When Sparks Fly (87 page)

2:40.

I press the speed dial button for her and listen while it rings.

“Hello?”

*

Jordyn

Traffic is stopped. Not slowed. Not stop-and-go. Full stop. No one is moving at all.

I shift in my seat, checking the time on my phone. 2:33.
Damn!

I glance out the windshield. The top of the fountain is in the distance. I have no idea how far away it is, and not sure it matters. I’m not getting any closer to it just sitting here.

I check my phone again. 2:38. Should I call or text Grant? Let him know I’m stuck in the mother of all traffic jams?

“I think I’ll just get out here,” I tell the driver, fishing in my wallet for some cash.

“Are you sure? This will break up in another minute, and then we’ll start moving again.”

“No, I’m just going to walk from here.”

My cell phone starts ringing while I’m trying to get cash out of my wallet. I don’t even check to see who’s calling before I answer.

“Hello?”

“Hey, where are you?”

I hand the cash to the driver and open the door, wrestling with my suitcase.

“Uh, hey… Grant… uh, can I give you call right back?”

I lift my suitcase over my lap with one hand and push it out onto the street. I grab the handle and start across the street.

“Sure.” His voice is tentative, but I can’t deal with him right now. I’ll see him in a minute and beg forgiveness for being so rude.

A horn honks behind me. I turn my head towards it. That’s when I see it – but it’s too late to do anything. Too late to react. No time to even scream.

Tires screech. Pain shoots through my entire body. The air pushes out of my lungs as I hear my ribs crack. I’m weightless. It all finally registers: I’ve been hit by a car.

My body slams to the pavement. I hurt everywhere. And then darkness moves in.

*

Grant

2:50.

I dial Jordyn’s phone. She said she would call me right back. But something in her voice was off. She seemed surprised to hear from me. Or was she upset that I called?

Her phone doesn’t ring. It goes straight to voicemail. It’s turned off. I pull up text messages, and fire one off to her.

**Hey, where are you? Why aren’t you answering your phone?**

2:55. Voicemail again.

“Jordyn, where the heck are you? Call me back and let me know what’s going on? Did you get stuck at the convention? It’s not a problem if you have, just call me and let me know when you can get away.”

3:00. Voicemail. I don’t leave a message. Still no response to my text message.

By ten after three, I head back to the hotel. An ambulance races past me as I try to cross the street. The open foyer, littered with leather couches and wingback chairs is empty. I check with the main desk to see if she’s stopped to get a key, or left a message for me. The clerk says no one has come by. She did offer that perhaps Jordyn left a message on the room phone.

I thank her, but know the odds are against it. Jordyn changed her mind. It was fun when it was something to dream about, and wish for… but she must’ve decided that getting involved with me, even for one weekend, is more commitment than she wants. Maybe she finally listened to her family, bought into their ideas of what’s best.

I open the door to the suite, toss the room key on the desk, and immediately cross to the ice bucket sitting next to the king-sized bed. I pop the cork and drink straight from the champagne bottle. A bouquet of red roses sits in a vase on the bedside table.

I pull one of the flowers out, twirling it around and around.

Red roses… the symbol of love. What a joke
.

I pluck the petals, tossing them to the floor. “She loves me not. She loves me not. She loves me not.”

Another swig from the champagne bottle, grabbing another flower. A thorn pricks my finger. My eyes are transfixed on the blood sitting on the tip of my finger. I watch as it rolls down the side, dripping on the comforter.

How fitting. I love and it makes me bleed
. Why do I do this to myself? Why do I trust women when I know they cannot be trusted?

I down the rest of the champagne, open the small refrigerator and pull out another bottle. I bought three. Plus a couple bottles of wine, and a bottle of rum. Well, they won’t go to waste.

I drink and check my phone all night. At midnight, I call Jordyn’s phone one more time.

It goes straight to voicemail.
Shocking…

“Jordyn, so, I don’t know what happened, and… I don’t even care.” I’m slurring, slumped on my side in the middle of the bed. “It takes a really special person to lead a guy on, get him to waste thousands of dollars to spend a weekend with you, and then dump him without a phone call. I mean, you could’ve at least told me to go fuck myself or something. But no… You couldn’t even send me a text message. I’ve met some cold-hearted bitches in my life, but you my dear… take the cake. You’re a coward. I guess I should thank you… I mean, at least you had the decency to fuck me over early on. But, know this… I will never forgive you and I will always think of you as the biggest waste of two weekends I could ever have the misfortune of giving up.”

I toss the phone across the room and slug back the remainder of the wine. I work on the rum before passing out. I wake the next afternoon with a hangover from hell. Room service, shower, and change my return ticket to the first flight out.

By one-thirty in the morning, I trudge through my front door. Back in Virginia Beach. As hard as I try to get Jordyn out of my mind, I can’t stop wondering what the hell happened, and why she didn’t just talk to me about it.

It doesn’t matter now. It’s done. She’s gone from my life in the same manner she came into it. Quick and easy, leaving my head spinning.

Now is the time to forget about her. Focus on the future, which for me is flying jets and avoiding women at all costs.

It’s just not worth the pain of having my heart stampeded for sport. I’m done being the sucker. My heart is cold. Dead.

That’s how I’ll live. Survive. It’s all I can do.

‡
Chapter Four

Jordyn

October

I open my eyes slowly, but quickly close them.

“Too bright,” I say, my voice scratchy, throat dry.

Someone is next to me, whispering to me. A woman’s voice I don’t recognize. “Okay, lights are turned down. You can try opening your eyes again.”

Her hand is around my wrist. She’s older, wearing white. Nurse.

“Where am I?” I ask, but it’s barely a whisper. The nurse pours water from a plastic pitcher into a cup, pops a straw in it, and places it against my lips.

“Small sips,” she instructs. After a few swallows, she puts the cup on the table next to the pitcher and writes in a medical chart.

“What happened to me?”

She smiles and pats my hand. “Let me get your doctor. It’s probably better if it comes from him.”

Before I can say anything else, she grabs the chart and shuffles out the door.

Within a few minutes, a tall man with brown hair peppered with gray, walks in. Behind him, an older woman wearing black slacks and a red sweater and an older man with gray hair, wearing khakis and some sort of golf pullover, enter and smile at me, but it looks forced.

“I’m Dr. Hannigan. How are you feeling?” The brown-haired man says.

“Okay, I guess. A little stiff, but…” I shrug, not sure what he’s looking for me to say.

“Any pain?” He flips the chart open and writes in it as he talks.

“No, no pain.”

“Do you know where you are?” He glances up at me.

“No idea.”

The older couple move to my other side.

“We are just so happy you’re okay… and have come back to us, dear.” The woman takes hold of my hand. It’s cold and clammy and doesn’t feel comforting at all.

I stare at her.
Who the hell is she and why is she holding my hand?

My face must mirror what’s screaming inside my head because her eyes fly over to the doctor.

“Do you know who these people are?” Dr. Hannigan asks, pointing at the couple.

I take a longer look at them both before shaking my head.

The woman gasps, her hand flying up to her neck. The man’s face screws up, his smile gone and his lips in a tight line.

“What’s wrong with her?” He barks at the doctor. Hannigan puts his hand up to stop the man from speaking.

“Do you know your name?” he asks me, pulling something from his breast pocket.

Of course I know my name…

It’s… it’s…

Oh, God! What’s my name?!

All the blood drains from my upper body. I’m instantly cold. Sweat breaks out over my skin and I’m shaking. The doctor leans over me, flashing a little penlight into my eyes.

“You said she would be fine. That her injuries healed.” The older man is red-faced, his voice booming in the small room.

“Her physical injuries have healed. I told you that we’d have to see when she woke from the coma if there were any neurological issues.”

“Coma?” I yell. My hand comes down hard on the doctor’s forearm, squeezing it. My head’s spinning and there’s a buzzing in my head.

“She can’t remember her own parents?” the woman cries. “She has brain damage?”

I look over at her. My stomach twists and rolls. My body trembles. Things are out of focus, my eyes stinging with tears.

“Okay, you’re upsetting my patient,” the doctor says to the couple. “You’re going to have to leave so that I can complete my exam. I’ll come out and talk to you when I’m done.”

The man grabs the woman’s elbow and pulls her out of the room as she wails.

My breathing picks up. Too much. I can’t catch my breath.

“Easy, easy. You’re okay. Calm down. Breathe with me. In and out. In and out.” His voice is soothing and does the trick. My body relaxes into the bed.

But I’m scared half out of my mind.

No name. No memories. In a coma. And brain damage.

This was not worth waking up for.

“I’m going to step out in the hall and talk to the nurse for just a sec, and then I’ll be right back in. Okay?”

I nod my head and watch him leave. He returns a few minutes later with a younger man.

“Before you even ask, no I don’t know him either,” I say pointing at new guy.