chapter thirty-one
MY BODY MALFUNCTIONS like a laptop drowned by a spilled glass of water, screen flickering until it surrenders to the void.
For the briefest of moments, I convince myself Trevor’s voice was simply an audio hallucination. Nothing but a vivid symptom of my general heartache. I’m sure of it, until my name slices the air for the second time.
“Tara.”
I pivot as fast as possible in three-inch heels on carpet, confirming that for once, it isn’t my overactive imagination propelled by emotional, golf-ball-size hailstones.
Trevor is here.
In the flesh.
My chest blazes with heat, trying to reconcile the vision before my eyes. Trevor is not fighting fires on the West Coast. He is five feet in front of me, dressed in the same perfectly tailored suit he wore at Mamma Maria’s. He’s single-handedly sucking all the oxygen out of the hallway, leaving nothing for the rest of us. “What . . . what are you doing here?”
He pins me with his heated gaze. “I came home early.”
Everything but his perfect face blurs, like we’re on a merry-go-round at double speed. “Why?” I ask simply.
He works down a swallow, hesitating, his eyes dipping to his feet, then back to me. “You look”—he gestures toward me, jaw slack—“absolutely beautiful.”
Trevor isn’t one to bullshit. He doesn’t give a compliment he doesn’t mean. The earnest expression on his face cements it. The corners of my lips threaten to curve into a shy smile, until I recall his blatant lack of communication over the past three days. I’m transported back to that sinking moment at Mel’s. When I accidently sent him three photos in this very dress and he didn’t even bother to respond.
“Why didn’t you answer my text?”
He works down a swallow, hesitating.
I expect him to offer an excuse, like he was too busy doing hero shit, running into fiery blazes and saving lives. Or maybe he had bad reception and didn’t even receive the photo. While I’m fairly certain that’s not the case, given I specifically saw him typing, I’ve held on to the possibility, however remote.
Trevor doesn’t offer either justification. “You didn’t mean to send them to me, I thought.”
As we take each other in, a hand touches the small of my back.
“Hey, I was looking for you.” It’s Daniel. By the way he’s looking at me, blatantly confused, he’s entirely oblivious to the rubber band between Trevor and me, ready to snap at any moment.
Trevor’s lips flatten at the interruption, his steady gaze turning cold.
“Sorry, I was in the bathroom. Got distracted on my phone,” I say, blinking away the white dots clouding my vision.
“Dinner is starting. The emcee is asking everyone to take their seats.” Daniel nods toward the entrance to the banquet hall. Before turning us back, he double-takes, holding his hand out toward Trevor. “Apologies, I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Daniel. You must be one of Tara’s colleagues?”
Trevor’s expression is unreadable. His jaw shifts, and I’m certain I’d be able to hear his molars grinding together if it weren’t for the loud chatter filtering from the gala room.
“No, he’s not my colleague,” I cut in, nerves aflutter.
“Oh?” Daniel asks, still not picking up on the palpable tension.
The squealing feedback of a microphone pierces the air, followed by the soothing spa voice of tonight’s emcee, one of the hospital switchboard operators, who definitely missed her calling as a stand-up comedian. “Testing . . . Please, for the love of all things holy, can everyone step away from the bar and take your seats—”
“Shit,” I mutter, flustered as Daniel starts steering us back. When I look over my shoulder, Trevor is already walking away. His long strides have taken him three-quarters of the way across the cocktail room. Panicked, I raise my index finger to Daniel, signaling I’ll just be a minute.
I’m a fresh baby deer, wobbling on my day-old, spindly legs. My gown is hiked like the class act I am, dashing after Trevor as he veers left, disappearing into the lobby. In hot pursuit, I take the corner too fast, too furious. My shoulder collides with that of a server’s, nearly knocking over her tray of champagne flutes. I squeak out a muddled yet genuine apology, glancing back to confirm she’s rebalanced her tray. By the time I zero in on Trevor’s back again, he’s nearing the doors.
“Metcalfe,” I call, loud enough to turn the heads of bystanders who probably think I’ve lost my marbles.
His stubborn self doesn’t stop until I’m right behind him, yanking his biceps. “I’m sorry, I’ve gotta go.” He spares me a brief, heavy-hearted look, cautious about looking me directly in the eyes.
“Why are you running away from me?” I demand, louder than intended. The staff behind the lobby desk are giving me cross-eyed glares.
Trevor is desperate to bolt, based on his longing stare toward the door. He rakes a frustrated hand through his locks. “Because— Never mind.”
“Tell me.”
“Does it matter? You’re here with Daniel.” Trevor is jealous. He cares.
“He only came to make up for ditching me. I—I told him from the get-go we were just going as friends.” I struggle over my words, unable to fully articulate my jumbled thoughts.
He levels me with a look. “Just friends? Really?”
My eye twitches. “How could you even think I’d do something like this to you?”
“Tara, I’ve listened to you talk about how much you miss that guy—ten different guys—for months. How was I supposed to know you weren’t just settling for me as a last resort, until Daniel pulled through?”
I blink, stunned from the emotional whiplash of the past minute. “Is that really what you think? That I was only into you because no other exes worked out?”
“I don’t know! You moved on from each of them just like that. It’s like you just—you just convince yourself you’re in love with everyone you meet.”
“So you think I’ve just convinced myself I’m in love with you?”
“How can I not?” He gestures a hand back toward the direction of the cocktail area. “That guy is exactly everything you’ve been looking for. Why would you settle for me?”
I toss my palms toward the trendy beaded chandelier dangling above us. “I’m not settling. Why are you twisting this to make it about me, when you’re clearly the one who has no idea what you want?”
“I do know what I want. I told you how much you meant to me on Friday night,” he says, his expression pained.
“How was I supposed to know you meant it? I got nothing from you while you were gone.”
A vein pulses in his forehead. “You’re the one who barely texted me. I’ve seen the texts you sent to your exes. Compared to what you sent me, it seemed like you didn’t want to talk at all. And when you actually did send me those pictures, you said you meant to send them to someone else.”
It takes a couple of moments for the realization to settle. Trevor actually wanted me to text him more? “I tried not to bother you because you said you wanted to go slow. I didn’t want you to think I was being clingy.”
“I wouldn’t have thought that. Slow or not, I still want you to be you, clingy and all.”
“The entire ex search, all you did was edit my texts, telling me they were too much,” I point out.
“But you weren’t with those guys, Tara.”
“It doesn’t matter. You’re still one to talk. You barely texted me yourself.”
“I sent you Valentine’s Day flowers, for Christ’s sake.”
I freeze. “What? You sent me flowers?”
“Roses,” he says. “You didn’t get them?”
Something pinches in my chest at the realization. The roses were from Trevor. Not Daniel. I didn’t have time to check the accompanying note because I’d just assumed. I never even considered they could be from Trevor. “I—I did. I thought they were from . . .”
“You thought they were from Daniel. Exactly.” He shakes his head.
“Trevor . . .” He doesn’t respond. A silence hangs in the air, like an invisible fog between us. “Don’t leave. We should talk about this,” I plead.
He gives me one last tormented look, his powerful arms pushing through the door. “Please, just go back inside.”
I watch helplessly as he leaves me behind without a second look. I’m tempted to pursue him, chase him into the cold air in my heels. I want to scream into the void until he comes back. I want to tell him how badly I missed him. That I’m desperately in love with him. No one else.
The other half of me is burning red, shaking with anger. Watching Trevor give up and walk away so easily catapults me to the night Seth officially ended things with me. Our relationship had deteriorated long before that night. And yet I held on to it like a life raft, regardless of the fact that it was punctured, dragging me down into the choppy sea. I begged for him to take me back for weeks, because I mistook wild emotional turmoil and dysfunction for love, yet again.
I wasted months trying to put the pieces back together, trying to pinpoint where things went wrong, and I don’t think I ever fully bounced back. I’ve been on a relentless search for love again, trying to prove to myself that I’m worthy of the fairy tale I thought I had, that what’s old can be new again. And what could avenge my damaged ego more than someone who once broke my heart coming back to me?
Maybe Trevor was right. There’s something cheapening about chasing all these men who don’t want me. Maybe I’ve felt more comfortable romanticizing my past, convincing myself all those toxic relationships were true love. Maybe that was more comfortable than moving forward.
But after Friday night, I’m now all too aware that I’ve spent my entire thirty years loving in the shallow end. It’s different with Trevor. It’s a hard-hitting gravitational pull in my very core, grounding me to the earth, filling in every last crater of my heart. The ones I never knew could be filled. The ones I never even knew were empty. It’s confirmation that a different kind of love—love in the purest sense of the word—is real.
And I might have screwed it up already.
Someone clears their throat behind me.
It’s Seth.
He steps forth, both hands in the pockets of his slacks. “You all right, T?” His brows knit together in convincing concern.
“I’m fine.” I squeeze my eyes shut, praying he’ll vamoose by the time I open them again. No such luck.
He advances to usher me to the small bench near the doors. “Hey, come sit down.”
I follow him, too stunned by my interaction with Trevor to protest.
When Seth’s shoulder brushes against mine, there’s no comfort. Only confusion. Hurt. Anger. “What happened? Was that one of your exes?” he asks.
“No. He’s the guy I’m seeing. Or at least . . . was. I don’t know.”
“Ah, I see.” He leans forward slightly. “Things not working out?”
I blow the air out of my cheeks. “Ha. You could say that. But that’s the story of my life, it seems. Every time I get close to finding someone—”
“If I could give you just one piece of advice—” His tone is pompous, and he plows forward before I can even protest. “It would be to lower your expectations.”
“Lower my expectations, really, Seth?”
“I’ve always said your books and movies have filled your head with unrealistic expectations. Men aren’t like that in real life. And I think it’s time you finally accept the fact that life isn’t a fairy tale.” If I had a dollar for every time Seth whined that my books were tainting my expectations of real relationships, I’d be a baller.
I stand, refusing to look at him, my face stiff, masking the emotion overflowing on the inside. “I’m well aware of that, thanks to you. And I’m sorry you feel so threatened by depictions of fictional men doing more than the bare minimum.” For a fraction of a second, the self-righteous look on his face is swapped for momentary disbelief. I relish my small victory, the rare opportunity to shake him to his core.
“Threatened?” Seth retorts in derision. “I’m just trying to bring you down to reality. I doubt there’s a guy out there that could meet all your demands.”
I back away. “I don’t consider basic honesty, respect, and healthy communication to be demands. And it’s really too bad they’re so unachievable for you. I feel terrible for Ingrid.”
Well aware the hotel staff are listening in, he lets out a barking laugh. Unable to handle feeling smaller than me, he stands, towering over me. “See, this is exactly why we broke up. You get all crazy, reading into every little thing, take everything to the next level.”
The word crazy hits me like a spiked wrecking ball. I’m brought back to the moment Nicky Tannenbaum called me crazy in the second grade when I gave him my homemade Valentine’s Day card. All the times I pretended to laugh it off when that Crazy Ex-Girlfriend meme went viral in high school. The many men who’ve told me I was too clingy. The thousands of times before now when Seth would call me crazy whenever I got the slightest bit emotional, holding his demeaning, gaslighting stoicism over me like a deadly weapon.
You’re acting like a madwoman.
Don’t be so emotional.
You’re acting so irrational right now.
I’ve known since before our breakup that Seth is a master manipulator. I’ve always doubted myself in his presence, second-guessing every word, every action, wondering why I wasn’t enough for him.
The pain of the memories gives me the strength to meet his hawk eyes, once and for all. And this time, I know it’s not me who wasn’t enough.
“You can invalidate me all you want, Seth, but when you close your eyes at night, you know the truth. You know how you treated me. You know how shady you were in the lead-up to the wedding, taking off without telling me where you were or who you were with. Making me think I was nuts for even daring to ask you who you were always texting. Making me out to be a psycho when you suddenly locked down your devices and refused to let me use your phone or laptop.” I pause to catch my breath, noting his shock. “And sure, there were times I overreacted. But I will never apologize for loving fiercely, even though you didn’t deserve it.”
Seth’s jaw hinges open, and I immediately snap a mental photo of this glorious moment. Multiple bystanders have stopped to take in the spectacle. I’ve never roasted someone on a spit in front of a crowd in my life, and damn, it feels fantastic.
I stomp past him, back to the ballroom, imagining I’m in Taylor Swift’s “Bad Blood” music video, strutting out of the Seth hellfire that’s marked too many years of my life. I’m like the phoenix tattooed on Trevor’s chest, reborn, renewed, and ready for the next chapter, whatever may come.
For three years, Seth made me believe my emotions were my Achilles’ heel. Now I know better. I remember what I loved most about love in the first place. Love has the power to strip you raw, to the bone. And that’s the beauty of it. There’s an immeasurable bravery in opening your heart and baring your soul when all hope is seemingly lost. Knowing, even in the face of heartbreak, that this is not the end. That you’re still standing, after it all crumbles around you.
My heart has now officially broken for the eleventh time. And strangely, I’m stronger than I’ve ever been.
LIVE WITH TARAROMANCEQUEEN—THE EX-BOYFRIEND SEARCH CONCLUDES
[Tara is cloaked in darkness in the back seat of an Uber.]
EXCERPT FROM TRANSCRIPT
TARA: Hello, romance book lovers, welcome back to my channel. I wanted to hop on and let everyone know that my ex-boyfriend endeavor is officially over.
I wanted to be transparent and tell you all that as brave as many of you thought this journey was . . . it was actually quite the opposite. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was terrified to get hurt again after my big breakup. I couldn’t handle the thought of someone having the power to do that to me again. And so I gravitated to this idea that I could try to win my exes back. The men I was already familiar with. The men who’d already hurt me. I think I assumed that it would be easier to mold myself to be what they want me to be if I knew them. And I thought getting my heart broken by someone who already broke it would be . . . somehow less painful. I don’t know.
On the bright side, Daniel and I are still really good friends. And going forward, I think I’m ready to jump into the deep end as my authentic self and risk a little more.
In any case, thank you all for being so supportive and for following along.