Battle

by KJ Bell

  “Yes,” I answer out of breath.

  “I do want more, but we’ll never agree on what more should be, and you deserve better. Love and I aren’t on good terms, sweetheart, and we never will be.”

  I wonder briefly why that is, but then as the words repeat in my mind, I realize he’s acting like everyone else in my life. If I want him around, it has to be on his terms.

  Anger ripples through me. His eyes flash with surprise as I shove him back. He called me out earlier on labeling people. I won’t allow him to label me as some clingy girl, wanting more than he can offer. “That’s weak, and hypocritical. Don’t put me in a box. If you don’t want to date, fine! But don’t put your crap on me.”

  His nostrils flare, as he clenches his jaw. “I don’t date, and I’m not lookin’ for a wife. It will never happen. I want to fuck. Simple as that. Is that what you want?”

  “What I want is the guy with the open mind, the one who last night believed in surprises and not expectations.”

  “That guy is also a realist who lives life with hot blood and a cold heart. That’s exactly who I am, and I have no intention of changin’.”

  I growl from deep in my throat and stomp my foot. He’s missing the point completely. I’m too pissed to articulate what I mean, and he’s twisting things around, conveniently making things work out in his favor. I have a label for him: asshole. I want to say it, but when I step close, his aqua eyes stare into mine, and I lose my nerve.

  “Then you’re not only weak, you’re sad.” I shove past him, and get in my car, slamming the door shut. He’s at the window moments later, a tormented expression on his beautiful face.

  I want so badly to roll down the window, and yell at him some more, but I don’t.

  “Please,” he says, palming the glass.

  I cave to his request, because I’m weak, because I’m hopeless, and because deep down, I want him to change his ways. He dips his head inside the open window and crushes his lips to mine. I turn my head to the side. I won’t allow him to kiss me, knowing his affection is a ruse to avoid talking.

  He stands up and paces, his hands working through his thick brown locks. I start the car, prepared to leave and forget I ever met him. He bends down next to the window. “You know what you said about how two people share a connection and eventually it grows into love?” I nod. “What happens in the middle?”

  I smile. “They get to really know each other.”

  “And that’s the part that fuckin’ scares me.” There it is—the fear of vulnerably, the wall around his brittle heart. “I can’t, Faye. I just can’t.”

  “I understand,” I say, but I honestly have no clue. I feel for him though. I want to let him off easy, or perhaps I’m protecting myself. He’s a complex guy with a ton baggage. My simple, planned out life never prepared me for Battle. I’m afraid, too.

  “So, it was fun, huh?” I say, and force a nervous laugh.

  “It was.” He smiles. “Best night I’ve had in a long time.”

  “Yeah, um … So, I’ll see ya around.” I sound as awkward as I feel, and I shift into reverse.

  Without another glance, he turns and strides away. There’s a slight dip to his hip as he walks, a confident swagger he’s oblivious to.

  Although my heart hurts, I know it will pass, and I grin as I drive away. I’ll never forget Battle. I had a one-night stand, acted on a careless dare, and I regret nothing. Battle and I understand each other. There’s no pressure to cultivate our feelings or force them to grow into some happily planned future we may or may not want, simply because we slept together. We were honest.

  I feel light. I feel free; my actions untypical, but I now understand why some women repeat the behavior, crave the sensations of uninhibited first kisses and touches that don’t have to be validated with promises. Nothing but pure raw chemistry exploding between two people willing to explore their connection.

  I’m such a fraud. I could never go through with it again. As much as I try to deny and accept it, I do want more with Battle. Knowing I will never have it hurts with an emptiness I could never relieve.

  As I turn onto my lonely cul-de-sac, I spot Wyatt’s black SUV in front of my house. I pull into the driveway to find him sitting on my front steps, wearing the same clothing he left in yesterday. His arms rest on his knees as his head hangs down. After Battle, the last thing I want to do is have a confrontation with Wyatt.

  He lifts his head when I approach, staring at me with swollen red-rimmed eyes. His unshaven face, combined with his messy hair, conflict with a man typically pristinely groomed. I wonder if he’s slept?

  “Where were you?” he asks, his voice cracking. He clears his throat and continues. “I’ve been here since four am, and I’ve called you a dozen times.”

  I haven’t looked at my phone all morning. It’s buried in the bottom of my purse on silent.

  “I … My battery died,” I lie. Oh, God. Do I lie to him about where I was, too? Or do I owe him the truth? Of course I do. “Wyatt…”

  “No,” he says, jumping up to his feet. He grabs me and hugs me, squeezing the air from my lungs before he pulls back and holds both of my arms above my elbows. “God, you’re beautiful. I love you, Faye. I went home last night, and I thought about everything you said. You’re right. You’re so, so, right. I’ve been such an idiot. Please forgive me.”

  The onset of guilt wraps around my heart, pressing tight. What have I done?

  “Wyatt.”

  “No. Shh. I’m not finished.”

  The nosy neighbor across the street catches my eye. “Let’s go inside and talk.”

  Wyatt trails close behind me as we enter the house. I set my purse and keys on the coffee table, dreading the conversation we’re about to have. My head throbs violently, and I excuse myself to the bathroom.

  My eyes stained with smeared mascara in my reflection fill me with regret. I wash my face, brush my teeth, and take a couple of pain relievers before I go back to Wyatt. He’s standing exactly where I left him. His messy blond hair hangs in his cloudy green eyes.

  “I love you,” he says.

  “We need to talk. I’m so confused.”

  “That’s because you’re always thinkin’ about things. Don’t. You love me, and I love you. There’s nothin’ to think about.”

  My gut clenches. Tears burn my eyes, but I fight them off. We broke up before he left yesterday, but I still feel like I cheated on him. “Wyatt. We need to talk. I…”

  “I know we do,” he interrupts. “I stayed up all night thinkin’ about us. When I left for the airport this mornin’, I drove past the highway entrance and straight to your house, because I realized that I can’t imagine my life without you in it. I wasn’t fair to you, and I owe you an apology.”

  The sincerity in his words, his expression, and his warm gaze weighs heavily on my thoughts.

  When did I move beyond the absolute certainty of my future? Somewhere between graduating college and a desolate wheat field I strayed severely off course. One night with Battle McCoy made me forget I’m supposed to be a good girl.

  I feel possessed. My father’s preaching no longer seems ridiculous, his words forever gospel. Sticking with the game plan will keep me grounded. What was I thinking last night? Behaving poorly, and irresponsibly? Obviously, I wasn’t thinking past the blue-eyed adonis I allowed to seduce me.

  My night with Battle may have been the most intense and amazing moment of my life, but it was nothing more than a brief instance of immature rebellion. Perhaps if I’d spent more time in college at frat parties and sleeping during lectures, I would have purged the need for such reckless upheavals. But I didn’t and the last couple of months I’ve craved a spontaneous moment of utter stupidity. Now it has passed, and I can resume my regularly scheduled life.

  Being with Battle was a fantasy, an experience women cross off a bucket list, a hall pass fantasy of sorts, but Wyatt is my future.

  “Faye … Faye … Did you hear me?” Wyatt asks, drawing
me out of my thoughts.

  “Sorry. What?”

  “I mean it. I love you, and I’m sorry. Please, say yes.” Yes to what? I gaze at him confused before he drops to one knee, producing a black velvet box from his pocket. I cover my mouth with both hands as my eyes well with thick tears. He flips the lid on the tiny box, exposing a round solitaire diamond set in platinum. “Faye Callahan, will you marry me?”

  “Yes,” I answer and the tears fall.

  “Oh, Faye, you’ve made me so happy.” He lifts me up and spins me around. Once my feet hit the floor, Wyatt smiles and slides the ring onto my finger. It’s much too large. His brow creases as he removes it. “I’ll have it sized immediately,” he says returning the ring to the box and slipping it into his pocket. “I know I’ve been an ass, but I’m gonna spend a lifetime making it up to you.”

  The ring doesn’t fit. How could it not fit? He’s bought me other rings before, most recently on my birthday, one with my birthstone and diamonds. And they’ve always been the right fit. It’s a sign, or a warning, or a wake-up call. Maybe it’s not the ring. Maybe it’s Wyatt who doesn’t fit.

  I’m not crazy, and as silly as it seems, the ring not fitting reminds me of what I want for my future. I may not know exactly what it is, but I’m positive I have to figure it out on my own.

  “I can’t marry you,” I blurt, surprising myself. His sun-bleached blond eyelashes flutter as he blinks rapidly. He’s as shocked as I am, and for the first time in our relationship, Wyatt stares at me, speechless. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

  “But I apologized and you already said yes.” It’s the first time I’ve heard Wyatt whine, or is it? It doesn’t matter. I will stand my ground.

  I throw my hands up in frustration as all of the anger I’ve felt for years pours out of me. “You’ve apologized before. Sorry is merely a word. Anyone can say it. Anyone can feel it, but it takes more than saying the word to actually mean it.”

  “I said I would make it up to you.”

  He clearly doesn’t see how much pain he’s caused me. How I’ve been miserably waiting for him to want me. My emotions surge beyond hurt and anger and into full blown rage.

  “Somethin’ else you’ve said before. Do you see the pattern here? I need you to show me I come first, that I mean more than your career, or your friends.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  I sigh and take his hand, trying to ease my anger. “I hope you do, but I can’t take you back until I feel it, and I definitely can’t marry you.”

  A huge wave of relief washes over me. I’ve never felt so resolute or more confident about any decision in my entire life. My days of pretending for the sole purpose of making others happy are behind me.

  “Wait! What do you mean you can’t take me back?”

  “I guess I need a break this time.”

  I couldn’t resist the dig, an opportunity to use his words against him—make him feel the stab of rejection for once.

  “But I’m still leaving for Chicago. I need to know you’ll be here when I get back.”

  His response is typical Wyatt. Our relationship has always been about what he needs. “I’m not leaving town. When you come home, maybe we can start over.”

  He looks disappointed, but I refuse to promise him anything. My life is on a new course. I have no idea where it’s taking me or if Wyatt will be joining me for the ride.

  “Can I call you?” he asks.

  “Of course,” I smile.

  I expect him to continue the argument, but he turns with a sad expression, leaving me to stew in my decision. He doesn’t believe I’m committed to moving on if he can’t treat me the way I deserve to be treated. He doesn’t understand there’s nothing left for me to ponder, not even his feelings. He will understand soon how serious I am. My mind is made up.

  I dig around inside my purse for my phone to see if I missed any other calls.

  When I pick up my phone, I see a text that makes my heart explode. I don’t recognize the number, but only one person would text me the words:

  B: I want more.

  Baby blues that melt hearts flash in my mind. I wish he meant more in the way I want him to. Matters of the heart are immaterial when my brain knows with certainty that Battle McCoy has nothing meaningful to offer me. I have no intention of exchanging one complicated relationship for another.

  Somehow in twenty-four short hours, I’ve become an entirely new person. A stronger person, and while I may be altering my plans for the future, I know I’m doing the right thing. I won’t allow Wyatt or Battle, or any other man, to treat me as though I’m irrelevant. Love will only flourish between two people when they would give their last breath to make the other happy and without fear of dying.

  Battle may have been wrong about me—I am a hopeless romantic. I want an epic kind of love story. Battle doesn’t want love at all. With certainty, I answer his text.

  F: You will never love me. More simply means sex, and you were right before, I deserve better.

  I hold the phone to my chest, willing him not to reply, not to test my new and fragile resolve. I’m afraid it will crumble as easily as a sandcastle under the weight of a rising tide.

  Minutes pass before I accept he’s not responding, and I exhale in relief.

  I recall what Wyatt said, considering briefly if I was too hard on him. No … Absolutely not. I’ve fallen victim to his games too many times.

  Words are merely vessels delivering empty promises. Actions offer the only reassurance a heart can rely on. He has to prove himself, as do I. Until I steer my own ship through the murky waters of life¸ I will not marry Wyatt or carry on a fling with Battle. Despite what my father says, it’s time to weather the uncertainty of my future without a map, batten down the hatches, and navigate my own course, no matter how rough the seas might be.

  When it comes to love, you can’t plan for it. Strategizing will not make Wyatt a good husband any more than it will make Battle let love into his heart. I deserve more. I’ll be okay. I find comfort in Grammy’s words echoing in my mind. “Life has a way of working out exactly as it’s supposed to.”

  The doorbell rings. I assume it’s Wyatt, returning to try and talk me out of breaking it off with him. I open the door and Marty and Ginger push past me into my house. I close the door, holding my hand out with a giant smug grin plastered to my face. “Someone owes me a hundred bucks.”

  “I’m broke,” Marty says. “But I’ll cook breakfast.”

  Ginger and I sit on the barstools at the kitchen island, while Marty makes eggs and bacon. I fill them in on my night with Battle, without sparing a single detail. My best friends stare at me in silence. I can’t decide if they’re shocked, or they don’t believe me.

  “Are you okay?” Marty asks, concern clear in the tone of her voice. “I mean, it’s so unlike you, and this is a pretty darn big deal!”

  “I know, but I’m fine, honestly,” I assure her.

  I butter two pieces of toast and load my plate with eggs and bacon. My stomach rumbles and I feel a little queasy, but I’m starving.

  “Are you gonna tell Wyatt?” Ginger asks.

  “No!” Both Marty and I shout. I continue, “He was on my door step when I got home.”

  “Oh shit.” Ginger gasps. “What did he want?”

  “He proposed,” I say nonchalantly, popping the last bite of my piece of bacon into my mouth.

  “No way!” Marty yells. “Okay, you need to tell him. If you’re gonna marry the guy, you don’t want to carry that kind of weight around.”

  “I said no.”

  They’re quiet again, staring at me in definite disbelief now. Finally, Ginger asks, “Did you say no because you want to be with Battle?”

  I laugh hard, until I choke. “Nope. Battle’s only interested in boinkin’, and while it was freakin’ off the charts good, I want more. I told Wyatt no, because I’m done playin’ second fiddle to whoever, or whatever, means more to him. I can’t marry him until he proves himse
lf.”

  Marty sits next to me. “Are you sure about this? What if it doesn’t work out?” she asks, the undertones of her voice presenting more disappointment than concern.

  Marty struggles with the idea of me and Wyatt not being a couple more than I do. Not because she adores Wyatt, but I think she’d always hoped to end up with Wyatt’s best friend, Gunner, although she would never admit to it.

  “Then it was never meant to be,” I tell her softly, patting her hand. “Enough about me. I want to hear what happened with the two of you after I left.”

  “JT and Cooper dropped us off at Ginger’s,” Marty says and shrugs. “It was a major bummer. About twenty minutes after you left with Battle, JT wanted to leave and offered us a ride.”

  “You’re lyin’,” I say, giggling.

  Her serious expression confirms she isn’t lying, which is strange. JT and Cooper appeared to be interested in my best friends.

  It’s been two weeks, well sixteen days, since I dramatically altered my life’s plan. Wyatt hasn’t texted or called. So much for his proving himself. His lack of communication validates putting an end to our relationship. He’s a master of empty promises, and I’m done believing him. My faith is lost.

  I haven’t been sad. Stranger even, I haven’t missed him. His absence means I don’t have to sit through dinner listening to him ramble on about how amazing he is. He’s not making snide comments under his breath about what I did to annoy him, what I’m wearing, or how much makeup I have on. I can have Marty and Ginger over without having to hear his verbal bashing of my friends when they leave. Wyatt doesn’t like anyone other than his two close friends, Gunner and Robert. Anyone else he finds fault with.

  He isn’t talking down to me, or tuning me out when I talk. Dinner isn’t too hot or too cold. I haven’t had to pretend I don’t notice his wandering eye. There haven’t been any arguments that are never his fault. I haven’t had to listen to how tired he is, only for him to jump up five seconds later when his friends want to go out. Without Wyatt around, I don’t have to worry about what I say for fear he won’t approve.