Sweet Home Montana Page 23

  “Hey, Quinny. It’s me. Colt.” His voice is rough and raspy as it reverberates through the line, and I find myself closing my eyes, allowing his words to warm through me, followed by a smooth yet slightly awkward chuckle that makes me smile. “I guess you knew that already since you just rejected my call.”

  No, I didn’t. I swear. I dropped my phone. Please don’t think I rejected your call.

  I listen to his heavy sigh, and it only breaks my heart even more.

  “Look … I just … I was calling because I really wanted—no, needed—to hear your voice. I guess your message recording is the best I’m gonna get. But it’ll do for now. I just … I miss you. Like crazy.”

  I begin chewing on my thumbnail, my eyes still closed. His voice is so deeply conflicted, so gruff, so broken. It’s painful. But, in a way, it’s almost as if he’s right here beside me. And I find some unexpected solace in that. I can pretend, even if only for the moment, that we’re together, and in that moment it’s pure bliss.

  “I’ve never needed you more than I need you right now. It hurts like hell. Like I’ve lost you all over again. Only this time, I don’t have that anger roiling inside of me to mask the pain. I just have regret, and this hollow, empty feeling in my chest where my heart used to beat.”

  I hunch forward a little, feeling like I’ve just been kicked in the stomach.

  “I love you, Quinny. I’m so sorry. If I could take it all back … I– Well I probably wouldn’t, because then I wouldn’t have Emmy. But if I could go back and change everything, I would. I would have told you about Emmy the moment I knew Rylie was pregnant. Hell, I would’ve put my pride aside and followed you to New York in the first place, and I would’ve begged you to realize that you belong with me. I wish you believed in me enough to know that if you stayed, I never would’ve let you wind up like your momma. I would have done everything different, and maybe … maybe you’d still be here.” He pauses momentarily a derisive chuckle sounding through the message. “But that’s the thing about hindsight. It’s full of the could’ves, should’ves and would’ves, and it only makes you feel a million times worse.”

  I smile through my tears.

  “Look, I’m not gonna call you again. I know I messed everything up, and I’m so sorry. But I just wanted you to know that I meant every word I said to you that night at the cabin. Just know that I’ll never stop loving you. I tried, but it only ended badly. I can’t stop loving you. I couldn’t even if I wanted to.”

  The message ends with a shrill bleep, but I’m frozen, and I just sit here with my phone at my ear, staring straight ahead at nothing in the air before me, as a million thoughts swirl around my head, none of which are doing me any favors.

  I needed to hear his voice. More than anything. But now that I have, I’m at a complete and utter loss with my feelings. I’d hoped it might hurt a little less by now. Five weeks is a long time. Enough time to move on and at least pretend to get over it. But it still hurts like hell, and every time I’m alone, it’s all I can think about.

  “Hey! You okay?”

  I realize I’m on the verge of some kind of panic attack when I feel Oliver’s hand on my shoulder.

  “Hey, breathe!” He crouches down beside me, his eyes full of concern as he studies me closely, his brow pinched with worry. “Quinn, what’s wrong?”

  Tears sting my eyes, and I look around to see that, thankfully, I haven’t drawn any unwanted attention to myself other than Oliver. I clutch at my chest, breathing in deep through my nose, trying so hard to placate myself, watching as he coaches me with a gentle wave of his hand. In and out. In and out. In and out.

  “Come on,” he says, reaching over and grabbing my purse from the top of my cabinet. “Lunchtime.”

  I choose not to argue. He’s right. I need to get the hell out of the office before I completely break down and cause a scene I can’t explain. I’m already the woman who lost a one-hundred-million-dollar deal. The woman who got fired. The woman who collapsed on a sidewalk in SoHo in front of her archnemesis. The woman who came crawling back. I can’t also be the office nutcase. That’s far too many unsavory titles for one person.

  Standing, I keep a hand on my chest, feeling my heart race beneath my skin. I grab my coat, and follow Oliver with my head cast down, as he leads the way through the bustling sales floor. I’m desperate for some semblance of reprieve from the suddenly stifling air.

  Chapter 26

  Oliver and I don’t end up going back to the office for the rest of the afternoon. Suddenly, it’s dark out, and we’re perched at the bar in a dive on the Bowery, drinking the night away while a grunge-revival band plays a Nirvana song to a college-aged group of die-hard fans.

  We went for lunch at a bistro off Fifth Avenue. Well, it was lunchtime, at least. And we ordered food with our wine, but we didn’t eat too much and ended up consuming two whole bottles of Sauvignon Blanc between us.

  Then, with a buzz on, we proceeded a few blocks up, stopping in at Bergdorf’s, where I ended up spending an obscene amount of money on a pair of completely gaudy heels I doubt I’ll ever wear but were far too pretty to pass up, and the latest handbag for my collection that I’ve been waiting months to hit the shelves. I bought Oliver the leopard-print Louboutin loafers he’d been eyeing the entire time we were there. He didn’t know I bought them. He would have stopped me. So I added them to my purchase when he went to take a phone call, and I waited to give them to him until our Uber dropped us off in the Lower East Side. We’d come too far to take them back, and I tore up the tax receipt right in front of his face and threw it in the trash, so he couldn’t return them later. He was angry with me, but totally in love with his new shoes. He refused to even set them down on the floor next to my shopping bags, fearing someone might take them. And that put a smile on my face for the first time in what felt like forever.

  So, now, here we are. Two uptown real-estate agents in a dive bar on the Bowery. Completely out of place. Perched at the bar, drinking surprisingly decent French martinis while college kids cooler than I’ll ever be, mosh to “Smells Like Teen Spirit”. All the while, I’m spilling my guts to Oliver, trying not to be that drunk woman crying in a bar on a Tuesday night.

  “So, wait a minute … Let me get this straight.” Oliver interrupts my rambling, shaking his head to himself as if to process my slightly slurred words. “You … You were engaged?”

  I blink at him.

  After everything I’ve told him about Colt. Me leaving him jilted at the altar. Running away from home. The accident. Leaving again and never returning. My family. My brothers. My father. Everything. And that’s what he chooses to focus on?

  I offer a droll look, rolling my eyes. “Yes. I was engaged,” I say with a sigh.

  “And you left him … Colt?” He looks at me as if to check he has the name right.

  I nod.

  “And then he almost killed himself.”

  I nod again, feeling that same tug in my belly that I always feel when I think back to what Colt almost did. To the state he must have been in to have done what he did. To what Rylie said in her voicemail; I truly hope he doesn’t go back to that dark place again. I swear, I’ll never forgive myself.

  “And now he has a daughter … with Rylie?”

  I’ve never seen Oliver look so overwhelmed. He’s utterly bewildered. This is far too much drama, even for him, and he watches all the reality shows on E! religiously.

  “Yes!” I throw my head back, huffing in exasperation.

  “And it’s been ten years since you and Colt were together?”

  “Yeah …” I answer a little sheepishly.

  “So, I hope I don’t sound insensitive,” he begins, before continuing quite abruptly, “but what’s the big goddamn deal?”

  I gawp at him, his hands thrown in the air in confusion, and I must admit his reaction is completely justified. He’s right. I glance down at my drink, watching the bubbles rise to the top. And, for the first time, I actually consider his quest
ion as it hangs in the air, lingering like a bad taste in my mouth. What is the big goddamn deal?

  Am I angry that Colt has a child? No. Does it hurt? Yes. Am I jealous? Insanely, and shamefully so. Growing up, being with Colt, I’d always imagined starting a family with him. I wanted babies. A whole heap of them. And I wanted them with him. Now he has a child with someone else. And she’s beautiful, perfect, sweet, and everything in between. And I’m not her mother. It hurts like hell to think what could have been. It could have been me having Colt’s baby girl, and we could have lived our happily ever after. But I was too damn focused on my dreams, on not turning out like my mother, and now the last ten years is one big regret I doubt I will ever move past.

  I look up from my drink, staring straight ahead at the shelves of liquor bottles behind the bar, to the mirrored wall behind them. I find my reflection staring back at me, and at that moment, it’s as if it suddenly dawns on me. Realization at its finest. But with that heartbreaking revelation comes the weight of the world crashing down upon me like a ton of bricks. Tears sting my eyes, and my heart physically hurts.

  “Quinn?” Oliver places a hand on my shoulder, gently squeezing me.

  Slowly, I force myself to look at him, sniffling once as a hot tear hits my cheek the moment I meet his eyes.

  “What is it, honey?”

  “It’s all my fault.” I shake my head. “I should’ve never left. I should’ve stayed. I should’ve gone back. But I didn’t do any of that. And now, this is what I get … It’s ten years later, and the dreams I selfishly spent the last decade chasing have all come true. But what are realized dreams when you have no one to share them with?”

  A small, sad smile pulls at Oliver’s lips and he moves in, wrapping his arms around me and holding me a moment. And I don’t care that we’re in a dive on the Bowery. I don’t care that we’re surrounded by college kids dancing to not-Nirvana. I don’t care that I have mascara tracks streaming down my cheeks. None of that matters right now.

  “Perspective, huh?” Oliver says in my ear, kissing my cheek before pulling away.

  I nod again, resting my chin on my hand with a heavy sigh as I swipe my tears away.

  “That’s the great thing about home, Quinn; you can always go back.” Oliver nudges me with his elbow. But I don’t look at him. I can’t. I can’t risk seeing the trite look of a twenty-four-year-old who knows better than me right now.

  “But everything’s changed. Nothing is the same. I was stupid to think that I could go back, and things would be just like they were.”

  “But home is where the heart is, girl. And your heart sure as hell isn’t in New York City no more. That’s for sure.”

  He’s right. Annoyingly, he’s always right. That’s one of the traits I both love and hate about dear Oliver. He’s younger in years, but wise beyond those years.

  “I’m going to go to the bathroom.” I slide off my barstool, handing him my cell as I adjust my dress. “Can you order me an Uber. And a water from that bartender when he stops flirting with the woman with the awesome cleavage.”

  Oliver laughs at me, and he goes about ordering my Uber, and I continue to the bathroom to relieve myself, and wipe the streaky makeup from my face.

  Chapter 27

  When I woke this morning, I was planning on calling in sick. I was sick. Hungover with a seriously bad case of broken heart. Surely that’s a valid sickness, right?

  But Oliver needed me. He’d accidentally double-booked himself, and was supposed to be in two places at once. Brooklyn Heights, and Gramercy Park. I had nothing on for today. No client meetings, nothing. I would have happily stayed in bed and slept the day away. But I just couldn’t let Oliver down; I might no longer care about any of this—for me, it’s just a job to pass the time it takes for me to decide what my next step is going to be—but he’s young, and he’s going to be a really great agent. So, I forced my sorry ass out of bed and, here I am. In an historic, cast-iron building on Gramercy Park West, overlooking the park, hungover, more disheveled than I care to admit, racking my brain with all the possible reasons Colt hasn’t yet returned my drunken, cringeworthy phone call from one o’clock this morning.

  I stand in the foyer of the eclectic and grand three-bedroom duplex, twirling the brass door key around my finger as I look up to the twelve-foot ceilings, studying the cobwebs hanging from the crown moldings, the dust particles as they float aimlessly through the air.

  The place is empty. Silent and still. Not long vacated by the flamboyant ninety-two-year-old woman who lived here since the day she married her husband in the early 1950s. She made this place her home. Her children were born here, raised here, grew up here. Then her husband passed away. Her children moved out. But still, she stayed, making this place more of a home for herself and her three poodles, than for anyone else. And as I stand here in the dusty, empty expanse of the apartment, I can almost feel the energy that once lived here. This was a place of love. A real home. And I can’t help but smile to myself.

  A knock on the door pulls me from my musings, and I jump to action, nervously tucking my hair behind my ear, smoothing my hands down the front of my dress. I clear my throat, crossing the foyer, and I plaster a big smile onto my face, one I’m sure doesn’t even come close to meeting my eyes as I pull open the door.

  “Good afternoon.” I beam, looking from the man to the woman who both appear to be around my age. “You must be Mr. and Mrs. Sawyer.”

  “Please, Joey and Victoria is more than fine.” The man dismisses my formalities, pointing to himself before indicating his wife. And I like him already. Not the Gramercy Park type, that’s for sure. A young Fintech entrepreneur looking for a place in the city to begin a family.

  “I’m Quinn Wagner. Oliver sends his apologies.” I shake his hand, before moving to his wife, which is when I notice how heavily pregnant she is. “Oh, goodness! When are you due?”

  She offers a comical deadpan expression, clutching a hand to her swollen belly. “Next Friday. But I’m getting out and walking around as often as I can in the hope she gets the hell out much sooner!” She smiles through obviously gritted teeth.

  I laugh out loud. I like this woman. She reminds me of myself.

  Joey chuckles, pulling his wife under his arm. He presses a sweet kiss to the top of her head, and I watch on with a fond smile as they share a loving glance with one another. But I’m also unable to mistake the painful lump balling in the back of my throat. I turn away quickly.

  “Okay.” I clap my hands together. “Let’s have a look around, shall we?”

  “Well, we like what we see so far,” Joey says from behind me.

  “Do we really get a key to the park if we buy this place?” Victoria asks, a smile in her voice.

  “Yep. Sure do,” I say over my shoulder. “There’s an annual fee, of course. But it’s a beautiful park. Nice to sit and relax. It will be perfect for your little one.”

  “Oh, this is actually our third.” She giggles.

  “Third?” I turn, gawping at her. “You look so … so young.”

  Victoria looks up at Joey with an endearing smile. “We met in high school. I got pregnant in my first year of college. So, we decided, why wait? Let’s get married, have our family young, and we can all grow up together.”

  “I finished college. Went on to grad school. Vic went back and finished after Sadie, our first, was born,” Joey explains further, looking down at his wife as if she’s the only woman in his whole world.

  “I got pregnant with Henry in my final year. But I was able to at least graduate before he came. I’m an interior designer. It’s a good job to have as a stay-at-home mom.”

  I look between the two of them, their hands clasped together, fingers intertwined, and I feel a painful pinch of jealousy at the base of my spine. This could have been me and Colt. I could be as happy and satisfied as Victoria appears to be. She’s glowing, and I know it’s not just the pregnancy. This is a woman with everything she could ever want. And it could
have been me, but I was too damn stupid.

  “The duplex is thirty-seven hundred square feet.” I turn around, getting back to business as I lead the sickeningly happy couple through to the large formal sitting room. I don’t mean to be abrupt in my change of topic, but it hurts, more than I could have ever imagined a random couple’s happiness could hurt.

  “Twelve-foot ceilings. Original floorboards throughout, but you could always pull them up and lay tile, or restored flooring if you wanted to brighten it up a little. As you can see, there’s a lot of natural light, which is a must-have on the East Side. We’re south-east facing here, so you get the beautiful morning sun, but this helps to provide light through the afternoons, especially in the winter.” I point out the chef’s kitchen and the family dining area with a solarium roof, through the French doors to the patio. “There’s a small, private courtyard, perfect for entertaining during the warmer months, and a great place for the kids to get some fresh air if you can’t get out to the park.”

  “Wow, this kitchen is almost brand new.” Joey gasps, looking closely at the sleek, top-of-the-line appliances. He offers a wry smile over his shoulder at me. “I fancy myself a bit of a novice chef.”

  Victoria casts me a wide-eyed look, stealthily shaking her head.

  I stifle a laugh. “Yes. The seller had the kitchen redone a few years back. And all three bathrooms have been renovated, too.”

  “It’s so beautiful.” Victoria holds a hand to her chest. “How much is she asking?”

  I nod. “It is beautiful. And for under seven million, with a private courtyard and overlooking the park, it’s an absolute steal at just under nineteen hundred a square foot.”