-Stone
* * *
Stone,
I figured you might say that. Gosh, I can see your serious face, with your Adam’s apple rising then dropping because you swallowed, trying to keep it together. If I were there, then you would wait patiently before you grabbed my arms, not letting me move an inch so you can say your viewpoint and force me to listen.
Which leads us to yet another problem on the list. I enjoy it when you do that. You have strong viewpoints and hate the word no in the most respectful way. In fact, you would be adamant to lead me to agree with whatever you say. Right before you make a joke that makes me laugh until my stomach hurts.
Were we fools last time? I’m probably going to vote for that. We tend to get lost in lust around each other, then throw in a bucketful of feelings now.
-Harlow
* * *
Harlow,
Can you hear me chuckling under my breath from there? We are a little past the bucketful of feelings, and you know it. I’m also beginning to feel dizzier than the concussion I got when I played St. Louis and two defensemen had me in a hold, before my head hit the boards and my helmet came off.
If I’m comparing you to that, then you know how much you have me in a chokehold right now.
-Stone
* * *
Tears streamdown my face because nobody wants what I’m about to type. Most of all me—well, not true. Stone won’t be happy. And I think a piece of me is already breaking, but it would shatter more if we wind even tighter around one another, sinking in the current. Which is why I do what I need to do.
Perhaps a little break is what we need. A game suspension or something. Nobody wants it, but we have to in order to regroup. It might save us.
-Harlow
I get a simple sentence back that touches me in the center, somewhere near a window to my soul.
Don’t you remember? You don’t need saving. You never did.
17
STONE
I’m staring into my whiskey glass as someone pats my shoulder in passing in acknowledgment, but I don’t take much notice. I should be enjoying myself amongst the publishing team at this evening event for authors. On a top floor in a fancy hotel in downtown Chicago, the dusting of clouds with a peek of city lights from surrounding buildings brings a mellow feeling as I glance around the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Space.
That’s what Harlow asked for a few weeks ago, and I’ve been miserable since. I’ve done my part and not reached out to her. I’m just hoping that she finds clarity.
“Well done with the latest book,” my editor Ashley says, arriving in front of me.
I offer her a weak smile. “Thanks. I believe you played a part.” My eyes dip down to see her growing baby bump. “How long?”
“Ten more weeks.”
“I hope your replacement is only temporary. You’re the magic to my words.”
She snorts a laugh. “That’s not true. You’ve had something else in your life lately that acted as a mystical spell on you and changed the mood of your writing in the best way. It really is top-notch what you handed over to me. What was the secret?”
Harlow.
I sigh. “Just… someone I met.”
