I just wasn’t enough though.
Clearing his throat, he brings me back out of my rumination. “I brought up the thing about Kylie because I was wondering if you would like to contract with me to help me on the Pearson appeal?”
“What?” I ask, utterly shocked.
“I saw the business plan Cal was reading that day at lunch. I assume you two are going to start your own law firm together?”
Cal and I did indeed decide to go for it. We’ve met several times to iron out the details and, starting next week, we open the doors to Carson and Dawson. We’re each going to fund fifty percent of the startup costs and be equal partners. I’m excited but scared as shit, because I’m risking a lot of my inheritance on this.
Matt doesn’t sound in the least bit perturbed by my new venture, which actually makes sense. He didn’t want me to have anything to do with Cal when we were a couple. Now that we’re not, he clearly doesn’t care.
“Yes,” I confirm to him. “We are starting up a firm. While I would need to talk to Cal about it first, I’d love to be able to do some contract work for you. As you know, I really only have one case to my name.”
The smile that Matt gives me is surreal. It’s reminiscent of the smiles I used to get when we were at our happiest, and it causes a tiny jolt of longing to shoot through my heart.
“Excellent,” he says. “We can discuss the details tomorrow before you leave.”
We’re called to board and, after we take our seats, the conversation actually seems to flow as if there was never anything harsh, sad, or bitter between us. It seems Matt has made peace with the way things are, and while I’m still in mourning over my loss of him, it’s amazing to me that we can be together like this… in a friendly manner.
I suppose that has to do with the fact that neither one of us really screwed the other over. We just came to a quick realization that neither one of us wanted the same thing. So, yes… I’m very, very sad that Matt isn’t my lover anymore. But I also don’t hold it against him. He tried for me. He tried to give me what I asked for, but he just wasn’t very good at it.
How can you fault someone for at least trying?
Matt and I share a cab from JFK. It’s just past midnight when it pulls up to my apartment building.
“Pop the trunk,” Matt tells the cabbie, and he steps out to help me with my luggage.
After pulling my suitcase out, he shuts the trunk and turns to me. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
I smile at him, and it takes everything in my power not to reach out and brush a lock of his hair from his forehead. “Okay. See you tomorrow.”
I start to turn toward my building when Matt’s hand reaches out and grabs my wrist. Turning to look at him, I’m almost knocked over by the look on his face. It’s an arrangement of emotions that Matt never dares to share with me. There’s confusion, loneliness, and uncertainty—everything that would make someone like Matt extremely vulnerable.
I raise my eyebrows at him, and he seems to be at a loss for words. But then he quickly recovers, because this is Matt Fucking Connover and he’s never truly without his prose.
“Let me come in with you?” he asks in a low voice that is laced with sensual promise and just a hint of desperation.
“Matt…” I begin, intent on turning him down.
But his thumb strokes over the pulse on my wrist, and my body is deciding to weigh in on this decision. “We shouldn’t. We can’t. We’re not together anymore.”
He pulls me toward him until we are toe to toe, but he doesn’t touch me anywhere else, except that continual stroking over my wrist. “I know. I know we’re not, and I know we shouldn’t. But… one last time?”
One last time? I mean… what could one more time hurt, right? It’s to say good-bye.
To make peace.