Just Friends (Blue Beech)

by Charity Ferrell

  I haven’t gone through her phone since. It only makes me sick to my stomach, thinking about her talking to him.

  “Hello?” I hurriedly answer.

  “Hey,” she says on the other line.

  I jump out of bed the moment I hear her sobs through the phone.

  “I’m outside your dorm. Can I come in?” she asks.

  I don’t stay at my dorm much because I fucking hate it. I like my personal space. I only have class a few days a week and normally commute back and forth from my apartment in Blue Beech, but lately—maybe because it’s my worry over Carolina—I’ve been sleeping here the past two weeks. She’s changed—ditching me, dodging my calls, even Margie said she doesn’t come home some nights. Margie called last weekend and said she left with a suitcase, and no one heard from her all weekend.

  “I’m coming,” I rush out, pulling on a pair of shorts, not bothering with a shirt or shoes.

  I run down the hallway and stairs. I throw open the door and find her standing outside in the rain.

  Fuck!

  She runs into my arms, and I wrap them around her while walking her inside. She’s soaked and shaking as she cries in my arms in the lobby.

  “What’s going on?” I ask, trembling in anger and fear. “What the fuck happened? Did someone hurt you?”

  She buries her face in my neck. “Not here,” she whispers in my ear.

  I hoist her up, and she wraps her legs around my waist while I take us upstairs. I left my door unlocked, so I walk in and set her down on my bed, keeping the light off.

  “Lina babe, what’s going on?” I ask, a knot in my throat. Every muscle in my body is tense. “Did someone hurt you?”

  “Yes,” she answers in a whisper.

  “What?” The knot thickens.

  “It’s not like that,” she says, sensing my anger. “No one … hurt me, hurt me.” She covers her face with her hands. “This is embarrassing.”

  “I can take embarrassing.” I reach up and move the hands from her face, running my finger along her jaw, wiping away drops of rain and tears. “Tell me.”

  She sniffles, looking away from me. “You have to promise not to judge me … or get mad.”

  “Lina, you know I’ll never judge you for shit. I’ll have your back, no matter what.”

  She inhales a deep breath and then breaks my fucking heart.

  I clench my fist, wishing I could break a motherfucker’s neck.

  7

  Carolina

  Six Months Later

  “I need chocolate chip cookies, babe, and I need them stat,” Rex shouts, bursting through the front door of my loft. “Mmm … I smell them. Perfect timing.”

  My gaze moves from the TV to him. “What you need is to learn how to knock.”

  He takes the few steps to my couch, collapses onto it, and throws his arm over the back while making himself comfortable. “I have a key.” He holds up said key, grins arrogantly, and shoves it into the pocket of his jeans. “No need to knock.”

  I have a key to his place. He has a key to mine.

  Rex claimed it was a stipulation of our friendship to have copies of each other’s keys when I moved into the loft above my older sister’s garage. I declared it insanity and an invasion of privacy when he stole my key, went to Home Depot, and had a copy made.

  After what happened at school, I was afraid my relationship with Rex would change. I’d started pushing him away due to an outside influence putting thoughts into my head.

  “You honestly think you’ll stay friends?”

  “He’s going to leave you as soon as he finds a girlfriend.”

  “Push him away before he does you.”

  I’d stupidly listened to someone I shouldn’t have.

  The night I went to his dorm, I had no idea what to expect. All I knew was that I needed him, and like the best friend he is, he wrapped me in his arms, telling me everything would be okay. It was dumb of me to doubt him. We’ve always accepted each other wholeheartedly in our friendship. It’d take a lot for me to kick him out of my life, and I think it’s the same for him with me.

  As he says, we’re lifers—C&R For-fucking-ever.

  He suggested we get it tatted. I told him he was nuts.

  I hadn’t realized how strong our bond was until that night. He was there for me. Under all the humor and ego is one of the sincerest people I know.

  I sit cross-legged, shifting in my spot, and give him my full attention. “I’ll be sure to have the locks changed,” I reply, knowing damn well I won’t.

  His signature crew haircut has grown out on the top, long and sticking up—his everyday look. He’s sporting dark jeans, a black shirt, and white sneakers. Casual is Rex’s style.

  “What happened?” I question.

  Cookies are our go-to when we’re having a bad day.

  Correction: us hanging out and cookies are our go-to when we’re having a bad day.

  “This game,” he explains, blowing out a stressed breath, “it’s kicking my ass. I can’t be in my apartment right now, or I’ll throw the console through the window.”

  My face softens at his admission. Rex has worked his butt off on developing this game, and it means so much to him. Not only for his own self-gratification, but to also prove wrong everyone who’s doubted him for his career choice—those who claim he lazily sits at home, playing video games all day.

  Eight months ago, on a whim, he sent in a demo of the game he’d been designing to one of the largest names in the industry. They loved it—which was no surprise to me. They gave him an advance and a year to finish it. Lately, he’s been stressing, wanting the final product to be perfect.

  “I’ve also missed you,” he adds with a wink. “You never told me how your date with the douche bag went.”

  “Why do you call every guy I go on a date with a douche bag?” I ask, raising a brow. “You don’t even know him.”

  The date was a bust. We went to dinner, had zilch in common, and haven’t talked since. I only went because my sister had set it up without asking, and I would’ve felt bad, saying no. I’d rather have my ear bitten off Mike Tyson–style than hit the dating scene again. Technically, I’ve never hit the dating scene. My first serious relationship was hidden.

  The sucky thing about a secret relationship?

  No one knows you’re heartbroken when it ends. You can’t use a broken heart as an excuse to hide away in your loft or, say, drop out of college.

  Okay, I didn’t exactly drop out of college over a broken heart.

  It’s more complicated than that.

  There are more twists and turns than my heart being shattered.

  “I call them douche bags because they’re lame, boring, and bad for you,” Rex explains matter-of-factly.

  “You’re one to talk.” I roll my eyes. “Who’s your flavor of the week?”

  Rex hasn’t changed his mind about a relationship. Since we’re open books to each other, I know why he runs from them. He doesn’t think he’s capable of having a normal relationship. He doesn’t trust anyone other than his mother—he did correct himself, adding me to that list after I scowled at him for not including me—and he thinks love makes people weak. He grew up around his parents’ toxic marriage, and he saw the pain his mother endured in the name of love as his father cheated.

  He scratches his scruffy cheek. “Hmm … I’d say chocolate chip.” Mischief flashes in his eyes. “Next week, you can whip me up some Snickerdoodle.”

  I can’t help but laugh. “Sucks for you. All the chocolate chip have been eaten by this girl.” I poke myself in the chest with my thumb.

  “Lies, my dear Lina, all lies. You always save me cookies. It’s in our friendship handbook.” He squeezes my thigh, smacks a kiss onto my cheek, and rises from the couch. “You love me too much to withhold them.”

  He’s right. I always make extra for him, especially chocolate chip.

  They’re his favorite.

  He goes to my kitchenette, and I don’t
bother glancing back at him as I hear him opening cabinets.

  After I dropped out of school, I stayed at Rex’s apartment for two weeks. I was terrified to tell my parents and had to build up the guts to break the news. Rex offered to go with me, but it would’ve only made them angrier. They would’ve somehow pointed the blame at him.

  My mother cried. My father threatened to cut me off. Technically, he did cut me off. I’m now responsible for every bill—phone, rent, car insurance. My sister, Tricia, stepped in and offered me the loft above her garage. It’s roomy, with plenty of space for one person. I have a small bedroom, a living room, a bathroom, and a kitchenette. On the plus side, it’s larger than my dorm room. It also came furnished with a queen-size bed, a couch, and a TV. I’ve added a few special touches—bright purple throw pillows, numerous photos of Rex and me, and a large bookshelf I filled with my favorite novels.

  Tricia doesn’t charge me rent, but I still need money to eat and for basic essentials, so I got a job waiting tables at Shirley’s Diner. The money isn’t great, but it will hold me over until I decide my next step, which is to eventually look into online classes.

  “Uh-oh,” Rex draws out, stepping into my view. A plate of cookies is in one hand, and a bottle of wine is in the other. An empty bottle of wine. He snags a cookie before setting the plate and wine on the table in front of the couch. “Cookies and wine. Who pissed my girl off today?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” I grumble.

  I’m not a big drinker even though I’m twenty-one now, and doing it at home isn’t a normal thing for me, but it’s been a day. Rex knows that I only pull out a bottle of wine when my stress level is high.

  “Tough shit.” He plops back down on the couch, closer to me this time, with concern etched across his face. “You force me to talk about my problems, giving my dude Dr. Phil a run for his money.” He cocks his head to the side, studying me, and takes a bite of his cookie. “What’s on your mind?”

  I twist in my spot, snatching the glass of wine resting on the end table behind me. “You remember my cousin Faye?” I gulp down the remainder of wine. A good amount of alcohol needs to be in my system to even say her name.

  He nods, swallowing down his bite before answering, “Chick who couldn’t handle one beer without puking it up and then went and tattled on us for having said beers? The one who was a major bitch to you until I set her straight?”

  “The one and only.”

  “What about her?”

  “She’s getting married.”

  He loudly whistles. “Damn, poor guy. How much did her parents pay him to put up with her evil ass?”

  A laugh escapes me. Rex always adds humor to my crappy situations.

  “She invited me to her wedding in Texas.”

  “And?” He grabs another cookie.

  “And not only do I not want to attend, but I’m also lacking a date.”

  “Ahh … Douche Bags ’R’ Us doesn’t have any availability for that day, huh?”

  I snatch the half-eaten cookie from his hand. “No cookies for smart-asses.” I shove the entire thing into my mouth and expressively munch on it.

  He chuckles. “I know you enjoy my slobber and all, but you don’t have to resort to stealing my cookies. Just ask me to make out with you.”

  I shoot him a glare. “I’m burning our friendship bracelets.”

  “Good thing I have letter beads and strings to make new ones.” He holds up his wrist, showing off his bracelet that matches mine. They’re not beaded or cheesy, just leather bands with our initials on them. It was a Christmas gift from me. “I have plenty with your initials.”

  “Yeah, that’s not creepy or anything.”

  “Oh, really?” He smirks. “Says the girl who’s stolen nearly my entire wardrobe.”

  “Your clothes are comfy.” I shrug before swatting my hand through the air. “Anyway, back to the wedding.”

  “Your sister will be there. Say you want to sit at her table. Or simple, don’t go. Why are you even stressing?”

  “I’m sorry, but did you forget who my parents are? They’d kill me. And my sister is friends with Faye. They’ll be hanging out, sharing smiles—all that annoying stuff.”

  “Eh, I doubt a preacher would kill his daughter. It’d be bad for his image.”

  I toss my head back. “They’re all about supporting your loved ones—blah, blah, vomit, blah.”

  I set down my empty wineglass, wishing I could pour another, but I only bought one bottle at the store. I hadn’t expected my mother to spring this on me at the last minute. Hell, I didn’t even receive a personal invite. Faye couldn’t care less if I showed up to her wedding. Lord knows, she won’t be receiving an invite to mine. Tattletales have no room in my big day.

  “Are you aware of the worst thing about attending weddings solo?”

  “Nope,” Rex answers, a sly smile arching on his lips. “Although I have a feeling you’re about to tell me—all dramatic and shit.”

  “Everyone asks why I’m single!” I throw my arms in the air. “Even the kids! Shoot, even my grandmother, who suffers from dementia and doesn’t remember anyone in our family, except her single granddaughter.” I wince. “Do you know how miserable the singles table is?”

  “Can’t say I do. Never had to sit at one.”

  “Of course you haven’t.” I glower in annoyance. “That will change when you’re eighty and you have no one because you’re so scared of relationships and too old for a quick fling.”

  “Eh, I’ll take my chances.” He ruffles his hands through my hair, giving me a playful grin. “Who knows? We might be single at eighty together, hanging out in the nursing home, stirring up trouble. We’ll have our own singles table. It’ll be lit.”

  “Sounds like a better time than going to this godforsaken wedding.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “Funny.”

  Rex offering to tag along isn’t surprising. We’re each other’s sidekicks. I’m there when he has to deal with his father, whose favorite hobby is giving Rex the third degree … and cheating on his mother.

  He and Rex don’t exactly see eye to eye—haven’t since Rex was a teen.

  “No joke,” he says. “I’ll go. When is it?”

  “This weekend.” I wrinkle my nose. “It’s short notice, and I know you have a lot going on.”

  “I’m coming. I need a break, and you need a date.”

  His phone vibrates, and I see the name Megan flash across the screen when he pulls it from his pocket.

  “Your skank is calling,” I comment, leaning over and making a show of reading it.

  “Any girl can wait when I’m with you. You know you’re my favorite. My best friend comes before anyone.”

  He declines the call and eats another cookie.

  Rex grabs my carry-on bag from me and throws it over his shoulder as we walk through the automatic glass doors. “Does my favorite girl still hate flying?”

  I rode with my parents to the airport … unwillingly, and Rex met us here. My parents insisted on the carpooling, demanding we discuss my life plans, and they know I can’t jump out of a moving car to avoid their overbearing questions. Car rides with them are more dreadful than having my pinkie nail ripped off, and it’s turned worse now that I dropped out of college and moved back to Blue Beech.

  “The preacher’s daughter doesn’t make reckless decisions like that.”

  “She doesn’t have secrets.”

  Oh, man, if only they knew the stupid stuff this preacher’s daughter did.

  Nausea fills me at the thought of my parents finding out. It’d ruin them, their name, and they’d never look at me the same. To keep this from happening, I have to play someone else’s game and am at his mercy. Thankfully, it hasn’t been as bad lately as it was at first. I keep this secret so tucked away that Rex doesn’t even know.

  He’s my ride or die, and I don’t think he’d walk away from me if he ever were to find out.
The problem is, I know Rex well enough to know he’d jump in and try to fix the situation. Him doing that would only make things worse.

  “Sure do,” I answer, strolling next to him through the airport.

  “Good thing I upgraded you to first class.” He peeks back at my parents walking behind us. “I also upgraded the ’rents. Maybe it’ll convince them to like me.”

  “Hey, they like you,” I halfway lie.

  When I mentioned Rex was coming—while on the way to the airport—they weren’t happy, but they also weren’t pissed. They’ve been vocal about their issues with Rex and our friendship … or dependency, in their words. They think Rex is the reason I dropped out of school. It was the other way around. Rex had begged me to stay in school, but he supported my decision in the end.

  He scoffs. “They like my family, so they put up with me.”

  “How did you even upgrade us?” I ask, walking around a group of parents yelling at their kids to hurry it up, and I take our place in the check-in line. “You don’t know our ticket numbers.”

  “Au contraire, Lina. I know your email password, which led me to your ticket information because your father forwarded the info to you.”

  “Seriously?”

  He shrugs with no shame. “You haven’t changed it since senior year. You should probably do that, for security reasons and all.”

  When my mother finds out about her seat upgrade, she’s ecstatic. My father, not so much. He argues with the attendant, then Rex, and then my mother to change it back. My mother finally rips him a new one and says it is insulting to Rex’s kind gesture. Since my mom tends to make the rules in our family, he caves, shooting a glare at Rex.

  “How did you know my password senior year?” I ask while my father continues to complain to my mother behind us.

  Rex shrugs again. “I don’t remember. I was probably bored.”

  “You know no boundaries.” This is something I tell him on the regular.

  “I do want to put in a request for you to change that password. I can’t believe it’s still The_Future_Mrs_Jonas. You know none of those guys are single anymore, right?”