The Cornerstone (33 page)

These women were ready to kneel at his feet and beg for the pleasure of his attention, and I…I kept telling him to get the fuck out of my apartment.

“And you run home after this?” he asked when the class ended.

I murmured in agreement. It meant I saw a lot more of him in the morning, but I abandoned the gym shower routine after forgetting a fresh pair of undies on Wednesday. I stopped at La Perla and bought some on my way to the office, but then I realized I never wore new panties without washing them first. I dropped eighty dollars on a pair of basic boyshorts, and still spent the day bare-assed.

It wasn’t his fault entirely, but I ranted at Tom for a good twenty minutes over the apparent lack of back-up panties in the office. I had a spare suit, heels, and stockings. Why not undies, too?

Will used the hem of his t-shirt to mop sweat from his forehead, and a collective purr sounded when his abs came into view. The four thirty spin class didn’t see much testosterone, especially not Will’s variety. “Fuck, Shannon, you’re a machine. That was rough.”

“Underestimated me again?” I asked. “It used to be funny how you did that. Now it’s just obnoxious.”

“I’ve never underestimated you, and I think you know that.” He leaned forward and folded his arms on the handles. “This was like my first week at BUD/S. The only thing missing was the water cannon.” He glanced at Nina. “Why would anyone choose to do this?”

“She might be a Satan soldier, but my ass is a work of art.” I inclined my head toward the group of women staring and whispering in his direction. “If the commando business falls apart, you can always train the high-end stroller crew. They’d drop big money for you to yell at them.”

“The Department of Defense needs to hear about this,” Will said, waving his hand at the white walls and neon yellow bikes. “This would definitely change their view on women in combat.”

“Yeah, I don’t know about that,” I said, cutting my gaze away from the t-shirt clinging to Will’s chest and toward his fan club. “They can’t go anywhere without reliable access to alkaline water.”

He smiled, and I saw his intention before he moved but I did nothing to stop him from tucking some loose strands of hair over my ear.

“What?” I snapped, finally jerking away from his touch.

His smile dimmed and he shook his head. “I’ve missed talking to you,” he said. “I’ve…I’ve missed
you
.”

A choked, stuttering noise sounded in my throat. All the words were fighting for dominance, and I wasn’t sure which would tumble out first. I opened my mouth to respond then realized we weren’t alone.

“Hey,” Nina said, sidling up to Will. “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”

“Probably not.” He glanced at the stripe of pink running through her platinum blonde hair and nodded toward me. “I’m here with Shannon. I go where she goes.”

“How do I sign up for that service?” she asked.

Not interested in witnessing another moment of
that
conversation, I made quick work of pulling on my running jacket and hitting the sidewalk. Will caught up to me on Tremont Street, and he was smart enough to stay a few paces back.

I took the long way home, jogging down around Cambridge Street and weaving through narrow cobblestone alleys off Charles Street to my building. This was the one moment where I could focus enough to hear my thoughts, where I knew my world didn’t line up with Will’s. It never would, and I wasn’t letting myself settle for secret weekends or the warped argument that I needed to change my priorities.

“Hey,” he panted, taking the stairs two at a time. He leaned into me as I struggled to pull my key from the hidden pocket inside my waistband. He was breathing heavy, leaving puffs of air on my neck, and I could feel heat radiating off him, wrapping around me. “We’re going to talk. Tonight.”

“I have plans,” I said, trying and failing to get the key in the lock.

Will covered my hand with his and he pressed his chest against my back, his chin on my shoulder, and if his lips touched my neck, my resolve would be
gone
, just fucking gone.

“We’re going to talk,” he repeated. “You’re not hiding from me anymore, peanut.”

He turned the key, opened the door, and walked away without another word.

And now—hours later—the only thing I could think about was that promise. Didn’t he know that he was a second away from knocking over the only supports I had left? That I was going to dissolve like a pillar of sand, and forget all about our arguments and the awful months I spent mourning the loss of him from my life? Or was that exactly what he knew?

“Holy—what the hell are you doing in here?” I looked up from the paint fan deck in my hands to find Andy staring at me. I wasn’t sure how long I’d been camped out in the materials room. “Why are you sitting on the floor? In the dark?”

“I hate people,” I said.

“That’s my line,” she said, settling beside me.

“I’m borrowing it today.”

She crossed her long legs in front of her and smoothed out her dark trousers, and the marvelous thing about Andy was that she never felt compelled to fill the silence. She was comfortable sitting beside someone, completely wordless, and somewhere in the past two years, I’d learned to love that about her. She was a rock like that, quiet and steady and always, always there for me.

“Tiel came out with us last night,” she said.

“Yeah, she texted me,” I murmured. The shelf to my left caught my attention. “Oh dear God. Isn’t Patrick’s assistant responsible for organizing this room?”

Andy held up her hands. “I stay far away from that situation. She’s Patrick’s problem.”

“That means she’s my problem,” I said. “How was Tiel?”

“Happy. Excited. Overwhelmed,” she said. “But mostly happy. And no, she hasn’t thought about wedding dates, dresses, locations, flowers, cakes, or colors. She went all snapping turtle when Lauren asked. Here’s my best guess: they’ll either elope or be engaged for the next three years.”

I didn’t know my way around Tiel yet. She only tolerated us in small bites, and sometimes, even that was too much for her. We didn’t start out on the right foot, and she was skittish around us. She’d started joining us for pedicures and drinks over the summer, and it was a good first step. Lauren took the lead on the ‘welcome Tiel to the family’ initiative, and let’s face it: she was the obvious choice when the alternatives were Andy or me.

Tiel liked Lauren but that wasn’t a valid measure of anything; everyone liked Lauren.

I ended up going to Martha’s Vineyard with Sam and Tiel two months ago—it was a pity invite and I’d accepted without shame—and the three of us had a great time together. Tiel and I parked ourselves in front of the fire pit one night, drank a lot of wine, and talked about everything but also
nothing
.

Somehow, we started with the annoying dudes on the subway who felt it was necessary to sit with their legs spread at a ninety-degree angle, regardless of whether that meant they were encroaching on the space of others. That snowballed into discussing the hygiene of characters in dystopian stories because they seem to wear the same clothes day after day but are never seen bathing or washing those clothes. Obviously, that segued into comparing notes on gynecologists; I was always looking for a doctor who would actually give a shit about my issues and not wave them away as normal discomfort. From there, we debated where we’d want to live if global warming flooded Boston. We didn’t walk away with any solutions for that one, and we never revisited that awful conversation at the coffee shop last winter.

It was nice to spend time with her, and she was just as funny and sweet and spunky as Sam promised, but the jury was still out on how long I’d be on eggshells with her.

“Well that’s fabulous,” I said, reordering the stone samples. “Really, really fabulous.”

“I’m going to a Yin yoga class tonight,” she said. “Really low key. Super chill. Mostly meditation with some poses. Want to come?”

“Hand me that swatch panel,” I said, gesturing to the board beside Andy. “Yoga doesn’t agree with me.”

“You don’t like Bikram. Yin is nothing like that,” she said. “And…it looks like you need some centering.”

I turned and met her eyes. “Oh really?”

“You’ve been a bit jumpy this week.” She shrugged and pointed at my face. “You look tired, and you know I say that with love. Come to class with me, and then we can make Patrick get us take-out and drinks. He’s going to do that for me anyway. You should reap the benefits.”

Sighing, I started sorting the design journals. “I’m supposed to have dinner with Gerard.”

“Ugh,” she groaned. “Not that dick weasel again. Is this some kind of Walsh family competition? Like when Patrick and Matt tried to see how long they could go without coffee, as if that made them superhuman or something? Or when Nick and Riley took that Pure Barre class just to see who could nail the instructor first?”

“Did anyone win that bet? The barre instructor?”

Andy rolled her eyes and blew out a breath. “No, that was more about them being morons than anything else. But Gerard—that’s a contest. A really fucked-up dare. He can’t be real.”

“Oh it’s real,” I said. “I don’t think he’s that bad.”

“He is
that
bad,” Andy said, laughing.

Yeah. She was right about that. When I invited him to join us for drinks last month, he started by insulting the neighborhood pub we frequented. Then he made some quietly hostile comments about large Irish Catholic families that “didn’t know when to stop” and Boston’s “cultural vacancy” relative to New York City. He ended the night by butchering everyone’s names and tipping Tom five dollars. The running explanation was that Tom must have given Gerard a handey under the table.

No one had said much about that evening. I knew my family didn’t care for him, but they were pleased about my return to polite society after months of my anti-social work obsession. They assumed it was associated with Sam’s emergence from the woods—lumberjack beard and all—and that was partially true. When Sam came home, it relieved the pressure of his absence, the suffocating fear that we’d get a call about him taking his life with nothing but the woods by his side. They didn’t know Gerard was my way of closing the book on Will.

Or, closing the book, dousing it in gasoline, burning it until only ash remained, and then punting those ashes far into the ocean.

“He’s just…a dick weasel. There’s no other way to describe it. He’s not worth a second of your time, Shan. Is he the reason you’re hiding in the materials room? I’d merrily kick his ass if you asked.”

“You’re not the only one,” I murmured. “Maybe next week for yoga. I have to deal with Gerard tonight.”

Andy stood and propped her hands on her hips. “Should we hug? Is that the proper protocol here? I never know when that’s called for.”

“You’re so weird,” I laughed, waving her away. “I fucking love you.”

SHANNON

G
erard was talking
about something—sea urchin harvesting, maybe?—and I was doing a fair job at the appearance of listening. There were well-timed nods, some interested murmurs, and enough eye contact to get by, but I wanted to reach across the table and gag him with a dinner roll.

By the time I’d finished chatting with Andy, it was too late to cancel on him, and having a face-to-face conversation seemed like the least bitchy path.

That was two hours ago. Now…the bitchy path sounded terrific.

“This story you’ve been telling for the past forty-five minutes is truly incredible,” I said, holding up my hand to stop his flow. “But I was hoping we could talk about a few other things now.”

“I didn’t realize,” he said, his eyes wide as if he was bewildered by his own staying power. “Meredith always said I lost track of time when I was engaged in a subject.”

Dear Meredith. Sweet, precious Meredith. Gerard’s ex-wife deserved a medal for the time she served under this guy.

“Yes, that’s nice,” I said.

My eyes dropped to the napkin in my lap, and I folded it into a crisp triangle. It was time to put this kinda-sorta relationship to an end. I’d needed someone to keep me occupied during a rough spot, and Gerard did that for me. He’d babbled me to death while I’d isolated every memory of Will and tucked them away. He’d brought me a pleasant absence of emotion, and now I could be cold and empty without urchin stories.

Eliminating the urchin stories was my only motivation; I wasn’t pulling the plug on Gerard because Will was…whatever he was.

I cleared my throat and flattened my hands on the table. “It’s been lovely—”

“Hi, sorry I’m late.” I glanced up just as Will pulled an empty chair from a neighboring table and parked himself between Gerard and me. A devious grin tugged at his lips. There was always a shenanigan with this fucker. “I’m glad you didn’t wait to order. May I?”

He grabbed my fork and sampled the untouched salmon on my plate. “What the fuck are you doing here?” I whispered.

To his credit, Gerard nodded at Will, smiling as if he was expecting him to crash our evening, and beckoned the waiter to our table. “A drink, Captain?”

“Enough with the ‘Captain’ business,” I snapped. “He doesn’t need you inflating his ego when it’s already exceptionally large.”

“And by
ego
you mean
cock
,” Will said under his breath.

Gerard didn’t hear him. Instead, he looked genuinely shocked at my comment and leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowed. He didn’t know me to have strong reactions to anything. He knew ambivalence, and never desired much more than that.

Will sampled my wine, nodding. “I’ll have what she’s having,” he said to the waiter. His gaze pinged between Gerard and me before digging into my salmon again. “What are you guys talking about?”

“Sea urchin,” I said, pushing the plate closer to Will. I didn’t need him leaning against me right now.

“Santorini,” Gerard corrected. “You thought I was talking about sea urchin?”

This was the problem with handling two opponents at once: one of them was going to see your hand if you took down the other. Ultimately, it was about assessing the greatest risk. Right now, I couldn’t decide whether it was Will or Gerard.