CHAPTER 4: Braxton Guttierrez

BRAXTON’S POV:

Margie enters my office with agitation evident in the way she fidgets, her movements betraying the ladylike composure she typically exudes. A hint of frustration is tugged at the corners of her mouth, and her eyes are simmered with irritation. In her tight hand is the company’s telephone.

When she notices that I’m looking at her from the corners of my eyes, she suddenly fakes a smile and softens the sharpness of her face to show an air of calm professionalism and a much refined demeanor.

“Good afternoon, Alpha Braxton,” she says, extending the telephone to me. “There’s a phone call for you.”

I transfer my gaze to my watch, which says quarter to 2 o’clock. Then my eyebrows twitch, before looking back at Margie. 

“I’m about to have a meeting with very important clients at two. Can that phone call wait after my meeting?” I ask.

“Well,” Margie swallows, her face has a flush of uncertainty. “The woman said that you hired her as the event coordinator for the Children in Need Foundation’s tenth anniversary.”

My brow furrows out of confusion. 

'I haven’t hired an event coordinator yet. Who could that impostor possibly be?'

-”Maybe she’s someone who’d like to ruin your foundation’s anniversary?”-

Squall, my wolf residing in my consciousness, starts giggling, not even caring how dry and humorless his joke is. Still, he continues,

-”Or maybe she’s hired by your dad? Oh how sweet it is for him to care about what you care about.”-

Following that, a much more irritating roar of laughter from him rings in my mind, forcing a sigh to escape me. 

I divert my attention back to Margie. “Tell whoever that is that she can leave. If she insists, have the guards throw her out of the building.”

Margie replies, “I’ll tell Ms. Garcia that.”

Though it’s a murmur, I still manage to hear the name ‘Ms. Garcia’. Garcia is a very common last name, still there’s one person that crosses my mind whenever it’s mentioned. 

Is it right to still hope of ever meeting her again?

-”It’s not a question of whether it’s right or wrong, it’s about being intelligent or stupid of wanting to meet her again after what she did.”-

This time, Squall’s voice and expression are serious. As his words settle like seeds sown in fertile soil, I embrace a profound silence. 

'Right, I’m so stupid to even think it’s her and even more stupid to even hope of meeting her again.'

-”Is being intelligent a better choice?”-

Squall’s response uncontrollably pushes my heart’s desire out of my lips, “Hold on, Margie.”

Margie turns back, then closes the glass door behind her. “Yes, My Alpha?”

“What’s the full name of Ms. Garcia?”

“The frontdesk said,... Eloise Garcia.”

Eloise Garcia, a name like a key that unlocks the floodgates of memories I've struggled to keep contained for so long. In a split second, my office’s walls fade into oblivion, and I’m transported to a time when the world was a canvas of love, desire, and boundless dreams.

Eloise - the woman I once knew as the embodiment of all that was beautiful and captivating. The way her laughter danced through the air like a melody, how her eyes sparkled with every word, and the way her touch could ignite emotions within me. She was a muse, a lover, and a friend—the very essence of my existence.

But life's path can be as unpredictable as a tempestuous sea, and unclear circumstances had driven us apart. Yet, hearing her name spoken once more, like a nostalgic whisper of a long-forgotten tale, sends ripples through my soul. The longing I thought has vanquished is reborn, more profound and impassioned than before. The years we spend apart feel like mere fleeting seconds, and the memories we shared engulf me with a poignant intensity.

-”Are you okay, Braxton?”-

Squall asks. 

Instead of answering him, I gather my composure. With a bittersweet smile, I rise from my oversized, leather chair, walk closer to Margie and motion for her to give me the telephone. 

A confused look emerges on her face for a few seconds. But she has no other choice but to keep her confusion to herself while passing the telephone to me.

As soon as the telephone lands on my palm, I say, “Leave.”

With parted lips, Margie nods, then disappears through the glass doors.

The air is thick with anticipation, and time seems to slow down, as if holding its breath for what’s about to unfold. I place the phone on my ear, then my voice lets down the emotions I’m so carefully concealing as I whisper, 

“Eloise, is that really you?”

The voice on the other end is like a distant echo from the past, both haunting and achingly familiar. 

-["Yes, it’s me. Thank you for picking up this call.”]-

For a moment, the world around me fades into insignificance, leaving only the resonance of her voice. More memories flood back again, cascading through my mind like an unstoppable tide: the laughter we had shared, the late-night conversations that stretched until dawn, and the feeling of her hand in my fingers intertwined as we strolled along moonlit shores.

But time has passed since then, and life has weaved its intricate tapestry of change. Our paths have diverged, and wounds have been inflicted that time alone may not heal.

"What can I do for you, Eloise?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

There’s a brief pause on the other end, as if she, too, is searching for the right words. 

-["I... I have something really important to discuss with you,"]- 

She answers, her vulnerability seeping through the telephone wires.

I close my eyes, willing myself to be strong, yet unable to shake the emotional whirlwind within me. I should be mad at her for leaving me without explaining why or even saying goodbye, but for some unknown reasons, I am not and I never have been.

"It's been a long time," I say, my voice overlays with sadness and resignation.

-["Yes, it has,"]- 

She whispers, her voice laden with regret. 

-[“Can we meet?”]-

Almost immediately, completely disregarding my corporate meeting that’ll take place in a few minutes, I answer, “Sure. I’ll tell my secretary to escort you here.”

-[“I appreciate that.”]-

I jog through my office doors and quickly look for Margie, who’s sitting behind her desk while staring at her computer screen.

“Margie,” I say, calling her attention.

She stands up from her chair and greets me with a smile. “Alpha Braxton, some of the clients are already in the conference room…”

“Cancel my meeting with them. Reschedule it some other time.”

Margie offers me another confused look, which I won’t be getting tired of ignoring.

“But…” she protests.

“The woman named Eloise Garcia, bring her to me now,” I interrupt.

Without waiting for Margie’s another protest or reaction, I turn away from her and enter my office again. 

 In anticipation of the impending reunion, my heart pounds in my chest, matching the rhythm of the nervous thoughts that are echoing through my mind. My gaze shifts between the reflection in the antique mirror and the vintage pocket watch that lays on my polished oak desk. My hands tremble slightly as I meticulously adjust the collar of my suit, straightening it with painstaking precision. My reflection stares back at me, a portrait of a man caught between anxiety and hope.

Squall giggles again. His giggleness teeters between enjoyment and mockery.

“Stop doing that, will you? You’re disturbing my focus,” I say.

-”I do? I thought you’re very good at ignoring me?”-

“Shut up, please?”

-”Is that a demand or a request?”-

“Whichever you think it is.”

The act isn’t merely a matter of vanity but rather a symbol of the effort I’m willing to put forth, to present myself as my best self, as if the external tidiness could somehow mirror the composure I yearn to exude.

The room is then filled with the delicate scent of bergamot and sandalwood, as I spritz myself with my favorite perfume, hoping that the fragrance would evoke a sense of familiarity and comfort to her.

Minutes later, knocks come to the door.

“Come in,” I say as I take a seat on the couch.

As Margie opens the door, Eloise appears before me. Her hazel eyes meet mine, and for a fleeting instant, there’s a sense of familiarity, as if our souls have found each other once again. I hope she feels the same way.

I gesture for Margie to leave and she does. Then I motion for Eloise to take a seat on the couch opposite to me. Eloise’s lips curl into a nervous smile, which I assume is a mirror to the emotions swirling within her. 

"Braxton," she speaks, her voice tender.

I offer her a gentle smile in return. 

"Eloise," I reply, my voice steady despite the emotional tempest that's raging within me.

She looks thinner than how I remember her. Her clothes, simple but quite well-worn, as if she hasn’t bought new ones for years. But despite it all, there's a certain beauty in her that endures. She carries herself with an air of quiet strength, as if the weight of whatever her struggles are has somehow molded her into a fortress of courage.

“What is it that you wanna talk about?” I ask once she takes a seat.

There’s some hesitation in her as she tries to find a non-awkward way to answer my question. Then she swallows hard, several times, before finally spitting a response…no, a revelation is a more fitting word to it, I never thought I’d ever hear.

“Months after I left you, I had given birth to a son,... your son.”

Eloise dips her head down while trying to stop her fidgeting hands on her lap.

As I absorb the weight of this revelation, the world seems to tilt on its axis, leaving me unsteady and unsure. The reality of being a father is both a joyous discovery and a staggering burden. A rush of emotions courses through me - the joy of knowing I have a son, and the regret of not having been there to witness his first steps or hear his first words. This should be another reason to be angry at her, but my heart is incapable and will stay incapable of feeling such emotion towards her.

Is getting pregnant the reason why she left me? If it was, I don’t understand why?