by Lisa De Jong
It was true I’d driven by his office every day for the last three weeks, but I’d never stepped foot inside. Could I bear to be that close to him? To maybe catch sight of his wavy hair as he walked down the hallway, hesitation in his step when he felt me? To possibly see his eyes filled with love for me, even if it were only for a second?
I dialed Shane’s number before I allowed myself to think of the consequences. Shane dithered over the idea, but ultimately conceded and promised he would tell Nicholas he had dropped them off himself.
“Just a glimpse, Melanie,” I promised myself as I ascended the stairs. I still hadn’t moved all of my things out, resigning myself to showering and dressing after Nicholas had gone.
I rushed through my shower. Trying to relax would be futile. My stomach was in knots, protesting against the anticipation igniting a path through my veins. I dried quickly, slipped into my robe, and wrapped a towel around my head.
“Humph.” I hesitated when I walked into the closet, before I settled on a white-collared blouse with the sleeves rolled up and a black skirt that barely passed as business casual. It was snug at the hips and tapered out to flow loosely down my thighs, coming to rest right above my knees. I slipped into some black round-toed pumps and stood in front of my mirror. It was conservative but cute, and it would just have to do as not a single emotion swirling through me even came close to resembling one of confidence.
I walked down the stairs, tension building with each step. My body knew each one brought me closer to him.
I took the now very familiar path to his office, my fingers kneading the steering wheel as I tried to give myself reassurance for the reason I was doing this. Was I trying to torture or comfort myself?
It was blatantly clear that seeing him this one time would never be enough or fulfill my need for him. Every time I felt him near, I only wanted more. Right now, though, I was willing to fool myself into believing anything.
The first wave of energy hit me as I turned onto his street, the pull seeking me out and drawing me near. He was here. When I reached the front of his building, I pulled into the first space I could find, and I gave myself a minute to compose myself. How was I going to walk in there as if this was nothing and I was simply handing the receptionist a pack of papers?
“Come on, Melanie. You can do this.” I breathed in as I coaxed my nerves to settle.
I just needed to get in there and get out. I would take with me a visual, a picture of where he spent his days so I could place him there in my mind as I thought of him each day.
Gathering my last bit of courage, I stepped out, something I’d tried once, the day after first seeing him, but my feet had been unable to carry me. I hadn’t tried again since. This time I pressed forward, my steps loud in my ears as I crossed the street. Daniel’s presence was a dull buzz in the back of my head, growing each second, becoming a steady throb. I inhaled, closed my eyes, and swung the door open, immediately overwhelmed by the energy in the room. There was no oxygen to breathe, only Daniel, the one who supplied life to my lungs.
I stumbled as I entered the room, and I struggled to maintain some sort of composure. The room was silent except for the clinking of a keyboard and the pounding in my head.
Tentatively, I walked forward. The woman behind the desk halted her strokes to look up and smile at me. “May I help you, dear?” I braced myself on the counter, finding it difficult to make my mouth work. My jaw locked in restraint against every part of me that demanded I seek Daniel out, but I controlled myself and handed the woman the envelope. “Um, yes. I have a delivery for Dr. Montgomery from Borelli & Preston Contractors.”
Okay. Job done. Now it was time to run. I couldn’t handle being here. He was just too close. I had promised myself weeks ago I would keep my distance and allow us to love each other through that space, and it was clear now I’d crossed that line.
I whispered, “Thank you,” but before I could turn to leave, she pushed the envelope back to me.
“Dr. Montgomery asked that I ensure he was able to speak with the person who delivered this, if you don’t mind?” Her eyes were kind.
I gulped for the nonexistent oxygen in the room. I knew I should run, escape, but secretly I’d been hoping this would happen. To see him, talk to him. Just once. He’d never told me goodbye, and somewhere inside me, I wanted that resolution. I wanted him just to say it, to end the confusion I felt. But was I really ready for that rejection? To hear him say I wasn’t enough? And what would it change anyway? My soul would always belong to him just as his belonged to me, no matter what words he said.
The longing to see him ultimately won. I nodded and took the envelope back in my hands.
She pressed a button on her headset. “Dr. Montgomery, your delivery from Borelli & Preston is here.”
She bobbed her head and said, “Yes, doctor.”
“He’ll see you now.” She stood and started around her desk, when the front door opened and somebody came through. She had a look of apology on her face. “He’s the first door on the left. Can you find it okay?”
“Sure,” I muttered mostly to myself as she turned to help the other person. I stared down the hallway. Both fear and longing consumed me. I willed myself to walk, but every footstep was heavy, dragging with what I feared I would soon be regret. I stalled outside his door, my heart listening to his. I could feel it pounding, drawing me forward.
I didn’t even knock. I turned the knob and pushed the door open. My feet locked in place when I saw him. Daniel. I blinked several times as I took him in. He was leaning over, bracing himself with his palms flat on his desk. He must have realized that it was me just before I opened the door. His head was cocked, his hazel eyes wide.
I couldn’t move. I felt as if I were caught in time and the second hand was unable to tick on.
Finally he rose, cautious and slow. His eyes were fierce and desperate, a fire that I’d never seen before burning behind them. My feet moved of their own accord and my arm dropped from the door. Silently it closed behind me. Everything in the room was still except for the energy roaring between us.
“Melanie,” he called to me, a whisper directly to my heart, pumping it with life. I was mesmerized as he wet his dry lips. His shoulders were held rigid, his chest trembling with his staggered breaths. I felt it all—his longing, his desire, his hunger. And I knew he could feel mine. Quivering under his intense stare, my muscles twitched in anticipation. My knees went weak when I saw him snap, undecided no more.
I could barely register the movement before he rounded his desk, and his lips crashed against mine. His hands sank into my hair, pulling my body roughly against his.
It felt as if my body had burst into flames with his sudden touch. Everything about him was overpowering, consuming, dominating. Rough and gentle at the same time.
I pressed into him, my chest against his, our hearts beating in rhythm. Digging my fingers into his neck, I struggled to get closer. We were desperate as we clung to each other. We needed to feel, to heal the scars disfiguring our hearts, to erase some of the hurt. His hands rushed with need, twisted through my curls, down my back, and then into my hair again. His kiss was forceful—too intense—ice and fire and sweet—all Daniel. I breathed him in, touched him, memorized the way he smelled, the way he felt.
His hair was so soft between my fingers. A shiver traveled down his spine.
With a sudden slant of his head, he swept his tongue across my lip. I opened to him, drawing him in. There was no teasing or testing. Aggressively, he moved his mouth with mine, sucking in my bottom lip at the same time he bit at it. Rough. Hard. Perfect. He pushed me back against the door, his body flush with mine. A moan escaped my mouth.
Oh, how I had missed this body.
I ran my hands over his shoulders and down his arms, his muscles firm under my touch. His lips were incessant, his tongue hot and wet.
Fisting a hand in my hair, he pulled it tight, exposing my neck. His movements slowed as he licked down the sensitiv
e skin, seeking out the spot behind my ear he knew would ruin me. He sucked, tugging with his lips, lingering at the delicate hollow below my jaw. I drew in a ragged breath, and my emotions caught up with me. He remembered.
He kissed his way back up, found my mouth again. Fingertips caressed and massaged the back of my neck, the skin afire with his touch.
When he grabbed the back of my knee and hooked my leg over his hip, I gasped. His palm traveled up the exposed flesh of my thigh, his thumb rubbing circles, coaxing, persuading, demanding a reaction. I pushed back into him, my body deprived of his for far too long.
“Melanie, my love,” he whispered, the words vibrating against my lips.
“Daniel,” I breathed into his mouth.
He pulled back, hooded eyes flaming in their intensity as they sought mine. I couldn’t look away as I peered deep into his soul. The love I found there was never ending, but shrouded in vast regret, grief imprinted on his heart. He ran his nose along my cheek, murmuring in my ear, this time the words dripping in sadness. “Only you.”
Those words resonated in the air, and as much as I knew he wanted to convince himself that they were true, they weren’t.
The weight of what I was doing crushed me. Thoughts of his wife and child lay heavy on my heart, and I remembered how we had gotten here in the first place. He hadn’t chosen me. He didn’t want me.
With trembling hands, I shook my head, trying to keep my insecurities from pouring out. It was impossible. The feelings of complete rejection I’d swallowed down and harbored for all these years came bubbling to the surface and spilled over, erupted as tears rushing down my face.
“You didn’t want me.” My words were barely audible, but I knew he heard them. I pulled back, desperate to remove myself from the spell he had me under. He jerked his head back, meeting my gaze, his eyes clouded with confusion.
I pushed against his chest with my hands. “You didn’t want me!” It was hard to speak. The words stuck in my throat and came up between sobs. “You have her!”
He had chosen a different life, and he couldn’t take it back.
“What?” He released my thigh and stepped back. “Melanie, please...don’t say that. I’ve always wanted you. Only you.”
Desperate to remove myself, I squeezed my eyes and flattened myself further against the door. I had to get away.
I had promised myself I would never become this person—someone who would steal the same thing that had been stolen from me. Daniel had a family, and as much as I would always love him, that had to come before my need for him.
I turned to flee, unable to be in his presence a second longer.
If I stayed, I’d only take more of what wasn’t mine.
I flung the door open, and Daniel tried to grab my arm and pull me back. “Please, Melanie! Please...don’t leave,” he begged.
I refused to look back. I hit the hallway, pushing myself forward and forcing myself away.
He was right behind me. “Melanie...please...just listen to me.” I shook his hand from my arm when he grabbed me again. My heels slid across the tile floor as I raced through the lobby. In my periphery, I was aware of his secretary jumping to her feet, shock freezing her face in a small gasp as she watched the scene unfold in front of her. Tears fell faster when I realized what I’d put Daniel through here in his office. I couldn’t even remain professional for five minutes.
My steps didn’t falter as I flung the glass door wide open, never slowing when I darted across the street. There was only the sound of car horns blaring and the echo of Daniel’s pleas fading into the distance.
I jumped into my car and slammed the door, chanting over and over, “You didn’t want me. You didn’t want me. You didn’t want me.”
July 2000
“Melanie, hurry up! You’re going to be late again,” Mom called up the stairway, her voice stressed.
“I said I was coming!” I yelled back as I tried to bend over to tie my shoes. My right leg was tight, the constant dull ache now a sharp pang in my thigh as I strained to reach my foot. I wiped the single tear that slid down my cheek. It was impossible to separate the physical pain from the emotional.
Physical therapy again. I hated it. Hadn’t they tortured me enough? I’d spent three days a week, every week, for nearly the last four months in a gym, stretching, pushing, basically learning to walk again, and I was so sick of it. My mood was sour, and I definitely didn’t feel like cooperating as somebody “encouraged” me to push just a little bit harder.
“Melanie, now!” I cringed at Mom’s tone of voice. Things had not been going well here, and each day just got worse.
I had been so angry when my parents had forced me to come to Dallas. I resented them and I let Mom know it. I’d spent three full weeks in bed, unwilling to speak to her or look at her, and I’d barely eaten. The third week my new doctor demanded that I start physical therapy, telling me I’d never walk again if I didn’t. So I spent my eighteenth birthday at my first appointment, discovering just how grueling my recovery was going to be.
As painful as it had been, I’d done everything with a smile on my face. Even though my parents had demanded he not contact me, that he give me some time, I had been convinced he’d call that day. I was eighteen and free to leave. But there had been nothing. It was the day I felt the first real flicker of fear that maybe he didn’t want me anymore. Shrugging it off, I’d told myself he was just being respectful, giving me the space my parents had insisted I needed.
So I continued on, obligingly attending my therapy sessions every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday and silently crying through the abuse. Diane, my therapist, tried to be kind, her own eyes usually damp by the end of the hour, promising it wouldn’t always hurt this bad. What she didn’t understand was that the physical pain had nothing on the pain in my heart. It seemed that as my body became stronger, my mind became weaker, a cloud settling in around me, heavy and ominous.
I missed Daniel so much. Each night I’d crawl into bed alone, succumbing to the ache I’d felt all day. I’d bury my face in my pillow to try to drown out my sorrow as I begged him to come to me. My body longed for his, needing to feel his love for me. For the better part of a month, Mom had rushed into my room each night, running her hands through my hair as she promised it would be okay. I’d cursed at her. Blamed her. She’d beg me to stop, saying she’d only wanted what was best for me. I had insisted that that was Daniel. She stopped coming the night I told her I hated her.
The days that passed only made it worse, each one a reminder that he still hadn’t called. I was in a constant state of despair, weeping behind closed doors and a total bitch to anyone who crossed my path. I never wanted to act this way, but I found myself unable dig myself out of the depression I was in. It had gotten harder to go to my appointments, harder to do my schoolwork, harder to live. It would have been okay had he done anything just to let me know he still loved me and wanted me. I would have happily lived out this sentence until I could go back to him. But he didn’t.
Four excruciating months, and still nothing from Daniel.
“Melanie!”
Didn’t she have any idea how hard it was just to put on my freaking shoes? I stood, the first step always the most painful. I winced as I began down the stairs, descending them as quickly as possible while Mom waited impatiently at the landing. Thankfully, I no longer needed Mark to carry me up and down. I hated being dependent on anyone, even though it was clear my step-dad didn’t share in my parents’ view of Daniel. He’d taken the moments of my vulnerability as he carried me up the stairs to tell me I’d be better soon and then I could go to Daniel. The only hope I had was Mark and the energy that pulled me back to Colorado, the tug on my heart that told me where I belonged—with Daniel.
And that was exactly my plan. I’d made up my mind that as soon as Diane discharged me, I’d go back to him. There was always an underlying insecurity I felt that Daniel might not want me anymore, but that wasn’t what I truly believed. I could still feel
his love for me, traveling all these miles over all this time, and I had to believe in that.
Mom fumbled with her keys in her agitation, dropping them twice before finding the right one to bring her small red car to life. She looked over her right shoulder as she backed down the driveway and caught my eye.
“This is getting old, Melanie. You need to stop acting like some petulant little child and grow up,” she huffed as she braked in the street, switching the car into drive. Staring straight ahead, she held her jaw rigid as she chose her words carefully, her tone softening. “It’s time you moved on.”
“What do you mean by that?” I spat back at her.
She almost imperceptively shook her head. “Melanie, Daniel hasn’t even tried to contact you in four months. That isn’t exactly the kind of behavior you’d expect from someone who says he cares about you. He hasn’t even checked to see how you’re doing. You could still be in a wheelchair for all he knows.”
Anger burned, fueled by my fear that her words might be true. I could feel my face flush, my fists curling around the sides of the seat. “If you remember correctly, Mom, I’m here because of you, and you know exactly why he hasn’t called.”
She was quiet for a moment before breathing out heavily through her nose. “If you want to blame me for all of this, Melanie, then fine, you can do that. But being angry with me doesn’t change the fact that he hasn’t called or...or even had one of his parents call to check on you. Doesn’t that seem a little odd after all of this time?”
She looked at me, but I refused to meet her gaze, staring into my lap. Of course I thought it was “a little odd.” I was tormented by it, but I wasn’t about to admit that to her.
“I just don’t want you to get hurt any more than you already have, sweetheart.”
I squeezed my eyes tight as an exasperated yelp escaped my pursed lips. She didn’t want me to get hurt anymore than I already had? How dare she?
“Now you don’t want me to hurt, Mom? Was the pain you caused me just enough, and now you want to protect me from any more? Is that how it works? Was it okay for you to take me away from the one person I love the most, right after our baby died, so I had to grieve for her without him? Was that just the right amount of pain for me? Tell me, Mom, because I’d like to know just how much pain you think I should have!”