Man of My Dreams(78)

I turn to face the stage, feeling deluded, like I’m in a dream. But when I see Declan standing there with the mic in his hand, staring at me holding another man’s hands, my heart goes into shock, unable to beat. I can’t bring myself to look away, even though my hands are anchored to the table by Noah’s tight grip. What the hell is he doing here? How did he know I was here?

I look to my left, and see Grace smirking at the bar. Fucking traitor. I’ll never tell her my plans ever again as long as I live. But I don’t have time to think about how furious I am with her because the lights dim and the music starts and the mood at this table for two is suddenly quite painful.

Declan’s voice reverberates over the sound system like a fallen angel’s. The angst in his tone is evident in the very first lyric that escapes his mouth. The song by Lifehouse comes from our dating days; it reminds me of fooling around in my dorm room, falling in love. The soft, whisper-like lines to the beginning of the song bring back so many different emotions. But when the chorus builds and Declan’s raspy, seductive tone wafts through the room, the lyrics take over my body, saying for him everything I’ve wanted to hear for the last six months.

Cause you’re all I want! You’re all I need! You’re everything! Everything!

I wanted him to fight for me. Here he is fighting the only way he’s ever known how. They weren’t kidding when they said be careful what you wish for. I just wish I knew what the hell I’m going to do now. The word “torn” comes to mind, but torn doesn’t even begin to cover it. My heart feels like it’s being ripped apart and tugged in two different directions.





My fucking stomach is rumbling so bad. I’m pretty sure this qualifies as slave labor. If I don’t get a break from this fourteen hour day of kissing this client’s ass, I’m going to stab someone in the eye with my Bic.

“Okay, I’m calling it a night.” Fucking finally! Robert looks at his watch, narrowing his bushy eyebrows and squinting at the diamond-encrusted face. “Same room, bright and early tomorrow morning, fellas. I want to go over the PowerPoint presentation again before they get here for the pitch.”

The entire department groans audibly, not even trying to hide their disdain. We’ve gone over the damn presentation at least twenty times. I’m sure I’ll be dreaming of revenue charts and projected income spreadsheets all night. But before I can even think of getting some shut eye, I need some fuel. I’m thinking a steak and a beer.

I nod goodnights to the rest of the guys and watch as they all take out their cell phones to do the same thing I’m about to do—check in with the Missus and do the standard honorable-husband thing to do. I loosen my tie as I walk through the board room doors, dialing home and walking to the elevator at the end of the long hallway.

This will be the fourth night away from home. I miss them. I listen as the phone continues to ring, unanswered, too many times for me to count. The girls always seem bigger when I get back—like I’ve missed something new they learned. I listen as the phone continues to ring, unanswered, too many times for me to count. Life goes on while I’m gone: grocery shopping, play dates, they might already be asleep. After a while the answering machine picks up and I’m greeted with the chiming melody of my daughters’ tiny, high-pitched voices. You’ve reached the Murphys...you know what to do. Cara’s voice is more dominant, where Charlie’s lags behind, mimicking what her sister says. The greeting always makes me laugh as it was Mia’s idea to use the same greeting Dylan McKay from Beverly Hills 90210 used all those years ago.

I hang up, enter the elevator car and dial Mia’s cell phone. Maybe they went to visit her parents, or mine. I let the phone ring, again unanswered, letting it go to voicemail. This time I decide to leave a message. “Hi, babe, just tried calling the house and now your cell—obviously—but no answer. I wanted to say hi and speak to the girls before they go to bed.” I look down at my watch and realize my window of opportunity is closing. The girls go to bed at seven thirty every night like clockwork. It’s almost seven. Where could they be? “Okay, call me back. Love you.” Damn it! Missed them again. There used to be a time when Mia hung on my every word, now I can’t even rely on her to answer my call. Life gets in the way of love sometimes. I’m not the center of her universe anymore, and that’s fine—she should dote on our kids, but I do miss it just being the two of us. I wonder if she does, too, or is she too preoccupied with book club and Mommy and Me to give a shit?