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  When I run, I’m not worrying about taking care of anyone. I’m not worrying about making anyone happy or saying the right thing. I’m only worried about putting one foot in front of the other.

  Each new song pushes me forward, empowering me. They remind me that I’m stronger than my heartbreaks. My pace is steady, and I’m feeling invigorated.

  My watch beeps, I look at my wrist, and it’s my sister, Willow.

  Willow: This is your ten-minute warning, expect my call.

  The screen flashes again, telling me I’ve reached the two and a half miles goal. I slow down, finishing the third lap around the park before she calls. My older sister can only take so much of my absence before she goes motherly on me—and vice versa.

  “Hi,” I greet her as I answer her call.

  “What happened to ‘I’ll call you as soon as my plane lands in San Francisco’?”

  “I texted,” I defend myself, poorly. “That should count.”

  “No, it doesn’t. Not when I’m having trouble comprehending this move. I love San Fran too, but it’s no Manhattan. It isn’t home anymore.”

  “Sorry, Wills.” I sigh. “It’s a great opportunity for me, I didn’t want to let it pass.”

  She huffs.

  “Well, over ten years ago I took a chance and look at all my accomplishments. This will be the same.”

  “Our parents abandoned you. You were penniless. Our grandfather offered to pay your tuition,” she recalls.

  I remember all of it, I bite the sarcastic remark.

  “That’s different from packing up your life and moving because one of his companies is having problems.”

  She’s right about some of it. When I was a senior in high school, Dad decided that I could make it on my own. Thankfully, my grandfather offered to pay my tuition if I attended Duke, his alma mater, instead of Stanford—and a summer job in his offices, in New York City.

  “One day he’ll retire, I have to know how to manage e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g.” Some days the fear that I would disappoint him is crippling.

  “True, but you can do it from here,” she insists. “You’re leaving your career and your family behind, Bee. What’s going on?”

  What’s going on?

  She wants to know why I packed up and left. It’s not one specific thing. Career-wise, I’ll show my grandfather I can manage without his supervision. Plus, I need a break from the emotional rollercoaster of a relationship I left behind.

  “Grandpa worries about you,” she continues. “The Everharts look a little lost—including my husband.”

  “That’s not possible. Hunter never looks lost. Unless he’s without you,” I counter rolling my eyes. Like the good actress she is, Willow’s dramatizing the events. “Harrison is on vacations with his wife. I honestly doubt they care.”

  She laughs. “They care. We all love you.”

  “And I love you too,” I reassure her.

  “But tell me, what are you expecting to accomplish with this trip?”

  “I…” I take a deep breath. “I don’t know. I didn’t know when I moved to New York.”

  My relationship with my grandfather had been a Christmas card with a twenty dollar bill every year since I can remember. A couple of phone calls a year for our birthday and Easter. But when I arrived, I got not only a caring, loving man who worried about his grandchild, but also the Everhart brothers. Their parents died when they were younger. My grandfather took them under his wing. Just like the four of them did to me when I arrived, making me an honorary Everhart.

  “You built a life. Your friends live here, your family,” Willow says. “You’re a successful businesswoman. Why move to the other side of the country? Are you trying to prove something?”

  I remain quiet. Thinking about the last few years. Suddenly, the pang of melancholy and homesickness for New York hits me right through the chest, squeezing my heart. It’s the nostalgia of missing my grandfather’s daily greeting—our morning chat while I brought coffee to his office—and dinner with the entire family. My eyes prickle with tears.

  “Bee?” Willow calls my name, as my ears ring slightly. “I believe there’s much more to a simple, ‘Gramps needs me to be here.’ I mean, you moved to San Francisco. You’re near Elliot again after all these years. Things between the two of you ended pretty bad and you…”

  And I broke into tiny pieces, she doesn’t say for me.

  “Are you okay with that? Knowing you could bump into him.”

  Am I?

  I don’t think so.

  The sensation of ants marching through my limbs envelops me as the thought of seeing Elliot McFee again startles me.

  Why is she bringing him up?

  Cold sweat travels down my spine. It’s here, the rush of adrenaline surging through my veins. The anxious feeling that something is wrong with my body as my heart pumps blood faster. Slowly, I count my breaths, inhaling and exhaling with the same rhythm.

  I’m okay, I’ll be fine, I repeat inside my head while walking faster.

  I should bring back the old rule, we shall not speak of him. After Elliot and I broke up, I didn’t talk about him for a long time.

  “Hazel, are you still there?”

  “Yes,” I respond with a loud voice. Finding my strength and confidence, I bring back the woman I am now, not the broken young girl I was.

  “My ex-husband is part of my past, Willow.” My voice is firm, convincing. “I’m aware that he lives in Santa Cruz, only a couple of hours away from here. Well, at least he used to live there. The chances of seeing him are pretty slim.”

  “You sound so sure of yourself. But I know you. What is really going on with Hazel?” She uses the classic severe big sister voice.

  “Nothing is going on, Wills,” I say, spotting a black sedan right in front of the building where I live.

  Fitz Everhart leans casually next to it. His cropped dark blond hair is wet. Fitz, like his brothers, is extremely handsome. He’s not a model, but I swear the four of them should’ve been. Their faces would have been on every magazine in every country. He has a sharp jaw, chin, and cheekbones. On either side of his straight nose are two clear blue eyes. He’s tall, but lean. Today, he wears a blue navy suit and a pair of aviator sunglasses. He looks ready to take down someone in court, even though all he’s doing today is coming into the office with me. I love he’s prepared for my first day at work. I couldn’t do it without him.

  “I just don’t believe it, try again,” she says.

  “I swear, nothing is going on with me, Willow.” I slow down my pace, trying to finish the conversation before I reach Fitz. If he gets a whiff of my doubts, he’ll pack my bags and ship me back home. Like everyone else in the family, he doesn’t want me to move from New York—but he supports my decision. “I have to get ready for my first day. Can I call you later tonight?”

  “Please, do it. I’m worried, and I don’t want to pull the ‘your absence is making me sick’ card, but it is not settling well.”

  My chest constricts with her words. Willow has borderline personality disorder. Her emotional state is fragile. Everyone copes differently with emotional pain. My sister used to deal with it by cutting herself to release the intense sensations. She doesn’t do it anymore, but I’d hate if something happens to her because of me and something I could have prevented.

  “I’m not giving you a guilt trip,” she rectifies. “I'm just being honest.”

  “Thank you for caring about me and your honesty.” My lungs relax just enough to let the air in and out my body. “I love you, Wills.”

  “Love you too, Bee.”

  “Hey, Fitzy.” I remove one of the earbuds after hanging up with my sister. “I take it you’re skipping today’s workout?”

  “I finished it at six in the morning.” He shakes his head, pushing himself away from the car. “The biggest asshole of the Everhart brothers woke me up at three in the fucking morning to look over some contracts.”

  I tilt my head, narrowing my eyes.
His brothers are friendly, but they can fight like only brothers do. Though, Fitz usually complains about one in particular.

  “Scott?”

  He nods like it should have been obvious.

  What’s with our older siblings today?

  Counting the hours with my fingers I chuckle, rolling my eyes. “That’s six in the morning his time. He starts his day before five. Why are you complaining?”

  “It was his fucking attitude.” His jaw sets as he nods twice. “Hunter texted me later asking if you can control him.”

  I touch my chest lightly. “Me? Ha, I can’t control anyone. And if you think I’ll call him to find out what’s wrong, I won’t.”

  “But you’re the only person he talks to in complete sentences.”

  “That’s an exaggeration.”

  Yet, there’s some truth to his statement. Scott is extremely private. He guards himself from everyone, sometimes even his siblings. He only speaks so much and for so long. Unless, it’s only the two of us. That’s when the real Scott Everhart comes out of his protective shell. He’s cautious and independent. He is controlling, mostly with his company. But he’s also affectionate, empathic and he has the biggest heart of the Everharts. I sigh, trying to hold back tears because our relationship isn’t like that anymore. It isn’t filled with possibilities or affection.

  I take a few sips of air since I’m almost choking. Saddened by the reminder of Scott and our new dynamic. My limbs weaken because even when Fitz is my person, Harrison my best friend and Hunter my brother—the one I love the most isn’t by my side. I miss him.

  “Haze,” Fitz hisses my name while giving me his signature smirk.

  Crossing my arms, I repeat, “Nope. I’m not calling the mighty dragon to ask him to stop breathing fire on his minions.”

  “Hazel, please.”

  “Scott is a sweetheart until he’s not. When he’s not, I prefer to avoid him.” I angle my head to the door of the building and march toward it. “Sorry, but there’s nothing I can do for you.”

  “You could if you wanted to. However, you refuse. I’ll ask again. What the fuck happened between the two of you?”

  Fitz gives me that inquisitive, badass, ‘I’m going to leave you trembling after I’m done with you,’ attitude he uses while interrogating a witness during hearings. Which always makes me laugh.

  “You have a wild imagination,” I respond grinning at him. “Nothing happened, Fitz.”

  Liar, he mouths, rolling his eyes.

  Maybe I should stop lying to him and tell him about the almost two-year relationship that Scott and I hid from everyone. Well, it wasn’t a relationship. More like an endless series of friend-with-benefits rendezvous. But not today. I walk to the kitchen to charge my electronics. I have to go furniture shopping today.

  “If you want to fetch us some breakfast in the meantime, I’ll name you the hero of the day,” I disclose as if it’s a decree.

  “Great, I get Scott’s fancy title. Why don’t you find me a hot guy instead?”

  “I never called him any fancy title.” …as far as you know. I scurry away to my room.

  My stomach feels so empty, just like my heart as I learn that Scott has been calling everyone around except me. Not that long ago, I was his first phone call of the day. Every day, we created a plan, discussed strategies, and he would bring breakfast before we drove to the office.

  Do I miss him or just the old routine?

  Stop it, Hazel.

  I have to open myself to the unknown, and to new adventures.

  This is my clean slate.

  Chapter Three

  “Your past is always your past. Even if you forget it, it remembers you.” ― Sarah Dessen

  Elliot

  “It will be fine,” I tell myself when I reach California street.

  “You got this, McFee.”

  The traffic was stop-and-start during my ride to the financial district. Sirens screamed as the ambulances rushed to attend the accidents along the highway. Several cars remained strained in the streets just like my body. The tension in my gut increases every second that passes. At this pace, I will not make it to my eleven thirty meeting. Instead of waiting for the lines of vehicles to move, I took the next exit and drive through the back streets.

  My heart thunders against my ribcage as I arrive at my destination. Though talking to the client about their needs, show them my designs and build their dreams is easy, each time I make a presentation, the pit of my stomach drops. Today isn’t any different. Waterfront Management is looking to renovate their old buildings.

  “This is another step closer to success,” I mumble as my eyes roam the underground parking lot searching for a spot.

  Luckily, I find a vacant place. I park and turn off the engine, exhaling twice as I reach for the cup holder where my wedding band lays.

  It’s ironic that this piece of metal is one of the keys to getting a job. Being married shows my potential clients I’m reliable, stable and, that I won’t mess around with their employees or significant others. I’m glad they never ask, ‘how’s the missus?’ because I don't know how my ex-wife is doing. It’s been years since the last time I saw her. Though the sweet irony of the act never fails to make me laugh like a maniac. I didn’t wear this ring until after I divorced the love of my life.

  Time and distance should’ve erased the gut-wrenching feeling I get when I think about her.

  Hazel.

  Some days, the memories seem to have happened so long ago, I barely remember her floral scent. Others, like today, I suffocate from the aroma. Running a hand through my hair, I try to concentrate on the matter at hand. I have to stop thinking about Hazel, wipe her from my mind forever. Yet, I work hard every day to make my family proud. Each new project, every dollar I earn, is another step to support the family Dad left behind. Also, it’s to show her that I'm capable of achieving my goals. That if she had stuck around, we would’ve had the future we planned.

  Would she even care to learn who I’ve become?

  “Why do you still care about her opinion, McFee?” I hit the steering wheel frustrated by my pitiful attitude and the memories that threaten to suck me into the void.

  I’m a pathetic loser, still hung up on the first and only woman he fell in love with. Days like today, I close my eyes and feel her presence—so close I can almost touch her. But reality brings me back to life. She’s never coming back here. I take a deep breath, holding it for the count of five. Then, I let it out as I pick up my computer bag from the passenger seat.

  I climb out of my car and forget about my past. Today is one of the most important days in the history of my company. Landing this contract with Waterfront Property Management guarantees at least three years of steady income. All of my energy and attention should be focus on winning the bid. I’m not letting my past or the memories ruin the future of North Bay Construction.

  The revolving door leads into the lobby. The marble floors glisten, and so does the long glass top desk. Exquisite modern paintings hang from the granite walls. One of the security guards behind it nods when I greet them. The other stares at me for several seconds.

  “Where to, sir?” the friendly one asks.

  “Waterfront Property Management.”

  “Please sign in. May I see your ID?” He pushes a log placing a pen on top toward me.

  I scribble my name after I hand him my identification.

  He smiles checking my license, then handing it back with a visitor badge. “Third floor, to your left.”

  I walk to the elevator bank. As the doors open to the third level, I’m surprised by the classy elegance of the floor. Unlike the modern touches from the lobby, the reception is different. Wood crafted walls, elegant molding and a few framed black and white photographs of landscapes of San Francisco.

  “Welcome to Waterfront Management,” the receptionist greets me. “How can I help you?”

  “Elliot McFee with North Bay Construction.” I check my watch then look back
at her.

  She checks a spreadsheet, highlights the name of the company and turns her attention toward me. “They should be ready for you soon.”

  She rotates slightly toward her left. “Through that direction, past the sliding doors, and take a right. The conference room is the first door to your left.”

  “Thank you,” I reply, glancing in that direction.

  I swallow slowly, taking a deep breath before turning toward the doors. Following her instructions, I find the conference room. The door is open. Guessing it’s okay to enter since my appointment is in less than five minutes, I take a step inside. But I halt right at the threshold. I suck my breath at the sight.

  Suddenly, I forget how to breathe as I lay eyes on the most beautiful girl in the world.

  Except, she’s no longer a girl. She’s a grown woman wearing a short, black dress that molds to her curves. Her long, toned legs seem to go on forever, and she sports a pair of fuckable shoes. My dick twitches, as my soul awakens from the long hibernation.

  Stop.

  Keep those thoughts to yourself, McFee. She’s no longer your wife. She’s a stranger. She’s not yours.

  Everyone thinks I’m over her. Even I did, outside of the quiet moments that sneak up on me. But it was all a lie. I know because I can’t bear to take my eyes away from her. My pulse spikes but my entire body freezes. Every feeling I’ve ever felt for her rushes back to me like the rains in April that give way to spring. My heart pounds in my chest in an unsteady free-fall. She’s here.

  Fuck.

  I’m angry that she’s here.

  Yet, I’m relieved that I can see her once again.

  Mostly, I’m confused by the turmoil of emotions that her presence provokes. My lungs are about to collapse. I take another deep breath. My hands clench into tight fists. Why is she here? My life is still a mess, yet still better now than it was before. It’s been more than ten years since she left for college. Perhaps before, when my father died.