The Call

Logan Reynolds

“Well, you’re doing great for someone I underrated.” Grant says as he walks into my office. “Don’t overdo it because you’re running away from something.”

He gives me one of his knowing looks and I hate that he knows me so well. I grit my teeth. He knows I’m burying myself with work on the first day so I don’t have to think about Viola.

Grant takes a seat from across me, propping his elbows on my messy desk. “You can’t avoid her forever. Might as well just resolve the unresolved issues and move on.”

I sneer at him, finally dropping the pen in my hand and giving him my full attention. “There’s no unresolved issue. Viola is in my past.”

“But that past is somehow still infiltrating your present. How about you two have a nice chat and clear the air?.”

“She doesn’t seem to want one.” I say. “You saw the way she ignored me.”

“Well, she hates you, give or take.” Grant pinches the bridge of his nose. “Plus, she’s happily married. I’m sure she also wants clarity so it doesn’t affect her present life.”

I smirk at the word “happy.” The Viola I saw today was the opposite of what she was a few years ago. But maybe she just changed, like I did. Maybe it’s all in my head.

“I’ll just have to wait until she’s ready to talk.”

“Enough about your ex.” Grant shrugs, pushing a few sheets of paper off my desk. “You see her for a few minutes and you’re about to make your whole existence about her?”

I eye him. “That’s not what’s happening.”

Grant quickly changes the subject, going on to talk about how important it is for me to attend a charity function I’m just hearing about. The one I have to attend with my father. Even though I’m his heir, my father and I never get along. So most times, Grant is his messenger whenever he wants to reach me.

Our relationship was never like this, our family has always been complete. Until that night, that night on my birthday where my mother lost her life. It was my fault.

She died when I was twelve. If I hadn't insisted on another birthday cake that night on my birthday, she and my older brother Charles wouldn’t have gotten into that car on that rainy night and got into an accident. My mother died that night. And Charles—my older brother, the one who was supposed to inherit all of this—became disabled.

He still walks with a cane. Still reminds me every time he sees me how much he wishes I didn’t exist, how much he wished I wasn’t his brother. How much he hated me because father chose me as his heir instead of him.

Charles is my only sibling I don’t get along with. But on the other hand, I have a good relationship with my little sister Bonnie. She’s twenty one and in college.

“So make sure you answer the phone when your father calls.” Grant says, snapping me out of my thoughts.

He gets on his feet and gives me a long hard look before finally stepping out of my office. I close my eyes and let out a ragged breath. My phone buzzes and I curse under my breath. Might be Dad calling since Grant already warned me about him.

I grab my phone and frown at the screen. Unknown number.

I hesitate before answering. “Hello?”

There’s a pause. Then a familiar chuckle fills the line.

“Damn, man. You don’t even recognize my number? That hurts.”

A chill snakes down my spine.

“It’s me, Julian.”

My grip on the phone tightens. Julian Cruz. My old friend. Viola’s husband. The man who has everything I walked away from.

For a moment, I can’t speak. I hear him shift on the other end of the line.

“Figured I’d give you a call when I heard you’re back in town,” he says. “What’s it been? Three years?”

Three years. Three years since I left. Two years since I learned he was with Viola. A year since I forced myself to stop caring.

I clear my throat. “Yeah. It’s been a while.”

Julian exhales a laugh. “Crazy, right? One day we’re pulling all-nighters for finals, and now we’re here. CEOs, real adults and shit.”

I force out a sound that could pass as a laugh, but my throat is too tight.

“Listen,” Julian continues, “we should catch up. It’s been too long. Why don’t you come over tonight?”

I go still.

Over. As in his place. Their place. The place where Viola lives.

“I don’t know if—”

“Come on, man,” he presses. “No work talk, no pressure. Just like old times.”

Just like old times.

Except nothing is like old times. The woman I loved is his wife now. She looks through me like I’m nothing, and maybe that’s what I am to her.

I should say no.

I should make up an excuse, say I’m busy, anything.

But I don’t.

Because a part of me—a selfish, masochistic part—wants to see what their life looks like. What she looks like when she’s with him.

So when Julian says, “What do you say, man?”

I don’t hang up.

I don’t say no.

I just sit there, gripping my phone, knowing that whatever I say next will change everything.