, with new tears filling her eyes as the gravity of her overstep sinks in. I turn away, livid with her and mad at myself for falling for her need for a private talk. I should have known better and assumed it was terrible, but it’s not in my nature not to help someone.
Feeling the need to vent the intense emotions swirling within me physically, I make a beeline for the empty group kickboxing class. The moment I step in, I head straight for the punching bag, unleashing my pent-up frustration and anger. Each strike against the bag is a release, a way to cope with the tumult of feelings Jenna’s actions have stirred in me.
For a solid twenty minutes, I’m in a world of my own, the sound of my fists against the bag echoing through the room. Sweat pours down my face and body, my breath heavy with exertion and the remnants of my rant. The physical exertion is cathartic, helping to drain the reservoir of my anger and clear my head.
As I slow down, panting and drenched in sweat, a sense of calm settles over me. As uncomfortable as it was, I realize that this confrontation has reinforced the importance of maintaining professional boundaries and the depth of my commitment to Kacie.
Stepping out of the room, feeling more composed, I head straight to Mr. Daniel’s office to tell him I’m going home. Heading out to spend the rest of the night in the comfort and simplicity of my life with Kacie sounds like the best idea I’ve had all day.
The moment I grab my stuff from my desk and toss it over my shoulder, I call Kacie, dying to hear her voice. It catches me by surprise when it goes directly to voicemail. I hang up and try again as I push through the gym door and cross the parking lot. When it does the same thing, I pull it away from my ear and stare at the screen, trying to understand why this is happening.
Concern starts to creep in as I stare at my phone, confused. Kacie not picking up is unusual, especially since we had plans for the evening. I pause by my car in the parking lot, debating my next move.
With a deep breath, I decide to leave her a voicemail.
“Hey Kac, it’s me. Just finished up at the gym and heading home. I was hoping to catch up with you. Call me back when you get this, okay? I hope everything’s alright.”
There’s a hint of worry in my voice that I can’t quite mask. Slipping my phone into my pocket, I unlock my truck and slide in, still mulling over why Kacie hasn’t answered. The drive home is a blur, my mind preoccupied with thoughts of her. Maybe she’s just busy, or her phone’s on silent. But a nagging feeling in my mind can’t shake the concern.
Once home, I quickly shower, trying to wash away the remnants of the day’s stress and the gym’s sweat. Dressed in fresh clothes, I check my phone again, but Kacie still has not responded. Restlessness settles in, and I find myself pacing the apartment. Our open and honest communication is one of the cornerstones of our relationship, and this silence feels out of character for her.
The evening stretches on, and each passing hour deepens my worry. I try calling a few more times, each echoing the same result—straight to voicemail. I send a couple of texts, hoping for a response.
Finally, as the clock ticks past our usual dinner time and the loft feels unusually quiet, I make a decision. I grab my keys and head out the door, intent on going to Kacie’s apartment. Maybe it’s an overreaction, but I must know she’s safe. Especially with that explosive situation in the courtroom, my mind is going to dark places about the kinds of people she’s trying to put away. The drive is quick, my mind racing faster than the car, filled with terrifying scenarios.
As I reach Kacie’s building, my heart pounds with worry and urgency. I’m compelled to ensure she’s okay, hear her voice, and see her face. This isn’t just about missing a phone call anymore. It’s about making sure the person I care about deeply is safe. I press the buzzer to her apartment, hoping for her familiar voice to answer.
