Take Your Time © Leddy Harper All Rights Reserved Cover Design by Kim Black at TOJ Publishing www.tojpublishing.com Editing by Josie Cruz
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locals is entirely coincidental.
Table of Contents Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-one Chapter Twenty-two Chapter Twenty-three Chapter Twenty-four Chapter Twenty-five Chapter Twenty-six Chapter Twenty-seven Chapter Twenty-eight Chapter Twenty-nine Epilogue More Than Anything prologue Leddy’s Notes Acknowledgments More from Leddy
For Sarah Nickles… “It takes a minute to find a special person, an hour to appreciate them, and a day to love them, but it takes a lifetime to forget them.” –Anonymous
It was Christmas morning, my favorite day of the year. The house buzzed with excitement as everyone began to show up, filling the rooms with laughter and joy. The only person missing was Mom. I knew I’d find her in the kitchen, preparing for the big holiday, and I wanted nothing more than to help her like I did every year. I found her leaning against the counter with her head cradled in her hands. “Everything all right, Mom?” I asked, walking cautiously toward her. She straightened, holding herself up at the sink, and plastered a smile on her face. However, the dimness behind her normally bright eyes alerted me to the pain she tried to hide. I knew right away that her migraines were back. They’d plagued her for years, nearly crippling her at times. But she was on a regular Botox injection treatment plan to keep them away. “When are you due for more shots?” I asked, grabbing a dishtowel and wetting it with cold water for her forehead. “Not until next month.” “That’s weird. You don’t normally get them this bad before treatment, do you?” She took the rag from my hand, pressed it against her cheeks, and then dabbed it down her neck. “No. It came on this morning. Out of nowhere.” “Did you take anything?” She nodded. Clearly, the pain was too intense for her to speak. “Go lay down, Mom. Don’t worry about lunch. I’ll take care of it for you.” “Sarah, we have guests. I shouldn’t—” “Mom,” I said sternly, using her motherly tone against her. “Don’t worry about them. Axel’s mom is with his sister’s little boy, the girls are entertaining each other in Ayla’s playroom, the women are chatting about weddings, and the men are discussing ways to keep their women happy. No one will mind if you go lay down for a little bit. I promise, I have everything under control.” “I’ve trained you well, Sarah. One day, this holiday will be all yours.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” She waved me off and moved out of the kitchen. “Just that one day, this family might need someone to step in and take care of the food and decorations and make sure everything is planned to perfection. And you’re the perfect person for the job. It’s the natural progression of things.” “Stop talking like that, Mom. Go lay down.” I watched her walk back to her room as I finished with kitchen duty, reminiscing about the holidays in the past. No matter how old I’d gotten, Christmas still made me feel like a child again. From the moment the first decoration went on sale at the local gardening store, or the first house that put up lights, I became giddy and it filled me with excitement and joy. That one day held the power to bring back memories of my childhood, growing up, and the traditions we continued every year no matter how much our lives had
changed. And boy, did they change. My real dad had passed away when I was three. My sister, Clarissa, was only one. As much as I wished I could remember him, at least I didn’t have to live with the grief of losing a parent. It’s shallow to say, sure, but nothing could be worse than being reminded of someone you loved unconditionally and realizing you’d never get those moments back. You’d never be able to apologize for hurtful words, or say thank you for things you might’ve once taken for granted. My dad got to experience the utter, complete, and honest love from his daughters before passing on. I just always felt bad for my mother. But she had a way of making things better for us. For as long as I could remember, we had a Christmas tradition. Instead of buying gifts for each other, we’d make them, and then stick them under the tree without names on the tags. It was our own version of Secret Santa. The gifts from Clari—my sister—and me were pretty much garbage, but my mom’s eyes would light up and she’d ooh and ahh over every present she’d open. Mom loved to paint, so we always got canvases with beautiful scenes on them. We’d hang them in our rooms along with the previous years’ portraits, and make sure we always left room for new ones. I was thirteen when my mom remarried; Clari was almost eleven. Wayne was the first guy Mom ever brought home, and we loved him from the very first time we met him. He made her happy, which made us happy. And even better, he loved our holiday tradition and insisted we kept it. Now, looking back on it, instead of loving the Secret Santa idea, the decision probably had more to do with the fact that we didn’t have much money, but I didn’t care. It didn’t matter what the reasons were, I only cared about picking which wrapped gift I wanted. After a few years, Wayne had been offered a better-paying job, and Mom got the promotion she’d been after for a long time. Money was no longer an issue in our family, but it never changed the tradition of Christmas morning. The summer after I graduated high school, our family changed again. Wayne’s daughter, Aubrey, came to live with us. I’d never met her before, though I’d always known about her. The only times I’d ever heard Mom and Wayne fight were after his phone calls to her. I never understood what they were about until she came to live with us. We hit it off from the very beginning, and were so close that we decided to become roommates after she graduated from high school the following summer. But still, even when Aubrey joined our household, our Christmas tradition remained. I always loved Aubrey’s gifts. She had an amazing talent when it came to woodwork. And after my mom taught her how to paint, her gifts became even more amazing. Clari and I always fought over who’d get Bree’s gifts, and eventually, she just started making two of each. By the second Christmas with Aubrey, our lives changed once more. She had a little girl, McKayla, who brightened our days with her white hair and ocean-colored eyes. Her laugh was infectious, and she had everyone wrapped around her little finger. She was the only person in the family that received store-bought presents at Christmastime. Lots and lots of store-bought presents. A few months ago, McKayla’s father came back into the picture. I’d known about him from the very beginning, but it was something Aubrey had sworn me to keep secret—she’d kept it hidden from everyone except me. There was a lot of controversy surrounding her relationship with him. Yet they ended up working everything out and became the kind of family anyone would be envious of. Hell, just witnessing the way he looked at her made anyone in the room jealous. I was happy for them both, and happy that Ayla finally had her daddy in her life. With Christmas coming up, and plans being made for his entire family to join ours for the holiday, we had a family meeting to discuss presents and preparations. I worried that our tradition would be over, though surprisingly, it was a unanimous decision to keep it alive. Even Axel was on board. So bright and early that morning, I headed over to my parents’ house, getting ready to help my mom with Christmas preparations like I did every year. Nerves hit me about meeting new people, although I stuffed them down with a smile on my face.
The first Christmas miracle came when Aubrey and Axel arrived. He’d proposed to her the night before and she said yes. I really thought Wayne, or Dad as I oftentimes called him, would’ve been upset over the news—like he had when he learned that Axel had fathered McKayla. But he wasn’t at all angry. In fact, he didn’t even seem surprised by it. I later learned that Axel had done the right thing by seeking Wayne’s permission beforehand. I would be asking Santa for an Axel clone to be delivered next Christmas. Once his family arrived, the house became rather chaotic. Aubrey and Clari talked wedding plans since Clari had just gotten married a few months ago. McKayla played with Axel’s niece. And you couldn’t get a word in edgewise around Wayne and Axel’s father. I knew I wouldn’t miss much by taking over in the kitchen for my mom. After I finished getting everything ready for lunch, I called the family together for prayer. We decided to eat first, and then open presents while letting the food settle. Figuring my mom would probably want to eat with the rest of us, I headed back to her room to wake her, hoping she felt somewhat better. The bedroom was completely dark since Wayne had installed blackout curtains years ago due to my mom’s intense migraines. I found her bundled up in the middle of the bed with the blankets wrapped tightly around her. So I climbed in beside her, snuggling up to her for a moment of peace. I moved in closer, expecting her to wake up from my movements, but she didn’t. I called out to her, quietly at first, and then louder. She didn't answer. I shook her, but she didn’t budge. I gulped down my breaths, my body shaking from the inside out as fear embedded itself in me. My gaze frantically searched the dark room, even though I had no idea what I tried to find. Finally, tears flooded my eyes, cascading down my cheeks as my shrill voice called out for help. I didn’t care who heard me. I just needed someone to come. I needed someone to save my mom. That day, my life changed again. Only this time, it wasn’t for the better. And Christmas was no longer my favorite day of the year.
Sarah Five months later—beginning of June The man sitting next to me was decent looking, but that wasn’t why I’d chosen him. The swagger he had walking into the bar was all that interested me. I knew why he’d come here, what his end goal was. And it just so happened to be mine, as well. No need to pretend otherwise. Tonight was no different than any other Saturday night for me. The same routine I’d kept for the last three and a half months. The only thing that changed was the men—and occasionally, the location for obvious reasons. I never wanted the same man twice, no one ever being worth the trouble of repeats. “What are you drinkin’?” he asked, his southern twang heavier than the wooden stools we sat on. I lifted my glass and swirled it around, smiling at him through the side of my mouth. My stomach fluttered as I licked my lips and briefly glanced away from him. “Don’t worry about it, cowboy. I can take care of my own drinks.” I knew what men wanted to hear—I’d practiced it enough. Keep it light to show playfulness, give nicknames to exhibit friendliness, and always remain somewhat secretive to keep their interest. He turned his head, nodded at the bartender—the universal signal to order a drink—and then turned his attention back to me. Tilting his cowboy hat away from his face, he said, “My name’s Justin. What’s yours?” “Colby.” I knew better than to give out my real name. It didn’t matter that we lived in a small town and I’d probably get called out on my lie one of these days, but I had zero desire to have anyone know my business—including my name. I didn’t care what he called me while he fucked me later, or the name he’d use when recalling his night to his buddies tomorrow. Justin propped himself up on the bar with his elbow and leaned toward me, encroaching in my personal space. I’d be lying if I said the grin that stretched across his face didn’t slightly creep me out, but I pushed it down and raised a brow at him. “You here all by yourself?” I traced the lines of wood on the top of the bar with a manicured nail, giving him the impression that I was shy. I knew how much men liked the shy ones, the girls who appeared to be vulnerable, so I did everything I could to give him that impression of me. “I was supposed to meet my friend, but she hasn’t shown up yet. I’m about to give up waiting and just leave.” That line worked every time. It never got old. “Oh, yeah? And where do you plan to go when you leave?” My eyebrows twitched with the urge to wiggle, and my cheeks burned with the need to release the wide grin I held back, but I knew I had to reign in my amusement if I wanted to keep up the charade. Instead, I smirked, knowing I had him exactly where I wanted. “Not sure, maybe home. Unless you have a better suggestion…”
A tumbler filled with amber liquid was set in front of him. It came at the perfect time. The barstool creaked in protest as Justin leaned away a bit to take his drink. I studied him carefully as he pulled the small glass to his lips and sipped it before taking a heavy gulp. That one act was enough to assume he planned to get drunk. Fine by me. Just as long as he could still get it up. I’d been down that road before— wasting a night on a guy with whiskey dick—and didn’t care for a repeat. I touched his arm; the light-colored hairs were somewhat coarse and tickled my palm as I slowly ran my fingers down his heated skin to the top of his hand. “Slow down. We have all night.” If there’s one thing I’d learned over the last few months of picking up men in bars, it’s the correlation between how fast a man drinks and how fast he fucks. I didn’t want an all-nighter, but that didn’t mean I didn’t want to enjoy it, either. “Maybe you just need to catch up.” He licked the liquid from lips and leisurely trailed his gaze down my body. The way his tongue peeked out past his thin lips left a bitter tang in my mouth and a burning sensation in my throat. I began to doubt myself, wondering if maybe I’d been too desperate and chose the wrong guy, but I quickly pushed that thought away. After all, it was only sex. The rest of him was very nice, though. He was tall, had a strong build and muscular arms that filled out his sleeves well. His face was decent, no distinguishing features that turned me off, other than his mouth. I couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was about it, but figured it must’ve been a combination of his ultra-fine lips and lack of Cupid’s bow. I simply passed my nitpicking off as being an unusual night for me, and decided to keep my attention on his better features. I went back to my drink, pulling in gulps of the cold, carbonated liquid through the straw, and relaxed as the icy burn filled my empty stomach. “Would you like to dance?” I heard him ask. I turned to glance at the dance floor in the back of the bar, catching a glimpse of the crowd moving in unison to a familiar country song blaring through the speakers, kicking, twirling, and laughing. “No thanks. I don’t dance.” I didn’t go to bars to do the honky-tonk. “Then what do you do?” His voice turned deep, almost needy, as he spoke inches from my ear. The heat of his breath washed over my bare shoulder and left behind chill bumps—the good kind that caused my nipples to harden beneath the thin lining of my bra. I quickly finished the rest of my drink, needing to cool off before tilting my head in his direction. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” We were so close, his body heat covered one side of me like a furnace in the winter, and his spicy cologne tickled the tiny hairs in my nose, nearly inducing a sneeze. The air around me grew stifling as he placed one hand on my back and leaned closer, bringing his mouth to the side of my face. The tip of his nose grazed the edge of my ear as his deep, husky voice filled it. “As a matter of fact, I’d love nothing more than to see what you can do.” I became at odds with myself. On one hand, I had a good-looking guy that would no doubt fuck me tonight. On the other, I couldn’t seem to get over his heavy cologne that threatened to choke me. I, again, questioned my choice of men for the night. Before I could respond to Justin’s insinuating statement, someone nudged my shoulder on the other side of me. I turned away from Justin, ready to verbally assault whoever had decided to rudely interrupt me. But what I found stole the air from my lungs, the words from my tongue, and the thoughts from my brain. Perched on the stool next to me was the most beautiful man I’d ever laid eyes on—and I’d seen a lot over the past few months. “What are you drinking?” he asked, his baritone voice washing out the music around us. It commanded my attention, causing me to ignore all other noise around me, and filled my head with a heavy fog that prevented me from thinking straight. I became lost in his voice, the fullness of his lips, and the deep Cupid’s bow perfectly centered beneath his nose. Normally, I hated guys who thought so highly of themselves, the ones that felt entitled to interrupt a
conversation to hit on me. I could handle a cocky asshole if I’m the one pursuing them, because then, the ball was in my court. But to come up to me while I’m clearly in the middle of a conversation with someone else, and feel worthy enough to take my attention…that downright pissed me off. But this man seemed different—not arrogant or egotistical like some I’d encountered before. The way he spoke came off as nice, sweet, almost attentive. And the distance he kept between our bodies didn’t come across as the behavior of a person who possessed some misguided sense of self-worth. “Excuse me?” Uncertainty filled my whispered words as I shook my head, attempting to clear the weighted fog from my mind. “Um…what are you drinking?” His gaze darted around, avoiding mine. But that was the only hint of nervousness that came from him while he sat there with his palm flat on the bar top, nothing moving except his eyes. For a split second, I allowed my imagination to carry me away, picturing the two of us years down the road with a family and a house adorned with a white-picket fence. He didn’t seem like the men I’d surrounded myself with since the beginning of the year, but more like the ones I would’ve been interested in dating before, the ones that left a woman dreaming of her perfect future after just one kiss. I knew I had to put a stop to it. I knew I couldn’t let whatever this was continue, because the man next to me was, no doubt, the forever type—and I no longer believed in forever. I no longer wanted it or the white-picket fence. One night was all I sought, but one night would never be enough for a guy like him. “Why? You wanna buy me a drink?” I tilted my head, wanting him to believe the image I portrayed. I wanted him to trust the flirtatious tone in my voice and assume the same things about me that every other guy did. I moved my elbow to the top of the bar, pressing the sensitive bone into the unforgiving wood, and rested my chin in my hand as I leaned closer to him. Pushing down the desire to touch him, and lowering my voice to a sultry level, I said, “You tryin’ to get me drunk?” His dark eyes widened as he angled away, and it made my pulse speed up to dangerous levels. He shook his head, slow at first, and then faster, adamantly. Yet his gaze never left mine. It held me captive, hypnotizing me, making me believe that if I just threw caution to the wind and gave into him, my life would somehow be better. But I knew that could never happen—my life would never get better. His Adam’s apple dipped low in his throat before bobbing back up, like a ball in water, indicative of his harsh swallow and giving away his nervousness. I rapidly blinked several times, hoping to clear my mind of the impossible thoughts he seemed to induce. When I focused on him again, I made sure not to initiate eye contact, keeping my gaze set on his ear instead. I needed him to know that I may have looked like the sweet, country bumpkin from next door, but I’d never be one—not anymore. So I moved as close to him as I could get without allowing his comforting aura to wrap me up like a soft blanket on a rainy day, and seductively said, “Don’t waste your time, pretty boy. I can get my own drinks.” Before I could turn my attention back to Justin on the other side of me, the stranger reached out and grabbed ahold of my forearm. The heat of his palm singed my skin and filled me with the warmth of a thousand blazing fires. I stilled at his brazen act, staring at his large, strong hand with long, manly fingers. I had to pull away from him, unable to withstand the intense emotions his touch ignited within me. It went beyond sexual. The unexplained draw I felt toward him burrowed deeper than any physical connection I’d ever had before. It was mental, personal…instinctual. And it left behind a quavering sensation in my stomach and a tightness in my chest. “That’s not—” His words came to an abrupt halt when my gaze snapped to his, a fire building in the pit of my stomach. I couldn’t distinguish if it’d been lit by fear or his closeness, but either way, I didn’t want it. I didn’t want him to touch me, to talk to me, and I certainly didn’t want to hear his excuses, knowing it might cause me to cave.
It may seem odd that I’d go out every Saturday night, on the prowl for a hook up, yet here I am, turning one away. But that’s not how I played the game—how I kept my sanity throughout the chaos. I always picked the guy, not the other way around. I knew what I looked like, what men saw when they noticed me. I had long blond hair, typically worn in beach waves on the weekend, and always paired it with smoky eyes. My bar attire was always cut-off denim shorts, a tank top, and matching boots. I never had to worry about getting turned down, which meant I didn’t need to be picked up by men—I did the picking up. Even if I didn’t have my hips, a flat stomach, and muscular thighs, or a face constantly compared to Carrie Underwood, I still wouldn’t have a problem getting any guy I wanted. Because I knew how to become a predator, seeking out my prey and then discarding them when I was done. I knew which ones were looking to get lucky, and no man going into a bar searching for that would turn their nose up at a “get laid free” card. But this man was nothing like the ones I normally sought out. I could tell by the heavy emotion in his dark eyes, his stunned, nervous behavior, that he wasn’t the one-night-stand kind of guy, which is why I had to turn him down. “I was only asking what you were drinking.” His gravelly voice held no attitude, only confusion and concern like maybe he thought he had offended me. But I forged ahead in my plight to push him away. I didn’t want to see the concern in his eyes or hear the regret in his soft-spoken words. I needed him to walk away, to free me from the chains his presence had on me. “Oh, I know what you were doing. Offering to buy me drinks, keep feeding them to me like water, hoping to get me drunk enough so I’d follow you to the back and suck you off as payment. Well, I’m not that kinda girl.” “Oh, I know what kind of girl you are.” And there was the attitude I sought. His top lip curled up in disgust, his eyes squinted as they narrowed on me, and he pulled back, squaring his shoulders as he did so. My heart raced as I glared at him. I’d wanted that kind of reaction, the one that let me know he got the hint and would leave me alone, but it didn’t take away the bruising sucker-punch his words inflicted to my chest. Defense stirred in me, and I was unable to let it go. Unable to let him get to me and have the last word. “You know nothing about me, you smug son of a bitch.” No matter how hard I tried to reign in my emotions, I couldn’t. My face flamed and my eyes burned, on the verge of angry tears. It’s one thing to want him to think less of me, but another to actually see it on his face and hear it in his voice. “I don’t want your drinks. I don’t want your attention. And I don’t want you.” “And you clearly know nothing about me.” His tone deepened to a growl as he drew his face close to mine, his words rumbling through his chest and vibrating in the air between us. “The bartender had asked you if you wanted another drink. You didn’t hear him, so I was simply trying to get your attention for him.” He didn’t give me a chance to respond, or even bother catching the stunned look on my face before he stood from his seat and stormed off, leaving behind a heady cloud of his sweet-smelling cologne that rendered me blind, deaf, and dumb. I chanced a glance at Woody, the man behind the bar, who validated the stranger’s claim. He had, in fact, been waiting to see if I needed another drink. I dropped my gaze to my clammy hands, no longer in the mood to even be here, and played with the ice in my glass. I turned once and stared at the empty wooden stool to my left, berating myself for how I’d treated him. I couldn’t stand arrogant men who thought every woman wanted them, but I was no different. I had assumed he wanted me, when all he’d tried to do was be nice. Annoying laughter drifted over my shoulder, catching my attention and pulling me out of my deep thoughts. What I found left me angered, numb, lost, and above all, alone. Justin had his back to me, now flirting heavily with some blonde who practically stood between his legs, leaning back against the bar so far her breasts threatened to pop out of her top. My fingers twitched around the empty glass in front of me and the muscles in my face tightened as
I bit down heavily on my molars. I exhaled harshly through my nose and rolled my eyes before tilting my head toward Woody, hoping he’d get the drift that I needed a refill. A quick, short nod informed me that he’d picked up on my silent plea. I should’ve just gotten up and left. I was no longer in the mood to deal with people, but I couldn’t move. The vast emptiness inside me rooted me to my hard, uncomfortable barstool, attached me to the large, heavy piece of wood in front of me, and desensitized me to the man on my right—who seemed to have forgotten all about my existence now that he had an easier target in his lap. I can’t say it made me feel rejected, because let’s face it, all I wanted out of him was a few orgasms. But that didn’t mean it hadn’t affected me in some way. Every woman, no matter how strong or weak, how self-assured or insecure they were, experiences some level of self-doubt when faced with rejection. And with as late as it had gotten, I had no desire to find someone new for the night, especially not after the way the stranger with dark eyes and pouty lips left my insides all twisted and misplaced. Woody came back with my drink, and I practically chugged it. The carbonation burned all the way down, making my eyes sting with tears and my stomach tighten around the tiny bubbles. But at least I felt something. I’d become too numb, too dead inside ever since my mom passed away. I knew I needed to get ahold of myself, do something to change my course, but I didn’t possess the strength to care. Nothing seemed to matter anymore. The black hole had sucked me in months ago, and I’d done nothing but spin around in the empty abyss of my own personal hell since, never making it out on the other side. Once I finished my drink, I slid off my stool, the wood gently scraping against the floor, and threw a few bills on the top of the bar next to my empty glass. Woody never charged me when I came in, but that didn’t stop me from putting a few bucks in his pocket. The man was smart enough to assume why I found myself perched at his bar most every Saturday night, and he always seemed to keep an eye out for me. I appreciated that about him. Once I stepped out into the muggy summer air, I pulled a crumpled pack of cigarettes out of my pocket and bent over to light one. I’d taken my first drag, feeling the harsh smoke burn my lungs as they constricted in my chest. A deep, disgusted groan broke through the quiet night air behind me, and I spun around, ready to stare daggers into whoever felt the need to unnecessarily voice their distaste. I’m a big girl; the effects of smoking were not lost on me. And I didn’t need others to criticize or judge me for my choices or actions. But once I locked eyes with the judgmental intruder, much like the last time this happened, I couldn’t speak. I’m sure the heated glare I’d intended to use fell flat, and instead of the emptiness I usually experienced, my body lit up with fiery tingles. “Stalking me now?” I asked with as much attitude as I could fake, hoping it would mask the prickles and uneasiness crawling up my insides. I figured the more defiant I pretended to be around him, the more I’d believe it. He muddled my mind and sparked excitement in my chest, and I didn’t like it one bit. “Not exactly.” He paused, fidgeting with the black baseball cap on his head that hadn’t been there when I saw him inside the bar. He jerked his chin toward my hand and said, “I’m sure you know that’s bad for you.” I held the cigarette up, glancing at it before meeting his watchful gaze with a shrug. “I only smoke like two a week.” I never bothered to explain my actions to others, which made me question why I suddenly felt the need to with him. Usually, my reflex was to protect my personal information, not let my guard down. “Oh, so that must make it all better.” His sarcastic remark left me as cold as his words, bitterness coating me in the form of gooseflesh. “It doesn’t negate the fact that it’s bad for you no matter how often you do it. It kills your lungs whether it’s once a day, once a week, or even once a year. But again…I’m sure you already know that.” Frustration ran through me in a harsh, heavy rush of air as I released it through my tight, pursed
lips. I hated the condescending tone he used. “Why do you care?” I stood maybe fifteen feet away from him, shoulders squared, spine straight, and my free hand balled into a painful fist, daring him to answer. The bill of his hat cast a shadow across the top of his face, hiding his eyes from me, but the way his hypnotizing lips turned down led me to believe he didn’t enjoy this argument. “Don’t you ever want kids? A family?” His words were a sucker punch to my gut, forcing my body to release the tension and slightly sag in defeat. My plans for life were none of his concern, but the way he asked it, the way he somewhat leaned forward and dipped his chin closer to his broad chest, made it seem so personal. It sounded as if this stranger had an intimate interest in my future, and that did nothing but cause my head to spin in confusion and add fuel to my burning irritation toward him. The heat emanating from my cigarette warmed my hand from where I held it loosely between my fingers. Normally, when someone challenged my choice to smoke, I’d lock eyes with them, take a drag, and slowly let the smoke billow out past my lips. But for some reason, I couldn’t do that with this man. My arm became as heavy as lead weights, growing too weak to pull the burning stick to my lips, and I didn’t have the typical defiant desire to do so, either. “I don’t know.” My blurry gaze fell to the dirt between our boots as my answer tumbled from my lips in a hushed whisper. I needed something to focus on, something to keep me from analyzing his question, so I fixated on how sexy he was, how well he was able to pull off the city look. I studied his steel-toed work boots, comparing them to the typical brown cowboy boots worn by the men that frequented this bar. And then I let my gaze travel up his legs, taking in how loose his jeans were, looser than I was used to seeing. They were light denim with strategic rips along the knees and thighs. So damn sexy. “You don’t know what? If you want to have a family?” I didn’t want him to keep asking me questions I had no desire to answer. I only wanted him to leave me alone. “It’s none of your business.” I snapped my attention back to his face, still unable to see his eyes clearly. I hoped he couldn’t see past the wall of defiance I had in place around me. If he did, he’d know just how much he’d gotten to me. He’d see through me to the emptiness that permanently resided inside my eyes, hear the silence in my chest where there should be a heartbeat. I couldn’t risk anyone knowing just how lost I’d been over the last five months. Or how desperate I’d become over the last three and a half. “You’re right, it isn’t my business. However, it’s the business of your future husband, your future children. Don’t they have a say in it? Don’t their opinions matter?” Was he seriously pleading for my non-existent, future family? That went beyond personal. “And they can have their say—when their time comes.” Which will never happen. His shoulders dropped and a slow sigh slipped past his lips, showing his defeat. What the hell he felt defeated in, I didn’t know. He acted as if he knew me, as if he had some connection to my life, but I didn’t know him. I’d never seen the man before, and I’d certainly remember if I had. What or who had deemed him my personal savior? “But by then, you would’ve already caused the damage. My God, don’t you see? There are enough diseases and circumstances to end your life early, why help rush it? Cancer riddles the world. Careless idiots with phones are on the road, texting while driving alongside you every day. Natural disasters. Desperate criminals. Why make your odds worse than they already are?” Apparently, I had succeeded in turning him off, because the rumbling, gurgling sound of his voice, paired with his curled lip, made me believe I disgusted him. The pieces of shell in the dirt crunched beneath my boots as I stepped forward, closing in half the space that separated us. “You think I don’t know that?” My voice rose, filled with the anger and resentment I felt toward the unfairness of life. “Maybe I don’t care. Have you thought of that? Maybe I
don’t want to live until I’m a hundred. Maybe I don’t want to have a family, knowing what they’ll feel like when I leave them. Death sucks. But there’s no avoiding it. If you can’t beat ‘em…join ‘em. Right?” My arms shook at my sides, revealing the emotions that I tried so hard to keep hidden from the world, but they’d snuck up to the surface despite my attempts to keep them concealed. He took a few hesitant steps toward me, his heavy boots stopping about five feet away. “And then what will happen when your lungs start to fail and your heart becomes weak? When it becomes impossible to even bathe yourself because you’re out of breath before you even get to the shower? When you have to wear an oxygen mask just to breathe? And when you look around, you realize you have no one. You’re all alone because you didn’t want anyone to be sad when you passed away. Is that how you want it to go? Is that how you want to live your life? Hiding from it? Not allowing anyone to get close?” Without much thought, I dropped the cigarette to the ground and stepped on it with the toe of my blue boot, digging it into the packed dirt while I recalled the thought-provoking questions he’d asked. They were laced with meaning. Questions you’d ask a loved one, someone you held dear or who you thought was worth fighting for. So I didn’t know why he said these things to me. “I don’t know you, or why you feel the need to lecture me, but I’m done. I’m going home.” I pulled my keys out of my pocket and moved to the side, desperately holding on to the last piece of my sanity, which at this point was nothing more than a worn piece of thread that threatened to give way at any moment. I didn’t want this stranger to see me break, and I knew I was close to doing just that. My nose prickled with the promise of tears, and I didn’t care for him to witness my pain. For some reason, this guy wanted to get to me, wanted to crack my hard shell. Breaking down in front of him would only offer him a sense of accomplishment, lead him to believe that he’d gotten to me, which wasn’t the case at all. Life had gotten to me long before he had. It got to me, beat me up, tore me down, and then left me broken and alone in the dark trenches to die. That’s where I was—dying alone. Hurting from more pain than I’d thought humanly possible. His feet shuffled along the densely packed dirt of the parking lot as he stepped to the side, not out of my way, but to stand directly in front of me, blocking my path to my car. “No, you’re not. You’re not driving anywhere right now. You just walked out of a bar, where you’ve been drinking. You may not care about your own life, but do you really want to chance taking away someone else’s family tonight?” “This is ridiculous,” I said with a huff, shaking my head frantically. Tears threatened to come, but my anger held them away. I’d hit my limit as I pushed against his hard chest with my fists and screamed, “Who are you? Why are you here? And why do you care what I do?” “Why do I care?” He grabbed me by my wrists to keep me close and prevent me from hitting him more, his harsh voice commanding my attention. His expression grew hard with tight lips and a set jaw. He waited until he knew he had my undivided attention before continuing. “I care because I don’t want to wake up in the morning to news of yet another senseless car accident that could’ve been prevented. You’re coming out of a bar and getting into your car. So many people don’t want to get into an altercation, so they sit back, keep their mouth shut, and watch others get behind the wheel when they shouldn’t be. I’m not one of those people.” “Well, I’m fine. I’ve had—” “Everyone says that.” He shook me slightly by the grip he had on my arms as he interrupted me. “It doesn’t matter if you’ve only had a few drinks. The point is, you have been drinking.” His tone lowered, softening as he said, “You need to sober up a little bit more before you’re okay to drive.” I yanked my arms out of his now lax hold and took a step back. “Do I seem drunk to you?” “My cousin can drink a fifth of vodka and still seem completely normal. He can recite the ABCs backward, but that still doesn’t mean he makes the best decisions when he’s like that, or that he can even drive a car properly. Alcohol slows down reaction time, no matter how little you’ve had.” “I don’t give a shit how much your cousin drinks. I’m not your cousin, nor have I had a fifth of
vodka,” I ground out through gritted teeth, straightening my stance in front of him. I wanted to shout, punch him some more, tell him he had no right to detain me, but something held me back and I decided against it. He shrugged, my attitude clearly not bothering him one bit as he appeared to relax—a stark contrast to the angered expression he wore just moments ago. “I think you should eat something. That usually helps to sober a person up faster.” I dramatically scoured the empty road behind him, sweeping my head from the left to the right. “And where do you suggest I get something to eat if I can’t drive?” “I can drive.” He pushed his hands into his front pockets and dipped his head as if embarrassed or shy. Both came as a surprise since he hadn’t acted like that when he’d stopped me from leaving. “I didn’t have anything to drink. We can go to one of those all-night diners and get some breakfast.” “Let me get this straight…you lecture me about smoking, give me shit about driving, yet you see no problem with me getting into a car with a strange man in the middle of the night? Yeah…makes a lot of sense.” I attempted to move around him once more. But again, he stopped me. “I know what that seems like, and I’m sorry for suggesting it. I just really don’t want you getting behind the wheel quite yet. If it’d make you feel better, we can stay right here and just talk, get to know each other so I’m not so much of a stranger anymore. And who knows, maybe by the time we’re done talking, you’ll be good enough to drive yourself.” “So you want me to what…? Stand around in this parking lot for a few hours, telling you my whole life story, listening to you tell me things you assume women like to hear?” “No.” He held up his hands in defense. “It’s nothing like that.” “This is ridiculous! Why do you want to waste your time talking to me?” For some reason, this man left me feeling weak. He hindered my resistance and drew out emotions from me that most of my family couldn’t pry out with a crowbar. “I don’t even know you!” “Bentley.” He stuck his hand out in front of me. “My name is Bentley Cole. My friends call me Ben. But you don’t have to call me that…unless we end up becoming friends.” His smile nearly caused my knees to buckle and my stomach to bottom out. I fought to keep the corners of my lips from curling up, but failed. “Yeah, I don’t see that happening. I don’t have a habit of befriending the men I meet at bars.” Yet I took his offered hand, holding it still while the heat of his palm turned into smoldering flames that ran up my arm and set my neck on fire. “I’m Sarah.” I’d been so used to offering fake names to the men I picked up that it’d become second nature, yet for some reason, my real name slipped past my lips. I didn’t even want to think about what that meant. “Nice to meet you, Sarah.” He didn’t let go of my hand, didn’t bother to actually shake it. He just held it tenderly in his grasp as he made eye contact with me, letting me appreciate the deep-green color from the lights on the building behind me. “Why are you here?” I needed to know. He pulled me closer and whispered, “Take a seat on my tailgate and find out.” “No, really…” I finally slipped my hand out of his warm hold. I immediately missed his touch, but needed answers. No more playing around. “What are you doing here?” “I don’t understand your question. It’s a bar, why does anyone come here?” “I just don’t get it. I clearly offended you enough to make you walk out—without getting a drink— so why would you want to spend your time talking to me?” He grabbed the bill of his baseball cap, bent it between his hands, and dropped his chin to his chest before letting out a heavy huff of air. Once he met my eyes again, he said, “To be honest with you, I just want you to be safe. If talking to you means it’ll give you time to sober up, then I’ll do it. I wasn’t waiting around for you if that’s what you’re worried about. You walked out of the bar less than five minutes after I did.”
“Why didn’t you just leave?” “This is my last night in town. I didn’t want to go back home and be surrounded by silence and packed bags. I came here to get out of the house, not to turn around and go right back to it.” “You’re moving?” I tilted my head to the side, curiosity getting to me. “Not exactly. I’m going back home. I’ve been here for a while, staying with my cousin. I’ve imposed enough already. It’s time I go back home to my family.” I didn’t need a mirror to see the way my shoulders slumped in despair, and I knew why. It only took hearing someone talk about their family to bring my mood down, knowing my own family had been ripped apart at the seams months ago. “What about you? Why were you here tonight?” he asked, pulling me from my own selfdeprecating thoughts. “Same as everybody else, I guess.” I shrugged, but then I realized I had no need to lie. This man wouldn’t be around past tomorrow, so it wouldn’t matter what he thought of me. “I came to meet someone.” “The guy next to you at the bar?” Suddenly feeling insecure, I glanced around the quiet parking lot. “Maybe.” “You come here often to meet people?” “I wouldn’t say often…but yeah. What? Are you gonna lecture me about that as well? Tell me all about the dangers of having sex with strangers? Go through a list of all the diseases I could possibly get?” I really didn’t want to hear his reprimands anymore. “Nope. I don’t presume to know why you do it, and I don’t find anything wrong with sex. Men do it all the time, why can’t women? Just as long as you’re being safe, it shouldn’t matter.” His response caught me off guard, causing me to still, completely frozen in place. Excitement bubbled up inside at the idea that I might not have to go home alone tonight. It didn’t matter if he was the forever type of guy, because he’d be gone tomorrow, taking with him the fictional white-picket fence and bright future. Maybe he would accept the offer of just one night—there was only one way to find out. “I’m safe. No glove…no love.” His lips tightened as if holding back a grin. “Come on,” he said and nodded toward the back of a parked truck. “Let’s sit down and talk. I promise I won’t give you any more lectures.” I studied the nearly brand-new Chevy for a moment before meeting his gaze with a smirk. “How about that breakfast?”
Bentley paused, clearly unprepared for my suggestion. Hell, it had even shocked me—slightly. I didn’t normally get into cars with the guys I picked up, choosing to meet them places instead. But I figured, what the heck, right? As much as his presence affected me, I didn’t want to end the night without getting laid. I ignored that annoying little voice inside my head that told me I’d regret it in the morning, and instead, focused on all the reasons it made sense. He already admitted to seeing nothing wrong with a woman having a healthy sex life, so it would be unlikely that he’d judge me. And it was his last night in town. His ability to provoke happy illusions wouldn’t matter, because there was no way I’d see him again after this. It couldn’t be more perfect. “You really want to go?” he asked, his words careful and deliberate. I curled my lips into the flirtatious smile that typically won over every guy I met, ignoring the way my stomach dipped with nerves and my extremities tingled with anticipation. “I seemed to have developed an appetite. And ever since you mentioned breakfast, my stomach has been growling.” “Okay.” He nodded and offered a small, hesitant grin. “Come on, then.” I pulled my phone from my back pocket and snapped a quick picture of his license plate to send via text to my stepsister, Aubrey. I knew she would more than likely be asleep and have a million questions for me in the morning, but I didn’t care. I needed someone to have this information in the event I went missing. Not that I suspected Bentley of being some devious monster, because if I did, I wouldn’t leave with him. I only did it as a preventative measure. I added his name—which I’d hoped wasn’t a lie—and pressed send before climbing up into his truck. A lift kit had been added to the truck, making it nearly impossible to climb in without his assistance. My hips burned where he’d held onto them as he helped me into my seat, the sensation not going away even after he’d let go and closed the door. “And you think you’re sober enough to drive?” Bentley asked after settling into the driver seat. He must’ve taken my silence and unfocused stare at the dashboard as a side effect of alcohol instead of the aftermath of his touch on my body. I only smiled and waved him off, letting him believe what he wanted to. Had he actually let me finish my argument earlier, he would’ve heard me tell him how I’d only had Coke to drink. I was in no way drunk or buzzed—unless you count being completely intoxicated by his presence. But he wouldn’t listen to me. Just as well, because if I’d made that point, I probably wouldn’t be sitting next to him right now, hopefully on my way to lying beneath him. Heat rose to my cheeks at the mere thought of letting this man touch me with his large, manly hands, having him wrap me up in his muscular arms as I dig my nails into his bulging biceps. Bentley was most definitely hot. And that smirk…my God. That was enough to get me in the mood. I had to stay focused on that—on the physical and sexual aspects of him—otherwise, I feared I’d get lost in the mental
and emotional effects he caused. “Where to?” He started the ignition and adjusted the volume of the country music playing through the speakers. “There’s a Waffle House down the street.” His head snapped in my direction and he stilled his hand on the gear shifter. “I’m not going there,” he said adamantly, and then continued to back out of the parking space. “Why not? What do you have against Waffle House?” He stopped to check for traffic and then pulled out onto our town’s main road. It wasn’t what most considered a main road, but it was the street that typically led anywhere you needed to go. “I don’t know, they just creep me out. Especially this late at night.” Rumbling laughter shook my chest, taking me by surprise—it’d been too long since a genuine giggle filled me. But it didn’t last long, settling quickly. “What about IHOP? Do they scare you, too?” “I have no issues with them…” He glanced my way, probably noticing the wild smirk I had on my face. I knew it was big; I could feel the burn in my cheek muscles, but I couldn’t make it go away. “Are you making fun?” “Not at all. The fear of Waffle House is real. I’ve seen the documentaries.” He laughed beneath his breath, shaking his head as he drove. “Whatever. I can’t think of the place without picturing old truckers with long, stringy beards. And when I think of those guys, I think of hookers going missing. Blame it on my brothers—they used to make me watch all kinds of weird shit when I was younger. Unsolved Mysteries and bullshit like that.” He seemed like a normal guy. A genuinely nice guy. And instead of leaving me with a sense of calmness or filling me with the kind of happiness most girls would have, it made me uncomfortable. Mainly because I wasn’t used to guys like him; the dirty-talking ones were more my cup of tea. But also because I didn’t want to get to know him, I didn’t want us to be friends. This was supposed to be a onenight thing. I couldn’t focus on the physical if he shared personal information with me, getting inside my head where I didn’t want him to be. I thought to ask him about his favorite sexual position—letting him know my interest and what to expect from me. But for some reason, when my mouth opened, that wasn’t the question that spilled out. “So…you have brothers?” “Two of them. I’m the baby. They are both quite a bit older than me.” “Well, you don’t look like a baby. How old are you?” I never asked guys how old they were—I didn’t need to know their age. If they were in the bar drinking, I knew they were at least twenty-one. And that’s all the information I required. So my question left me unsettled and ready to flee. Clearly, focusing on sex proved to be more difficult than I originally thought when making the decision to leave with him. “Thirty-two. What about you?” “Twenty-five.” I picked at my cuticles in my lap as I stared out the window. I didn’t want to have this conversation with him, but it felt like a part of my brain had shut down, answers to his questions just pouring out of me without a hint of hesitation. “Are you the only child?” “I have two sisters. But unlike you, I’m the oldest.” “Two sisters?” He seemed surprised by my answer, as if expecting to hear something different. Sudden paranoia covered me in an icy layer, chilling me to the bone, but I forced it down and swallowed past the acidic lump in my throat. This guy didn’t know me, no matter how much he acted like it. My reaction couldn’t be anything more than the unexplained effects he had on my psyche. I had to let it go. Just as I had since climbing into his truck, I answered his question honestly and easily, feeling hypnotized by his soothing voice and ever so slight country accent. “Well, one is my stepsister. But we’re really close, so I’ve never considered her anything but my sister. She’s the middle one. She came to live
with us when I was eighteen—she was seventeen. So we didn’t really grow up together, but that doesn’t change anything.” Luckily, Bentley pulled into the parking lot of a small, mom-and-pop diner, interrupting my rambling answer before I told him too much. He didn’t need to know the nitty-gritty. No one did. I wish I didn’t even know it. Once we were parked, nerves struck me hard. My stomach soured and began to roll, acid rising to my chest. A sharp ringing sound attacked my ears and left me feeling dizzy and unsteady. If he’d managed to effortlessly pull so many answers from me in a five-minute span, I didn’t want to know the things he’d convince me to divulge as we sat at a table together. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. I’m feeling fine. Maybe you should just take me back to my car so I can go home and sleep.” He remained quiet for a second, staring into his lap. “It’s just food, Sarah.” I knew he’d misunderstand my change of heart. It had nothing to do with worry over him harming me, and everything to do with my fear of opening up to someone. I’d already told him more than I’d ever confessed to anyone else—since my mom’s death—and that made me uncomfortable. It was easier to share my body with people than my mind. “I know. I just realized how tired I am, and I think I should probably go home.” My voice was weak and shaky, which angered me. I hated how this complete stranger was capable of bringing so many emotions out of me. It was dangerous, and I wanted no part of it. “Let’s just get you a cup of coffee then. How does that sound? You shouldn’t drive when you’re tired, either.” He turned slightly in his seat, facing me more, his eyes glistening from the lights on the dash. “Listen, I’m not trying to keep you, or make you do something you don’t want to. But we’re already here. If it would ease your mind more, you could call someone to pick you up. We can just sit inside while we wait for your ride to come.” Why did this man need to be so nice? “It’s not that, I swear.” “Then what is it?” I shook my head, refusing to look at him. His eyes had a way of captivating me, rendering me speechless and enticing me to spill my guts all at the same time. I knew with one look I’d be a goner. “I can’t explain it. You’re just different than the guys I usually pick up, and it’s a problem. I don’t like to talk about myself.” His airy laugh filled the cab of the truck, falling on me like a warm blanket on a cold night. “Well, maybe that’s because you didn’t pick me up. I don’t want to go home and stare at my suitcases, and you need a moment to sober up some. It’s a win-win for us both. And we don’t have to talk about you if you don’t want. We can talk about the color of grass on a summer day, or the smell of a citrus plant.” My nose wrinkled as I curled up my top lip in disgust. “You want to talk about how ungodly a citrus plant smells while eating?” As soon as my giggle escaped, I noticed his body relax. How did I tell him that I’d rather fuck him than talk to him? “I don’t care what we talk about.” He waited patiently until I reached for the door handle, signaling that my nerves had settled and I was okay with going inside the diner with him. I don’t know how he did it, but he managed to send my head into a tailspin and calm me all at the same time. Bentley was such a gentleman. He opened the door to the diner for me, and then led me to a booth with his hand on my lower back, waiting until I sat before taking the spot across from me. He even surprised me when he’d taken his hat off and left it in the truck. That kind of behavior was rare these days, and it was comforting to see there was at least one person left on Earth with manners. I pulled the menu out from behind the condiments, trying to ignore the vast silence around me. We were only two of about five in the entire place—and that included the one server behind the counter.
Bentley was even quiet, which did nothing to ward off the suffocating nerves that constricted my chest. “Are you not eating?” I asked when I noticed he didn’t have a menu in front of him. He shrugged, a shy smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Nothing here I want to eat. Everything is cooked in too much oil, fried—completely horrible for you.” I dropped the laminated menu and rolled my eyes. “Should I prepare myself for a lecture about what I eat, too? Are you gonna tell me how everything I put in my mouth is gonna kill me? Clog my arteries? Make me fat in ten years?” His grin widened as he studied his clasped hands on the table in front of him. “No. No lectures. If you want me to tell you things I’m sure you already know, then I can. But I had no intentions of that. I’m sure you’re well aware of how bad fried and greasy food is for you.” “Are you some kind of health nut?” I took in the sight of his arms, his biceps stretching the fabric of his sleeves, his forearms thick, masculine. His shoulders were wide, telling of an active man, one that more than likely knew a thing or two about hard labor. He certainly wasn’t some computer geek that sat behind a desk and punched numbers into a calculator all day. Bentley’s body left no doubt in my mind that he worked with his hands. “I wouldn’t say health nut…I just like to take care of myself. I watch what I eat, knowing how good nutrition serves the body. I don’t judge others on their eating habits, just like I wouldn’t want someone judging me on mine.” “Then why’d you bring me here if you aren’t going to eat anything?” “I wanted to spend time with you, get to know you better. Plus, you said you were hungry.” My mind began to spin with thoughts of why he’d want to get to know me better. He didn’t seem to want sex. Most guys would have had me naked by now, yet he wanted to get to know me better. What did this guy have to gain from this? I ignored the voice in my mind that told me to run. This man scared me at my very core. He acted as if he actually cared about me, and I wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Why would he care? But I didn’t want to ask, I didn’t want to make the same gaffe I did at the bar and mistake his generosity as something more than just that. “So what kind of stuff do you eat?” He ran his tongue over his top teeth with his mouth closed, focusing on something over my shoulder as if embarrassed. “Pretty much meats and vegetables, no wheat, grains, dairy, beans…things like that.” “So you can’t even eat eggs?” I asked in shock, feeling my eyes go wide. He laughed, but I didn’t know why. “Yes, I can eat eggs.” “But they’re in the dairy section at the grocery store.” He slapped his hand on the table. “You’re absolutely correct. You do buy them in the dairy cooler. However, it’s not dairy. I don’t have milk or cheese.” My cheeks burned from embarrassment, so I glanced away and shrugged. “I knew that.” And I did, had I waited another second to think about it before speaking and making myself sound like a fool. “Why do you even need to be on a diet? You look pretty fit as it is.” “I don’t eat that way to lose weight. And I do have simple carbs from time to time. Maybe once a week. I choose to eat this way because it’s healthy. Basically, I cut out processed foods, because those things aren’t great for you. I could go into how each thing works against your body, but I have a feeling it might bore you to death. And I’m trying to keep you awake,” he said with a chuckle. “There are so many diseases that only worsen with certain foods.” “Like what?” My interest was piqued and I held my breath, wondering if maybe my mom would still be around had she eaten differently. Not that it mattered anymore, but I had a sick need to know. “Well, for instance, grains are horrible for inflammation. And inflammation causes so many things,
one of which is arthritis. Eating healthy doesn’t mean you won’t ever get arthritis, or other things such as Parkinson’s Disease, diabetes, or strokes—genetics also plays a role in that. But eating healthy can lower your chance of getting it.” “What about brain aneurysms?” The words leaked out in a painful whisper, burning their way through my tight throat. His gaze fell to the menu lying on the table in front of me. “I don’t know.” There was something about his voice, the hesitant tone he used, that led me to believe he had a personal connection to the subject. I didn’t know how that made me feel. On one hand, it gave me a sense of comfort, that maybe we had more in common than I once thought. But on the flip side, it made me uneasy. He needed to be my distraction, not a reminder of everything I’d lost. “I’m not as dumb as I sound,” I admitted, changing the topic. The heat of humiliation over appearing weak licked my neck and had me on the verge of sweating. “Had I thought before I spoke, I would’ve known eggs aren’t dairy.” He laughed and pushed the plastic menu closer to me. “I know. I never once thought you were dumb.” The woman from behind the counter with an apron tied around her waist finally came over to greet us, taking away my opportunity to respond to his compliment. Bentley ordered a glass of water, and I asked for a glass of Coke. “No coffee?” he probed once the waitress left to get us our drinks. “I hate that shit. I don’t know how anyone drinks it.” “What about food? Not hungry anymore?” “Are you kidding me? You just told me how everything on that menu will give me diabetes, heart disease, and make me stroke out,” I said with a laugh. “I think I’ll be okay without food until morning.” “At least you’re listening to me.” “I am, and I want to listen to more. Tell me about yourself.” I hoped if I kept the conversation on him, it’d ease my worry over accidentally telling him about my mom. I knew he had no reason to inquire about her, since that wasn’t something strangers typically asked each other, but I wouldn’t put it past him to pull it out of me like he had everything else. “Nothing really to tell. I grew up the son of a horse trainer, raised around it, and eventually went to work with my father. My oldest brother is a detective with the Special Crimes Unit. My other brother is an engineer. It’s a rather boring life. Nothing you’d be interested in.” “You’re a horse trainer?” I couldn’t hide how impressed I was from my tone, nor could I stop my eyes from widening and my jaw from dropping. Horses had always fascinated me, but I never had the opportunity to ride one. It had cost money my family didn’t have growing up. “You make it sound like I told you I was an astronaut.” He laughed and shook his head. “I only did it to help my dad out. He wanted someone to take over when he retired. But after I learned how to do it, I really fell in love with it. Although I don’t know about my future in it; I haven’t been there to help in a while.” “Well, you’re going back home tomorrow, right? Why don’t you think you’ll keep doing it?” He shrugged while picking at a nonexistent spot on the table. “I don’t know. I’m thinking about doing something else. I don’t know what yet, but something. I’ve been thinking about it a lot after I left home.” “Why? I mean, why’d you leave?” His eyes darted around the desolate diner as he chewed on the inside of his cheek. “I needed to get things worked out, so I came and stayed with my cousin.” I saw the invisible wall go up and could tell he didn’t want to talk about his reason for leaving, or why he came to stay with his cousin to begin with. I knew that look. I wore it often and had plenty of
walls of my own. So I didn’t pry, knowing how it felt to have someone force you to talk about things you weren’t ready for. “What about you? What do you do?” The desperation in his tone took me by surprise. It was as if he had waited a million years versus mere minutes to ask me that question. “Hairstylist.” I didn’t care to elaborate, not only did I not want to talk about myself, the interest in his eyes had me on edge and left my pulse pounding in my neck. He nodded and ran his fingers through his dark hair. He squirmed in his seat as if he wanted to ask more questions, but had to hold himself back. The sudden awkwardness became thick and suffocating as we both sat in silence, debating our next words “Do you have a girlfriend? Wife? Baby mama?” I wanted to lighten the mood, and by the way he smirked at me, I could tell my tactic worked. “No. No. And as far as I know, no.” “That’s surprising.” “Why?” He tilted his head to the side, narrowing his eyes in my direction. “You’re just too good looking to be single.” Giving compliments to men didn’t bother me. I’d gotten rather skilled at it. If you stroked their ego right, they’d stroke you back. And I’m not talking about returning the compliments. I’m talking about them stroking something else. Would this guy get to that point with me? I still couldn’t figure out what his intentions were. “What about you?” My eyebrows pinched together, tightening the muscle in my forehead, and I blinked at him several times. I tried to think of the easiest way to answer without revealing anything too personal. “Considering you caught me trying to pick up some random dude, I think it’s safe to assume I’m single.” “You said you do that often—pick up random guys, I mean. So you haven’t found someone to really satisfy you yet?” He seemed to not have an issue talking about sex, which only served to heighten my curiosity about him. But it still felt weird speaking to a stranger about my sexual exploits. It was much easier to just do it without all the talk. I still felt like he was in the middle of conducting an investigation. Not that his questions were weird, they just seemed like he’d set them beforehand and couldn’t wait to pry certain things out of me. He was good at asking a non-personal question and then sneaking the personal ones in there. I cleared my throat and finally said, “I’m plenty satisfied. But what’s the use in keeping them around when there are others that could possibly be better at it?” “I can find lots of reasons to keep someone around.” “None that I care about, though. If they stay, then that constitutes a relationship of some kind, which means we have to come up with labels for what we have together. Then there’s talk of taking things to the next level. And I don’t do that. So it’s just easier to move on to the next.” It wasn’t until the words were out before I thought about them. Admitting that to him would only serve to lower my image in his eyes. It made me sound like a total slut, and for the first time in months, telling myself I didn’t care what he or anyone else thought of me didn’t help ease the judgment I’d surely face. But he would leave tomorrow, never to look back, taking his opinions of me with him. Hopefully. The waitress came back, momentarily interrupting our conversation as she dropped off our drinks. She rolled her eyes and turned to leave when we told her we didn’t want to order any food. The minute her back was turned, Bentley started where he’d left off. “You have a fear of commitment?” No judgment could be heard in his tone, but I still felt judged. “Not exactly. More like a fear of love.” “You can date without falling in love, though.” I found myself at a crossroad. I could continue to explain myself, tell this man more than I’d bothered to tell most—after all, I’m the one that had started this conversation with my need to defend my
reasons. Or I could pass it off and lie through my teeth, which I’d become very proficient at. Admitting to him how I felt, knowing I’d never see him again, might be good for me. Cathartic, even. Hear what an unbiased person thought. But that would also open me up for criticism, and I didn’t do too well with that. I took a deep breath, ignored the nervous flutters in my stomach, and went for it. “But isn’t that the point of dating? To get to know the other person in hopes of finding love? If not, then what is? Why waste your time going out with someone, getting to know them, investing all that time and energy when all you’re interested in is a one-time hookup? That’s all I’m doing. I don’t have a desire to get to know the other person. I don’t need to know about the dog they had when they were a kid, or the names of their best friends growing up. None of that matters to me. So why bother?” “Touché. But doesn’t that get tiring? Randomly hooking up with strangers? Isn’t it better when it’s with someone that knows you? Someone who understands your body, how it works, what you like, what you don’t? A stranger can’t fulfill all your needs because he isn’t familiar with them. Those are things you learn as you get to know someone.” The man had a point, but so did I. “I haven’t grown tired of it yet,” I said with a shrug, wanting the conversation about my sex life to end. I needed the topic to drop before I said things I couldn’t take back. Bentley’s knack for getting me to confess things no one else could had my mind reeling and left me with an unexplainable desire to vomit. Where had he come from? When I’d agreed to go with him in his truck, I never thought our conversation would be like this. “Why do you have such an issue with love?” His question felt like a serrated knife ripping through my heart. I wanted to tell him to fuck off and then walk out of the diner. My rapid heartbeat and burning cheeks had me feeling like a poked bear, angered and annoyed. “What’s the point in it? Sure, it feels wonderful when you have it. But it’s crippling when it’s ripped away at a moment’s notice. It leaves you a broken mess, empty inside, and nothing makes that agony go away. It becomes your whole existence. You eat, breathe, and live in excruciating pain. It’s just easier to live without love in the first place, than to go through that.” “Doesn’t the saying go, ‘it’s better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all’? Isn’t the memory of it worth it in the end?” He wouldn’t let the conversation die, and I hated it. I needed to be done with it—with him. It was too much, and if it continued, I would surely break. My strong persona was nothing but a lie, a costume I wore, and Bentley’s persistence threatened my armor. He cracked it, and it wouldn’t take much to make it fall away completely. Without thinking or concentrating on my words, I spoke with an audacious tone. “I lost my dad when I was too young to remember him. I may have had his love, but I don’t remember it. I don’t remember what his hugs felt like, what he sounded like first thing in the morning. I don’t recall the way he held my hand or the tone he used when saying ‘I love you.’ Losing him didn’t affect me other than not having a dad for half my life. But I had my mom, and she worked hard to make our lives normal, despite being the only living parent. I knew her voice, how she sounded when she told me she loved me. I knew the way she brushed her hair in the morning, the way she set the table for dinner, the way it felt to be wrapped in her arms. I felt her love every single day. And when I lost her, I lost everything. Am I grateful I had over twenty-four years with her? Absolutely. But it doesn’t make having her suddenly ripped from my life any easier. It doesn’t make the pain that consumes every part of my body ever go away. So no, I don’t believe it’s better to have loved and lost, than to have never loved at all. Because it’s the losing aspect that taints the loving part forever.” He reached across the table and covered my hand with his. His heat spread through me, calming my erratic heart, deflating my anger. Such a simple touch, a comforting gesture, yet it nearly broke me in two. It made my breath catch in my throat, and it brought the burning tears to the surface that I’d been warding off all evening. I never cried in front of anyone, especially people I didn’t know. I saved those
moments for my pillow and the silence of night. I didn’t know what it was about him, or his presence, but it brought about emotions in me that no one had been able to since my mom had died. “Sarah,” he whispered. Even the way he said my name begged for my attention. “Everyone loses someone. We’re supposed to outlive our parents. It’s the natural order of things. We are given a certain amount of time with the ones we love—be it parents, siblings, friends, and sometimes, even children. It’s what we take away from those relationships that matter. Not what we’ve lost, not what we’ll never get back, but what we learned from them. I’m sure your mother taught you so much in your life. I’m sure she helped mold you into an amazing person. Those memories you spoke of will live on forever inside of you. It’s up to you to keep her memory alive. By cutting people off, by not letting anyone see the young woman she created and raised, you’re only doing her memory injustice. I’m sure she spent so much time loving you, teaching you right from wrong, giving you the tools to be an amazing person, and I don’t think she’d want you to hide that from anyone.” “You don’t understand.” I angrily pulled my hand from his grasp and used it to wipe the stubborn tears that wouldn’t stop coming now that they’d found a way out. “Have you ever lost anyone? Anyone really close to you?” He shook his head, yet the softness in his gaze told me something else. “But I don’t think I should be punished for that. I don’t think it’s fair for you to tell me how I don’t understand life, how I don’t understand tragedy. That’s not a fair assessment. Just because I’ve never lost a loved one doesn’t mean I don’t know a thing or two about death and loss.” “How can you sit here and tell me what my mom would want, or how she’d feel? You didn’t know her. You don’t know me.” “Does anyone? Really, does anyone know you?” I thought about his question—which felt more like a burning accusation. I hated how he’d been able to dive into my life and get to me like that, make me question things I didn’t want to. Make me think about things I didn’t want to talk about, and I certainly didn’t want to discuss my mother. When I made the bold decision to get in his truck, I’d only sought sex. Yet I’d somehow gotten so much more than I bargained for. Instead of filling me sexually, he filled me with unforgiving emotions. Instead of making me cry out in ecstasy, he had me crying real tears of pain and sorrow. I wanted none of it, and now I didn’t even want the sex. “My sisters know me.” I set my chin defiantly, daring him to say they didn’t. “Do they really? I’m not going to pretend that I know you, or that I know your life and family. But I’m capable of putting pieces together. I think it’s a safe assumption to say you’ve changed since your mom died—most people do to some degree. I think your outlook on life is vastly different than it once was when you had your mom around. So, let me ask you again…does anyone really know you? The person brought about from the death of your mother.” The answer was easy. No. No one knew me. Hell, I didn’t even know myself. But I wasn’t about to tell him that. He’d already gotten enough honesty out of me, and I wouldn’t offer him more. Being truthful with him had already made him see me as a weak person, a broken individual. I didn’t need to reiterate that to him. “I’m the same person now that I was before she died. The only thing that’s changed is my view on love. I no longer want it. I don’t need it or see a reason for it. But that doesn’t change who I am.” “Of course it does.” He never once lowered his intense stare, his eyes drilling into mine the entire time he spoke. Or should I say, lectured. “It changes everything. You can’t harden your heart and be the same person you once were. You can’t destroy the desire for love without killing the part of you that cares. If you don’t care about people, you’re not the same person anymore.” “How would you know? You…don’t…know…me.” “I know people, though. And if you didn’t care about others before your mom passed away, then
none of this would be relevant. You’ve admitted that you don’t want love because of what your mom’s death did to you. Which proves that you loved before that. You cared before that. I don’t need to know you to understand the kind of person you must’ve been when your mom was alive.” I hated how he could read me so easily, and that was a big reason why I never allowed my Saturday nights to become personal. I didn’t want anyone to deduce who I was then or who I am now. It was none of their business. How dare he sit here and critique me? What gave him the right to list off my personal traits and diagnose me? Fiery heat consumed my body as I shifted beneath his fierce gaze. I cracked my knuckles, hoping it would ease the aching sensation in my hands, but it didn’t help. The tightness in my muscles grew painful as it climbed up my arms, stiffened my neck, and settled in my jaw as my teeth clenched tight. My entire body became rigid. “I’m done with this conversation.” My voice shook as I angrily wiped the tears from my face. “You don’t know me, you never knew me, and you never will. I stupidly opened up to you, even though I knew better. I don’t need your judgmental thoughts, your passive-aggressive tone. I don’t need you. I’ve been perfectly fine for the last five months, doing what I’m doing, and I don’t need someone like you— who obviously has a God complex—coming in and making me feel bad about myself.” The vinyl seating creaked as I slid out of the booth. I stomped toward the door, growing angrier with every thump of my boots on the linoleum flooring. I didn’t know where I was headed, nor did I care. I would walk back to my car if I had to. But I couldn’t take another minute under the crucifying eyes of Bentley, the stranger who somehow knew me better than I knew myself. He chased after me once I made it outside, and grabbed my arm to stop me. He spun me around and held me in front of him with his strong grip on my upper arms. My anger had been so intense it burned the back of my throat and left an ache in my chest like I’d just gone ten rounds with Muhammad Ali himself. Yet standing in front of Bentley, studying his creased brow and soft eyes, cooled the fire inside me. It eased the ache and relieved the tension. But it didn’t make me feel better. Instead, it left me vulnerable, scared, and fragile. Lost and confused. “That’s not what I meant. I’m not judging you. And I most definitely don’t want you to feel bad about anything.” “Then why are you trying to convince me that there’s nothing wrong with love? Or that my mom would be disappointed in my actions?” I’d thought the tears were done falling, but one look in his compassionate eyes, seeing the way they narrowed as he studied me with an emotion I wasn’t ready to understand, made them fall again, faster than before. “That’s not at all what I meant. Please, don’t cry.” He released one hand but brought it to my face, tracing the lines of my pain with his calloused fingertip. “I understand you’re hurting. I may not know exactly how you feel, but I understand it. All I want to do is help make it go away.” “Why? Why do you want to make it go away? It never goes away.” My voice came out in a hoarse whisper, pain evident in every airy word. I felt so naked, so raw in front of him as he dried my tears, seeing me like no one ever had before. No man had ever looked at me the way he did at that moment. And no one had touched me that way before, both inside and out. “It does, though. Pain and grief don’t last forever. But you can’t ignore it. You can’t rush the process. You have to take your time.” I nodded and fell forward, too tired to hold myself up any longer. I pressed my head against his chest, closed my eyes, and took a deep breath. There was something soothing about it, about the way he enfolded me in his arms, the sound of his heart beating rhythmically in his chest. It calmed me down the moment my ear pressed against his shirt, his body heat consuming me. “Come on,” he said quietly. “Let’s get you back to your car.” “What about the bill?” I asked, pulling away from him.
“It was a few bucks. I left money on the table. We’re fine. Let’s go.” I nodded and followed his lead, letting him assist me in climbing into the monstrous truck’s passenger seat. We both remained silent as he drove me back to the bar where we’d met just a couple hours ago. It felt as if an entire lifetime had passed by. I wanted to say so much, but at the same time, I didn’t want to ruin the mood. I didn’t want to chance breaking whatever easiness we had going on between us. And I definitely didn’t want to start blubbering again. I just wanted to keep things the way they were now until he took me back to my car. Bentley hopped out of the truck once we were parked and came over to help me out. And then he stood in front of me with my hands in his, my back pressed against the truck, acting as if he didn’t want to let me go. I took the opportunity and went for it. Keeping our hands joined, I wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling our bodies together. The heat I’d felt earlier from his touch intensified now that the entire length of his body was pressed against mine. I tilted my head up, offering my lips for him to kiss. But instead, he moved his mouth to my ear and whispered, “Goodnight, Sarah.” His words made me freeze, reeling from the sting of rejection. He kissed my cheek and pulled his head back to look into my eyes. “I’m not ready to end this night yet,” I begged desperately, my words thick in the humid June air. I sounded frantic and I hated that feeling. I’d lost all control of my emotions; this man had sucked them from me so easily. He’d put me under a spell and made me reveal things that I kept under lock and key. I didn’t want him to leave now. I wanted answers. What answers, who knows. But things felt unfinished. “You should go home, Sarah. Get some sleep.” “I don’t want to sleep.” My voice came out in eager, ragged pants. I didn’t want him to leave me like this. And for the first time, I didn’t mean sex. For the first time, I wanted to feel close to someone… even for just a little while longer. Maybe it’s because he wouldn’t kiss me. The challenge was there. No, that wasn’t it. It was so much more than that. I felt an unexplained connection to him and didn’t want him to leave. “And I don’t want to be used.” That was enough to snap me out of my haze. Without another word, I let go of his hands and backed away, breaking his hold around my waist. I spun and headed to my car, not bothering to glance back at him. I didn’t want to see the look of revulsion on his face, and I didn’t want him to see the devastation on mine. At least I knew what he really thought of me. And I wouldn’t have to see him again.
Bentley The house was normally quiet on Saturday nights, so I thought I’d be able to come home and have some time to myself after seeing Sarah for the first time. I’d thought about that moment for so long, and now it had happened. We’d met. But the silence I yearned for wasn’t going to happen. My cousin, Luke, was sprawled out in the living room when I came through the door, and by the look on his face, he knew what I’d been up to. I ignored him and headed back to the room he’d let me use for the last eight months. I hoped he’d stay where he was. “Please tell me you decided to go out for a drive by yourself tonight, and not out looking for her,” Luke said as he followed me down the dark hallway. Had he not sounded so condescending, I might’ve answered him. But instead, I kept my thoughts to myself. “Dude, seriously. I told you it was a bad idea.” I spun around and got in his face. He was smaller than me, but not by much. I used to be a lot bigger than him, but over the span of my time here, I’d lost some muscle mass, and was no longer as fit as I once was. “Dude,” I said, throwing back the same attitude he’d given me, “it’s none of your business what I do or who I see.” “Must’ve gone wrong if you’re this bent out of shape.” “I figured I’d find a sad girl, not…that.” “What did you find? How was she?” I shook my head, trying to wrap my mind around the girl I’d found tonight at the bar. “Lonely, desolate…like she’s afraid of life and on the verge of giving up. She wasn’t wasted, and she only cried when I pushed too far about her mom. I can’t explain it…almost as if she hates life but doesn’t really because she doesn’t understand hate. That vindictiveness isn’t in her. She’s bitter, sure, but she’s buried her real feelings so deep, only the lies are reflecting back at people. Blinding them to the truth. She’s playing a part, masquerading as the ‘I don’t give a shit’ girl when, in fact, she’s not anywhere near that carefree, and it’s smothering her. Killing off the real her.” “She lost her mom a little over five months ago. What did you expect her to be like?” He made his way into my room and leaned against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. His demeanor clearly stated “I told you so.” I sat on the edge of the bed and cradled my head in my hands, feeling completely defeated. “I honestly didn’t know what to expect. I mean, you told me about her weekends at the bars, the rumors about her hooking up with guys, but…” “You didn’t want it to be true,” Luke said with such sympathy it hurt my ears. “I didn’t. But it is.”
“Well…” He pushed off the wall and headed toward the door. “There’s not much you can do about it now.” “Why not?” “Because you’re leaving tomorrow. You’re going back home. Kinda hard to keep an eye on her from there.” I watched in silence as Luke walked out of the room, and then my gaze fell to my packed bags in the corner. I studied them as if they’d tell me what to do, as if they held all my answers. “No.” Luke’s rumbling voice interrupted my concentration. “That’s a stupid idea, man.” “I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about, cousin.” Except, I did. I knew exactly what he meant, because he knew exactly where my mind had gone. And the smirk on my face gave it all away. “This can’t possibly end well.” “I’ve heard that a time or two before. I beat the odds before. I’ll do it again.”
Sarah The rest of Saturday night sucked. After going home—alone—I’d taken a shower and gotten ready for bed. But sleep refused to come. I ended up tossing and turning for hours, thinking of nothing but Bentley. His words filled my head, his voice echoed throughout the dark room, and the memory of his touch lit my entire body on fire. It was different, though. I didn’t find myself turned on as I thought of him. Sure, he was gorgeous, and if I’d thought about his body or fantasized about what he could’ve done to me with those hands of his, it would’ve led to me taking care of my own needs. But those weren’t the thoughts that crossed my mind as I fought sleep that night. Instead, I berated myself for not asking where he was from, where he was going back to. Not that I would go visit him or anything, but because I’d felt a connection to him. The first connection to another living person since Christmas, and he was gone. I thought that was what I wanted—no relationship with anyone—but realizing what I’d lost made me sad. Made me question if I’d ever find it again. Made me worry about my desire to have it again. And then left me feeling even more alone and empty inside without it. Take your time was the advice he’d given me. I didn’t know how to do that. He told me I couldn’t ignore the grief. I didn’t think that’s what I’d been doing. I was grieving. I did feel pain…that’s all I felt and why I sought out the men to give me a reprieve. I didn’t want to live this way forever. I wanted to move past it, but fear of feeling too much kept me at a standstill. I didn’t know how to move forward, and I felt he held those answers. But he was gone and I’d never be able to ask him what he meant by that statement. It was just another example of people leaving, taking with them the answers I’d never be able to find. It happened with my mom first. So many things I wish I’d asked before she laid down that day. So many things I wish I’d been able to say. But I’d never have that opportunity. And now with Bentley…more questions I’d never have answers to. Only this time, it was different. He wasn’t dead. He was just out of reach. By the time I woke up on Sunday, I seemed to have gotten over the whole Bentley thing. He’d come out of nowhere, took me by surprise, and dug up old feelings I wished would’ve stayed buried. But after sleeping it off, I realized that’s all it was. I hadn’t felt anything for him other than annoyance that he’d somehow gotten me to open up to him. He’d hypnotized me and had me believing in things I knew would never happen. In the light of day, I saw reality. I moped around most of the day, barely listening to Bree lecture me about my carelessness from the night before. Just as I suspected, she’d called me and immediately began her interrogation as to the text I’d sent. I told her I went out with a guy I’d met and wanted to be safe in case something happened to me. I thought that would settle her, but no such luck. I eventually gave up and let her rattle on about the dangers of getting into vehicles with strangers and how my downward spiral would one day get me hurt
—if I was lucky. She always had to add that, reminding me without words that my actions ran the risk of being far more damaging than just getting hurt. Like I needed her to tell me that. I loved Bree; honestly, I did. We’d been so close ever since she moved in with my family. I’d connected with her better than I did my biological sister. And after the first month of having her in my life, it was almost as if we’d known each other forever. I was there for her during her pregnancy, and then even after that when she had to raise her daughter, Ayla, all by herself. After she graduated high school, she felt she needed to be out on her own since she was a mom, and I offered to find a place with her. I knew she wouldn’t have been able to handle the finances on her own fresh out of school with a baby, so I helped in every way I could. I’d just finished cosmetology school, and started cutting hair at a local salon. It wasn’t much money, but it was more than the sleazy motel had paid her. We were sisters—best friends—learning about life as we went. But we always had each other. Things changed after my mom died. I’d spent an entire month holed up in my house, crying to myself because I had no one to lean on. Bree had her new fiancé, Axel. Clari had her husband, Joel. Dad and I were the only ones left without anyone, but it became difficult to rely on him. Ever since he married my mom, she’d become his entire existence. His whole world. Everything revolved around her, and he never showed an ounce of regret about it. My mom deserved that. She’d spent ten years being the single parent, raising my sister and me. And she’d done a fantastic job at it. But she deserved to have someone take care of her the way she did us. We were just too young to do it—not that she would’ve ever let us be the parent and care for her. So when Wayne came into her life, she finally had someone to depend on. And I think she was made for him, too. Since I was so young when Wayne came into our lives, I never really knew much about his life before us. But Bree had been able to fill in the blank spots after she came around. I guess her mom was a nightmare, and treated Wayne like shit. She’d told me stories of how her parents couldn’t stand each other. It made me feel bad for my stepdad. He was such an amazing man, so loving and kind, treating us as if we were his own from the very beginning. He deserved someone to love him right, and my mom did just that. They were perfect for each other—the model example of soul mates. So when she died, he was left with nothing. Granted, he wasn’t alone. He still had us girls, but it wasn’t the same. I think I understood that better than my sisters did. Just because we had each other didn’t mean we didn’t feel alone. Bree had been busy planning her wedding to Axel, and because of that, she’d spent a lot of time with Clari. Clarissa had gotten married last year, so she was able to help with the planning. The entire thing pissed me off. Our mother had just died, and their lives continued. They laughed and smiled, getting excited over dresses and flowers. Meanwhile, my mother wasn’t around to help celebrate. She hadn’t even been able to congratulate them on their engagement before dying. I hated how their lives went on, how they acted as if Mom’s death never happened. Unfounded bitterness etched its way into my heart, and I’d allowed it to take residence, settle in deep, and then it bled out into other aspects of my life. In the end, it didn’t matter how close Bree and I once were, or how we’d once upon a time had each other’s backs for everything. She didn’t need me anymore. She had Clari. And Clari had her. I, on the other hand, had no one. So in the middle of February—just a month and a half after my mom had passed away—I made the decision to stop mourning. I needed to get my big-girl panties, pull them all the way up, and say “fuck the world.” If they could move on so easily, so could I. And that’s when I’d made the decision to literally fuck the world. If having a man between my legs, inside me, made me feel something other than pain, made me do something other than cry, then so be it. My sisters had each other, Wayne didn’t want anyone, and I had my Saturday nights. I guess it’s true what they say: Everyone grieves differently. Monday morning came, reminding me that I needed to be an adult. I had a job to go to, money to earn, so I got up and started my day like I did every morning during the week. Monday through Friday, I
had to act like a mature adult. This pretty much meant I spent five days a week walking around like a zombie, completely emotionless to the life around me. No one at the fancy salon I worked at knew much about my personal life. I’m sure they’d heard rumors, or had seen me out on the weekends, but none of them had ever asked me about it. If they’d heard people talking about me, they never voiced it. The girls in the salon didn’t treat me any different. Inside that space, I was one of them. I loved the salon for one reason, and that was because I could pretend to be someone I wasn’t. I could pretend to be busy, masking my sadness, and no one was the wiser. I could feel dead on the inside, yet wear a smile on my face. I became the physical example of the saying, “check your baggage at the door” while at work. Once I stepped through that door, I left the grief outside, and the tears, and the need to lose myself one night a week. It’s the only thing that got me through each day. But what had started out as any other day, quickly fell apart. Halfway through my shift, I had a walk-in. It wasn’t an unusual thing to have—I’d typically have about three a week needing a trim between my appointments. There were a couple of the new stylists that hadn’t built up a base yet, so they normally took the last-minute cuts, but if I had the time, I didn’t mind doing it. Except, this wasn’t a normal walk-in. And it made me wonder if it’d been fate that he just so happened to come in when I had a break in my schedule. “What are you doing here?” I asked in shock after rounding the corner to come face to face with Bentley. The same Bentley who was supposed to have gone back home to his family the day before. “I need my hair washed.” “Okay, and you don’t have a shower where you’re from?” My voice was tense and harsh. I hadn’t expected to see him again, and finding him standing in my salon in front of me came as quite a shock. He smiled at me, even though my lips were pressed in a hard line, finding no humor in this situation at all. “Yes, I have a shower. But I wanted to see you. Is that okay? I mean, I can go…” Marlo, the owner of the salon, stood behind the counter, glaring at me with unspoken threats flashing in her bright eyes. She only had a few rules, and one of those was to treat every client as if they were the most important person that ever walked the earth. She didn’t have to say anything for me to know she didn’t appreciate my attitude toward Bentley. And I wasn’t about to explain. “No, don’t go. I can wash your hair. Follow me.” I turned my back to him, leading him into the main galley of the salon where we had the sink basins. “I really don’t understand why you needed to come here.” “I just wanted to see you.” “How’d you know I work here?” “You told me you were a hairstylist the other night. There’s only like three places in this town to get a haircut. Finding you wasn’t that difficult.” I ignored the thought of him out looking for me, and instead said, “I thought you were leaving. Was that a lie? Was any of what you said the other night the truth?” I made sure to keep my harsh tone low, not wanting to draw attention from anyone around us, especially my boss. He leaned toward me, concern showing in his furrowed brow. “Nothing I said was a lie, Sarah. I was supposed to leave yesterday. But I couldn’t seem to get you off my mind, and I realized I couldn’t go home just yet.” “Why?” “Why what?” he asked, staring intently into my eyes which caused my stomach to do somersaults. “Why were you on my mind? Because I think you’re selling yourself short, and that bothers me. Why couldn’t I leave yet? Because I can’t find it within me to walk away from you when you clearly need someone.” “I don’t need you.” “So you’ve said. But guess what, Sarah? I don’t care what you say. You wouldn’t tell me the truth,
anyway. I have a feeling you’re so used to hiding the truth and telling lies to everyone, that you don’t even know the difference anymore.” “Have a seat.” I needed distance from him, so I backed away, pointed to the chair, and lowered my eyes to the sink to avoid his gaze. His words struck me like daggers to my heart. The way he pinpointed my exact feelings terrified me. I wanted to tell him to leave and never come back, but just the thought of sending him away stole the air from my lungs. I grabbed a towel from the closet and rolled it up behind his head, guiding his neck to the dip in the basin. At least he wouldn’t be able to see me from where I stood behind him, so he wouldn’t be able to witness the immense turmoil I’m sure riddled my face. My mind twisted with confusion and my stomach fluttered with unexpected excitement. I didn’t understand any of it. A complete stranger had managed to pull things from me that I didn’t even know were there. That night we’d spent together, just talking, had been intoxicating, and it had left me wanting more. But once the moment passed and I was able to think clearly again, I realized it’d been nothing more than a fog that had settled around me. As soon as that fog lifted, I no longer wanted him. The desire to have him with me, or to talk to him about everything, had faded. So why did I feel relieved to see him? Why did my insides seemingly illuminate like it’d been taken over by a swarm of lightning bugs when I realized he hadn’t gone back home? I turned the water on, checking the temperature before soaking his hair. “So what was your plan? Come see me and then go back home?” I ran my fingers through the dark strands of hair on the top of his head. They were long, as if styled after a faux-hawk, but I hadn’t seen him wear it that way. Both times I’d seen his hair—Saturday night and then again today—he’d worn it down and to one side, lying over the short hairs on the side of his head, leaving the other side and back visible. I thought it seemed rather punk rock, which was a little out of place in this neck of the woods. We were more country out here—southern. But I couldn’t stop focusing on the way his hair felt between my fingers in order to form enough words to ask about where he was actually from. “I don’t really have a plan.” His admission brought me back to the present, realizing I’d been stroking his hair long enough. If I didn’t pull it together, this would end up being the longest shampoo in history. “I haven’t thought much past seeing you.” “Don’t you have horses to train? A family that’s expecting you? I’m sure they wouldn’t be too happy to hear that you’re delaying your return for some slutty girl you met at a bar.” I pumped a few squirts of shampoo into my palm and began to run it through his hair, massaging his scalp with my fingertips as I worked up the lather. I focused on my job instead of the client, hoping my brain could disconnect my feelings for him and make him just another person in my chair. “They know where I’m at, and they understand.” The longer I shampooed him, the quieter and slower his words grew. “And I think…you should…give yourself more credit…than being a slutty girl… at a bar,” he finished saying, his voice becoming deep and desperate. I pulled my attention from his head to his lap, noticing how he kept fidgeting in his seat, appearing to be uncomfortable. No one had ever complained about the chairs before, always saying how they’re the most comfortable seats in any salon they’d ever been to. They were, after all, the most expensive on the market. But I quickly realized that his shifting hadn’t been due to the comfort of the chairs at all. No. He awkwardly adjusted his leg, shifting it over the other knee, attempting to hide the bulge in his faded jeans. It made me smile. It also made me massage his scalp deeper, really giving it to him. I leaned closer to his ear, never letting up on the pressure of my fingertips, and seductively said, “Since you seem to know me so well, why don’t you tell me how I should see myself.” He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat once more, finally throwing his clasped hands in his lap—even though that did nothing to hide the impressive imprint that protruded against his thigh. That one visual told me so much about what he had beneath his clothes, and it made my mouth water.
“What? Cat got your tongue?” I teased with a giggle, letting him know I was aware of how much I affected him. “You’re really good at this,” he said breathlessly. He was so hard to read at times, and so easy at others. Like right now, I knew how turned on he was just from my touch—and not even a sexual touch—yet I couldn’t tell if he felt ashamed at me knowing, or if it didn’t bother him. I’d practically thrown myself at him Saturday night, letting him know I didn’t want the night to end, but he turned me down. Now, here he was in my salon, my hands running through his hair, and somehow, I felt as if he’d still turn me down if I came on to him, even though his desire for me was evident. “I’m good at a lot of things, Bentley.” I forced myself to stop the massage and turn on the water to wash the shampoo out. “Would you prefer it if I used cold water to rinse your hair? You seem like you might need it.” My eyes widened in shock and my breath caught in my throat when I caught him gripping himself through his jeans, adjusting his position once more in his seat. His brazen action threw me for a loop—I completely did not expect that. “Use whatever temperature you want, Sarah. I can handle it.” Oh my God. It became my turn to shift uncomfortably where I stood, feeling my lady parts burn with need by the tone of his rugged voice. The insinuations that came from his response lit a fire in my panties unlike anything I’d ever felt before. And the smirk that rose on his lips let me know he was aware of it. Damn him. In my rebelliousness, I turned the water all the way to hot, knowing just how scalding it could get, and quickly began to rinse out the suds from his hair. I’d only intended to douse him with it at first, but quickly became sidetracked, forgetting all about the temperature of the water. He flinched a few times and squeezed his eyes shut, but my focus wouldn’t remain on his face like I knew it should. I’d been taught to read a client’s expression while rinsing their hair. It was the easiest way to tell how they felt about the temperature of the water. And even though I’d noticed his wincing, I couldn’t form enough thought to adjust it. My attention became glued to his jeans, to his large, manly hands clasped tight over his groin, to the impressive outline along his thigh. I wanted to see it, feel it…I fantasized about tasting it. “Sarah…” I didn’t know how many times he’d said my name before it registered in my brain, but when it finally did, I shifted my gaze to his face, noticing he’d tilted his head back and could see my eyes. He knew what I’d been looking at. He’d caught me. And the flames of my embarrassment burned my neck, licking its way up my cheeks. I quickly shut off the water and blinked rapidly, shaking my head. My throat worked hard to swallow past the giant lump that felt stuck in my esophagus. My reaction seemed completely foreign to me, considering I wasn’t the type of girl to become flustered over things like this. I knew how to handle myself, and how to play the game better than most men. It’s how I had them eating out of the palm of my hand when I chose to go out and play. But Bentley had a way of twisting everything up for me. He threw me for a loop and didn’t fall in line like the rest of them. He’d managed to get me to open up to him when all I ever did was shut down. He—briefly—made me yearn to have someone to talk to, to hold me, to be there for me. And now, he had me embarrassed and rattled over something I typically excelled in—sex. I’d had the upper hand in the situation, but he’d effortlessly stolen it from me and caught me off guard. “Yeah?” I finally asked, clearing my throat in the hopes it would calm me down some. I didn’t want him to see me that way—he’d already seen me vulnerable and crying; he didn’t need to witness my embarrassment as well. “I know I said I could handle whatever temperature you wanted, but I didn’t mean it’d be okay to give me third-degree burns.” The corners of his lips were curled up, letting me know his words were
meant to tease me, but I knew better. His previous flinching proved that I had, in fact, burned him, so I could only assume his playful manner was meant to spare my feelings. And that only served to make him even more confusing to me. He’d make a bold statement by grabbing himself, only to ease my distress by making a joke of how I’d burned him. “I’m so sorry, Bentley. I wasn’t paying attention.” “You’re fine. Maybe we both need the cold water.” I smirked and rolled my eyes as I turned my back to him. I needed the conditioner, which sat on the counter behind the sinks, but I also needed a moment to breathe. I needed the space to clear my head, calm my erratic pulse, and lose the burning sensation that had taken over my face. Before pumping the conditioner in my palm, I grabbed a towel from the cabinet above, and tossed it at him over my shoulder. The deep rumble of his chuckle filtered through the air, masking the music playing through the speakers, and fell upon me like a calming touch. Once I fully turned back around, ready to give him another rubdown, I noticed he understood my reason for giving him the towel. He had it in a rumpled ball in his lap, covering the distractive part of his body that kept me from doing my job right. “Sorry about that.” He shifted again, seeming to be more comfortable in his seat. “I can’t say that’s ever happened before.” “How often do you get your hair washed?” “Well, I wash it all the time in the shower.” He laughed, knowing that wasn’t what I’d meant by my question, and it caused his chest to shake. “But I’ve never gone somewhere to have it washed. In fact, I’ve never stepped foot inside an actual salon before. I usually go to the cheap places in strip malls when I need a cut, and they usually just wet it with a spray bottle. I must admit, though, this is kinda nice, except for the hot water part.” “A decent scalp massage is good for hair growth, too.” I was glad he could no longer see my face, because it twisted with humiliation once the words were out. I had no idea why I’d said that, other than it was proof of just how inside out he had turned me. It was as if he caused me comfort and discomfort at the same time. Which made absolutely no sense at all. I desperately wanted to get to the root of it so I could make it go away. Either that, or he needed to go away. “Good to know. Although it seems to be rather damaging in other ways.” “A lot of people become…affected like that when their scalp is massaged. It just means you have erogenous zones there. But I can’t say I’ve ever seen proof of that before. It actually strokes my ego a bit.” My throat grew tight when I said “strokes,” causing me to think of something else other than my ego. “Why would it boost your ego? I’m fairly certain you’re aware of your effect on men.” He’d said so much without putting it into words. It was an implication about how we’d met, what I’d been doing when he found me in the bar. I’d admitted to him that I was a sexual person, and had no shame in it, yet it seemed as though he felt compelled to speak of it in a sensitive manner. “My goal in life is to be the Adele of hair, in every aspect. You’ve proven to me that I’m one hell of a shampooer.” I wore a grin on my face that he couldn’t see, but I’m sure he heard it in my voice. “So that at least lets me know I’m one step closer to reaching my goal.” “What exactly is an Adele of hair?” His brow furrowed and his eyes closed as soon as I turned the water back on to rinse out the conditioner—this time, testing the temperature first. “Adele is like a music god. It’s indisputable. And I want to be like that, but with hair instead of songs.” I finished rinsing his hair, and then turned to grab another towel. “Really? That’s your goal in life?” When I spun back around, ready to dry his head, I found him sitting up, twisted in his seat to face me. The expression he wore on his face was so soft, so sympathetic. His parted and nearly downturned lips screamed concern, while his dark-green eyes pierced me with worry. I couldn’t comprehend what it
all meant, or why he regarded me in that way. I cautiously moved toward him, the cloth spread out in my hands. “Yes. What’s so wrong with that? People strive to be the best they can be at what they do, so why is it a bad thing for me to do the same?” I gently ran the towel over his head, drying up the water from his hair, but I also did it to obstruct his view of me. For whatever reason, he once more had me strung out, vulnerable, and I couldn’t handle him witnessing me like that again. His hands snapped up, catching my wrists in his grip before slowly lowering the shield I had in place between us. His gaze captured mine and wouldn’t let it go. “There’s a big difference in striving for something, and having it be a life goal. Don’t you want more out of life other than being the best stylist in the world?” I studied him for a moment longer before blinking and backing away. “You have a bad habit of acting like you know me. Like you know what I want or what’s best for me. You don’t know shit, Bentley. I don’t know how many more times I have to tell you that I’m perfectly fine the way I am, and I’m not looking for more before you finally get it through that thick skull of yours.” He stood and stepped around the sink to stand in front of me. He didn’t seem as tall with my heels on like he had when I’d stood in front of him in my boots. But that didn’t mean I felt any taller. I still felt small, fragile, and exposed. I guess it was more than his height that made me feel that way. “I’m not assuming anything, Sarah. It was a simple question. But the fact that you can’t give me a simple answer is proof enough that you don’t believe it, either. You’re just mad that I’m asking you questions you don’t want to think about.” He’d hit the nail on the head with his accusation, and the last thing I wanted was for him to know that. I’d do better if he simply walked away and stopped analyzing me. I didn’t think I could take any more. “You’re done here, Bentley. The ladies at the counter in the front will take care of you. Thank you for stopping in. Everyone here at Gr8 Hair Salon and Spa wishes you a great day.” The normally cheerful goodbye rolled off my tongue in a monotone as I stared at his chest, refusing to meet his gaze. My parting words were enough to speak volumes about how I felt—I didn’t need him to see it in my eyes as well. He gripped my hand in his, causing my attention to fall to that warm connection between us. “I only want to help, Sarah. I’m not trying to piss you off or upset you.” I let him hold onto me for a moment longer before ripping my hand from his and walking away without another word. I knew the break room would be the best place to go considering Bentley couldn’t follow me there. It would give me space before my next client to clear my head from the anxiety-ridden haze he’d put there. Everything about that man was capable of drowning me in sensations I didn’t care to experience. The promises his eyes held left me with a desire to cry, his voice draped me in comfort until I wanted nothing more than to spill every one of my secrets to him. The way he held my hands, the heat from his body when he was close enough, left me yearning to curl into him, filling me with a desire to have his arms around me. He had some sort of aura around him that consoled me, made me feel safe and secure. And then there was his cologne. Sweet and strong, not spicy, musky, or woodsy like so many men wore these days. It was unlike anything I’d ever smelled before. Sweet, yet virile, and with just one whiff of it, I had to fight the urge to bury my face in his chest until I became consumed by the fragrance. I wanted to know what cologne he wore, because I wanted to douse my bed sheets with it and fall asleep blanketed in his scent night after night. And once again, I found myself alone, coming up with questions I couldn’t ask him because I’d sent him away. Why did I continually push away the things that offered me comfort? I found myself contemplating running after him, chasing him down until he answered every question I could possibly come up with to ask. And after the fear set in of realizing how badly I wanted to be around him, hopelessness consumed me. It mocked me, telling me how this was all my fault.
I’d done this to myself. I’d pushed everyone away until the only person that even gave a shit was some random stranger from a bar who didn’t even live in town. Even if I wanted to tell him everything, confide in him, lean on him, it wouldn’t change anything. Because after I’d finish spilling my guts to the man, he’d be gone, and I’d find myself alone once more. “Sarah, you’re next client is here,” Marlo announced from the doorway, interrupting my pitiful thoughts. “Thank you. I’ll be right out.” I stretched a smile across my lips, hoping to display some strength, yet inside, I felt pathetic, broken, desolate. Five months ago, I had started to make my bed. I’d made it alone, managing to keep everyone at a distance, telling myself it was better if I grieved in private, better if I remained strong on the outside for the world to see. I needed to be solid for my family, for my dad, for work and life. I thought the longer I pretended to be okay, the more I’d believe it, and it would actually become true. So that’s what I did. I’d made my bed, only to realize too late—and by the help of a man who had no idea who I was—that I’d managed to make it with me in it. I didn’t just lie in it, surrounded by the things I made happen. No. It consumed me. Swallowed me whole. Suffocated me. I wasn’t living. I was dying. Alone.
Bentley I knew I’d gotten to her. I could tell by her actions—by her reactions—to what I’d said. I’d also managed to give away how much she affected me. She may not have given in and opened up yet, but at least we were making progress. She just wasn’t aware of it. After finding her in that bar, letting some dick come on to her, and then hearing her own broken words, I knew I couldn’t turn my back on her and leave. Sarah needed someone, and that someone would be me. I owed it to her. I knew she was under the impression that I didn’t understand how she felt, how she suffered after the death of her mother. But death wasn’t a foreign object to me. It wasn’t some idea floating in space just beyond my reach. I comprehended the subject all too well. But I wouldn’t be able to explain that to her, because she wasn’t strong enough to hear what I had to explain. So I had to let her believe I had no connection to death or what she’d gone through. I sat in my truck in the parking lot of the salon for a few minutes, grappling with what to do next. I knew I couldn’t smother her. She’d only push me further away. But I knew I also couldn’t let her be. It was apparent she needed someone, and that I had managed to get further with her than anyone else. But she was dangerous. I had to be careful, watch myself around her. Sarah was one sexy vixen, and if I weren’t careful, she would take me down with her. My hard-on in the salon was evidence enough of her ability to sidetrack me. From the very beginning, I knew we’d never be able to cross that line. Technically, we weren’t even supposed to know each other, let alone know about each other, but Luke couldn’t keep his mouth closed. So now it just came down to getting through to her without letting her infiltrate my thoughts —more than she had. I had to be the one to change hers, make her question what she believed, what she thought she wanted. I had to teach her how to feel again without guilt and fear, and somehow not get burned in that flame. But I couldn’t seem to stop thinking about her. About her lips. Those dark eyes. Her hypnotic voice. They all consumed me every time I closed my eyes. Innocent at first, pulling on my heartstrings with the thought of her tears, her heartache, her pain. I wanted to hold her, to tell her everything would be okay and to not worry. I wanted to take it all away from her and give her peace, give her back her smile… give her back her life. In a perfect world, I was the one who held her and comforted her. She’d smile and laugh, and all would be right again in my fantasy. But then she’d kiss me, she’d touch me. And before long, I had to jerk off because I’d somehow let my imagination get away from me. Then I would spend the next hour wondering what it would feel like to kiss her. To feel her soft lips upon mine was enough to get
me hard again. I’d met her face to face for the first time less than two days ago, yet she’d taken over my mind half a dozen times since then. She was the epitome of danger.
Sarah After getting home from work, I’d called Bree, wanting to see her. She’d sounded surprised to hear from me, and perplexed when I’d tried to make plans to get together with her. I won’t lie…that hurt. But I had no right to complain, considering it was my fault to begin with. We’d spoken for a few minutes before Axel came home from work, but we’d managed to make plans to get together on Wednesday. Wednesdays at work were easy. I always went in early to stock the shelves with the shipment of product that came in on Tuesdays, and I left around one in the afternoon. I never did any actual haircuts or styles on those days. When Marlo had hired me a few years ago, straight out of a dime-a-dozen salon, her inventory was disgraceful. Stylists were constantly running out of product, and it wasn’t like they could just run up to the store to buy more. We could only use the products we sold there. And if we didn’t have any on the shelf, not only could clients not buy it, but it also meant our stylists couldn’t use it to promote sales. I’d said something to her after working a few weeks there, wondering why we weren’t receiving regular shipments. Turns out, she had too much on her plate and ordering had been one of the things that had fallen through the cracks on a continual basis. The salon had been new, but I knew it would only be a matter of time before it’d be the go-to salon in our area if only Marlo knew how to micromanage. I didn’t know much about ordering, and even less about running a salon, but I’d offered to help if she taught me. And that’s what she did. She took me under her wing and molded me into her protégé. Ever since then, we hadn’t run out of product, and had even shown a constant increase in aftercare purchases. In order to keep up with my clients and the tasks Marlo had given me, we’d agreed on one day a week where I did nothing but manage the side work. I used to love it because it had allowed me to spend time with my family during the week. But ever since Christmas, it’d been nothing more than a half-day at work filled with the dread of being alone for hours when my shift ended. This was the first Wednesday in months that I actually arranged to spend time with one of my sisters. They’d made plans with me before, leaving me no room to back out as they tag-teamed me with guilt. But this was the first time I had been the one to set it up. That thought alone made me sad. I’d spent so long blaming them for the distance that was now between us, when really, I was just as much to blame. I made it home shortly after one to find Bree sitting at the kitchen table with Ayla next to her, eating a sandwich. “Don’t you have food at your house? Or is Axel starving you guys?” I asked as I threw my keys on the counter and moved to the fridge to grab a can of Coke. “We were out all morning and came straight here. Ayla was hungry so I made her something to eat. I was going to make you something, too, but you don’t really have much to choose from. When was the last time you went to the grocery store?” I swallowed my drink too fast, the coldness of the liquid combined with the carbonation causing
my eyes to water. “I go when I run out of something to drink. I still have four more cans of Coke and half a bottle of wine left. I’m good for about another day.” “You’ve lost too much weight.” I rolled my eyes in agitation and shook my head. I’d heard it from her too many times, and yet she never seemed to get the hint. “No I haven’t. I weigh the same as I did four months ago.” I’ll admit that after Mom passed away, I did lose a few pounds. The stress and depression basically ate away any healthy fat I had on me. But in no way did I look sickly, or too skinny like Bree often tried to say. “Well, you used to have bigger boobs than me. Now I think I wear a bigger cup size than you.” “Are you pregnant again?” I accused with a careless attitude, wanting to turn the tables on her. Not that I wouldn’t care if she were pregnant again, but because I’d grown so accustomed to reacting that way to her interrogations that it had become the norm. “No, I’m not. That would totally suck considering I just finished with my final fitting for my dress. If I got pregnant, there’s no way I’d be able to breathe in the darn thing.” “Aunt Sarah?” Ayla spoke up, interrupting us at the perfect time. “Since you and Mommy are talking about dult things, can I watch TV in the living room while I eat?” “Adult, Ayla. Not ‘dult,’” Bree corrected her, like she always did. I hated it when she did that to her. It was a daily thing at home back when we lived together for her to lecture Ayla about her words. It annoyed me. Let the damn kid be a kid. It wasn’t like she’d grow up pronouncing words the wrong way forever. I found it endearing and never wanted her to stop saying the words in her own special way. “Yes, Ayla. Of course you can go watch TV while your mommy and I talk about dult things,” I said, giving my sister a pointed look and Cheshire smile. I waited until my niece was out of her seat before turning to Bree and saying, “Is it so hard to let her sound like a kid every once and a while?” “She needs to learn.” “Or what?” I argued back with enough attitude for her to shift in her seat. “Do you think she won’t learn on her own how to speak properly? Did your mom correct every word that came out of your mouth when you were her age?” Her eyes fell to the table and I knew I’d struck a nerve by bringing up her mom. Her issues were different than my own, but that didn’t mean I shouldn’t have known better. Before I could form an apology on my lips, she said, “Have you heard Axel speak? I think my fear of her growing up to use improper English is justified. His grammar is atrocious.” I couldn’t contain my laughter. She had a valid point. It wasn’t that Axel sounded uneducated, because he was a very educated man, but he had issues when it came to the proper phrasing of things. Bree certainly had her hands full when it came to correcting how her fiancé and daughter spoke. I still thought it was pointless and she shouldn’t be so concerned about it, but that was Bree. She hadn’t been given too much control over things in her life, so what little she could grab onto, she’d never let go. Unfortunately for us all, she chose our grammar to control. “I still have no idea why you never wanted to be an English teacher.” Bree’s eyes sparkled with humor. “One teacher in the house is enough.” “So does that mean Axel got the job?” I felt horrible for not asking her about it sooner. Axel had taken a substitute position a while ago, and at the beginning of the school year last year, a possible fulltime position had opened up. They’d given him the job temporarily, but had to wait until summer before any permanent plans could be made. With everything that had happened since Christmas, I hadn’t even realized school had ended weeks ago, and I hadn’t once thought to ask about his job. A bright smile covered her face, lighting up her every feature in complete happiness. It warmed me to see, yet it set an ache in my chest at the same time. “Yes. They offered it to him two weeks ago. He feels conflicted, though. Ever since taking the landscaping job his dad had set him up with, he’s really
been enjoying it. And he had even thought about not returning to the classroom. But as soon as the school offered him the position, he accepted without questioning it.” “Why can’t he do both? Didn’t he do both last year?” “Yeah, but that left him with no free time. His days off from the school were spent on the other job. He doesn’t want to do that anymore. Ever since Christmas, he’s worried about not spending enough time with us.” Her words slammed into me, stealing the breath from my lungs until they grew so tight in my chest, I feared they had collapsed. Whether she meant to or not, she’d caused the guilt over not spending time with my own family to suffocate me. I stood abruptly, my chair slamming into the kitchen wall behind me. “Sarah…” she called after me as I ran to the sink. Her hand on my back as I bent over the basin, splashing water on my face, made her presence known. And not just her physical presence, but the emotional one, too. It let me know that she was there for me. “I just…” The words were stuck and not forming past my hyperventilating breaths. “I just—I can’t, Bree.” I spun around and locked eyes with her, water dripping down my face to my shirt, cooling the overheated skin on my chest. “I know I’ve let you down. I’ve let everyone down. But you don’t know what it’s like for me to be around everyone. To be in that house.” My breathing rolled through me like angry waves of a tide in a storm. Erratic. Violent. I swallowed a few times to keep myself from vomiting, grief shutting down every system inside me. “To see you all smile and laugh,” I whispered like it was a bad thing to be happy. “You act as if nothing happened. It’s like you guys think she’s still in her room taking a nap, and you go on with your daily lives like she’s still here. But she’s not! She’s not asleep. I know this because I saw her. I tried to wake her up. I couldn’t wake her up. I couldn’t…” My voice became shrill, unrecognizable to my own ears. Breathing became more difficult. My stomach hardened. Acid churned, burning my chest as it tried to find a way out. I couldn’t fight it anymore. I broke down and fell to the floor, tears replacing the water on my cheeks and shirt. “Shhh, Sarah. It’s okay.” She knelt next to me and held onto my forearms while I buried my face in my hands. “No one is pretending she’s still here. We don’t think she’s just taking a nap. You’ve had it in your head this whole time that we don’t care. That we haven’t grieved over losing her. But you couldn’t be further from the truth. You’ve just pushed us so far away that you haven’t been there to see the pain we all live with every single day.” “Don’t…” I warned her with a deep, sharp tone. I dropped my hands and glared at her, ignoring her wide eyes, dropped jaw, and sharp gasp. “I know what you’re insinuating, but don’t. I may have pushed you all away, but that was after everyone made me feel alone. It was bad enough that you had Axel and Clari had Joel to lean on. But then you two go and lean on each other, leaving me completely and utterly alone. So don’t make it sound like I pushed y’all away first so you can sleep better at night.” Bree stared up at the ceiling and took in a heavy, long gulp of air before releasing it slowly through pursed lips. It was either to calm herself before lashing out at me, or to gain the courage to say something meant to be helpful, knowing it would only cause me distress. “Sometimes in grief, we see things that aren’t truly there. Yes, Clari and I both have someone in our lives to lean on when we need it, but so do you. You have us, as well as my dad. But you’re the one that chose not to lean on us. Over time, as we learned to move forward, Clari and I took those steps together. You have always been welcome to take those steps with us. In fact, we’ve encouraged it on multiple occasions. We’ve always wanted you to move forward with us. But you’re the one that chose to stay behind. You’re the one that chose to live in the grief, to live in the darkness without anyone there for you.” “You’re right, it’s all my fault,” I said with a cold, dead voice before she could continue with her lecture. It wasn’t necessary, because I knew Bree hadn’t meant it in a hurtful way, but that logic didn’t register with me at the time. I couldn’t see past the bright light of sorrow that blinded me.
“That’s not what I’m saying, Sarah.” Her voice rose, coming out harsh and bitter, portraying her irritation. “Again, you’re only seeing what you want to see. Hearing what you want to hear. Because it makes it easier for you to push us away. It justifies your cause to be alone and sad. But you don’t have to live like this. You don’t have to be so isolated. I just wish you’d talk to someone. Be it Clari, me, my dad…I don’t care if it’s Mrs. Witherson down the street with that ugly ass poodle. I just wish you’d open up and get all this darkness out from inside of you. I wish you’d come back to the land of the living and enjoy life with us.” I didn’t want to listen to what she had to say, but she wouldn’t stop. “Your mom was so full of life and love, and no one knows that better than I do. I came to your house a broken seventeen-year-old, pregnant and barefoot. My dad was practically a stranger to me. You, Clari, and your mom…? For five years, you guys were the enemy in my head. The people who took the only loving parent away from me when I was too young to defend myself. You and Clarissa had replaced me in his eyes, and I never wanted anything to do with any of you. But by the time I came here, I didn’t have a choice. And your mom took me in with open arms. I remember the very first time I met her. Dad hadn’t even gotten out of the car before your mom was outside, wrapping me up in a hug, ignoring her husband she hadn’t seen in two weeks. She did everything she could to make sure I was comfortable and happy, to make sure I felt loved. She made sure I knew what love was, and she showed it to me every damn day for the rest of her life. She would never want you to live like this.” I watched as fat, heavy tears rolled past her lids, cascading down her cheeks before falling to the tile below us. I’d never heard her say those things before—not about Clari and me, not about my mom, how she felt about us before meeting us…none of it. I remembered the day she first came to our home, and thinking back to it formed knots in my stomach. Remembering how Mom had sat us down to tell us about Bree, about how she was going to be living with us, and how we needed to treat her with compassion and love. That was the definition of my mom, compassionate and loving, believing with her whole heart that if everyone treated people that way, the world would be a better place. She knew how unrealistic it was, but that didn’t stop her from greeting everyone within ten feet of her with a smile, or stopping to offer comfort to a crying stranger on the street. “I am talking to someone.” Tears blurred my vision, but it felt as if they clouded my brain and thoughts. I had no idea what I was saying or why, but I didn’t care. My contempt had become so instilled in me that I couldn’t just let sleeping dogs lie. I had to constantly fight back, keep the mask perfectly in place so no one would see the truth. Even with Bree. It didn’t matter that she could call my bullshit, or that she knew me better than anyone else. I still found the need to make her believe that I was all right. That I was getting better. Even if it was a lie. Her brows arched. She glared at me with skepticism. “Really? Who?” Names and faces flashed through my mind at warp speed. She knew all the girls at the salon, and I hadn’t spoken to any of my friends in months. She’d know that was a lie if I’d given one of their names, so I blurted out the first name I knew she wouldn’t question. “Bentley.” It wasn’t a complete lie. After all, I had opened up to him. I did talk to him. She sat back, slumping against the dishwasher behind her with a huff, her shoulders hunched forward and head hanging in defeat. “I meant a professional, Sarah. But I guess I can’t complain. At least you’re talking to someone. Even if it is a fuck buddy.” “Why would you think he’s a fuck buddy? Because he’s a guy? And Sarah sleeps with every man she knows?” Red-hot anger pulsed through my veins with each passing second, and it showed in my accusations as I practically spat out each word. “No. Stop hearing what you want to hear, and start listening to what people are actually saying. You sent me a picture of his license plate Saturday night, as well as his name. Bentley isn’t exactly a name I’d forget in four days. Not to mention, I’m well aware of what you do on the weekends, Sarah. You
admitted to going out with him, getting in his truck and leaving with him. So it’s not a far reach to put two and two together.” “Not that I need to justify myself to you or anyone else, but he’s not my fuck buddy. We didn’t have sex. We went to Macy’s Diner and talked.” I thought I’d feel better after admitting that, feel like I’d won the argument, but I didn’t. The vindication never came. My chest heaved with exertion from trying to force air in my lungs, my throat so full of fire I could barely swallow. The need to cry became unbearably strong, but the need to hide was even greater. I’d become a liar. “Have you seen him since? Talked to him since Saturday night?” “Yes. I saw him Monday. And we talked some more.” “Is he a therapist or something?” “No,” I said with a sheepish grin. Thoughts of Bentley flooded my mind and it began to ease the tension in my body, making it easier to breathe. “He’s a horse trainer.” “Does he have siblings?” Genuine interest showed in her barely raised eyebrows and in the faint smile that gently pulled on her lips. “Yes, he has two brothers. He’s the youngest of the three. I don’t remember their names, but one is an engineer and the other is a detective.” I wanted to tell her everything I knew to really make it believable. I didn’t want her to doubt my lie. But the one thing I hadn’t expected was how much I remembered about him. I never cared enough to remember anything random guys would tell me. But for some reason, what he’d told me stuck. And the more I thought about it, the more of what he’d said to me that night came to mind. And then a smile formed on my lips, growing wide and burning my cheeks at the memory of our Waffle House conversation. “You like this guy?” she asked quietly, almost as if she thought speaking too loudly would scare me off. “What? No. We’ve just talked.” “About your mom? About how you feel?” Hopefulness filled her warm tone and it washed over me, flooded me, and then left me unsettled by her compassion. I knew she only wanted me to be okay, and I appreciated that, but I wasn’t her, nor was I Clari. I couldn’t just wake up tomorrow morning and be happy again. “I’ve discussed my mom, told him about her dying. We’ve talked about how I’ve handled it since then, how I spend my weekends, how I hold everything in.” I knew I sounded believable, even though it technically bordered on being a lie. But I spoke with confidence, strong and steady words, and I knew she wouldn’t question it. Her posture relaxed some as she settled further against the dishwasher. “Well, good. I’m happy you’re finally opening up to someone. When are you going to see him again?” Of course, she had to ask the one question I couldn’t lie convincingly about. “I don’t know.” I gave her a one-shoulder shrug, hoping to come across as nonchalant instead of insecure. Truth was, even though I’d walked away from him, practically kicked him out of my life—again —it didn’t mean I hadn’t thought about him. It didn’t mean the bell on the door of the salon hadn’t caused my heart to skip a beat every time someone walked through it, hoping it’d be Bentley’s face I’d see. “Just promise me you won’t push him away, too. If he’s getting you to open up about things, getting you to talk about your problems, then I pray he’s around for a while. I really hope you give it a chance instead of closing off. I can’t continue to watch you self-destruct. I love you, Sarah. I just want you to be happy again. I miss my best friend.” Her sincerity physically hurt me like a steel rod to my chest, hitting me with the speed of a professional baseball player’s pitch. The pain was probably more from my regret than her words, but whatever it was, I had to rub the spot over my heart in order to ease the ache left behind by yet another emotion I’d tried to lock away. Ever since Bentley had nudged my shoulder at the bar, my emotions
wouldn’t stay buried, as if he’d pushed me back to reality. “I miss you, too.” “Enough of this sappy shit,” she said with a laugh and stood up, pulling me with her. “You promised to be my maid of honor, and you have yet to even try on a dress. The wedding is in less than six weeks and you’re about to bring out the bridezilla in me.” I’d avoided going dress shopping with her, knowing I’d do nothing but sit there and sulk at the thought of my mom not being part of it all. And then I’d completely break down at the realization that one day, it could be my turn to try on wedding dresses, and Mom wouldn’t be there for that, either. It was utterly selfish of me to keep from being a part of this journey with her, but I couldn’t help it. Just the thought of sitting in a bridal shop surrounded by white wedding dresses, watching other soon-to-be brides and their mothers, it felt like a hundred sharp knives to my heart. But Bree was right—I had promised to not only be in her wedding, but to be her maid of honor, and I had to follow through with that. If only she’d asked me after I’d gone to check on my mom, then my answer would’ve been different. “Fine. Let’s go. I know you well enough to know that if I don’t, you’ll have me wearing the most hideous dress imaginable. Which, I want you to know, will only lead to me giving the worst toast in the history of toasts. Things could get very ugly after that.” Her contagious laugh bounced off the walls as she made her way to the living room to get Ayla. “Yes, Sarah, for the safety of our future relationship, let’s get you fitted for your dress.” I ended up needing to try on three dresses—the first two being too big for my now slight frame— and then a woman with an honest to goodness mustache stuck pins in the fabric and used a measuring tape on practically every part of my body. I had an odd feeling that she was really a man in disguise, and used this job to see and touch nearly-naked women on a daily basis. The way her hands held my ass could in no way be considered appropriate. Being there hadn’t been as bad as I’d expected. Probably because I didn’t have to see anyone try on gowns, and I’d spent most of my time in the fitting room. I was just thankful Bree didn’t push the issue. Not once did she talk about the wedding other than to mention the colors. It made it less formal and easier to deal with. After leaving there, I went back home while Bree met up with Axel for dinner. She’d asked me to join them, but I politely declined the offer. It seemed as though I’d had enough girl time for one day. I wanted to be alone. I needed space to breathe and think. I needed the quietness of my house in order to gather my thoughts, to settle down, to allow myself to feel without being forced. But that proved to be a bad decision. Breathing, thinking, feeling…it was all too much for me. Every thought and emotion that had evaded me at the bridal shop came roaring to life in the silence around me, burning me from the inside out, choking me until I couldn’t take a full gulp of air. I thought I’d been in the clear, but once the chaos of sizing, colors, and Ayla’s energy vanished, my mind fell into the darkness once more. I’d managed to avoid the planning process of Bree’s wedding, and had convinced myself that I’d never get married—I didn’t want it. But then I’d gazed into Bentley’s eyes and had seen this bright and promising future. Even if it were only for a moment, I’d allowed myself to believe it could happen. It wasn’t until coming home from the bridal shop when everything hit me all at once. No matter how nice it would be to love again and find happiness, I’d never be able to walk down an aisle. My mom wouldn’t be there. And even though I had Wayne— technically my dad—my father wouldn’t be there. I was literally an orphan. I became overwhelmed and fraught, convinced I needed to turn off the emotions, needing a physical release to erase the compounding feelings that coursed through me. But I had no one to call. I
thought about heading to a bar, grabbing the first guy I saw, and taking him someplace quiet. But I wasn’t in the right frame of mind to do that, either. My hands shook from anxiety, and I knew they’d assume I was a crack addict looking for a fix. Not to mention, the idea of finding someone for a quickie turned me off for reasons I didn’t want to comprehend. I didn’t want a stranger that I had to imagine a connection with; I yearned for a real connection. The kind that would make me feel scatterbrained and weightless. A connection that left a person impulsive. But the only time I ever felt that kind of link, that kind of impulsivity, was when Bentley crossed my mind. However, I couldn’t have him. So why did I constantly think of him? If I truly wanted him out of my life, like I’d claimed so many times, why couldn’t I get him out of my head? It was as if I loved the idea of him, but hated the reality of what he stood for. Contentment. Completeness. Commitment. I hated how he’d managed to effortlessly dig so deep within me that I now felt inside out. But what I hated most was how I wished I’d see him again. I guess I was a glutton for pain. Addicted to the agony. Craved the ache only he could give me. At least that meant I was capable of feeling something. I wasn’t completely dead inside. As I curled into a ball and cried, letting it all out like I’d grown accustomed to, I thought about Bentley’s effect on me. I thought about all the ways he’d embedded himself in my mind, all the ways he’d been able to make me feel something when I’d closed myself off. And it only made me want him more. It made me yearn to have him rip me open, bring my suffering to the surface, and then heal me with his touch. Heal me with his words, his deep voice. I needed him to break me, and then put me back together again. If only I hadn’t pushed him away.
Thursday morning, I woke up late and had to run through the salon to the back, needing to put away my things in my cabinet space and catch my breath before going out on the floor like a disheveled mess. Carrie, one of the other stylists that had been there almost as long as I had, was already in the room, pouring a cup of coffee. She held out the pot, offering me a cup, but I shook my head, declining the gesture. I reached into the small fridge and found the last can of Coke in the back, and made a mental note to restock my supply. “So what’s up with the hottie?” Carrie asked, leaning her back against the counter. Her question came as a surprise, considering we’d never really spoken about guys. She was nice, and we got along at work, but our conversations never really drifted into the friendly subjects, typically sticking to hair and client gossip. I shrugged, lowering my gaze to the floor. Just the mention of Bentley did something to me—made my pulse speed up, my cheeks redden, and my thoughts jumble. “Nothing to tell.” “Are you seeing him, or is he fair game?” It was an honest question coming from a single, good-looking woman. Yet it annoyed me. It wasn’t like I owned him or anything, and I definitely had no idea what I needed from him—wanted from him— but the mere thought of someone else going after him had my mouth going dry and my head spinning. “If you’re interested in him, it’s cool. I wouldn’t step on your toes. I was just curious if there was anything going on between you two. I couldn’t get a good read on it Monday.” I set my can down on the counter. I’d meant to gently place it down, but I ended up nearly slamming it, sloshing some of the brown-colored liquid out of the mouth hole and onto my hand. “To be honest with you, Carrie, I have no idea what we have, or what I’m looking for. I met him less than a week ago, and then he popped in to see me. I don’t even know how he feels about me, so if you want to take a go at him, feel free. Don’t let me stop you.” I’d said it because I wanted to appear strong, in control, yet the words tasted and sounded acrid as they came out. They left me feeling anything but strong and in control. They made me weak and frantic. I had to remind myself that he was more than likely long gone given I hadn’t seen nor heard from him since Monday. After the night we met, it’d taken him thirty-six hours to come after me, yet since then, it’d been over sixty. Over sixty hours—more than two days—and nothing from him. I had to take that to mean he’d lost interest, he’d finally taken the hint I had given him, but it was no longer clear in my mind what I wanted. “You playing hard to get?” she asked, pulling my attention from my pathetic thoughts. “No, Carrie. I’m not playing anything.” “I saw the way you walked away from him…” I had to grit my teeth to keep from lashing out at her. It would be completely unprofessional if I
allowed my anger to get the best of me, so I kept it in and displayed a phony smile on my face. “All of which is none of your business. Like I’ve already said, I have no idea what’s going on between us. I walked away from him for personal reasons—reasons he’s aware of. Reasons that don’t concern you, that don’t belong being discussed at work.” She bit her lip and glanced down at her leopard-print pumps, her chest rising with deep breaths. “I’m sorry, Sarah. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just saw the way you guys looked at each other. I’m envious, if I’m being honest. I didn’t mean to push you. I only thought if I threw it out there, it might help you figure out what you want.” “Why do you care what I want?” Her glossy eyes met mine as the corners of her lips tugged timidly into a soft, sweet smile. Then a light sigh slipped through her parted lips, her unshed tears forming along her lower lashes. “I really liked this guy once. And I think he liked me, too. But at the time, I was still wrapped up in my ex and what he’d done to me. He’d hurt me pretty bad, and I guess I let the fear of opening myself up to someone new get in the way of what could be between us. By the time I figured it all out, sorted through my feelings and made the decision to go for it, it was too late. I remember calling him like fifty times that day, excited to tell him how I felt and that I wanted to see what we could have together. I didn’t know it until later, but he’d gotten in a really bad motorcycle accident that morning and died.” She wiped away a lone tear from her cheek, her glistening, pain-filled eyes never leaving mine. “Moral of the story…don’t waste too much time, because time is one thing you’re never guaranteed in life.” Her words seeped into me. They wrapped around my neck and squeezed, making me dizzy with the lack of oxygen supplied to my brain. Time is one thing we’re never guaranteed in life. No truer words had ever been spoken. “Thank you, Carrie.” My whispered voice broke, full of raw emotion and understanding. I couldn’t say anything more, knowing if I tried, the words would be accompanied by tears. I took one more swig of my Coke and left the room without looking back. Carrie needed a moment to herself as badly as I did, but I had a client waiting for me, and I didn’t need to greet her with fresh tears on my face. Marlo stood behind the counter, going through her checklist on the computer as I walked up. She caught my attention and raised a perfectly arched eyebrow, questioning if I was okay. I gave her a single nod, straightening my spine and squaring my shoulders to prove it. With a genuine smile, she glanced behind me, signaling that my client was here and waiting. I spun around, flattening the front of my black dress with my sweaty palms. But my hands froze over my stomach and my shoulders dropped at the sight of him. I turned my head back to Marlo and asked, “This is my client?” “Yes.” She checked over the schedule briefly before saying, “Bentley Cole.” My breath bottled in my chest as I became aware of every noise, every movement of air around me. I didn’t want this lighthearted feeling to end, but I wasn’t sure where it would lead me. I’d cried all night long, wanting him, but now that he stood only a few feet away from me, I didn’t know what to do. I had so many unanswered questions, but I didn’t know how to word them without coming off rude and antsy. Honestly, I didn’t care why he was here, I was simply glad he was. I had no explanation for the things he made me feel, the acceptance he sought to give me…I just knew I wanted it. Craved it. Bentley cleared his throat, reminding me of his presence. I peered up at him through my lashes, and with one look into those dark, intense green eyes, the last of my resolve slipped away. My heels barely came off the floor as I took two steps, closing the distance between us, and fell into him. My hands gripped the sides of his shirt as I pressed my face against the hard planes of his chest, letting the low, steady rhythm of his heart soothe me as he held me in his arms. “What’s going on?” he asked quietly, yet it sounded muffled and deep as I heard his words
reverberate through his body. They were full of trepidation and worry. “I think you broke me.” I tried to laugh, but it came out a sad and pathetic giggle past the lump in my throat. “Impossible,” he whispered into my hair. “You can’t break a diamond.” I pulled back, releasing my hold on him, and shook my head with a smile. “I’m not a diamond. Diamonds sparkle and shine. They bring people happiness. I’m one of those rocks people think are worth something until they take a closer look. I leave them disappointed.” I hadn’t meant to sound so depressed and gloomy, it was meant to be a joke, yet it seemed more like the truth once it’d been spoken aloud. “You’re wrong. Diamonds come from deep inside the earth and are formed by really high pressure over billions of years. Volcanic eruptions bring them close to the surface, so they’re covered with layers of cooled magma. That’s what you are. You’ve suffered a lot of pressure, your life was disturbed by a massive eruption, and you’re hiding out just beneath the surface, waiting to be found. To the untrained eye, you’re a piece of black coal, but in reality, you’re just covered by protective layers until someone breaks through, giving you your moment to shine.” His flushed cheeks and soft words told me he was sincere, yet my laugh couldn’t be contained. It rippled through me until I couldn’t breathe. “Let me guess… You’re the person I’ve been waiting to find me? And you’re going to break through my protective layer of magma so I can shine? I’m not Lucy, and this isn’t some Beatles song.” He shrugged and smiled timidly back at me, but that didn’t hide his embarrassment. His head fell forward as he gripped the back of his neck, his gaze falling to our shoes. “It got you to laugh, didn’t it?” Once my giggles faded, I remembered where we were, standing near the front doors of the salon in front of my boss. I cleared my throat, composing myself. “What are you in here for today, Bentley? Another shampoo? You enjoyed the last one so much, you came back for more?” His cheeks flamed red as he stuffed his hands into his front pockets and rocked on the heels of his black, steel-toed boots. His demeanor was cute. It made him seem boyish. “Nah. I actually came in for a cut this time.” “Okay. I can do that. Come with me.” I spun around, leaving him to follow me back to my station. “What is it you want me to do to it? Want to get rid of this?” I ran my fingers through the longer parts of his hair. He sat down in the chair and faced the mirror, but he never took his eyes off my reflection. “No. I actually like it. I just need a trim.” I studied the style and took a peek at the ends. “When was the last time you had it cut?” I narrowed my gaze at him through the mirror. The gig was up. “Last Friday.” “Less than a week ago?” I rolled my eyes and moved to stand in front of him, leaning against the counter. “Spill it, Bentley. You don’t need a trim. So why are you here?” “How else am I supposed to see you?” His flattery warmed me, more than I’d expected it to, but I wasn’t about to let him off the hook that easily. “Gee, I don’t know, how about the many ways that normal people see each other. I’m sure the majority of them don’t stalk people at their place of employment. Or waste money on haircuts they don’t need. Do you have any idea how much I charge for this?” “Yes, I’m fully aware of the cost. But I don’t care. Let’s face it, Sarah, you’re not the dating kind of girl. You’ve said so yourself. Normal people ask other normal people out to dinner when they want to see them. The last time I saw you, you kicked me out of the salon. I think I made the right assumption when I figured asking you out for dinner wasn’t an option. I decided to take my time, break through a few layers of your magma first.” “So what’s your plan? Just keep coming in here twice a week for shampoos and cuts you don’t
need? Wait it out until I feel bad enough for you and take you up on your offer for dinner? And then what? What is it you’re looking for from me?” His gaze fell to his lap as he twisted his lips, biting the inside of his cheek. “I don’t know.” His voice was clear, not a hint of deception detected. “None of this was planned. I was supposed to go back home, but since meeting you, I can’t seem to actually do it. I can’t find it in me to throw my bags in the back of the truck and take off. I need to know you’re okay. I need to know that when I leave here, you’ll be stronger than when I found you.” “But that doesn’t make any sense, Bentley,” I whispered, not trusting my voice enough to speak any louder. “Think about it logically. You met a complete stranger in a bar. It wasn’t all sweet looks and sexy smiles. I pissed you off, made you walk out. You’d gone in for a drink, and left without one because I verbally assaulted you. Then you spent God knows how long in the parking lot lecturing me, arguing with me. The only reason why you even spent time with me was because you didn’t want me to drive. What about any of that made you stay?” “You said a lot at the diner. And it made me think. Life’s too short to live it sad and alone. And you deserve better.” “At the risk of sounding like a broken record…you don’t know me. How could you possibly know I deserve better? How do you know I’m not a terrible person who’s made horrible decisions?” “I already told you, I’m good at reading people.” “You’re obviously not that great at it, because you thought I was drunk when I left the bar.” “I didn’t think you were drunk. But it’s not safe to drive after having anything to drink.” I laughed and glanced around the room, making sure nobody was paying attention to our conversation. “Bentley, I was drinking Coke. Straight Coke, no mixer. I was just as sober as you were.” “Then why’d you get in my truck? Why’d you agree to sober up at the diner?” I grinned, my determination finally waking up within me. “Because I wanted to get laid. You ruined my chances with the guy next to me, and I figured I’d give you a try instead of going home alone.” He squinted his eyes, moving his gaze off into the distance as if contemplating something. His lips twisted to the side for a moment, and then, as if snapping out of it, he turned his attention back to me. “Wanna have dinner with me tomorrow night?” My head spun, his random question giving me whiplash. “That depends…am I gonna get laid?” “I can make that happen.” He nodded curtly, and the expression on his face remained hard and unreadable. “Okay. Pick me up here at six.” My heartbeat sped up, hammering an erratic rhythm against my ribcage. Was this really happening? I mentally forced myself to switch gears, knowing if we stayed on the topic of me getting laid, I wouldn’t be able to finish out my day. I leaned forward and ran my fingers through his hair again, gripping it at the base as I moved to stand beside him. “So what are we doing with this hair? You gonna let me cut this down?” “No. If you do that, then you won’t be able to grab it like that again.” Apparently, Bentley wanted me flustered for the rest of my day. I dropped my hand and glanced over his body. When he finally stopped staring into the mirror and turned his eyes on me, I asked, “Where are you from?” “Dalton—a small farming town about six hours north.” I slowly shook my head, appraising him openly. I wanted him fully aware of what I was doing, which was pretty much gawking at him, salivating at the thought of touching him everywhere. “I would’ve guessed a city. New York, Chicago, maybe even LA.” “Why?” His rumbling chuckle washed over me and filled me with an easy warmth, the kind I used to feel when I was happy. “For starters, look at you.” I kicked his shoes, trying to ignore the elation he evoked from me.
“You wear heavy-duty boots instead of the typical cowboy boots found in the country. Your jeans are faded with rips in the knees.” I stuck my fingers in one of the holes and pulled to make my point. “It’s very metro. Your T-shirts are fine, but then look at your hair. It screams punk or rock, not country. And last weekend, you had on a snapback, not a cowboy hat. These are not the traits you’d find in a small farming town in the South.” “But I drive a truck,” he responded and winked, excitedly wagging his eyebrows at me. “And what’s wrong with my jeans?” “Nothing is wrong with them. I actually like them. But they’re obviously not Levi’s or Wranglers. They fit, but aren’t snug.” “I can’t wear snug jeans.” He moved his hand to rest on the top of his thigh, forcing my thoughts to what had been there a few days ago. “Can I ask you a personal question?” He nodded, tilting his head slightly. “It might be embarrassing…” “To who? You or me?” My eyes rolled in a full circle as the corners of my lips tugged upward. “The other day, when you were…happy, why was it on your leg?” “Where else would it be?” “I don’t know.” My cheeks instantly burned, but I didn’t back down. “I guess I always thought you kept it in the front, not down one side of your leg.” He bit his lip to fight off the smile, but the twinkle in his eyes gave it away. “I guess some might, but I can’t.” “Then why not up?” “Because having a dick stuck to your stomach isn’t the most comfortable thing.” He laughed when my top lip curled up and my nose wrinkled, but I wasn’t repulsed, I was confused. “Things…get sweaty and then they stick to skin, Sarah. Most of the time, when you see a guy adjust himself, it’s more than likely to get his balls off his leg or something.” “Oh…well, wouldn’t it be easier to adjust yourself if it was up instead of down? It might be more discreet to unstick things if it looks like you’re just messing with the top of your pants.” His gaze fell away, landing on his lap, and that’s when the pink hue trailed up his neck to his face. “Again, maybe for some people. But I don’t really care to have my dick stick out of my waistband.” His eyes snapped back to mine, cutting off my thought. “Have you ever seen a soft dick?” “Of course I have.” “Okay, and does it stick up?” he asked, smiling when I shook my head. “Exactly. Down is more natural. Some might tuck, others can probably get away with it up or in the front, but I can’t.” My entire body from my toes to my head tingled and burned with talk of his dick. I’d never discussed genitalia with a guy before, and although it was a tad embarrassing, I ignored that and let my imagination run free. I leaned closer, eliminating any possibility of others hearing. “Because you’re so big?” “That’s subjective.” “You said it would stick out of your jeans…even when it’s soft?” His breathing had turned ragged about three questions ago, but now it was frantic and harsh, blasting waves of heat against my face with each breath. “Yes.” My eyes grew wide, trailing down his body and stopping at his lap. My pulse began to beat between my legs as I contemplated what he looked like, and even more so, how he felt. I mean, wasn’t it every girl’s fantasy to have a guy with a big dick? “How big are you?” “I don’t know, never measured it.”
“Modest much?” “Call it whatever you want, but I don’t go around comparing my dick to others. Do you sit around with your friends comparing your pussies?” He wasn’t rude with his answer, or even angry. He simply spoke with a factual tone, nonchalant as if discussing what to eat for dinner. Paranoia over someone hearing us clawed at me and made my ears ring, but when I chanced a glance around the salon, no one seemed to be paying an ounce of attention to our massively inappropriate conversation. “Why would we do that?” “Exactly. And why would I compare mine? Pussy is like dick—they’re all different. Some are deeper than others, some are tighter; one girl might have neatly tucked lips while the chick’s next to her hangs down. But they all work the same. No sense in comparing.” “You seem to know a lot about pussy.” He wagged his eyebrows, giving me a shit-eating grin that had me clenching my legs together. I ignored him, focusing once more on his lap and salivating to see what hid beneath his clothes. Talking about his size made me wonder how long he actually was, and if it was all length and no girth. Then I wondered if the girth matched the length. That visual left my panties slightly wet and my breaths shallow and eager. “You know…” Bentley’s smooth, deep voice caught my attention, causing me to gasp in surprise. “You’re kind of making me a little self-conscious. Making me feel cheap and dirty, like you’re trying to picture me naked.” My apology was at the tip of my tongue when he started to laugh. I slapped his bicep, feeling the hard muscle beneath my palm, and fantasizing about other parts of his body. “So are you going to trim my hair or what? I think you’ve talked about my hair once—making fun of it—and isn’t that what I’m in here for?” “You really want a forty-five dollar trim?” “No, I just really want to talk to you. But if I have to pay forty-five dollars to do it, then sure… why not?” “You sound like one of those creeps that pay a prostitute just to talk. But you’re here, on my schedule, so we can still talk without you going broke. It’s not like you’re holding me up or anything.” “You won’t get in trouble?” The chair creaked as he leaned forward, glancing to the front of the salon where we’d last seen Marlo. “No. It’ll be fine. Want another shampoo?” He sat back and laughed, scratching the short, dark stubble along his jaw. “I don’t think I can handle that again.” We talked some more while he sat in the chair and I leaned against the counter in front of him. He kept the conversation light, not once mentioning my mom or my issues. It was easy and fun. I couldn’t remember a time before when I’d felt so good just talking to someone—a stranger. But that’s just it, he didn’t seem like a stranger to me. It was as if I’d always known his smile and the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed. It was that connection I always felt around him—that unexplainable, indescribable connection. Something inside me shifted. And for the first time in five months, I let go just a little. I allowed myself to smile and mean it, gave in to the moment without looking behind or dreading what was ahead. It felt freeing, light, and good. Once Bentley had left, I sat down in the chair and glanced around the salon. Life went on around me, and for the first time in months, I didn’t feel lost. I didn’t feel like an outsider standing around a group of people, pretending to fit in. I belonged—not just in the salon, but in life, in this world, in the land of the living. Stacia, one of the assistants who typically manned the front counter, came up to me, breaking me
out of my trance. She handed me folded cash with a wide smile that showed off her perfectly straight teeth. I took it from her and noticed it was two twenty-dollar bills, and then stopped her before she made it two steps away. “What is this?” I held out the cash in the air like a dirty diaper. “Your tip from your client.” “My tip? He didn’t even get a haircut. We sat here and talked the whole time.” Her brow furrowed and her clasped hands fidgeted in front of her stomach. “Oh…well, he paid for a cut. He never said anything.” I jumped out of my seat and ran outside, just in time to see his heavy-duty Chevy pull out of the parking lot. I groaned, stomping my heel against the concrete like a toddler throwing a temper tantrum, and then stormed back inside, stopping at the counter where Stacia now stood. “I’m really sorry, Sarah. I had no idea.” Fear filled her wide eyes as she stood behind the counter, her back as straight as a board. “You didn’t think anything of it when he left me a hundred percent tip?” She shook her head in short, jerky movements, clearly nervous over my reaction. “You never said anything about the first tip, so I thought it was normal.” “What do you mean ‘the first tip’?” My tone dropped to a hesitant growl, the anger mixing with my confusion and coming out in a throaty-sounding voice. She didn’t say anything else. Instead, she turned and shuffled her feet along the wood flooring, heading to my station. I followed behind her, my head spinning in a million different directions. Once we reached my counter, she pulled open the drawer that I kept my round brushes in. Beneath the only brush I used when blow-drying hair sat a plain white envelope. She barely had it out of the drawer before I snatched it from her hand, ripping it open to find another forty dollars inside. I glared at her, expecting an answer. “He left it the last time he was in. You weren’t here so I put it in your drawer. I thought you’d gotten it, so I never questioned it. I’m really sorry, Sarah. I didn’t mean to make you mad.” My resolve softened at her unnecessary apology, realizing I’d taken out my frustrations on the wrong person. “It’s not your fault, Stacia. I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at Bentley. Well, not mad…I’m confused.” “I think he likes you,” she whispered, fighting back the uneasy grin on her lips. “I don’t understand him, so I have no idea if he likes me or not.” I fell back into my chair, defeat fogging my mind. “I don’t know what he wants from me,” I said and then let out a long sigh. The only thing keeping me from completely freaking out was the fact that I knew I’d see him the next day. I’d give him back his money, refund the haircut he paid for, and question why he felt the need to practically throw cash at me. I was a level-four stylist; I didn’t make chump change. I didn’t need his handouts. I wasn’t a charity case or someone who needed donations. One more day, and then I’d make sure I had all the answers to every question I could come up with in the event I’d never see him again.
Friday was never-ending. It probably had a lot to do with the anticipation of dinner with Bentley. It’d been so long since I’d been out on a date, and the anxiety became almost too much to bear. It also didn’t help that I had mixed feelings about seeing him. Prior to receiving his tips yesterday, the thought of seeing him—and getting laid—excited me. My body needed release, except I’d come to terms that it couldn’t be by just anyone. I felt like a puzzle, scattered pieces that had slowly started coming together. However, there was one piece missing—the connection I so desperately craved. So the idea of finally getting it had lit a spark of excitement in me. But then he had to go and throw money at me and make me feel cheap and pathetic, like I was nothing more than a tragic girl that needed his help. That left me pissed off and angered, dousing the flames of promised passion that fought to burn inside. Once six o’clock rolled around, I made my way to the front of the salon, finding a very welldressed Bentley waiting for me. At the mere sight of him, all the anxiety and apprehension vanished, leaving me happy and slightly nervous. “You ready?” he asked, sounding vaguely insecure, yet it hadn’t registered in his strong and confident posture. I could only smile and nod, winding my purse strap around my crossed arms to give me something to do with my hands. I wanted to touch him in some way, but decided against it, waiting for him to make the first move. He opened the door and waited until I passed through before following me outside. His truck was parked in the front, and for the first time since thinking about this date, I questioned the driving arrangements. “Is it okay if you leave your car here? Or do you need to take it home?” I casually waved him off. “I can follow you. It’s no big deal.” He stepped closer to me, lightly holding my upper arms as he squared his shoulders with mine. His chin dipped and his soft, shining eyes met mine. “This is a date, Sarah. And as such, I’m going to drive. Whether we leave from here, or I follow you back to your house to drop off your car, you’re going to ride with me to dinner.” He really hadn’t left me with much choice in the matter, so I had two options: leave my car at the salon, or let him follow me back home. I wasn’t sure how comfortable I was with him knowing where I lived. Truth be told, no matter how often he crossed my mind or how comfortable I felt around him, he was still a stranger to me. We hadn’t swapped phone numbers, he didn’t know my last name, and I had no idea where he lived, other than the name of a town six hours away. Taking him to my house was out of the question. “I’ll just leave it here. It’ll be fine.” He walked around to the passenger side of his truck and opened the door for me, helping me into the seat with his hands on my hips like last time. My skin prickled with the promise of him doing that
again later, only without clothes, and not for the sake of getting into the truck. I twisted around to buckle my seatbelt after he climbed in the driver seat. My cheeks flamed hot from my sexual thoughts and the grin that wouldn’t go away. “So, where are you taking me?” “I found this place a while back and thought you might like it. It’s a southern barbecue joint. It’s set up like a backyard barbecue with music, and they make the food right there where you can see it. And they serve drinks in Solo cups. It’s the coolest restaurant I’ve been to.” “We aren’t dressed a little too fancy for this place?” Bentley turned his head toward me and winked. “Nah. No such thing. A grill goes with almost anything. My brother’s wedding reception was barbecue themed.” “What about the bride’s dress? She didn’t care to get it messy?” “Nope. She said she had no intention of ever wearing it again, so it didn’t matter how messed up it got.” “She has a point.” Bentley’s fingers tapped out a silent beat on the console between us. Was he nervous, or was it a normal habit of his? It made me think back to the promise he made me yesterday, and I wondered if he’d changed his mind. “I’m still getting laid tonight, right?” I asked, attempting to make it sound like a joke, when in reality, I was dead serious about it. All the sexual chemistry between us during the week had really gotten to me. “Yes. I already told you that you would.” “Just making sure.” I sat back in my seat when another thought came to mind. “By you, right?” He peered at me out of the corner of his eye with a smirk on his lips. “Yes, Sarah. What do you think I’m going to do? Pass you around to a group of guys?” “No, but I feel like I have to go through every possible loophole, making sure you can’t get out of it somehow.” He took my hand in his on the center console and twined his fingers with mine. It was comforting and allowed me to fully relax in my seat. He seemed unaware of the tension that had coursed through me prior to his touch. “Sarah, I said you’d get laid, and you will. By me. Tonight.” For the rest of the drive, I had to sit in wet panties while my heartbeat pulsed between my thighs. I didn’t know if I’d be able to make it through dinner without begging him to take me on the table. The restaurant was in a neighboring town, and it had to have been fairly new because I’d never heard of it before. But it must’ve been good because the parking lot seemed rather full. Bentley told me to stay in my seat, so I did, and then I watched him move around the front of the truck to open my door. He took my hand and helped me down, his manners causing my heart to hiccup. “For a country boy that looks like he walked right out of the city, you sure are a gentleman.” He laced his fingers through mine and led me to the front door. “What can I say…I was raised right.” He reached for the door and opened it, letting me walk through first, and then placed his hand on the small of my back as I passed in front of him. “Aloha!” the hostess greeted us in a heavy southern accent as soon as we made it to the stand. “Have y’all ever been here before?” I shook my head, a sense I didn’t belong striking me hard as I glanced around the busy room. It was loud, and country music blared through the speakers. People walked around while others sat at various picnic tables around the large, open room. It really did resemble a backyard barbecue—at a stranger’s house where I didn’t know a damn person. “I have. This is her first time,” Bentley said to the woman. Then he took the flowery wreath out of her hand, hung it around my neck, and leaned in to my ear as he did so. “Consider yourself laid.” I quirked an eyebrow at him after pulling away, feeling completely duped. “Are you serious right
now? This is what you meant by me getting laid tonight?” “It was a stroke of luck that this place has Hawaiian night every Friday and you used the word ‘laid’ instead of something else.” He grabbed my hand once more and followed the hostess to a small table in the back. The entire time I followed him, my head spun. I couldn’t focus enough to pay attention to where we were headed. Once we were seated and the woman had turned her back, I glared at Bentley from across the table, letting my eyes speak for me for a moment while I gathered my thoughts. “You knew what I meant.” “Would you have come here with me if I told you I wouldn’t have sex with you?” “More than likely not.” Oh, who was I kidding? Bentley had been on my mind all week. I wouldn’t have turned down dinner with him if he’d told me he wouldn’t even hold my hand. “Okay then.” “Why won’t you have sex with me?” Curiosity and insecurity struck me deep in my core. I knew his answer would more than likely sting, but I had to know. I’d never been in this situation before. He grabbed a menu and glanced at it, not once looking at me. “I already told you—I don’t want to be used.” “You’ve also said that at some point, you’re going back home…six hours away. So what is it you want from me? And don’t give me some bullshit about wanting to fix me, because that’s not going to happen. No one changes plans for a girl with the only MO being to make her less sad.” He lowered the menu slightly, glaring at me from over the top. “Are you really pissed that I won’t fuck you? Does the fact that I respect you—and myself—too much to do that offend you in some way?” “I just want to know what is so wrong with me that you won’t.” He finally put the menu all the way down on the table and leaned in on his elbows. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with you. But you use sex to cope with shit, and I don’t agree with that.” “I knew it.” I slapped my hand on the table between us. “You pretend that you don’t have an issue with a woman having an active sex life, when really, you do. Admit it, Bentley…admit to my face what you really think of me.” Curiosity faded away as insecurity and rejection consumed me, causing me to react irrationally. He grabbed both my hands in his, holding them tight and waiting for my undivided attention. “I swear to you, I have no problems with an active sex life for anyone. As long as you use protection, get tested regularly, and are clean, then I have no issues with it. And I’ve already admitted to your face what I think of you.” I pulled away, but my hands remained in his. “I think you’re selling yourself short. I think you won’t allow yourself to be happy because you think you can’t be if your mom can’t. You have sex, not because you enjoy it or because it’s with someone you care about, but because it takes your mind off life. Off your struggles. And that’s what I have a problem with. Because it doesn’t matter how much sex you have, you’re always going to wake up alone in the morning, and your problems will still be there. You can’t mask it with other things. The only way to make your problems go away is by dealing with them. Face them head on, fight the demons, and then choose to live.” My jaw ached from biting down on my back teeth so hard. He made me so frustrated with his passive-style therapy. “I don’t know why you even bother coming around. I mean, listen to us. We’re a freaking broken record. It’s always the same: me asking you why you’re here, you giving me some Dr. Phil bullshit, and then reading me like a damn book. I don’t like it.” “Then stop fighting me.” His easy chuckle lightened the mood some and caused me to cool off a bit. I pulled my hands from his grasp and dug in my purse until I found the envelope. I’d wanted to wait until the end of the night before bringing it up, but with the way our date was going, now seemed like
as good of a time as any. “Here,” I said, pushing it across the table at him. “What’s this?” “Your pity money you left for me at the salon. I’m not some charity case.” He pushed the envelope back across the table. “I never said you were.” “So explain that.” I crossed my arms over my chest, erecting my wall. He shrugged and leaned back in his seat as if it were no big deal that he’d shoved money my way, as if it happened every day. “Nothing to explain. It’s a tip.” “I didn’t cut your hair.” “No, but you took an appointment and didn’t earn any money from it. That’s not pity, and it’s not charity. Had I not taken up your time, you could’ve booked another person and made money. I wasn’t about to let you lose a sale because I’m needy and wanted to spend time with you.” He pushed the envelope more until it slid off the table and into my lap. “Take the damn money and stop arguing with me.” “I don’t like taking money if I didn’t earn it.” “And I understand that. I get it. But I would feel awful knowing I took up your time and kept you from earning money. Outside of work is one thing—I’m not going to pay you to have dinner with me. But that was from a time when you were on the clock, and I don’t feel right about making an appointment you didn’t get paid for.” I went with it and dropped the attitude, shoving the cash back into my purse. After all, what else could I do? There was no point in ruining dinner for us both. But then Bentley decided to open his mouth —apparently, he didn’t care about ruining this date. “Can you tell me what happened to your mom?” Not a sound could’ve been heard past the harsh pounding in my ears, like my heart had dislodged itself from my chest and settled in my head. Everything throbbed, including my eyes as I gawked at him from across the table. Even my voice didn’t want to work properly as it squeaked out in a broken, hoarse whisper. “Why?” His shoulders rose slightly, making him seem insecure or unsure, while his hands fidgeted in front of him. “You mentioned a brain aneurysm once, but never said if that’s what it was. I guess I’m curious. I mean, her death has clearly been a heavy weight on your shoulders, and I just want to know more about it. I want to understand you better.” I studied the way he twisted his fingers, focusing on those simple movements to keep the panic from taking me down. I could already feel it start to come on, breaths becoming so short and shallow that my head felt light with the lack of oxygen. “Listen, Sarah…I get it if you don’t want to talk about it, but I only want to help. You said I couldn’t understand because I’ve never been where you are. So tell me. Help me understand.” “She had these migraines.” Without meeting his eyes, keeping my focus on his fingers, I opened my mouth and let my words flow. It became easier when I didn’t feel like I was talking to someone, but rather at someone. “They started when I was a teenager, and I remember them crippling her. She’d gone to the doctor about it, but they were never able to find anything, saying hormones caused them. Eventually, she started getting these injections in her head and neck. Botox. They helped, but she had to keep going to get them done, otherwise the migraines would come back. In the last year, they progressively got worse, and even with the injections, she still suffered from them. The Botox no longer did what it had before. She talked to the doctor about it, but her insurance company wouldn’t pay for any more tests. They said the only way more comprehensive testing could be ordered on her brain was if she had an injury.” His hands became blurry in front of me as he reached out to grab mine. I blinked and tears fell, allowing my sight to clear up for a moment before clouding over again. No words were exchanged, nor
did I ever raise my gaze to his face. We just sat there, holding hands in silence until the waitress came to our table. That’s when he let go of me, and lack of his warmth chilled me to the bone. Bentley had to order for me since I couldn’t pull myself together long enough to make up my mind. It wasn’t that I sat there and cried. I was in a daze, an unfocused stupor as I stared blankly at the table. Eventually, after the waitress left, he moved out of his seat and slid into the booth on my side. His hand rested on my thigh, heat building beneath his palm until it overtook my entire being. The void I’d felt inside since opening up about my mom evaporated beneath his touch, but nothing calmed me down more than when I leaned over and pressed my cheek to his chest. “You should probably smile before people start thinking I brought you on this date to break up with you. There’s some burly looking men here that might take a tree branch to the backs of my knees in the parking lot if they think I just broke your heart.” The side of my mouth lifted slightly, but it wouldn’t form into a real smile. “Talk dirty to me, Bentley.” His arm stiffened around my shoulder. “What?” “If you want to pull me out of this funk…talk dirty to me.” I needed that impersonal act to switch off my damaging pain, to make me focus on the outcome, not the reality. I only hoped he’d offer me the reprieve I sought. “Your tits look great in that top.” His husky voice lowered as he whispered in my ear. “Keep going.” “I’ve actually come a few times while thinking about fucking them. But it’s never as good as when I think about bending you over, your ass in the air, and fucking you until you come all over my cock.” My smile grew, but I kept my eyes closed and my cheek pressed against his chest. “Do you think about fucking me often?” “Do I often think about it? Yes. Do I think about fucking you repeatedly? Hell yes. I think I’ve jerked off more times in this last week than I ever have through my entire adolescence.” “You know…” I pulled away and became giddy at the goofy grin that stretched across his lips. “We could totally make that happen tonight.” “I knew you were going to say that,” he said with a deep, rumbling chuckle that shook his shoulders. “Let’s just see how things go.” My mood lightened, yet the throbbing between my legs grew more intense. He finally went back to the other side of the table once the food came, but it did nothing to stop my burning need for him. Our conversation never went back to my mom or her death, nor did it stay on the topic of sex. Just knowing he thought about being with me had my body zinging with excitement. When we got back in the truck, I glanced behind me and smiled in his direction, knowing he could see the mischievous gleam in my eyes. “That’s a mighty big back seat you got there, Bentley.” He craned his neck, bringing his face closer to mine. “It sure is. It’s great when hauling a lot of things. Very spacious.” “I bet there’s enough room to really sprawl out.” He laughed and shook his head, the engine roaring to life as he started the truck. “I’ll keep that in mind if I ever have to sleep in my car.” I playfully shoved at his shoulder. “You said we’d see how things go. I think dinner went well, don’t you?” “Yes, it did. But I didn’t say we’ll see how dinner goes.” “I’m not getting laid tonight, am I?” My teasing tone hid my disappointment well, but it wasn’t enough to convince me of it. An invisible weight settled on my shoulders until they felt heavy and laden. But I wouldn’t let him see that. I couldn’t let on how desperate I’d become to feel someone touch me. Not someone…him.
We settled into a good conversation on the drive back to the salon. I’d accepted the fact that he wanted more out of me than I could give, and this would more than likely be the last time we’d spend together. He couldn’t give me what I wanted, and I wasn’t ready to give him what he sought. I needed the physical, while it seemed he needed the emotional, and neither of us were willing to budge. “Did you want to get together this weekend and hang out?” he asked after he pulled up next to my car in front of the salon. “I don’t really think that’s such a good idea, Bentley.” His brow furrowed, the lights on his dash casting a shadow in the creases of his forehead. “Why not? I thought we were having a good time tonight.” “Yeah, we were. But…you want me to see things I’m not ready to grasp just yet. You want me to feel things I can’t bring myself to feel. And you want me to do this without giving me anything in return. It’s your way, or no way. And I don’t know how much I’m willing to give up for something you can’t even guarantee.” “So you’re saying you don’t want to see me again because I won’t fuck you?” His tone was cold and harsh, and for some reason, it filled me with guilt. It took me a moment to sort through my emotions and thoughts to find the right words to answer him. “My decision actually has nothing to with sex. It has to do with what you’re asking of me. I understand you just want to be a friend to me and help me through this shitty time in my life, and I really appreciate that. However, I can’t just snap my fingers and follow your every command. You’re asking me to completely flip my life upside down, turn it inside out, pull all my demons out of my closet, and face them head on. I can’t do that all at once. That will break me. I’m willing to have you in my life as a friend, to help guide me out of this sinkhole I’ve found myself in, but I have to think about how I can do that without losing myself in the process.” “You want to take your time…” “Yes. And no. I mean, can you just give me this weekend to think about it? To figure out how I’m going to rearrange my life to fit you in it? I have to wrap my mind around everything. It’s my life…it’s not as easy as you make it sound.” I had no idea what I was saying. My mind was all over the place with thoughts firing in all directions, each thought confusing and conflicting the one before it. I didn’t want to make a decision right then. I wanted time to contemplate everything. “Okay. I can give you the weekend to think about it.” I laid my hand over his. “Thank you, Bentley. Come here on Monday at four. That’s when I get off work. We can talk about it then.” He didn’t say any more, only gave me a tight smile. I knew he wasn’t pleased with my offer, because he didn’t even bother to get out of the truck to open my door. He sat in his seat, staring at the steering wheel as I helped myself down and closed the door behind me. I stood next to his truck for a moment, worrying that I’d made the wrong decision, but I knew it was what I needed to do. I had so much to think about, and I didn’t even know where to start. Bentley waited until I backed out of the parking space before putting his truck in reverse, and then he stayed behind me until we were out of the parking lot. I turned right, he turned left. His taillights in my rearview mirror left me with an aching emptiness inside that I couldn’t interpret. That emptiness followed me through the night and into the next day. I wanted him in my life, in whatever capacity I could have him. I had no doubt about that. My hang-up was…how could we both get what we wanted? He wanted me to move past the pain of losing my mom, and while I wanted the same thing—no longer desiring the whole “sweep it under the rug” mentality—I didn’t think I could jump in head first. I needed to ease into it, slowly drift from where I was to where I needed to be. And until I could reach a point where I no longer needed the distraction of mind-numbing sex, I couldn’t give it up cold turkey. And I’d need the comfort of my coping mechanism more now than ever if I were to really dig inside and deal with the pain and loss over my mom.
My compromise was to keep my Saturday nights while entertaining his company the other six days of the week. Obviously, come Monday, I wouldn’t tell him that. All he needed to know was that I’d chosen to let him in. I’d give him the chance he wanted. He didn’t need to know about what I did behind his back. We weren’t in a relationship, so I didn’t owe him my celibacy. Nor did I owe him any explanations. We were friends…he made that point clear. My mind was made up and my heart was light as I slipped on my red boots Saturday night, ready to hit the bar. My hair was styled in the usual messy waves, my lips were lined in sensual red to match my red-and-white racer-back tank, and I had on my cutoff shorts that made my thighs seem far more muscular than they actually were. There was nothing like the promise of a bar and men to ease the worry over real life. Just one night. That’s all I needed to settle my frayed nerves left behind by a week of Bentley and his adamant desire to open me up. My confidence soared as I neared the bar on the outskirts of town. I didn’t dare go back to Woody’s in the event Bentley decided to check up on me. Dixie was a nice bar, but it was so far away from home. However, I knew the drinks were good and the men were even better. It took all of five minutes to find my guy. He was tall with wide shoulders, a shaved head, and wore a pair of dark Levi’s that hugged his ass in the most delicious way. He’d caught my eye the moment he walked through the door. But I had to play the game right. I sat alone at the bar, sipping my Coke through a straw, while glancing his way through my lowered lashes. It took him a few minutes, but he finally noticed me. When he smirked, I knew I had him. My head spun and my stomach fluttered, leaving me with the sensation of downing a few shots as he left his perch at the end of the bar to make his way over to me. I flipped my hair over my shoulder and turned my face to him sexily as he took the empty stool next to me. I hoped to exude the confidence that filled me. He leaned in closer, consuming every ounce of space around me, and asked, “You here all by yourself?” “Unfortunately. My friend was supposed to meet me here, but she bailed after I’d already sat down. I figured I’d finish my drink and then head home. Unless you know of something else going on tonight?” A satisfied smirk took hold of his lips as he leaned in even closer to me. The fresh scent of soap and laundry detergent wafted from him like the breeze coming off an ocean. “I think I can come up with something to do. What’s your name, sweetheart?” “Colby,” I answered confidently and placed my hand in his open palm. He pulled my hand to his mouth, pressing his lips to my knuckles. “Pleasure to meet you, Colby. I’m Jake.” That was such a lie—he looked nothing like a Jake, but I wasn’t about to call him out on it. After all, Colby wasn’t my real name, either. “What do you have in mind, Jake?” “What do you say we get out of here and find out?” I coyly tilted my head in his direction, playing the part perfectly, but for some reason, it didn’t feel right. He was good looking; nothing about him had turned me off. But there was something missing. I couldn’t put my finger on it, and I hoped if I gave it a few more moments, I’d figure it out. “But you just got here. I would feel horrible about taking you away from your friends.” “They’re big boys. They can take care of themselves. I don’t need to be here to hold their hands. So what do you say? We finish our drinks and head out?” His glass of beer was half full. But it wouldn’t surprise me if he could down the rest of it in two swallows. My glass, on the other hand, was new. It may have only been soda, and therefore not a waste of money to leave behind, but he didn’t know that. “Sounds like a plan.” I took another sip from my straw with my gaze locked on his. I waited for desire to swirl within me, but it wasn’t the same as before. Normally, my lips would take on a permanent
grin—not out of happiness, but because of the sex-induced endorphins that ran rampant through me. But that’s not how I felt sitting next to this man. I had no pulse where it mattered, and my panties couldn’t have been any drier had I just pulled them out of the fluff cycle. I contemplated asking for a shot from the bartender, but I didn’t want to take the chance of impairing my judgment. “Are you gonna try to tell me you don’t do this often? Huh? Play the innocent card, the good-girl act? Because I’ll tell you right now, sweetheart, I’m not buying it. In fact, I’ll bet money that you came here all by your lonesome, that you never had a friend meeting you here. No one bailed on you. Except maybe a boyfriend, and this is your way of getting back at him.” He didn’t say it maliciously, but it felt like an insult nonetheless. I decided to cut the crap and give it to him straight—well, as straight as I’d get with him. “I had no intention of playing the innocent, goodie two-shoes. If that was my angle, I wouldn’t have given in so quickly to leave with you. But you’re wrong about one thing. I was supposed to meet my friend, and she did cancel. So what else was I supposed to do? I was already here, might as well try to get laid. Right?” “Ah…the shit I wanna do to that mouth.” “And the shit I want you to do with yours,” I said with a smirk, anticipating that a little dirty talk might spark something within me. “Hurry up and finish that drink, sweetheart.” I leaned all the way over until my lips grazed his ear. “And you couldn’t be more wrong about the boyfriend assumption. This isn’t to get back at anyone. It’s because I like to fuck. Hard.” A growl rumbled through his chest as I slowly backed away, and then I used my tongue to find my straw for another sip. His pupils dilated, showing his hunger for me, and it fueled my confidence, making me feel invincible. But it still didn’t do anything to elicit the excitement I’d need to leave with him. “Let me go freshen up in the ladies’ room, and then we can go.” He didn’t even bother to respond, only bit down on his lip, baring his teeth, and then watched me get off the stool through his half-lowered eyelids. The moment I stood on both feet, a warm fuzziness filled my head, which usually made me feel good, but not this time. It actually had me questioning myself like an internal alarm system. I quickly made it to the sink in the bathroom and splashed cool water on my face. I glanced up at my reflection, shocked at the eyes that stared back at me. They were mine, but seemed so lost. The girl in front of me wasn’t me at all. I was always the one in the group to laugh the loudest, to smile the biggest, and the rock when anyone needed it. But the girl in the mirror, she wasn’t that person at all. Her brown eyes were so dull, as if her soul had given up. You could no longer see the smile lines next to her eyes because the dark circles beneath them became the focal point. Her pouty lips were soft and smooth, no longer cracked from her once permanent grin. When was the last time I looked in the mirror? Or maybe I just hadn’t paid attention to the face staring back at me. I used to look like a younger version of my mom, but now, I was just a pathetic reflection of a very sad girl. No wonder Bentley felt so strongly about saving me. All he had to do was take one look at me and see what a mess I was. It all made sense now why he wouldn’t sleep with me. Who would choose to have sex with someone on the verge of completely dying inside? I looked sick. I turned my back to the mirror, no longer wanting the visual. I couldn’t stand my own reflection. Yet the man outside waiting for me seemed so eager to get me out of there. To get me alone. To fuck me. It suddenly hit me—I didn’t get a man every Saturday night because I looked good, or because I knew how to play the game. There was no game. At least none that I was a part of. The game had actually been played on me this entire time. These men…these strangers I allowed inside me, they took one look at me and saw me for exactly who I was: a hole that was willing. The dullness in my eyes didn’t matter, they got off regardless. The pain in my bones didn’t matter; it didn’t affect my participation in the moment. They
won. I again…lost. The harsh burn of tears threatened to consume me and take me down. My empty stomach felt full, filling with hurt and regret that licked its way up my chest and became a permanent fixture in my throat. I wanted to lock myself in a stall and heave into the toilet to rid my body of the devastation that had become so engrained in me, it’d changed who I was. But I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t give in to the pain like I’d done so many times before. I took a few deep cleansing breaths, and then pulled my shoulders back before walking out of the bathroom. Bentley had been right. I needed to get my life back. And I wouldn’t do that hiding out in a bathroom or leaving a bar with a man who’d given me a fake name. I wouldn’t get my life back by spreading my legs for a moment of pleasure. I had one thing to do, and that was to go back home, alone, with my head held high. But as I stepped out of the restroom, I found Jake waiting for me against the wall. “Ready, sweetheart?” You’d be surprised how many guys you meet at bars will call you by some cheesy name, which only proved how often they picked random women up. Typically, I didn’t mind it. Not that I liked it, but it was whatever. But now, after seeing myself for who I’d turned into, the name made me cringe. It did nothing but remind me of the dark trenches I’d found myself in, the deep, desolate hole I’d been hiding in this whole time. And I no longer wanted to be there. “Sorry, guy, but tonight isn’t gonna happen.” I moved to the side and stepped past him. He grabbed my arm—more like manhandled it—and pushed me into the wall. My head hit the plaster with a hollow thud. We were now out of the hallway, in the back of the bar. People milled about around us, no one bothering to pay any attention to the way he held onto me, or how close his red, angry face was to mine. My pulse sped up, moving through my chest, into my throat, and then settling in my ears. “Okay, you’re hurting me. Can you please let me go?” “What the fuck was that about? Tease me, then decide to turn me down?” “That wasn’t what happened. I just changed my mind. Now let me go.” He growled, pressing his forehead into mine, which shoved the back of my head harder into the wall. “Changed your mind? I’m so sick of you women and your fucking cock-teasing ways. You don’t get to change your mind.” The only thoughts that ran through my head were the warnings Bree had given me time and time again. I’d never listened to her, because I assumed I was invincible, strong enough to handle my own. I believed I was smart enough to stay safe. You always think it’ll never happen to you…until it does. I pushed against him, trying to fight, but he was too strong and easily overpowered my feeble attempts. I didn’t stand a chance at defending myself. I wanted to scream, get someone’s attention, but my throat wouldn’t work. Fear formed into a physical shape and wedged itself there, preventing me from making a sound. There were people around us, yet to them, I’m sure we looked like a couple of horny teens, unable to resist the urges of our bodies. When in fact, it was anything but. I knew he wouldn’t be able to get me through the bar and out the front door, but that hadn’t offered any comfort to my frantic nerves. Especially when he glanced to the side, a sneer forming on his lips as he noticed the dark hallway a few feet away. Panic burned deep, bringing tears to my eyes. I became frozen, unable to move or scream. The fight or flight instinct was nowhere to be found. In its place was fright, complete and utter terror that kept me rooted in place. The only movements my body was capable of making were my violently shaking limbs and the short, panicked sobs that bruised the inside of my chest. They wouldn’t even make their way out, defeating the purpose. Why hadn’t I listened to Bree? Why hadn’t I listened to Bentley?
It didn’t matter, because it was too late now.
My eyes squeezed closed as warm tears streamed down my face. I was a prisoner to stop them. I couldn’t move, couldn’t wipe the wetness from my cheeks. I tried to beg him to leave me alone, but I wasn’t sure anything coherent had actually come out of my mouth. Suddenly, I was spun to the side, my shoulder slamming into the wall, pain radiating through the left side of my body. A scream finally emerged, but it was hoarse and muffled, serving no real purpose. When I didn’t feel his hold on me anymore, I brazenly looked around for Jake. I found him in front of me, cheek pressed hard against the wall, a large hand circled his neck with thick fingers digging in just beneath his jaw on either side. His eyes were wide, his face beet red, and his mouth hung open. A shrill ring attacked my eardrums, blocking all noise around me. I tried to focus but the lights in the room dimmed. However, my attention was still riveted on the pained expression on Jake’s face. I shook my head, trying to clear the darkness away. I wasn’t sure if it was all in my head, or if my body was shutting down from the adrenaline surge. Instead of Jake holding me against the wall, my own fear was. I was a cold, shivering mess, trapped by the circumstances of my own making, and I experienced a strange sense of my mind, emotions, and body fading fast. Once I finally pulled my attention from his wide and panicked eyes, I noticed Bentley’s mouth next to Jake’s ear. I couldn’t hear the words coming from his tight lips past the frantic rush of blood in my ears, but from the look in his eyes and the way he gripped Jake’s neck, I knew they were filled with rage and disgust. I gaped at the sight in front of me, fear nearly crippling me, but Bentley’s presence kept me upright, kept me strong enough to not fold under the debilitating anxiety of what’d just happened—or almost happened. As soon as Bentley released his hold and stepped back, Jake crumpled to the floor, gasping for air. I couldn’t take my eyes off him, off the man that just moments ago had held me prisoner. I knew he was down and couldn’t get to me, but that didn’t stop the rolling waves of nausea in my stomach or my inability to breathe. Out of nowhere, a warm hand grabbed mine possessively and began to pull me away. The scream that had been building in my chest finally broke free, tearing through my throat as I fought against the hold. I locked eyes with my captor. His wide, fearful eyes silenced my cries for help. And then my gaze traveled down his body to his arm, realizing the hand that held mine belonged to Bentley. Turning around, Bentley started to walk, keeping his hold on me as he dragged me behind him until we were out of the bar. The humid summer air hit me as soon as we were through the door. It practically suffocated me. It settled over my skin, warming me like the heat of the sun. My heart slowed and my lungs were finally able to expand properly. I needed fresh air, clean oxygen. I needed to be wrapped in Bentley’s arms with the scent of his cologne to ground me. But that’s not what I got. Instead, he stopped at the passenger side of his truck and opened the door, glaring at me with narrowed eyes.
“Get in,” he commanded harshly. His attitude had my head spinning again, this time, with confusion and regret. I needed him to comfort me, to make me believe everything would be okay. But that’s not what he did. He was angry—his dark, glaring eyes were proof of that. It made my chest ache and my throat tighten for whole new reasons. I pulled my hand from his. He’d parked right next to my car, so when I stumbled backward, I hit my driver-side door with my back, not even flinching at the pain that radiated up my spine from the door handle. “That’s okay. I’m fine. I’ll just drive myself. Thank you for coming.” “Thank you for coming?” Venom dripped from his tone, and it humiliated me. “Are you serious right now, Sarah? I find you in a bar, trapped against a wall by a guy twice your size as he tells you that you don’t have a choice, and you choose to tell me ‘Thanks for coming’? Fucking incredible.” “What are you looking for, Bentley? Huh? You want me to blow you to show my gratitude?” I needed to fight back in some way since I’d been powerless to do so before. So I moved nearer to him, catching the sexy aroma of his faint cologne. My tense muscles recoiled with every harsh beat of my heart. “How did you even know where I was? Were you following me?” “My cousin was here. He told me you came in.” “How does your cousin even know who I am?” He ran his hand through his hair, his shoulders dropping some. “This isn’t about how I knew where you were or why I’m here. This is about you making stupid decisions, nearly getting yourself hurt!” “I needed sex…and you wouldn’t fuck me.” I pressed my finger to his chest, but the moment my fingertip met the material of his shirt, he grabbed my hand and moved it away. “That’s what you really want, Sarah? You want it so bad you’re willing to risk your safety?” He stepped closer to me, still holding on to my fist in his hand. He grabbed my hip, digging his fingers into me to keep me from moving away. “Does getting off really mean that much to you?” It was as if a cloud had fallen upon me, fogging up my mind. The warmth of his body settled the nerves Jake had managed to fray earlier, his sweet cologne soothed me once again as I breathed it in, but his harsh, angry words kept my fight going. I pressed my hips into his, glowering into his eyes. “You promised me I’d get laid last night. So I got all ready—shaved my legs, made sure I was waxed smooth.” A low grumble came from his chest as he pressed even further into me. “I even went out and bought a box of Magnum condoms. All for what, Bentley? For a fucking Hawaiian necklace?” The anger that burned through me was all misplaced. It had nothing to do with our date the night before, and I’m sure he knew that. It didn’t come from his play on my words or his decision to keep things platonic. It had everything to do with feeling helpless, fearing what could’ve happened had he not shown up in time. Which had come from my bad decisions. I wanted someone to blame for my actions, and he was there. His eyes grew darker as they pierced mine. His lips pressed together in a hard line, and his nostrils flared angrily. “You’re an idiot if you think I didn’t contemplate taking you up on your offer last night. And an even bigger idiot if you misinterpret my respect for rejection.” I tried to push him away from me, but he barely budged. His words may have been meant as some kind of backward compliment, but it stung as much as a hand to my face. Even though I fought against his hold, I had not one ounce of fear in me like I had with Jake. For whatever reason, I knew Bentley wouldn’t hurt me. He was safe. I knew he wouldn’t force me or cause me any physical pain—only emotional agony by his harsh truth and dismissal. And that’s what kept me from giving into him. What kept me fighting against him. I didn’t want him to view me as weak, regardless of the position he’d found me in with Jake. In a low tone, keeping my voice steady and even, I said, “You know what I need, yet you keep it from me—dangle it like a carrot—and then get pissed when I go find it somewhere else.” He sneered and then spun around, pushing me forward at the same time until my body leaned into the open door of his truck, my hands braced against the seat and his hard chest against my back. I didn’t
have time to do anything other than gasp before his hand cupped my sex over my jean shorts, adding pressure with his palm that caused my hips to buck against him. “Is this what you want, Sarah?” he asked with a growl, his lips grazing my ear. His other arm wound around my body, his forearm against my chest as his hand gently grabbed my neck, tilting my head back against his shoulder. I thrust my hips back, seeking more from him. “No.” I let go of the seat with one arm to grab his hand, leading it to where I needed it the most—inside my shorts. His hot palm stilled against the sensitive flesh of my lower stomach, his fingertips barely beneath the waistband of my shorts. “Tell me what you need, Sarah. Say it. Beg for it. I’m not going to give you shit until I hear the words come out of your mouth.” “Touch me. Please, Bentley. I need you to touch me.” My voice was nothing but air with a few syllables cracking through, proving to him how desperate I craved his touch. His hand moved beneath my shorts at a slow, torturous pace. The heat from his palm scorched my skin, taking my breath away as I anticipated the path of his fingers. The moment his fingertips breached the top band of my lacy underwear, a moan vibrated in my chest, moved up my throat, and escaped past my lips. “This is what you want?” His voice sounded just as strained as my own. He pressed his body into my back more, causing me to lean forward until my forehead landed on the soft leather of the seat in front of me. His hand slipped from my neck to my chest, grabbing my breast through my thin tank top. “If I do this for you, there’s no more bars. No more random hook-ups. No more dealing with life on your back.” I moaned again and wiggled my hips, hoping he’d do more than tease me with his fingertips and warm hand on my pelvic bone. “Say it, Sarah. Agree with me, and you’ll get what you want. But you have to say it.” “Fine. I agree with you. Now please, touch me.” I hated to beg, but he had me so worked up I couldn’t do anything else. I’d promise him anything at that moment if it would’ve made him keep going. “Say it. All of it.” “I won’t go to bars anymore and pick up guys, I promise.” His body curled around my back, the heat of his breath landing on my bare shoulder in reckless waves. He gripped my breast harder, searching for my nipple through the material of my shirt and bra. When he couldn’t get close enough, he frantically moved his hand beneath my shirt, peeling back the cup to my bra and pinching my hardened nipple between his fingers. The sensation made my knees weak and an airy gasp leave my lips. It must’ve affected him, too, because as soon as the air burst from my lungs, I felt his teeth graze over my shoulder before gently biting down. “You want me to make you come, Sarah?” His words were throaty, desperate. “Yes.” “You need it?” “Yes,” I repeated, more frantic than before. One-word answers were all I could give. He moved his hand again until the pads of his fingers were pressed against my aching clit. He held it there for a moment, tormenting me, but then slowly pushed his finger through my folds until finding my soaked core. I wanted him to push it farther until I could feel his thick finger inside me. But he didn’t. He dipped just the tip in, gathering up enough moisture, before moving back to my hard nub. I wanted to complain, beg him to go back to where he was, but the way his fingers circled my sensitive bundle of nerves left me speechless. “I need you to tell me what you like. Tell me what feels good. Don’t go silent on me now, Sarah. If this is what you want—what you need—then you have to give me something. I need to hear you.” He was so demanding, yet handing over the control at the same time. I’d never been with a man like that before. It was either one or the other with the men before him. But it was such a turn on to hear
him talk, hear the way he vocalized my effect on him through his strained voice, his ragged pants. I hadn’t even had an orgasm yet and I was already gone, my mind light and free. “I need you in me. Put your fingers in me,” I demanded urgently, although my voice was shaken and pathetic, not at all demanding. He pushed his hand farther down, teasing my opening with the tips of his fingers. His boot moved to the inside of my shoe, nudging it until my legs were spread wider beneath me, giving him more room to maneuver inside my shorts. The material was constricting, but it didn’t seem to be in his way, and I didn’t have enough strength to unbutton them. Slowly, he thrust one finger inside me, and then added another, hissing against the back of my neck. He pushed them in as far as he could considering the angle of our positions and the restrictiveness of my shorts, but the heel of his palm against my clit took away the frustration caused by the shallowness of his reach. “You wish this was my dick inside you? You imagining what that would feel like? For me to fill you up? Fuck you with my cock instead of my fingers?” His warm tongue trailed from my shoulder to the back of my ear, leaving behind a path of wetness that cooled my overheated skin. “Yes, Bentley…” My chest heaved up and down. “I want your big, hard cock in me. Faster… please. I need more.” Instead of giving me more, he slipped his fingers out, leaving me empty and unsatisfied. But he didn’t stop. He went back to my throbbing clit, his fingers now wetter than before, and tormented my nerves. I couldn’t breathe as the buildup took over, the ball of heat forming in my lower abdomen. Bentley flicked my earlobe with his tongue, and then nipped it between his teeth. “Wishing this was my tongue doing this to you? Wondering what it would feel like to have my face buried in your pussy?” “God, yes…yes.” He twisted my nipple between his fingers while picking up the speed and torment with his others. “I want to hear my name come out of that mouth when you come. I want you to know who did this to you. Remember it. It’s not some random guy, some creep from the bar making you come. It’s me. Bentley. I wanna hear you say it.” That’s all it took for the waves of fire and ice to flood my body, make my eyes roll to the back of my head, cause my legs to wobble on weakened knees. “Bentley…” I whispered, even my voice box too feeble to function properly. “Bentley…” As the ripples of pleasure began to wane, the tingles slowly fading away, he ground his hips into my ass, making me feel how hard he was. His groan ripped through his chest, sending vibrations through my back. “Fuck, Sarah,” he said in a rumbling whisper. His teeth sank into my neck once more before he laid two soft kisses in its place. I felt sated, content, and at peace…and then he pulled his hands away from me and took a step back. I slowly turned around, unsure of what I’d see on his face. But the moment my gaze locked with his, the entire world stopped spinning. His eyes were filled with regret, his posture rigid. His mouth hung slack as he patiently waited to catch his breath. I took a step forward, reaching my hands out for him. But he caught me by my wrists, preventing me from touching the spot on his chest, over his heart, where I desperately wanted to feel. I’d never felt this way after sex before, even though that’s not technically what we did. Regardless, I’d never been with any man, in any capacity, and felt this way, had this undying need to touch him, to hold him…to be near him. But Bentley wouldn’t let me do that. Needing to get closer, I stood on my tiptoes and used his hold on my arms to pull him into me. Our lips were so close I could feel his breath pass over my face in warm waves, yet he still wouldn’t give in. Instead, he turned his face and pressed a kiss to my cheek, holding it there for an extra second.
I dropped my forehead to his chest, the weight of what had happened between us finally hitting me. He’d given me what I needed, but he wouldn’t go past that. Because it wasn’t what he wanted. He didn’t want me. “I should get going,” I said on a sigh into his T-shirt, praying my tears would hold back for a few more minutes so I could leave with at least some dignity still intact. I pulled myself from his hold and tried to step around him, but I didn’t get far. His arms came around me, locking me to his chest. The soft beat of his heart lulled me into serenity as I let him hold me. “Come with me. I don’t want you to be alone right now—you shouldn’t be alone.” I shook my head as much as I could with my cheek pressed against his solid muscle. “I’ll be all right. Don’t worry about me.” “It’s too late for that.” I almost didn’t hear him, but I did. And I stilled, replaying his words in my mind, wondering if I’d misunderstood them. It was as if he’d spoken them to himself, not meant for me to hear. “Bentley,” I said, pulling away from him so I could see his face. “I appreciate all you’ve done for me. Staying in town to make sure I’m all right, checking in with me, dinner last night.” I sighed, my chest constricting, thinking of all he’d done for me, even after I continually pushed him away. “I’m so unbelievably grateful that you were here tonight, for saving me. And thank you for…that”—I waved my hand behind me toward his truck, indicating what I’d meant without saying it—“even though I know how much you hated to do it. But I don’t think I can be around you right now. And I don’t know how comfortable I am in letting you know where I live.” The hurt my last confession caused became evident in his dropped gaze. “You don’t have to thank me. And it’s not that I didn’t want to do that, it’s just…I don’t think you need it.” He gently took my hand, holding it between our bodies. “I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable—that was never my intention.” I let out a pathetic, airy laugh when I realized I had tears falling down my face. I wiped them away with the back of my hand and sniffled. “I’m not really making too much sense right now, am I? You don’t make me uncomfortable. Quite the opposite, actually. Too comfortable sometimes. But my house has been this place for me where I can let go and cry, mourn my mom, grieve and let it all out. It’s become my own personal safety zone, and that’s what makes me uncomfortable—having you there.” “We can go to my cousin’s house. It’s only five minutes away.” I shook my head. “But my car is here.” “I can bring you back for it. Later tonight or in the morning…whenever you’re ready to leave. It’ll be on your terms, whatever you’re comfortable with.” “I don’t know…” I wanted to say yes. The thought of being alone with all the intense emotions swirling inside my head didn’t appeal to me. But I wasn’t sure being with him in this frame of mind would be any better. At least if I were by myself, I could let it all out. I wouldn’t have to pretend. “Just come with me. If you want to leave, I’ll bring you back to your car and let you go home. But you don’t need to be alone right now. I know you think you do, because that’s what you’re used to doing, but you’ll never move forward if you continue repeating your past.” I knew he was right, but I still wasn’t ready to give in. His words had brought me to the edge, tempted me to jump off and follow his lead, but I couldn’t find it in me to let go of the protective railing I’d held onto for the last six months—my defiance. “You don’t even know my last name. You don’t really know anything about me other than what I’ve told you. And you’ve even admitted that you know I tell lies to keep from letting people in too far.” “Then tell me your last name. And give me a chance to know you. That’s all I want, Sarah. I don’t care how dark, how sad, how broken you are inside. I want to see it all.” “You want to fix me…”
“No,” he said, raising his voice. His harsh tone caused me to freeze in place. “I want to help you fix yourself. I want to be there with you while you learn to surface from this ache you’re drowning in. I don’t want to carry you through it, or push you along. I want to be by your side, holding your hand, cheering you on every step of the way. This is your journey. I only want to witness it.” “Campbell,” I said, wiping away more tears from my face. “My name is Sarah Campbell, and ever since my mom died, I’ve used sex for the company, because I constantly feel alone, even when I’m surrounded by a group of people. And sex clears my head from the depressing reminders that my mom is gone and I don’t have anyone left. It’s become a distraction…a punishment of sorts.” He lightly ran his fingertips from my cheekbone to the corner of my lips. “You’re not alone, Sarah. What about your sisters?” “They’re there…but they’ve moved on. They aren’t stuck in this shitty place where I am. They have each other and husbands and lives outside of me. Bree has a daughter to keep her busy. I don’t even have a dog. I know I have people in my life, and I’m not technically alone. But that doesn’t change how lonely I feel—all the time.” “So then why do you want to go home and be alone instead of spending time with me?” I dropped my head, leaning into him. “Because you scare me.” “How do I do that? What can I do to—” “No,” I said, shaking my head and pulling back again. “You scare me in a good way. I mean, for nearly six months, I haven’t wanted to open up to anyone, and I’m still scared shitless to do so, but you make me want to share myself with someone. With you. You make me want to be around you. You make me feel, even when I don’t want to. You confuse me, piss me off, make me want to run away from you at times. But at the end of the day, when I lay my head on my pillow, it’s not my mom’s last words I hear. I don’t picture her body on her bed where I found her, and my chest doesn’t feel like I have a million-pound weight sitting on it…it’s you who runs through my thoughts. It’s you who I want to see, talk to, be near. I don’t know what to do with that, and it scares me.” He held my face in his hands, staring intently into my eyes. “I’m right here, Sarah. If you want to see me, talk to me, be with me…then do it. I’m not the one pushing you away. You just have to stop fighting—fighting me, yourself, what you want, what you’re scared of. Just stop, and give in. Let go.” “What if I can’t?” “What if you can? You haven’t tried, so you don’t know.” “What if it breaks me?” “You won’t break. You’re too strong for that.” “What if I let go and I fall?” “Let go. Fall. Take your time on the way down. And when you open your eyes, you’ll see you’re not actually falling, but soaring. Flying. Weightless and living.” His voice was almost breathless, yet his words were so powerful they slammed into my chest, knocking the wind out of me. I closed my eyes and nodded, his sigh of relief striking my face. “Come back to my house, Sarah. Come with me. I don’t care if we play Monopoly and talk about the newest celebrity gossip. I just want to be with you,” he begged softly with his forehead on mine. “Okay,” I whispered, not giving myself a second to contemplate my answer. I had no idea where we were headed, no idea what stood in front of me. I didn’t care, though. All I saw was Bentley. He was all I felt around me. And that’s all I needed at that moment in time. Step one—let go. And I did.
Bentley I kept my eyes on my rearview mirror, making sure Sarah didn’t turn around and head home. She’d agreed to come home with me, so I didn’t argue with her decision to follow me in her own car. I knew she needed some security, and I couldn’t strip her of it all too quickly, so I relented, and then watched her headlights in my mirror for the entire five-minute drive. There was a part of me that hated what I’d done. I knew I shouldn’t have crossed that line with her, but something had come over me. I smelled my fingers and smiled, blocking out the part of my brain that berated me for touching her. It was wrong, yet it felt so right. She felt so right. So responsive. Reacting to my touch more than anyone else ever had in the past. The night before, after dinner, when she asked for the weekend to think about things, I have to admit it had gutted me. I didn’t want her to talk herself out of spending time with me. But I understood why. She had this impression that sex helped her, and as much as I wanted to do so much more than finger her, I knew giving in and doing more wouldn’t help my case. It wouldn’t help me convince her that sex should mean more. It should be taken more seriously. It could be so much better than what she’s experienced from these random men each Saturday night. Then, when Luke informed me of her showing up at Dixie tonight, I thought I’d lost it. I waited at the house for a few minutes, pacing the living room, trying to decide if I should go after her or let her learn on her own. Those few minutes I’d only managed to torture myself with thoughts of her with other men. And thinking about those few minutes, how I wasted them when I shouldn’t have even questioned it, made me sick to my stomach. Had I just left when Luke called, I could’ve found her before that fucker had her against the wall. Walking into the bar and finding her that way…I lost it. All I saw was red. Had we not been in a public place, I would’ve killed him. A possessiveness had taken hold of me from the inside. Not that I’d claimed her as my own, or thought she was mine. But I’d begun to feel that her safety was my responsibility. Her happiness was my obligation. I was in charge of her wellbeing. I knew that sounded ridiculous, but it’s what I felt as soon as I found her trapped between a man and the wall. Then I heard his words to her, and nothing could’ve held me back. I was ready to choke him, steal his last breath as I told him, “Touch another fucking woman again and I’ll rip your dick off with my own hands. You’ll be begging for me to gut you when I’m done .” I checked my rearview mirror again before pulling into the driveway, watching her lights follow me down the long pathway to the front door. It wasn’t until I knew she was really here, really with me, that I could finally breathe.
Luke had warned me that I was playing with fire. And I was. The longer I spent in town, the more I never wanted to leave. But I knew I didn’t have that option. I knew that once Sarah knew the whole story, she would probably push me away forever. I only needed to make sure she was okay before that happened. Before I had to let her go. But she made my heart feel like it beat again. I didn’t want to let her go. But I had to. She wasn’t mine.
Sarah I’d ignored the fear that fought to consume me, pushed it deep down during the short drive to his cousin’s house. Instead of succumbing to the anxiety, I focused on Bentley’s taillights and let my mind wander. I thought about the way his fingers laced through mine, the warmth of his palm, the impressive size difference between our hands. My skin burned hot when I thought about what those hands had done to me, and the heights they’d taken me to. It was enough to keep my mind occupied until I pulled down the long driveway behind Bentley’s truck. The house was nice with a small, open porch in the front, complete with a hanging swing. Observing everything as he led me inside kept the panic from setting in. I hadn’t been to another person’s house in so long, but I didn’t let that thought pull me under. I chose to admire the beautiful home instead. I felt rather proud of myself for not freaking out and running away. It was one step closer, exactly what Bentley had promised. But then, he handed me a large T-shirt and a pair of boxer-briefs. He told me he had to take a shower, and that I was more than welcome to take one, as well. He even offered me his bathroom, saying he’d use his cousin’s to give me privacy. That’s when I could no longer hold back the panic and anxiety. My vision became laser focused on the exit of the room. I wanted to go, but wanted to stay so much more. I wanted to be alone, yet wanted to be right here with him. If I hadn’t made the choices I had in the past months, I wouldn’t be here right now, and as much as I was trying to climb out of the black hole I had crawled in, I was safe there. Nothing could penetrate my walls, and in my mind, nothing could hurt me. I didn’t want to take a shower at his house, but the thought of sitting alone in his room for however long it took to wash himself was even worse. I told myself I’d make it fast—get in and get out. Not think about where I was or what I was doing, just close my eyes and pretend I was at home, alone. That worked until I stood completely naked in his bathroom, surrounded by his things. I used his shampoo, his masculine scented soap, and then dried off with a towel I found on the back of the door— probably a towel he’d used to dry his naked body. I wrapped it tightly around me and held the corner to my nose, taking in his scent. But then I heard a knock on the door, causing me to jump, and it brought me back to reality. “Everything okay in there?” he asked through the door. “Yeah. Just getting dressed.” “Okay. I’ll be in my room when you’re done.” And then I heard his steps disappear down the hall, leaving me alone once more. I dressed quickly, having to roll the band of the boxers a few times to keep them up. But once I had them where they wouldn’t fall down, the T-shirt covered them, making it appear that I didn’t have anything
on beneath it. I didn’t have much of an alternative, considering even if I put back on my jean shorts, the shirt would still hide those, as well. The longer I stared at my pitiful reflection, the more the instinct to flee kicked in. I tried to stuff it down, push it away, but nothing worked. The room felt small and suffocating, the walls closing in on me. I leaned against the counter to catch my breath, but it didn’t help. I splashed cold water on my face, but the trepidation remained. I needed to get out of here. I needed my house, my bed. I needed my pillow to catch the tears that formed behind my eyes. I didn’t want Bentley to see me this way. He wouldn’t understand. Hell, I didn’t even understand. My actions were of someone suffering posttraumatic stress, not someone who’d found herself in the bathroom of a friend’s house after spending half a year pushing everyone out of her life. It didn’t make any sense. What did I have to panic about? Where was this anxiety coming from? I stood up, prepared to run, when I spotted a bottle of cologne on the counter. Forgetting about my quest to leave, I grabbed it, smelling the top. It was the sweet scent I’d found myself craving all week long. I pumped it into the air, stepping into the falling spray. And instantly, I relaxed. I wrapped my arms around my waist, kneeling until I sat on the cold tile. The thought of Bentley’s arms around me as I closed my eyes, enveloped in his scent, set my entire body at ease. That’s when my mind opened up and everything became a little bit clearer. I used to cry to myself, alone in my room at night, always over the same things. No matter what I did, the image of my mom’s body lying in her bed wouldn’t disappear. That day played on repeat every time I closed my eyes at night—until Bentley. I used to think about how she went to lay down that morning, and I hadn’t even told her I loved her. Regret was a motherfucker, and since Christmas, my life had been consumed by it. Even though Bentley had helped ease the tragic thoughts that had once consumed my nights, regret was one thing that remained present. The bathroom door slowly creaked open, catching my attention as two bare feet stepped into view. My sight drifted up a pair of legs, thighs draped in black basketball shorts, and a torso covered in a white T-shirt. Going further, I found a set of dark-green eyes, narrowed and regarding me with worry. It seemed like he’d stood there a while before moving, but it couldn’t have been longer than a second. “What happened?” His deep voice sounded full of concern as he hurriedly sank to the floor in front of me. “Nothing. I’m fine.” “I knocked like three times, and called your name. You didn’t answer.” I shook my head, wondering how I hadn’t heard that. “I must’ve been deep in thought. It’s fine, though. I’m okay. I guess I needed a moment. I’ve had a rather crazy week, and apparently, everything decided to hit me all at once.” He grabbed my hand to help me off the floor but stopped, his eyebrows pinched together in confusion. “Did you spray my cologne?” I giggled nervously and tried to hide my pink-tinged cheeks. “Yes. I don’t know why but it calms me down. I’m sorry, I know that’s weird. It reminds me of you, of having your arms around me, my ear to your chest… It’s soothing. It calms me. I can’t explain it.” He pulled me to my feet and into his hard chest, holding me there with my arms circling his waist. “Nothing weird about it. And don’t apologize.” He pressed his lips to the top of my head, and just like that, the apprehension, unease, dread…they all vanished. “So what do you want to do? I think my cousin has cards around here somewhere. And he has enough movies to last a year’s worth of rainy days.” I pulled out of his embrace and took his hand in mine. “Honestly, as long as it doesn’t freak you out, I kinda want to lay down. Maybe talk. Or just stare at each other until someone blinks first.” I gave him a coy smile, needing to lighten the heavy mood he’d walked in on. His grin caused his eyes to sparkle before he turned around and walked out, pulling me behind him. Once we silently made our way to his room, I stood in the middle of the tidy space, glancing around
while he closed the door behind me. “This is a nice room, but there’s practically nothing in here.” A large bed sat in the middle of one wall with a bare dresser opposite it. Other than a single window and a clock, nothing else hung on the walls. A small closet was on the wall with the bedroom door, and one side of the accordion doors sat open, showing a few shirts on hangers, but nothing else. Bentley quickly turned to close the closet door, and that’s when I saw the familiar corner curio cabinet. The back piece that sat in the corner was made out of a thick tree branch, because when Bree had found it, the back leg was missing, so she found a branch and sanded it straight to use as the support piece. I remembered her working on this piece, and practically begged her to not sell it because it was one of my favorites. The painting was simple and subtle, more of a rustic appearance, unlike some of her other more colorful pieces of furniture. “Where did you get this?” I asked in awe as I ran my fingertip over the smooth wooden shelves that held nothing on them. “It’s my cousin’s. I’m not sure where he got it. Why?” “My sister made this.” “She did? Really?” He seemed shocked, but then he shrugged. “Yeah, Bree. She makes all kinds of furniture out of other people’s discards. They’re beautiful pieces. And she sells them at the flea market.” “Your stepsister?” I was surprised he remembered which one Bree was, but then again, I shouldn’t have been. He seemed to remember a lot of what I told him about my life. “Yeah, that’s the one.” I spun around to look at the rest of the room. “There’s like no personal items in here.” “It’s my cousin’s spare room. No one ever stays in it. It’s been mine since I got here, but my stay was never meant to be permanent, so I haven’t had the need to personalize it.” I moved to the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress. “Why did you come here?” He ran his fingers through his damp hair and followed me, taking a seat on the other side of the bed. “I had shit to deal with, and I couldn’t do it from home. My cousin offered me a room, so I took it.” “And he doesn’t mind that you’re still here?” “When I came to stay with him, I didn’t know how long I’d be here. Everything has kinda been up in the air since I arrived, taking it day by day. He told me to take as long as I needed. We were really close growing up since my brothers are older than me, and my other cousins are even older than them. Luke and I had each other. We’ve always been more like brothers than cousins. But then his parents moved away from Dalton, so we didn’t see each other as much anymore once we were teenagers. Plus, I think he likes having me around. I’m sure he gets lonely here all by himself.” “He’s not married?” “Nah. He spent almost two years with someone, even bought her a ring, but it didn’t work out. She strung him along for a while after they split, but then he finally gave up.” The way he explained it made it sound nearly painful, as if it’d happened to him. It only showed how close he was to his cousin, and it made me think of Bree, of how close our relationship was despite not being blood related. “Well, is he coming home tonight? I’d like to meet him.” Bentley shrugged, relaxing more on the mattress. “I don’t know what time he’ll get in. He likes to close the bar down.” “Oh, he owns the bar?” He laughed and scratched his jaw. “No. I mean he stays until they close.” I lay on the bed, rolling to my side to face him. “Do you pick girls up at bars or clubs? Or did you back home? Or not just those places…but anywhere. Is that why you don’t have an issue with it?” He mimicked my position, rolling to his side until we were face to face, a small space of the bed
between us. “Not really. I have before, but I never went out to bars much. And we don’t have any clubs where I live. I’ve never been much of a drinker to be honest with you. Maybe in my early twenties, but it wasn’t often.” That made me feel so young, the age difference becoming noticeable. “So how does a horse trainer pick up chicks?” The way he pulled his bottom lip into his mouth and then slowly dragged his top teeth over it until it released, hypnotized me. Then the deep voice that followed held the capability to compel me to do anything he asked. “Women love men who drive big trucks.” “No…women love men with big dicks.” He rolled his eyes, his chest rumbling with laughter. “What’s your obsession with the size of my dick? Little do you know, it’s actually quite small. Only three inches hard.” “That’s such a lie. I saw the outline through your jeans on Monday. Maybe the tip is three inches, but you’re not fooling me.” I had to force myself to keep my eyes on his face and not let them travel to the place they really wanted to go. “I was having a good day. Now that you know the truth, there’s no need to obsess about it anymore.” He winked and shoved his hand beneath his head, moving a little closer to me in the process. “Whatever. And you seemed rather obsessed with it tonight as well with all your talk about filling me with it. You don’t need to act all humble about it now. The cat is out of the bag. So what? You’re packing a child’s arm in your pants. Own it. Flaunt that shit.” “You fucking amaze me,” he whispered with a smile playing on his lips. “How’s that?” “You’re so comfortable talking about sex. So confident.” “You weren’t exactly shy earlier, you know.” His gaze lowered, hidden behind his lids and lashes as if I’d somehow embarrassed him. “That’s different. That was in the moment. Kinda hard to be shy when your hand is down someone’s pants and your fingers are inside them.” “You weren’t shy last week when we discussed why your dick hangs down your pant leg.” It seemed the more I pressed him, the quieter he became, and the more his cheeks took on a reddish hue. Watching him react that way made me giddy, left me happy and excited instead of numb and empty like I’d been for the last five months. “It wasn’t the most comfortable conversation I’ve ever had.” I curled my legs up, pulling them closer to my body. He laid his hand on my knee, soft and gentle at first, trailing his fingertips in a figure eight over my skin before resting his open palm on the outside of my bare thigh. His soothing touch made my skin feel cold on every part of my body other than the one spot beneath his warm palm. He trailed his fingers to my arm, settling his hand over mine, and locking our thumbs together. The act seemed so intimate, so personal. Heat spread through me, settling any worry or doubt left in me. It gave me a sense of absolute peace. He began to play with my fingers, study them instead of looking at me. “What’s this?” he asked, touching the spot on the inside of my middle finger. “It’s a tattoo.” I knew without looking what he referred to. Three black dots, one on the side of my middle knuckle, and one on each side of that. “It’s an ellipses. It’s used to symbolize something trailing off.” “Why did you pick that?” His eyes met mine, and the way they glistened as he waited for me to answer showed genuine curiosity. “Sometimes things happen in life, and it makes you lose your train of thought, makes you forget about what you were doing or saying. So you just trail off. To me, it’s a reminder that even though we may get sidetracked, the important thing is to remember where you were going, and to pick back up. Make it a
pause instead of an unfinished thought. Never give up.” “Then why put it there? You’d have to bend your whole hand to see it.” He twisted my arm, demonstrating how I’d have to move in order to see my own tattoo. I snickered, lacing my fingers with his. Intense heat traveled up my arm as our entire palms touched, sizzling with something I’d never felt before. “When I cut hair, I pull a section straight, and then hold where I need to cut between my first and second finger. In the mirror, I can see it.” “That’s rather brilliant. Any more tattoos?” “I have a robin in watercolor on my lower back for my mom. Her name was Robin and she was a painter. Well, not professionally, but she loved to paint.” The pricks of tears reminded me that I needed to change the topic away from my mom before I broke down in front of him. “My turn to ask a question. Why won’t you kiss me?” “Haven’t found a good time to yet.” “That’s such a lie. First night we met, when we were saying goodbye at my car, I leaned in and you kissed my cheek. Tonight, in the parking lot, I tried again, and you still didn’t. You’ve had the chance to, but you’ve veered away every time.” “I didn’t say I never had the chance. I said there hasn’t been a good time.” “Then what’s a good time?” “The night we met, you were vulnerable. I wasn’t about to take advantage of that. And tonight… well, things were a little too heated between us. I wouldn’t have been able to stop at a kiss.” I raised our joined hands to his face, running the pad of my thumb over his bottom lip. “That didn’t answer my question,” I said, unable to take my focus off his mouth. “When is it a good time?” My pulse picked up, my heart hammering away in my chest like a drum as each second ticked by in slow motion. He let go of my hand and held my chin between his thumb and forefinger, slowly inching his face toward mine. By the time our noses touched, I closed my eyes, anticipating the feel of his lips on mine. But then he tilted his head, grazing my cheek with his lips instead. Defeat and rejection had me ready to give up and push him away. I’d grown tired of his games, his endless teasing and taunting. I pressed my hand to his chest, but instead of pushing him away, I glided my palm over his hard pec and up to his neck, where his strong pulse thumped against my fingertips. His hot breath fanned against my cheek through his parted lips, never once closing them or forming an actual kiss on my skin. He pushed himself up slightly with his other arm, shifting his upper body over mine, forcing me to lie flat on my back. That’s when his lips moved from the side of my face to the corner of my mouth. I sucked in a small gasp of air seconds before he finally brushed my lips with his. It was a tender motion at first, barely touching with no pressure behind it. However, it was the most intimate sensation I’d ever experienced. I slid my hand from his throat to the back his neck, up to the back of his head where I gently scratched the short hairs, catching them beneath my fingernails. It was enough to force him to deepen the kiss, fully closing his mouth over mine. A weak moan vibrated in my throat at the same time a low groan erupted from his. His lips parted, opening mine in the process, and then his warm tongue met mine, gently massaging it for a second before pushing it into my mouth. It was sweet, tender, yet growing impatient and demanding the longer it went on. Finally, he pulled back and rested his forehead on my shoulder. “I guess laying in bed isn’t a good time, either. I’m gonna need another shower.” His soft laugh rumbled through me, sparking my own giggles to life. “Is that what you did in the last shower? Did you take care of yourself?” “God, woman. You’re killing me.” He shifted to his back and covered his eyes with his arm. I rolled into him, excited and turned on. “You know,” I whispered close to his ear, “you don’t have to do that in the shower. You took care of me earlier, now let me take care of you.” I trailed my hand down his body toward the impressive bulge in his loose shorts.
He quickly grabbed my wrist, keeping me from reaching it. “I took care of you because you were convinced you needed it. I don’t need it. And before you get upset, that doesn’t mean I don’t want it, or that I haven’t thought about it. It simply means we can’t. I am here for you. And if we mix sex into it, that’s all it’ll be. We’ll become fuck buddies, which will hinder any chances of you feeling better.” “So I’m supposed to go without sex until you deem me fixed?” “Sarah, I will do what I can for you, but I’m not going to give in just because you say you need it. And it doesn’t mean you need to do anything for me. I want you to talk to me, tell me things, really open up no matter how painful it is. I won’t push or force you to talk if you’re not ready, but there will be times you won’t want to, yet you’ll need to. And those will be the times I’ll be there to help you through it anyway you need it.” It didn’t take a genius to understand what he meant. Pretty much, if I opened up the depths of my soul, dug around in the pain, and exposed myself, he’d get me off. It seemed like blackmail, but it made sense and was exactly what I wanted a mere twenty-four hours ago, but now, not so much. I wasn’t sure if I could do it, but I’d already let go, and now it was time to see if I would fall or fly. I curled into his side and rested my head on his chest with my arm around his waist. “You’re asking a lot of me, Bentley.” I closed my eyes, giving in to the exhaustion that had taken over. “You’ll be all right. I promise. Just take your time.” Those were the last words I heard before sleep pulled me under, lulled into slumber by the hypnotic beat of his heart, the fresh scent of his body, and the rhythmic movement of his breathing.
Bentley Sarah left the next morning before Luke got out of bed. I didn’t want her to go, but I knew things would get really messy if she’d seen him here. I felt like I’d just gotten her, and I wasn’t ready to lose her quite yet. And had she seen Luke, she would’ve run without allowing me to explain. Even if I could give her an explanation, it would only make her push me away more. I still had more work to do before that happened. “You must be a real idiot bringing her here.” Luke made his way to the kitchen, his hair all over the place, proving he’d just rolled out of bed. “I saw her car here last night when I got home. Do you even know how awkward that could’ve been?” “Don’t worry about it. She’s gone.” “Just don’t bring her back.” “What am I supposed to say? ‘Sorry, my cousin doesn’t want you in his home anymore’? That’s a little rude, even for you.” He sat down at the kitchen table and rested his head in his hands, clearly recovering from a night of drinking. “I don’t care, Ben. How about you start with the fucking truth? The longer this goes on, the worse it’ll be. You’re fucking sleeping with her. This is gonna blow up in your face and you know it.” “I can’t tell her yet. I’m finally starting to get through to her.” “Didn’t seem like it last night when I found her in the bar trying to get laid.” Luke had left right after calling me the night before, when he felt the need to rub it in my face that Sarah was back out on the town. So he had no idea what I’d found once I got there. “Listen, Ben—” “No. You listen, Luke. You don’t know a damn thing about any of this. You don’t know what she’s going through. You don’t know how I feel about her. So stay out of it. I appreciate you letting me stay longer than planned, but if this is how it’s going to be, then I’ll find somewhere else to stay.” “What? You plan on shacking up with her?” I groaned, tightening my hands into fists on top of the table. Growing up, we’d never fought. We’d always gotten along. Even after I came to stay with him, we didn’t have any issues. This didn’t start until the night I decided to seek Sarah out. “Again, Luke, you don’t know what you’re talking about. We haven’t slept together…aside from next to each other last night. I only want to help her.” “Keep telling yourself that, cousin. But one of these days, you’re going to be hit hard with the truth, and it’s gonna sting. You’re gonna fall for her, even harder than you already have, and that’s when she’s gonna rip the carpet out from beneath you. Trust me. I’ve been there. You try to keep it light and fun, and the next thing you know, you’re in love and ready to spend your life together. And just when you think everything is sunshine and rainbows, the sky opens up and pours on you.”
I shook my head. “Don’t compare your relationship with—” “I’m done.” He slapped his hand on the table before standing, interrupting me. “Do what you want. But I’m telling you, don’t bring her back here. All it’ll do is fuck everything up for you. If you want more time, then it’s in your best interest to keep her away from me. But when she rips your heart out…” He shook his head and walked out of the room, leaving his sentence hanging in mid air. I knew Luke only had my best interests at heart. I knew he was only looking out for me, but it didn’t make it feel any better. As I sat alone in the kitchen, I couldn’t help but let his words sink in. He was right. Sarah would leave me. There was no way in hell she’d stick around if she found out the truth. The clock was ticking. Time was running out. I had to start picking up my pace before the buzzer sounded on our time together.
Sarah After leaving Bentley’s, I hit the grocery store and then went home and did a bit of cleaning. I needed to fill the silence I’d found myself in. It was strange to me since I’d gotten so used to being alone, never minding the lack of conversation. However, after one night with Bentley, I realized how much I’d missed it. How much I missed just having someone there—like my mom used to be. We didn’t always have to have something to talk about, but just knowing she was there was all that mattered. And maybe I’d pushed people away because I didn’t want anyone to fill those shoes, believing that would mean I had replaced her. That thought gutted me and left me guilt-ridden over allowing anyone to take her place, yet also contented that I’d been able to analyze my actions on my own. The thought of sleep had me dreading the empty bed, the cold pillow, and the suffocating dark room. I used to look forward to crawling into bed, using it as an outlet for the pain I’d stuffed down during the day. Dealing with my grief didn’t feel as overpowering that way. Although, after spending a night in Bentley’s bed, curled up next to him without one tear slipping out, I no longer desired the outlet of my obscure and lonely room. I don’t know how he knew, but Bentley’s call came in moments after I dressed into a T-shirt for bed. The sadness had already begun to creep in, the threat of tears burning my eyes. Yet that all vanished as soon as his name flashed on my screen. It was as if he sensed my sadness and knew I needed to hear the sound of his voice. He spoke to me, and with each story he told of his childhood, his brothers, their families, and his friends back home, my melancholy dissipated until I finally fell asleep. I’d managed to close my eyes and drift off without the dark cloud of memories suffocating me. And I’d been rewarded with the most peaceful night of sleep I’d had in months. Well, except for the night at Bentley’s, but this was on my own. I felt proud, as if I’d accomplished something. By the time I made it into work Monday morning, I didn’t need to plaster a fake smile on my face, because a genuine grin wouldn’t leave my lips. Waking up to the thought of Bentley put me in a good mood, and I wished it’d never go away. However, the happiness I’d woken up with didn’t compare to the excitement that bubbled inside me when he surprised me in the salon during my lunch break. “What are you doing here?” I asked, my grin so large my cheeks ached. “I figured you’d probably be hungry, so I brought you some food and hoped you’d share with me.” His sheepish smile made him seem young, like a teenager on a first date. I loved the many different sides of Bentley that he’d shown me. He could hold so much confidence, speak with such purpose and determination. Then there were the moments when it seemed as though he had to physically push himself to speak, like now, becoming shy and uncertain. It was such a stark contrast to how he’d been in the parking lot a couple nights before. But it made him real, more real than any other guy I’d ever met. It’d always been one dimensional with them, our Saturdays together more like a performance. I never got to
know the real person underneath. That’s why it worked for me, because I could pretend to be whoever I needed to be in that moment. But Bentley had forced himself in and I’d shared things with him, bared parts of my soul that no one else had seen. In exchange, I’d seen Bentley’s multi-faceted personality, and the way he didn’t seem to have a problem showing me all his sides. It had been an example to follow. He took me out to his truck where we sat on the tailgate and ate the lunch he’d made for us. I didn’t want to admit it out loud, but his food preferences weren’t bad, even though they were drastically different than what I’d been used to. I teased him about his food, and then dropped it when he went into a rant about the health benefits. I enjoyed listening to him talk, as long as it wasn’t a lecture about health. He sounded more like a nutritionist than a horse trainer. Before he left, he reached into his truck and handed me a gift bag. I hesitantly took it, wary of what he’d gotten me after he made me promise not to open it in front of him. The smirk on his face left me curious, even though my insides were twisted in knots over his gesture. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had given me a present for no reason, and it made me instantly suspicious of his intentions. I waited until I got back to my station before opening it, finding a dark-blue box wrapped in cellophane beneath tissue paper. Pulling it out, I read the label: Dreamer by Versace. I had no idea what it was until I opened it up, noticing the familiar bottle of cologne. The sight of it forced an excited laugh to erupt from my chest. I immediately sprayed it in the air and took a whiff, euphoria taking over my brain. My heart grew heavy in my chest, not because of the grief I’d become accustomed to, but due to the compassion he’d shown me by giving me this incredibly thoughtful gift. “Why did you buy me cologne?” I sniffled, suddenly tearing up when he answered my call. My grin was so large it had taken over my tone, leaving my words happy and excited—and slightly shocked. “And Versace? How in the world did you find a place in this Podunk town that sells this?” His chuckle came through the line, broadening the cheesy smile on my face. “It’s for you when I’m not around. You said it calms you. And I didn’t find it here. I had to go to Lunsford Outlets to find it.” I fell into my chair, stunned by his efforts. “Lunsford? That’s over an hour away! Why would you do that? When did you do that?” “I did it because you said it helps you. Smelling my cologne is a hell of a lot better than going to bars and picking up guys. So the drive was worth it. I told you I’d be here for you, but you have to do the work. It’s not a big deal. And if a measly bottle of cologne makes moving on easier, then I’d do it a hundred times over.” I released the air I’d held in, silently warring with things I couldn’t comprehend. Why did a simple bottle cause me to feel things I’d never experienced before, least of all toward a guy? “It is a big deal…to me, and thank you. I just can’t remember the last time someone bought me something.” My mood changed after that phone call. I wouldn’t say I’d become unhappy, but the contagious smile I’d worn on my face that entire morning had vanished. It wasn’t replaced with a frown or anything, just…confusion. That’s what it was—he baffled me, his actions, what it all meant. I truly believed him when he said he wanted to help me…but why? That’s the answer I couldn’t seem to figure out, and I doubted he’d tell me the truth. He evaded that question each time I asked, distracting me by his own pushiness or general good looks and sexual appeal. Bentley clearly had money. He wasn’t rushing back to a job, and I knew from what he’d told me that he hadn’t worked since coming here—and I still didn’t know how long ago that’d been. I had no idea how he supported himself, where his money came from, or even how much of it he had. And considering he paid for haircuts and shampoos at my salon, wore Versace cologne, and then bought me a bottle to waste spraying into the air just to make myself feel better, I could only assume he had enough to live more than a comfortable life.
The rest of the week went by with this cloud of uncertainty hovering above. Bentley had continued to call me every night at bedtime, and I’d allowed him to talk to me until I fell asleep. It wasn’t that the thought of hearing his voice didn’t excite me, because it did, yet with all the paranoid thoughts of him stacking up in my mind, it forced me to keep him at arm’s length, just within reach for when I needed him. And at night was when I needed him the most. His mindless chatter kept the images away and allowed me to sleep in peace. He’d met me up at the salon for lunch every day except Wednesday. After I told him I got off early that day, he’d asked me to spend the afternoon with him. However, I declined, making up a lame excuse about needing to get things done at home. I’m sure he saw right through it, though he didn’t call me out on it, which was completely out of character for him and made me wonder what his agenda was. At least it didn’t stop him from calling that night, or coming to see me the next day for lunch. I didn’t want to push him away entirely, but I needed some distance to sort through my thoughts and concerns. I knew I needed to have a serious discussion with him about it, but my lunch break and his nightly phone calls weren’t the time or place. So on Friday—when he came to have lunch with me—he’d asked if I’d be interested in seeing him the next day, and I accepted. I really did want to see him again, although the biggest reason why I’d agreed was because I desperately needed to obtain answers. Without them, I knew I’d never be able to fully let go like he’d asked. He told me he had something planned, but he wouldn’t go into detail about what it was. All he said was to dress normal and be ready by five. When I pulled up to Bentley’s cousin’s house on Saturday night, Bentley already stood outside the front door waiting. He quickly came to my side of the car and opened the door, helping me out like the true gentleman he is. Then he wasted no time walking me to his truck, helping me in the passenger side. I second-guessed my decision to wear a skirt after his hand touched the back of my thigh as I climbed in. I knew if he did that once more, I wouldn’t get the answers I sought. Instead, I’d beg him to touch other places on my body. He took me to dinner, mumbling something about needing to eat first. I’d questioned him, yet only received a smirk in response. It wasn’t a fancy dinner by any means. We went to a quick burger joint, which had surprised me since the menu didn’t seem to fit his dietary preferences. I’d teased him about it, but all he said was once in a while wouldn’t hurt. He didn’t say anything when I ordered a side of fries, and I didn’t comment when he stole one. The conversation between us was light and easy, and the longer I waited to question him, the harder it became. Being around him seemed so natural, so right, and it did nothing but complicate things for me. In his absence, doubt consumed me, made me analyze and question everything. But when I looked into his eyes, heard his laugh, or felt him near me, everything else faded away. After dinner, I wanted to kick myself for not saying anything. I’d had many opportunities, yet passed them up each and every time. I had no idea what he had planned next, and I knew wherever it was, it more than likely wouldn’t be a place where we’d have the freedom to talk about things. I’d become torn between needing to get everything off my chest, and wanting to just enjoy my time with him and live in denial. But then he pulled into the parking lot of a small strip mall, which left me even more confused about his plans. I glanced around, wondering what he had up his sleeve as he made his way around the truck to help me out. I gave him a questioning glance, but only got an excited smile back in return. With my hand in his, he led me to one of the shops, opening the door that read “Drunken Picasso.” “What is this?” He placed his hand on my lower back and led me to a table in the back. “I thought it’d be fun.
They give you wine while you paint.” I wanted to turn on my heel and run. I wanted to cry. I wanted to do anything but be there. He must’ve seen the hesitation on my face, because he turned me to face him and held me still by my shoulders, forcing my attention to his intense gaze. “Talk to me, Sarah. What’s going on?” There was a small part of me that wanted to shrug and tell him everything was fine, and another part that wanted to break down and cry while burying my face into his chest. However, the concern in his eyes wouldn’t let me do either. Instead, I swallowed my fear and apprehension, and admitted, “My mom painted.” “I know she did. You told me that already. That’s why I thought you might like this.” “I thought you said you wouldn’t force me to deal with things.” His grip on my shoulders loosened as his hands slipped down to mine. “I’m not forcing anything, Sarah. I don’t understand why you’re freaking out about this. Please tell me so I can help.” I shook my head and looked heavenward, needing to get my thoughts in order before I spoke. “My mom used to paint us pictures on canvases every year for Christmas. I’ll never get another one. Seeing this—canvases and paints—it reminds me of the things I’ll never have again.” I glanced around the room, looking at all the supplies that were so common to see around the house growing up. The thought that I’d never see my mom covered in paint, wearing a look of pride as we admired her latest masterpiece, destroyed me. “You don’t think it’ll be fun to experience something she loved? Maybe you’ll feel more connected to her somehow. Maybe even make some new memories to draw back upon.” He touched my face, drawing my attention back to him. “You can’t turn away from everything that reminds you of her. If you shove down the good times, ignoring the things that made her happy, all you’re left with are the sad moments, those debilitating memories that haunt you in your sleep. Can you do me a favor? Can you just try this with me? It could be fun.” I nodded, trusting him blindly, thoughtlessly. The first glass of wine didn’t last very long, but it did serve its purpose in loosening me up. Bentley gave me his glass, which I decided to sip since we were only allotted one glass each. Although, the longer we were there, and the more wine I had, I realized it wasn’t as bad as I feared it would be. We were all given the same picture to paint. The instructor chose a manatee, and stood at the front of the room with her own canvas, demonstrating how to do it step by step as we all followed along. Eventually, I stopped thinking, and allowed myself to get lost in the strokes, the colors, and the fond memories I had with my mom as she’d try to teach me how to paint. Once our time was up, I finally pulled my gaze from my painting, tilting my head both ways as I studied it. I felt proud of myself…until I turned to look at Bentley’s. His manatee was almost better than the instructor’s, and he had to go all fancy and add grass in its mouth. “Seriously? You brought me here to feel better, to feel closer to my mom, and all you achieved was making me feel like my painting is complete and utter shit.” I couldn’t take my eyes off his canvas, off the detail he’d put into it. “Why do you feel that way?” Concern echoed in his tone. My gaze snapped to his and I threw my arm out to the side, dramatically pointing to his art. “I was damn proud of my manatee, feeling really good about myself. Then I see yours and it makes mine look like a freaking grey blob floating around a bunch of blue shit that doesn’t even depict water. You didn’t tell me you were this good. Had I known that, I wouldn’t have even tried.” His lips finally gave way to a smile once he knew I’d meant it as a joke—well, kind of. I hadn’t been joking about his manatee making mine look like a deformed whale that’d been mutated into its own form of ugly. But I wasn’t mad or upset. I actually found it rather comical, and couldn’t stop the giggles once they started.
“This is the first time I’ve ever painted anything,” he admitted, and my laughter immediately died on my lips. “Are you kidding me right now? Is there anything you aren’t good at? I practically grew up sitting next to my mom’s easel. She’d let me help her paint, teaching me how to do it. She’d even taken me to summer art classes when I was younger, for Christ’s sake! And you waltz in here, pick up a brush, and paint a fucking manatee like you’ve been doing it since you could walk.” He bit his lip, holding back the grin that tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I take it you’re feeling better, having fun?” “Nah, not really. It’s the wine talking,” I said, ending it with a subdued sigh. “Well, how do you feel? You were panicked when we walked in here, and now you seem loosened up. You seem better, not as freaked out. A little bitter, but other than that, you seem okay. Is it really just the wine?” “I don’t know anymore, Bentley. I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel.” My arms fell to my sides and my shoulders dropped as he once again made me face my reality. I’d been good in my bubble of wine and laughter, until he had to start questioning me and my feelings, analyzing everything like he seemed to always do. “What do you want me to say? That painting a stupid manatee makes everything all better? That now I feel like mom is with me and not six feet under like I did before I pushed around some grey paint with a brush?” He glanced at our canvases, his lips tight and brow furrowed as if in deep concentration. Guilt— or some other heavy emotion—covered his face before he turned to meet my eyes once more. “I have an idea. Do you trust me?” His gaze pleaded with me. His confidence was still there, although it appeared to be softened by desperation. “What else do I have to lose?” Defeat consumed me, completely killing the buzz I’d gotten from the wine and the laughter we’d shared. But at least the alcohol kept me from completely losing it. Instead of grief, I felt anesthetized, as if I no longer cared about anything. Tears were nowhere to be found, nor did I have any desire to hide away inside my house and be alone. Instead of those emotions, the ones I’d become so used to, only emptiness registered inside me. I’d officially given up. Bentley sent me out to his truck, telling me to take our canvases and wait for him there, which I did. Yet it only served to eat at me more. I hated the moods that snuck up and hit me like a tornado, sweeping me up, spinning me around, and then spitting me out more damaged than before. I wanted them to stop. I needed them to go away, desiring nothing more than to have one whole day where I didn’t have to fight against the demons of my pain. I’d been having a good time with Bentley, laughing and letting go, feeling semi normal again. And then, out of nowhere, the current of grief would pull me under, leaving me drowning and unable to surface. Then Bentley climbed into the truck, giving me a tiny hiccup of oxygen. Over the course of a week, he’d somehow become my breath of fresh air, my oxygen mask, resuscitating me with his presence. The weight of sorrow hadn’t vanished, but it’d let up slightly, offering me a chance to survive. “What are we doing?” I asked skeptically. “You’ll see. We’re going back to my cousin’s place. You don’t have to stay the night again if you don’t want to. However, I want you to try something first.” I couldn’t argue, because I didn’t have the strength. I only wanted this suffocating cloud to go away. And if he had an idea to make that happen, then I’d give it a shot. I was willing to do anything if it meant I’d have a chance at a normal life again—a life I’d convinced myself I didn’t deserve until Bentley. Step two—fall. I didn’t have anything to lose.
Bentley was quiet, focused, and it surprised me. After making it back to his cousin’s house, he took me straight to the floating dock in the back yard. It was dark other than the soft light from the lamppost next to us, and the moon above. I stared off into the lake, mesmerized by the glass-like surface that reflected lights from other docks along the water’s edge and the stars overhead. It was beautiful, serene. Calming. It reminded me that one tiny stone, one movement beneath the surface, could create a ripple and ruin the perfect image in front of me. That was how my life felt. Standing still, not moving, waiting for something to come in and disrupt everything. Bentley was my disruption. Quietly creeping up on me, causing a ripple that I could feel deep inside. He came out of nowhere, like a breeze on a warm summer’s day. Catching me off guard, making me stop and feel it, filling me with the peace I desperately sought. That was Bentley. My ripple. “You ready?” I heard from behind me, reminding me of his presence. I turned around, finding a large piece of white paper, like the kind ripped off a roll. He had it laid out on top of the dock, held in place by his boots on two corners, and rocks on the others. I glanced at him, questioning with my eyes what he wanted me to do. “No limits, no directions, no outside influence…I want you to show me how you feel.” I didn’t understand what he’d meant until I found tubes of paint next to the paper. “What am I supposed to do with that? Do you have brushes? A palette? Anything to paint on or with?” “You paint on the paper, and you paint with your hands.” “And what do you suggest I finger paint for you, Bentley?” He walked closer to me and then held my arms between us. “That’s just it, I don’t want you to paint anything in particular. I don’t care if it’s the Mona Lisa or a giant blob. As long as you feel what it is you’re doing. Show me here, with this, what you feel inside. If it’s pain, show me. If it’s anger, get it out. If it’s nothing, and the paper is just as white as it is now when you’re done…I don’t care.” I nodded and moved away, finding the tubes of primary colors. I started with blue, squirting a small amount onto my finger. I stared at the paper, unsure of what to do. Nothing came to mind. I didn’t want to paint anything. “Tell me a happy story about your mom,” he said from behind me. I closed my eyes and let the images of her come to me. I hadn’t done that in so long. Since she passed away, all I could think about was the way I’d found her on Christmas day. My pain hadn’t allowed me to think of anything else. A small smile rose on my face as I thought about one day in particular. “We didn’t have much money when I was younger, just enough to cover what we needed. A week before my eighth birthday, my mom’s car broke down, and it was expensive to fix, so she couldn’t get me anything that year. Instead, she used the last of her paint supply and painted me a mural on my wall. I wanted the Little Mermaid, but she
didn’t have enough paint for it.” I pressed my fingers to the paper, smearing around the small amount of blue. When I ran out, I took the tube and squeezed more directly onto the paper, pressing my hand into it until it became covered. “Keep going,” he encouraged me with a soft voice, sounding closer than before. “She painted the rock with water splashing around it, and promised when she had more money, she’d add Ariel to it. A few months later, for my sister’s birthday, she’d received a bonus from her boss. She was torn between getting Clari something she’d been asking for, or getting paints to finish my mural. I told her to use the money for Clari’s gift. My rock would always be there.” I added red to the paper, swirling it around the blue. “The day after my sister’s birthday, Mom came and picked me up from school early. She didn’t get Clari, only taking me out. I thought maybe I had a doctor’s appointment or something, but she ended up taking me to the mall. We walked around for hours, trying on fancy clothes and shoes we couldn’t afford. But she said it was fun pretending. Before we left, I wanted to go to the toy store. She let me look around and I’d found this water toy. I didn’t even know what it was since we didn’t have a pool to even use it in, but it had the head of an alligator on a stick, and at the end, there was a handle that when squeezed, it moved the mouth on top. I guess it was supposed to spray water, but I didn’t know. I just thought it was cool. We were about to walk out when she stopped and went back in, spending five dollars she probably shouldn’t have on that stupid plastic toy. But she did it for me.” I sat back, admiring the strokes of blue and red that ran next to each other but never overlapped. “She sounds like a good mom,” he said from just over my shoulder. I didn’t have to turn around to know he’d knelt down behind me, because I could feel his presence at my back. “She was the best mom.” “What’s your worst memory of her?” I turned my head to the side, catching his shadow in my peripheral vision. “Why would you ask me that? You know what the worst memory is.” “No. Not that day. Before. Something she did to maybe make you mad. Make you upset or sad.” “What’s the point in that, Bentley?” I asked, anger and resentment toward him building up inside until my flesh became heated. “I want you to express your feelings. All of them.” I glanced back at the paper, at my soft swirls, my happy colors. Then I added yellow, not in a blob like the others, but in frantic circles of wet paint, mixing all three together as a memory hit me. “In high school, I really liked this guy from one of my classes. His name was Manny. He played football and baseball…everyone liked him. He wasn’t a jock or an asshole. He was really nice, and talked to me like a person. I had grown breasts and curves earlier than a lot of the girls my age, so most of the guys in school saw that and thought of one thing. But not Manny. I really liked him.” More paint had been added to the paper, but I had no idea where it’d come from. And instead of one hand shifting the colors around, I now had both flat on the paper, frantically pushing them through wet paint, pressing so hard I felt the rough wood beneath. “He finally asked me out. And not just on any date, but to his prom. I was only a freshman, and he was a junior. I ran off the bus and immediately called my best friend, eager to tell her all about it. When my mom got home from work, she had to have me repeat myself because I was so excited she couldn’t understand me. I remember her face, her crazy-big smile at my enthusiasm. But once I got it all out, her smile faded. She told me I couldn’t go because he was older than me. She said boys that age are only after one thing, and there was only one reason why he’d asked me to prom instead of a normal date. We fought about it. She didn’t know Manny like I did. And if I really wanted to have sex, I could’ve done it after school before she came home from work. I didn’t need to wait until a dance. “That pissed her off, and she started accusing me of having people over while she was gone. She
asked Clari if she’d seen anyone here. And then she proceeded to ask the neighbors if they’d seen any cars here while she was gone. She didn’t trust me. I was a virgin, I’d never been on a real date before, and just because an older guy had asked me to a freaking dance, she thought I was a slut.” “She said that?” His question made me stop what I was doing, freeze in place, and take notice of the abstract smears in front of me. “No,” I answered, sitting back on my heels, closer to him. “She said she trusted me, but didn’t trust teenage boys. She said they’d tell a girl anything to get what they wanted. But it didn’t make me feel any better. She didn’t trust my judgment, believing I would let a guy smooth-talk me into bed. And to make matters worse, Manny ended up taking some other girl from class. They went on to date for three years.” “Did he have sex with her?” I shrugged, feeling completely defeated. “I have no idea. If he did, at least he didn’t toss her to the side like my mom claimed he would do to me. It was my first real crush, and I’d lost him because of her.” Bentley moved to my side, sitting on the paper next to me, not caring about the paint he sat in. “Looking back on that now, do you still feel that way? After everything that’s happened, after all the other good times you’ve shared with her, how does that memory make you feel now?” The first tear broke through, slipping down my face. “I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about that in a long time.” “Then think about it.” I did. I stared at the mess in front of me, the colors mixing and blending into a mucky brown color, feeling like it was a replica of how I looked on the inside. Muddled, messy, dark. I blinked away another tear and then pulled my gaze up to his, finding him staring intently at me. “I realize now that she was only trying to protect me. She didn’t want me to grow up too fast. I see now that she did trust me, but I was only fifteen, and most fifteen-year-olds don’t make the best decisions. She didn’t know Manny, only knew how guys were at his age. And she was right about that—the other boys in school only cared about one thing.” I used the back of my hand to wipe away a falling tear from my chin. “I wish I hadn’t spent so much time mad at her over that. I wasted weeks not talking to her. She tried to make things better, tried to talk to me, but I only ignored her. There were nights I heard her cry to my stepdad, yet I still held onto my anger.” “So now, look at your painting, and tell me what you see. You painted with happy thoughts, and then with a bad one…tell me what you see.” I realized it then what he’d wanted me to do. He’d asked me to paint while telling him about a good memory, a bright moment in my life with my mom, and that picture was easy. I’d done that with soft, smooth, careful strokes. I’d taken my time to line the colors up without mixing them, keeping them vivid on the paper. And then he had me relive a moment in time when I’d been so angered and hurt by my mom, I’d punished her with my silence. And because of that, my bright, happy picture became ruined, tarnished by careless strokes, furious and hasty swishes. The bright colors became dulled, dark, and nasty. “A mess,” I whispered. He didn’t need to say anything, I already knew. The paper in front of me had become a physical depiction of my life. I’d taken a bad moment, a hard memory, the worst experience possible, and allowed it to taint my existence. To dull me, to cover all the good I’d ever had before that. “Want to know what I think of you? What I see when I look at you?” I barely nodded, having no strength left in me to do much else. He leaned forward, taking the tube of yellow paint and adding some to his finger. He swiped my cheek, leaving behind a cold trail on my skin. “I see a girl that wants to live.” He swiped my other cheek. “A girl who wants to be happy.” He added more to his finger, brushing it down the bridge of my nose. “A girl so jaded she refuses to see the good in life.” I started to shake my head, ready to argue with him, but he stopped me, pressing his painted finger
to my lips. He added more paint, starting a new trail from my chin down to the base of my throat. “I see someone who wants to love, but is too scared to let anyone in.” His finger continued until he reached the top of my shirt, right above my cleavage. “Someone too scared to lose someone else.” With more paint, he drew a line down my thigh, starting at the hem of my jean skirt and ending at my knee. Then he moved to my other leg. “I see a happy person, concealed in tragedy. Hidden by fear and sadness.” “Bentley,” I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. But he shushed me, bringing his face closer to mine. “I’m not done, Sarah.” The light barely lit his features as his face hid in the shadow of my head, but I didn’t need to see his expression to know how he felt. His voice said it all. As intense as this moment was for me, he was right there with me, feeling everything I did. The next time he touched me, it wasn’t with just one finger, it was with his entire hand as he rubbed in the streaks he’d painted on my body. “I see beauty. I see courage. I see a woman.” He grabbed the blue paint next, squirting some onto his finger before making new trails, this time on my arms, my forehead, and the sides of my neck. “I see deep pain, fresh scars, and loneliness.” He used his palm once more to smear the blue into my skin. “I see an incredibly sad girl.” I grew nearly breathless as he pressed his body into mine, causing me to lean back until I was flat against the painted paper beneath me. He hovered above me, his gaze lingering on mine. Every breath that left his lips hit mine, sending wave upon wave of heated agony through me. I wanted more, but of what, I didn’t know. More of his words, more of his touch. Just more. Finally, he slowly slid down my body and grabbed the tube of red paint. But instead of putting it on his finger this time, he carefully lifted the bottom of my shirt, leaving my stomach exposed. An unfurled groan ran through the air as he tightly closed his eyes. Before he opened them again, I’d pulled my shirt the rest of the way off, tossing it to the side, leaving my chest only covered in my bra. His eyes snapped to mine, silently pleading with me to stop this, knowing he didn’t have the strength to end it. Instead of making a decision, I lay still, waiting for his next move. He shook his head before squirting red paint directly on my stomach in a line from the middle of my chest to my belly button. He tossed the tube aside, studying the glistening color, not once glancing up at me. His fingers began to play in the paint, not like before, but as if testing it out first. “The truth is, Sarah…I don’t want to see you. I never meant to see any part of you. This wasn’t supposed to happen—you weren’t supposed to happen. You weren’t supposed to be at that bar. You weren’t supposed to be so sad.” He pressed his hand against my skin, coating his palm in red, and then slowly, gently covered my stomach. “Why did you have to be so sad?” he asked, his voice breaking as if it physically pained him. I ran my fingers through his hair, forcing him to glance up at my face. “You don’t make me sad. I’m glad I was there…at that bar. I’m glad you saw me. I don’t know where I’d be right now had you not shown up that night.” He pulled his body up, hovering over me until his mouth lingered only an inch above mine. “Don’t say that. You don’t know what you’re talking about.” “But I do. I’m glad you’re in my life. I don’t want to think about my life without you in it.” And with that, my lips became consumed by his. An animalistic growl ripped through him, causing my hips to buck into his. “This isn’t right,” he said, barely pulling away. “The best things in life never are.” He grabbed my hip with one hand, using the other to hold himself up above me, and then thrust his pelvis into mine. My moan mixed with his in the night air almost like harmony. I grabbed his face, ran my fingers through his hair, and pulled him closer to me.
After two more thrusts, he finally stopped. Gazing into my eyes, he pleaded, “Please tell me to stop. Please.” I didn’t want him to stop. I wanted him to take me all the way. I’ve wanted it since we first met, and the yearning had only grown stronger since. But there was something in his eyes, something desperate in the way his voice shook, that made me pause. This can’t always be about me. It can’t always be about what I want. For whatever reason, Bentley couldn’t take this further, and I had to respect that. Much like he’d done nothing but respect me since that first night at the bar, I had to show him the same. I pressed my hands to his shoulders, pushing back slightly. “We need to stop, Bentley.” My words weren’t convincing, because it wasn’t what I wanted, but it was enough to cause him to sit back. He tossed my shirt at me, averting his eyes as if looking at me was too painful. I sat up and glanced around, noticing the mess we’d made. I had paint all over me, all over my clothes, and Bentley had it on him as well. His hands, parts of his face, and the front of his shirt were caked with colors. “Maybe we should go for a swim to wash this off,” I said with a grin, thinking about the possibility of skinny-dipping with him. “That’s not a good idea. Gators live in there.” He stood up and extended his hand to mine. “Come on, let’s go inside to wash up.” His tense voice and stern words left me with no other option but to take his offered hand and allow him to escort me inside. He pulled out a clean pair of boxers and another T-shirt from the drawer in the dresser, and then took me to his bathroom where I stood in silence while he washed his hands in the sink. “Clean up. I’m going back outside to pick up our mess, and then I’ll take my shower. Meet me back in my room.” Then he kissed me. It was soft and gentle, yet passionate. Long and breathtaking without morphing into hunger or desperation. It was the kind of kiss I’d always longed for, and it left my chest heavy—heavy with promise, love, and respect. He pulled away, holding my gaze for a moment before leaving the room and closing the door behind him. It took me a moment to catch my breath, but once I did, giddiness consumed me. It infiltrated every last sense I had, calming me with peace, covering me with excitement, and filling me with things I never thought I’d have again. After my shower, I stood in front of the mirror, trying to see a difference in my reflection. Just a week ago, I couldn’t recognize the person staring back at me, but now, I could see a few similarities. My eyes were still rimmed in dark circles, and my cheeks still appeared hollow. But other than that, I seemed happier. My smile felt genuine, my brown eyes glowed, and my all-around aura was lighter. I took in a cleansing breath of air and turned to open the door, ready to meet Bentley back in his room. But the moment I swung the door fully open, the bathroom light cascading into the dark hallway, I was met with a man exiting the room across from me. He finished closing the door and then stilled momentarily before slowly turning around to face me. I knew who it was after once glance. And seeing him in front of me left me feeling duped, like I’d been played this entire time. His amber eyes glowed from the light behind me before they narrowed, studying me as if questioning my presence in his house. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to; the way he watched me spoke louder than any words he could’ve used. It was clear that he didn’t want me here. But that didn’t matter, because I didn’t care to be here, either. He craned his neck to the side, catching sight of what I could only assume to be Bentley without looking for myself. But I didn’t need to see him for confirmation. Especially after Luke’s gaze met mine once more. His shoulders fell, his head hung, and a disheartened sigh left his lips before he turned around and headed back down the hall. I watched him walk away, watched as he made his way to Bentley on the other side of the house, the side I’d never been to before. He pressed his hand against Bentley’s chest and pushed him backward
into the master bedroom at the end of the hall. Bentley’s eyes never left mine—his sad, apologetic gaze pierced mine until it was hidden behind a closed door. My genuine smile had long since fallen from my lips. I’m sure the glow in my eyes had dimmed. And the aura that surrounded me became nothing more than a cloud of utter disappointment. Fighting back the pain, the dejection, I went to Bentley’s room and sat on the edge of the bed with my knees pressed into my chest. I wrapped my arms around my legs and buried my face, trying to understand it all. But nothing made sense. Bentley was supposed to have been a stranger. The first time we met was supposed to have been an accident. But how could that have been if his cousin was Luke? Bentley had to have known of the connection. There’s no way he couldn’t have. And then I realized that I still hadn’t asked him how long he’d been in town. Had he been here since Clarissa’s wedding in October? Did he know? How could he have kept this from me? I decided to wait it out, wait for him to come back to the room so I could finally get answers— needing them more now with these new questions that popped up. So I sat on the edge of his bed and waited, not caring about the streaks of tears tracking my face. Finally, the sound of his bare feet padded down the hall before he appeared in the doorway. He stilled, not walking all the way in, and regarded me with a questioning stare. The gig was up. He knew he couldn’t lie anymore, and he watched me as if waiting for the tongue lashing to start. But that wasn’t going to happen. “How long have you lived here?” I kept my tone low, even, almost emotionless as I stared at him, silently daring him to lie to me again. “Since October.” I nodded and bit my lip, my gaze falling away from his. “So you’ve known all along. You knew about Luke and my sister. When you told me about how your cousin was screwed over by some chick he dated for two years…you knew that was Clarissa. You told me about how she strung him along after they broke up. All the while, knowing who his ex was.” I brought my attention back to his face—his still, hard face. “You’re such an asshole,” I whispered before standing up and walking toward him. “Can you please let me explain?” He took two steps into the room, holding his hands up, palms out. “There’s nothing to explain, Bentley. You lied to me. I don’t do well with that.” I pushed past him, grabbed my purse from the living room, and stormed out the door, not caring that my clothes and shoes were left behind. Bentley yelled after me, but it didn’t stop me. I got in my car, slammed the door, and then threw the car in reverse. I stepped on the gas as the back tires whipped around. Once I was turned around, I put the car in drive and floored it out of the driveway, never once looking behind me.
Bentley “Fuck!” I slammed my hand into the wall by the front door, frantically searching for my keys. But my mind had become muddled from watching Sarah leave me, and now I couldn’t remember where I’d left them. “What did I tell you?” Luke’s voice came into the room and I spun around to find him standing there with his arms crossed over his chest. “I told you not to bring her here. And you didn’t listen to me. Now she knows about me, and she’s long gone.” “Give me the keys to your bike,” I demanded, leaving no room for question in my tone. “I don’t have time for a lecture right now, Luke. I have to catch up to her. I have to stop her before she does something stupid.” He rolled his eyes and reached into the front pocket of his jeans, pulling out the keys. I didn’t even say thank you as I caught them midair and tore out of the house. The only thought in my mind was that I needed to get to her before she made an impulsive decision, like head out to a bar. I hoped she wouldn’t do that, but her mental state would be sketchy after finding out the truth about Luke, and I couldn’t chance it. I didn’t give two shits about the speed limit as I raced across town on my way to her house—a house I wasn’t even supposed to know the location of. But the secret was out, so there was no longer any reason to pretend. I thought about Luke pulling me into his room after he found Sarah in the house. After Sarah found him when she’d come out of the shower. He was pissed, or more likely, disappointed. I could tell he wasn’t happy that the cat was out of the bag. He cared about me, and knowing that Sarah knew he was my cousin meant my time with her was more than likely over. “Are you going to tell her everything?” he’d questioned me after closing the door, blocking my view from her. I didn’t want to lose sight of her. I felt like if I’d stopped watching her, she’d run away. Run out of my life forever, and that thought debilitated me, stole my breath from my lungs and left me incapable of breathing again. But Luke wouldn’t leave it alone. “Are you?” “No. Maybe…” I’d dropped my chin to my chest in defeat. “I don’t know. I’ll fucking tell her anything I need to in order to keep her.” “More lies?” “No. Not lies. I just won’t tell her certain things. She obviously knows about you now, so that topic is fair game. The other thing, the most important thing, I can’t tell her.” “Then it’s a fucking lie, cousin!” He’d shoved me in my shoulder, knocking me against the wall. “What do you think you’ve been doing? She knows now. She knows about me being your cousin. I’m sure she’ll consider this omission of truth a lie. Because that’s really what it is, just like you’ll still be lying if
you don’t tell her the entire truth.” He was right. She did call me a liar. She said I’d lied to her, and the way she said it broke me. I felt physically shattered, broken to pieces. But I needed to make this right. I wasn’t ready for this—what we had between us—to be over with yet. Sarah made my heart beat, I could literally feel it inside my chest, pumping away as if she were my life support. Without her, there was nothing. No beats, no rhythms, no nothing. I felt lifeless without her. She once told me how she liked to press her ear to my chest to listen to my heart, that it calmed her. There had to have been a reason for that. Fate. It had to be fate. There was no other explanation. No other reason why we’d lived through these things—this pain, fear, and hopelessness. No other reason why we were brought together. I only hoped we still had a chance. I hoped we wouldn’t be torn apart by the things I’d kept from her. I pulled into her driveway just as she was walking to the front door. I must’ve been riding faster than I thought, because she hadn’t even made it up the steps to her front porch yet. She spun around and glared at me as I approached. The way her breath left her nose and her mouth gaped, I could tell she was pissed. But when my eyes met hers, my heart felt like it dropped in my chest. Her eyes were full of such intense pain it made me want to run to her and hold her. My breathing was erratic, which wasn’t a good sign, but I couldn’t stop long enough to calm it down. I had to talk to her. I had to get her to let me explain, to make it right. I finally made my way to her, stepping so close, she had to lean her back against the front door, her head tilting back to find my eyes. I cupped her face in my hands and panted through ragged breaths, “Let me explain.”
Sarah I pulled out of his hold, opened the door, and walked inside without bothering to look behind me. I knew he’d follow me in, and honestly, I didn’t have the strength to tell him no. My eyes were red and puffy after spending the entire drive home in tears, feeling like a part of me had died. My mind was jumbled and foggy, trying to put everything together and have it all make sense…but no matter how hard I tried, nothing fit together. And then there he was, at my house—of course he knew where I lived, I’m sure he knew way more about me than I could even guess. The moment my eyes landed on him, an uncertain, unexplainable peace filled me. I was pissed that he could do that to me—easily give me peace—but even more pissed that he’d lied to me, so angry over it I never wanted to see him again. But just the thought of that happening, of not ever being in his arms, seeing his smile, or hearing his voice again, broke me— completely shattered my soul. My chest tightened and threatened to squeeze my heart until it stopped at the idea of not having him in my life. So even though I wanted to close the door in his face, I didn’t have the strength to. “Yes, I knew Luke dated your sister. I’ve known all along. Hell, he used to talk about her all the time when they were together. But that doesn’t mean I knew her. Or that I knew you. Or that any of this between us has anything to do with Luke or Clarissa.” Bentley followed me to the living room and cornered me behind the couch, making sure I wouldn’t walk away from him. “And that makes everything okay? You were here in October. Were you here when he tried to ruin my sister’s wedding day?” He shook his head adamantly. “I wasn’t here for any of that. I came after the fact. I came here at the end of October. After all that happened. Luke told me about it after I came to stay with him, but I wasn’t here when it happened.” I had no idea what to say, so I just didn’t say anything. Instead, I stood with my back leaning against the couch and stared at him, my stomach twisting with so many different emotions, I didn’t know where to begin. “And I never said anything bad about your sister. I don’t know the whole story, only what Luke has told me. They were together for two years, he bought her a ring, but before he could give it to her, she left him.” “He bought that for her after she broke up with him.” “No. He bought it two weeks before. He called me the day he bought it. And then he called me the day she broke up with him. He had planned this big surprise weekend thing for her, and was going to propose there. But she left him less than a week before that.” I fell against the couch, and then stumbled to the front to sit, my head spinning and leaving me dizzy.
Bentley followed me and sat on the coffee table, leaning in toward me with his elbows on his knees, crowding my breathing room. “Did you know that your sister called him a month before the wedding?” My head snapped up, his words catching me off guard. “I didn’t think so. She told him that the reason she broke up with him was because she wanted more from him and didn’t think he was ready to give it to her. That’s when he told her about the ring, and how he’d planned to ask her to marry him.” “She told me that he called her. And he told her about the ring, but she thought it was a lie. That he didn’t have it when they broke up.” He shook his head. “I don’t know who called who, but they talked. He told her he’d give her anything she wanted if she didn’t go through with the wedding and came back to him. I guess she said she wanted him to be more stable, so he went out and bought a house—the one we were just at. He bought it for her.” I thought I needed to sit because I’d felt lightheaded, but the more I sat there and listened to the things he said about my sister, things I never knew about, I became jittery, unable to sit still. So I stood up and moved around Bentley on the coffee table. I began to pace the room, back and forth, biting on my thumbnail as my mind whirled with jumbled thoughts, desperately trying to make sense of it all. “Did you know who I was when you sat next to me at the bar that night?” He sighed behind me, and I could tell I wouldn’t like his answer. “Yes.” “So it wasn’t an accident that we met? You came looking for me?” I turned to face him, needing to see his eyes as he answered me. “I knew who you were that night, but it’s not what you think.” “Just tell me the truth…was this some way for Luke to get back with Clari?” He stood up and took two forceful steps my way. “I swear, it had nothing to do with them. Yes, I knew who you were, but everything else has been the truth. I stayed here because I hated to see you so sad. I knew about your mother before you told me, I knew your name and little things like that. But none of this, none of my reasons for being with you had anything to do with Luke or your sister. I swear. It has everything to do with you, and how I feel about you.” I turned my back to him, needing space. Needing a moment to breathe and center myself. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as I originally thought. If it truly wasn’t some kind of game for Luke to get to Clari, one where I was used as a pawn, then he at least deserved to be listened to. I had so many questions, but didn’t know where to start. Bentley silenced my inner thoughts by pressing his lips to my shoulder, wrapping his arms around my waist and holding me so tightly against him, I could feel every bulge of his muscles at my back. It caught the air in my lungs and all words ceased to exist. “Please don’t give up on me,” he whispered into my ear. “The reason I didn’t tell you was because I was worried you wouldn’t give me a chance if you knew. I didn’t want to chance losing you.” I spun in his arms to fully face him, taking in his wild hair and clean face, the scent of a man’s shower gel—one that was now familiar to me—consuming the air around me. I shook off those distracting thoughts and took in his eyes, his deep, emotional eyes that captivated me and left me yearning for more. I leaned into him, taking his face between my hands before lightly pressing my lips to his. I didn’t know why I did it, but it just felt right. His worry had been real, and I could see it in his eyes. If what he said was a lie, I doubted he’d have this kind of reaction to the thought of me leaving him—the same reaction I had to the thought of him not being in my life. I didn’t allow the kiss to linger, or transform into something more. No moans or aggressive hands made their way into the act, only soft, gentle, caring kisses. Then I pulled back, studying his contented gaze once more.
“I don’t know anything about you.” He pressed his forehead to mine and slowly released a sigh, his breath fanning my face and soothing every quaking muscle in me. “Every night on the phone I told you things about me. They’re all true.” “You told me funny stories of when you were a kid, things your brothers used to do to you. You talked about horses and growing up around them. All those things are nice to hear, but none of them tell me anything about you. About who you are now. Today. About your life past the age of sixteen.” “What do you want to know? I’ll tell you anything.” “You’ve never opened up to me about anything important. Why?” My words sounded like nothing more than whispered air between us, but I knew he’d heard them loud and clear. “I’m trying to help you overcome this tragedy in your life. I didn’t see how my life or where I come from would have anything to do with helping you. This was never about me. It’s not about my family or what I did for a living. It’s always been about you. I guess I never even thought to share things about me with you.” With my eyes locked on his, knowing I had his full attention, I said, “It has everything to do with you, Bentley. You wanted me to let go. I did. You asked me to fall, and I have. I had faith in you, but now I feel like I’m falling for a guy I know nothing about.” “When I asked you to fall, I didn’t mean for me.” “Maybe not. But that’s what happened.” His eyes roamed over my face, stopping just south of my nose, hesitating on my mouth. He licked his lips and then brought his attention back up to meet my gaze. “Tell me, Bentley. Tell me you’re not the guy for me. That all this wasn’t some big cosmic force of fate. That meeting you—the cousin of my sister’s ex—on your last night in town, only for you to stay longer for me…tell me there’s another reason for that.” My desperate plea burned my throat, leaving my fingertips tingly and numb. I needed to hear something that would make sense and explain the things I couldn’t wrap my head around. I needed something concrete to tie myself to. And I needed it to come from him. “You believe in fate?” His tone was light, soft, almost disbelieving. I nodded, because there was a hard knot in my throat keeping me from responding. “What about circumstance? Do you believe in that?” “What’s the difference?” I felt a deep curiosity about where he was going with this, and I needed to hear what he had to say. I knew what I believed, but I wanted to hear him say it without me putting thoughts in his head. He reached up and moved a strand of hair off my face, pushing it behind my ear and letting his fingers linger a few seconds, his touch scorching my skin. “Let’s just say fate put us together. It’s destiny that we end up in love, living our happily ever after together. Circumstance is what either gets us there or holds us back. What if six years ago we were both on the same plane, headed to the same destination, only separated by three rows of seats? But as we disembark the plane, the man in front of me takes too long getting his carryon from the cubby. And by the time I make it off the plane, you’re already on your way out of the airport. Two years later, we could be in the same grocery store. But one of your items rings up wrong, causing the line to back up, forcing me to use another register, completely missing you in the process. What if six months ago, we actually did meet face to face? What if we passed each other going into the same building? So close our arms brushed against each other, but some other circumstance happened at the same time, and took that moment away from us?” “How many chances do we get before we run out?” His fingers entwined with mine as he bit his lip, considering his answer. “I don’t really know for sure, but I believe that fate trumps circumstance. I have to believe that if it’s fate, it doesn’t matter how
many chances come and go, how many times it takes us to get together. We will eventually get there.” My stomach flipped, dipped, and came to life with active flutters, sending trembles throughout my body like I’d been immersed in ice water. But they weren’t bad shivers, they were the good kind. The ones caused by anticipation and overwhelming hopefulness. “So what are you saying?” “I’m saying that it doesn’t matter what happens to us now or tomorrow. If this is truly fate like you say, it will happen one way or another. It doesn’t matter what I think, or what you think. You can find hundreds of things that can lead you to believe fate stepped in…or it could just be circumstance. Maybe there’s some other guy out there for you, and I’m the one that gets in your way. Maybe you’re my fate. No one knows.” I closed my eyes, overwhelmed by his tragic declaration. A tear slipped past my lashes, trailing down my face, and then his warm finger wiped it away. I wanted to give in and let him comfort me like he’d done so many times before. I wanted to believe him and allow nothing else to touch me, only his sincerity and consoling words. But I didn’t want to believe that this had all been for nothing. That thought struck fear straight to my heart and left me empty and hollow inside. I needed the promise of something more to fill that void, that blank and dark space. “Why are you crying?” he asked softly. “My mom died, Bentley,” I cried, squeezing my eyes shut even tighter. “I want there to be a reason for it. I want there to be some purpose to losing her. I don’t want circumstance or any other bullshit.” He pulled me closer to him, cradling my head to his chest. “There’s a reason out there somewhere. I’m sure of it.” I wrapped my arms around his waist, pressing my ear over his heart. The easy, rhythmic beats lulled me into a calm state, enough to ease my sobs. “What good could possibly come out of her dying?” “That’s what you have to wait to find out.” His fingers along my back soothed me, even though my anxiety had me wanting to crawl out of my skin. “I just want answers. I want to know what I’m doing. What are we doing, Bentley? I know nothing about you, yet you’re here. You’re the only one here for me, and you’re practically a stranger to me.” “What do you want to know? All you have to do is ask.” I pulled back, noticing the uneasiness in his eyes. He was hiding something, but I had no idea what it could be. “Have we met before?” His eyelids lowered slightly as he took my hand in his. “No, Sarah. I’d never met you before that night at the bar.” “Why did you come here? Not my house, not tonight. But in October, why did you come stay with Luke?” I pressed, feeling as if there was more to that answer than what he’d given me, needing to have everything out in the open no matter how hard or painful the truth might be. “I was dealing with a lot. I had a broken heart, and I needed to be here to heal it.” His thumb caressed my hand gently, his voice strong yet easy. Nothing about this man made any sense, and I began to wonder if he spoke in riddles on purpose. “So why wait so long before going back home?” “I needed to be here. I needed the support system from Luke, and he needed support from me. He was devastated after he bought that house for your sister, and then she married her husband anyway. It was always supposed to be temporary, and I never thought I’d be here this long. I thought I would’ve been gone before the beginning of the year, but then something happened to change that. Fate stepped in the way.” My mind raced with every scenario possible that could’ve kept him here. Did he meet someone? Did something happen to Luke? He was upset, but I never thought of him as the type to try to hurt himself. I had no idea, and I couldn’t stop the questions long enough to pick one. “By the time I met you, I had no reason to stay any longer. But when you came along, you gave me
a reason. I spent a few hours with you and never wanted to leave. That’s all that should matter.” He pushed his face closer to mine and kissed me softly, probably hoping that would stop my inquisition. “What about a job? How have you made money to support yourself here? It’s the middle of June. That’s almost eight months of no income. How do you pay for things? For your truck? Dinners you’ve taken me to? That bottle of Versace cologne you bought me?” Questions that had plagued my mind since meeting him began to pour out, the unknown suffocating me. It may have been rude to ask someone about their income, but I didn’t care. Theses were things I needed to know before I’d allow myself to give in. “I have money. You don’t need to worry about it.” “It just doesn’t make any sense. Nothing you say seems to add up.” “And it doesn’t need to. My parents are financially set for life. They’ve provided for me for a while, and it’s afforded me to have nice things. I’m not spoiled. I’ve worked hard to earn my own share, and learned to save from a very early age. I’m not rich, but I’m not poor. Money just has never been something I’ve ever had to worry about. I’ve been successful in work, and I’m smart when it comes to saving.” I could tell by his curt response that finances weren’t a subject he enjoyed discussing. And I could understand that. But I thought it was a valid question wondering where his money came from. His answer would have to suffice since I had no way of knowing any different. “You’re deflecting, Sarah. What is it you really want to know? Ask me anything.” I nodded, knowing deep down inside that he was right. “What does your cousin have to say about me? I saw him pull you to the side tonight. What did he have to say?” Bentley smiled, his expression going soft as his eyes lit up. “Luke has this theory that you’ll hurt me. Now, before you get all upset about that, let me explain. He’s jaded. Your sister really did a number on him. Don’t try to deny that. You know as well as I do that there was a lot of heartache when that relationship fell apart. On top of that, he knows about your mom, and that you’re really hurting. He’s seen you out on the weekends. I’m trying to help you get past this tragedy, but he doesn’t see it that way. He thinks I’m on my way to falling head over heels for you, and you’ll leave me a broken mess. He’s only trying to protect my fragile heart.” “Do you think that?” I asked, ignoring the grin on his face, because to me, there was nothing funny about what he’d said. There was nothing humorous about any of this. And I’d started to wonder if everything that had happened thus far hadn’t even been the coincidence I’d once believed it to be. “Do I think you’ll hurt me? It’s always a possibility. But you have the same chances of being hurt by me as I do by you. It’s a chance we’re either willing to take or we aren’t.” I swallowed harshly, my heart hammering against my chest, threatening to break free. If it beat any faster, harder, I wouldn’t be surprised to find it on the floor at my feet. “Are you willing to take it?” “That depends. Are you willing to learn to live again? To love again? Because I’m willing to chance my heart getting broken if I know you’ll be okay in the end.” I grabbed the sides of his T-shirt and pulled myself closer to his body, letting his warmth devour me, consume me as it comforted and calmed me. “I don’t think you have to worry about me breaking your heart, Bentley.” “It’s pretty fragile.” I pressed my ear to his chest and closed my eyes. All surrounding noises faded away, leaving me with only the thumping of his heart filling my ears, filling me until my own pulse slowed to match his. “Sounds strong to me.” “That’s because of you. You do that to me. You calm me and make my heart beat strongly.” I kissed the soft spot over his heartbeat and pulled away enough to focus on his dark-green eyes. They burned with a hidden emotion that I so desperately wanted to know. But I didn’t have to know what it was, because I felt it. “Will you stay with me? Tonight? Here?”
“I’ll stay anywhere you want me to be, Sarah.” My chest constricted, knowing without a doubt that he’d meant those words. “You don’t mind me attaching myself to you for however long I need to? Leaning on you? Relying on you? You won’t find me needy and annoying?” He licked his lips and then took my hand in his, pulling it to the center of his chest. “You’ve been imbedded in here longer than you realize. I had a broken heart before you, and it’s because of you it beats again. So it doesn’t matter what you need from me, because I’m already yours. I owe you more than you’ll ever know.” I had something to say to that, but my words caught in my throat, forming a lump and manifesting themselves into the warm tears that streaked down my face. If only he knew how wrong he was. How completely backward he had it all. He was the one saving me. Not the other way around.
Bentley and I spent the next two weeks together. I went to work, and then he’d come over once I got home. Every free moment was spent talking about our lives while ignoring the rest of the world. We were immersed in our own cocoon, and I’d never been happier. I’d wanted to talk to Clari about the things Bentley had told me regarding her relationship with Luke, but I needed more time before I did that. I didn’t want whatever she had to say to affect things with Bentley. We were new, fragile, and I wanted to focus on that for the time being. But I knew I couldn’t ignore it forever. My dad decided to have a barbecue the day before for the Fourth of July, and we would all be there together, meaning I wouldn’t be able to avoid the situation for long. But things with Bentley were going really well. I’d only seen Luke twice since I found him outside the bathroom that night, and both times were very quick and extremely awkward. Something still wasn’t quite right there, but I had nothing to go on other than a feeling. My sister had broken his heart, and I had to assume that was the reason for the awkwardness. Luke had been part of my family for a long time. He and Clarissa were in a serious relationship for a couple years, and I’d grown fond of him during that time. But like most things that involve others, you never know the entire situation. They’d broken up at the beginning of last year, right after Valentine’s Day. Bree and I had been living together at the time, and Clarissa still lived at home with our parents. She was almost done with college and ready to start planning her future. I remembered her coming to me, telling me she loved Luke, but didn’t know if she wanted to stay with him. Her reasons were that he hadn’t shown any interest in marrying her or starting a life together any time soon. I’d told her she was still young and didn’t need to rush anything, but she wouldn’t listen. Clarissa had always been the one of us girls that wanted to be married young and start having babies before she grew too old to enjoy them. I understood that, but didn’t agree with her need to put time restrictions on life and love. Clarissa felt that since they’d been together for two years, and she was almost done with school— Luke being quite a few years older than her and out of school—he had no reason to wait any longer. She wanted to move in with him after graduation, but wanted a ring on her finger before they took that step. She always said that if you move in with a guy before getting engaged, he would have no reason to take the plunge. She was so naïve. So she waited until Valentine’s Day to see if he’d say anything. Apparently, she’d brought up the subject of graduation and threw out the question of where things might go after that. She called me the next morning in tears, crying about how she couldn’t stay with him any longer. I guess his vague answers left her defeated. After hearing Luke’s version of the events—through Bentley—things started to make more sense. He clearly wouldn’t have given anything away if he already had something planned. Those thoughts circled my mind over the last two weeks. It made me think about Bentley’s
explanation of fate and circumstance. Clari ended up marrying Joel, meeting him in the early summer after graduation. They ended up working together and hitting it off right away. Things became very serious very fast, and their engagement at the end of the summer took us all by surprise. Then again, it was Clarissa, and if anyone knew what they wanted, it was her. I hoped for her sake that Joel was her fate, and Luke was only her circumstance. But I guess one never knows until the end. And that thought had me slightly worried. I wanted to know the certainties of things. The reason why my mom was taken from me so soon…without getting a chance to say goodbye. Why Bentley showed up in my life, and where things would end up with him. I tried to take the advice I’d given my sister, telling myself that I only need to take my time and things would become clear, but it was so hard to do when so many unanswered questions surrounded me, sometimes suffocating me. “You seem far away. What’s going on in that head of yours?” Bentley grabbed my hand from across the table, catching my attention. I blinked a few times, becoming aware that I’d spaced out in the middle of dinner. I squeezed his hand and gave him a smile, hoping it’d settle him some, and then took another bite of the chicken he grilled. “Something you want to talk about?” I shook my head and then swallowed. After a drink of my Coke, I said, “It’s nothing. I was just thinking about the barbecue tomorrow. I haven’t seen my dad in a while, and this is the first family gathering since Mom died…I’m just a little worried about him.” It hadn’t been a lie, considering I did worry about my dad, and it had been a while since we’d all been together. But that hadn’t been why I spaced out. And then once my mind wrapped around the idea that I would be going to his house, the same house my mother died in, it set an aching burn in the pit of my stomach that traveled up my chest. I’d been so consumed with Bentley and the facts surrounding my sister and Luke that it hadn’t even fully set in where I’d be tomorrow. I had to swallow down the increasing panic before Bentley noticed, questioning the truth about my thoughts. “I’m sure he’s fine. You know him better than I do, but I would assume he wouldn’t make plans if he wasn’t up to it. I’m sure he will just be happy to have everyone together again.” “I know. I just worry about him.” “Then maybe you should make a plan to see him more. Death does things to people. Sometimes it tightens the bonds, and other times it puts distance between them. That’s never a good thing. When you have too much time and space between family, the few times you get together tend to revolve around sadness instead of celebration. Then, when you all see each other, it’s just another reminder of the ones you’ve lost. Whereas, if you come together for celebrations, holidays, random times just to see everyone, then the weight of death and loss isn’t there. It’s easier to be happy around each other.” I pulled in a deep breath and let it out in a heavy sigh, needing the extra moment to pull myself together. His words were so strong, so hard to hear, yet so true that it caused a pain in my chest. I’d allowed my whole life to revolve around death and loss, leaving nearly no room for happiness. Even the small aspects of life that I’d assumed to be happy were nothing but pretend and make-believe. My sisters had tried so many times to get me to be around them, to be a part of Bree’s wedding plans—a happy occasion—yet I’d chosen not to. What would my life be like right now had I chosen to celebrate with them instead of wallowing in my own sorrow? “Well, hopefully this weekend will be the first of many,” I said with a shaky voice, the emotion so strong I couldn’t hide it. “I need to talk to Clarissa before we get there, though. I don’t really want to surprise her by showing up with you.” “I think you should talk to her, because you seem to need the truth. But I honestly don’t think there will be an issue with me. I’ve never met her before, and wouldn’t be surprised if she has no idea who I am.”
“I’m not keeping this a secret from my sister, Bentley.” “That’s not what I’m suggesting. All I’m saying, is you should talk to her because you want to. Because you want answers. Not because I’ll be there and you think it’ll be awkward.” He put his fork down and pressed his elbows on the kitchen table, leveling his eyes with mine. “You have kinda made it a habit of forming these excuses to do things. But you don’t need them. What you need is to be honest with yourself about why you want to do these things.” “Like what?” I grew defensive as he sat there and studied me, leaving me feeling like a therapy patient. That didn’t sit well with me. I appreciated the way he’d helped me start the healing process over the last two weeks, and how he’d somehow given me my smile and laughter back, but I didn’t care for the way he analyzed me like some lab rat. He knew me better than anyone, but he didn’t need to shove that fact down my throat in order to make me come around. I’d already come around. Bentley shrugged and sat back in his seat, aware of my agitated reaction to his accusation. “You push your family away because you think they are moving on together and leaving you behind. I think if you’re honest with yourself, you’ll realize that’s not true. You pushed them away because you weren’t ready to move on…and that is okay.” My shoulders slumped as my attention moved from his narrowed gaze and pinched brow, to the plate of food in front of me. His words swirled in my head and left me dizzy. “You’re right. Everything I’ve done is nothing but pathetic excuses. Except I don’t know how to admit what I’m really feeling about it all.” “Try. Give me something. Tell me one of your excuses and let’s try to figure it out. You don’t have to do this alone, Sarah. I’m here. I’ve been here every day for two weeks, and I have no intention of going anywhere.” My gaze met his from across the table, my heart stopping and oxygen leaving my lungs. That was the first time I’d heard him say those words, and they knotted and twisted my stomach. “You’re not going anywhere? As in…you’re not going back home?” His eyes closed and he slowly shook his head. But then he stopped and stared at me with such intensity I felt it clear to my toes. It chilled my entire body and lit a blazing fire deep inside at the same time. “I don’t know the future, Sarah. I know that I’ll eventually have to go home. I have a house and a family. I’m going to need to get back to work in whatever capacity I can at this point—after being gone for so long. But I’ve told you that if we’re willing to see where this goes, I’ll give it my all.” “I just hate not knowing what this is or where it’s going. I don’t need a promise of forever, or a proposal or anything like that. But I would like to know if we’ll at least live in the same state. It makes it hard to let go all the way with you when I’m constantly worried that you’ll move away.” Bentley stood from his seat and walked around the table. He kneeled next to my chair as he took my hands in his. “I promise, Sarah, that I’ll do right by you. Okay? If and when we ever get to that place where I must decide to stay or go, I’ll do right by you. But much like your fears, I don’t want to give up my life back home—my house or family—when there’s still the possibility that you’ll push me away.” I understood that. It was completely unfair of me to ask him for permanent plans and decisions when I couldn’t do the same. “Can we decide on a time limit at least? Like…after Bree’s wedding, at the end of the month, we will revisit this conversation and see where things are then?” His genuine smile warmed me and it set my nerves at ease, calming the tingling sensation that crawled beneath my skin at the uncertainty of everything. I leaned over and covered his lips with mine, feeling his kiss throughout my entire body. Once he pulled away, I couldn’t help but think about how much better my life had already become with him in it, and how much better and brighter it could be if he stuck around for the long haul. I only needed to find the answers of what we were to each other, or what we were doing together. I knew I’d never be able to give in completely to the way my heart felt around him—or the blinding
euphoria that eased me in his presence—without some sort of direction as to where we were headed. But it’d only been four weeks since we’d met, and two weeks since I’d opened up and allowed him to help heal my broken heart. We needed time. But how much of it did we have? Bentley jumped in the shower, and I decided to use that time to call Clarissa. He always locked me out of the bathroom when he used it, saying he wouldn’t be able to trust himself if I walked in on him while he was naked. It made me laugh and intrigued me all at once. His determination to not have sex with me no longer bothered me. But that could’ve had something to do with the two times he’d given in and pleasured me. Just like he’d promised, when things had become too hard for me to deal with, he’d offered me a chance to take my mind off the reality and indulged my need for sexual gratification. I clenched my thighs together as the memories of his random touches covered me. I grabbed my phone, needing the distraction before I barged in on him in the bathroom. “Hey, Clari. I need to talk to you before we get to Dad’s. Are you around Joel?” “No, he’s outside mowing the yard. What’s up?” My sister’s voice was so light and refreshing, but I knew it wouldn’t be once she heard what I had to say. “It’s about Luke.” I paused, waiting for a reaction, but I never got one, so with bated breath, I continued. “You told me that right before your wedding, he’d called you and begged for you back. Was that true?” Her heavy sigh ran through me and left me questioning my motive for making this call. “Pretty much.” “So you called him? Not the other way around?” “I don’t really wanna talk about this, Sarah.” I figured she’d be obstinate and not want to talk, which was why I didn’t want to do this over the phone. But with the barbecue in only a few hours, I knew it was either this or nothing at all. And I needed answers—for whatever reason, I didn’t know. But I needed them. “Why are you even bringing this up?” I sat on the couch and eyed the bedroom door, making sure I could still hear the water running in the bathroom. I’d opened up so much since Bentley had come to stay with me, and he’d taught me to deal with my feelings instead of running from them. But for whatever reason, I became uncomfortable and nervous at the thought of him overhearing this conversation. I’d learned to open up and truly allowed myself to be happy, laughing and smiling the way I used to. Tears were rare and I no longer needed the solitude to get through the hard times. I had Bentley. But I still had a family, one I hadn’t fully reconnected with. It was like I’d spent the last two weeks in a bubble, only allowing Bentley in. And now, in the matter of a few hours, my safety—Bentley—would come face to face with the automatic triggers of my pain—my family. And before I allowed that to happen, I needed to get a few things straight. One of which was informing my sister of Bentley’s relation to her ex. The other was to figure out how much truth the myth of fate held. My spine stiffened as I sat on the couch, taking in deep breaths to get me through this uncomfortable conversation with Clari. “I just need to know the truth. I’m not judging you, I swear. You’ll hear no lecture from me, and whatever you say won’t cause me to see you any differently. But can you please just answer the question? Did he call you, or was it the other way around?” “Yes. All right? I called him. I don’t know why I did it if that’s your next question. I was freaked out about the wedding—cold feet or whatever it was—and I called him. I, for some reason, needed to know why he never wanted to marry me after two years together, yet Joel was down on one knee after a few months. Call it insecurity if you will, but I wanted to hear from him what was so wrong with me that
he never even came close to wanting the next step in our relationship.” Frustration and sadness filled her quiet and trembling tone, both warring with each other in every spoken word. But regret and humiliation filled in the rest, the unspoken, the deep breaths and broken sighs that filtered through the line. I knew by her reaction that I should’ve just dropped it, taken her truth and let it be. But I couldn’t. My selfishness wouldn’t allow me to let sleeping dogs lie. There were still too many holes in my thoughts to give in. “Did you lead him to believe that you’d call off the wedding if he wanted you to? Did you ask him to show you some security, and if he did, you’d leave Joel for him?” “You’re judging.” I sank further into the couch cushion, leaning back until my head rested against the top of the seat, and then I stared at the ceiling, speculating why I needed to push the issue so much. She didn’t need to answer the question for me to understand the truth—it was in her defensive response, her shaky voice, and the silence that separated us. “I’m not judging you, Clari. I swear. I’m not asking for any reason other than trying to make sense of the things I’ve been recently told, and I was really hoping you’d give me the truth. I promise you, no matter what your answer is, it won’t make me see you any differently.” “What have you been told? Are you talking to Luke?” The panic in her high-pitched voice did nothing to settle the conflicting thoughts that jumbled my mind. I began to believe I’d never get the truth, and I’d never be able to feel certain about anything I’d been told over the last few weeks. I leaned forward, the muscles in my back stretching as my spine arched and my head hung heavily between my shoulders. My gaze fell downward to my bare feet. I focused on my pink polish instead of the shuddering breaths that filled my ear. “Not really. The guy I’m seeing, Bentley…he’s Luke’s cousin. I had no idea they were related when I met him, but then, one night when I was over there—at Luke’s house—I saw him and learned of the connection. I flipped out about him trying to ruin your wedding, and that’s when I was told about you calling him.” A long stretch of silence came from her end before she cleared her throat. In a cold, disconnected tone, she muttered, “It doesn’t matter, Sarah. Anything he had to say doesn’t matter. Because I made the right decision. I married Joel, and I’m happy. So whatever happened last year has no bearing on my life anymore.” “Would it matter if I told you that Luke bought that ring for you before you broke up?” “That’s a lie and you know it. Don’t let him fool you.” “It’s not a lie. And Luke didn’t tell me that. In fact, Luke didn’t tell me anything. Bentley did. And he has no reason to lie about any of it. He has nothing to gain by you knowing when the ring was bought.” I believed that wholeheartedly. After finding out about Luke and Bentley, I’d questioned the motives of Bentley’s presence in my life, wondering how coincidental our meeting had been. But over time, I’d come to the absolute conclusion that it had nothing to do with any vendetta or quest regarding my sister. It had nothing to do with Luke at all. I had no proof, of course, but I had instinct. And I had to trust that. Her shaky inhale sent shivers down my spine, realization evident in the surprised sound. “He was telling me the truth?” “The reason he didn’t propose to you on Valentine’s Day was because he thought it was predictable. He wanted to surprise you. Apparently, he had some romantic weekend planned for the following week. But you broke up with him days before that.” She released a short gasp, but it was loud enough to strike me forcefully in the heart like a bullet at close range. Then she lowered her voice, and with whispered, quivering words, she asked, “Then why didn’t he just say that when we broke up?” “I can’t answer that.” I gave her time to let my words sink in before moving on to another question I needed answered. “Did you, or did you not, tell him you’d call off the wedding if he offered you security? If he showed you some stability?” “I don’t remember. I’d had a few drinks that night when I called him. I don’t know what I said or
what I didn’t. I vaguely remember saying something along those lines, but I think it was just the alcohol and nerves talking. I never meant them. I would’ve never left Joel or called off the wedding no matter what Luke did or said.” “Well, he believed differently. Did you know he bought a house for you?” A sound came through the line. At first, I thought it was a squeal, but after a few seconds, I realized it was my sister crying on the other end. I knew my reasons for bringing this up were entirely selfish, and it made me feel horrible. My stomach sank and turned hard at the sound of her tears, knowing I’d caused them. That hadn’t been my intention. But no matter what my intentions were or how selfish it was, she needed to see the consequences of her actions. And I needed to know how that would affect her life. “Does knowing this make you second guess your marriage to Joel?” My voice wouldn’t rise past a whisper, practically forcing the question out through my tight and aching throat. I had an unhealthy interest in her response that burned in my chest, but without an answer, the unknown left me with anxiety that only festered over time. No matter how painful this was, I couldn’t prolong it any more. She sniffled and then cleared her throat again. “No. It makes me sad that I hurt him that way. It makes me wonder how different things could’ve been. But I love my husband. I’m in love with him. And nothing Luke can say or do could ever make me question that.” Finally, for the first time in the two weeks since I’d found everything out, I felt relieved. My body felt lighter and the smile on my face felt genuine. “Thank you, Clari. That’s exactly what I needed to hear.” Bentley’s talk of fate and circumstance had my mind chasing its tail and caused my stomach to form sailor’s knots. But now, I felt at ease. I’d wondered, between Luke and Joel, which one was her destiny. I understood that you never really know until the end, but I would assume that the heart had some kind of instinct about it. I wanted my sister to be happy, whether it was with her husband or Luke. And hearing that she was with the person she wholeheartedly wanted to spend the rest of her life with, made things so much clearer. I guess I just needed to hear it from her that she’d found her fate, even after so many circumstances got in the way. “You ready?” Bentley’s soothing voice surprised me and shook me from my inner thoughts. He stood by the bedroom door in dark jeans and a grey polo shirt, completely commanding my attention. His presence had a way of setting my nerves on fire, while at the same time, righting everything in my world. I nodded and then said my goodbyes to my sister, telling her I’d see her soon. Then I walked to Bentley, feeling confident and elated, and kissed him with everything I had as I breathed in the cologne I loved so much. “What was that for?” he asked with a contagious grin, his eyes shining bright. “I don’t know. I feel like I’ve gotten some clarity about things.” “About what?” He took a step back, carefully studying me as if he could find the answers in my expression. His brows pulled together inquisitively as he searched my eyes. “Life, love, and the pursuit of happiness.” I chuckled and moved around his hard body into the room, leaving him standing by the door gaping at me with a wicked smile on his face. Giddiness filled me as I grabbed my boots, ready to head over to my Dad’s for the first family gathering since Christmas. And for the first time in six months, I didn’t have an ounce of trepidation in me. I finally felt like I’d gotten a piece of my life back. By the time we arrived at my dad’s house, everyone was already there. That made it easier to introduce Bentley all at once instead of making numerous introductions. I was able to get the
awkwardness over with at the beginning instead of having it linger for a while, which eased my nerves early on. And it settled me even further that everyone seemed to welcome him with open arms, including Clarissa. She never once acted put off or distant around him, and that left me relaxed, able to enjoy myself. “You look happy, Sarah Bear.” My dad beamed at me with a gentle smile and caring eyes as we sat around the back yard. It was slightly uncomfortable being back here, at my mom’s house, the last place she was alive, but as soon as I saw my dad with that easy grin on his face, everything else melted away. It proved to me that it was okay to be happy again. “I am, Dad. Thanks. You look good, too.” He squared his shoulders and stood tall, running a hand over his belly like Santa Claus. “I’ve been trying to eat healthy. It does the body good.” I could tell it was meant to be funny, although I’m sure he was serious about it, but his words made me roll my eyes. “You should talk to Bentley about that. He’s some kinda health freak. Y’all will get along great.” The rumble of laughter filled me without thought. I didn’t have to pretend or put up a front. It was real and honest. “He’s already given me some tips about grilling the meat. He’s a smart kid.” I snorted at the way my dad referred to Bentley as a kid. He was thirty-two, and there wasn’t a single “kid” thing about him—except for the fact that he wielded a child’s arm between his legs. But that was Wayne. All three of us girls and the people we associated with were all kids in his eyes. It comforted me, knowing that even with my mom gone, we were still his. “I think I’ll go pick his brain some more.” And then he walked off, leaving me alone with Axel on the lounge chairs by the patio while the others congregated in groups. I’d never really had too much time alone with my sister’s fiancé before. When he first came back in Bree’s life, I’d decided to leave the two of them alone so they could work things out. We had about two months of everything being normal before Christmas happened, and ever since then, I’d stayed away. But I knew he cared about me. I’d never questioned that. “You about ready for the wedding?” I asked, breaking the awkward silence between us that felt suffocating for unknown reasons. It made me wonder what my sister had said about me in my absence, but I’d never know because I’d never ask. “You’ve got, what…three weeks left?” Axel pulled his beer bottle to his lips to cover the cheesy grin that had taken over his face. “Yeah. Not soon enough, though.” “You guys have forever with each other. What’s three more weeks?” He shrugged and stared across the yard at Bree as she laughed with Clari. “She looks happy. Really happy.” It was true. As I watched my sisters, I could see the complete and utter contentment on her face as they sat and talked, mostly laughing so loudly we could hear them from our seats on the other side of the lawn. “She’s glowing.” “She better be happy.” He spoke with laughter in his words, even though he only held a lazy smile on his face. “She has my bun in her oven.” His words were spoken with such pride and adoration that it floored me and stole my breath away. “She’s what?” My wide eyes snapped to him, even though he never once moved his gaze from his bride-to-be. “She’s pregnant?” Axel’s gaze finally met mine, scowling as he hushed me. “No one knows.” “Why didn’t she tell me?” I couldn’t believe Bree was pregnant again and I didn’t know. I’d even questioned her a few weeks back when she stopped by to see me before taking me to get sized for my dress. “Don’t feel bad. She still hasn’t told me.” I glanced around the yard, stopping at nothing as my gaze swept back and forth, my mind trying to
make sense of Axel’s words. “She hasn’t even told you? Then how do you know?” “Trust me, Sarah. I know everything when it comes to Bree. I think she just found out because I haven’t seen her drink anything caffeinated in a week—she hasn’t even had a glass of wine. Her cup has water in it right now.” My brows pulled tight as I gazed across the yard, lost in thought. “Who knows…she could be watching her weight. She has to fit in her dress in three weeks. The last thing she wants is for it to be too tight on her with no way of fixing it.” “Oh, it’ll be nice and tight on her now that she’s knocked up.” He seemed so proud of himself, like it had been some kind of impossible feat to get Bree pregnant. “But how would that even happen? She wouldn’t chance getting pregnant so soon before the wedding. I should know—she’s made a few comments about it over the last couple months.” “She stopped taking her birth control last month. We talked about it, both wanting to start trying, and I guess her doctor said it could take a few months after stopping the pill to get pregnant. I knew better, though. I got her pregnant while wearing a condom the last time. No way would it take me months to knock her up.” I couldn’t contain the erupting laughter that came over me at his egotistical words. Axel was anything but arrogant, but listening to the pride in his voice when talking about getting Bree pregnant was comical. “Mark my words. After the wedding, she’ll make an announcement that she’s having my baby.” His grin stretched across his entire face, causing his blue eyes to sparkle and shine in the sun. It reminded me of old times, and it released an excited flutter in my belly as nostalgia hit. “Then why hasn’t she told you?” “I’m fairly certain she’s just waiting for the right time. She had no control over things when she was pregnant with Ayla, and I’m pretty sure she wants to do it the right way this time. I don’t care when or how she tells me, because I know no matter what spectacular way she chooses, it’ll be the best thing I’ve ever heard her say.” We both looked across the yard at my sister, admiring the pure joy that lit her face as she sat with Ayla in her lap. Fate was all around me, in so many different forms. And it was clear that if there were ever a perfect example of how fate works, it was Axel and Bree. I moved my attention from my beautiful sisters and niece to my dad and Bentley standing over by the grill. They seemed to be in a serious conversation, although they were pointing to the steaks. Leave it to Bentley to find food such a serious topic of discussion. And it warmed me to know that my dad now had someone to talk to, and I felt instantly at ease. Bentley made everything seem so effortless. Dealing with grief, becoming happy again, being around family…he made it easy. Sitting with my loved ones and laughing like we used to before Christmas, letting go and just being myself like I used to be, I realized so much. I thought back to Bentley’s words from before. I’d finally opened my eyes. And I wasn’t falling. I was soaring.
The day after the barbecue was Fourth of July. I didn’t have to work, and I thought I’d spend the time off with Bentley, but he had other plans. He stayed for breakfast after we woke up, but then headed out to get things ready for his surprise. He wouldn’t tell me anything about it, but the smile on his face released the swarm of flurries in my stomach. I knew it would be something special, and I couldn’t wait for it. He called a few times during the day, just to check up on me and see how I was doing, but other than that, he wouldn’t give me any clue as to what he had up his sleeve. I actually found the suspense exciting. It’d been a while since someone had taken the time to surprise me, and anticipating what he had planned gave me butterflies in my stomach as well as a lingering grin all day. Finally, at seven that night, he called and asked me to come over to Luke’s house. I wasn’t expecting that, and I’m sure he picked up on my hesitation. After informing me that his cousin knew of his plans and wouldn’t be home all night, I relented and headed across town. It felt strange pulling up to the house after not being there for so long other than the two times we stopped by for Bentley to grab something from his room. But I hadn’t spent any real time there, and I wasn’t sure how to react to being in that house again. It almost felt as though it was a small stab in my sister’s back. But I had to tell myself that Clari knew about Bentley, and she’d made it perfectly clear that she had no interest in Luke anymore. I had to trust that to be true and stop worrying about it all. Bentley met me at the front door with a kiss that curled my toes, and then he led me through to the kitchen where dinner sat on the table. I could tell he’d put a lot of time into preparing it. Candles lit the room, glowing around us, and it immediately set me at ease. He always knew exactly what to do to calm me down. “Yesterday at your dad’s house was nice. We haven’t really discussed how you felt about being there around everyone, but you appeared to be happy. I wanted to talk to you last night about it, but you kinda fell asleep early.” I offered him a small smile while swallowing my food, appreciating his gentle way of broaching the subject. I hadn’t made it easy for him in the beginning, but over time, it’d become easier to open up with him. “I was exhausted. That Ayla can really tire me out. I don’t know how Bree does it with her.” “She’s really cute. It makes me wish I had nieces and nephews. Nothing makes things better than having kids around.” The way he spoke of children made my stomach dip, and I had to swallow hard past the lump in my throat caused by the questions his words provoked. But before I could say anything about it, he kept talking. “Were you ever able to talk to Clarissa like you’d wanted to?” “Yes. I talked to her before we got there—while you were in the shower. Turns out, Luke was telling the truth about Clari being the one to call him. But it doesn’t really matter because it seems like Clari is happy with how things turned out for her. I really believe she made the right decision by marrying
Joel.” “So you’re fine with it now?” I shrugged, not really knowing what to say about it all. “I mean, it was never my business to begin with. It doesn’t really matter who made the call or what transpired after that. I think I was just hurt by you knowing and not telling me. It was like you were keeping it from me for a reason, and I didn’t like that.” “I’ve told you why I didn’t tell you.” “I know. And I understand. But I’d always thought that you were a stranger to me—and you were. But I was never a stranger to you. I’ve had a hard time working that out in my head. Figuring out what was coincidence and what was planned. You know?” Silence filled the room, and when I hesitantly glanced up, I realized his dark eyes bored straight into mine, dancing in the soft glow of the candlelight. A heaviness settled over the table as he stared at me, his gaze flitting between my eyes. “Sarah…it was never like that. I swear. It’s not like I had all this information about you or anything. I simply knew who you were.” “I know. I know that now, Bentley. And I’m fine with it. But at the time…” My shoulders hunched forward as frustration over not having the right words settled in my chest. “I don’t know. I can’t explain it.” “Can you try?” My gaze dropped to the table between us as I thought about it—about the fears I’d had and the paranoia that surrounded me since finding out—but I couldn’t bring myself to explain it to him. I couldn’t find the right words without sounding too serious too fast. I knew how I felt about him—or at least I thought I did. And the last thing I wanted to do was open my mouth and spill everything, only for him to tell me he didn’t feel the same. So I decided to keep my mouth closed and my thoughts to myself. “No. I’m sorry, Bentley. But I can’t explain it.” His posture softened as he started pushing his food around on his plate. I reached across the table and placed my hand over his, feeling his hurt deep in my bones and needing to rectify it. “It’s not because it’s bad. I promise. I just don’t have the words right now.” “Is it because of me? Or something I’ve done? Is it Luke or your sister? If you’re fine with it now, I don’t understand why you can’t talk to me about it. I thought things between us were going well. We’ve been talking about all kinds of stuff for weeks now. You’ve opened up and come out of your shell so much it’s like the girl I found sitting at the bar doesn’t even exist anymore. And yesterday at your dad’s house, you—” “Bentley.” The strong, determined man seemed buried behind insecurity I’d never seen before, and I needed to make it go away before my ribs cracked under the pressure his defeated presence caused. “It has nothing to do with any of that. You haven’t said nor done anything bad. It’s not about Luke or my sister. Well, kinda. But not really.” “You’re not making any sense, Sarah.” The corners of his mouth were tight as he tried to fight his smile. I had replaced his ramblings with my own and could tell he found my inability to say anything coherent comical. The humor in his voice afforded me the chance to breathe normally again. “I know. And that’s why I can’t explain it. Because no matter how hard I try, I won’t make any sense. But I promise, once I get it all straight in my head, I’ll share everything with you.” My explanation seemed to pacify him for the rest of dinner. And once we finished eating, we both worked together to clean up. It only took us a few minutes to finish the few dishes we used. But those few minutes were spent in silence, with Bentley suddenly acting strange. “What’s going on?” I asked once he closed the dishwasher and set it to start the cycle. His chin tilted and his eyes blinked in confusion, but once he realized I’d questioned his quiet mood, his expression relaxed into an easy smile. “Nothing. I don’t want to miss the second part of our date. I must’ve been focused on getting everything clean so you wouldn’t miss anything.”
“Oh? There’s more?” “There’s always more, my lo—Sarah.” He turned his attention away from me, clearly uncomfortable with what he almost said. His slip up hadn’t bothered me one bit; in fact, it excited me, for all of two seconds before he corrected himself, appearing regretful. I was stricken silent, not knowing how to respond to that. I wanted to tell him it was okay, and that it didn’t bother me that he’d almost called me “my love,” but his reaction forced me to keep my mouth shut. And then I thought about things he’d said to me before, about having a broken heart when coming here and needing support and time to heal. Someone had clearly hurt him, and it made me wonder if he used to call her that—the one who’d broken his heart. Maybe it was habit and had absolutely nothing to do with me. But that made me feel worse, thinking that someone else might still own his heart when I fully believed I’d already given him mine. He took my hand and led me out back, not once speaking or glancing at me. The deafening silence overpowered me as he pulled me along, leading the way to the back yard. Our unspoken words, mine of love and his of…regret over his slip up, were all I could think of. My steps faltered a few times, making me stumble in the dewy grass as I fought to keep up with him, but it had nothing to do with his pace and everything to do with the pounding in my head and chest. Once we got closer to the lake, I knew where we were headed—to the same spot where he had me paint my feelings on the dock. Normally, remembering the closeness that’d developed between us that night would’ve induced excitement. But now I couldn’t seem to shut off my mind and make my worried thoughts go away. They filled my head and cast a gloomy haze over my mood. When we finally made it to the small dock, I noticed he’d set up an elaborate pallet of blankets and pillows. There were a few unlit candles around the edges in small glass jars. Bentley helped me down to the pile of blankets that added a comfortable layer of cushion to the wood below, and then lit the candles on either side of us. “The city has their fireworks display just over the trees there. It took me forever to make sure we can see them since Luke didn’t live here last year, but the neighbors all told me this is the perfect spot to see them. We won’t have the lights of the buildings to take away from the view like they do downtown.” He sounded normal again, as if the exchange in the kitchen hadn’t happened. But it did little to ease my apprehension. He’d set out pillows for us to lie down, but I couldn’t seem to relax enough to do so. Instead, we both just sat next to each other, practically shoulder to shoulder with our legs pulled up close to our bodies, our arms wrapped around our shins, staring silently out into the darkness over the calm lake. “You’re very quiet.” His whispered observation sounded full of trepidation, and it made it even harder to look his way. I didn’t want him to see the anxiety on my face. Instead, I kept my gaze off into the distance, giving myself a moment to work through my nerves. I needed to say something—anything, I knew that much. But I had no idea where to start or how much to share. The last thing I wanted to do was ruin his night with a passive-aggressive argument. But it was too late to lie. He’d see through it before I even had two words out. “Just thinking,” I answered, keeping it vague in the hopes it would give me more time to find the nerve to speak the truth. My heart thudded angrily, frantically beating against my ribs, and my hands shook, which only made me clasp them together more to keep him from seeing it. “About?” “You…me…us.” He was silent, but still, I couldn’t turn his way. I wouldn’t allow myself to witness the apprehension I knew I’d see in his eyes once I finished talking. It was better if I continued to keep my line of sight straight ahead at anything and everything—except Bentley. Otherwise, I’d never be able to get it all out, and then I’d spend the rest of the night with my thoughts eating me alive.
“I’m just really confused about everything. And I know we decided to wait until after Bree and Axel’s wedding to cross this bridge, but I don’t know if I can anymore.” “You don’t know if you can cross the bridge?” “I don’t know if I can wait.” “Then don’t. I never want you to hold anything back from me. Look at me, Sarah.” He gently held my arm, waiting for me to give him my attention. After hesitating a moment, I finally turned my head, noticing how the soft glow of candlelight danced in his eyes. “If you’re feeling something, anything, I want you to talk to me about it. I know what we said the other night about waiting, but if you want to talk about it now, let’s do it. Let’s talk. Tell me what you’re thinking about.” My chest squeezed tight as he spoke. His every word hit me like a head-on collision with a freight train. I had to wait a few seconds until I had the ability to speak again. His words had given nothing away as to how he felt, but I thought I’d picked up a hint of dread in his tone. “Bentley…” I had to shake my head and turn away again, his intense gaze stealing the words from my tongue and the thoughts from my head. “If you’re done with me…if you don’t want me here anymore, please…just say it. Just get it over with so we can talk about it.” The complete desperation in his hoarse, gritty tone forced me to snap my attention back to his face. His gentle expression offered me a small amount of hope and courage. “That’s not it at all. It’s the complete opposite, to be honest with you. But I don’t know how you feel, so I’m scared to say anything.” I waited for him to respond, to give me something, but he didn’t. Instead, he kept his eyes glued to mine, his heated hand never leaving my upper arm. “Fine. Here goes nothing. Rejection be damned.” He turned his body slightly, just enough to face me more than the lake in front of us, and tilted his head to the side. “I’m better now than I was before. I feel happier. I’m not as sad. And I can’t even tell you when the last time was that I truly lost it over my mom. I went to her house yesterday, and I was okay. I went to bed last night, and not once did I feel the need to bury my face in my pillow and let out the pain like before. I still get sad from time to time when I see or hear something, and my first thought is to tell her. But it’s different now. Because instead of losing it, or breaking down, I realize I now have someone else to call. And maybe that’s a bad thing. Maybe that just means I’ve become dependent on you instead of relying on myself. But either way, the point is, I feel better. And it’s only been two weeks. And I have you to thank for that.” “If I were to leave tomorrow, what would happen to you?” His question came out of nowhere and suffocated me, but I pushed the emotion down and thought logically in order to give him an honest answer. “If you left tomorrow, I’d be incredibly sad.” “Because you wouldn’t have someone to talk to?” I shook my head adamantly. “No. Because I’d miss you.” “What about me would you miss?” “All of you.” The answer charged right out without an ounce of hesitation. “We’ve talked before about fate, and I’ve been thinking about it ever since. I have to believe that I’m doing better because of you, because I’ve had you with me to help me overcome things I wasn’t able to see on my own. And therefore, I have to believe that you saw me at that bar for a reason. Call it fate or circumstance—I don’t care. But you were there at a time when I needed someone the most and you seemed to be the perfect fit for what I needed. You had no pressing matters to make you go home, and you stayed—for me. You stayed because you wanted to help me. I still don’t understand why, but I can’t question that anymore. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is you didn’t go home. You stayed with me, and you forced me to face my shit. I truly feel better now because of it. “But then I found out about Luke. That made me question where fate fit in to their situation—
whether things were supposed to happen that way, or if they were somehow cheated out of their own destiny. However, even after I told my sister about the house and the ring, she told me that she was happy with her decision to marry Joel. That led me to believe that everything worked out exactly the way it was supposed to. Clari got her fate, I’m sure Luke will find his, and everything is right in the world. Which, again, makes me think you finding me when you did, knowing who I was and what I was going through…I mean, that’s gotta be fate, right?” When Bentley didn’t come back with an immediate response, I studied him, catching the way he carefully bit his lip as if contemplating an answer. It should’ve been easy, but he didn’t seem to think so. I tried to say something else, but then his eyes settled on mine, and it made me bite my tongue, needing to hear his words more than I needed my next breath. “We never know what’s fate and what isn’t. It’s simply a belief. But I think it’s that belief that keeps us going, keeps us fighting for what we want.” “Is there some other reason why you were at that bar that night?” He glanced down for a moment before meeting my gaze again, fear filling his downturned eyes before they softened. “I was meeting someone. I needed to see this person face to face because I had something I needed to tell her. It was my last chance, and I didn’t want to go home without getting what I needed off my chest. But then I saw your eyes. I saw how sad you were, and at that point, nothing else mattered.” “Who were you meeting?” I didn’t want the answer, yet I wanted it so badly. My head and heart were at war with one another, needing to know everything, but also fearful of the truth. “Someone who was responsible for changing my life.” We’d never spoken of our exes, considering our relationship—or non-relationship—wasn’t exactly one built on romance. We had our moments of being close, we kissed and shared intimate touches, but as far as what was considered a “normal relationship,” we never really had one. We just were. “What are we doing, Bentley?” “What do you mean? You have me so confused here. You’re talking about fate, about my cousin, about us meeting at the bar. I’m going to need you to be a little bit clearer here, Sarah.” The fireworks finally started, lighting up the sky over the treetops that lined the other side of the lake, but neither of us paid any attention to the display. Instead, we remained seated next to each other, never breaking our stare. “Just say whatever it is you need to say.” I reached out and placed my palm over his cheek, feeling the warmth of his soft skin radiate through my hand and up my arm. “I’m in love with you. I mean…I think I’m in love with you—I…I think I love you, Bentley.” One second passed, then two. Then five and ten. Time went by without a single word from him. All the while my hand remained on his cheek, fear keeping it there. But the moment I went to pull away, ready to give up and run, he pressed his hand to the back of mine, preventing me from moving it. “Say something,” I whispered, desperately demanding anything at all from him. “Why do you think you love me?” His soft words matched mine, quiet and distressed, filling the air between us and overshadowing the loud pops of fireworks above. So many answers fluttered through my mind, and I had a hard time picking one. “Because you make me want to be better. You’ve given me a reason to live, to look ahead instead of back. Because you hear me when I—” “No.” He shook his head adamantly and then brought both hands to my face, holding me inches away from him. “You said you were in love with me, and then you changed your mind. You changed it to you think you love me. Knowing and thinking are two very different things when it comes to love. And being in love and loving someone aren’t the same. So why is it that you only think you love me?”
I swallowed harshly, my body shaking frantically due to the intensity of my fried nerves. “Because I’m scared of the way you’ll respond.” “Do you love me?” he asked, holding the sides of my head tighter between his hands, his warmth filling me with comfort. “Yes. I love you.” “Are you in love with me?” “Bentley…” “Just answer the damn question.” His breaths came out so hard they hit my face like a strong wind, revealing just how nervous he was to hear my answer. Probably more nervous than I was to give it. “I’ve never been in love before. I don’t know what it’s supposed to feel like. But I know this is more than just regular love.” “Then why are you so scared?” I tried to look away, but he wouldn’t let me. His refusal to say something in response to my confession made this entire thing so difficult. Usually, when you tell someone you love them—that you’re in love with them—you’d like to hear it back. But he wouldn’t give me that. Instead, he shot out question after question, putting me on the spot and leaving me feeling incredibly exposed. “I don’t even know what we’ve been doing together, Bentley. It’s like we’re friends that sleep in the same bed. We kiss and hold hands like we’re stuck back in middle school. We talk about everything deep and meaningful, except we’ve never once talked about our feelings toward one another, or what we are to each other. For all I know, you see me as a friend. Someone you feel obligated to help make whole again. And here I am, baring my soul by declaring my love for you when I have no clue how you feel about me. And to make matters worse, you keep questioning me like this is some kind of interview.” “I have told you how I see you, how I feel about you. Right here on this dock.” “Yeah, you told me you saw a sad girl.” He shook his head, released a quiet grunt of frustration, and pressed his forehead to mine. “Is that really all you heard me say? Were you not listening to me? I told you that you were never supposed to mean anything to me. I was never supposed to see the real you. But I—” “That’s comforting, Bentley. Really, it is.” I couldn’t hide the irritation in my voice. It festered in my chest and then came out in cold sarcasm. “I tell you how I feel, and you come back with that.” He dropped his hold on me and sat back on his heels, studying me from a few more inches away. “That’s not what I meant. You were never supposed to be this to me. You were only supposed to be…” “What? What was I supposed to be?” His sigh ran through the air, ringing louder than the show of fireworks behind him and striking me painfully in the pit of my stomach. “I have to tell you something.” Panic hit. No matter how I felt leading up to this very moment—his hesitation, his lack of emotional responses—nothing overpowered my vulnerable ego as much as hearing those words come out of his mouth. This was him, letting me down gently. Letting me know that I’d fallen in love with a man that didn’t care for me. “It’s fine, Bentley. You don’t have to tell me anything. I get it. I’ve taken this friendship and morphed it into something more in my head. I’ve allowed myself to see things that aren’t there. Your sweet words and kind gestures—this makeshift bed on the dock to watch fireworks over a lake. I’m the one who made more out of this than there is. So there’s no need to tell me what you think…I get it.” I moved to stand up, but he quickly grabbed my wrists, holding me in place. “You have it all wrong.” “Then what could you possibly have to tell me?” It wasn’t until he moved his thumb to my face and wiped away a tear that I realized I’d started to cry. Frustration from feeling turned away numbed me so much that my natural reaction to pain wasn’t even
recognizable. “I want… I need to tell you that your…your—” “I’m what?” I shouted, unable to take his stammering any longer. “You’re my fate.” Emotion had overtaken me at the rawness of his confession. My heart rate sped up, pounding an erratic rhythm against my ribcage. My body shook frantically as if it were winter and I was outside soaking wet. I didn’t understand why my body had become so out of control when his words were the exact opposite of the rejection I’d anticipated. “Do you hear me, Sarah?” he asked as soon as he had my face in his hands again. “I’m in love with you, too. It was never part of the plan. I was never supposed to feel this way. I never thought I’d ever be able to feel this way. But I do.” Without hesitation, I leaned forward and pressed my quivering lips to his, desperate to feel him against me in some way. He met me with force, leaning into me until I was on my back with his body hovering above me, his mouth never leaving mine. The soft cushion beneath me left me feeling like we were on a bed, but the dark sky lighting up with colorful fireworks reminded me of where we were. I moved my legs to either side of his hips, giving him room to settle between them. He rocked against me as our kisses turned heated and frantic. The way he moved led me to believe he wanted to take things further, but I’d become so used to him stopping things at the last minute that I wouldn’t doubt he’d do it again. “Please, Bentley, don’t stop,” I begged between kisses. His body stilled before he pulled his face away from mine, just enough to look me in the eyes. “Make love to me.” My words were nothing but panted breaths filled with yearning and desperation. “This isn’t me wanting to fill a void or needing a distraction. This is me, needing you. I need you to make love to me.” “That’ll only make things worse.” “What will?” “When you break my heart.” I reached up and pushed his hair off his face, holding my hand against his cheek. “I can’t break your heart without breaking my own. It’s a chance I’m willing to take. I love you, and if you want to keep waiting, then I’ll be okay with that. If there’s some…medical reason why you can’t make love to me, please know you can tell me. It won’t change how I feel about you.” He shook his head and kissed me gently, soft and slow. “There are no medical reasons keeping me from making love to you.” “Then what’s stopping you?” With an agitated sigh, he said, “I don’t have a condom.”
Bentley had gotten me so worked up over the last few weeks, and now that I finally had the chance to be with him, only for him to not have protection, I wanted to scream. But instead, I said, “I don’t care. Pull out.” “No, Sarah. I’ve never had sex without a condom.” “Good. That’s good, because neither have I. And I’m on birth control. We’re both clean, I’m protected, we’ll be fine.” It was stupid and irrational, but much like we’re all taught when we learn about sex, the heat of the moment gets in the way and causes you to make illogical decisions. The way he felt above me, touching me, his breath hitting my face…it all clouded my judgment and I no longer cared what made sense or what didn’t. I reeked of desperation, and I was okay with that. “I don’t know, Sarah…” “We’ll be fine. Just pull out.” He growled and latched his lips to my neck, causing me to grow dizzy with the sensation of his warm tongue on my skin. My hips bucked involuntarily, pushing into his until he ground into me again. “I can just take care of you. We can wait for the rest.” I chose not to respond with words, but instead, I reached down to the waistband of his jeans and released the button, then pushed the zipper down. With my hands grabbing the material of his jeans, I started to wiggle his pants off his hips, but then he stopped me. “Sarah, no. We don’t have to do this. We’re not prepared. Let me take care of you.” His lips left warm trails from my shoulder to my chest, and then his hot breath fanned through the light cotton of my tank top, igniting a fire on my skin beneath my shirt. He softly trailed his fingertips over the sensitive skin on my sides while exposing my stomach. My shirt rose higher. He traced his tongue in lines above my bellybutton. Then he deftly unbuttoned and unzipped my shorts, and slid them over my hips until they were discarded next to him. It left me in only my panties. As much as I wanted him to touch me, to please me, I didn’t want this to all be about me. “Bentley, wait. Stop.” I grabbed the material of his shirt on his shoulders and pulled until he lifted his head. “This is about us…both of us. This is our moment, not just mine. I don’t want you to only take care of me. I want us to be together.” “I just want you to be satisfied.” “And that’s exactly how I feel about you. You deserve gratification as much as I do. I understand your hesitation and your need for a condom, but I don’t want to get off simply because I’m horny. I want to experience this with you. All of it.” He pulled himself back up my body and closed his lips over mine in a soft, sweet kiss. “I only want you to be happy.” “Being with you makes me happy. I don’t need anything else.”
As he kissed me again, I slipped my fingers into his jeans and tried once more to push them past his hips. This time, he didn’t object until they were as far as I could reach on his upper thighs. With my hands working at the elastic band of his boxer briefs, he grabbed my wrist and slowly moved my hand above my head, holding it there with his, and then repeated the agonizingly slow gesture with the other. “This is really what you want? Consequences be damned?” he asked, his lips an inch away from mine so I could practically taste his words. “We’re safe. This is what I want.” I kept my eyes on his, not seeing his hand move away. But I felt the tips of his fingers trail over my skin until he reached my panties. Suddenly, he backed away, but only long enough to remove the sheer lace that covered my sex, leaving me completely exposed to him for the very first time. But he never took his attention away from my face, keeping his eyes on mine the entire time. Then he moved back up my body as he freed himself. His fingers found their way to the apex of my thighs and I bucked into him. “I’m ready, Bentley. God, I’ve been ready for this. I can’t wait any longer.” As if he knew my reaction to him, he kissed me passionately as he lined himself up, and then he thrust inside me. He didn’t inch his way in easily, just one hard push until he was fully seated in me. It knocked the air from my lungs, my eyes widening in surprise. A whimper escaped, passing through my lips and into his opened mouth. “Are you okay?” His narrowed eyes showed genuine concern as he studied my expression. “I tried to be easy, but fuck. I never thought it could ever feel this good.” He remained motionless as he watched my eyes for a reaction. “I’m fine, just not used to your size. But I think I am now. Keep going.” God, it felt so good to have him inside me. He slowly pulled out before thrusting deep again. “I’m going to try to take this slow, Sarah, but I don’t know how long I can hold on. It’s been a while for me, and you feel so fucking tight.” He lowered his mouth to mine, whispering against my lips, “So fucking good.” Frantic thoughts filled my head as I desperately tried to come up with ways to make this last longer, never wanting it to end, and then I said the first thing that came to mind. “Just think about Waffle House.” Halfway inside me, he stilled and cocked his head to the side, confusion embedded deep in his furrowed brow. “Why the hell would I do that?” “Don’t guys have to think about sports or stuff to keep them from getting off too fast? I figured it would help you last longer. You know…think about things that aren’t sexy?” His smile nearly curled my toes, the skin around his eyes wrinkling in the soft glow of the candles that surrounded us. “That’s enough talking for you. If you say anything else, you’ll have me going soft, and then it’ll really delay this.” He began to move in me again, pushing in and sliding out until I felt every movement throughout my entire body. I wanted to tell him so much, but I couldn’t manage to utter a single word, only passionate moans and eager whimpers. So many sensations ran through me as he moved above me, hovering over my body. His breath hit my face in harsh waves of heat, searing my already overheated skin as he pumped in and out of me. The only thing I could think to do in order to connect myself more to him, to this moment, was to reach out and hold on to his shoulders. But then that wasn’t enough, my mind telling me I needed more, feeling as if I were in a dream and about to wake up. My hands roamed from his shoulders to the fiery skin on his neck. I held his face close to mine as we stared into each other’s eyes, only our panting breaths between us. My heart pounded away against my ribcage, feeling as if I had a marching band playing inside my chest. I needed to slow it down so I could calm myself before I lost the ability to breathe altogether.
I’d never experienced anything like this before. Never had I been brought to such levels of intensity with a man. My body craved the release he built inside me, but my mind wanted it to last forever, never wanting this moment to end. And I’d never been more determined to satisfy someone else before. It went beyond what my body yearned for, what my mind sought. It soared past the desire to lose myself in someone else. And it became some unexplained longing to be present, to be wholeheartedly in this moment with him. I slipped my hands from his neck to his chest, the fabric of his shirt caressing my palms as I fought to stay connected to him. I needed the rhythmic beat of his heart to slow mine down, so I placed my hands flat against the center of his chest, right over the spot I knew I’d find the solace I sought. It’s the place I’d used to ground myself over the last few weeks, the one spot I could lay my head and lose myself in the safety it offered. But before I could detect the steady rhythm, he took hold of my wrists and again pulled my arms over my head to the pillows behind me. He secured my wrists there with his weight, not letting up on the pressure he used to keep me from touching him. But I had an irresistible urge to touch him, to feel him, to keep myself connected to him in any way possible. “Focus on what we’re doing, Sarah. You have to tell me what you need. What you want. Tell me.” Bentley’s words were spoken in heavy breaths, hot and frenzied on my face. “I want to touch you.” He released his hold on me and I pressed my palm against his cheek. His eyes never left mine as he gave me what I’d asked for, but it wasn’t what I’d meant. So I slid my other hand back to his chest as I moved my hips in sync with his, meeting him thrust for thrust. Without warning, he pulled back, grabbed my thigh, and positioned it on the other side of his body. He turned me until I lay on my side with him behind me. Everything happened so fast. One minute, he hovered over me, and the next, he cradled me in front of him. His chest pressed against the back of my shoulder as he maneuvered his arm beneath my head. His fingers threaded through my hair until he had a solid grip at my scalp, and then he craned my neck in his direction. Our eyes locked. With the glow of the candles illuminating his face, I could see the utter determination and desire in his deep-green orbs. The creases in his forehead deepened, as did the lines at the corners of his eyes. His lips pressed into a hard line, his nostrils flaring with every frantic breath he took. Words refused to form on my tongue, thoughts evaded my mind, air refused to enter my lungs. I was left frozen at his mercy, desperately clinging to every second as they passed. “I’m holding on as long as I can, Sarah, but you have to come. I need you to be satisfied first. Help me out here—tell me what you want. Tell me what I have to do to make you come on my cock.” His dirty words embedded themselves in me and sparked a carnal desire within me that I hadn’t felt since that night in the parking lot. I didn’t have to think about it—I knew exactly what I yearned for him to do to me. “Fuck me. I need you to fuck me.” He must’ve heard the urgency in my tone, because he hooked his arm around my leg and pushed my knee into my chest as he thrust into me again. He felt so much deeper this way, leaving me full, completely filled with him. The impact forced my eyes closed, an intense warmth consuming me from the inside out. As soon as he began to tilt his hips again, rocking our bodies with the momentum, a euphoric sensation began to build in my lower abdomen. “Talk to me. I don’t want to come without you, but I don’t know how much longer I can hold off.” Honestly, I didn’t care if I got off. Just being with him was enough, feeling him inside me, filling me—that was all I needed. But I knew it meant something to him, so I gave him what he sought. “Harder. Fuck me harder, Bentley.” He slowly, torturously pulled almost all the way out before plunging back in. His hips hit my ass
and left me breathless, dizzy, burning with an intense arousal. He kept up this pace, this slow pull and hard push, until my bladder felt full and ready for release. I knew what that meant, not because I’d ever experienced it before, but because I’d heard many stories about g-spot orgasms and what the buildup felt like. “I’m about to come, Sarah,” he warned me through clenched teeth, his voice deep and gruff as if he were in pain. “Don’t pull out yet. Don’t stop. I’m there…I’m right there.” I fisted the blanket in one hand and reached up to grab on to him with the other. My fingers awkwardly gripped the back of his neck as I pulled his head closer, using every ounce of strength I had in me. “Fuck, Bentley…don’t stop.” His head dropped, his mouth latching on to my shoulder. The instant burn of his bite seared me seconds before the smoldering heat exploded in my lower stomach, spreading through me like wildfire. My limbs tingled, my fingers and toes grew numb, and my head filled with static as I gripped his neck tight and rode out the waves of my orgasm. His thrusts turned wild and erratic, rigid. My name slipped from his lips at the same time I panted his, our airy words mixing into the night around us until they became a chorus to the drum-like booms in the sky above. Colors burst through the darkness around us, offering a visual to how Bentley made me feel on the inside. “That was… That was…” He’d grown so breathless it became impossible for him to finish a sentence. It left him with nothing but winded and incoherent mumbles. “Unbelievable. Incredible. Unreal. Fantastic. Pick one…or all the above.” My telltale grin stretched my mouth wide as my eyes closed, soaking up the blissful atmosphere that wrapped around the two of us beneath the night sky. Finally, he released my leg, letting it fall as he relaxed behind me. He slowly pulled out, which left me empty yet satisfied. My core throbbed in his absence. The aftershocks of what he’d done to me commanded my attention and begged for more, as if I were a junkie and Bentley was my fix. “We should probably go get cleaned up.” His whispered words became lost in the abundance of space he’d put between us when he rolled to his back. I turned around and observed the soft expression on his face as he lay there with his eyes closed. It gave me the perfect time to study him, to see every nuance he’d kept hidden from me for weeks. My gaze traveled over his chest, covered by his shirt, and down to his dick that lay slack against his pelvis. I couldn’t take my eyes off it, completely lost in its magnificence. There was no way in hell I’d ever be satisfied with anything else ever again. “Is it everything you imagined it would be?” Bentley asked humorously, catching me in the act of gawking at his impressive size. I quirked a smile at him, a devious and promising grin, and then wagged my eyebrows. His eyes narrowed in curiosity, watching my every move as I shifted down the blankets until I held him in my hand. His hips bucked as my fingers wrapped around his softening dick. A guttural sound escaped him. I moved my mouth closer to his hips, never taking my eyes off his intense stare. “What are you doing?” He seemed surprised by my bold move, but not enough to stop me, so I continued to ease my mouth closer to where my hand held him. “Sarah…you don’t have to.” I licked the soft skin over his hip with the tip of my tongue, trailing a path to the place between his legs that I desperately wanted to taste. “You said we should get cleaned up. So…I’m cleaning you up.” Without hesitating or dropping my gaze, I wrapped my lips around the tip of his dick, tasting the salty mixture we’d left behind on his skin. His groan filled my ears, coercing me to go deeper. “Sarah…” I hummed around his girth, slowly lowering my mouth over him more and more until he reached the back of my throat. I could barely swallow around him, so I pulled back, tasting the remnants of sex on
my tongue. Once I had him all the way out, I began to lick the rest of his shaft, hearing the excitement in his gasping breaths. “Sarah…wait.” His dick was no longer soft in my hand. I began to pump my fist up and down, covering the head with my lips while teasing it with the tip of my tongue. His soft pleas became white noise in the background as I grew lost in his body’s reaction to me. But then he grabbed me by my upper arms and pulled me up, shifting our bodies until I was flat on my back with his body hovering at my side. “You want more? Is that it? Once wasn’t enough for you?” He cupped my sex and then pushed two fingers inside, sliding in without objection. “Did I not satisfy you?” I shook my head vigorously, trying to ignore what his fingers were doing to me long enough to speak. But it proved impossible. I had no idea what he was doing, but whatever it was brought me to the brink of another intense orgasm fast. It felt like his fingers were curled inside me, yet he pumped them in and out in shallow, rough strokes. He kept his hand covering me, pressing the heel of his palm against my clit, making it ache and throb for more. “I’m gonna make you come so hard you won’t be able to walk inside, let alone ask for more.” In my desperate attempt to take back some of the control I’d initiated, I grabbed his throbbing dick, gripping him hard, and began to eagerly pump back and forth, matching the rhythm of his fingers inside me. He lifted off his hip slightly and started thrusting himself into my hand, never letting up his assault on me. I came again, harder than the last time, feeling it throughout my entire body until I saw stars that mirrored the fireworks behind my eyelids. I couldn’t even focus enough to finish what I’d started on him, but he didn’t seem to care. Before the waves of ecstasy dissipated, he moved over me and thrust completely inside, holding his body still and rigid, his hips pressing painfully into mine. His body jerked and convulsed as he released himself in me once again, which extended my own satisfaction. “For someone so worried about a condom, you certainly don’t mind coming in me.” It was meant as a joke, a way to tease him once the cloud of lust lifted. But instead, it came out sounding more like a complaint. “Please don’t mention it. If I think too much about it, I’ll get freaked out and paranoid. And I really don’t want anything to ruin this moment right now.” “I didn’t mean…” I swallowed harshly, feeling embarrassed for some odd reason. “You don’t have anything to freak out about, Bentley. There’s no reason to be paranoid. I’d never put either of us in a position like that.” He kissed me gently, so different from the demanding actions he exhibited just moments before. “I know. But it still scares me. Accidents happen all the time. You can’t always prevent them.” I could tell it bothered him, but I couldn’t really figure out why, aside from the obvious. I wanted to ask him about it, but the words never came. Fear of his answer kept them from forming and left me quiet and uneasy. “Come on. Let’s get back inside.” “Are the fireworks over?” “It doesn’t matter. We need to get cleaned up. I’m sure it can’t be comfortable to sit around in this mess.” He straightened his arms to push away from me and glanced down to where we were still joined. “Just stay right there and I won’t have to worry about it,” I said with a hint of humor in my voice. His eyes locked with mine and a genuine smile covered his lips. He gave me one last kiss before pulling out, and said, “As amazing as that sounds, it’s dark and mosquitos are starting to feast on my ass. Plus, I really want to talk to you about something.” “So talk…” “Not out here. Not like this. It’s really important, and we should be fully clothed first.”
My stomach dipped at the seriousness of his tone. “Just tell me, Bentley. Don’t say that and then make me wait however long to hear what it is. Just get it over with.” He sat back on his knees, seated between my parted legs, and I’d never felt more bare before in my life. The way he regarded me left me hopeless and deflated. It was as if I’d gone from cloud nine to six feet under in two seconds flat. “I never said it was bad. Only something I want to tell you.” “Are you moving back home?” He hung his head and placed his hands on my knees, the heat of his palms scorching my skin. “Not unless you want me to.” “Then what do you want to tell me.” He inhaled deeply and then locked eyes with me again, showing the magnitude of his mood as they glistened in the candlelight. “Let’s go inside first.” It was clear he wouldn’t give me anything until we were cleaned up and clothed, so I sat up and began searching for the clothes he’d ripped off me. I found my shorts and panties twisted at the end of the blankets, and my flip-flops were in the grass next to the dock as if they’d been tossed. I hadn’t even remembered them coming off, but then again, things had turned intense rather quickly. Bentley pulled his jeans up from his ankles, having never completely removed them in the first place. Then he led me through the dark yard by my hand. Neither one of us spoke as we pulled ourselves together and made it up to the house. But unlike the silence that had nearly suffocated me on the way out, this silence was contented. Once inside, he led me to his bathroom and grabbed a towel from the closet. He turned the water on and then left for a moment, returning with a pair of boxers and a T-shirt like he’d done for me before. I waited awkwardly in the small room, not sure how to act since every other time we’d taken a shower it’d been separately. But considering we’d already crossed that line, I wasn’t sure what that meant for tonight. “Are you not taking a shower?” I asked when he moved to the doorway. Rather than his gaze falling on me, it roamed the tile flooring. “I uh… I have to pick up the stuff from outside. You go ahead and clean up. It’ll only take me a few minutes.” “If you wait until we’re done, I can help you.” He shook his head, his gaze finally meeting mine for the first time since coming inside. “No sense in going back outside after a shower. I’ll be okay. It’s not much.” He offered me a grim smile before closing the door, leaving me alone in his bathroom once again. I ignored the sting of dismissal and the coldness of isolation. Instead, I stripped off my clothes and stepped beneath the warm spray, taking my time and waiting for Bentley to return and join me in the shower. After nearly ten minutes, I turned the water off and got out, unable to wait any longer for him to join me. The loneliness had become too much to bear, so I gave up and grabbed the towel he’d set out for me. I dried and dressed quickly, wondering if maybe he needed help cleaning up the mess from the dock. But once I stepped into the hallway, I caught him coming back inside with a basket and an armful of blankets. He set the basket down by the heap of blankets next to the sliding door and then turned toward me. He stopped once he caught sight of me in the hall. “Feel better?” “I would’ve felt better had you joined me.” His smile was soft and meant to be comforting, but I couldn’t shake the uneasiness that radiated from him as he walked toward me. “Let me wash my hands and then I’ll meet you in my room.” “Aren’t you going to take a shower?” He shook his head and moved into the bathroom. “Nah. I took one before you came over. I can wait until later for another one.”
I nodded—to myself since he wasn’t looking my way—and turned to head to his room. I put my clothes on his bed and pulled my cell from the pocket of my shorts, noticing the low-battery indicator. “My phone is about to die, do you have a charger I can use? I forgot mine,” I asked over my shoulder as I glanced around his room. From the bathroom, I heard, “Next to my bed.” I sat down on the edge of his mattress, searching his bedside table for the chord, but not seeing one. I opened the small drawer, wondering if maybe he’d put it in there, and that’s when the entire world stopped spinning. Air vanished and my eyesight dimmed. In the drawer, I found bottle after bottle of prescription medications. I pulled them out one at a time until I had four in my hands with countess more still in the drawer, desperately trying to read the labels. But nothing made sense to me. I had no idea what any of them were for. Blinding panic filled my chest. Searing fear burned in my throat. Debilitating confusion warped my mind and left my head heavy with worry. Bits and pieces of our conversations came flying forward—his preference for healthy eating, his need to talk to me about something… I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t move. All I could do was stare down at the bottles in my hands, trying to decipher the words on the labels. But all I could make out were the names. Bentley Cole, and the other was the name of a doctor. The same name on every bottle.
Bentley I dried my hands and walked down the quiet hall to my room. The moment I noticed Sarah, my feet stalled beneath me, refusing to move any closer. She sat on my bed with my medicine bottles in her hands. Her head turned to me, her eyes wide with shock, and her mouth hung open as panicked, shallow breaths moved her chest up and down rapidly. “What are these for? Are you sick?” Her sharp, broken voice had my face burning and my hands shaking. Complete fear registered in her eyes, and I felt every ounce of it deep inside. I took a step and then paused, needing to be close to her but scared of her reaction. I was at war with myself as to what I needed to do—comfort her or protect myself. “That’s what I needed to talk to you about.” “What? Talk to me about what?” One more step and then another pause. My throat tightened and burned, making it difficult to swallow past the painful ball growing in place, cutting off my ability to breathe. “I uh…I suffered from a heart disease called—” She shook her head rapidly, staring off into the distance. The whites of her eyes became red as tears formed, hiding the deep brown I’d grown to love so much. “No… No, no, no. Not again. No. This can’t be happening…” I took the final steps toward her, no longer caring about her reaction. It was clear she needed me, but what she needed more was an explanation. I needed to tell her, and I had to get it out fast before I either chickened out or she ran away. I ignored the hiccup in my chest and the rush of blood in my ears. I crouched down in front of her. “That’s why I came here in the first place, Sarah. I came here to see a specialist.” “What is it?” “Dilated cardiomyopathy. It’s—” “How’d you get it? How’d they find it?” I wished she’d stop interrupting me with her frantic questions so I could explain, but I understood her need to ask. I’d done the same thing back when it was discovered. Your head fills with so many thoughts, concerns, questions, and the overwhelming need to get them out before they suffocate you. “It was inherited. My grandfather died very young, but they didn’t know why. After finding the issue with my heart, they believe he had the same thing. None of the other causes fit with my lifestyle.” “Died?” The pill bottles fell from her hands and rattled on the floor as she dropped her head, tears slipping rapidly past her lashes and down her soft, smooth cheeks. I wanted to kiss them, touch them, but I couldn’t seem to bring myself to do anything other than sit there, feeling every ounce of pain that flooded her eyes
and fell from her quivering chin. “This can’t be happening to me. Why would you do this? Why would you let me fall for you if you knew you were dying? I can’t deal with this…” I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her to the floor and into my chest. “It’s not like that. Let me explain.” “Can they cure it? Is it treatable?” My shirt muffled her words, but I could feel her distress clear through to my chest. Her racking sobs vibrated through me, filling me with her anguish, but I couldn’t do anything to take it away. “That’s why I came here…for treatment.” She pulled her head away and locked her eyes with mine. “So you’ll live?” “That’s the plan.” “What did they do? Do you have a pacemaker or something?” Her gaze fell to my chest, covered by my shirt, and I knew what she was imagining. I shook my head, contemplating my next words. “No, not like that. I did have surgery, but I’m not completely in the clear yet. It wasn’t discovered until almost too late, so I couldn’t get a pacemaker. I have a fifty-percent chance of making it through the first year, and if I do, then I have a very decent chance of living a full and happy life. But I eat right, I go to all the appointments…I’m doing everything by the book.” “What kind of surgery?” she asked in a broken, hesitant whisper. I took in a deep breath, knowing I had no way out. “Transplant.” “A heart transplant?” Utter disbelief rang loud in her surprised, high-pitched tone. “Okay, so…so when did this happen? When will it be a year? How much longer do we have to wait before we know you’re in the clear?” I didn’t want to say anything, knowing what would happen once the answer was out there. My eyes throbbed and burned, a sensation I hadn’t felt in a really long time. Panic, fear, resignation—they weren’t foreign emotions for me. But this tragic desperation over the very real possibility of her walking away was. “Christmas.” I held my breath, waiting for realization to hit her. She sat still, watching me with red-rimmed eyes and a tear-stained face. Then she shook her head, slow at first, then fast, her face scrunching and eyes squinting. “L–last Christmas? You got a new heart…last Christmas?” I nodded, waiting for her to say the words all on her own. “Here? At Regional?” She pushed off my lap and collapsed into a ball on the floor, covering her face with her hands. When I reached out to comfort her, she shot up, moving to stand in the middle of the room. Her gaze scanned the space around her, probably not focusing on anything as she put the pieces together. “Who’s heart did you get? Do you know?” Her chest rose and fell rapidly, frantically, as if she couldn’t breathe until she heard my answer. And knowing I had to give her one took away my ability to breathe. I licked my lips and swallowed, my mouth suddenly becoming bone dry. I balled my hands into tight fists, hoping I could get them to stop shaking, but nothing worked. Anxiety filled every part of me. “They don’t ever tell you who the donor is, much like they never tell the families of the donors where their organs go. It creates this attachment to the other person that’s very unhealthy for all parties involved.” “I know this already, Bentley. That’s not what I asked. I asked you if you know who the donor was.” She spun around and came to stand in front of me, her hands trembling violently at her sides. “Just answer the fucking question!” I finally found enough strength to stand up and face her. My knees wobbled as I tried to stand tall,
yet I felt so small staring into her eyes. “I only know because Luke was there that day, and he saw your family. He was there when the doctors discussed organ donation to you once she…once your mother was diagnosed brain dead.” I hated hearing those words out of my mouth, so clinical and sterile. And as soon as “brain dead” had been uttered, I wished I could’ve taken them back, knowing the devastation they’d cause her. She took a small step back, her line of sight going straight to the center of my covered chest as if she had x-ray vision and could see through me. “So you’ve known… All along, you’ve known. My mother’s heart beats inside your chest, and yet you’ve never bothered to say anything to me about it.” “I was going to. That night at the bar, I was there to find you.” “I was the girl you were supposed to meet?” She backed away farther and shook her head, holding her hands out to keep me at a distance, keeping me from following her like I so desperately wanted to. “So everything I’ve thought was the truth has all been a lie. You stayed behind because you couldn’t deal with the fact that I was broken and devastated—my life was destroyed all so you could have a chance to live on. Am I getting this right?” “That’s not true. I never asked for her to pass away. I never asked for her heart. That’s not fair to place the blame on me for things I can’t control.” I knew she’d be upset, hurt even, but I hadn’t thought of the possibility of this reaction. Of her faulting me for her mother’s death. “No. You’re absolutely right, Bentley. You couldn’t control her dying or where her organs ended up. But you could’ve told me when you first met me. When I cried and cried about losing my mom for no reason. When I needed something to help explain why she had to leave me so soon. You could’ve said something then. That was an entire month ago. You’ve had so many opportunities to say something, but you never did.” “You wouldn’t have been able to handle it.” “Don’t tell me what I can and cannot handle!” She backed all the way up until her back hit the wall, her eyes going wide. “You’ve lied to me from the very beginning. How many times have I asked you about the night at the bar? Huh? How many times have I mentioned it being fate that you were there? And yet you went along with it. You led me to believe it was coincidence. Fate. But it never was. You knew all along. You planned it. And even after I found out about Luke, you still lied to me.” “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” I needed her to understand, but she wouldn’t. She couldn’t see past her own devastation to see my reasons, and the helplessness of it all blinded me. My vision began to blur as my own tears began to fill my eyes. It’d been so long since I’d cried, but I couldn’t seem to hold it in at the thought of losing her. “Do I seem okay to you now, Bentley? Do I?” I took a hesitant step in her direction, but she moved to the side, closer to the door, like a caged animal. Dread filled me at the thought of her leaving like this, my insides quaking and trembling the same as the day I’d been given the devastating news about my heart—the day the doctors told me I more than likely wouldn’t live to see my next birthday. I never wanted it to happen this way. But there’d always been this nagging fear that when she finally did find out, she’d leave. She’d push me away and close herself off again. I’d only hoped she’d be strong enough to handle the truth. I was so wrong. “The only truth you’ve ever spoken was when you talked about breaking my heart. Congratulations, Bentley…it’s officially broken. Irreparably broken into a million pieces. ” She practically ran out of the bedroom before I could stop her. “Sarah! Wait!” “No!” She stopped and spun around, causing me to freeze in place at the bedroom door. I watched her trembling form in the dark hallway. “I won’t give you another chance to lie to me. Don’t follow me
this time. I mean it. Don’t call me. Don’t come over. Pretend like you don’t know me. I’m just the daughter of an anonymous heart donor. You don’t know me. And I sure as hell don’t know you.” I wanted to go after her as she stormed out of the house, but I couldn’t seem to get my feet to move. My lungs weren’t working enough to properly give me the oxygen I needed, and I became dizzy, lightheaded. And for the first time in six months, I felt my heart skip a beat and tighten in my chest. I knew all along that Sarah would break my heart. I just wasn’t aware how literal my assumption would be.
Sarah It hadn’t taken me long to fall for Bentley, and it took even less time to fall apart because of him. Confusion seemed to follow me when he was around, but now with him out of my life…I was simply lost. I wished for the confusion back, for the uncertainty of things, because I couldn’t find it in me to function anymore. My heart literally ached, feeling bruised and battered. My head became filled with questions instead of the heavy static that silenced everything around me. I used to be detached from life, now I was immersed in agony, feeling every single emotion I once shoved down and hid from the world—including myself. Coming home that night, I stared into my room from the doorway, unable to fully walk in without becoming overwhelmed by the memories it held. My bed used to be a place I could let go and cry, get my pain out of my body and leave it on my pillowcase. It was my own personal prison where I could hide from the world and allow myself to grieve in private without lectures or sympathetic glances. Without whispers or judgment. But then Bentley had come along, and he invaded that space. He broke down the prison walls and allowed the sunshine in. Instead of my pillow, I had his chest. Instead of my tears, I released growing smiles and genuine laughter. Where I once laid my head and allowed the pain to take over, I had learned to replace the pain with hope and promise. I was no longer alone. I had Bentley. Until I didn’t. And staring into my room at that bed left me even more lost than ever before. Because now, I realized I was capable of hoping and dreaming and being happy. I did possess the ability to move forward and learn a new normal. But I didn’t know how many more “new normals” I had in me to discover. How many more times could I move forward? How many times could I find myself alone and make it through to the other side? I eventually gave up and went to the couch, spending the rest of the night staring up at the ceiling, questioning everything. My thoughts were jumbled and incomplete as they bounced around between Bentley and my mom. One minute, I’d be focused on the idea of fate, and the next, questioning the reasons for everything. Wondering how any of it made sense. But before I could form answers or connect any dots, another thought would flash through my mind, interrupting any progress I could’ve made with the last. At some point throughout the night, I eventually fell asleep. But the moment I woke the following morning, before I could even open my eyes, the reality of it all hit me hard. I’d lost everything. In gaining myself back, my ability to live and love again, I lost the person I discovered it with. But then I somehow convinced myself that I must’ve misunderstood him. It had to have been a mistake and I’d heard him wrong. There was no way in hell the cousin of my sister’s ex-boyfriend would wind up with my dead mother’s heart beating inside his chest. That kind of thing doesn’t happen in real
life. Maybe in a lame Hallmark movie or some sci-fi fiction, but not in reality. So there’s no way it really happened, and it had to have been a dream. I ran around the house searching for my phone with my head in a heavy fog that wouldn’t lift. It almost felt as though I’d been out drinking all night and couldn’t quite remember the events, leading me once again to assume everything had been nothing more than a life-like dream. My cell phone was gone, so I used the house phone to call it, hoping it’d ring somewhere in a cushion or a pocket, but the line went straight to voicemail. I dug through the laundry hoping to find it dead in a pocket somewhere, but nothing. Somehow, I’d ended up in my bathroom, staring at myself in the mirror. I had no idea how I’d gotten there or how long I’d been staring at my own reflection—it could’ve been seconds, minutes…but it felt more like days, weeks, months. Years, even. I stood there in Bentley’s clothes, his T-shirt and boxers. The makeup on my face was smeared and streaked in ugly black smudges down my cheeks. My eyes were red and puffy, dull and void of life. It reminded me of the night I’d finally seen what everyone else saw when they looked at me, the night Bentley had come to my rescue at the bar over by Luke’s house. But this time, I looked far worse. At least then I had somewhat of a mask on. Not now. Now, the pain and selfdeprecation were worn in place of the fake smiles and made-up eyes. I could no longer hide behind the shield I’d set in place right after my mother’s death, because Bentley had destroyed that protection. He’d taken it away, and in its place, I’d used him. He’d been my shield, my crutch, my dependency for weeks. But now he was gone, and I had nothing. I was a crippled person without assistance. I was handicapped without insurance. I was broken without a warranty. Since I was already late to work due to my insistence to find my phone, I decided not to go in. I called Marlo, knowing she’d be pissed because it was short notice and someone would have to take my clients, but I didn’t have any other choice. Had I gone into work, there was a very good chance someone would leave sporting a shaved head or black hair. I told her I was up sick all night and had overslept. The disappointment was heard in her retort, but she said she understood and told me to get some rest. I agreed, even though I knew rest would never come. Somehow, in my jumbled mind, I thought locking myself away in my house, wearing Bentley’s clothes, surrounded by the memories of his existence would be okay. But that rationalization quickly proved to be false. I wanted my phone, needing to call him, but I couldn’t. After searching for it, I remembered I’d left it over at his house the night before, forgetting all about it and my clothes as I flew out of there. I couldn’t call him on the home phone because I hadn’t memorized his phone number. I wanted to drive over there to see him, to let him tell me that it was all a big misunderstanding, but I couldn’t find my keys. It was as if the universe stood in my way. Fate decided to cock-block me in the worst way imaginable. By the evening, after spending all day staring at blank walls, coming up with a thousand different excuses as to why this had happened in the hopes of finding one reason for it all to make sense, I finally snapped. I couldn’t sit around any longer replaying the same things in my head. So I wandered into the kitchen where the soft hum of the refrigerator caught my attention. It all happened so fast. One minute, I found myself staring at the appliance, the humming sound growing louder and louder in the small room until it became an angry buzzing noise in my ears, filling my head with a high-pitch ring that reverberated throughout my entire body and left me with a metallic taste in my mouth. I must’ve thought about getting a Coke to rid the taste of metal from my tongue, because the next thing I knew, I stood in front of the fridge with the door open, the cold air seeping out onto the floor and covering my bare feet. It was then that I realized how overheated my flesh was, how hot my insides were, as if I were standing in font of a blazing inferno instead of a cold refrigerator. My eyes burned, my top lip felt like I had flames
coming out of my nose like a fire-breathing dragon, and a stabbing sensation attacked my palms, like tens of thousands of needles punctured the skin. I glanced down at my hands, studying them in the light from the inside of the fridge, trying to find where the pain was coming from, but seeing nothing. That’s when the edges of my vision turned dark and fuzzy. I had so much pain on the inside where no one could see it. I could tell everyone how I felt, use analogies and draw pictures of the black hole that had consumed me. But no one would ever understand. The internal ache had become a monster, feasting on anything left inside. It devoured my happiness, my hopes, my dreams; it demolished my ambitions, my ability to connect with others…my capability to feel. And once the monster had engulfed everything I had on the inside, leaving me with nothing left, it mocked me in the form of my outer appearance. It stared into my empty eyes and pointed to my hollow chest, and then laughed, manically. I screamed back, yelled and shouted without thought as to what came out. My arms flailed around me, my hands grabbing at anything in reach, latching on to anything I could find. Noises filled my head. First it was crazy laughter, the kind you’d hear from someone losing their mind. Then angry screams, frustrated groans, glass breaking. So many sounds filled the dark space around me—some louder than others, some coming from further away. And then suddenly, they were all muted. For a moment, everything vanished, the sounds, the screams, the laughter were all gone. Nothing but ringing silence remained until the soft hum returned. With it came muffled cries, disheartened whimpers, and gut-wrenching sobs. I opened my eyes, realizing for the first time that I’d shut them, trapping me in my own darkness. And I wished I’d kept them closed. Nothing remained on the shelves in the fridge, everything having been thrown to the floor around where I sat in a crumpled mess. Deep sobs tore through me, leaving my chest feeling like a wrecking ball had slammed into it. My ribcage didn’t just feel bruised and beaten, but as if every single one of my bones had been snapped in half, stabbing me in my heart and puncturing my lungs. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t stop crying, and the involuntary need to break something wouldn’t go away. The house phone started to ring, but all I could do was stare at it, focusing on the shrill sound instead of the mess I sat in the middle of. It stopped and then started again. Eventually, after what must’ve been the fifth call, I managed to pull myself off the floor and make it to the sink where I washed my face with cold water. When I turned around and observed the destruction in the kitchen, I realized what I’d done. Everything on the floor had been Bentley’s, the things he’d bought and kept at the house for those weeks he’d stayed with me. The phone rang again, but this time, I answered it. Dazed and in a fog, I picked up the receiver. It felt like everything was happening around me, and I was nothing more than a witness to it all. So disconnected and numb. “What’s going on, Sarah?” Bree’s panicked voice came through the line. “Nothing. I’m fine.” “Don’t fucking lie to me. I know when something is wrong. I can hear it in your voice. I’ve heard it for six months now.” “If you know what is wrong, why are you asking?” A shaky sigh came from her end of the line before she said, “I’m on my way over. You can push me away all you want, but I won’t allow this to happen again. I won’t sit back and watch you die.” Without another word, I ended the call. I leaned my back against the counter and stared mindlessly at the remnants Bentley’s food, knowing I needed to clean it up before Bree arrived, but not having enough momentum to do so. My gaze moved from the broken carton of eggs that had seeped into the grout to the spilt container of cashew milk. Grilled chicken and broccoli lay between shards of the glass bowl it’d been stored in. I wanted to pick up the zucchini and use it to smash something. I didn’t care what I broke, I just felt the intense need to demolish more. It was strange because I didn’t feel rage—I wasn’t consumed with adrenaline like you’d expect to feel when wanting to destroy things. Instead, everything was serene.
Silent rage. The calm before the storm. That’s what this was. Before I made any move to destroy anything else, the front door opened. I knew it was Bree, but I didn’t care if it’d been a serial killer on the run who’d found his way into my home. Nothing mattered anymore. “Try telling me now that nothing is wrong,” Bree said from the entryway to the kitchen. It sounded like she’d tried to be stern, adamant in her purpose and justified in her worry over me, but her voice trembled beneath the strong exterior she tried to exude. “Next time I see a mess in your house, I’ll make sure to accuse you of going through something.” I turned my head and locked eyes with my sister, losing my breath at the complete terror in her wide, lightcolored eyes. “It’s only a mess. It can be cleaned up.” I knew I must’ve seemed crazy to her with my robotic movements and monotone responses, but after my over-the-top explosion earlier, I had nothing left in me. I was void of emotion and too weak to fake it like I’d done so many times before. It didn’t matter what I did anyway, because she’d see right through it. She knew me too well, and I’d never get away with pretending in front of her. “Oh, and by the way, I’d like my key back.” Her posture gave way as her shoulders slumped forward. She regarded me with soft eyes, her brow wrinkling as if she’d cry at any moment. I hated to see someone I loved so sad, and I felt even worse that her reaction was due to me, but there was nothing I could’ve done about it. She’d invited herself over to my house and walked in on one of my darkest times. I hadn’t asked her to bear witness to this. “Sarah…this isn’t about a key.” “You’re right. This is about my total lack of privacy. I can’t even have a bad day in peace. And now that you’ve seen this, I wouldn’t put it past you to come barging in here every chance you get to check up on your poor, depressed sister. My front door was locked, and that doesn’t even keep you out.” Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, working furiously at twisting my key off the ring. Once she finally had it off, she held it between her fingers in the air, staring daggers at me. “For your information, I didn’t use my key to get in here. Your key was still in the front door.” And then she threw the small piece of metal at me. I didn’t even bother to duck out of the way as it hit my shoulder before falling to the tile at my feet, the clicking sound filling the silence between us. I had no argument for her. The fact I’d left my keys in the door spoke volumes about where my head had been when I came home the night before, and adding in what she’d walked in on in my kitchen, I had nothing to come back at her with. “You’ve got to stop this, Sarah. You’re destroying yourself.” “How did you even know to come here?” I pushed off the counter and took a step in her direction, careful not to step on any broken glass or eggshells. “I called you—your cell phone. Bentley picked up and told me I needed to check on you.” “Did he tell you what happened?” “No. He said I needed to ask you, but that it was important I come find you. I called the salon and they said you didn’t show up today. That’s when I got worried. And when you didn’t answer the house phone, I jumped in the car and headed over here. This”—she waved her arm around my destroyed kitchen —“is not healthy. This isn’t what sane people do.” “So I’m insane now?” I laughed and cocked my head at her, daring her to answer me. A tear slid down her cheek, followed by another and another until she had a river of mascara lining her face. “You seemed so happy the other day, and I know that wasn’t a lie. I know it was genuine. What happened between then and now? Talk to me, Sarah. You don’t have to do this alone.” “I’m not going to cry on your shoulder less than three weeks before your wedding. You have way more important things to deal with other than your sister losing her mind.”
“It’s a wedding, Sarah. A fucking wedding. Do you honestly think that’s more important than you and how you’re doing?” She took a step but then stopped, probably worried about stepping on something. “What about the baby? That’s more important than me. And if my grief and problems caused anything to happen to it, I’d never forgive myself. You don’t need to worry about me…worry about your baby.” Her eyes widened as she gasped and covered her opened mouth with her small hand. It wasn’t my place to say anything, and I should’ve kept my knowledge of her pregnancy to myself, but I had to remind her of her priorities, which at this moment shouldn’t have had me at the top of that list. “I’m sorry, I know you were keeping it a secret and I shouldn’t even know about it. But I do. And it’d be completely selfish of me to burden you with my problems when you have another life that’s solely dependent on you. You also have Ayla and Axel that need you. I can’t add more to your plate with my problems.” “How did you even know?” she whispered with her fingers still hiding her lips. “Axel said something at the barbecue. He said he’s noticed that you’ve stopped drinking caffeine and wine. But don’t tell him I said anything. I think he’s really excited about you telling him. This is such a happy time for you both, and neither of you need me to ruin it. You’ve waited so long for this—Axel, the family, the baby—and you deserve to be surrounded by happiness. Not have me bring you down all the time.” Bree took a few steps, ignoring the mess on the floor, and grabbed my hands in hers, holding them between our bodies. “You are my family, Sarah. You, Clari, Joel, my dad, as well as Axel, Ayla, and this baby. Whether you come to me with your problems or not, it still affects me. Do you honestly think I’m happy knowing you’re hurting?” My vision clouded over and I blinked, feeling the warm wetness fall down my cheeks, and then I stared directly into Bree’s pleading eyes. “I don’t even know how to deal…how do you expect me to come to you and let you help me when I can’t even explain how I feel? I don’t know what’s wrong. So I don’t even know how to fix it.” She wiped my face with her knuckle and then whispered, “Come on.” She pulled me out of the kitchen, away from the mess I’d made in my fit of blind rage, and led me to the couch. I waited until she’d taken a seat before falling to the cushion beside her. This was something my mom would’ve done. She always had a way of offering comfort, and it seemed as though Bree had picked it up through her time with us. Even though it hurt to know my mom wasn’t there to cry to, it calmed me to know I at least had someone capable of channeling her love and support. And no one could do that better than Bree, considering my mom had showered her with it once Bree came to live with us so many years ago. “I wish I’d been stronger after your mom passed away. I wish I could’ve been there for you more. But it was so hard for me, Sarah. I understand that it might seem ridiculous that her death could’ve affected me as much as it did considering she was my stepmom and had only been in my life for seven years. But she was way more than a stepparent. And in those seven years, she’d been more of a mother to me than my own had been in seventeen years. She loved me like her own, and I loved her like she had given birth to me. I know I didn’t make it easy for her when I came here. I was a pregnant teen with no one to help me with the baby. I brought a lot to her front doorstep that day, and she’d asked for none of it. But she accepted it all without hesitation, and not once did she ever allow me to feel bad about my situation or throw it back in my face. So when she died, it affected me more than I think you realize.” “I never said it didn’t.” “I know, I’m just trying to explain to you where I am coming from. All three of us girls should’ve bonded together when she passed. We should have leaned on each other and helped one another through it. But that didn’t happen. Clari and I tried to get you to be with us, but you chose to deal with the pain on
your own, which I understood. But I really wish I’d been stronger and more adamant we all band together. Because Clarissa and I seem like we’re light years ahead of where you are right now. That’s not saying we’re over it or have forgotten what happened in the least. We still have moments when we get sad. Like when I found out about being pregnant…that was very hard for me. She helped me through my first pregnancy, but I can’t share it with her this time. And that hurts. But one thing this pregnancy has taught me is that life is never guaranteed. It’s precious and valuable, but it comes with an expiration date. And none of us know that date. I won’t spend my baby’s life sad or grieving. I want him or her to hear me laugh, see me smile, and never doubt my love. Because that’s what I want to leave behind when it’s my time to go. Just like your mom did. Her laugh, her smile, her love is what I remember when I think of her. Have I ever told you what I remember when I think of my own mom?” Her voice, filled with so much emotion, kept me silent. I hung on every word, unable to vocally respond, so I shook my head, needing her to continue before I broke down and allowed the anguish to overtake the numbness inside. “When I think of her…I remember her telling me how worthless I was. I remember the disgust on her face when she’d look at me, or the things she’d do to get back at me if I pissed her off. Nothing about any of the memories I have of my times with her are good. And I never want my kids to remember me as anything less than loving and caring…anything less than the way I remember your mom.” “But I don’t have kids…” “No, but you have us. You have people that care about you. I had to stop and ask myself one day… if I died tomorrow, is how I’m living today what I want people to remember me by? So now I’m asking you…is this person that’s sitting on the couch next to me, the one who destroyed the kitchen and who’s pushed everyone closest to her away for the last six months…is this the person you want people to remember? And if not, what are you going to do to change it?” My attempt at preventing my sorrow from consuming me failed miserably. I stared flatly at my hands in my lap, picking at a cuticle as I tried to distract myself, but it didn’t work. The ache in my chest spread, causing my shoulders to quake and my eyes to close. My chin began to tremble moments before the heavy flow of tears made their way past my tightly closed eyelids and fell to my lap. “I don’t want people to remember me this way. I don’t want to leave behind the memory of a depressed and broken person. But I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know how to stop being sad.” I’m sure most of my words weren’t clear enough to have been heard, but Bree understood. Her warm hand pressed against my back before rubbing gentle circles, comforting me enough to calm my cries. “Why don’t you start by explaining what happened to Bentley and why he has your phone?” I shook my head and tilted my head back, staring at the white ceiling above. “Has Clarissa told you that Luke is his cousin?” I glanced at Bree and watched her nod as she kept her attention on me. “Well, I guess Bentley had some kinda heart problem and needed a transplant. So he came here last year and stayed with Luke because it’s close to Regional where his specialists are. Bentley actually lives like six hours away, so he came here to be closer to the hospital. And as luck would have it, a heart became available on Christmas day last year.” “Wait, you mean…?” “Yup. My mom’s heart is beating inside Bentley’s chest.” Saying those words felt surreal, like I’d told her about a movie I’d seen versus reality. “How does he know that?” “Luke was there. I guess he overheard the doctor explaining organ donation to me or something. I have no idea. I don’t remember him being there, but then again, I had other things on my mind besides who was around me at that time.” Bree’s eyebrows pinched together in the middle of her forehead as her cheeks puffed out, slowly
exhaling through her pursed lips as if she were trying to whistle. “I don’t understand. Why would Luke have been there? I mean, if he’d overheard the doctor talking to you about the donation forms, that would have been before you gave consent. Which means, they wouldn’t have even called the recipient yet. Was Bentley already at the hospital?” Sometimes Bree was too smart for own good, and she had a tendency to think of things no one else did. Her question made me pause, searching my memory of the things Bentley had told me about coming to town and then about what he’d said regarding getting my mom’s heart. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask him. I found pills in his room and questioned him about it, thinking he was sick or something. That’s when he told me about his heart and I thought he was trying to tell me he was dying. But then he said he had a heart transplant and it happened on Christmas. I put two and two together, he confirmed it, I called him a liar, told him to never contact me again, and then left.” “You left him because of that?” “Because he lied to me.” She slowly shook her head and regarded me with soft, sympathetic eyes. “Sarah…I would think you’d want to hold him closer knowing he carries a piece of your mom around with him. Not just carries it, but it beats inside him and keeps him alive.” “But he lied to me.” “I don’t think this has anything to do with that. If you really want to move past this part in your life, you have to look beyond his lie. Look beyond him. When you first told me about Bentley, I have to admit, I didn’t think it was a great idea. But I couldn’t argue with you finding someone to talk to considering you wouldn’t talk to any of us. And then when I saw you at Dad’s house the other day with him, I thought maybe I’d been wrong about it. You were happy, and that’s all I ever wanted for you. But I don’t think you ever really dealt with your mom’s death. I think you were stuck in the grieving process when Bentley came along, and his presence in your life masked itself as acceptance. I don’t think you ever really got there.” “I know,” I said through a sigh. “I fell in love with him, Bree. And I even questioned whether or not it was real or if I’d just become dependent on him. I don’t have that answer. Part of me thinks it was nothing more than him becoming my crutch, my drug that helped me feel normal. But if that’s all he was, why does it hurt so much that he lied to me? Why does the thought of him being gone make my heart ache so badly?” A compassionate smile curled at the corners of her lips. “I don’t think you’ll find those answers until you deal with the core issue. You need to work through your grief and find acceptance over losing your mom first, and only then will you be able to decipher what Bentley really meant to you.” “How do I do that?” “Go through the stages of grief openly. Talk to people—you have me and Clari, as well as Joel, Axel, and Dad. You don’t have to lean on us or feel like you’re burdening us. Call one of us if you need to talk something through, or get something off your chest. That’s what we’re here for. I’m sure you’ve worked through some of it already, but you got stuck at some point.” “Okay…I’ll work on it.” “Promise me, Sarah. Promise me you’ll really try and not just pretend like last time. And swear that you’ll call us if you need us. Please.” I smiled to offer her some comfort, knowing she didn’t need to worry about me. With her hand in mine, I squeezed and nodded. “I swear, Bree. You’re right—if I die tomorrow, I don’t want people talking about how pathetic I was.” “And just remember that this won’t happen overnight. Don’t get down on yourself if you’re still struggling next week. It takes time.” I became lost in what she said. Take your time. That’s what Bentley had told me the night we met
—the night he’d gone to the bar to find me. It was the night that had changed everything for me. But I couldn’t focus on that now; I had to deal with the pain over losing my mom first. I only hoped that once I did that, I’d realize my love for Bentley was real. I didn’t think I’d be able to handle knowing it wasn’t. Bree helped me clean up the mess in the kitchen and then went home. I called Marlo, knowing no one else would’ve been at the salon so late in the evening. I kept up with my lie about having a stomach bug and told her I wouldn’t be in the next day, either. Her tone seemed more compassionate than it had when I called earlier, and she told me to let her know how I felt the next day. And then I was left alone with my thoughts.
I felt better after my conversation with Bree, but once I was left alone again, the silence became suffocating. I went into my bedroom and stood helpless in the middle of the room. It seemed so large and empty without Bentley there to help fill the space. But I couldn’t allow that to take me down. I had to find some strength, come up with some way to get me through this without him. Opening one of my dresser drawers, I found one of his T-shirts. Since he’d stayed with me for a couple weeks, I had a lot of his clothes at my house. His toothbrush sat next to mine by the sink in my bathroom, and his bottle of body wash was still in my shower. Looking at it made it seem like he was coming back, that maybe he had only run up to the store for a minute. But that wasn’t the case, and deep down, I knew it. I couldn’t start pretending this hadn’t happened. Living in a fairy tale never solved anything. I never thought I would get my happily ever after, but the possibility had been there with Bentley. I grabbed his shirt and headed to the bathroom for a shower. Bree made a good point about not worrying about Bentley yet. I needed to spend my time healing first, and then deal with everything else. But I needed one more night to feel close to him, so I used his shower gel, sprayed his cologne in the air, and then dressed in his T-shirt before climbing into bed, using his pillow to curl up with as I imagined it was him next to me. But sleep evaded me again. I hadn’t realized how dependent on Bentley I’d become until I couldn’t fall asleep without the sound of his heartbeat beneath my ear—the sound of my mom’s heartbeat. Realizing that made me think of the times I’d press my ear to his chest and immediately calm down. From day one, that soft, rhythmic beat offered me peace and safety. It was like my heart knew where his had come from. Like his heart knew me. Was it possible that people could live on through their donated organs? I thought back to the night he’d taken me painting, and how his manatee was flawless despite having never picked up a paintbrush before. I wondered how much of my mom was in him. Finally, while morbidly contemplating whether or not Bentley had some sort of otherworldly connection to my mom, I fell asleep. My dreams that night were so real they felt like memories. But I knew they couldn’t have been because they were about Bentley and my mom together. My subconscious had somehow morphed the two of them into one being until I didn’t know where one ended and the other began. After moping around the house for a few hours the next day, I decided to get out and go to the store. I found a book about the grieving process, and while I was out, I picked up a cheap phone and had it hooked up to my number. I didn’t want to spend a lot on one, considering I hadn’t really lost mine—it was only over at Bentley’s. But I didn’t want to go over there to get it, either. And I guess part of me held on to the hope that he’d eventually come to me. I won’t lie, it really hurt that he’d asked Bree to check up on me instead of doing it himself, but I couldn’t hold it against him. After all, I was the one who’d told him to stay away. It was a selfish thought to expect him to reach out, especially knowing it wouldn’t do any good
if he did. At least he cared enough to have someone check up on me. Instead of going home, I drove to a park and sat on a bench beneath a tree. It was hot and humid out, but I didn’t let that get to me. I needed to go through this book and allow myself to learn from it, and in order to do that, I needed to be out in a neutral setting while still alone. No better place than a park. The introduction in the book immediately calmed me and gave me a sense of comfort as it explained not everyone will experience all stages in the same order, nor does everyone go through all five of them. The important thing to remember is getting to acceptance and returning to a normal way of living. That was my goal. I knew I’d never be the same person as I was before my mom died, but at least I had hope for a new kind of normal, a new life worth living. Denial. I read through the explanations and then skimmed through the work-through exercises. I didn’t feel I needed those considering I’d moved past denial a long time ago. I thought back to how I was during that stage of grief, and remembered the times I’d stand in the shower until the water ran cold before even washing myself. I’d just stand there, staring at the tiles on the wall, convinced it hadn’t been my mom that died. It was someone else’s mom in that hospital bed, another woman who’d lain there comatose and brain dead. It wasn’t my mom—it was a stranger. It was a bad dream I’d wake up from. It was nothing more than a sadistic prank. But then it’d hit me that it was real, it was true, it was my mom. And then I’d lose it all over again until I had no tears left to cry, becoming deadened inside and convincing myself all over again how it wasn’t true. Anger. I didn’t need to read about that, knowing all too well what it meant and the effects it had on the people around you. So as my eyes scanned the words on the pages, I reflected to the time at the beginning of the year when I went through everything the book explained. I thought about how angry I became toward my sisters, resulting in me pushing them even further away. How I’d allowed my own emotions to cast the blame on everyone else. I somehow convinced myself that it was everyone else’s fault I was alone. They moved on without me. They’d forgotten my mom and didn’t care that she was gone. Clearly, that’s not what they did, but in my mind, it was true. And I believed that because anger had blinded me. Even though I didn’t need the book to explain how wrong that was, or why I’d even felt that way, I did find the exercises useful. I read the questions and answered them honestly to myself, accepting my part in being alone. Bargaining. This wasn’t something I thought had affected me until I started reading about it. The what ifs and only ifs were a very real obsession I never got over. I still wondered what would’ve happened had her doctors performed more extensive tests and scans when her migraines became worse. I wondered how different things would’ve been had the insurance company given the okay for more scans instead of saying they wouldn’t cover them unless she suffered an actual head injury. I couldn’t go one day without questioning if she’d still be alive if we’d taken her to the hospital that morning instead of me telling her to go lie down. What if I’d checked on her? Gotten her to the hospital sooner? So many times I’d think about these questions, knowing full well I’d never find the answers. But I couldn’t stop finding ways that might’ve saved her life. The book said the bargaining stage was a lot of making deals with God…if you heal my loved one, I’ll be a better person. But I couldn’t relate to those bargains, because I didn’t have days, weeks, months to prepare for my mom’s death. I had no time at all. So the only bargaining I could do was to obsess over everything that had gone wrong in leading up to her death, and all the ways she might’ve been saved if… The exercises on that one helped a little, but I doubted I’d ever stop wondering how things could’ve turned out had the insurance company not denied diagnosis procedures. Depression. I read the passages and explanations, and even went through the exercises, but I knew this stage all too well. It was clearly the one I had never managed to make it through, and I knew it would take a lot of time before it could get any better. I didn’t allow myself to contemplate it too hard, not wanting to break down while sitting at the park. This one would have to be something I worked at every
day, and would probably need a lot of support. The book suggested reaching out to a professional, and I knew Bree would agree, but I wasn’t sure I was ready to sit down and talk to a stranger with a yellow, lined notepad quite yet. But before I left the park, I made a vow to myself that if I couldn’t get it under control on my own, with the help and support of my family, I would reach out to someone better qualified to handle depression. Acceptance. The last stage of grief. All about accepting the loss of someone you love and learning how to move forward in a positive direction. I read about it, yearning to get there one day, but it didn’t do anything for me yet. I wasn’t mentally ready to listen to what it had to say or to start applying the exercises to follow in my life to gain acceptance. But I understood it, and the thought of acceptance did appeal to me. However, I couldn’t jump ahead, otherwise I’d do myself a disservice if I didn’t give my all to working through the depression. That had to be my number one priority. Take your time. So I took my book and my new phone and went home to reflect on everything I’d learned about grief and finding a way to live a happy life. In the end, that’s really what I wanted. But I still had Bentley at the forefront of my mind—therefore, when I pictured this happy new life of mine outside the grief, it had him in it. And I couldn’t think about that. Once again, that would be skipping ahead and taking away from my healing process. If I truly believed in fate, and if I honestly thought he was it for me, then I’d have to be patient and trust that we’d find our way back to each other. I couldn’t allow myself to put any more pressure or thought into it. Instead, I’d trust in the power of fate. Before I got ready for bed, I sent Marlo a text, letting her know I’d be back at work the next day. I had to start living my life again, no matter how slow of a start I had. I couldn’t sit still, waiting for this illusion of happiness to come find me. I had to make it happen. And that started with getting up and doing something about it. Over two weeks passed since my meltdown and subsequent talk with Bree, which had ultimately put me on the path of healing. Although I felt a thousand times better, I knew I still had so much more work to do. I talked to my sisters all the time, and had even made it over to my dad’s house a few times to see him. As it turns out, he had fallen victim to the depression quicksand like I had. We coined that term together the first night we discussed it. He said it was like walking through life, and then, all of a sudden, feeling weighted down, making it harder to keep going and taking more effort to get up each day. I explained it as a feeling of something gradually pulling me down, further and further the longer I stood stagnant. We agreed it was depression quicksand. I enjoyed talking to Bree and Clarissa, but I found more solace in the conversations with my dad. I was aware that my sisters knew how I felt, understanding they had been there, too, but I found it easier to confide in someone who still seemed stuck in that same place with me. Don’t get me wrong. I was beyond elated that the girls hadn’t allowed their grief to control them, and that they’d found their way to the other side, but nothing made you feel more like a burden to someone when they were trying to be happy and all you wanted to do was cry on someone’s shoulder. And for me, the shoulder I needed happened to have been my dad’s, just as my shoulder was there for him. I’d actually gone to his house the weekend following my talk with Bree. He had gone through my mom’s closet and asked if I wanted to keep any of her clothes or shoes. I knew most of her things probably wouldn’t fit me, or even be my style, but I couldn’t pass it up knowing anything that wasn’t taken by us girls would be donated. For a split second, I became pissed that he wanted to get rid of her belongings. How dare he get rid of everything she had? But after I stopped and practiced an exercise from the grief book, I was able to take a step back and see things from his point of view. It’d been six months since she’d passed away, and he had no reason to keep her clothes hanging in the closet as a constant
reminder. I’m sure it was harder for him to see them every day than it would’ve been to let them go. It was easy to be angry with someone for decisions they made, when in reality, making those decisions was the tough part. It ended up being a good thing that I’d gone over there that day. Not only did I find a few sweaters that held good memories of my mom, it also gave us the perfect opportunity to talk about everything, and I was able to help him through the excruciating packing process. A week prior to that, he seemed happy, and it had led me to believe that he’d gotten to a better place in his life. After talking to him, though, I learned his illusion of happiness was no different than my own. But the smile he wore at the barbecue was real, because having his family together again meant the world to him. That was something I began to understand. Bentley’s advice to me about family coming together often to ease the burden of tragedy made so much sense, and it became a new goal of mine. I needed my family—all of them. My dad and I had reached a good point over our time together, although I think he might’ve been a few steps ahead of me to begin with. Not only had I become idle in my suffering following my mom’s death, but now I also had a broken heart left shattered by Bentley. My heart was in no way healed, but it did feel stronger. I still thought about him every day, and would occasionally tear up over losing him, but I knew it was for the best. Each day I felt a little stronger than the last, and I knew it wouldn’t be long before I’d be in a place where I could make the decision to see him again. Bentley hadn’t reached out to me just as I’d asked of him. Ever since walking out of his house that night, I hadn’t heard from him nor seen him. I eventually boxed up his belongings from my house and stored it in Bree’s old room, believing there’d come a time when I would be able to return them. The box of belongings had become my inevitable excuse to see him again. And even though there were times I wanted nothing more than to reach out to Luke to find out how his cousin was, I refrained from doing so. It was imperative to my healing process that I kept my end goal in sight, and didn’t become sidetracked by things I couldn’t control. The Thursday before Bree’s wedding, Clari and I took her out for dinner and then came back to my house for a movie. We did mud masks and soaked our feet in pedicure tubs while munching on junk food in sexy lingerie. When Clarissa had asked why we weren’t going to bars and getting drunk, I played the victim card and told her I wasn’t ready for that. It caused a little tension between us after she called me selfish and accused me of hindering the bride’s last night of fun, but Bree backed me up and told her she only cared about spending time with us, not about getting drunk. She later thanked me in private and admitted that she was happy I knew about the pregnancy, otherwise she’d never be able to explain why she didn’t want to go out for drinks. “At least this way no one will end up nearly drowning in a lake in the middle of the night,” Bree said with a giggle as she reclined back on the couch. “Who ended up drowning in a lake? I feel like I’m missing something.” Clarissa sat next to her, propping her feet up on my coffee table as we all got comfortable for girl talk. I sat silently in my seat, feeling very much like a fly on the wall in my own house. It was no secret that these two had grown considerably closer in my absence. But at least we were all together, laughing, talking, and having fun. That was the important part. I couldn’t allow what I’d done in the past to affect the relationship all three of us could have. “Nothing, don’t worry about it.” Bree’s quick dismissal piqued my curiosity, but before I could ask for more details, Clari beat me to the punch, not relenting until Bree gave us something. “After your bachelorette party, Clarissa, I went to that lake out by the motel. You know the one in the field Axel takes me to sometimes? I don’t really remember too much about that night, but I do recall standing on the dock and watching the moon reflect off the water. The surface was so still it looked like glass. I was entirely too wasted to form rational thoughts, and for some reason, I thought I could walk on water. So I stepped into it. I honestly don’t remember anything after that. But unbeknownst to me, Axel had been there and
pulled me out. Imagine waking up the following morning on some strange couch, wearing men’s clothes, and staring into the face of a ghost from your past.” “Didn’t we drop you off at your car that night? How did you expect to drive home if you were so drunk?” I asked, trying to think back that long ago. It’d been less than a year, but with everything that had happened since then, it felt like several lifetimes ago. “Yeah… I don’t even want to think about what would’ve happened had I gotten behind the wheel of my car.” She shivered and stared at the wall behind my TV, probably thinking about the horrific scenarios that could’ve taken place. “Wait…Axel was there? You said he came back into your life the day Dad got in that accident. That was after my wedding.” Bree waved Clari off and filled her mouth with a scoop of ice cream. “Oh, no. If you think I’m gonna let you off the hook that easily, you’re sadly mistaken. It’s bad enough I had no idea who he was when he came back. I think it’s about time you fill in some holes for me.” Bree glanced my way, rolling her eyes. I’d known the entire story ever since Bree came to live with us, but it was never my story to tell. It did, however, surprise me to hear that with as close as my sisters had become, Bree hadn’t ever told her the real truth. I sat back in my seat and listened as Bree started from the very beginning, going back to when she walked into her classroom after Christmas break and found her future husband sitting behind the teacher’s desk. I could’ve listened to that love story a thousand times and it would never get old. We had a good night with each other, talking and laughing about anything and everything. It felt like old times again. And for the first time in weeks, I hadn’t thought about Bentley or spent too much time examining the depths of my pain—which had grown considerably shallower. It proved to be exactly what I needed. “I know I’ve asked this a million times, but please just answer me once more to ease my panicked brain…you are on vacation next week and watching Ayla for us, right?” Bree stopped right before walking out the door and spun around. The moment she opened her mouth, I knew that’s what she wanted to ask me. She had, in fact, confirmed it about a million times. “Yes. Everything is taken care of. Stop worrying.” The first time she’d asked—which had only been days after I told her I had the time off and was looking forward to keeping my niece for a week—I’d lied and said Marlo wouldn’t give me the week off. Then it took almost thirty minutes to calm her down. I learned after that not to joke around with her about anything going wrong in regards to her wedding or honeymoon. “Good. Just double checking.” “Bree, double checking was like fifteen times ago. I don’t even think there’s a word to call what it is now. Oh, wait…yes there is. Paranoia.” She rolled her eyes and turned around, heading for her car, but I heard her laugh as she walked away. I’m pretty sure her obsessive worries annoyed her just as much as everyone else that had to deal with them. Once I had the house cleaned up, I changed out of the black lingerie we’d worn for our girls’ night and slipped into one of Bentley’s T-shirts that I’d kept out of the box. The only reason it stilled smelled like him was because I’d spray his cologne on it to keep it fresh. Then I crawled into bed, ready for my nightly routine. Every night before falling asleep, I counted off three positives for the day. They couldn’t be the same as the day before, and had to be something that had happened since waking up that morning. Then, I had to think of one negative thing that I’d work on improving the next day. It was something my dad and I came up with when we made our quicksand survival guide. It sounded lame to begin with, but after a few days, I had to admit it felt good to do it.
On my list that night was time with my sisters, laughing with Bree about Axel’s poor grammar, and convincing a client to go darker instead of lighter—it was a hard sell and smart decision. The negative moment I’d work on the next day was not telling Bree I loved her before she left. That was something I tried to be very conscious of: always telling my loved ones how much they mean to me before parting ways, whether it be on the phone or in person. It was my way of rectifying the guilt I’d harbored over never saying it to my mom before she went to her room the last time I saw her awake. Sleep no longer evaded me, and the moment I closed my eyes, I drifted off peacefully.
If Bree ever taught me one thing, it was to never get married—or at least never have a ceremony. More accurately, never have a ceremony while being hormonal and pregnant. No matter how hard we tried to keep her calm, nothing worked. She turned into a raging bitch to the wedding staff, and a sobbing mess around Clari and me. Granted, the staff deserved it since they couldn’t seem to follow simple instructions. I even offered to handle them for her, but she wouldn’t let me get two words out before speaking over me. So I finally gave up trying and let her deal with them. Everything seemed fine up until we made it to the chapel. That’s when all hell broke loose. The wrong flowers had been delivered, and the streamers they brought to decorate the aisle were nowhere close to the color she’d picked out. To top it off, another wedding party was still there when we arrived to get ready in the choir room. It was bad enough I had to drive us to the chapel because there had been some problem with the limo she’d ordered and they hadn’t found a replacement in time. It quickly became easier to list the things that had gone right. But once we had her in her dress and every last button had been fastened, everything became surreal. Not a word was uttered as she stood in the center of the room, all eyes upon her. The only sounds to be heard were our gasps of awe and the shutter on the photographer’s camera as it clicked rapidly, capturing the perfect moment. Never had I seen a more beautiful bride in all my life. Luckily, we didn’t have any issues with the makeup or hair crew. Otherwise, Bree might’ve decided to cancel the wedding and elope with Axel. And after spending years listening to her talk about him, and then witnessing them find each other again, there was no way in hell I’d miss their wedding. And, of course, the ceremony didn’t start on time. Our dad came into the back where we were, and to keep from crying, he joked around about the hold up being that nobody could find Axel. It was a good thing they were already running behind, because it took us a while to calm her down after that one. But she eventually cooled off, shared a few private moments with her dad, and then we were instructed to line up. Being the maid of honor, I had the best seat in the house to watch Bree walk down the aisle on her proud father’s arm. But the best part was the look on Axel’s face and the tears he never bothered to hold back as she walked to him. There wasn’t a dry eye in the house. Their love was felt all around, and no one deserved happiness as much as those two did. Even their tender vows earned a few sobs from the pews. But nothing hit me harder than the words Axel said to his bride. “Bree, fate has a way of testing us, challenging our resolve. When we first met, I had everything going for me, and you had everything against you. But regardless of the different places we were in life, we managed to fall in love. That was our first test, and we passed. The second test came when you practically fell into my lap. That time, you had everything going for you, and I was the one with my back against the wall. But despite the changes in
our lives, our love was still there, and just as strong as ever. We proved society wrong. We defied circumstance. And in the end, fate won out. I will never question my love for you, or your love for me. I will never doubt the future that lies ahead of us, because I know we have fate on our side.” Even through the sniffles, Bree still managed to say, “Lay.” Axel tilted his head, confusion showing in his pinched brow. “The future that lay ahead of us.” She kept her voice low, but it was loud enough for a few people around her to hear, all of which snickered as Axel rolled his eyes. “Sorry,” she whispered and glanced around, smiling at those of us who’d heard it. Even though there were a few people laughing around me, everyone distracted by the interruption, I stood frozen in place, not even a hint of a smile on my lips. I replayed his words in my head, his talk of fate. And it instantly brought my thoughts to the man who was supposed to be my guest at the wedding. I glanced around at the faces in the pews. I knew he wouldn’t be there, but it didn’t stop me from holding my breath, hoping I’d see him out there waiting for me. That fate might have brought him back to me. But I didn’t see him. And for the first time in weeks, I felt so alone. I stood in front of a roomful of people, next to my sister as she took her vows, yet I’d never felt more alone in my life. It didn’t make sense, considering I’d been more isolated before meeting Bentley than I had since walking away from him. But I think it had more to do with witnessing the love between Axel and Bree than it did the amount of people currently in my life. Having Bentley on my mind made it slightly difficult to engage with everyone properly. After the wedding, we all stood in a line at the front of the church and greeted the guests as they walked out. I made sure to keep a smile on my face and speak to everyone as they passed, but it didn’t brighten my mood or lighten my heart. Even while we posed for pictures I couldn’t seem to get it together. The last thing I wanted to do was ruin their wedding photos, so I smiled as best as I could and tried to push thoughts of Bentley from my mind. The guests were already at the reception by the time we arrived, mingling and drinking as they waited. The DJ announced our small wedding party by name, and then we all stood around the makeshift dance floor while Bree and Axel took their first dance together. As I watched them lovingly stare into each other’s eyes with raw hunger while swaying back and forth to the music, I grew lost in the hopes of one day having this same thing. A love this strong. And it did nothing but leave me mystified. When I’d told Bentley that I never wanted to fall in love, it hadn’t been a lie. At that time, I truly had no interest in putting myself in the position to be hurt again. The thought of loving someone, only to be abandoned and left behind scared the shit out of me. I thought I could be content all alone. But then meeting Bentley had taken me by surprise. My love for him wasn’t one of those slow-moving kinds, the kind of love that builds over time. Neither was it insta-love. It was the kind that starts off like a pot of boiling water, heating up below the surface without any indication of something happening. You don’t pay attention to it, calling it what it is—a pot of water—and move on with what you were doing. Small bubbles form on the bottom, you see it, but it doesn’t mean anything to you. Just bubbles. Nothing serious. But when you aren’t looking, those small bubbles grow bigger, the water turns hotter, and the next thing you know, it’s boiling over. That’s how my love for Bentley was. Unnoticed. Unpredictable. Completely out of nowhere. And it left me with third-degree burns. We all die at some point, so my rationalization over never loving again seemed rather extreme. And it was. But at that point in my life, I needed that impetuosity to hold onto. I needed it because I hadn’t reached the stage of acceptance yet. And while trying to find my way there, I ended up falling for Bentley, using his presence in my life as my own personal drug. My love for him became a mask—it hid the pain and depression that lingered beneath the surface. When that mask had been ripped away, everything hidden behind it came back again. But it also gave me the opportunity to see my love for him in a different
light. It allowed me to analyze it, pick it apart, until I could see for myself how real it’d been. My illusion of happiness may have been just that…but my love for him was a certainty. Watching the way my sister gazed into her husband’s eyes, the way he held her like the most valuable jewel on earth, forced me to come to terms with everything. I wanted that. I no longer feared what would happen when it ended, because like Bentley had once pointed out, it’s not about that. Love is about the journey you take, it’s about the lesson, no matter how long or short it lasts. It’s about the bond you share with another person, the support and strength you offer each other. And for a very short amount of time, I had that with Bentley. He’d given me his strength when I needed it and offered his support even when I didn’t ask for it. I had exactly what I saw in Bree and Axel. I had that kind of love. And I’d have it again. I made up my mind right then and there that once they came back from their honeymoon and picked up Ayla, I’d go after Bentley. I figured it wouldn’t be easy and I’d have to fight hard to win him back, but that’s what he’d done for me at the beginning. I had pushed him away so many times, yet he never left. Now that I was stronger, there was no way in hell I’d let him push me away. A gentle hand came to rest on my shoulder, breaking me out of the deep thoughts that had engulfed me. When I spun around, I found my dad standing there, a smile on his face, red rims lining his eyes from tears that had since dried on his cheeks. “Are you okay, Dad?” He quickly nodded, easing the worry before it had the time to hit me. “Yeah, Sarah Bear. I’m good. Really good, actually. I know your mom is watching this right now. I feel her all around me, and it’s a good feeling.” I wrapped my arms around his waist and pressed my cheek to his chest, soaking up the comforting scent of my dad. “I know she is. Bree had ordered calla lilies for the wedding, but they delivered hydrangeas. And she’d picked out this yellow-colored ribbon for the pews, but they brought lavender.” I pulled away and laughed softly to myself. “Leave it to Mom to help Bree plan her wedding from Heaven, and pick out all of her favorites.” “I thought Bree picked those herself?” “No. She threw a fit about it before the ceremony because the entire order had been messed up. As soon as I heard what they brought instead, I knew it was Mom. Had it only been the flowers, then I could chock it up to coincidence, but then the ribbon they brought was Mom’s favorite color. I wouldn’t be surprised if they cut into the cake and find strawberry instead of chocolate.” My dad’s eyes misted over again, his smiling lips quivering. I knew the emotion running through him, because it mirrored my own. It wasn’t sadness, quite the opposite. It was this sort of contentment that started as heated tingles in your chest, spreading out until your entire body is alit with soft flutters. It was comforting. It was calming. And above all else, it was the epitome of unconditional love. With or without my mom’s physical presence, I still felt her love living inside me. When the song ended, Bree came over to us and gave her dad a hug. Then he excused himself, leaving me alone with my sister for a moment. I knew we wouldn’t have many opportunities to ourselves, considering she was the bride and the center of everyone’s attention. “You seem sad. Is everything okay?” It was her wedding day, yet here she was, checking up on me again. “I’m not sad. Actually, I’m really happy.” “You’ve seemed down since the church. You’ve had me worried.” I waved her off with a smile. “I think I just got caught up in it all. You know how emotional weddings are. But I’m not sad, I promise. I mean, I wish my mom was here to see you in your dress, but I know now that she doesn’t have to be sitting here in the flesh to see us all. She’s in a good place where migraines don’t exist. She never has to suffer again, and for that, I’m happy.”
She pulled me into her and hugged me tight. “I’m so happy to hear that, Sarah. You have no idea.” When she released her hold on me, she backed up and gazed at me with her soft, bright eyes. “I’ve waited a long time to have my sister back.” “I know, and I’m sorry for everything I’ve put you through. You’ve been so good to me. Everyone has. I wouldn’t have been able to make it through everything without all of you.” “You just needed a push.” Her eyes glistened, and I worried she was about to cry. I knew how emotional she was when she was pregnant with Ayla, and if this pregnancy was anywhere close to that one, it wouldn’t take much for the waterworks to start. I wagged my eyebrows and changed the subject before the bride began to ugly cry. “So…? Have you told Axel about the baby yet?” The glow on her cheeks brightened, turning a deep shade of red. “Yes. I told him last night as he was leaving the house to go stay at Joel and Clarissa’s.” I grabbed her hand and began to bounce on the balls of my feet. “Tell me! I’ve waited weeks for this!” Her bare shoulders shook as she giggled and glanced around the room. “He was leaving, so Ayla and I walked him to the door to say goodbye. He gave Ayla a kiss first, and then me. When he was about to grab his bag and turn away, Ayla told him not to forget to tell the baby goodbye, too. I hadn’t expected his reaction, though. I mean, he already knew about it, so I wasn’t expecting anything dramatic. But he teared up and hugged me for like fifteen minutes. I had to push him out the door.” Before I could say anything else, Axel came up behind Bree and wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his hands against her stomach. “Has she told you yet?” I didn’t need to ask what he meant by that, and even if I hadn’t already known, the smile on his face would’ve given it away. “Yes. She just told me, actually. Congratulations.” “Yeah…it’s going to be our last one, so we expect some good gifts this time,” he said, unable to hold back his laughter as it ran through him, causing his shoulders to bounce up and down. “Last one? Says who?” Bree pulled out of his embrace and spun to face him. “It’s become our tradition for me to knock you up before marriage. Now we’re married. No need to break this stellar record we’ve got going for us.” “Only you would make light of our sins.” “When have we ever done things the right way, Bree? Why start now?” As humorous as their exchange was to watch, I suddenly felt like a third wheel. So I moved along, allowing them to share in this moment together. I found Clari on the other side of the room and went over to talk to her, noticing she appeared to be a little under the weather. I worried it had to do with Mom and wanted to offer her some comfort. “He’s here,” she whispered before I could even get a word out. “Who’s here?” She nodded once and moved her line of sight over my shoulder. I turned around to see who she was talking about, and found Luke sitting at one of the round tables in the center of the room, alone. “Why is he here?” Adrenaline flooded my system and brought with it a heavy sensation that settled in the pit of my stomach. Nervous didn’t even begin to describe how I felt as I stood there, my hands tingling by my sides. His presence meant something different to me than it did to Clari. To me, it was a living, breathing reminder of Bentley. I had no idea what it meant to her. “He came as a plus one to one of the guests.” I turned back to Clari, catching her wide, glistening eyes. “Has he said anything to you?” “No. But I’m worried.” “Why? What could he possibly do to you?” Her eyes burned with panic, wide and intense. “Joel doesn’t know that I called him before the
wedding. I don’t want Luke to say anything to him about it. If he really wants to get back at me, all he has to do is tell Joel.” Tears formed above her lower lids, and then fell past her painted lashes, taking with it soft streaks of black. “He can’t find out, Sarah. He wouldn’t understand, and he would never forgive me.” I gave her a tight smile and rested my hand on her shoulder to offer her some comfort and strength, knowing how badly she needed it. “He won’t say anything. Don’t worry.” I left her standing there and made my way to Luke, my heart lodging itself in my throat and pulsing in my neck with every click of my heels. He sat in the cushioned chair covered in white linen with his ankle propped up over his knee, sipping amber liquid from a crystal tumbler as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Meanwhile, my sister stood nearly fifty feet away about to have a nervous breakdown in the middle of a wedding reception. When I took the seat next to him, he finally turned his attention to me, his eyes wide as if he hadn’t expected to see me there. “I really hope you didn’t come here to ruin another wedding. Any other rings and houses I should know about? And if there are, I’ll admit that it stings a little, Luke. I mean, there are three of us, and if you’ve bought diamonds and lake houses for the other two, I’ll take that personal.” I made a joke of things to keep him from becoming defensive, but in reality, the massively twisted knots in my stomach made it hard to keep my composure. He smiled and relaxed further into his chair. “You have nothing to worry about, Sarah. I’m not here to convince Bree to leave with me. It was only ever Clare. And if I really wanted to ruin her wedding, I would’ve barged in on the ceremony instead of meeting her in the back of the church before she even had her dress on. So I would appreciate it if you guys would stop accusing me of trying to ruin her wedding.” “It doesn’t matter how or when you did it, Luke; it doesn’t take away the fact that you fucked her up that day. You can’t show up on your ex’s wedding day, beg her to leave with you, and not expect to cause some sort of damage.” “And what would you do if Bentley was getting married? What would you do if he called you crying, telling you how much he loved you, telling you he thinks he made a mistake by leaving you? Wouldn’t you do anything you could to get him back, even if that meant going to him hours before he took his vows? I didn’t do it to fuck with her or ruin her day. I did it so I couldn’t look back and wonder what might’ve happened if I’d just done or said something different. It was my last chance. I wasn’t about to pass that up and spend the rest of my life with what ifs.” His questions clenched my insides until taking a full breath became impossible. Things seemed a little different after viewing the details through his eyes. But even though I understood his reasons, it didn’t make it any better. It didn’t mean I suddenly sympathized with him. No matter why he did it, I still had a sister on the other side of the room practically hyperventilating with fear that Luke hadn’t let things go. “Why are you really here?” “Because I was invited.” “By whom?” “My date.” His attitude was clear, and so was his desire for me to leave him alone. I nodded and pressed my hand against the tablecloth, ready to get out of my seat, but the nagging question in my head grew too loud to ignore, ringing in my ears until I gave in and asked it. “How is he?” His gaze narrowed and the creases between his eyebrows became deep valleys of anger—and possibly pain. “How do you think he’s doing, Sarah? You left him high and dry. The man fell in love with you, and then you just walked away. I don’t know what it is with you Campbell girls and your need to fuck with my family, but I’m over it.” I hesitated for a moment, gathering my thoughts enough to form a rational sentence without losing my calm. “You knew about the heart transplant. You knew who I was and that Bentley was spending time
with me. Did you also know that he had lied to me from the very beginning?” Luke finished his drink and then slammed the glass on the table. “I told him it was a bad idea that night he came back from the bar. I told him it was a bad idea before he even went up there to meet you. The night I saw you coming out of the bathroom? Yeah, I told him again that night how fucking stupid he was, and how he’d never get out of it unscathed. But he wouldn’t listen to me.” “So then why is it my fault? What the hell did I do wrong?” “You left him.” Ice formed in my lower stomach as his stare grew more intense, angrier. “He stuck by your side, defended you, refused to let you go because he couldn’t stand the thought of walking away and leaving you alone, and yet that’s exactly what you did to him. You left him—alone.” “What was I supposed to do, Luke?” My voice rose, defensiveness overtaking my emotions until my hands shook and my head throbbed. “He lied to me. I trusted him, and he lied. From the very beginning. And not just about his medical issues. Do you seriously think I should’ve jumped for joy?” He licked his lips and then leaned into the table with his forearms pressed against the edge, taking his time before responding. “Let me tell you a little story, Sarah. When my cousin was diagnosed, every doctor pretty much told him he wouldn’t make it. No one had hope. Because the only chance he had to survive was to get a heart, and that list is long. Most people die before their number is called. So before he left to come here, he had to say goodbye to his family. He had to hug his mom, believing it would be the last time. You think it’s tough being the one left behind after a family member dies? Imagine being the one dying, having to make peace with everyone. Having to make sure your loved ones get their closure. Sure, he had time to say goodbye—if there’s such thing as enough time for something like that—but can you even begin to imagine what it’s like knowing you maybe have months left to live? To think about all the things you still want to do in life, but you can’t do any of it? Well, that was him. That’s what he had to endure. “And then his health rapidly deteriorated. Less than a week before Christmas, we had to rush him to the hospital. Luckily, they were able to move him up the transplant list, but that was pretty much an empty promise, and he knew it. They didn’t expect him to live to see the new year, and doubted he’d even make it to Christmas morning.” I dried my eyes with my fingertips and interrupted him. “That’s a sad story, Luke, but I don’t know what that has to do with me. What does that have to do with my reaction to his lies?” “No matter what I said to him, nothing was going to convince him to leave without seeing you, without seeing the person responsible for him getting more time with his family.” “Why?” He shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. When his eyes met mine again, I noticed something had changed in them. The amber color had dulled, the light behind them faded, revealing the vivid pain behind them. “He wanted to thank you for saving his life.” “Then why didn’t he just do that and leave? Why string me along? He didn’t have to stick around and lie to me for a month. That was his decision, one I don’t deserve the blame for.” “He stayed because of you. Because of how your mother’s death had affected you. And he felt guilty for that. He blamed himself—hated himself. You see, he had accepted his fate. He didn’t want to die, but he was ready for it. Before he came to stay with me, he’d tied up every loose end he had. There wasn’t one person that had come in contact with him throughout his life that would ever question how he felt about them. He made sure he left no stone unturned before coming here to die. Because that’s what he thought he was doing…spending his last days here. He honestly thought the only way he’d be going back to his parents was in a box. “And because of you, because of your decision to donate your mother’s organs, he was given another chance at life. All he wanted to do was thank you, because that’s the kind of guy my cousin is. But
once he saw you, and he saw how much pain you were in, how you were punishing yourself and everyone around you, he couldn’t do it. He felt guilty that he—someone who’d accepted his fate—lived while your mom had died. He hated that he had the chance to say goodbye to his mom, yet you never did.” I pulled my glossy lip into my mouth and bit down on it, hoping to keep my tears away. “He needs to know that I don’t blame him.” “Then you should’ve told him while he was here.” My head snapped up, cold chills filled my insides while my skin burned hot. “What do you mean? Where is he? Did he go back home?” “How much do you know about heart transplant patients?” I shook my head. I didn’t want a lesson on hearts. I wanted information about Bentley. “Nothing. Why? Just tell me, Luke. Stop fucking with me.” “When you get a new heart, your body thinks it’s a foreign object and your white blood cells attack it. The main reason transplants fail is rejection. So after surgery, you have to go back often to have the heart biopsied to check for signs of rejection so it can be caught early. One of the things they do to help prevent rejection from happening is daily medications to suppress the immune system. It keeps your white blood cells from attacking your heart. However, without a strong immune system, you have nothing to help fight off other things like the common cold.” “Cut the bullshit, Luke. I don’t need a lesson on heart transplants. Just tell me what happened to him.” The hair on the back of my neck stood up, causing my body to shiver uncontrollably. The room spun and the noises around me turned muffled, my equilibrium becoming unbalanced. “After you left him, he became secluded and really quiet. I thought he was just upset over what had happened between the two of you. But after a few days, I noticed he had gotten worse, and that’s when I realized it was more than just him being upset. I took him to the hospital and found out that he had a really bad infection.” “Where…is…he?” “Leave him be, Sarah.” “No. Tell me where he is, Luke!” He buried his head in his hands and sighed dramatically, as if I’d been the one dragging him around. “He needs time to heal. Give him that.” I stood up and pounded my fist against the top of the table, commanding the attention of people around us. I leaned over and lowered my voice to a throaty growl as I said, “Tell me where he is. Please, don’t keep me from him. That is my mother’s heart.”
Bentley Heavy pounding woke me from a dead sleep. Incessant, panicked pounding that echoed through the otherwise quiet house. I shot straight out of bed, confused and taken by surprise by the interruption. Then I glanced at the clock on the side table, the blue digital numbers reading “2:08 a.m.” My house was pretty much in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by trees and dirt roads, so there’d be no reason for anyone to simply stumble upon it, let alone, give them much reason to knock on the door in the middle of the night. I grabbed a shirt from my dresser and pulled it over my head as I carefully made my way to the front of the house. The pounding continued. I maneuvered around the furniture in the dark, the noise growing louder the closer I got to it. I had no lights on outside, and contemplated turning the one above the door on to see through the peephole, but then I decided against it, wanting to take the intruder by surprise instead. But a second before I unlocked the deadbolt, the pounding abruptly stopped. I waited silently with my ear pressed against the door, hoping to hear something from the other side. Other than soft shuffling noises, there was nothing…until the broken sob let loose. Just one. One short, whimpered cry broke through the silence and filled me with cold dread that turned the blood in my veins to ice. I immediately unlocked the door and swung it open, finding myself staring into the eyes that had haunted my dreams for weeks. Nothing was said as we stood a few feet apart, watching each other through the darkness of night. Only the sounds of crickets chirping could be detected as the seconds, minutes ticked by. I wanted to do so much—hold her, close the door, kiss those lips, tell her to leave—but I found myself unable to do anything other than blink as the silence stretched on. “Bentley…” Just one word whispered softly, wretchedly, as she wiped the falling tears from her face on my moonlit porch. It sounded so miserable, so tender, and yet hopeful all at once. “How did you know where I live?” My emotionless question seemed to stun her and forced her to take a small step back, nearly tripping over a bag behind her that I hadn’t noticed until then. “Luke…he told me where to find you.” I nodded stiffly and then said, “You shouldn’t be here.” I moved to close the door, unable to take one more minute of her presence and the pain it left me with, but her next words made me freeze. “I know. But there was no other place I wanted to be.” “You don’t know what you want…” Her head shook slowly, the loose curls next to her face swaying with the movement. “I’m not leaving, Bentley. Do what you need to, say what you have to, but it won’t change anything. It won’t change how I feel or why I’m here.”
“What if I don’t want you here?” Her shoulders raised high, almost meeting her ears, and then fell heavily. “You really gonna make me drive six hours back home? Alone in the middle of the night?” She took a hesitant step toward me. “Just let me in, Bentley.” If only she knew that I’d already done that. I’d let her in and she left, taking the air from my lungs, the pulse from my heart, and the life from inside me with her. I couldn’t handle that again. But I couldn’t turn her away, either.
Sarah I couldn’t breathe properly until Bentley stepped out of the way, letting me through the front door. But it didn’t do anything to calm my jittery hands or rapid pulse. Getting inside the house was the first step, now I just had to convince him to let me stay. The sound of the deadbolt clicking behind me caught my attention and caused me to jump slightly, giving away my uneasiness. I wanted him to see me as the stronger person I’d become in his absence, and didn’t want him mistaking my nervousness. So I straightened my spine, holding the handle to my duffel bag tightly in my grasp, and waited in the dark foyer for him to make the next move. When he moved around me, his clean scent swarmed my senses and offered a slight comfort to my overly sensitized nerves. But only for the briefest of seconds, because then he began to walk away, not even checking over his shoulder to see if I’d follow him. My feet moved, shuffling in my flip-flops as I matched his steps. I couldn’t see much in the darkness, but the moon shining through his large windows cast a glow on his back, giving me at least something to follow. But then he turned down a hallway, leaving me with nothing but sounds to go on. After a few feet, the jiggling of a door handle forced me to stop abruptly, and then the click of a switch sounded a split second before light flooded the dim hallway. I stood in front of a spacious bathroom decorated in white and black, and watched with curiosity as he silently moved around the room. Bentley pulled a folded towel out of a closet and set it on the edge of the sink. He didn’t say a single word or even check to see where I was. Without meeting my gaze, he squeezed through the space left between my body and the doorjamb and walked out. “You can stay in this room,” he said with zero emotion in his tone as he pushed open a door directly across the hall from where I stood. “The sheets are clean and there’s an extra blanket in the closet if you need it. Soaps and shampoo are beneath the sink in the bathroom. Use whatever you need.” He kept his eyes downcast as he spoke quietly, his words directed at his bare feet. He turned and started to walk away, and my pulse spiked at the thought of him leaving me alone in the stillness of the hallway. “Wait.” I grabbed his arm, his body heat practically searing my skin. “Where are you going?” His eyes finally met mine, but his cold expression burned my soul, leaving it frostbitten and numb. His brows pulled together so hard that the creases in his forehead became deep valleys and the wrinkles around his eyes tripled. “I’m going to my room…to go back to sleep. You’re right, you shouldn’t drive back home tonight. You can sleep here—in that room—and then head back in the morning.” He turned around once more, but before he could take a step, I spoke again. My words were filled with pain and uncertainty as I asked, “Why are you so mad at me? I mean, I get that we’ve hurt each other,
but I don’t understand why you’re so angry with me.” Without turning back, he dropped his chin to his chest and shook his head slowly back and forth. “I’m not angry with you… Just forget it, Sarah. It’s late. You’ve been driving all night and need to get some sleep.” I stood frozen in place as I watched him walk away from me, disappearing into the darkness. I became empty and hollow as I stood alone, unmoving, desperately waiting for him to come back to me. But I knew he wouldn’t. And instead of growing weak and breaking down, I held my shoulders back and took in a deep breath. He needed time. And I’d give it to him. But the one thing I wouldn’t give was space. I closed the door to the bathroom and made my way to the sink, staring at my reflection in the decorative mirror on the wall. It was like looking at a picture of my mom when she was around my age, healthy and happy. I wasn’t the same girl who’d walked away from him three weeks ago. I wasn’t even the same person he sat next to in the bar almost two months ago. He’d spent so much time trying to bring me back to life, and I wouldn’t give up until he saw it for himself. I studied my reflection as I pulled out every bobby pin from my hair and let the curls fall to my back. Then I took off my clothes and stepped into the shower, needing to clean the grime of heavy makeup off my face. After the wedding, I ran home and quickly changed out of my dress, throwing on the first pieces of clothing I found in my drawers, not caring that it was lounge-wear. And then I took off down the road. The warm spray helped to ease the tension in my neck caused by frantic driving on dark, winding roads. It calmed me down and offered me a moment to relax. I’d spent hours in my car, nothing but the sound of my tires on the highway filling the air around me. My nerves had been fried, and I don’t think my mind stopped once during the long drive. But when I stepped out of the shower, I felt like a new person. I’d seen Bentley breathing, alive, so I no longer had that fear living inside me. With that worry gone, I was ready to fight for what I wanted. I wrapped myself up in the thick towel Bentley had set out for me and then rummaged through my duffel bag. I pulled out a pair of panties and slipped them on, keeping the towel in place around my body. I was here, in Bentley’s house, with him on the other side. There was no way in hell I planned to put on my clothes and crawl into an empty bed with him that close. I had no clue where his room was, and the darkness made navigating the unfamiliar layout nearly impossible, but I finally managed to make my way across the house, finding a closed door next to the kitchen. I rapped my knuckles softly on the wood and waited, taking in deep breaths to calm my erratic nerves. After a second of silence, I turned the handle, cracked open the door, and peered inside with bated breath. Moonlight filtered in through the glass panes on a set of French doors along one wall, casting a glow into the large room. I pushed the door open even further, stepping more into the silent space, and then settled my gaze on the massive bed in front of me. My hand fell from the door and knocked against the handle, the noise interrupting the peacefulness of the room. The sound caused Bentley to jump. He sat straight up, staring harshly in my direction, and then groaned to himself. I didn’t offer him time to reject me. I stepped more into the room, closer to the bed, and stood there with my towel wrapped around my damp, naked body. “What do you want, Sarah?” His voice was deep and groggy, like I’d just woken him up. He ran his hands over his face, hanging his head to prevent me from seeing him. “I forgot to pack clothes to sleep in. I was in a rush and didn’t really think about what I was putting in my bag. Do you have anything I could borrow?” It was a lame excuse, considering the clothes I came in was a T-shirt and yoga pants, more than fitting to sleep in. But he didn’t say anything. He reached over and pulled the chain on a lamp next to his bed, the soft yellow light brightening
the room. It offered me a chance to see him, but he hadn’t taken the same opportunity with me. He averted his gaze as he walked to his dresser. Without speaking, he pulled out a shirt and a pair of boxers, like the ones I’d worn before. He handed them to me and then stood next to his bed, his back facing me. I dropped the towel and waited, hoping I could drag this out long enough for him to turn around and see me, and when he did, my stomach dipped with relief. But then his gaze fell to my body, focusing on something with narrowed eyes. I had no idea what he saw, or what had caught his attention, so I didn’t move a muscle, waiting for him to say or do something. “Why did you come here, Sarah?” His focus snapped to my eyes, never leaving them as if I hadn’t been standing in front of him in only a pair of panties. As if he hadn’t just intently studied my nearly naked body. “I came here for you.” “But why? If you have something to tell me…just say it.” I shook my head slowly, trying to understand what he’d meant. “Are you pregnant?” I gasped and covered my mouth, feeling attacked by his random question that had been asked with an angry tone. His hardened facial features sent a chill through me. I immediately grabbed the shirt he’d given me and yanked it over my head. “If that’s what you came here to tell me, just get it over with now.” “No,” I whispered, shaking my head in rapid, jerky movements. “No, I’m not pregnant, Bentley. Why would you think that?” His shoulders dropped and his chest fell with the heavy sigh that left his lips. Then he stepped back and sank against the edge of his mattress. His eyes closed, the relief at my response evident in his entire reaction. “Why would you think that, Bentley?” I moved closer to him and asked again when he hadn’t given me an answer the first time. He finally turned his attention to me, releasing long, relieved breaths. “We didn’t use protection, and I didn’t pull out…” “We did use protection. I told you I was on birth control.” “I know, but it still worried me. I told you that.” My feet moved one in front of the other until I stood in front of him. I held his face in my hands, forcing his eyes to meet mine. “There has to be some other reason why you thought that. If it had you so worried, it would’ve been one of the first things you asked when I knocked on your door. Or you would’ve at least sent me a text before now.” “I don’t want to upset you.” His soft words fanned through the space between us and landed on my cooled skin, heating me up at the first sign of emotion from him since arriving. “You won’t upset me, I promise. Just tell me.” He pulled his hands to my waist and held onto my hips, his fingers lightly digging into my flesh. “You’ve gained some weight. Not much, but it’s noticeable—it looks good on you.” My lips split into a hearty smile and set a deep ache in my cheeks. “Yeah, I have. But it’s not baby weight, Bentley. I swear. A lot has changed over the last few weeks, and that’s the real reason why I came here.” He dropped his hold on me and pulled his face from my grasp, averting his gaze away from mine. “It’s really late, Sarah. I don’t think I can have this conversation right now.” I understood, but that didn’t mean I was ready to give up. Instead of walking away like I knew he wanted me to do, I reached around him and pulled back the covers. He glanced at me with narrowed eyes, not voicing his question. “Get in bed, Bentley. You’re tired. I woke you up in the middle of the night. Just lie down and get some sleep. We can talk about this in the morning if you’re up for it.”
Reluctantly, he relaxed and leaned back against his pillow, his eyes following my every move. I pulled the covers up, placing them over his chest, and then turned off the lamp next to his bed, shrouding the room in darkness once again. He remained silent, motionless, as I made my way around the bed, pulled back the covers on the other side, and then slid in. But once I moved across the mattress, curling up next to his warm body, he said, “Sarah…what are you doing?” “I’m going to sleep, Bentley. You should do the same.” My arm fell over his stomach as I pressed my ear to the center of his chest, curling into him like I’d done so many times before. But his body remained rigid, his breaths short and shallow. “I don’t think I can do this…” “Why?” I tilted my head, catching the reflection of moonlight in his wide eyes. “Because you’re worried you won’t be able to hate me anymore after you wake up?” “I don’t hate you.” “Maybe not…but you don’t want to give in, either. I don’t know about you, but I haven’t slept well in the last three weeks. Can you please just let me have this one night of sleep?” His chest finally deflated and his body relaxed, but his arm remained resting against the mattress behind me instead of around me like it used to. I couldn’t think about that, though. I had to focus on the fact that I was with him, his heartbeat lulling me to sleep. And just as the warm tingles of slumber began to pull me down, his hand came around to rest on my hip. I awoke the next morning, my cheek still pressed comfortably against Bentley’s chest, and found him staring down at me, uncertainty shining in his hard-set eyes. I moved away from him slightly, giving us room to face each other without craning our necks, but he didn’t budge. Instead, he simply laid there, his narrowed eyes never leaving mine. “Good morning,” I said with a smile, hoping it might soften his mood. But he only responded by blinking rapidly, as if he couldn’t remember the night before and didn’t understand why I was there. “Did you sleep well?” “Are you going to tell me the real reason why you came here? Or are you gonna keep pretending like nothing happened and this is just some vacation? Keep in mind, I’m fully aware that your sister got married yesterday.” The deep, rich rumbles of his voice first thing in the morning rolled over me, but before I could wrap myself up in it, his words registered in my hazy mind. “I’m not pretending anything. For the first time in a very long time, I’m not pretending.” I sat up and faced him, settling into the mattress to give him the answers he sought. “Luke told me about you getting sick after I left.” He flung the covers off his body in haste and then climbed out of bed. His posture was rigid as he stormed out of the room, not once glancing back at my frozen form in the middle of his bed. Shock and surprise kept me from moving, prevented me from chasing after him as his bare feet padded through the house until I could no longer hear him. But then reality set in. Watching him walk away sparked a fight in me, and I ran after him. I found him in the kitchen in front of the sink, staring through the window. His shoulders were pulled tight and his hands gripped the edge of the granite slab, his body coiled tight with emotions I couldn’t comprehend. I slowly dragged my feet across the cool tile until I stood at his back, and then I placed a hesitant hand against his hard shoulder blade. My touch seemed to surprise him, because he jerked suddenly, yet he didn’t bother to turn around. Instead, he remained facing the window and spoke, his voice so deep and full of pain that every agonizing word felt like a dull knife being plunged into my chest. “You didn’t come here because you missed me or
because you wanted something more. It wasn’t because you realized what we had and needed it back. You came because I was sick. It’s why I didn’t want you to know. Because I didn’t want sympathy to lead you back to me.” I closed my eyes and allowed myself to feel his pain, understand the ache he must’ve felt. But I knew the truth—I knew why I came back to him. And now I needed him to see that it wasn’t for the reason he thought. His assumptions were valid, but all wrong. I grabbed his arm and gently pulled until he turned around, my line of sight directly at the center of his chest. Without thought, I gripped the bottom of his shirt and slowly lifted it until the long scar became visible. I’d never seen it before, but often thought about it after learning the truth. Seeing it, though…seeing it right in front of me stole the air from my lungs. A sigh slipped past my lips as my forehead fell to his bare chest, his body heat coming off his skin in waves that warmed my face like a thousand blazing suns. He didn’t move, barely breathing. He just stood there as I became lost in the moment. But as soon as my lips pressed against the dark-pink scar, he pushed me away, stepping past me and pulling his shirt the rest of the way off. He turned in the middle of his large kitchen and faced me, his shoulders rising and falling with each heavy breath he took. “Is this what you wanted to see?” His finger traced the vertical line on his sternum. “Is this the reason you came here? Huh? You wanted to see the proof of what beats inside me?” He threw his shirt on the floor and glared at me with fiery pain in his eyes. “This is why they say we should never know where donated organs go. This is why they don’t tell us the names of the people that saved us.” His reaction angered me, filling me with fury that coiled tight in my muscles until I stood directly in front of him, my hands shaking violently at my sides. “And what exactly is this, Bentley? What is the reason why I shouldn’t know you?” “Because this is unhealthy—the attachment you have to me.” When he took his next breath, it trembled and caught in his throat. His eyes became soft and full of sorrow, his voice barely above a whisper when he said, “Because when you look at me…you don’t see me.” Instinctively, I reached up and placed my hand on his cheek, the short hairs along his jawline pricking my palm and lighting a fire beneath my skin. “What do you think I see when I look at you?” “A vessel. The warm body that holds a piece of your mom.” When I started to shake my head, letting him know he had it all wrong, he took a step back and reached out to the wall next to him to hold him up. “You can’t deny it, Sarah. You may think I’m wrong, but I see it in your eyes. It was there when you looked at my chest, when you touched it.” I couldn’t stand to hear the pain in his voice or the debilitating sadness in his eyes. He’d convinced himself of things long before I came here, long before I stood in front of him. I wasn’t sure how I’d ever change his mind, but I wouldn’t give up until I’d done so. With careful and deliberate steps, I moved to stand in front of him again, showing him that no matter where he went, I’d be right there. I’d be at his side, have his back, and stand in front of him. Nothing he could do or say would ever make me walk away from him again. I placed my flat palm over his scar, locking my eyes with his. His breathing became shallow, but his eyes lit up, the dark green shining like treasured emeralds in the sun. That was all I needed to see for hope to ignite inside. “You have my mom’s heart beating inside your chest right now. That’s fact. We can’t change it, we can’t pretend it doesn’t exist. You can’t blame me for recognizing it. The last piece I have of my mother is in here.” I pressed my hand gently against his warm skin, reiterating my words. “However, that’s not who you are to me. You aren’t a vessel of any kind.” “Did you come here because you were worried that something would happen to her heart?” I held on to his neck with both hands and stepped into him more, making sure he could see the truth in my eyes. “No. I came here because I was worried something had happened to yours. It doesn’t belong to her anymore. It’s yours now. It was gifted to you, and if I’ve ever doubted fate before, I don’t anymore. After meeting you, after I found out about Luke, but before you told me about your heart, I struggled with a
lot of unanswered questions—questions I never thought I’d never be able to have explained. But they are now. And everything is so clear, makes so much sense, that there isn’t one ounce of me that doubts fate.” “What questions? What answers?” he asked, sounding out of breath. It made it seem like he physically couldn’t breathe until I gave him what he wanted. “I needed to know the reason my mom died. Why she left without getting to say goodbye. But I have that answer now. I no longer question it…or fate.” “Tell me. What answer did you find?” My thumb traced over his bottom lip. It quivered at my touch as he held my hips, keeping me in place. And even his hands trembled as he held me, but not once did I feel the slightest tremor within me. My insides were calm, my resolve strong, my decision firm. “She died to save you. And had she known about it, she would’ve planned ahead. She would’ve already had those donor papers signed, which means I would’ve had no reason to be in that room where Luke saw me.” “Why does it matter if Luke saw you or not?” “Because if he hadn’t seen me, he would’ve never told you where your heart had come from. And then you never would’ve sought me out. I would’ve never met you, yet I’m able to live again because of you, Bentley. I have my life back because of you. Everything happened exactly the way it was supposed to. There were no circumstances…only fate.” He reached up and grabbed my wrists, pulling my hands away from his face as he took a step back again, adding cold space between our bodies. “You have it all wrong,” he said, holding my hands in front of him while staring deeply into my eyes. “You saved me. You signed those papers, and saved me. You kept me in town longer than I’d planned to be there. Had I not seen you that night, I would’ve been here, six hours away from my doctors when I got sick. I would’ve been alone in this house, unable to get the help I needed. It was because I was still near the hospital that I was able to get the care I needed to fight off the infection I had. So really, if you think about it, you saved me.” I wrapped my arms around his bare waist and laid my head against his chest, whispering into him, “We saved each other.” He stilled for a brief moment before falling into me, his arms wrapping securely around my back as we fell against the wall behind me. It was as if the intensity of the moment stole the strength from his legs, and he couldn’t stand on his own anymore. “I didn’t save you, Sarah.” His throaty, emotion-filled voice consumed me and left me weak, making me lean further against the wall to hold us up. “I broke you. I hurt you. I didn’t save you.” My hands roamed his smooth back, feeling his muscles tremble beneath my palms. “That’s not true. I was already broken when you found me. You met me at my weakest point—in a bar, trying to find someone to make the pain go away.” He released me and pressed his forehead to mine. “Regardless, I didn’t save you.” A smile curled my lips and filled me with contentment. “I told you that night in the diner that I never wanted to love again. And even though I didn’t want to feel that emotion, every weekend, I’d go out and find someone to offer me the illusion of a connection. I didn’t realize it at the time, but really, I wanted to be loved. I’d become so lost in life that I didn’t think anyone loved me, and the only person that did was gone. So I found men to let me pretend for a few hours. And then you came along, and I no longer had to pretend.” “How did I save you?” His question was desperate, and it made my eyes burn with unshed tears— not because I was sad, but because the emotion that ran through him and dripped from his words catapulted through me like a lead weight, leaving a gaping hole only he could fill. “I became stuck in my depression, living in it instead of fighting against it. I welcomed it, because I believed if I stopped being sad, that would mean I no longer missed my mom. You made me fight, but I ended up fighting for the wrong thing. I leaned on you, depended on you to get me through my sadness.
And I should’ve never done that. Walking away from you was the hardest thing I ever did, but it made me realize so much. It forced me to deal with my depression. It made me take a step back and look at everything in my life. I had you…I had love. But I couldn’t appreciate it until I learned on my own how to live again. I haven’t stayed away this long because I wanted to. I did it because I needed to get myself in order first. So, when it all comes down to it…you saved me. Your love saved me.” “Are you really in a better place?” “Considering you called me fat last night, I would say that’s a good indication that I am.” I laughed, hoping to add some humor to ease the weight of emotions. His hands trailed lightly down my sides until he found the hem of my shirt. Then he slowly ran his fingertips up my bare thighs, past the lace of my panties, stopping just below my bellybutton. Shivers ran through me as goose bumps attacked my skin and covered every inch of my body. “I never said fat, Sarah,” he whispered against my lips, his breaths heavy and desperate. He hooked a finger beneath the front of my panties, but he kept it there instead of going further. “You’re so fucking hot. You were then, and you are now.” I pushed my hips into him and whimpered, letting him know how badly I needed his touch. Yet he wouldn’t give me more. “Tell me, how many times did you go to a bar after you left me.” “None,” I panted against his lips. “Not one?” Surprise filled his voice, but I ignored it and shook my head. “What about men? Have you sought any out since you left me?” He reminded me of the time I’d asked specific questions regarding getting laid, making sure there weren’t any loopholes in his promise—even though there was—and it almost made me giggle. But the closeness of his body coupled with the suggestiveness of his finger inside my panties silenced the laughter in my mind. “No. No men. No bars. No sex. Not even with myself.” He growled and attacked my lips with his, his tongue hungrily taking control of my mouth. In one tug, he had my panties pulled down to my thighs, his palm covering my throbbing sex. Heat from his hand added to the fire burning between my thighs and brought me to the verge of exploding before he could even enter me. “No one else has been here since me?” His breath fanned across my neck, hitting the moisture left behind by his lips. It caused my nipples to pebble, the material of my shirt rubbing against them roughly. “No one, Bentley. Only you.” Without warning, he dropped to his knees and yanked my panties the rest of the way down my legs. Then he hooked my knee over his shoulder and ran the tip of his nose up my inner thigh until his heavy breaths wafted over my throbbing clit. My core tightened with need. I fisted my hands in his hair and pulled, earning an animalistic grunt from him. After one swipe of his tongue, I was ready to come, but the doorbell interrupted us. “No, Bentley. Ignore it…please.” He leaned his forehead against my lower stomach in defeat, sighing against my sensitive skin. A knock came next, proving it couldn’t be ignored. Before he pulled away, he kissed my sex and gripped my hips so roughly I was sure I’d wear bruises in the shapes of his fingertips. “I’ve waited a long time to devour this pussy of yours.” He removed my leg from his shoulder and stood up, handing me my panties back. “It will happen.” My core pulsed with anticipation as I lazily pulled my panties back up my legs, watching in humor as Bentley adjusted his hard-on beneath his boxers. He finally grabbed his T-shirt off the floor and used it as a shield once he realized the impossibility of hiding his erection from whoever was at the door. Lust and need swirled around my head, but it all came to an abrupt end when Bentley opened the front door. I couldn’t see who was there, but I heard a woman’s voice. With my pulse pounding in my ears
—no longer between my legs—I made my way toward him, stopping cold once Bentley spoke. “Hey, Mom.”
I wanted to run and hide, disappear from the room, but my feet remained frozen no more than twenty feet from the front door. I could hear them speaking, but I couldn’t make out the words they said past the harsh rush of blood through my ears. Then Bentley stepped aside, the bright morning sun filling the room and acting as a spotlight as it announced my presence. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Ben. I had no idea you had company.” His mother’s voice broke through the panicked pulse that had overtaken my hearing. She sounded sweet and genuinely surprised as she stood in front of me with her dainty hand covering her chest. I tugged at the bottom of my T-shirt, and then I remembered I wasn’t wearing a bra. Keeping one hand holding the shirt down, I crossed the other over my chest, the fire of my embarrassment heating my cheeks. “Mom, this is Sarah Campbell.” Her sharp gasp caught my attention. It was clear that she knew of me by name, and it heightened the terror that jumbled my thoughts. My wide eyes darted between Bentley and his mother, not able to settle on one for long. But then his gentle, accepting smile broke through the haze that had surrounded me, and it allowed me to take a breath. His mother walked closer to me, seemingly oblivious to the fact that I stood there half naked. Her eyes—the same color as Bentley’s—softened as glistening tears formed in the corners before falling down her pale, smooth cheeks. Her bottom lip trembled, but it didn’t stop her mouth from turning up into a slight smile as she pulled her hand from her chest and reached out to place it on my face. The way she studied me left me stock-still, unable to move or say anything. It was as if I were the prodigal son returning, and this was her first time seeing him. Small, short wisps of air passed through her pink, barely parted lips, and I could tell emotion choked her up the same way it had done me earlier with Bentley. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice broken and barely audible, but I heard it nonetheless. Her arms folded around me, pulling me into the comforting embrace only a mother could give. “Thank you so much.” Giving in, I melted into her with my arms around her back. “You have nothing to thank me for, Mrs. Cole.” She abruptly pulled away, leaving my body cold from the absence of her warmth. “Yes, I do, my dear. You’ve given my son such a gift, and you need to know that. I understand that you aren’t meant to know the people who’ve received what you’ve graciously given, which makes it hard for you to grasp the magnitude of your selfless act. But please know that there are no words meaningful enough to thank you for what you’ve done.” I shook my head, unable to come to terms with her words as they clouded my thoughts. “Honestly,
Mrs. Cole, I only signed a form. It wasn’t like I offered my own heart. I wouldn’t call it selfless…it was just a signature on a piece of paper.” She held my hands tight, her eyes boring into mine with such intensity that everything else faded into the background, leaving only her glistening eyes and confident voice to focus on. “But that signature saved my son’s life, just as I’m sure it has saved others, as well. It wasn’t just a piece of paper. If there’s one thing I’ve learned by waiting around for a heart to become available, it’s that so many people are too apprehensive to let the pieces of their loved ones go—even if it means it could save lives. So what was just a piece of paper to you, was the difference between hugging my child again, or putting him in the ground.” My breath caught in my throat as I choked on my sob. Tears clouded my vision until everything became a blur. When the doctor had spoken to me about donation, I never once thought of who would get her organs, or even which ones would be used. All I thought about was how my mother would no longer need them, and that if she could’ve made the decision herself, she would’ve signed the papers. “Mom,” I heard Bentley say, yet he sounded far off. “I think that’s enough.” “I’m sorry…I only wanted her to know how grateful I am.” “I’m sure she knows that, Mom.” I felt her presence being pulled away, the air around me growing cold. Blinking a few times to dispel the tears from my eyes, I reached out and grabbed ahold of her hand, preventing her from leaving. Her wide eyes met mine, probably confused by my sudden reaction after remaining silent for so long. “My mom was the type of person to give the shirt off her back to anyone who needed it. My decision to donate her organs was an easy one to make, because I knew my mom, and she would have wanted to save a life. I only carried out the wishes she would’ve wanted.” “Sarah.” The soft tip of her finger grazed my cheek, wiping away my tears. “You can learn so much about someone by their actions, and even more by their reactions. Anyone can give someone the shirt off their back, but it’s the true angels that do so in the absence of witnesses, never once seeking praise. You’re an angel, Sarah, and I know that your mother was, is, and will always be so very proud of you.” I was at a loss for words, unable to form even the smallest syllable. And before I could calm down enough to think straight, Bentley had his arm around my waist, leading me to his bedroom. He said something to his mom over his shoulder, but I couldn’t hear it—my thoughts were too loud inside my head. “I’m so sorry, Sarah.” Bentley closed his bedroom door behind him and then came to stand in front of me, holding my hands in his. “I forgot she was coming here this morning. You kinda took me by surprise and it slipped my mind.” “It’s okay, Bentley. I mean, it would’ve been nice to have clothes on for our first meeting, and preferably panties that weren’t soaking wet, but I’m fine. It just surprised me. I wasn’t expecting to hear that.” “Why not? It’s the truth. You need to know how grateful we all are for what you did. I don’t think you’ve understood how big it was. It did more than just affect me. It’s affected my entire family.” I nodded, trying to compose myself long enough to keep from crying again. I’d spent so long with tears in my eyes and numbness in my head, but this was completely different. This wasn’t born by pain or loss. The tears, the lightheadedness, the lack of full thoughts in my mind, were from understanding and happiness. And it’d been a long time since I’d experienced that kind of emotion. “Listen…I was supposed to go with my mom to look at a horse. I can cancel and see if maybe she can reschedule it if you want me to.” “No. Don’t do that. Go with her. I’ll be fine, I promise.” He pushed my hair behind my ear, his light touch sending shivers down my neck. “Do you want to come with us? I can’t promise it won’t be boring for you, but you’re more than welcome to come.”
Excitement built in my chest at the thought of being around horses, but I knew I couldn’t take his time from his mother. I’m sure it hadn’t been easy for her to be so far away while Bentley was sick, and probably even worse when he chose to stay back for me instead of coming home to his family. “No. You go with her and do what you need to. If you don’t mind, I think I’d like to stay here. I’m really tired and should probably sleep some more.” His fingers threaded through my hair on either side of my head as he pulled my face closer to his. When his lips closed over mine, I fell into him, my arms going around his bare back as my chest pressed against his. But before it could turn into anything more, he backed away. “Sorry. My mom showing up completely ruined the mood. But I promise, I’ll make up for it once I get back. I’ll more than make up for it.” His grin stretched wider as he moved away to pull clothes from his closet. The bed creaked as I sat on the edge, intently watching his every move. In the time we’d spent together back home, I’d never seen him without a shirt on, so I never knew what his body actually looked like beneath his clothes. But seeing him now, standing in nothing but a pair of jeans, something just seemed different about him. “Have you lost weight? Is that from being sick?” Bentley tucked his chin to his chest as he peered down his own body and ran his hand over his abdomen. “Yeah, mostly. But it’s also because I can’t work out like I used to. So I’m losing muscle mass as well. I’ll probably continue to lose it.” “Why can’t you work out?” He pulled his shirt over his head and leaned down to kiss my cheek. “We’ll talk all about it after I get back. I think we’re way overdue for this conversation.” He kissed me once more and then left the room. I hid in his room until they were gone. All my clothes were still in my duffel bag in the bathroom on the other side of the house, so I had nothing to wear, and I didn’t care to embarrass myself even further in front of his mother. Once the front door closed, I made my way out of his room and grabbed a pair of cotton shorts from my bag. Bentley’s house was large, and I hadn’t had the time to look around yet, so after I got dressed and brushed my teeth, I gave myself my own tour. The more I roamed, the worse I felt about it, feeling like I was somehow invading his personal space. But I couldn’t sit around and do nothing. So I decided to clean, which gave me something productive to do while allowing me the chance to explore his elaborate home. Hours later, his entire house was spotless, not one speck of dust left behind. The floors were swept, vacuumed, and mopped. The basket of clothes in his bathroom were washed, dried, and put away. I’d even taken the time to sweep the front porch. With nothing else to do, I crawled into bed for what I’d hoped to be a quick nap. But I must’ve been more tired than I thought, because when my eyes fluttered open again, it was evening and the sun was about to set. Disoriented, I pulled myself out of bed and checked the time. Where was Bentley? The sheer fabric that hung next to the French doors in his room blew gently in the breeze, catching my attention. The doors led out to a private patio that ran the width of his bedroom, only accessible from his room, or by walking around to the back of the house. I’d eaten my lunch out there earlier before cleaning it from top to bottom, clearing out the cobwebs from the corners. I thought I’d closed the doors after coming back inside, but they were wide open. I slowly crept along the wall on my tiptoes, worry pounding heavily beneath my ribcage. The house was literally in the middle of nowhere. Anyone could stumble upon it and do as they pleased without the fear of getting caught. And if I’d left the doors open, anything was possible. But once I pulled back the curtain, I found Bentley sitting along the far rail with his back against the wall, staring out into the trees. I stood silently for a moment and observed him, wanting so desperately to know what thoughts
ran through his mind as he gazed longingly out into the yard, unmoving in his spot. It wasn’t until I approached him before he took notice of my existence. His eyes were lazy as they took me in, a gentle grin teasing the corners of his mouth. “Did you sleep well?” I climbed onto the railing and leaned against the support beam in the corner, facing him. “Yeah. I guess I was more tired than I thought I was.” “Cleaning will do that to you.” My lips pulled tight and I quickly turned my head away, becoming embarrassed for some reason— probably because I didn’t want him to know I’d been snooping around his house. “Yeah, well…it needed it. You had dust bunnies, and I didn’t really have anything else to do. You get like zero cell reception out here.” His chuckle rolled through the air and settled over me, relaxing me. “I like not having cell service out here. It keeps me real. I’m not attached to my phone like most people are these days. But you said you didn’t want to go with us because you were tired, so why didn’t you just lie down and take a nap? You didn’t have to clean.” “You have to be careful, Bentley.” I glanced up and caught his gaze, admiring for a moment how the orange glow from the setting sun lit his eyes. “You are susceptible to getting sick easier than most, and living in a dusty house isn’t good for you.” “I am cautious, but that doesn’t mean I have to live in a bubble. What kind of life would it be if I had to walk around with a surgical mask on all the time, too scared to touch anything or go anywhere? What would be the point in getting a new heart if I couldn’t live at least somewhat normally?” My gaze fell away as I contemplated his question. He had a point, but that didn’t mean I’d back down so easily. “I never said you had to wear a HAZMAT suit, only that you should live in a clean house.” “And my house was clean. A few dust bunnies doesn’t constitute a messy house.” “No…it doesn’t. But the bedrooms were covered in dust. Do you ever go back there? Do you ever clean the rooms that aren’t used?” I waited through his silence, and when he didn’t respond, I worried I’d said something wrong. “Bentley, I’m sorry if cleaning your house bothered you, that wasn’t my intent. I was bored and wanted to make myself useful. I only wanted to do something to help prevent you from getting sick again.” He sighed deeply, rested his head against the wall behind him, and stared up at the porch ceiling. “Is this how the rest of my life is going to be?” “What do you mean? Being cautious and focusing on your health?” “No,” he said, his attention falling back to me. “Listening to you lecture me about dust and rooms I never use. Is this what I have to look forward to for the rest of my life?” Flutters filled my stomach and my pulse picked up speed. I ran his words through my mind, and then repeated them again, making sure there was no way I’d misunderstood him before responding. “The rest of your life? How long do you plan on keeping me here?” “I don’t know…how long do you plan to stay?” I wanted to be irritated at his inability to answer a question properly, but the uneasiness in his eyes tampered my annoyance. I didn’t think I’d ever grow accustomed to seeing such a large man, such a confident, strong person show so much insecurity. “Well, I have the week off work. I was supposed to watch Ayla for Bree and Axel while they went on their honeymoon, but things changed once I found out about you. My dad ended up taking Ayla, giving me the chance to come here. But I have work next week, and I’ll need to get back to my house.” He abruptly leaned forward, pressing his elbow into his knee. “You don’t need to work. I can take care of you. We can live out here where no one can get to us. Just you and me.” I wasn’t sure if he’d meant it, or if it was supposed to be a joke, so I didn’t know how to respond.
I decided on the truth with a hint of humor, just in case. “That doesn’t sound so appealing to me, Bentley. You may enjoy the freedom from your cell phone, but I don’t care for it too much. Not to mention, I’d never allow a man to take care of me financially.” “What about when you’re married? When you have babies? Wouldn’t you rather be at home raising them instead of having someone else take care of them for you?” It quickly became clear that he hadn’t meant it as a joke, and I felt clueless as to what I should say to him. “To be honest with you…I’m not sure I want to get married.” “But I thought you said you were wrong about love…” “I don’t have any issues with love. It’s the marriage part that I’m unsure about. I’ve always been incredibly independent, and I’ve never had any problem with taking care of myself. I don’t need a marriage license to love someone.” He leaned back again and studied his fidgety hands in his lap. “Does that bother you?” Giving me a noncommittal shrug, he said, “Sort of. I would like to get married one day. I don’t mean tomorrow or even next year, but at some point before I die, I’d like to have a wife. I’d like to have a home and be settled. Staring death in the face, believing I’d never get to experience that…it changed something in me.” “Without sounding presumptuous, if you happen to have me in mind when thinking about a future, I agree that I’d like to spend my life with someone. I want those same things—the home, someone to share my days with. But why do I have to walk down an aisle to get that?” “Just tell me, what’s your reasons for not wanting to get married?” It wasn’t anger in his hard expression. His tight lips and hard eyes were filled with hesitation, his restless hands expressed unease, and his rigid posture conveyed apprehension. “Weddings are all for show. The gown, the makeup, the hundreds of pictures that are taken. It’s why so many guests are invited. The food and cake, the decorations and cheesy song lists…it’s nothing but a big show.” “I’m talking about marriage, not the wedding.” “Okay, so you go stand in front of a judge and you’re pronounced husband and wife. For what? A piece of paper that binds you together until you go back in front of a judge and wait for someone to declare you divorced? Why go through that when you can just live with the person and be happy?” His head barely shook side to side as the tiniest of smiles held his lips. “I knew it. I called it that first night at the diner. But you denied it. You have a fear of commitment.” “I do not,” I argued back matter-of-factly. “I told you that I have no problem being with someone for the rest of my life. That’s a commitment. I don’t have to sign a government document to prove I’m committed to someone.” “Do you rent or own your house?” His question threw me for a loop. “I rent. Why?” “That figures. Mortgage is another form of commitment. Thirty years of payments that you can’t do. It’s easier to pay someone each month to live in their house instead of getting your own. Much like it’s easier to live with someone instead of making a home with that person. You can leave whenever you want. I repeat. No commitment.” I dropped my feet to the porch floor and pulled myself off the railing, ready to walk away from his attack. But before I could fully stand on both feet, he moved in front of me, locking me between his chest and the railing behind me with his arms. “I’m going to make this very clear so there’s no possible way you can misunderstand me.” His lips were so close I couldn’t take my eyes off the fullness of them, or the way they molded around his words. “I never wanted to fall for you. All I wanted was to thank you for your generosity, and then come back
home to my family. But one look into your eyes and nothing could’ve stopped me from changing my plans. I only meant to stay long enough for you to overcome your grief and learn to live the life you deserve. But at some point while doing that, you taught me to live life. I’d already come to terms with death, and even after the transplant, after each appointment with the specialists, I still refused to let hope in. Because if the new heart failed, I didn’t want to start the acceptance all over again. But then you breathed life back into me, and I fell in love with you. I knew it would end badly, I understood the consequences of it. But I couldn’t stop myself. I still can’t stop myself. I want the chance to see what we can have together, but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t scare the shit out of me. The thought of changing my plans, throwing caution to the wind like I’d done before, frightens me, because I won’t survive watching you walk away…again.” “What do you need to hear from me in order to trust that I won’t do that? That I’m not scared of commitment and that I’d stick it out, regardless of marriage? Tell me what you need to hear so I can say it and relieve your fear.” “Do you still love me?” I concentrated on his eyes, hoping he could see the truth in mine. “I never stopped.” “Are you in love with me?” “No.” I grabbed his face to prevent him from backing away from me so I could finish what I had to say. “I can’t breathe without your air, I can’t feel if it’s not your touch, and I can’t live if it’s not with you. So no, Bentley…I’m not just in love with. I’m head over heels in love with you. I’m in so deep it hurts.” I couldn’t say anything else because his mouth took mine, his tongue fighting for control as our breaths grew heavy and demanding. My back pressed hard against the railing, the wood digging into my spine. But I couldn’t feel any of that, because his hands were at my hips, gripping me painfully. My fists released their hold on his T-shirt in order to grab the bottom and remove it from his body, and then he did the same with mine. The moment I pressed my chest against his, unimaginable heat seeped through my skin and lit my insides on fire, burning the hottest in my lower stomach. He hooked his fingers in the waistband of my cotton shorts and pushed them down until they fell to the floor at my feet. Then he picked me up and set me on the edge of the railing, pressing himself between my thighs. I wrapped my legs around his waist, urgency coming from both of us in the form of rough touches, hard movements, and erratic breathing. “Please tell me you’re still on birth control,” he mumbled between kisses, his voice so deep and desperate, uncontrolled and throaty. He didn’t even wait for my answer—which was only a nod and a moan—before he reached between our bodies to free himself from his shorts. In an instant, I became completely filled with him as he thrust inside me. He stilled and locked his eyes with mine. The softness of his gaze completely contradicted the tremors in his arms, the heavy, desperate panting that brushed across my face, and the deep throbbing inside me. “I love you, Sarah,” he whispered, holding me against him with his arm around my back. He didn’t need to say the words. His eyes said it all. But the sound of his confession became music to my ears. “I love you, too, Bentley.” As soon as I had the words out, he started to move again. But instead of the intensity he’d started out with, his thrusts were long and slow, painfully slow. His gaze never fell away from mine as he continued his unhurried, torturous assault. And just as the ball of fire began to grow in my lower abdomen, his lips fell to mine—soft, unmoving—his eyes closed, and his body began to shudder against me. Witnessing him coming apart did something to me, something far greater than getting off. I held his body tighter against mine, with my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist. His skin burned every part of me he touched. I latched my lips to his and felt his breaths coming out in waves through his nose. He consumed me, filled me, owned every one of my senses, and left me higher than any orgasm I’d ever experienced in my life. Once he stopped shaking with pleasure, his head dropped to my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Sarah. I told you I’d make up for this morning, but I couldn’t hold it back. You feel so fucking good.”
“I’m fine, I promise.” He lifted his head and stared into my eyes. “Then give me five minutes and I’ll make you better than fine. I’ll have you screaming my name until your throat is sore. And then we’ll wash off in the shower where there’s a seat you’d look amazing bent over.” I wagged my eyebrows at him, instantly ready for more. “Well? What are you waiting for?”
Bentley spent an hour making sure I felt “better than fine.” He fulfilled his promise of making me scream, and then learned just how amazing I looked bent over the tiled seat in the over-sized shower. By the time we were done, we didn’t even have enough energy to put clothes back on before collapsing into bed. “You’re not gonna freak out worrying about me getting pregnant again, are you?” I asked as we lay cuddled in his bed, swarmed with blankets to keep the chill off our damp, naked bodies. “More than likely. I have to remember to pick up condoms tomorrow. Lots and lots of condoms.” I tilted my head to look at him, needing to see his face when I asked the question that had been on my mind for weeks. “Do you have something against kids? Like, do you not want them or something? I’m on birth control, yet that’s not enough for you.” “No. You’re the one with the commitment phobia, remember?” “Shut up.” I playfully slapped his arm and snickered. “I do not. I’m just trying to figure you out. We’ve never talked about this kinda stuff before. And since you brought up marriage already, I feel it’s a safe conversation to have. I mean, shouldn’t we know each other’s expectations? I told you my thoughts about marriage. I’m just curious about where you stand with having kids.” He stilled for a moment, his chest steadily rising and falling with his even and controlled breaths. “I would like kids someday. Not anytime soon, though. I’d like to get through the first year after the transplant, and then see how things are. The last thing I want to do is get you pregnant and then something happen to me. I think it’s important to secure my future on this earth first before bringing a baby into it. What about you? Are kids in your future?” His explanation increased my pulse. I thought about what it must be like for him, unsure of where he’d be in a year. The idea of my mom’s heart failing him worried me, but I refused to let it take me down. I believed in fate, more now than ever before. And I knew there was no way my mother would’ve brought us together if it wouldn’t last a lifetime. “I wouldn’t mind having kids.” “Just not getting married…” It wasn’t posed as a question, more like stating fact, and it left me saddened. “I don’t see why people should get married just because they have a kid together. So many couples do that and then end up getting divorced anyway. What’s the point in it?” “Don’t you want to have the same last name as your child?” “What does the last name have to do with anything? Bree and Ayla had different last names for years. Hell, Bree and I have always had different last names, but that never changed the fact that we are sisters. And after my mom married Wayne, her name changed—ours didn’t. I think you’re putting too much stock in the things that don’t matter. The only thing that should matter is the love between two people, not
a piece of paper, not a name.” His arm curled around my back and pulled me closer to his chest until my ear rested over his heart. “You’re right. I guess I’m just old-fashioned. But it doesn’t matter, because you’re absolutely right.” I felt like something was off, like he’d given in too easily. “Are you just saying that to appease me? To shut me up? Or do you really agree with me?” “Sarah, if you’re willing to spend your life with me, have a home with me, give me a family, then what exactly do I have to complain about? I agree with you because what you said makes sense. If I’m in love with you and want to be with you, then it shouldn’t matter if you’re my wife or not. Just as long as you’re mine…that’s all that counts.” “I’m not sure if I trust your sincerity over this, but I’m going to let it go. And you can’t fault me for my paranoia over there being a loophole I can’t figure out. You only have yourself to blame for that one.” His laughter reverberated through his chest and shook my body. I closed my eyes and allowed myself to feel freely. My entire body touched his, from my feet to my head. Every inch of bare skin met with his. Fiery tingles lit my flesh, but they didn’t burn me. They soothed me. His even breaths lulled me, and his fresh scent reassured me. I had not one ounce of concern as I thought about a future with this man, and I was instantly taken back nearly two months to the visions I had when I looked into his eyes for the first time. But then I realized that in order to have it, we actually had to work on it. It was easy when I was on vacation and could spend the week with him, but what would happen when our time would end? “Where do we go from here, Bentley? You live here, and I live six hours away. How will that ever work?” “We’ll make it work.” He sounded sleepy, but the thoughts in my head wouldn’t ease up. They kept me wide-awake, needing answers before I could rest. “That sounds great and all, but can we at least talk about it?” “Well, since you’re only renting, and I own this house, how do you feel about moving here? You could get a job at one of the salons in town since you don’t want me to provide for you.” An intense ache filled my chest, and no matter how hard I tried to swallow it down, it wouldn’t ease up. “I can’t leave my family. My dad needs me. We’ve grown really close over the last few weeks, and I can’t leave him high and dry. And I have my sisters there. And my job is really good. I can’t afford to start over somewhere else. I have standing at that salon.” He gave me nothing but silence in return. I knew he hadn’t fallen asleep because his breathing had turned stiff, struggling almost. And that’s when I realized my implications. “And you can’t move south because your family is here. I’m sure after thinking they were going to lose you forever, they wouldn’t want you to be that far away. And you have this house…” His arm tightened around me, holding me impossibly closer. “It’s okay, Sarah. We’ll figure it out. We don’t need to come up with an answer right now.” He kissed the top of my head and then released a heavy breath, proving just how tired he was. I decided to let it go and fall asleep wrapped in his warm embrace, not wanting the uncertainties to hinder my time with him. Nothing else was said the next day about our talk…or the day after that. Instead, we spent the time together living in the present. He took me around town, showed me where he grew up, and then at night, we took our time discovering each other’s bodies thoroughly. By the end of the week, he knew just what to do to make me scream his name, and I learned how to get him worked up with a single look. There wasn’t a spot in his house we hadn’t used to our advantage, including the driveway against his truck. He
was right about one thing…women do love men with big trucks. Or, at least, I do. On my last day in town, he took me to his dad’s horse-training arena, telling me all about his days as a trainer. His eyes glimmered as he spoke, and it left no doubt in me that he truly loved what he did. “Why can’t you train horses anymore?” He leaned against the wooden fence with his arms falling between the wide slats, the brim of his baseball cap shadowing his face, but I could see the sorrow in his downturned lips. “It’s too physically demanding. I mostly broke horses in, and it’s not an easy job. With my limited capacity for strenuous exercise, I can’t do it anymore.” “Why can’t you exercise?” He turned sideways to face me, his height blocking the sun from my face so I could see him clearly. “I can…and I do. But not like I used to. Without going into specifics, after the transplant, I don’t have any nerves attached to the new heart. That means it takes longer for my heart rate to react to exertion —slower to rise, slower to fall. And that can be damaging if it stays high for too long. But exercise is important, so I walk, I swim, and I ride bikes. I lift small weights, nothing too hard, but I can’t work out like I used to.” My eyes widened at the thought of him pushing it too hard and getting hurt again. “What about sex? How can you do that?” His mouth widened into a broad smile that caused his eyes to crinkle at the edges. “Oh, I think you’re fully aware how I do that, Sarah.” He laughed when I playfully shoved his shoulder and then pulled on the bill of his cap. “You don’t have anything to worry about. Sex is fine. I just can’t run or do much bodybuilding. But getting bucked off a horse is pretty much frowned upon.” “So it’ll always be like this?” He twisted his lips to the side and gazed out into the distance over my shoulder with a far-off look in his eyes, contemplating. “Doctors can’t answer that. Only time will tell. At least for a while, though, yeah. There’s a chance the nerves could grow back, but it’s not guaranteed. My doctors believe that with healthy, moderate exercise, I’ll be normal again in a few years, doing things I used to. But it’s simply a waiting game right now.” “I don’t understand how your heart can work without nerves.” “Your heart pumps on its own because of signals it gets from the brain, kinda like a natural pacemaker. The nerves increase your pulse when working out, and then calm it down during rest. Without that, I can run around and my heart rate will stay the same. Once adrenaline is released, it will increase, but it won’t slow down again until the adrenaline subsides. That’s where the danger is, because a prolonged, rapid pulse isn’t healthy. And without the nerves, I can’t feel when it’s like that.” He placed his hand over the center of my chest, staring me directly in the eyes. “You know how your chest constricts when you’re fearful or upset? Mine doesn’t do that. My heart stays at rest most of the time. And there’s no way to know if I’ll ever feel that again.” “But…” He grabbed my face with his strong, rough hands, and pulled me so close I could only see his eyes on mine. “There are no ‘buts,’ Sarah. I’m alive. That’s all that matters to me. I don’t care if I never feel my pulse pick up when you walk in a room, because all I’ll think about is how without you, I wouldn’t even be here to see you.” I nodded, accepting his response, because he was right. It didn’t matter if he’d never be able to run a marathon. At least he could watch it, which is far better than his original prognosis. I closed the small gap between our faces and briefly pressed my lips to his. “Well, I feel sad that you can’t train horses again. I can tell how much you loved it just by listening to you talk,” I said once our lips parted. His shoulders rose and then fell, as if it didn’t matter one way or another to him. “I’ll be all right.
I’m sure I’ll find something else that I’ll love just as much. There’s a whole wide world out there. I’m not worried about that.” “Yeah, but…it seems training paid well. What if you can’t make the same amount of money you did before? How will you pay for your house?” “Don’t worry about the money or the house.” “Speaking of the house…” My curiosity had gotten the best of me. I’d pushed down the question all week, but for some reason, I couldn’t stop myself from asking. “It’s a really big house, Bentley, almost too big for one person. Why would you need so much space?” He turned to lean his back against the railing, separating us from the horses grazing behind the fence. Then he tilted his head back, closing his eyes as the sun hit his face. “The property was my dad’s— and before that, it was his dad’s. For whatever reason, no one ever put a house on it and it just sat there, being handed down to son after son. So two years ago, right after my thirtieth birthday, I decided to build a house. I knew I’d never get rid of the land, other than to pass it down, but I’d never sell it, so I decided to build my dream home on it. I made sure the house was everything I ever wanted, because I planned to live there for the rest of my life. After I was diagnosed with dilated cardiomyopathy, I went to give the property back to my dad, but he said he wouldn’t take it until he had to. He felt that if he gave up and took it back, that would be losing hope, and he wasn’t going to do that. But nothing has changed, it’s still the house I plan to live in until I die—whenever that may be.” A large, burning knot formed in my stomach and the pain of it brought a light sheen of tears to my eyes. He quickly noticed and ran the tip of his finger from the corner of my eye down to my chin, silently questioning my emotion. “I feel horrible for asking you to give this all up and move for me. It was so selfish. And it worries me how we’ll work this out if we each have important things keeping us so far apart.” My chin trembled as I spoke, the words scratching my throat and leaving my mouth dry. “I’ve already told you—we’ll figure it out. Don’t worry about that.” “It’s hard not to.” “I know. You’re not a very patient person. But if you’re going to be with me, you’re gonna have to learn to be. My life is a waiting game, and we have to just sit back and see where it goes.” He glanced down at his watch and stood up straight, pushing off the fence behind him. “But in the meantime, we have to get you back. If you stay any longer, you’ll end up on the road late tonight, and I don’t want that.” I took his offered hand and walked next to him, hoping I could pull some sort of strength from his touch. I needed to just relax and listen to him, but it was so hard with all the unknowns that surrounded us. I squeezed his hand and rested my head against his bicep as we walked to his truck. Once we made it back to his house, he helped me put my duffel bag in my car and then buckled me into the driver’s seat. He leaned through the open car window and gave me a kiss. The smile on his face was comforting, but it did little to help ease my worried thoughts. I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t want to say goodbye, but I had to. I had a life back home that I needed to get back to. I needed my dad, and I’m sure he needed me, too. Plus, I had my job to return to. “I can’t say it, Bentley,” I whispered with tears in my eyes. “Then don’t. Just tell me you love me. That’s all I need to hear.” “I love you.” He smiled and kissed me once more. “I love you, too.” He pulled his face away and stood up straight next to my idling car. With a tap on the roof, he said, “Call me when you get home. I don’t care how late it is. I’ll have my cordless phone next to my bed. And hey, I’ll see you later.” I liked that…I’ll see you later. It didn’t feel so gloomy or permanent. It wasn’t goodbye. But it sure as hell felt like one.
Bentley I closed the front door behind me like I’d done so many times before, but this time seemed different. The house felt so empty, so cold. I’d never experienced this solitude in my own home before, but after a week with Sarah there, I was sure it’d never be the same again. I’d never be the same again. I tried to push down the loneliness and ignore the memories of her that surrounded me. She was everywhere. My house seemed so vacant without her in it, but I couldn’t ask her to leave her entire family behind for me after she just got them back. It was what I’d wanted of her when we first met. I wanted her to have people in her life, be with her loved ones, and now that she was, it would be selfish of me to demand she come here. I knew I’d told her that we’d figure it out and to be patient, but I had a hard time listening to my own advice. My mom would be devastated if I left, and my dad still called on me from time to time for my advice about horses. Dalton was all I knew, and I had my whole life here. Well, everything except Sarah. The longer the evening drew on, the more I ached for her. I made dinner, but even that felt different. The silence around me became suffocating, a heavy reminder of what was missing. I replayed the conversations we’d had over the last week, thinking about her lack of desire to get married. I’d conceded to her point of view, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have hope that she’d change her mind. I pondered what kind of life we would have if I moved there, giving everything up for her, only for her to never become my wife. It was a stupid thought, one that even annoyed me—there was no point in making a decision now based on a complete hypothetical—but the nagging questions wouldn’t go away. In order to fill the silence, I sat on the couch and tried to watch TV, but I couldn’t focus on anything, switching the channels without paying any attention to what was on the screen. I’d zoned out and let my mind drift through every possible scenario I could come up with as to how we could work it out without either of us losing out on anything important. But I came up empty-handed. Nothing made sense, and I had to remind myself once again that it would take patience and time. But time wasn’t a guarantee. It was a restriction, a deadline with an expiration date. Death teaches us so many things. But the most important lesson was to not wait until tomorrow to do something you can do today. Because you never know what will happen after you close your eyes for the night. The night before I was rushed to the hospital after collapsing in the training arena, my brother had invited me over for dinner with his family. I’d declined because I was tired and only wanted to veg out on the couch with a movie and a beer. I had no real reason for staying home other than I knew I’d see him the following weekend at my parents’ house, so I didn’t feel the need to get dressed and go over there. Waking up in the hospital the next day opened my eyes, and it made me see things in a different light. It made me take a step back and stop taking tomorrow for granted. But it was difficult to jump in my truck and chase Sarah down when that would mean leaving my
own life behind. And I couldn’t ask her to do the same, knowing just how much she’d be walking away from. I had no other choice but to wait to see what tomorrow held. Sarah called me just before midnight to let me know she’d made it home safely. We didn’t talk long considering how tired she was, and her call had woken me up. But no matter how hard I tried to go back to sleep after hanging up, I couldn’t. My thoughts wouldn’t slow down and my mind wouldn’t rest. I tossed and turned until the sun peeked through the trees. And with the sun came answers. I picked up the phone and dialed as fast as I could. “Hey, Mom…I have something I want to run past you.”
Sarah The cold can of Coke froze my hand as I held it to pop the tab, needing my first dose of caffeine to get me through the rest of the day. I hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before after my long and lonely drive home. After I hung up the phone with Bentley, I just lay there and stared at the ceiling, wondering how we’d ever make it work with so much distance between us. The only comforting words I had to go by were the ones he’d given to me the night we met. Take your time. We didn’t need to figure it out right then and there. I’d finally fallen asleep sometime after three, and didn’t wake up until noon. Half the day was over, but I didn’t care. Without Bentley, I had no reason to start my last day of vacation early. The first sip of the frigid soda burned my throat, and then the slamming of a car door outside the house caused me to choke on it. I set the can down, went to the front window, and peeked through the curtains to see who was there. I hadn’t changed my clothes and still had on Bentley’s T-shirt and boxers that I’d slept in. But once I saw his truck parked on the road in front of my house, I no longer cared about what I had on—I could’ve been naked and it wouldn’t have stopped me from going to him. I rushed around the couch to the front door, but once I had it open and had taken a few steps onto the porch, my feet grounded to a complete halt. I wanted to run to him, let him wrap me up in his arms, but then reality set in. Bentley had come to my house, not even a day after I’d left his. It was either a really good thing, or a really bad thing. My heart refused to become hopeful until I heard it from him. “What are you doing here?” He stood next to his truck, staring me down while keeping his emotion off his unreadable face. “You forgot a few things back at the house so I wanted to bring them back to you.” “You drove six hours to bring me things I left behind?” He shrugged, as if a six-hour drive was no big deal. “I thought you might need them.” He reached into the front pocket of his jeans and pulled out my old phone—the one I’d left behind at Luke’s house after running away from him. “It seems like a rather nice phone, and I figured you’d want it back.” “There’s no way you drove here just to give me back a phone.” “You’re right. You left a few other things behind, too.” He turned and opened the door to the back of his truck. He pulled out a large suitcase and a bag, and then locked his gaze on mine. I shook my head carefully, desperately hoping I hadn’t mistaken his intention. “You’ve got a lot of stuff there. How long are you planning to stay for?” He remained silent as he made his way to where I stood on my porch, bringing his bags with him and setting them down as soon as he came to stand a few feet in front of me. “Forever.” “Wh–what about your house? Your family?” “The house is still there, and it always will be. But I can’t take the chance of not having you. Plus,
we’ll need a place to stay when we visit my family back in Dalton. It’ll be our vacation home.” “But your family…” “I talked to them this morning, and I have their full support. They only want me to be happy, and being with you makes me happy. They only asked that we visit them at least twice a year, and let them stay with us whenever they come down.” I craned my neck around and observed the front of my house for a moment before giving him my attention again. “But I’m only renting. It doesn’t make sense to live in a rental when you own your own house.” He took another step and shrugged. “I go where you go. If we rent, if we buy, if we build…I don’t care. The only thing I care about is being with you. I’d happily live in a cardboard box if that’s where you were.” “You’re really here for good?” I asked, needing ultimate clarity. He nodded, and that’s when I finally allowed myself to give in. I closed in the space between us and jumped into his arms, holding him as close as I could. It felt like a dream, but the way his arms held me up convinced me that it wasn’t. Nothing felt as good as being in his arms with his lips on mine. A hungry growl rumbled in his chest, and it broke through the haze in my head. I realized we were standing in my front yard, in the middle of the day, and I barely had any clothes on. I pulled away from his hold and picked up the smaller bag, leading him inside. He set the suitcase down in the living room and then sat on the couch. I stood back a few steps and observed him there, in my house. It’d been so long since he’d been there, and it almost didn’t seem real, so I cautiously moved to the coffee table and sat on the edge, facing him. “Have you fully thought about what this means? Because I won’t lie, Bentley, if you wake up a week from now, a month from now, and realize your move was irrational and you leave me, I won’t survive that.” “I know exactly what I’m doing.” I needed to be certain, ask every question that came to me to make sure he wouldn’t change his mind down the road. “What about a job? What do you plan to do? And how are we going to work this living arrangement? You stay with me in my house and keep yours available for if things don’t work out?” His Adam’s apple bobbed dramatically around his harsh swallow. “I would like to have a house with you. I don’t want the division of mine and yours. I want ours. But I also don’t want you to feel like I’m trying to support you. I’ve actually thought about this a lot on my way here, and this is what I’ve come up with. You can have total control over where we live. If you want to stay in this house, or even find another rental, I’m okay with it, just as long as I’m on the lease, too. I want to know that you’re committed. If you want to buy or even build a house, I want my name on the papers, as well. I’ll let you pick the place and price. If fifty-fifty is what you want, then I’ll pay half the payments. If you want something bigger, something a little more out of your price range, I’ll cover the difference as long as you’re comfortable with it. Hell, I’d pay for the whole damn thing if you’d let me. But I’m willing to give you the control.” “What about a job? What do you plan to do for a living?” “I made a few calls this morning, and I’ve already got the ball rolling on a project. I’m investing in a new start-up business. It’ll be more of a partnership, but it’s here, local, so I will be able to be a part of it from the ground up.” My eyes grew wide, pride filling my chest at his determination. He’d spent so long not knowing what he wanted to do with his life after walking away from what he loved, so to hear him talk about starting up something new, it sent my heart soaring. “What is it? Tell me about it.” With a large, genuine smile on his face that lit his eyes, he said, “It’s furniture. But I know it’ll do well because it’s not just any furniture you can find in every store. It’s handmade and painted, one-of-a-
kind furniture.” My skin pricked and my fingertips became cold as realization hit me. “What business is this, Bentley?” “I called Bree this morning and woke her up. She didn’t seem too happy about it, but once I explained my proposition, she got over it. I will take care of the start-up costs and get her a place to make her furniture. I’ll cover the costs of materials, and then once we have enough to start with, we’ll find a storefront for her to sell her pieces. She no longer has to haul her stuff back and forth to the flea market, and she can stop wasting time fixing old, broken things. She can start from scratch and make anything she wants.” “So you’ve already worked this all out with her? But why?” “Luke has a few things of hers at his place—one was that corner piece in the room I stayed in— and I’ve always really liked them. Her talent impresses me. I know we could be successful, and I know she deserves the chance to do this. I have the money, and she has the talent. It’s win-win as far as I’m concerned. Not to mention, it allows me to be here with you.” “You really want to be with me that much, you’d make such drastic changes literally overnight?” He lifted one shoulder in a shrug and said, “Living without you is like living without the sun. Without the moon. You’re the light in my days, the calm in my nights…you’re the stars in my sky, Sarah. I can’t live without you.” I practically leaped off the coffee table and climbed into his lap, straddling his hips and wrapping my arms around his neck. My lips met his, and then the heat of his tongue filled my mouth. But before things grew too heavy and desperate, I pulled away enough to press my forehead against his. “Marry me,” I whispered. His fingers flexed around my hips, uncertainty filling his ragged breaths. His hesitation worried me, but then he said, “What?” And it forced me to stay strong. “Marry me.” He moved his hands to my face and pushed me away just enough to look me in my eyes. “I thought you didn’t want to get married? What changed your mind?” The apprehension in his voice was clear, but I understood it. Just like I had worried about his move being impulsive, I knew he had the same concerns over my request. I settled into his lap, pressing my palms against his chest, and took a deep breath. “At Clarissa’s wedding, my mom had a tad bit too much champagne, and we ended up having a heart to heart. She told me that she couldn’t wait for my wedding day, and how much she looked forward to seeing me walk down the aisle. At first, I was a little confused, because I wasn’t even dating anyone. But she explained that between Clari and me, she knew the man I chose to marry would be the perfect person. Not that she didn’t think Joel was right for my sister, but because my sister was so eager to get married, she probably would’ve said yes to anyone who had asked her. And she knew I wasn’t like that. She said she knew that when I finally found someone to share my life with, he would be my sun, my moon, and my stars, the same way my real dad was for her.” I started to get choked up at the memory of her words—the same words Bentley had just said to me. But I pushed the emotion down enough to finish what I had to say. “She had saved her wedding dress for me to wear when I finally decided to get married. Except, she’d never see it on me. When Bree was picking out her dress, she had asked my dad if she could wear my mom’s, because she wanted to have a piece of her there. My dad had asked me, and by that point in time, I didn’t care because I had already decided against love. But she wasn’t able to wear it. When they pulled it from storage, the dress had been ruined. I guess it hadn’t been stored properly. The lace was falling apart, the material had yellowed, and it had tiny holes throughout the entire dress like a moth had gotten to it. It reaffirmed to me that I’d never get married.
“But you made me remember something just now. You made me remember my mom’s slurred words from my sister’s wedding. She knew me better than anyone, and she had complete faith in me that the man I’d choose to marry would be my sun, my moon, and my stars. I already know you’re my fate. And I want to spend the rest of my life with you, creating a lifetime of ours. I want to be Mrs. Bentley Cole. So…marry me.” He leaned forward and pulled my face to his at the same time, joining our lips in a rushed, heated kiss. I felt him stirring beneath me, and it caused my pulse to drop and fall between my legs, burning and throbbing with need. “Is that a yes?” I asked, feeling breathless and frantic, full of hope. “I don’t recall you asking me a question. So I have nothing to answer. And if you think I’m going to give you one, you have another thing coming. I will be the one to ask you. And then you will be the one to answer.” “Oh, yeah? And when will that be.” “You’ll just have to wait to find out.” His lips connected to mine once more as he pushed himself off the couch and carried me with him to my bedroom where he fell onto the mattress, trapping me beneath his body. Bentley had been right from the very beginning. He’d told me to take my time, let go, and fall. And I did. I flew with the wings of a robin.
Bentley “Are you sure this is what you want? It’s not too late. We can turn around and do this the right way.” We sat in my truck in the parking lot of an attorney’s office in town. Her deep-brown eyes lit up as they found mine, and her smile grew wider on her pink lips. “I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life. My sisters will be there, my dad will be there, and I’ll have my mom with me. I’m good.” She tugged on the blue sweater that she wore wrapped around her, despite the heat outside. It had been her mom’s, so I didn’t question it. She needed a piece of her mother with her, and I understood that. But she had no idea about the ring that sat in my pocket, waiting for her finger. Wayne had given it to me, and promised to keep it a secret. A quick tap on my window forced my attention away from her face and the thoughts of her ring. When I noticed my parents standing outside the truck, I turned the ignition off and got out. My dad shook my hand and my mom pulled me into a hug, preventing me from walking around to open Sarah’s door. But she climbed out on her own and met us on the other side of the truck. My mom took one look at her and her eyes immediately misted over. “Aren’t you hot in this?” she asked after pulling out of their hug. “A little, but I don’t mind. It’s everything I need all wrapped up in one.” My mom quirked an eyebrow at her, the same as I’d done when Sarah had explained it to me. But I simply smiled and waited for her to go through it all over again with my mom. “Well, it’s blue…so there’s that. It was my mom’s so it’s old—she technically never gave it to me since it was one of the things I’d taken from her closet after she passed away, so it’s borrowed.” “What about something new?” My mom’s glistening eyes made me sigh. I knew that look, and it might not end well. I felt certain we’d be late to our appointment due to blubbering women in the parking lot. But that was okay, because I knew they both needed it. “It’s new to me…kinda.” My mom grazed Sarah’s cheek with her fingertip and smiled. “Well, I have something new for you…if you want it.” “Oh, you didn’t have to do that. You’ve already done so much.” “Please, Sarah.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a small black box, and then placed it in Sarah’s hands. “You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to, but I wanted you to have it.” I watched in fascination as Sarah slowly opened the lid to the velvet box. She immediately gasped and covered her lips with the tips of her fingers, her eyes shining bright with unshed tears. “I want you to know that we love you, Sarah. In the short amount of time you’ve been in our lives, you’ve become a daughter to us, and an invaluable piece in our lives.” “I love you, too.” Sarah wrapped her arms around my mom and held her tight, and then whispered
something into her ear. I couldn’t hear what she said, but the way my mom’s eyes squeezed shut, releasing her tears, I knew it was something meaningful. My mom pulled away and nodded, wiping Sarah’s face. “Thank you, Mom,” Sarah said, and I have to admit, hearing that caused my eyes to burn, threatening my own tears to surface. But they didn’t, and I stood next to my dad, admiring the moment the two most important women in my life shared. My mom then took the box and removed the thin chain. I still had no idea what it was until after she had it clasped around Sarah’s neck. The bright sun reflected off the tiny diamonds that surrounded one heart. Wound through it was another heart, only made of gold. They both sat together on Sarah’s chest, and it felt so perfect it rendered us all speechless. After an emotional hug between both my parents and Sarah, I quickly grabbed Sarah’s hand and headed inside before we all became too emotional to continue our plans. Sarah and I had recently purchased a house together, and had asked her family to meet us at the lawyer’s office for the closing. They had no idea that they were about to witness us getting married. But I had to tell my parents the truth because they wouldn’t have made the trip if it were only to congratulate us on buying a home. Once we made it to the front of the small brick building, we found Wayne, Bree, Axel, Clarissa, and Joel waiting for us just inside the door. Luke stood alone at the other end of the waiting room, away from Sarah’s family. He hadn’t wanted to come, but once I told him what it was for, he gave in and reluctantly agreed. “You must really be excited about buying a house if you’ve invited the entire family to celebrate.” Clarissa hugged Sarah, her eyes narrowing as if suspecting something. “We actually just closed on it. We came straight here after signing the papers and getting our keys.” Sarah’s eyes shone with pride, excitement, and love. “Then what are we doing here?” “We came to see the notary of the public.” “Why?” Her dad’s hopeful tone revealed his suspicions. Sarah glanced up at me, our hands held tightly between us, and she smiled. It eased something I felt inside, something I hadn’t even realized was there until that moment. After I’d officially proposed to her almost two months ago—the day after I came back to her—she wanted to keep it a secret. She explained that she didn’t want a wedding, and I agreed with her, both of us wanting to keep it intimate and personal. But somewhere along the line, apprehension set in at the thought of her changing her mind, knowing if she kept it quiet, no one would be the wiser. But standing here, moments away from making it official, my nerves finally calmed. Realization hit everyone at once, and it became a struggle to calm down the excitement enough for us to do what we had come for. We were literally moments away from our forever, and impatience pumped through me. I would’ve made her my wife the minute she asked me to marry her, but I knew I’d only have one chance to do it the right way. So I waited until the next day, asked Wayne for his blessing, and then went to work on my proposal while Sarah was at the salon. When she came home, she found me in our bedroom on one knee. I didn’t have the ring, wanting to wait until she officially became mine before giving it to her, but she didn’t seem to care that my hands were empty. She fell into me, crying as she kissed me, whispering, “yes” between every kiss. I would’ve married her right then and there, but she wanted to wait until we had everything in order. She wanted to buy a house, and said I needed to focus on getting this business with Bree set up first. I only agreed because she was naked when making that suggestion. I would’ve said yes to anything at that point.
We barely heard the receptionist call for us over the excitement. Instantly, we all calmed down and followed her back to a small room, everyone squeezing in shoulder to shoulder as we filled the tiny space. The notary seemed shocked to see us all there, but she didn’t object. Instead, she smiled and proceeded with the short and to-the-point ceremony. When it was time to exchange the rings, she pulled mine from her sweater pocket and pushed it over my knuckle. It was the first time I’d seen it, but I didn’t have to ask what it stood for. Three small diamonds were embedded into the black metal, symbolizing an ellipsis. It stole the breath from my lungs as I held her gaze captive with mine. “There will be times we find ourselves drifting, trailing off, getting lost in our heads. But during those times…just look to the ring I’ve placed on your finger, the ring that symbolizes my promise to you, and remember why we’re here.” I knew it wasn’t time to kiss her yet, but I couldn’t help myself. I grabbed her face and pressed my lips to hers, causing the room to light up in laughter. Once I realized that I’d interrupted our vows, I pulled away and reached into my pocket for her ring. It had been Robin’s from her first marriage, from Sarah’s biological father. Wayne had held onto it, knowing one of the girls would want it at some point. I hadn’t even allowed him to finish offering before I accepted it, knowing the meaning behind it all. The stone was small, and although I would’ve liked to have given her something larger, I knew there was no ring more perfect for Sarah than this one. It had nothing to do with the size, and everything to do with the meaning. Her mother brought us together. And now, in more ways than one. I didn’t have to say anything as I pushed the ring—along with a gold band—onto her finger. Her tears said everything. The sniffles in the room echoed it. And the love that filled me solidified it. Our journey had started long before we met. But here we stood, on the steps of our forever. Broken, wounded…healed because of each other.
More Than Anything Coming Summer 2016
Prologue Watching my cousin marry the love of his life was…supposed to be good. I mean, shouldn’t you be happy for your loved ones, especially on such a monumental day? And I was. I was genuinely happy for him, and his new bride. But you would’ve never been able to tell by the way I’d cowered in the corner, or by the permanent frown that had been etched on my face. That had nothing to do with Bentley or Sarah—I’m glad they had found each other. They truly deserve every bit of happiness they can get. My somber mood, however, had been dedicated to the bride’s sister. The one with the permanent grin etched on her face from ear to ear as she stood there with her husband’s arms wrapped around her waist. It sickened me. It sickened me because that should’ve been me with my arms around her. Her hand in mine. My lips on hers. Clarissa should’ve been mine. But she wasn’t. And she never would be again. The bartender set a shot glass in front of me carefully to keep the amber liquid from spilling over the edge, breaking me from my thoughts of earlier today. They knew me here—I frequented Dixie a lot. But this time, instead of ordering my usual Jim Beam, I’d asked for Wild Turkey. Eyebrows rose with that one. But I needed something to quickly do the job. I promised myself one drink, and then I’d go home and wallow in my own self-pity…the same pity that enveloped me every time I saw Clari. And that seemed to be more and more often ever since my cousin fell in love with her sister. I stared at the shot glass, twirled it on the bar top, and thought about her. The one who’d gotten away. The one who’d ripped my heart out—multiple times. The one who’d loved me, then broke me. But just as I tilted the glass, ready to choke down my pity and feel it burn all the way to my gut, something caught my eye. Black hair. That’s all it was. A woman sitting at the end of the bar with short, pin straight black hair. It reminded me of someone I once knew. Someone I once cared for a lot. Loved, even. But it couldn’t have been her. She’d moved away fourteen years ago and never returned. I could honestly say she had been the very first girl to break my heart. Clarissa had been the last. I choked down the shot. Thinking of Terryn made memories flood me as the harsh bourbon lit my insides on fire. I thought back to more than twenty years ago when I’d seen her for the first time. She’d transferred schools because her parents had passed away, and she moved to town to live with her grandmother. She’d walked into my class and sat next to me. I didn’t know it at the time, but she’d become my best friend for the next ten years. I thought back to middle school when Robbie Jenkins had called her fat. He’d made her cry, and no one got away with that. I’d punched him in the mouth, and then got suspended for a week. Terryn had come over to my house every day after school and hung out with me until dinnertime when her grandmother would come pick her up. In high school, I’d spent all four years dating her best friend. Well, not all four years. We’d break up as often as most people changed underwear. But whether I’d been with her friend or not, Terr and I
were inseparable. You’d either find me with her, or me with her and her friend. Another shot glass was set in front of my eyes. Even though I told myself I’d only have one, I couldn’t turn it away. If I thought having Clarissa on my mind was worthy of a shot of strong bourbon, having Terryn on my mind was worthy of an entire liter. I hadn’t thought about her in years, probably because the outcome was always the same. I’d remember the good times, the times when she was my best friend and I’d do anything for her. But my memories always ended with the same one. Terryn Castillo was never meant for our small town. For the first eight years of her life, she’d lived in New York. But after her parents’ tragic death, she’d been shipped to the country, and she had never truly fit in. That never changed no matter how long she lived there. And after high school, she had big dreams to move away. She wanted to be on TV—more accurately, on the news as an anchorwoman. I couldn’t wait to tell everyone that the woman on the television screen was my best friend. But then everything had changed the night before she left. I’d thrown her a big going away party, full of all my friends. She’d had friends, too, but most of them were mine that had accepted her because she was always around. The party had been meant for her to let loose—because she rarely did—but it ended up with her driving me back to her grandma’s house to sober up. I knew she thought I’d had so much to drink because her friend had broken up with me again, but that couldn’t have been further from the truth. I’d had so much to drink because I had a horrible feeling in my gut that she’d leave and never come back…and I’d lose my best friend. As the bourbon lit my insides on fire, I thought back to that night, letting the memory take me away. I thought about the way her hand felt in mine as she led me to her room. The way time stood still when she had come back to her room after changing into a T-shirt, ready for bed. The way the air became stifling when my hands came down to her waist—a waist I’d touched plenty of times throughout the years, but never like this. I thought back to how her steely eyes had lit up like a flashlight just as my head lowered enough to press my lips to hers. The gasp that came from her. The way her hands ran up my chest and then locked behind my neck. I thought back to how it felt to have her beneath me on her bed, and not in the usual fun way we’d done so many times before. Instead of tickling her until she cried from laughing, I’d carefully roamed her bare skin with my fingertips until her breaths were short and erratic. Instead of laughter, there were moans and soft whimpers. I thought back to how her legs had widened, allowing me to settle between them moments before she gave herself to me. How she’d given me the one thing she’d never offered anyone before. I thought back to the winces of pain as I broke through her barrier, and how I’d kissed away every crease next to her eyes. The way she had stared up at me with her slate-colored orbs. The way her fingernails dug into my shoulders as her body acclimated to me and to the pain I knew she’d been in. But the memories that held the power to tear me down and suffocate me, where the ones after that. When we held each other in the darkness of her room. The words she’d uttered just before falling asleep… “Tell me to stay.” In that moment, I knew I was just one whisper away from altering her entire life. More than anything, I’d wanted to tell her to stay. I’d wanted to tell her that and more. I didn’t just want her to stay… I wanted her to stay with me. I’d always known she was important to me, but that had been the moment I realized just how much. And as my lips fell to the soft skin of her shoulder, just before telling her how much I didn’t want her to leave, I thought about how selfish that would be. I couldn’t do that to her. So…I didn’t. I held onto the hope that she’d come back to me. “You can’t stay, Terr,” I’d whispered against her warm skin, and felt her body deflate. But I’d wrapped my arms around her tighter, and then fell asleep with dreams of our future, of her coming home
after college and us picking up right where we’d left off. I’d never forget waking up alone in her bed with my keys on her nightstand. No note. Nothing. The bags she’d packed were not next to the door where they’d been the night before. And I knew…I just knew she was gone. I glanced back to the end of the bar. It couldn’t have been her. Terryn’s hair was always super long. This woman wore hers short, meeting her jawline. My best friend had been on the pudgy side, but from the looks of it, this look-alike was thin. There was no way that after all these years, Terryn had come back. But then her eyes met mine. And the color of steel shone bright. Looking back on this moment in future, I wouldn’t remember the song playing through the speakers, the amount of people around me, or the way my feet shuffled along the wooden floor as I made my way to her. The only thing I’d remember was the way she said my name… “Luke.” Like a desperate plea, a fulfilled hope, a dream come true. I wouldn’t remember leaving the bar, but I’d remember the warmth of her hand in mine as I led her to my bike. I wouldn’t remember getting back to my house, but I’d remember the intense pounding in my chest as we stumbled to my room. It wouldn’t be the taste of liquor on her tongue that would come back to me, but the warmth of her lips on mine. No matter how hard I tried to lock every piece of that moment into my head, I knew the only things that would remain would be the feel of her skin beneath my hands, the heat of her breath on my neck, and how being inside her felt more right than anything else in the world. But then I woke up. She was gone, and on my bedside table sat my keys. A lot had happened over the last fourteen years, but as I lay in bed, staring at a scene from my past, I couldn’t remember any of it. All I could think of was how I’d been transported back in time, and forced to relive the nightmare all over again. I’d been forced to lose my best friend all over again.
Leddy’s Notes Anyone who knows me, knows I do NOT like country music. Not one bit. But my friend Stacy (in her plight to convert me to the twang) made me listen to Sam Hunt. I will admit, I like him. And the day I finished writing Falling to Pieces, I got in my car and turned on my music. Sam Hunt came on. And Take Your Time was born. It hit me so hard I went home and immediately began working on the prologue. I have to say, I think Bentley is one of my most favorite male leads I’ve ever written, and I have a feeling his cousin, Luke, will follow in his footsteps. It seems the Fate and Circumstances series won’t leave me alone. Needless to say, thanks to Sarah Nickles, I now like Brantley Gilbert, and I’m not too thrilled about the amount of country songs on my playlist. I feel the need to overcompensate with alternative music. Please pray for me. If I own a pair of cowboy boots before this series is over, call the men in white coats.
Hey you!!! Sarah…I love you to the once-upon-a-time planet Pluto and back an infinite number of times. Thank you for being my friend, and letting me use you and parts of you for this story. You’ll forever live in these pages. I’d be lost without you! My family. I say it every single day, but I’ll say it here, too. Thank you. Thank you for making dinner when I’m too focused on a scene. Thank you for getting up early on a day off because I stayed up too late writing. Thank you for interrupting my writing and making me watch Breaking Bad. Thank you. I love you, all of you. We all have our heroes, and mine have always been my grandparents. I now have one hero in heaven, but the other is still here and supports me with her encouragement and pride. Thank you, Mimi. Hearing your thoughts on my books mean the world to me! Julie, Clarissa, and Kimmi…you three have become a support system I’d crumble without. You may not always know it, but your friendship means the world to me. Shari, I know you’ll never read this, but thank you for listening and helping me through the rough spots. I love your face. Amanda—my BIFFLE—you’ve always been there for me every step of the way, even though you’re not big into this book stuff, and I love you even more for that. Josie! I sing your praises from the mountaintops, well…those don’t exist in Florida, but you know what I mean. You rock! Best editor EVER! (the capitalization was needed there…italics just wouldn’t do.) Neda. Where do I start with you? Oh, I know... “You’re always right.” I adore you and can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done for me! Marlo... You truly are one of the most important people in the world to me. You are my sanity when I’m crazy, my laughter when I’m sad, and the voice of reason when I’m dangling off a cliff. It doesn’t matter that we are separated by land, water, and time…you are closer to me than I think you’ll ever know. I love you, Lobs. Kirsten, my country Bumpus. I owe you a bottle of fireball! It’s about time for that road trip! xo, Leddy Bear. Leigh Ann. You may want to beat the defiance out of me until your hands are tingly and I’m numb, but you’re still a whore. All I have to say is, #GFY. (You, too, Stephie!) But honestly, thank you so much for your help!!! I value you more than you know! Crystal, I’m succeeding in turning you into a reader, and I love every second of it! I love your enthusiasm and your support. I love you, Best Friend! Amy Davis—I love your feedback and willingness to help me at a moment’s notice. You are the best! Thank you so much! Lauren. All I have to say is “Thank God for the post office!” Seriously, who finds their #POS at the friggin’ post office?? We do! Thank you for all your help! To the Lovelies, thank you for all the fun in the group! And for your encouragement when I’ve needed it. Danielle and Doreen, you’re creative ways to make me write are…interesting LOL! “Don’t make me tag Sarah”! You guys rock! It seems my list gets longer and longer with each book. And I think that is the sweetest part of this entire journey. Just knowing I have all these people and more to count on when I need it during the grueling writing process is so humbling and exciting. Thank you all! Bloggers, readers, writers, people of the world! Thank you for giving me a chance. Whether you
loved it or hated it, thank you for picking up my book! It really means everything to me! I know I’ve probably forgotten a few…it seems to be my thing. But just know, that doesn’t mean I don’t love you or value you. It simply means I’m losing my mind. Then again, I hear voices in my head, so I think I’ve lost my mind years ago.
More from Leddy Harper Home No More Benevolent My Biggest Mistake Falling to Pieces Power of a Woman (erotic Mafia romance with Gina Whitney) Contact Leddy at: Facebook Twitter Website Email
