“See you soon,” I say, ending the call. For weeks I’ve been trying to find the right time to say I love you and I almost fuck up and tell her on the phone.
After eating, I decide to venture out, thinking I really should use the time to get her something great for Christmas. Just across the street from the hotel is a Tiffany’s. Perfect. I walk inside and head straight for the earrings. Some diamonds for our first Christmas together.
“Welcome! Is there something I can help you with?” an older gentleman asks.
“Looking for a gift for my girlfriend.”
“Ah. Well, diamonds are a girl’s best friend.” He laughs.
“What about those?” I point to a square diamond.
“Excellent choice. Princess-cut solitaire. These are one carat.”
“Do you have anything bigger?”
“Sure, step down this way.” I follow him to the end of the case. “These are two carats and these are three. You can see the difference.”
“Yeah, I think two is what I’m looking for.”
“Excellent. Can I help you look at anything else? Engagement rings, maybe?” He winks.
You know what? “Why not?” I say, following him to yet another glass case.
“You seem to like the princess cut, so let me show you one of our newest pieces.” I watch as he reaches into the case and pulls out the ring. It’s Berklee. I can see it on her finger. “This is actually four smaller princess-cut stones in the center diamond at a half carat each, totaling two carats. There is also half a carat of baguette diamonds on each side. And this”—he hands me a diamond band—“is the matching wedding band, totaling one carat of baguette diamonds.
The rings together sparkle, reminding me of her eyes when she’s happy. I can see both on her finger. “I’ll take them,” I find myself saying. “I’m actually from out of town. Can I have them shipped home so I don’t have to worry about taking them on the plane with me?”
“Certainly, we can overnight them free of charge. There will need to be someone present to sign for them.”
“I’ll send them to my work.” I rattle off the address while handing over my credit card.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m walking out with a grin. I just bought Berklee an engagement ring, and I have yet to even tell her I’m in love with her. I guess I need to rectify that situation. I’d marry her today if I thought she would say yes, but baby steps and all that. At least when the time comes, I’ll be ready.
I hit a few more shops and then decide to call it a day. I call room service again and text Berklee.
Me: Miss you
Berklee: You too. See you soon.
Nothing on TV as I mindlessly scroll through the stations. I’ve already checked my e-mails and responded, so this is what I’ve resorted to. My phone pings, alerting me to a message. I jump off the bed to retrieve it from the dresser hoping that it’s Berklee.
It’s a text from Carly, one of the server/bartenders at the club. Opening the message, it takes me a few minutes to figure out what I’m looking at until the second text comes through, that too is a picture. This one is clearer. It’s Berklee sitting at a table at the club. Barry’s next to her, his arm behind her chair, his lips next to her ear. The minute I have to leave town, he pounces. A third message comes in and it’s a picture of Berklee kissing Barry on the cheek. From the angle, her mouth is too close to his.
I see red.
I’m pissed and hundreds of miles away. When the fourth text comes in, I grit my teeth before looking at it.
Carly: Thought you’d want to see what your girl is up to.
I squeeze my eyes closed. They’re friends. Berklee has told me so countless times. She wouldn’t do this to me. I keep repeating that over and over in my head.
Another text alert. This time from Berklee.
Berklee: Miss you. Tonight went fine. I’m heading home now. Zane is going to walk me to my car.
I read her message over and over again. Do I reply? Do I ask her about the pictures of her and Barry? Fuck! No, she wouldn’t do that, not Berklee. If I could only see her, be face-to-face. Then it hits me: FaceTime.
Me: FaceTime when you get home? Drive safe.
Berklee: I guess. I really will see you soon.
Would she be willing to FaceTime with me if she was going home with him? That’s when I remember that she lives with the fucker. If it weren’t for the fact that she would be going there alone, I would have her go to my place.
I pace back and forth in my room, waiting for her to call. When my phone rings, I hit the button so hard I’m surprised I don’t crack the screen.
“Hey! Why didn’t we think to do this earlier today?” her sweet voice asks.
She’s beautiful. Her red hair is up on top of her head and she’s wearing one of my T-shirts. Surely she wouldn’t be wearing my shirt and then go to him?
“You okay?” she asks.
“Yeah, tired is all. Ready to come home to you.” I watch her closely for a sign that she’s been with him. Nothing, just my Berklee.
“I’m so ready for you to be home. I know it’s only been a day, but it feels like longer.”
“You feeling better?” She looks better than she has all week.
“Yeah, a little better every day.”
“Good thing or I was going to force you to go to the doctor.”
“I um, I went today, actually. Just, you know, for reassurance, I guess. All checks out fine.”
“Glad to hear it. So tonight everything went smooth?” Again I watch her reaction and get nothing out of the ordinary. Not even a flinch.
“Yes. Maggie, Alan and Barry, and this girl Amy, who Barry’s been on a couple of dates with stopped by. I sat with them for a while. Thought it would give the security guys a break if I stayed in one spot.” She giggles and I let the familiar sound wash over me. My eyes are closed when she whispers, “I miss you, Crew.”
Slowly I open them and stare at her image on the screen. She’s lying in bed, head on the pillow, phone propped up. “I miss you too, baby.” She yawns and I suddenly feel bad for keeping her up when I know she’s not been feeling well. “Get some sleep. I’ll be home in the morning. My flight lands at ten.”
“Yeah. Night, babe,” she whispers, already half asleep.
“Night,” I say. I see her hand snake out, and then she’s gone.
Lying there in bed, I try to keep my shit under control. I know I’m a possessive, jealous asshole when it comes to her, but she’s my fucking heart. I’d rather be that guy and protect her, keep her with me, than the alternative of losing her. What if the pictures are of the two of them sneaking around? Can I forgive her? Can I live without her? My phone vibrates with another message.
Carly.