Jude: Where did you take him? Why? You know he never leaves the house.
I paced the apartment, back and forth. I didn’t know what to do with myself, and that scared me to death. I went back to my backpack and pulled out the documents Phoenix had given me, examining them with shaky hands.
Kipling slipped from my bag and spilled open, spitting out business cards and the folded Post-it notes Célian had left me like confetti. I’d taken them out of the drawer before I’d left the office Friday because they were overflowing and I didn’t have space for my own stuff.
Why didn’t I just recycle them? Why did he send them?
I’d asked myself this question a million times. Why did Célian try to reach out to me with notes? He was the most verbal person I knew, and he seemed to have a magnetic power over me every time we were together. But maybe that was it.
He didn’t want to have a magnetic power over me.
He wanted us to talk.
Or just to tell me how he felt.
Now, as I waited for him or my dad to answer me, I had no choice but to try to distract myself by finding out what the notes said. I sank to the floor, my back dragging along the wall, and unfolded the first yellow note.
The word “music” comes from the Muses, goddesses of the arts in Greek mythology.
I never said it before, because I thought it was tacky, but you’re my goddess (especially your ass).—Célian
John Lennon started his music career as a choir boy.
I never said it before, because it terrified me to admit it, but you’re my church (although I plan to be inside you way more than just on Sundays).—Célian
Your heart mimics the beat of the music you’re listening to.
I didn’t know I even had one before you came along, and now I do, and it hurts like a motherfucker (thanks for that).—Célian
I stole your iPod before you stole my wallet. It was tucked inside my jacket before I even removed your panties. I wanted to know what you were listening to. (And I was sorely disappointed there were no Britney Spears and Justin Timberlake songs in sight, because it made not falling for you so much fucking harder.)—Célian
I tried to tell myself I broke up with Lily because I was better than my father. Bullshit. I broke up with her because I couldn’t not be with you (and I’ve spent a respectable amount of time denying that shit to myself).—Célian
The day I went to the Davises, I wanted you to find out. I wanted you to show me your ugly side. I wanted you to be ugly, for once in your life, so I could shake you off. (You weren’t ugly that day. I was.)—Célian
The last one, which was actually many Post-it notes stuck together, had been tucked inside my drawer on Friday, and it read:
I’m in love with you, and I might not be able to tell you that in person, because you clearly don’t want to hear it, and because I’ll be gone soon. But I am, and I fucking hate it. Don’t think for one minute I wanted to fall in love with you, Jude. But that makes my love for you so much stronger. So next time you wrongly assume you’re the only person hurting in this, just remember the first rule of journalism. There are two sides to every story. (And if you’re at all open to hearing mine, this is probably my last chance.)—Célian
The lock rattled in the door to the apartment. I quickly wiped the tears from my face, but there was very little point in doing that, I realized. My clothes were soaked with them. So were the Post-it notes. I gulped in a breath and turned around. Dad walked in wearing a Yankees cap and waving a baseball in his hand.
“Guess what your old man caught?” His grin collapsed the minute he saw me sitting on the floor, surrounded by a sea of yellow papers. He rushed to my side.
“Is everything okay, JoJo?”
I stood up, not wanting to waste another minute.
“Where were you?”
“The Yankees game. Célian thought it’d be a nice way to say goodbye. Then we went for hot dogs. I figured I’d be home before you got back.”
“I cut my library time short. Where’s Célian?” I sniffed.
“Are you okay?” he asked again, rubbing my back.
Was I? A part of me was. A part of me was more than okay, knowing I was about to help a man who deserved my help more than anyone I knew, after everything he’d given me and my dad. Another part of me was gutted and torn—to give him a chance and to risk the full demolition of my heart or try to move on?
“I’m fine, Dad. Where’s Célian?”
“He said he had to get something from the office…”
Of course.
I was out the door before I had the chance to hear what it was.
The cardboard boxes remained untouched and empty in the corner of my office. All I really needed to take was my laptop.
I rarely got attached to people, let alone possessions.
I had no pictures of my family and no bullshit funny mugs on my desk. Every award I’d received had been thrown in the trash the night it was given to me—I didn’t make the news to get a pat on the back; I made the news because I wanted to change lives, and perspective, and the world, and to prove I was deserving of all I had been given. The only thing I had gotten attached to on this floor would like to see me castrated by a butcher, so there was really no need to prolong my departure. I’d insisted on not having a goodbye party, explaining there was nothing happy about my exit. I wasn’t moving on to bigger, better things after a mutual understanding with the management. I was jumping out of a sinking ship, leaving my staff to drown.
It was like planning your own funeral.
I shut my laptop and shoved it into the trash with the heel of my Oxford, deciding I didn’t want to take anything with me from this place. Fuck it.
CSP, a competing channel, was building a news division in Los Angeles, and it seemed like a good idea to put a few thousand miles between me and Mathias. But that wasn’t why I’d quit my job.
I didn’t want to see Judith’s face every day, knowing I’d put the scowl there.
So I made way for her, because I would never fire her, and because really, she’d earned her place in my newsroom perhaps even more than I had.
There hadn’t been a huge breakdown to compliment my heartbreak. It was quiet, yet somehow a thousand times worse than I’d ever experienced. Every day when she left the office, she took something with her.
Another piece of my fucking heart.
Another song on her playlist I’d never be able to listen to without thinking of her.
I’d had my phone off all day—I wanted to do this without interruption—and I finally turned it back on and shoved it in my pocket. I grabbed my jacket, throwing one last look at the place that had once been my kingdom, the place I thought I’d have my fucking retirement party, and shook my head.
I turned around, closed the door, and bumped into something small and hot.
Judith.
She shoved a file to my chest, pointing at me.
“First things first, next time you take my father out of the house, you let me know by text or a phone call. Agreed?”
I blinked rapidly. Was I imagining things now? Because that kind of shit needed to be checked and medicated. I arched an eyebrow.
“You do realize Los Angeles is not around the block, right? I won’t be seeing much of him anytime soon.”
Still an asshole. But hell if she didn’t like it.
“There’s a special place in hell for you.” She shoved her delicate finger in my face.
Would it be too much if I bit the tip? Probably.
I smirked. “Not surprised. I have a rock star realtor. What are you doing here on a Sunday, Chucks?”
“Saving your ass.” She unplastered the file from my chest and walked over to her station in the newsroom.
I followed. Her ass looked fantastic, as always, but that wasn’t what made me smile until I’d almost cut my face in half.
She laid all the docs on her desk, yet wouldn’t let me peek into the file. I eyed her curiously, not sure what her deal was, but intrigued nonetheless. More than anything, I liked that she was talking to me again, and wasn’t planning on fucking it up.