Holding Out

by Serena Bell

  “No, but I’m—I’m an old friend. Marina Potter.”

  The ground Becca had been standing on shifted. Lurched.

  “I could try to reach him,” Becca said. What she really wanted to do was demand, How can you just show up here, after what you did to him?

  She was unexpectedly furious, but there was nothing she could do that wouldn’t make the situation worse, so she picked up her phone. Griff was so rarely at his desk—he didn’t even really have a desk—but she tried anyway to call the extension where he occasionally sat. As she’d expected, it rang through to voicemail. She didn’t leave a message.

  When she hung up the phone, the other woman’s face fell. Which made Becca’s stomach feel even heavier. Knotted around itself.

  “I thought about calling ahead,” the woman said, as if to herself. “But I knew if I gave him a heads up, he’d figure out a way to avoid me—”

  Becca was aware of being on a precipice—she could withhold the fact that she knew Griff’s cell number, and there was a fighting chance Marina would leave without ever speaking with him. She certainly didn’t look like a woman who was determined to stick to her guns. She wore a wavering expression that Becca—at least Old Becca—knew well.

  But if Becca did keep Griff in the dark, she would always wonder. If she had stood between Griff and what he really wanted. She would always hear Nate’s voice in her head, stating in no uncertain terms that Griff still sought reconciliation. Wouldn’t it be better to know the truth, now?

  “I’ll text him,” she said.

  Marina’s eyes got big. “Would you? Thank you so much.”

  Even once Becca had said it aloud, committed herself to it, her body didn’t want to execute the moves necessary. Her arm didn’t want to reach for her cell phone. Her fingers didn’t want to swipe the phone open, tap the message app, find Griff’s texts. The last text was him telling her he’d gone to get donuts and coffee. She stared at it for a minute, remembering. The thrill of waking up in Griff’s bed, the sheets scented not just with him but with them. The sheer, pure joy of the hot coffee, the funny mix of donuts, and his affection.

  She couldn’t give it up.

  Shh, New Becca told Old Becca. You’re getting way ahead of yourself. You were the one in his bed last night. You were the one he gave three orgasms to. And coffee and donuts. Chill the eff out.

  But Marina was the one he married, Old Becca countered.

  She was also the one who broke his heart.

  C’mon, kiddo. You got this, New Becca said. He cares about you.

  She made herself type the text. Marina Potter is here to see you. In the PT office.

  The reply came back instantly. I’ll be right there.

  Couldn’t he have taken a few minutes to think about it?

  Or better yet, asked her to tell Marina he wasn’t available? To send her away?

  The disappointment she was feeling—the fear—made it hard for her to repeat Griff’s message aloud to Marina, but she did it. “He’s on his way.”

  “Thank you,” Marina said. “Thank you so much.”

  It would have been so much easier if Marina had been unforgivably rude to her. If she’d marched in here, demanded to speak with Griff, betrayed no insecurity. But she seemed so human. Except for the enormous and unforgettable fact that she had broken Griff, Becca actually liked her.

  The door of the office swung open and Griff stepped in. Becca’s eyes went straight to his face. She couldn’t look anywhere else.

  “Hey,” Marina said.

  Becca had seen him look like this once before, on a dark street in the middle of the night outside the Edgewater Hotel. She’d seen the same potent mix of recognition, regret, hope, and longing.

  She gripped the edge of the desk so hard her knuckles cracked.

  “Hey,” Griff returned.

  Becca wanted him to say something else. Anything else. She wanted him to move, to speak, to get that look off his face.

  “Can we—can we talk?” Marina asked.

  Please, please, please say no. Say you’re busy, you’re in the middle of a project, you have to go to Friday Night Dinner. Say she had her chance to do the right thing, you don’t need her, you don’t want her, you’re done.

  Griff opened his mouth, and Becca let herself hope for one long, freighted moment.

  “Sure,” he said, and the hope curled away like water spiraling down a drain.

  38

  Even though he’d had plenty of warning, his first sight of Marina still caught him off guard.

  She looked the same as always—still tall, slim, curvy, and beautiful—but when she turned to greet him, her face was different. She was wearing makeup, and it made her look—older. More sophisticated. She was all grown up, but even beyond that, there was a quiet under her skin, a peace, that he’d never seen.

  He knew it for what it was: happiness.

  She was happy now, and it made him realize, with a sharp twist of regret and remorse, that she hadn’t ever been when they were together.

  “Where do you want to go? Bob’s Tavern, maybe?” Marina asked. “That’s a good place to talk.”

  “Sure,” Griff said again. It seemed to be the only word he could manage.

  Something, a slight sound maybe, drew his attention toward the reception desk, but Becca wasn’t looking at him, and her expression was cool and unruffled. He took a step towards the desk, thinking he’d give her a quick explanation and some reassurance. He’d tell her he’d see her later at Friday Night Dinner.

  Before he could speak, the desk phone jangled. She gave him an apologetic look, picked up the phone and put her headset on, pressed a button. “R&R physical therapy offices, can I help you?”

  He’d text her as soon as he had a chance, explain what he could, promise to explain the rest later, once he knew more about why Marina was here.

  “Lead on,” he said to Marina.

  He followed her down to the parking lot to where her car was parked, the same zippy little Mazda she’d driven back when they were together.

  “Meet you there?” she said.

  “Sure.” He rolled his eyes internally at himself.

  Driving down 101, he tried to gather himself, but he felt like a leaky scarecrow, bits and pieces of his straw brains poking out everywhere. What the hell was she doing here? What did she want? What was there to talk about?

  For so long, he’d been hoping—not even admitting to himself how hard—for her to realize she’d made a mistake.

  Was that what was happening?

  If so, she—and the universe—had the world’s most fucking awful timing. Because things with Becca were—

  They were going somewhere, somewhere good. Somewhere right. What he’d let himself think and feel last night, that had to mean something.

  That’s what you thought once, a long time ago, about Marina, a cruel, tight part of himself chided.

  The parking in town was bad—it was Friday and mid-afternoon, and thus peak by beach town standards—but not nightmarish. He found a space on one of Tierney Bay’s little cross streets down by the water and walked back to Bob’s. Marina wasn’t there yet, so he pulled out his phone.

  Sorry, that was probably really weird for you. I don’t know why she’s here, but I figured I’d better hear her out. See you at FND?

  Becca sent back a thumbs-up.

  He wanted to say something more, something reassuring, something like Don’t worry, this is no big deal, I’m totally over her—

  But wouldn’t that be kind of opening a can of worms? Or, like, protesting too much? He and Becca hadn’t talked much about Marina, but it felt like trying to reassure her that Marina wasn’t important to him might make Becca more worried than she would otherwise be.

  So he just left it at that.

  Marina was watching him, waiting for him to finish, when he looked up. They headed inside and slid into an empty booth along the fireplace side.

  “Sorry to just show up like this, but I kin
d of figured you were never going to respond to my emails and messages,” Marina said, right away.

  It appeared they weren’t going to make small talk or anything.

  “Probably not,” he admitted.

  The waitress set waters down in front of them. “Can I get you some drinks?”

  “A Hoptastic,” Griff said.

  “Root beer.”

  “You guys want food, too? Or just the drinks?”

  “Um, I’m all set,” Marina said.

  “Me too,” Griff said.

  The waitress smiled at them and headed back toward the kitchen.

  “Look. I should probably have said more in my messages, but I was hoping to at least get you on the phone so I could explain. Scott and I—we’re getting married.”

  So much for the notion that she’d come here to ask for a reconciliation. He couldn’t quite make sense of the tangle of emotions in his chest. Old hurt, but also, maybe, relief? Because wouldn’t that have been the craziest thing, if she wanted him back, now, just when he was falling for Becca.

  “Griff?”

  “Congratulations,” he said. And he even managed to sound like he sort of meant it. “That’s—that’s really great, Marina.”

  She didn’t even try to hide her relief. She just let it break out all over her face, and in the big breath she let out.

  “Did you think I was going to throw a temper tantrum?”

  “I didn’t know, Griff. I honestly didn’t know.”

  “I’m not. I’m—I’m okay, Marina. I’m actually—I’m seeing someone.”

  Although “seeing someone” seemed as feeble as “screwing around” had when Becca had said it yesterday.

  “Oh, Griff, I’m glad! I’m really glad. Is it serious?”

  “Yeah,” he said, thinking of the donuts and coffee and how late he’d made Becca to work this morning, and suddenly he discovered he was smiling. Beaming, actually. Robbie would have been proud.

  Right then, sitting across from the woman who’d once brought him to his knees, thinking of the woman who made him want to get down on his knees, he realized just how much he needed Becca to stay.

  She couldn’t leave. That was all there was to it. He wanted her to have coffee and donuts with him every morning.

  Somehow, despite his best intentions, despite the lesson he’d learned from Marina, he’d gone and done it again.

  He’d fallen in love. He’d put himself at another woman’s mercy.

  The waitress came back and set down their drinks. He took a long slug of his beer, bitter and cold. Marina sipped her root beer through the straw, daintily. He’d once thought that was super cute. Becca’s appetites had recalibrated him.

  He smiled.

  “Griff,” Marina said. “I really am happy for you. And—oh, God, I’m—I’m sorry. Sorry, not for what I did, but for how I went about it.”

  “It was pretty shitty,” he said, without rancor. “I came home and you were just gone.”

  “I know. I know. I’m so sorry. If I’d been brave enough to do it any other way, I would have. But I was a coward.”

  Tears filled her eyes.

  “If it makes it any better, and I know it doesn’t, really, but I tried every way I knew to warn you,” she said. “I tried and tried to tell you. And I still don’t know if I wasn’t saying it out loud like I thought, or you just weren’t hearing it. I felt like I was telling you, but—”

  He could see her, suddenly, in his mind’s eye. Crying. There were words coming out of her mouth, but he couldn’t hear the words. He could just see the pain. So many times when he’d been home on leave, it had been like that—her pleading and crying, the two of them yelling and fighting. But had he ever really listened?

  He shook his head. “I didn’t do a good job of hearing you. You did say how bad it was and I just didn’t want to believe it. I let you down.”

  And he saw, with a needle of pain to his chest, that he’d known that all along. That was what Marina had been doing in his flashbacks—trying to tell him how much he blamed himself for letting her down. For not hearing, for not seeing, for not trying harder to save what was between them.

  Her eyes held gratitude. And he wondered: If he’d been able to say that when she’d first left, would things have turned out differently? Would she have walked away from Scott, back to him?

  As if he’d spoken the question out loud, she spoke, seeming to answer. “I’m not sure it could have gone any differently,” she said. “I was so young.” Her voice was wistful. “You were my first and I thought all that great sex had to mean something. But maybe it didn’t? Maybe it was just great sex and we should have been smart enough to walk away from it when our lives were so obviously going in different directions.”

  He wanted her to stop. Not because it wasn’t true. It was true. But great sex made him think of Becca, and Becca was young. He hadn’t thought that about her recently, but he’d definitely thought it that first night, that Friday Night Dinner when they’d played dirty Taboo. He’d told himself that she was too young and innocent for him and that he wouldn’t make the mistake he’d made with Marina again.

  Becca wasn’t Marina. She wasn’t.

  Marina was watching him carefully, searching his face for something—he didn’t know what, but it made him uncomfortable and he picked up his beer.

  “Griff. There’s more. Scott and I are moving to the East Coast. Connecticut. We’re selling the house. The open house is Thursday. That’s why I had to come by. Aside from the fact that I didn’t want to leave without saying some kind of goodbye, I need you to get that stuff out of the basement.”

  He winced. “I’m sorry I left it there so long.”

  “It’s okay,” she said. “I get it. I really do. But we need to be able to put stuff down there to stage the rest of the house, so—I don’t mind if you want me just to have someone come haul it away, I just didn’t want to do that without letting you know.”

  He shook his head. “No. I don’t want you to have to hassle with that or spend money to do it. I’ll come get it. Look—” He drained the rest of his beer. “Can we just get it over with now? I don’t have anything super important to do the rest of the afternoon. My boss’ll understand. And then I’ll be out of your hair, and—”

  And it would be a fresh start for him. For him and Becca.

  She nodded. “Works for me. It might take a couple of trips?”

  “Okay. Let’s get started.”

  39

  Becca’s cell phone vibrated on the desk where she’d set it, indicating a phone call. She glanced down, and her heart skipped a beat. It was the salon where she’d interviewed on Wednesday.

  “Becca speaking.”

  “Hi, Becca. It’s Wendy, at Wallingford Wellness Salon and Day Spa.”

  “Hi, Wendy! Good to hear from you.”

  “Everyone here really loved meeting you. We think you’re great, and we want to offer you the receptionist position.”

  “Oh, wow,” Becca said. “Thank you! That’s great! Wow, that’s great news.”

  The enthusiasm was reflexive. It just poured out, because she’d been trained to be polite and she was a natural people pleaser.

  Not because she’d been feeling painfully uneasy since Marina and Griff had left.

  She hadn’t heard anything from Griff since that first text message, which was—three hours ago, now? The day was almost over. Not that he usually checked in with her a ton during the work day, but she would have expected something. Looking forward to FND! maybe, or Hey, sexy, can’t wait to see you! or Don’t freak out, even though I just walked out of work to go have a “talk” with my ex-wife and never came back, there’s nothing to worry about.

  There’s nothing to worry about, New Becca said, but her voice had been getting fainter all afternoon.

  “So, can I take that as a yes? We’d love to have you!”

  She should say no. No, I’m sorry, I’ve decided to stay where I am, on the Oregon coast; I won’t be
coming back to Seattle after all. There’s a guy—

  Why wasn’t she just saying no?

  There’s nothing to worry about, New Becca insisted, now barely more than a whisper.

  What if he’s changed his mind? What if she changed his mind? What if she wants him back?

  He’d take her back in a heartbeat, Nate’s voice said.

  He wouldn’t, New Becca said. He wants you to stay. He cares about you.

  Did he say that? Old Becca asked. Or does he just want more sex?

  Becca took a deep breath. “Can I—can I take until tomorrow morning to think about it?”

  There was a small but fraught silence on the other end of the line before Wendy said, “Of course. If you need to.”

  “You’re in on Saturdays, right?”

  “Yes. I’ll be in tomorrow morning from ten till noon.” Her buoyantly friendly voice had tightened down, and Becca regretted the loss of the warmth, even though—

  Even though she didn’t want the salon job. She wanted to stay here and be a real auntie to Robbie and all of Nate and Alia’s kids who came after him. She wanted to work for Jake, helping the veterans restart their old lives or jump-start their new lives. She wanted to volunteer with Nate—maybe even take a part-time job with him—tutoring kids like Jed. Kids like her.

  And she wanted, oh God, she wanted, to give this thing with Griff a chance . . .

  She heard herself explaining to Jenina why there was no “thing” with Griff. Why there was nothing to give a chance to.

  But things had changed since then, hadn’t they? Last night, she’d felt it: Everything had changed.

  “I’ll call before noon. I promise,” she told Wendy.

  “Okay. I’ll look forward to hearing from you.”

  They exchanged friendly goodbyes, and she hung up the phone.

  Jake poked his head out of his office. “I have a few more things to finish up,” he said. “And then I’m going to head over to Friday Night Dinner. But you should go. There aren’t any more appointments and it’s five-oh-five on a Friday and—” He grinned. “Get the hell out of here.”