Before & After You

by Michelle Chamberland

  I clear my throat and divert my attention. “Did you like being in the military?” I ask.

  “I did,” he answers, and a thought occurs to me. He said his mother gave him his grandfather’s ring during his first tour. His first tour.

  “How many tours did you do?” I ask him.

  “Two.” He takes a deep breath and releases it. “I did two tours.”

  The darkness that briefly settles over his features quickly forces me to steer away from that topic. “So, why Seattle? How did you end up here?” I still want to reach over and smooth the crease from his brow, but he offers a shrug and a slight smirk, completely wiping away the darkness of a moment ago.

  “I made some friends in the army who grew up here, and we started a band together. But there’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” he says, and the intensity of his stare sends a warmth spreading through my cheeks. I try my best to ignore the way it keeps spreading, traveling lower.

  He leads me into a game room next and flips the light switch on. I take in the dark pool table at the center of the room, a few classic arcade games resting against the back wall, and a leather couch positioned in front of a big screen tv and a couple different gaming consoles.

  “Charlee would go absolutely nuts in here,” I comment.

  “Then bring her sometime,” he suggests with a smile, and I can’t help but smile back. It’s getting harder and harder to keep my distance.

  I follow him out of the room, and we trail our steps back down his hallway. My eyes sweep over the back of him without restraint.

  Tanned neck, muscles shifting beneath his dark shirt, black jeans hugging his backside. His bare feet on his tiled floor make me feel at completely at home, and holy hell, but I’d really like to have my way with him now. This man is perfection. Every piece of him, inside and out, is absolute perfection, and I ache to run my hands over every inch of that perfection.

  The temperature in his house spikes a few extra degrees, or ten. It certainly feels that way, anyway.

  He looks back at me, catching me mid-ogle, practically drooling all over myself, and his lips tilt into a crooked smile. My heart can hardly take it.

  We head back out towards the foyer and up a flight of stairs, into a bedroom that takes up the entire upper floor.

  I keep waiting for the questions to come. The questions. But they never do. And then it hits me, with the weight of a thousand intentions, that this is his bedroom we’re now standing in.

  His bedroom.

  Nerves settle in, breeding butterflies in my stomach.

  It’s a dark room, overlooking his yard and that amazing view. An oversized bed rests against the main wall, facing the windows, and…

  I can’t help but wonder how often it gets used.

  Have you seen the man, Jess? It probably gets used often—very often. I swallow down my thoughts, my irrational jealousy, and a handful of other things while I’m at it. Like the intense need to erase those memories of his with some new ones of our own.

  I’m not left to contemplate these things for long, though, as he makes the reason for being in here embarrassingly clear by guiding me through a door I hadn’t noticed until now and into what looks like a recording studio.

  “Wow,” I say, looking around the small room. “This is rad.” I don’t know much about recording studios, but this one looks pretty damn legit. Instruments and microphones sit behind a windowed wall, and a hundred different flips and switches on a soundboard rest in front of it, in the half of the room we’re standing in.

  “It’s my favorite room in this house,” he comments with a smile. That crooked smile of his that never ceases to take my breath away. The smile I so desperately would like to kiss right now. I’ve fought the urge to do it all night, and it’s a battle I’m fully ready to lose at this moment.

  Soon, I silently admonish myself.

  Talk. We need to talk first; we have to talk first.

  Get it together, Jess.

  “I bet.” I take in a deep inhale of air, willing my feelings to settle, and spin around on the balls of my feet, but my eyes land on a single photo that quickly steals the breath right back from my lungs. Not a single one of them remains.

  Because…holy shit.

  I swallow thickly, pushing against my tears that surge forward, threatening to fall. Forcing half-breaths in and out of my mouth.

  He kept the picture.

  He kept it.

  And it’s hanging right there, on his studio wall. Blown-up, and framed, and resting in a spot you couldn’t miss from anywhere in this room, and holy shit.

  I stare at my sixteen-year-old self, sitting on a swing, entirely consumed, as relief curls itself around my heart and cradles it with hope.

  Emotion lodges itself in my throat.

  And my tears, they just want to fall, and fall, and fall.

  Sixty-three After

  I FORCE ANOTHER shaky breath in and out of my lungs before turning back around to face Greyson, meeting his gaze. His eyes sink into mine, and they shine with the same emotions I’m feeling, and I can’t help it.

  I walk straight into his arms.

  He wraps them around me with zero hesitation, and I let out an audible sigh of relief at the same exact moment that he does. And this. This is exactly where I belong. Where I’ve always belonged.

  Somehow, a sixteen-year-old version of me knew it before I ever could’ve comprehended what the weight of that meant. Like my soul saw his and took its first breath in centuries.

  Like it whispered hello, and his whispered back I’ve missed you, and then they sat back in contentment, willing to wait until we came to the same conclusion:

  You are mine. You are mine; you are mine; you are mine. You have always been mine, and you will always be mine.

  Greyson’s arms envelop me, his scent permeating the air around me, and I breathe it in. Let it settle into my bones. The familiar smell of mint and chocolate and Greyson—mixed in with a feeling of home I want to linger inside of forever.

  And right now, in this moment, I think I could.

  One breath against his chest turns into four, and four turn into a hundred, and I’m still wrapped up in his arms. I don’t want him to let me go. Not now, not ever.

  But he deserves his answers. He deserves an explanation for the decisions I made all those years ago.

  I start to step away, but his arms tighten around me, and a smile breaks free on my lips, slipping past the myriad of emotions I’m feeling: Fear, uncertainty, contentment, peace.

  A hundred, a thousand, a million others.

  I look up at him, my chin resting against his chest, and his eyes meet mine, locking them in place.

  “I am so sorry, Greyson,” I finally say the words that have weighed on me for so long. They come out a lot softer than I intended them to, though—a quiet, broken admission. A world of regrets and what ifs laced carefully through them.

  But he shakes his head. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” he says, and a tear unwittingly slips free, sliding down my cheek. He wipes it away with his thumb, curving his hand over my shoulder and sliding it down my back. He holds me against him as he continues, “I’ve had a lot of time to think things over, and I—I think I’ve always trusted that you had your reasons. That they were important to you...

  “I think I just need to hear them,” he says, his brow creasing as if he’s still mulling over his own thoughts, “From your lips. This one time, so we can move forward.”

  I nod, swallowing thickly. I did have my reasons. And they were incredibly important to me. I had things to prove to myself, a world of hurt to recover from, and a past to prove wrong. And I think I knew, on some level, that I had to do these things on my own before I ever could’ve given someone like Greyson the love that he deserved.

  It’s something I know with absolute surety now.

  But still…I never should’ve— “I never should’ve left you like that.” I shake my head against his chest, somehow managing to h
old the rest of my tears at bay. “But I was afraid,” I whisper. “I was so fucking afraid that I would give up everything for you, and it would be for nothing. That something would change for you, and you wouldn’t be waiting to come back to me anymore.

  “Because I would’ve done that. I would’ve given up so much—too much, maybe—to wait for you, if I’d known you would come back.”

  I don’t realize I’m staring down at my feet, chin trembling, until Greyson lifts my face in his hands, forcing my gaze back to his. I blink back my tears, and the look in his eyes tells me he’d like to end this conversation right here and pull me into him and crush me against his chest. And I want that, I do, but I force myself to continue anyway, because he needs to hear these words, and I need to say them more than I ever thought possible.

  “I wanted that, Greyson. More than anything,” I continue, swallowing thickly. “You have to believe that I did. I just didn’t think there was any way in hell it would actually happen,” I say, shaking my head. “At the time, I was sure it wouldn’t, so…I left.

  “I ran away, because I thought…” I almost choke on my words, on the sob building in my throat. I take a deep breath and push past the shakiness in my chest—in my heart, in my voice. “I thought you’d leave first. And it felt like—for once…like I was in control. That life couldn’t screw me over and push me down its own path like it always did, because I had made the choice to walk away.” The shakiness in my chest intensifies, my heart thundering. I rub my hand against it, willing them to settle.

  He takes a deep breath and releases it, closing his eyes. It’s a few breaths, a few heartbeats, before he opens them again, his gaze meeting mine. “I’m not going to pretend that it didn’t hurt—that it didn’t fucking hurt like hell—but I understand, Jess. I do. I get it.” His gaze bores into mine. “I was afraid, too…

  “But my fears became my reality.”

  “I know,” I say, barely audible. I press my face into his chest, and the rainstorm of tears finally fight their way free, falling down my face one by one. “You have to know how truly sorry I am.”

  His hands slide up my back and into my hair; he rests his chin down on the top of my head. “I know, Jess. I do,” he says, followed by a deep and quiet sigh. My head rises and falls with the movement, a few more tears sliding down my cheeks.

  I didn’t think this would make me so emotional. Or maybe I did. Maybe that’s why I kept running from this very conversation. But now that I’ve found myself in the middle of it, now that I’ve finally spilled the words from my lips, I feel a hundred pounds lighter. Even with the unknown still sitting before me.

  “You’re here now. That’s all that really matters to me,” Greyson says, slicing into my awareness, and if I wasn’t already crying, I think I would completely break down with the relief that washes through me. “We have now,” he continues, his voice vibrating in his chest, humming against my cheek, and I press myself closer to him. “This moment—you and me—and what I hope is a lot more time spent together to make up for the years we lost. That’s all I want, Jess,” he finishes quietly.

  His fingers gently tug at my hair, forcing me to look up at him. His green eyes swim before me. “God, I’ve missed you,” he breathes, brushing the streaks of my tears away with the back of his hand.

  “I missed you, too. So much,” I whisper, and then I lift up onto my toes and press my mouth to his.

  Our lips slowly move together, soft and hard all at once, and the ache in my chest smooths away and shifts into something else entirely.

  And this kiss. It doesn’t care about expectations, or disappointments, or mistakes. It doesn’t care about regrets, or the past, or eight years lost. It only cares about the fact that I’ve loved this man for a lifetime, and that I plan on showing him exactly how much I’ve missed him—missed this—

  —missed us—with anything else but words.

  Sixty-four Before

  “LIKE THIS,” I said, stroking the brush outward in short, curved flicks against the canvas. I pulled my hand away from Greyson’s and watched him finish the tip of the wave on his own.

  Someone knocked on my door, and Greyson practically pushed me out of his lap. I glared at him, amused, as my dad walked into my bedroom.

  “Jessica, Greyson,” my dad greeted with a smile. He loved Greyson. They all did. Elizabeth, and especially the twins. One dinner was all it took to bridge the gap between our past and the present, and Greyson, somehow, had kind of been like the unofficial starting point. The safe buffer we needed to start fresh and get to know each other.

  “This came in the mail for you,” he continued, setting an envelope down on my dresser. “Elizabeth and I are heading out. But we’ll bring dinner home in a few hours. Are you staying for dinner, Greyson?”

  “You bet.” He smiled, and my dad laughed.

  “Alright, see you two in a few. Behave yourselves.” He motioned with two fingers, pointing them between Greyson’s eyes and his in that silent I’m watching you gesture. I rolled my eyes.

  “And Greyson?” he added.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “I sure hope you’re not planning on following Jessica into a career of painting. That canvas looks like a sad, smashed blueberry pie.”

  “It’s the beach,” Greyson laughed.

  “Tomato, tom-ah-toh.”

  I snorted. “What?” That shit didn’t even make sense. And I finally understood what all that Dad Joke business was about after these last few weeks. My dad thought he was hilarious. Unfortunately for me, I was starting to see where I’d gotten my personality from. Or fortunately, maybe.

  “Don’t listen to him, you’re doing awesome,” I told Greyson.

  “Love is blind,” Dad quipped. “And on that note, I’ll see you kids later,” he said as he walked out the door.

  “He’s a mean one,” Greyson said with a smile and turned back to his painting. “Blueberry pie.” He chuckled.

  I swiped the envelope off my dresser and opened it, pulling out the letter folded inside.

  Congratulations, it read, and the rest of the words were completely lost on me. Except for: $10,000 scholarship.

  No fucking way. I read the whole thing again, hands shaking. “No fucking way.”

  “What?” Greyson turned to face me.

  “I won. I won!” I shouted.

  “Won what?” He smiled in confusion.

  I laid it all out for him, telling him about my pictures, and Ms. Greenburg, and the form she’d had me fill out, and the contest, and that somehow, somehow—by some miracle—I’d actually freaking won it.

  “What?!” He stood up, eyes wide and as excited as mine, and walked towards me.

  I matched his quick pace and jumped up into his arms as we collided. “Holy shit! I won!”

  “Holy shit,” he reiterated.

  “Holy shit,” the words came out on a breath as I looked over at my wall of photos. It was surreal, that moment where I realized my pictures were actually good. Not just to me, but to somebody else in this world who mattered.

  I never, not in a million years, would’ve thought they were worthy of something like this. But there I was, holding that letter in my arms as Greyson held me in his. And, holy shit.

  “You deserve it,” he said quietly, forcing my eyes back to his.

  “Thank you,” I whispered, and I got lost in his gaze like I had a thousand times. I swallowed thickly as his eyes bore into mine.

  And just like that, our excitement shifted into something else. Something that threw a fire into our eyes and coiled deep down inside of me. Our breaths matched, heavy and fast.

  I looked down at his mouth, and he looked down at mine as he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth.

  And that was it; I couldn’t take it anymore. I closed the distance between us faster than I could count to one, had my mouth on his before I could’ve ever have gotten to two.

  My hands quickly caught up to the speed of my lips and slid around his neck, desperatel
y pulling him closer to me even though I was already in his arms.

  It didn’t matter. There was no way I could ever get close enough. But also…this was so much more than enough—his arms around me, his lips sliding over mine, tongue teasing, teeth biting.

  I lost myself in that kiss, in Greyson, before he pulled away, breathing hard. I could see it in his eyes then, how this time was wholly different from all of the others. More intense, consuming. Entirely unstoppable.

  I think he could see it in my eyes, too. He sucked in a deep breath before walking us over to my bed and laying me down, climbing on top of me and settling his body in between my legs.

  I could hardly breathe. My entire body hummed with awareness. Hands tingling, heart soaring. I’d never felt this way—so alive, so aware of the way my body cried out for someone else’s. For his.

  And then his lips sunk down and slowly pressed back into mine, heightening the buzz that traveled through me. He kissed me. He kissed me, and he kissed me, and he kissed me, shifting between light brushes of his mouth over mine and deep, lingering kisses that ignited a fire deep down in my soul.

  And then somewhere along the way, our kisses went from soft, and slow, and exploring, to frenzied and impatient. Hurried and demanding—almost desperate. From zero to sixty, and neither one of us were interested in finding the brakes. We weren’t going to stop until we crashed together and burned.

  He ground himself into me, and I pushed back against him, kissing him harder, pulling his hair between my fingers.

  His hands were under my shirt, fingers gripping my waist. I slid my hands up to his elbows and, together, we slowly moved his palms up—higher—until I could move into his touch.

  He groaned into my mouth, and I gasped into his, and we swallowed each other’s sounds as our clothes hit the floor. One by one, piece by piece.

  His finger was tucked beneath the waistband of my underwear as he sat back on his heels, out of breath. It was the most beautiful sound. His breaths echoing in the quiet space around us. Knowing I’d done that to him. Knowing I’d affected him that way.