Finding Him

by Van Dyken, Rachel

  Her exhale was rough. “I’m afraid if I start I won’t stop.”

  “You would stop,” I whispered.

  “How do you know?”

  “Because”—I kissed her temple—“I would hold you until you did.”

  Her eyes filled with tears. “How would that help you?”

  “Helping you helps me—but I’d like to think that somewhere, my mom would nod her head and give me a small smile that said that’s exactly the sort of man she tried to raise me to be. It would be an honor, you know . . . catching your tears.”

  I leaned over and swiped my thumbs under her eyes. “I won’t tell.”

  And just like that, Keaton burst into tears, and I pulled her into my lap and held her like she deserved, swearing to the universe that I would fight for her, fight for whatever this was, until my dying breath.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  KEATON

  I woke up in Julian’s arms. They were warm, solid, everything that I’d come to expect from him—stable. Weeks ago, I would have laughed had someone said I would be waking up in Julian Tennyson’s bed.

  And now? I couldn’t imagine any better way to wake up.

  I used to sleep next to Noah, but I was always so worried something would happen to him that I woke up every hour on the hour.

  I frowned harder, remembering all those times I would call his nurse, ask him if he ate, make sure he washed his hands over and over again.

  I was more nurse in the end than I was partner, and that was the truth that I was afraid to talk about in my book.

  You watch romantic movies about people falling in love and saying that they’ll be with each other until their dying breath and it sounds so wonderful, but they leave out the messy part.

  The puking.

  The pain.

  They leave out the side effects of that forever love and tell you it’s magical when it’s nothing like that in reality. It’s a lot of sleepless nights, medicine, machines buzzing, and false hope.

  “Hey.” Julian’s sleep-filled voice was so delicious that I wanted to make it my ringtone, which was crazy. I burrowed under the covers and pressed my hand against his bare chest.

  “Hi.”

  “Here.” He handed me something cold. An ice pack? I slowly peeled back the covers and stared at him. “For your eyes.”

  “Are they swollen?” I asked.

  His smile was warm, lazy, and sexy all at once. “No.”

  “Liar.”

  He laughed. “Breakfast should be here in the next hour. I got bacon . . .”

  I took the ice pack, pressed it against my eyes, and winced. “Bacon!”

  “Knew that would excite you.” He chuckled. “So I know we have some writing to do today, but while you were lying there snoring—”

  “I do not snore,” I interrupted.

  “Sure, okay, you woke me up out of a dead sleep three times because I thought that the building was crashing down around us—”

  I threw the ice pack toward him. It fell between us. He just picked it up and pressed it gently to my face.

  “As I was saying before I was rudely attacked . . .”

  I made a face.

  “My brother wanted to have dinner tonight. Because of the promise I made to my mom, we started going out for these Sunday dinners. Do you want to come?”

  I did.

  More than anything.

  “Where’s the dinner?” I asked, hoping it didn’t give away the panic I felt at being in public with him. I wasn’t ready yet. The world wouldn’t understand. When did they ever understand anyway?

  Julian’s smile was tight as he looked away. “Don’t worry about it, I know you had a rough day yesterday and aren’t feeling well.”

  “Julian.”

  He started walking away.

  “Julian!”

  He stopped at the door, hanging his head, giving me his back.

  “I’m sorry, Julian, it’s just . . . it’s too soon.”

  “Too soon for you?” he asked without turning around. “Or too soon for everyone else?”

  I opened my mouth to say something.

  I knew he was right.

  It wasn’t too soon for me.

  No matter how many times I tried to say it was, no matter how much guilt I inflicted on myself.

  I wanted Julian.

  I couldn’t explain it with words, I just knew the way I had known with Noah, but I didn’t know how to keep my promise to the man in my past and also be with the man I saw for my future.

  The doorbell rang.

  Julian kept walking, and the smell of breakfast filled the large apartment. I needed to apologize. I also needed food. I pressed a hand to my growling stomach and then very slowly got out of Julian’s comfortable bed and made my way into the kitchen only to see a few Barneys bags sitting on the counter along with the food. “What’s this?”

  Julian looked up, his smile wasn’t as bright as before. I wanted it back, I wanted the look he gave me this morning, I wanted his strong arms wrapped around me telling me he’d hold me until my tears were all dried up.

  “Those are shopping bags,” the smart-ass said.

  I glared.

  “Saw that.”

  He didn’t look up. “And I figured you’d feel better if you had some fresh clothes that didn’t smell like the guy you refuse to leave the apartment with.”

  I flinched. It felt like he’d delivered a physical blow.

  “I thought I knew your size well enough after . . .” He cleared his throat. “Don’t worry, I used a personal shopper, didn’t leave my name, and told them to deliver everything to Barry the doorman. If anything, they’ll assume he has a thing for women’s athleisure.”

  I peeked into the first bag and found a pair of cute leggings that were one of my expensive guilty pleasures he couldn’t have known about, along with a loose Adidas hoodie that I would have picked out for myself, a pair of multicolored Gucci sneakers, BTS socks, which made me smile, and a comfy sports bra. The next bag actually held a garment bag. Frowning, I pulled it out. It was a dress.

  Julian went completely still.

  I unzipped the garment bag. The dress was black, would hit midshin, and had feathers wrapped around the middle like a belt that then dangled down the front of the dress. It was absolutely gorgeous. “This is . . . beautiful!”

  He walked around the counter and took the dress out of my hands. “Well, you should be able to find someplace to wear it, right?”

  I frowned. “The yoga pants I get, the dress I’m thankful for but a little confused about.”

  “We should eat.”

  “Julian—”

  “It’s not a big deal, money is just money, you know that.”

  “Yeah, but that isn’t just a dress,” I stated plainly, while the bacon made my mouth water.

  Julian slid a takeout container toward me and zipped the dress back inside its bag. “I couldn’t help it.”

  “What do you mean you couldn’t help it?”

  The corners of his mouth twitched like he was going to smile. “The personal shopper sent me a few links of things to look at because I wanted to make sure you’d like the color, and this dress popped up—probably because she was trying to get a bigger commission—and I instantly saw you in it, your hair piled on top of your head, or maybe just falling across your shoulders, and the more I’m talking the more stupid I probably sound, but you had to have it, and I had to buy it.”

  I smiled wide. “Julian, you just bought me a three-thousand-dollar dress because I had to have it. I think you may be the best”—I almost said boyfriend, where did that come from?—“the best friend I’ve ever had.”

  He sighed and rolled his eyes. “Don’t read into it. I’m still a horrible person, remember?”

  “A horrible person who has good taste in Prada.” I winked. “Thank you, by the way, for last night.”

  He sobered. “It was a pleasure.”

  I gulped and stared at his mouth. “I don’t k
now what to do.”

  “Well . . .” He handed me a plastic fork. “First you eat some eggs, then some bacon, go take a shower, put on your clothes, and we’ll write some more of the book.”

  “About tonight—”

  “Like I said, don’t worry about it.” His smile was tense. “I keep forgetting, which is stupid, because I’m not forgetful at all. I just want you with me.”

  His words pierced my heart.

  I wondered if he realized that he was perfect.

  That any girl would murder me to be in my position.

  “Thank you for breakfast,” I said softly.

  He poured me some orange juice. “Welcome.”

  “You keep waking me up with your staring,” Noah said to me a few nights before his eyes closed forever. “I can hear your heavy breathing.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I’m not heavy breathing all over you.”

  He started inhaling and exhaling like he was trying to pass out. “Oh sorry, I was just trying to give you an example.”

  I slugged him lightly in the shoulder. “How are you feeling?”

  “Oh, you know, it’s three a.m., my girlfriend’s staring at me like she’s going to kill me before the cancer can, my everything hurts, I’m thirsty, my hair, which was my best feature, by the way, is completely gone, and I’m thinking about shaving my brows in the morning, you?”

  I gaped. “How can you be so calm?”

  “Keaton.” He grabbed my hand. “What other choice do I really have?”

  “Um, you could yell at how unfair it is, scream, punch a pillow, and take a razor to the middle of your doctor’s head. I don’t know!”

  He let out a low chuckle. “You’re scary, you know that? Why would I take out my anger on the doc trying to save me?”

  “Because he isn’t.” I gulped. “Saving you, that is.”

  “But he’s trying,” Noah pointed out. “And that’s all that matters.”

  No, it wasn’t. But I kept silent.

  “Look, my attitude, whether happy or sad, doesn’t affect my outcome. I could rage for days and it wouldn’t heal the cancer, would it? Or I could choose to be happy and optimistic and spend the minutes I have making the world a better place. Complaining’s like a drug. It only makes you feel better when you take the hit, but once the high’s gone, you need more and more until all you are is a grumpy crab in search of treasure.”

  “Was that a Moana reference?”

  “This is why we’re friends!” He burst out laughing, but I gave him a funny look.

  “We’re more than friends, you psycho.”

  “About that, I think we should break up.”

  “Don’t make me suffocate you with this pillow.”

  “And to think my first impression of you was ‘Aw, how sweet does that sexy girl look, and damn . . . that ass,’” he joked.

  I just shook my head. “You’re out of control.”

  “If out of control is wrong, I don’t wanna be right.” He gave me a goofy grin. “Come on, Keaton, let’s at least admit that things are worse than we thought six months ago when I swept you off your feet.”

  I rolled my eyes. “There was no sweeping, only begging.”

  “Tomay-to, tomah-to.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “The odds of me surviving this are slim, and I was going to wait until morning, but Keaton Westbrook, I release you from your promise to make an honest man out of me.”

  I gaped. “First off, we never had that conversation. Second, I’m not leaving your side.”

  “I’m not asking you to leave. I’m just trying to help your heart a bit.”

  “So you’re dumping me?”

  “Exactly.” He patted my hand. “Sometimes you’re so dense!”

  “Huh?”

  “You should buy a cat, a really fluffy one that looks grumpy all the time. I would be stoked if you called him Noah. Seriously, it’s my dying wish.”

  “Noah, seriously!” I couldn’t help but laugh. “I don’t even like cats!”

  “You’d love Noah. He’s a trouper, loves food, and sleeps most the day.”

  “Odd how you and this cat have so much in common.”

  Noah gave me a warm smile. “Look, I know you think I’m crazy, but you only have so much room in your heart. If I break it now, then if the worst happens, you won’t be as sad. You’ll be more like, ‘That bastard better die, he broke me!’ Anger is way easier than grief.”

  I sighed and cuddled against him. “Sorry, I’m here to stay, you can’t get rid of me.”

  He sighed back. “You’re like fungus.”

  “You’re the one in love with me.”

  “True.” He squeezed me as tight as he could.

  We fell asleep in each other’s arms.

  The next day he took a turn the doctors weren’t expecting.

  And I wondered if he knew, if that’s why he was awake, if he felt something wrong in his body enough to want to have that conversation.

  Because it was the last one we would ever have.

  He had a small stroke and couldn’t speak anymore.

  I stayed by his side.

  I bought beanies for his head, helped him brush his teeth and use the restroom. I read to him and told him jokes, and the silence was almost worse than the cancer, because all it left us with were longing looks, and moments when he was too tired to stay awake, where I’d stare at him and wonder if I was going to be more caretaker than girlfriend.

  And knowing that I would do it.

  If that’s what it took.

  I would do it.

  The days were long then, they were filled with laughter between us, though his laugh never sounded the same.

  And they were filled with hand-holding.

  See, that’s the thing that nobody ever found out about us. Noah asked me to write our story. In fact, he begged me, and after his stroke he wrote me a note since it was all he could do.

  “Tell them our truth,” it read.

  Our truth is messy.

  It was upsetting.

  It was also not what people thought.

  He asked me out, and yes, we went on several dates. I fell in love with him, he fell in love with me.

  But we had rules.

  No marriage—his rule; he said it wasn’t fair.

  No sex—my rule, because I was trying to make him wait until he was healthy. Wanted him to look forward to something. We loved each other in other ways, and we weren’t exactly saints in those hospital rooms (sorry, docs!). But something I used as a carrot for him ended up being something he refused to relent on as he got sicker, not because he couldn’t, but because he had this strange set of morals when it came to his life.

  He didn’t want to marry me because he said it would be taking away my first marriage if something happened to him. It was like stealing me from someone else.

  And when we found out he was terminal, he said he didn’t want me to torture myself with memories of how insane he was in bed and compare every poor guy to him, knowing they would never measure up.

  It was a running joke.

  One that got less and less funny as he got sicker.

  So yes, he was my boyfriend.

  Yes, we were in love.

  No, we never slept together.

  And yes, he dumped me before his stroke. In fact, everything Noah did was for me, for others. He lived selflessly, fearlessly, and I’ll never forget the way he ran toward fear, the way others run from it.

  Julian was quiet except for the soft tap of the keys. We’d been at it again for a few more hours, only this time he had more food delivered. As long as I ate, I didn’t feel sick. I was going to take a long vacation once this book was done. Emotionally, it was wrecking me, and taking a physical toll on my body.

  “You never slept together.” Julian stared at his computer in disbelief. “I don’t know if I want to shake him for being so stupid or thank him for saving those parts of you for me.”

  I sucked in a shocked breath. I couldn’t deny the truth. I w
ondered how I would have felt had I given everything to Noah . . . and then slept with Julian. “You made fun of me when I said I don’t normally do this. I don’t.” I smiled weakly.

  “He was a good man, Noah,” Julian said, emotion thickening his voice, and then he stood. “I need to get ready for dinner.”

  “Yeah, okay.” I tucked my hair behind my ears. “I should probably head back to my apartment and shower, clean up and—”

  Julian was in front of me in an instant, then his mouth was on mine, softly teasing, coaxing my lips apart before pulling away. “Grab an overnight bag.”

  “But—”

  “Don’t argue.” He kissed me again. “Just until the book is done.”

  I smiled against his mouth. “Why does it feel like you’re lying?”

  He sighed then moved his mouth down my neck, his nose tickling my skin as he inhaled and whispered, “Because I’m going to keep coming up with excuses. I like my apartment better with you in it.”

  I liked my life better with him in it. “I do too.”

  “Good.” He kissed the top of my forehead. “When you need a ride, just call down to Barry, and he’ll have one waiting for you up front.”

  I nodded and watched him disappear into the bathroom.

  I hated that he didn’t try to persuade me to go with him, and at the same time I loved that he didn’t try to manipulate my emotions. He wanted me to be ready to be with him. I wanted that too. I really did.

  I just needed to figure out a way to do it without feeling like I failed Noah and all the people who had invested in our story. I wasn’t falling, I was there, but my team had also been very upfront about the outrage generated by my last post. I mentioned moving on because I was trying to be inspiring, to offer hope, and instead my followers saw me as spitting on Noah’s memory.

  The last two posts I’d done had been about writing the book, and the comments ranged from “Glad you aren’t moving on” to “You’ll love him forever!” And it killed me inside to think about Julian reading those comments, believing them, or worse, coming under fire because he liked me and I liked him.

  I didn’t want to let down my followers.

  But I also needed to live my life.

  And I needed Julian in it.

  Chapter Thirty-Three