The Guy on the Left

by Stewart, Kate

  “I would appreciate that.”

  Minutes later, I’m sifting through my notes on my phone when Brett pulls up to my house, stopping at the curb. I turn to him.

  “Clarissa, I would hate myself if I didn’t at least try—”

  I shake my head, cutting him off. “Brett, I’m sorry. I just want to focus on getting my license and on Dante right now. I’m nowhere near ready for anything else.”

  “Okay, but I hoped,” he leans over, giving me a chaste kiss, and I let him but the truth of the matter is, I’ll never want for another man’s kiss the way I do Troy’s. I’m irrevocably in love with him. Something I realized far too late.

  “I swore there was something there.”

  “There was, I just…I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, me too.” He nods toward the porch. “Looks like I’m not the only one who’s sorry.”

  I look over, my heart sinking when I see Troy sitting there with a clear view into the car. Unfastening my seat belt, I glance over at Brett, “You kissed me knowing he was watching?”

  Brett shrugs. “Am I supposed to feel guilty? I’m pretty sure he stepped over the same line when we dated.”

  “You don’t know anything about him. About us. That was a dick move.”

  He shrugs. “Made me feel better.”

  “Way to make me not regret my decision, asshole.”

  “I have a feeling you’ll be doing that on your own,” he spouts smugly before straightening in his seat.

  “Do me a favor and lose my number.”

  I slam his car door, and Brett takes off. Walking toward Troy, I spot a Honda I don’t recognize in my driveway. Confused, I approach the porch where Troy sits flipping keys in his hand.

  “Are you going to introduce him to Dante?”

  “It’s not like that. And the answer is no. He’s an asshole, and when I’m done with a man, I’m done.”

  “You don’t say? Not the impression I just got.”

  “Have you been drinking?”

  “Yes, I’m a college senior. Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do?”

  He’s drunk. Or very close to it. “I want to talk to you, I do, but I don’t think we should have this conversation tonight.”

  “If you think he’s a good guy, I guess, introduce him. Fuck,” he says, standing and holding out the keys.

  “Troy,” I sigh. “That man will never meet our son. And what’s this?”

  “Your new SUV,” he says, clicking the FOB. “I sold my truck.”

  “You what?”

  “It’s paid for. The title is in your glove compartment.”

  “You sold your truck?”

  He shrugs. “You needed something reliable.”

  “But you loved that truck.”

  “Theo got me a good deal,” he says, ignoring my protest. “There was a mix up at the dealership, and it was supposed to be delivered yesterday, but it was dropped off tonight.”

  I hold the keys out to him. “Just another thing to add to your paper trail, huh? No, thanks. I don’t want it.”

  “Clarissa, I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, me too. You’ll never know how much, but I’m not about to give you another reason to—”

  His hand shoots out gripping mine before pressing the keys into it. “You will take it. Your SUV is shot.”

  “I’m not giving you more ammunition against me.”

  “I didn’t mean it,” he says hoarsely. “You know I didn’t. I would never hurt you that way. I was pissed…just…please take it. I don’t want you driving around in that piece of shit anymore. Trust me, it’s more for me than for you.”

  Tears fill my eyes. “I don’t know which move damns me with you.”

  “Take it,” he says, shoving his hands in his jeans. “It would be a weight off my shoulders.”

  “Okay…t-thank you.” The wind kicks up, and his scent hits me. It’s comforting, while at the same time tearing me apart.

  “It’s used. I’ll get you something better when I sign a contract.”

  “I don’t want your fucking money,” I sniff, batting a tear away.

  “Trust me,” he says in a cool tone. “I know.”

  “Damn it, Troy. What I did, it was never about you, it was about me and my peace of mind. About my own ability to support myself and our son, no matter what relationship I’m in.”

  “Let’s not do this,” he says. “Let’s just not.”

  “Fine.” I look him over, the ache to touch him unbearable as he stands looking gorgeous in a thin blue V-neck and dark jeans.

  “What about you?”

  “I’m fine. I’ll find something.”

  “Good to hear, but that’s not what I was asking.”

  He toes the loose board on my porch. “I got my letter today. An official invite to the draft.”

  “That’s incredible,” I sniff, the sight of him so close and so distant my undoing. I miss him in a way I never imagined possible. Every day is a struggle. Even with his threats, I can’t bring myself to stay angry at him.

  “So, I threw a little party at the house.”

  “Well,” I swallow. “You have every reason to celebrate.”

  “Do I?”

  “Of course, it’s all you’ve been working for.”

  “I must look so fucking pathetic to you.”

  I shake my head. “Not at all. It wasn’t that long ago I was doing the same thing. You’re just trying to have a good time, get the most out of your year.”

  “And what a year it’s been.” He looks over at me, his eyes glistening. “A banner fucking year for Troy Jenner.”

  “Parker said she heard a commotion a while ago. Did something happen?”

  “Yeah, what always happens. I fucked up.”

  “How?”

  “I thought I saw something in someone else, just for once, I thought, maybe if I could convince her I wasn’t the man you see…” I feel the stab of his admission everywhere.

  Her. There’s a her.

  “I wanted it to happen because it would mean I could stop thinking about you for five goddamn minutes.”

  “Troy, I can’t hear this. Okay? I can’t. I took the keys. I will never keep you from your son. I don’t ever want him to be without you. I’ve given you what you’ve asked for, but I can’t hear this.”

  “I watched him kiss you,” he grits out. “There’s a whole lot I can handle, but that’s not it.”

  “What you saw was a lie. I did not kiss him back—”

  “Do you hate me?” He asks, his eyes shining with regret.

  “Do you hate me?” I rasp out, unable to keep the tears from falling.

  He shakes his head, fisting his eyes. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And I seem to be the worst thing that’s ever happened to you.”

  “I don’t think that way at all.”

  His voice is distant, he’s not hearing me. Every part of me is helplessly flailing with the knowledge I pushed him away to the point he’s entertaining the idea of other women.

  “I keep coming back here because this is where I want to be. I don’t want to be anywhere else. But I’m not the man for you.”

  “You’re the only man for me,” I sniffle again, ducking my head to catch his gaze. “You are the only man for me. I’m in love with you, Troy. I love you.”

  His eyes search mine for endless seconds, and for the first time since our conversation started, I feel his need to believe me. My hopes fall away when his blue gaze drops to the porch between us.

  “I tell you I hit on another woman, and you tell me you love me.” He shakes his head, his eyes incredulous. “Can’t you see how fucked up we are?”

  “Messy. That’s what we are, but messy together makes us perfect. You said that. I guess you forgot that part.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  He rakes a hand through his hair as I study him. I’ve never seen him so distraught.

  “Troy, what happened tonight?”


  “I did what I always do, I screwed things up by thinking I could mean more.”

  “You mean a lot to plenty of people, including your son and me.”

  He brings watery eyes to mine. “Hope so.”

  “Please, you’re scaring the hell out of me. Tell me what—”

  “I have to leave,” he says, his voice cracking as he wipes at his eyes furiously with the back of his hand. “I’m going to have to b-break a promise to Dante. I’m supposed to take him fishing tomorrow, but I have shit to figure out.”

  “What do you mean, leave?”

  “I’ve been kicked out.”

  “Theo kicked you out?”

  He nods. “I deserved it. Trust me.”

  “What did you do?”

  “It was his girlfriend.”

  “What?”

  “I hit on his girlfriend.” He shakes his head. “It was a misunderstanding, but no one will believe that. He sure as hell didn’t. To him, it’s just me being me, right? It should come as no surprise to anyone that this entitled jock tried to take what didn’t belong to him. Just Troy being Troy.”

  “That’s not who you are at all.”

  His eyes snap to mine. “You’re the only one who’s seen me, in years. You’re the only one who’s seen me, and you”—tears glide down his face—“you still couldn’t believe me. You’re the one person in the fucking world I needed to believe me.”

  “Tell me what to say.” My heart is chipping away piece by piece, and I’m helpless to stop it. “Tell me what to say, what to do.”

  He swallows. “I can’t do this anymore with you,” another tear glides down his cheek. “I can’t be here anymore. Just…don’t let my son think I left him. Promise me. I’ll apologize to him myself when I can do it without feeling like this.” He buries his face in his hands, his chest pumping with his silent cries. I’m ashes standing next to him, the unbearable ache to pull him into me making it impossible to breathe. “I just need to get myself t-together,” he cries hoarsely, his body shuddering. “I’m trying, Clarissa. I’m trying so f-f-fucking hard.”

  “I know you are. Troy, I know,” unable to take another second, I move to embrace him, and he jerks his head, staring down at me with red-rimmed eyes.

  “I love you so fucking much it hurts,” he says softly, “but that’s all it seems to do to me. You keep breaking my heart.” And that’s when my own heart stops. He grabs my hand, pulling my palm flat to his chest. “I would’ve given it all up for you. Everything, ball, everything, if you would have just given me all of you.”

  Openly crying, we stare at the other, our hearts raw. I’ve never in my life loathed myself so much. It’s agony, the sight of him so openly broken, my doing and undoing.

  “I hate myself for letting you down. I hate the mess I’ve made. Please don’t go. Stay here with us. We can fix this.” I cling to him, feeling him slip away by the second. Just as he tears himself from my grasp, lifting accusing eyes to mine.

  “You know, it was Kevin’s needle,” he says, anger lacing his words as my jaw goes slack. “Apparently, he was experimenting and decided not to make a habit of it. Don’t worry, we had a fist to mouth conversation about it tonight after Theo made sure everyone at that party knew what a piece of shit I am.” He lets out a self-deprecating chuckle before his face turns solemn. “I don’t know if I can forgive him.” He drops his head. “Jesus, I feel like I’ve lost everyone.”

  “You haven’t, Troy, please don’t go. Stay. We can fix this.” Clutching my chest, I try to breathe through the pain.

  “I can’t,” he drops his stare to the ground as he speaks. “And I can’t have anything real with anyone else until I get over you. And I can’t do that if I see you every damned day.”

  “Troy, please hear me, I love you, I trust you. I’m so sorry I was so selfish, so fucking blind. Please don’t go. I’ll do anything.”

  The shake of his head says it all. It’s too late.

  “I can’t. I’m sorry, I can’t. I need to step back, okay?”

  I nod as tears slide down my cheeks. “If that’s what you really want.”

  “I’m exhausted. I’m so fucking exhausted.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and makes his way down the steps as a white Taurus pulls up. Halfway to the car, he turns back to me, his eyes pleading. “Just don’t let him think less of me, okay? I will get it together, Clarissa, I swear. I will.”

  “I know you will.”

  “Please just tell him I’m coming back. Promise me you’ll tell him I’m coming back.”

  “I promise,” I manage to get out before he climbs into the back of the car, and the driver pulls away. Just inside the door, I collapse into Parker’s waiting arms.

  Alta’s Chicken Enchiladas

  Cheerleader, Texas

  Makes 10 servings

  1 hour and 30 minutes

  6–8 Chicken Breasts **Time saver—use 2 cooked rotisserie chickens

  10 Flour Tortillas

  1 Medium Onion – Chopped

  12 Oz. Grated Cheddar Cheese

  4 Cans Cream of Chicken Soup

  4 Oz. Can Chopped Green Chilies

  1/2 Cup Water

  Boil chicken for about 45 minutes after water starts to boil.

  Remove meat and cut into bite size pieces.

  Heat soup, green chilies, and water in saucepan.

  *TIP-Spread a large spoonful of soup mixture into the bottom of the pan to keep the enchiladas from sticking.

  Place chicken, onion, cheese, and a spoonful of sauce in a tortilla and roll up. Put rolled up tortilla in baking dish. Repeat until the desired number of enchiladas are made.

  Pour remaining sauce over enchiladas. Sprinkle any remaining cheese over top.

  Bake at 350 degrees for 20-25 minutes.

  These are very good served with sour cream and a dash of hot sauce.

  Clarissa

  The next morning, I made an excuse for Troy at breakfast and Dante sulked for the rest of the day and through the night. It’s only been a few days, the house eerily empty despite the racket Dante makes, but I know it’s the ache I’m battling inside.

  I lost him.

  I’ve lost him and ruined any chance of the future we’d been dreaming up together. Parker had to leave early this morning for a short trip, and I only managed to go through the motions, every movement a chore, while trying to remind myself to breathe. I broke my own heart because of my inability to trust what I knew to be the truth. My biggest mistake is that I wanted concrete answers, conviction. But love is not concrete, it’s fragile, unforgivingly so. I wanted to love Troy without the risk, but in the end, I realized the only way I could have proved my love was by taking one.

  And I failed.

  I’m a coward.

  A fucking fool.

  I self-sabotaged because of my issues.

  Dante knows something’s amiss. Every morning when I exit my bedroom, I do my best to put on a brave face, assuring him Troy will be back soon. Days are bearable due to my workload, but the nights are too much to take. All I do is replay every second of our time together, of what we had—every kiss, every look, every touch, every word. His smile, his laugh, the way he loved me, doted on me. The way he fathered his son with the utmost care. The things he noticed that I didn’t.

  Every night after putting Dante down, I gaze over at Troy’s empty bedroom, thinking of how much time I wasted with my hesitance.

  I spoon more green beans on Dante’s plate, and he pushes it away.

  “I don’t need anymore.”

  “Okay, then brownies?”

  “No. I’m full. I don’t want to eat my feelings.”

  “What? Where did you learn that?”

  “I’m not supposed to tell.”

  Parker.

  Instantly, I’m on alert. When she’s down, sometimes she’s way down. Have I missed something? She seemed fine when she called to check on me.

  “Did you hear someone having an adult conversation?”r />
  “No.”

  “Don’t lie to me, son.”

  “I’m not! I’m not supposed to tell!”

  He walks into his bathroom in an attempt to evade me, and I follow as he grabs his toothbrush.

  “Dante. I want you to tell me where you heard that.”

  “It’s a secret.”

  “Dante,” I warn.

  “He’ll be mad at me.”

  “Who?”

  “Troy.”

  “Dante, tell me this instant.”

  “Fine,” he squeezes paste on his brush and shoves it in his mouth.

  “Wheb Trub was little, his dabydy…”

  “Son,” I warn, taking the toothbrush out of his hands.

  He huffs, spitting out a mouthful of paste. “When Troy was little, his daddy left him all alone with his mommy, and he ate his feelings and got really fat. All the boys in school were mean to him, ‘cause he was a weirdo.”

  “What?” It’s like a punch to the stomach.

  “But it’s okay, Mommy, because he started running real, real, fast.”

  “Really fast,” I correct with my heart beating in my throat.

  “He ran until he wasn’t fat, but he was still a weirdo.” Dante points to his chest. “Inside. Like me. Then he found us, so he’s sticking to us.”

  I turn away and grab a hand towel, trying to gather myself together. “He said that?” I hand him his toothbrush back.

  “He said he knows we’re the only ones that know he’s Bruce Wayne.”

  Not Batman, or badass, or any other part of the persona that he’s been fighting against that’s genuinely not him. And it doesn’t matter how many times he tells the world otherwise, or what actions he takes, because of the way he looks, because of his ability to carry a football, he’s placed on a pedestal. A pedestal, he can’t stand.

  It’s all I can do to keep from crumpling as his spitting image turns to me.

  “Can I pick a story now?”

  The next morning, I pour Dante’s cereal at a loss for another excuse when my phone lights up with Troy’s name. It’s like a knife to the chest.

  I slide to answer my heartbeat in my throat. “Hey.”