MVP

by Rachel Van Dyken

  Like she was the one who’d organized it in the first place?

  She grabbed a pot, opened the fridge and then gripped the handle to the fridge and moved back until she braced herself against the granite counter.

  “What?” I tried to sound innocent.

  She blinked and then shook her head. “I know this fridge.”

  “It’s a popular fridge.” I shrugged then moved toward the bar and pulled out a stool. “It’s been on TV, trust me, everyone knows this fridge.”

  “No, no not like that.” She pointed. “I know where everything is.”

  “Because I'm a neat freak,” I lied. Of course she did. Damn it. Why couldn’t she just leave it alone? Why couldn’t she just leave? And why didn’t I have the heart to kick her out?

  Probably because seeing her in my apartment, in my place, where I’d been with her for months, made me feel like coming home for the first time since we’d lost the baby.

  I squeezed my eyes shut while she jabbered on and on about all the places I kept my vegetables, only to pull out a few things, grab a cutting board, again without hesitation, and a knife.

  I relaxed when she started chopping.

  And then nearly swallowed my tongue when she pointed the same sharp ass knife at my face and said, “Did we know each other before my accident?”

  I grit my teeth and hissed out, “Yes.”

  “Did we…” She gulped and then her cheeks flushed bright red. “Did we…”

  I grinned and stood, towering over her. “Did we… what?”

  “Um…” She waved the knife in front of us and then pointed toward the hall. “Did we… date?”

  “Hmmm, can’t say we ever labeled it like that.”

  Her eyes widened. “Was I a one-night stand?”

  “Never.” I shook my head vehemently. “You’re not that kinda girl…”

  “But we did…” Her eyes searched mine.

  I licked my lips and leaned over. Only part of the granite countertop separated our bodies as I tilted my head and whispered, “We did.”

  She sucked in a breath.

  “Often.”

  “How often?”

  “Often enough that I know you have a birthmark on the inside of your right thigh just below your ass cheek.” I smiled. “It’s ticklish.”

  The knife clattered to the floor. I rounded the kitchen island and stalked toward her as she moved toward the stove.

  Then I cornered her, a hand on each side of her. “And you’re loud, really loud. Your grandma almost caught us once.”

  “Oh how great… for us.” She gulped. “So, what happened?”

  I hesitated.

  She blinked up at me, lips parted, eyes wild like she wanted me to pounce, like she needed it more than anything in this world.

  “What do you think happened?” I countered.

  “Did you break my heart?” She lowered her head, clasping her hands together like it was already true.

  “No,” I said softly. “You broke mine.”

  7

  Harley

  My hands were shaking at his words.

  I broke his?

  Impossible.

  Who left… that?

  I turned, locking eyes with him. He was so tense I could see his jaw harden with each second that ticked on in silence.

  “I don’t believe you,” I whispered.

  His lips twitched and then he was picking up the knife off the floor, rinsing it off and handing it back to me. “Believe it.”

  “Is that why you hate me?”

  His body tensed even more. “I don’t hate you. I could never hate you.”

  “What happened?” I set the knife back down and crossed my arms. I figured I’d probably slice a finger if I tried to multi-task at that point.

  Body rigid, he hung his head and swore. “Thanks for the hamburger, but I should probably get to bed.”

  “You go to bed at eight?” I countered.

  His lips twitched. “That's my polite way of kicking you out.”

  “Because I’m making you talk about your feelings?” I was grasping at straws, but what else was I supposed to do? The guy refused to explain anything. Tears stung the backs of my eyes. Would it always be like this? Living in the present with shadows of my past haunting me? “How else are we supposed to be friends if I don't know what happened?”

  “Friends.” He said the word like he hated it. He scowled and then pressed his lips together like he wanted to reject the word altogether. “I don’t think that’s ever going to happen, Har.”

  “That!” I pointed. “Right there.”

  He tilted his head and crossed his arms. “What?”

  “You don’t just give someone a nickname when it’s casual sex or even just dating for a few weeks, right?”

  He looked away, jaw tight. “You really should go.”

  “What did I call you?” I took a step toward him, knowing he’d probably retreat but for some reason needing comfort even though I knew that was probably the opposite of what was on his mind. “Did I have a nickname for you?”

  He licked his full lips. “You mean other than perfect?”

  “Hilarious.”

  “You used to pause the game on my ass and send me screenshots, but you never called me anything other than my name.” His eyes looked so sad as they searched mine like he was willing my body to remember something but at the same time hoping it wouldn’t.

  My cheeks heated. I reached out to touch him but stopped when he flinched away. “I was wondering…”

  “What?” he croaked.

  “If I could… maybe since you were part of my past…” I chewed my lower lip. Well here goes! “If I could touch you, just for a few minutes, maybe it will help spark some memories of us?”

  His eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “You’re full of shit, right?”

  “No.” I got closer. “What if it helps?”

  “Exactly.” He snarled out the word. “What if it helps and you remember how much you really do hate me. I’ll make it easy for you,” His teeth clenched as he balled his hands into fists and towered over me. “You told me you never wanted to see me again, you said you hated me, you screamed at me.” My body shook as it took each blow.

  I almost didn’t trust my voice. “What were we fighting over?”

  “Does it matter?” He hissed, bracing my shoulders. “You have a life now, you’re awake, stop thinking of the past and live in the present.”

  I wanted to slap him. “Something tells me I’m not the only one living in the past.”

  His lips parted.

  “What? Nothing to say?” I reached out to touch his chest, not really sure why except it felt right.

  He squeezed his eyes shut, the heat from his skin was almost burning my fingertips as I ran them down his muscular arms, and then finally gripped his hands in mine, both of them, fingers interlacing.

  He tried to pull away.

  But I knew he didn’t want to. Because he was huge, and if he didn’t want me to be touching him, it wouldn’t be hard for him to jerk away and hide behind a potted plant.

  “You feel so warm.” I leaned closer.

  He met me halfway.

  And then his hands were in my hair, my waist, his mouth pressing hungry kisses across mine as he lifted me onto the kitchen counter and deepened the kiss like he’d been waiting for years to touch me, maybe his whole life.

  I clawed at his shirt and returned the kiss with equal fervor, and all the while the back of my head pulsed like a headache was coming.

  He jerked away and did a small circle covering his face with his hands. “You need to go. Now.”

  “But—”

  “Now!” he roared, eyes wild. “I mean it, Harley. This will never happen, not again, you think I’m being cruel and you don’t even realize, this is the nicest thing I could possibly do for you. The kindest. The best. This is me loving you like I always will — from far away.”

  “You love—”

 
“Go. Now.” His voice cracked as he turned on his heel and walked down the hall. I heard a door slam.

  My eyes filled with tears as I looked around his beautiful lonely kitchen, and then like my legs had a mind of their own, I walked to one of the cupboards, opened it, and pulled out a bag of candy.

  As if I’d put it there.

  Frowning, I grabbed a mini Snickers and then shoved the candy back.

  Except behind the candy was a Polaroid taped to the wall.

  Of me and Jax.

  Kissing.

  While I showed the camera my diamond ring.

  8

  Jax

  I wasn’t sure what was worse.

  The front door slamming, reminding me of the last time she’d done it, the last time she’d shattered my heart into a billion tiny unrecognizable pieces, or the sound of her soft sobs as she did it.

  Was that it, then?

  History had nothing better to do with my life than fucking circle around and give me another broken heart? What? It didn’t do a bang-up job the first time?

  “What the hell do you want from me?” I yelled at the ceiling then buried my face into my hands as I sat on my bed.

  Alone.

  As I reached for her old pillow, squeezed it between my fingertips and the faint fragrance of her Prada perfume fill the air.

  It wasn’t fair.

  Wasn’t this the part of the story where something magical happened? The universe sent someone to make it all right? Or maybe you got a re-do and you were told that you could take one road and live happily ever after?

  I wanted that road.

  Hell, I’d been on that road.

  I was living my happily ever after until the universe ripped us both from the story, cursing the rest of my life.

  I threw the pillow against the wall and lay back against the mattress. Time passed, I wasn’t sure how much, maybe an hour, maybe two.

  I couldn’t sleep.

  And part of me was afraid that if I did, I’d forget what it had been like to taste her again, to feel her body against mine, to dig my hands into her hair to give those same pieces of hair a tug and moan into her mouth.

  My eyes burned with tears I refused to shed, not because I was trying to be tough but because I was so fucking afraid that if I broke — there would be nothing left.

  Just an empty shell.

  A heart that refused to work.

  And a mind that couldn’t focus on anything, not even football.

  The door to my apartment opened again.

  The hell?

  I shot up to my feet in time to see Harley tentatively walk into the master, like she’d done a million times before when she had lived with me.

  It was too familiar.

  It was cruel.

  I hated everyone.

  Everything.

  It wasn’t fair.

  “Please.” My voice cracked. “Go.”

  “Where is it?” Her eyes were crazed. “I just went back to Grandma’s. I looked through everything, I can’t find it, I need to find it!”

  “Harley?” I took a step toward her. “What’s wrong?”

  Tears spilled over onto her cheeks, she quickly swept them away and gave me a terrified look. “I woke up feeling naked, you know that? Like I was missing something, like my body was empty but more than that, it was deeper than that, even my hands didn't feel the same and I couldn’t figure out how hands could feel different. I mean how does a person’s hands just change after a coma?”

  My gut twisted. “Harley you aren’t making sense.”

  She stomped toward me and shoved at my chest. “I’m not making sense? We were engaged! Unless that was just a celebratory picture where you were congratulating me on a new boyfriend I must have been cheating on you with! What the hell!”

  I missed her spark.

  I missed that terrifying feeling in my chest when she raised her voice, when her anger was directed at me,

  I missed the feeling because I knew I was the only one in the universe who could make it okay.

  She’d said so.

  All the time.

  My throat clogged. I had nothing to say that she didn’t already know. “How’d you find out?”

  “I was hungry,” she grumbled, crossing her arms as more tears spilled. She seemed angry that she was wasting them, the tears, and I wondered in that moment if it was because she somehow knew deep down inside that she’d spilled too many over us and that it was my turn to pay up. “I remembered a bag of candy.” She put up her hand. “Don't ask me how I knew, I just knew that you had a stash. I reached for it, and behind the candy was a Polaroid of us kissing and me with my engagement ring.”

  “Right.” That was all I had? Right?

  Her eyebrows shot up. “Anything more you want to add to this conversation?”

  “Not really. No.” I gave her my back and plopped back onto the mattress at just about the time she started jerking open my drawers and tossing my clothes out onto the floor like she was searching for drugs.

  “Harley!”

  “What?” A shirt went flying by my face followed by boxers. “I’m looking for my ring!”

  “Why? So you can pawn it?” I roared, jumping to my feet again.

  She froze.

  I immediately regretted the words, but that was the thing. Once they’re said, once the person hears them, they can’t really be taken back. Nor can the impact they have on the person you meant to hurt.

  “I didn't mean that,” I said softly. “Why do you need the ring?”

  Her shoulders slumped, and then she collapsed to the floor in a heap of sobs, wrapping her arms around her legs, ducking her head as if she was trying to protect herself.

  I reached down and pulled her to her feet, then into my arms. She didn’t protest, only proceeded to cry against my shirt harder as I carried her over to the bed. Knives pricked my chest with each step, damn it, damn it, damn it.

  I laid her down and then sat down next to her. “Are you going to be okay?”

  “Do I look okay!” She threw her arms out, her hair went flying, her cheeks were red and puffy, and her eyes were bloodshot.

  I’d never seen anyone so beautiful in my entire life.

  I cupped her cheeks, brushing away her tears with my thumbs, wishing I could taste the saltiness and kiss them away like she deserved. “Maybe not right now, but you will be, eventually. You need time.”

  “No, I need you to be honest with me.”

  “Maybe I'm too selfish for that.” I lay down next to her, my eyes facing the ceiling as I put my hands behind my head and let out a sigh. “Maybe I’d rather have you close and feel your hate, then have you far and not feel anything at all.”

  “That's the saddest thing I’ve ever heard,” she whispered.

  “Life is sad.” I swallowed my tears again.

  She didn’t say anything for a few minutes.

  Frowning I looked down at her in time to see her mouth part open as she snuggled against me and put her hand on my chest like she used to.

  Just like old times.

  Fantastic.

  And yet I couldn’t bring myself to yell at her or kick her out.

  So, I stayed there, in a Hell of my own making, and rubbed her face sending her into a deeper sleep all the while wondering how the hell I would ever live without her.

  When I knew keeping her would be the cruelest thing I would ever do.

  9

  Harley

  I didn’t want to wake up.

  I wanted to close my eyes and imagine a world where I was still in this man’s arms, where I didn't have a brain injury, where I didn’t feel that loss and emptiness in my soul every single time I stared at myself in the mirror.

  I felt like someone had given me a puzzle with only half the picture and pieces that all looked the same.

  Nothing fit.

  Except one thing.

  I fit.

  I fit in his arms.

  Like God had created this sp
ace right next to his body — where I was meant to lay.

  My eyes were still closed.

  He shifted next to me.

  I was suddenly hyperaware of my hands. I had one tucked under my head. The other was on top of ab number three.

  I really liked the feeling of his hard body beneath my palm, the steady breathing and rise and fall as he inhaled, exhaled. I liked the peacefulness of being next to him.

  My left leg was thrown over the lower half of his body. If I moved a bit closer, I would be fully straddling the guy.

  Butterflies erupted in my stomach as realization kicked in. I had been engaged — not just dating, but engaged to this guy.

  This huge massive man.

  A guy who had been on the cover of People.

  America’s quarterback.

  He was the next Tom Brady.

  And he’d proven it over and over again.

  Holy shit! I’d slept with him!

  Hadn’t I?

  Had we been naked?

  In this bed?

  My body buzzed with awareness as I fought to gather at least one memory of these pillows, of the white duvet I was lying across. But I had nothing except blank space.

  I sighed in frustration.

  “How long have you been awake?” he rasped, voice all sexy and full of sleep and promises of multiple orgasms via his tongue.

  Damn it!

  Why couldn’t I at least remember the good parts?

  “Yeah…” I answered, and before chickening out blurted, “Did we have sex in this bed?”

  He was quiet.

  And then he gradually moved to a sitting position. My hand fell away from his body as I watched him slowly shake his head and then turn to me, eyes so intense I couldn’t look away. “We rarely made it that far.”

  I felt my own eyes widen. That was his answer? We never made it that far? “Because…” I licked my dry lips. “Because, we were…” I didn’t finish my sentence.

  His grin was devastating. “Because I’m not patient, and every time it came to you—” He tugged at my shirt, fisting it in his hand like he was going to rip it to shreds.

  Dear God, please Edward Scissorhands my shirt and throw me against the mattress like a UFC champ.

  “Oh.” I waited for him to make the first move.

  Instead, he swore, released my shirt and stood, running his hands through his hair like he was frustrated with me. “I should get ready for practice.”