Coming Back To You Page 2

  Let go. Have faith. Don’t force it.

  Razor wanted him to be patient. But patient for what? What could patience give him that could fix his dilemma? He wanted her back, but he feared being with her. How would that work?

  Sighing, he ran a hand over his face. He didn’t know how it would work. All he knew was that he couldn’t stop thinking about her.

  Maybe Razor was right. Maybe he just needed to let go. Maybe if he showed a little patience and refocused his faith in the powers that controlled fate, the dilemma would resolve itself.

  But damn it, he wanted her back. Even if he wasn’t right for her.

  Chapter 2

  Christmas Day

  Karma buried her face in her hands, tears pouring from her eyes even as Macaulay Culkin slapped aftershave on his cheeks and screamed.

  How did anyone cry while watching Home Alone?

  She should be laughing. She loved this movie. It was the quintessential holiday tradition. Karma watched it every year at least three times between Thanksgiving and Christmas. But this year she didn’t have much to smile about, and young Culkin may as well have been Scrooge for all the good he did.

  This was a time of year meant for snuggling under blankets and making love in front of fireplaces. A time to cuddle on the couch with that special someone and stare at the lighted Christmas tree. A time for playful snowball fights that led to heated sex after stripping out of cold, wet clothes.

  Funny how she’d never thought about those things in the past. Until this year, holiday season was for sweaters, football, and snow. But now, the romantic side of winter was all she could think about.

  And it was because of him. Mark Strong. The sexiest, most incredible man she had ever met.

  She saw his face in her mind. Heard his voice. Felt his touch. Their relationship had been over for three months, but he still gripped her mind. Still held her heart.

  Wasn’t it time she moved on? That was what her friends and her dad wanted. Especially her dad. He was fed up with watching Karma suffer, as he had made perfectly clear on Thanksgiving.

  “You need to get over that boy, Karma,” he had said as she snuggled with her cat, Spookie, on her parents’ couch.

  Before she could protest, he’d held up his palm and cut her off. “I told you it would end this way. That he would only hurt you. But you didn’t listen to me.” He scowled and shook his head. “And now look at you. I hardly recognize you. You’ve been a ghost for weeks.”

  The muscles along Karma’s jaw and the back of her neck tensed, as did her shoulders. She was as much angry as she was sad. Angry at herself, her dad, even Mark. “You can’t blame Mark for this, Dad. He did nothing wrong.” Except leave me behind when he returned to Chicago.

  But Mark had made it clear before she got involved with him last spring that he wasn’t looking for anything long term and that he would leave when his job at Solar ended. At the time, that hadn’t mattered. She’d just wanted to spend time with him, even if he would leave and their relationship had to remain a secret.

  Except her dad had found out about him, anyway. And once he learned Mark was the consultant working at her company, he accused Mark of taking advantage of his position so he could use her. For the rest of the summer, her dad hadn’t wasted any opportunity to criticize Mark.

  Seeing her so miserable had to be bittersweet vindication for her dad.

  The kicker was, she felt bad for hurting him. Before Mark, her dad had been her entire world. The yardstick she measured all men by. Now, Mark was her yardstick. In a way, he had replaced her dad, and that riddled her with guilt, which fueled both her anger and her sadness even more. Because, really, wasn’t she the only one here who had any right to be angry and sad? The only one who’d truly lost something—someone—special?

  In the end, her dad got what he wanted, which was for her to see a therapist who could help her return to the land of the emotionally balanced. Karma simply couldn’t stomach the way he’d looked at her with such pity…as if she were fragile. As if she were a victim. She didn’t want to be a victim, least of all Mark’s.

  So, the Monday after Thanksgiving, Karma had contacted a therapist named Jan Krakowski and set up an appointment.

  Which brought her to the reason for her cry fest this evening.

  She wiped tears off her cheeks then rested her fingers back on the keyboard of her laptop. Her new blog waited for her to create a name and fill its pages with every rambling thought about Mark that tiptoed—or whirled like the Tasmanian Devil—through her mind.

  But there was something about rehashing her relationship with Mark in written form that brought everything back to the surface so that it stung harder. Talking about Mark in sessions every week was bad enough, but to write about him was like pulling out a magnifying glass. Like observing snowflakes under magnification, where you could see the intricate facets and shards of each frozen crystal and not just a tiny white puff. Writing made the memories more vivid. Details already forgotten would resurface once she began pouring her soul through her fingertips.

  Even before writing a single word, the memories tore at her heart, which was why, despite Macaulay Culkin’s best comical efforts, tears streaked her face.

  After Mark left, a gauzy film had gently shrouded the four months she’d spent with him, taking away some of the vividness of her memories. But with the creation of her blog, the film dissipated like fog in the sun and she recalled the once-blurry details with painful acuity. And with each remembered nuance, another needle pinpricked her heart.

  Why was she torturing herself? Why was she unwrapping the recent past and stabbing herself in the heart with it?

  Because Dr. Jan had asked her to.

  At the end of last week’s session, Jan had said that writing about how she felt would help her process her emotions and provide clarity. So far, the only emotion Karma had processed was intense sorrow, and the only clarity she felt was that she still loved him. But then, she hadn’t gotten much further with her blog than choosing a template and a mochaccino color scheme. Maybe once she finally began writing, the magic of blogging her pain away would take hold.

  Still, she feared writing down her memories would not only cement them in her mind, but also rip off the Band-Aid from her wounded heart, which was sure to obliterate any progress she and Jan had made toward healing it. But if this was what Jan wanted her to do, she would do it. After all, Jan was the professional.

  But before she could spill her memories of Mark, she needed a blog name. Something meaningful yet obscure enough that no one she knew could tie the blog to her if they stumbled across it.

  She thought about it for a few minutes then had an epiphany.

  Chocolate Chunk Brownies. She liked the sound of that.

  Yes, that would work. The name was perfect.

  After typing it out, she sat back and pursed her lips as a fresh wave of emotion coursed through her, causing another batch of tears to erupt on the rims of her lower eyelids.

  A sad smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she remembered the night Mark had taught her the lesson of the chocolate chunk brownie. Who would have thought a reference to dessert would become the keystone to their entire relationship?

  “Damn you, Mark,” she said quietly. “Why did you make me fall in love with you.” She knew it wasn’t his fault, but it felt good to blame him and vent a little anger his way. If he hadn’t been so damn perfect, she wouldn’t be so miserable.

  Satisfied with the look and title of her blog, it was time to lay out her heart, strip herself bare, and use the blog for its intended purpose. To let Mark go.

  They say you never forget your first true love…that one special person who touched your heart before anyone else, and who, with just a thought, can still set hummingbirds to flight inside your stomach. He will always be there, even though he’s gone. He will always hold a special part of your soul. A part he ripped from your body—because it belongs to him now—and left an empty hole that rejects an
y attempt to fill it with a memory. A place that aches so acutely and with such intensity that you feel as though you will never be able to breathe deeply enough again.

  I don’t know who “they” are or how they came to know such truths, but I know they’re right.

  Last May, I met my first true love. I’ll call him M. He was a consultant where I work. Dark brown hair, intense grey-green eyes, and a voice so rich and alive I could almost wrap it around me like a favorite sweater. One made of cashmere and the shade of buttered toffee, and just as delicious to hear. He was over six feet tall and who cares how many pounds? Every ounce of him was sexy. Ideal. Perfect in every way.

  From the day I met him, I knew there was something special about M. But I never would have guessed just how special he would become or that I would fall in love with him.

  But I did fall, and not just fall, but tumbled head over heels down a ravine so steep and deep that I don’t think I’ll ever be able to climb my way out. And, to be honest, I’m not sure I want to. I like remembering him. I like the memories we made together. If remaining in this hellish crack inside my heart, where all I have left is his memory, is the only way I can be close to him, then this is where I want to stay.

  My dad tells me to “get over him.” My friends urge me to “forget him and move on.” They say that’s the healthiest way to move forward. But I don’t want to get over him. I don’t want to forget him or be “healthy.” I don’t want to move forward at all. I want to go back. I want to reverse the clock so that I can relive every incredible, magical, unbelievable, erotic moment all over again. And when we reach the last day we spent together, when he made love to me for the last time and held me in his arms, raining kisses over my face, I want to freeze time. I want to stay in that moment forever. I don’t want to fall asleep and miss those final precious hours. I don’t want to watch him drive away for the last time, out of my life forever.

  But my pain is partly my fault.

  I let him go.

  I could have seen him one last time. He gave me a chance to see him and I chose not to. Maybe…just maybe…if I hadn’t responded to his text and had hurried home to meet him, things would be different now. Maybe I would have fought harder to make him see how right we were together. Maybe I would have convinced him that we could make it work. Maybe he would be here with me now, watching Home Alone, his arms around me, if I had just made an effort.

  Maybe.

  But now it’s too late, and I’m brokenhearted.

  Ask me what I wouldn’t sacrifice to have that chance back. Ask me what I wouldn’t give for just a few more minutes with him.

  Nothing. There’s nothing I wouldn’t give to see him just one more time.

  Karma slapped her hands over her face as her body shook from sobs. Reliving that last day was torture. She could still see him from her hiding place across the road, still remember in crisp detail the expression on his face as he read her last text. He had seemed disappointed, but he had honored the hidden meaning in her words. Beyond telling her good-bye, he hadn’t tried to contact her again.

  She thought that would have made moving on easier. Fail.

  She grabbed a tissue, wiped her eyes and nose, then turned back to her blog.

  What would have happened that day if I hadn’t answered his text? Would he have come for me as he threatened to? I guess I’ll never know, but I suppose it’s not healthy to live in the past, wondering what could have been if only I’d done things differently.

  Maybe the lesson in all this is I need to learn how to look forward instead of back. I need to take what M taught me and apply it toward my future. Believe me, I’m trying. It’s just hard.

  But then who ever said life was supposed to be easy?

  Chapter 3

  New Year’s Eve

  “Mark, this is Crystal. Crystal, meet my friend, Mark.”

  What the hell is Rob thinking? Mark was in no mood to be set up on a blind date.

  Standing inside the entrance to Boka, one of Chicago’s premier restaurants, Mark shot Rob an icy glare. Rob should have known Mark wasn’t on the market and hadn’t been for months.

  Shifting gears, he cleared his throat and turned toward Holly’s friend. “Pleasure to meet you, Crystal.” He could at least play civil for a few hours. He would deal with Rob later.

  “The pleasure’s mine.” Her gaze ranged his face as she smiled.

  If Mark had known Rob and Holly had planned to fix him up tonight, he wouldn’t have come. He would have stayed home to ring in the New Year alone. Not that he didn’t think Crystal was attractive. She was gorgeous. Long black hair, bright blue eyes, full lips, slim waist. Crystal was the whole package.

  She just wasn’t the right package. There was room for only one woman in his thoughts right now, and Crystal wasn’t her. And he could already tell she was going to give him a headache. Not a good sign.

  “Mark’s a consultant with Carter Mitchell,” Rob said when Mark didn’t say anything further.

  “Impressive.” Crystal’s perfect black eyebrow arched as if she approved.

  Carter Mitchell was one of the top consulting firms in the country. He wondered if Crystal knew that or if she had just said “impressive” to make him think she did. The clueless sparkle in her eyes suggested the latter.

  In his experience, a lot of women put on false pretenses because they thought that would make a man more interested. Such shenanigans didn’t work on Mark. He liked women who were real. Who weren’t ashamed of their lack of knowledge. If Crystal had simply said, “What’s Carter Mitchell?” he would have been more impressed.

  Mark shifted side to side and glanced away. Boka certainly was crowded. Then again, it was New Year’s Eve. What did he expect?

  Turning his attention back to his blind date, he said, “What do you do, Crystal?”

  Maybe he didn’t want to be there, and maybe Crystal was on the path of trying too hard to capture his attention, but he didn’t need to forget his manners. He was nothing if not the picture of controlled politeness, even though what he really wanted to do was spin on his heel and walk out. But Mark had spent years putting on a false front. By now, he was good at it. Although, for the first time, being someone he wasn’t felt more like a chore instead of a choice. It was just one more symptom of what he dubbed the Karma Effect. For months, he’d grown more ill at ease over habits that had once been ingrained behavior. His resolve to stay true to the past was slowly flaking away.

  “I’m a pediatric nurse, but I’m also a Luvabull.” Crystal flipped her hair off her shoulder and flashed a bleached, straight-toothed smile.

  Luvabulls were the dancers who performed during Chicago Bulls games. She definitely looked the part.

  “A nurse, huh?” Mark said. “That’s a noble profession.”

  She stepped closer and touched his arm. “I just love working with children.”

  “I bet it can be hard, though, seeing them when they’re sick.” Blah, blah, blah. The last thing he wanted to talk to this woman about was children. He could already tell she was sizing him up as a potential sperm donor for her own, and he feared the more they stayed on the subject, the more hopeful she would become. He was not interested in becoming her stud. Let another man sire her offspring.

  “Oh, yes.” She touched his hand this time, leaning in so her breast brushed his arm. “But it’s also rewarding when they get well. And of course there’s…”

  Mark tuned out as the crowd sucked Crystal’s words into a vacuum. He nodded, only catching every third or fourth word. Off to the side, hand in hand, Rob and Holly smiled at each other like proud parents. Clearly, they thought tonight’s surprise meet and greet was a success. Rob wouldn’t be smiling later when Mark had a heart-to-heart with him about being blindsided.

  A couple of local sports stars worked their way through the crowd, causing a small murmur of excitement. Flashbulbs went off, and Mark spotted the local paparazzi hovering nearby. No doubt the media hounds would be busy tonight, scurry
ing from party to party in an effort to capture New Year’s Eve in Chicago.

  As distracted as he was, he didn’t notice that Crystal had wrapped her arm around his until she gave him a tug. He turned to find their party had been called. Abandoning the crowded front entrance, he followed the others to their table.

  During dinner, Crystal droned on and on, barely coming up for air. And when she did, Rob or Holly filled the blessed silence with another godforsaken topic that sent Crystal on another verbal crusade.

  After dinner, the four climbed into Rob’s rented limousine and headed to the Palmer House Hilton, then up to the fourth floor ballrooms. Chicago’s biggest New Year’s Eve party was already well underway, but all Mark could see was the way the room had looked eight months ago, when he had been there for the Chicago Arts Coalition’s annual charity benefit.

  His life had changed that night, but right now, he wasn’t sure if it had changed for better or worse. He was in love, but he was alone. Not even the tattoo on his chest or a reminder that this was all part of the patient journey he had to take to find his way back to her made him feel better. He’d never felt such empty yearning.

  That was his own fault, though. He’d walked away from Karma. He’d been the one to end the relationship. His reasons were well established and, at the time, rational. But now, as with so many other aspects of his life, he was beginning to question his motives, his rationale, and how emotionally closeted he’d allowed himself to become since his doomed wedding day seven years ago.

  He hadn’t counted on Karma. He hadn’t counted on falling in love with her.