Holding Out

by Serena Bell

  “Thanks,” she said.

  She shut down her computer and cleaned up her desk, surveyed the waiting room to make sure it would be ready for Monday morning’s appointments, and headed downstairs. She was hurrying across the parking lot toward her car when a flash of silver caught her attention in the direction of the veterans’ lodgings. She turned her head to look.

  It took a minute to make sense of what she was seeing—a man and a woman coming down the stairs from the rooms, which by itself was unusual because so many of the men who came here were single and there were so few women around. Maybe it was the unusualness of the sight that held Becca’s attention, or maybe some part of her brain that recognized, even from a distance, the rumpled hair, the black T-shirt, the well-worn jeans, the build that had become so familiar to her that she could pick him out of a lineup with her eyes closed.

  It was Griff, with Marina by his side, the two of them caught up in an obviously intense conversation. Coming back from his room. Three hours after they’d left together “to talk.” And there was intimacy in every line of their bodies, the two of them leaning toward each other, eyes locked on each other’s faces.

  She was going to throw up. Or pass out. Or just stand here staring at them until they caught her, and that would be awful.

  As she watched, they reached the bottom of the stairs, and Griff opened his arms and pulled Marina in.

  Move! New Becca bellowed. And Becca did, turning toward the car, clicking the door remote, sliding into the seat, pulling out of the parking space and out of the lot.

  Did he see you?

  She looked back in the mirror just before she lost sight of them, but Griff was too intent on the woman in his arms to notice anything else.

  40

  There was a knock on the door of his room.

  “Come in,” Griff said.

  Jake appeared in the doorway and surveyed the room. It was crammed with Griff’s stuff. All the empty space—and there had never been much—was occupied now, with Griff’s clothes, books, CDs. His skis leaned against one wall, golf clubs against another. Griff himself was sitting in the recliner he’d loved and Marina had hated, which was covered with some slightly shaggy velvety blue material. Two bookcases flanked him, one on either side. They’d been the only furniture he’d owned before Marina.

  He’d been sitting in the recliner for probably forty-five minutes, feeling too flattened to move.

  “Having a yard sale?” Jake quipped. Then he must have gotten a better read on Griff’s expression, because his smile slipped away. “Dude. What’s going on here?”

  Griff closed his eyes. “Marina is getting married.”

  “Oh, shit,” Jake said.

  “No. No, it’s okay. I think.”

  “You don’t look okay.”

  Griff didn’t feel okay. He was exhausted from the emotional conversation with Marina, which had bled over into the drive to Astoria. Then he’d had to see the house—the living room where he’d stood, note in hand, the kitchen where he and Marina had eaten dinner on the floor their first night in the house. And yet, the house now was not that house, because it had been transformed into something completely different by Scott and Marina. They’d repainted, remodeled the kitchen—made it super homey and super personal, just like he might have done one day with Marina if—

  If things had turned out differently.

  Scott hadn’t been around—he was still at work—so Marina had single-handedly helped Griff carry stuff up from the basement and load it into his truck and her car. With effort and both vehicles, they’d been able to get the whole thing done in one trip, but even so it was after five by the time they finished unloading everything into Griff’s room.

  And now it was all here, crowding him, making it hard to breathe.

  “It started out so well,” Griff said. “You know? I mean, we were crazy in love.”

  Jake nodded.

  “But she’s right. We were young. When we first met, I didn’t even know I was going into the army, and she didn’t know—I mean, how would she have—that she was going to want someone who could be around so much more than I could be.”

  “It happens,” Jake said. “Mira and I didn’t get it right the first time.”

  Griff closed his eyes. “Maybe that’s part of it. That part of me thought I was going to get a second chance, but the truth is, you don’t, always. I’m not going to. This is just it.” He gestured to the roomful of stuff. “Me and all my shit in this—couldn’t you have built these fucking rooms a little bit bigger?”

  Jake laughed, and it eased something in Griff’s chest. “And what if I—what if I don’t get it right with Becca, either?”

  “You will,” Jake said. “You have to. I bet Mira you guys would make it work. I have both money and sexual favors riding on it.”

  Griff rolled his eyes. “TMI, man, TMI.” He hesitated. “But seriously. I—I don’t think I can do it again, you know? Survive it again.”

  To his chagrin, his voice broke. Apparently once you let it all hang out, it was out there for good.

  “You could,” Jake said simply. “You’re a survivor.”

  “I know, but what if I don’t want to be? What if I don’t want to do that ever again? I asked her to think about staying and she, I don’t know, she said she would, but I’m not sure she meant it.”

  Jake’s eyes were sympathetic, which only made Griff feel worse.

  “You’ve had a tough day, Griff. Let’s go to Friday Night Dinner and get some amazing food and as soon as you see Becca, you’ll know it’s going to be all right.”

  Griff wished he had Jake’s faith, the faith of a man who’d been happily married now for a long time, who’d won the woman he’d always wanted and who never doubted it. But right now, he just wanted to sit in this recliner by himself for the rest of his life.

  Jake held out a hand. “C’mon, man. Let’s go.”

  Griff grasped the hand and let himself be yanked unceremoniously upright.

  “On your feet, soldier,” Jake said, and despite himself, Griff smiled.

  41

  As soon as Becca stepped into her sister’s kitchen, the tears she’d been holding back clogged up her throat and threatened to fall, and she knew she’d been dumb to think she’d be able to pretend nothing was wrong.

  “What’s wrong?” Alia asked.

  “Nothing,” Becca said.

  “You’re full of shit,” Alia said, narrowing her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  Becca shook her head. If she told the story—Marina showing up in the office, Griff and Marina going somewhere “to talk,” seeing them, three hours later coming out of Griff’s room together—Alia would look at her with a face full of pity and she would fall apart into a million tiny pieces. New Becca expressly forbade that.

  “Does this have to do with Griff and Marina?” Nate asked quietly.

  Alia’s gaze flew to her husband’s face.

  “I saw them in the parking lot earlier this afternoon. Just talking,” he clarified, because Becca’s expression must have broadcast her horror. Nate’s eyes scraped over her face, concerned, and Becca felt the last of her reserves crumble.

  “They weren’t just talking when I saw them.” It hurt to say the words out loud, and the tears she’d been trying to hold back flowed and streamed down her face, soundless. “They were coming downstairs from his room.”

  Alia shot an alarmed look at Nate.

  “Maybe it wasn’t—” she began, but Nate’s voice cut across hers.

  “That asshole. I’m going to kill him.”

  “No,” Becca said. “Don’t do that. I was the one who didn’t listen. You guys warned me.”

  Her tears slowed down, and she felt suddenly calmer. Almost numb, in fact.

  Nate was right, she thought.

  Alia was right.

  They saw the writing on the wall.

  And I was stupid.

  But the good news was, she hadn’t done anything permanent. She ha
dn’t turned down the Seattle job or asked Jake for a job. She hadn’t even told Griff she’d stay. She’d gotten lucky this time. She’d seen the truth before she gave herself over so far that there was no going back.

  New Becca could still keep this from turning into a disaster.

  The doorbell rang, and they all turned toward the front of the house.

  A big, familiar voice rang out. “I’m here, people! The party can start!”

  And Griff appeared in the doorway, a little dusty, a little scruffy, and so painfully beautiful that Becca’s stupid, stupid heart crumbled into a pile of ash.

  42

  They fell silent when he stepped into the kitchen, Jake right behind him. In that way that people do when they’ve been talking about you and then you show up.

  Becca’s eyes met his. It struck him, seeing her, how very, very young she was. Young and vulnerable and confused. The opposite of Marina, with her makeup like war paint.

  And that definitely wasn’t happiness shining from under Becca’s skin.

  He couldn’t keep from shooting Jake a look, like, What, dude? You promised me it would be okay when I saw her. And it didn’t help that the look Jake returned was one of alarm.

  Alia turned away from him and began stirring something on the stove. Whatever it was, it smelled amazing. Moroccan, maybe—cinnamon and nutmeg and a bunch of darker spices. And he thought that was rice steaming in the cooker on the counter.

  “Do you need me to make the salad?” Nate asked Alia, pointedly not looking at Griff.

  “Salad fixings in the fridge,” Alia said, and Nate flung open the door and buried himself in the salad drawer.

  Without asking, Jake grabbed the placemats and began setting the table.

  Griff took a step toward Becca, wanting to—he didn’t know. Do something. Touch her, kiss her, ask her a question, answer the question on her uncertain face.

  “Why don’t you two take a walk before dinner?” Alia said, suddenly.

  A cold fear gripped Griff in the pit of his stomach. He looked at Becca, but she didn’t look back at him.

  “Becca?” he asked.

  “She’s right. Let’s take a walk.”

  He followed her out into the street, and the cold fear accompanied him. He tried to put an arm around her, but she pulled away, just far enough that she was out of his reach.

  “Are you mad?”

  She shook her head.

  “Talk to me, Becca. Tell me what’s in your head. I need to know what’s in your head.”

  He stopped, made her stop with a hand on her arm. Turned her so she was facing him, forced her to look at him.

  She opened her mouth. He had a million ideas about what might come out, but what she actually said still managed to surprise him.

  “I got the job.”

  “The job—?”

  The fatigue he’d felt, the weight that had threatened to pin him to the recliner earlier, suddenly descended over him like a heavy cape. His body and brain felt like they were moving at the speed of molasses.

  “The salon receptionist job in Seattle,” she said wearily. She sounded disappointed, but not surprised, that she’d had to explain that to him.

  “Oh.” His stomach clenched. “Congratulations, that’s—what are you going to do?”

  She was walking faster; he had to speed up to stay by her side.

  “I think I should take it,” she said. She was talking fast, too, like she could slide that sentence by him without him noticing what she’d said.

  But there was no chance of that. The cold knot in his stomach doubled and redoubled.

  “What’s this about, baby?”

  The endearment made her flinch, which hurt somewhere in the pit of his gut.

  “I just—I just think you were right from the beginning when you said that this would get more complicated than we wanted it to.”

  It was his turn to flinch, hearing his words flung back at him.

  “You’re my first, and I’m barely twenty-four, and, I don’t know, it feels stupid to turn down a job that’s perfect for me in a city where I already have a great apartment and a fabulous roommate, on the strength of a few weeks of—whatever this is. It’s been good, Griff. So good. But I’ve let myself think it’s more than it is, and I don’t think I should give up what’s right for me.”

  “No.”

  The word came out before he could stop it.

  “You don’t get to do that. It’s not ‘whatever this is.’ It’s more than that and you know it.”

  He was going to tell her what it was. Dirty Taboo and filthy archery. The best sex he’d ever had. Conversations that helped him make sense of what he wanted and who he was.

  The first time in two years that he had let himself feel.

  Like an idiot, the mean tight voice in his head said.

  “What’s this really about, Becca?”

  “I saw you. And Marina. Coming out of your room. I saw you, holding her.”

  “Holding—?” Then he figured it out. She’d seen them coming downstairs after the last trip to unload furniture, when he’d hugged Marina goodbye. It had been a long, warm hug, because—well, because they’d cleared the air between them and it felt like they could be friends now. And honestly? Because he’d probably never see her again.

  Becca’s lower lip trembled, and he saw that he’d hurt her. Badly. Damn, he’d been stupid and insensitive, but he was going to make it up to her now. For the first time, the knot in his stomach loosened, because he was going to explain and apologize and fix this.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t stop to explain who she was or try to tell you why she was there—everything happened fast, and I just wanted to get it over with. I’m sorry. That was dumb. But please—I don’t know what you’re thinking, but whatever it is, that’s not how it went down. She just showed up. And she wanted me to get my stuff out of her basement—”

  He was doing this wrong, he realized suddenly. He wasn’t saying the important stuff. He was just babbling.

  “Your stuff.” She took a breath. “In her basement? What, is that a metaphor?”

  “No, for real, my actual stuff. I—I never got it out.”

  “You never got your stuff out. Of her house.”

  Her voice was flat, and he could see how ridiculous it sounded now. And how damning.

  “You left your stuff at her house for two years. Clearly, you wanted to get back together otherwise you would have gathered up your stuff and moved on. Nate said—”

  “What? What did Nate say?” He was cold again.

  “That you were trying to bang enough women to forget her, but that you’d take her back in a minute if she’d have you.”

  She looked like she was one sentence away from bursting into tears, and he reached out and tried to tug her into his arms, to comfort her with his body and warmth, but she wouldn’t come.

  That was when he really started to get scared.

  “Becca. Listen. There was a time when what Nate said was true. There was a time when my stuff was at Marina’s house because I thought maybe, one day, that would be our house again. And I would have done just about anything to make that happen. But that was a long time ago. She’s marrying Scott now. And moving to the East Coast. We can’t ever get back together.”

  “And I’m supposed to feel like that makes it okay. You wanted to get back together with her until you couldn’t, and now that you can’t? I’m the next best thing?” She was shaking her head.

  “That was before. I haven’t felt that way since I met you.”

  “I can’t, Griff. I just—I promised myself. I promised New Becca I’d never do that again. Put my life on hold for someone. Wait and wait for someone who couldn’t deliver. And, Griff, I saw your face today. When you came in and she was there. I’ve seen you look like that before, so don’t try to tell me—”

  “What do you mean, you’ve seen me look like that before?” His heart was pounding so hard it was difficult to think straight.

&
nbsp; “That night in Seattle, after the Edgewater—”

  “What are you talking about?” He willed himself to breathe, willed his pulse to slow down, as he once had during battle. Breathe.

  “When you had the flashback. You said her name.”

  “What?” A feeling was barreling down on him. A familiar and terrible feeling. Something coming he could prevent, if only he could say the right words.

  “When you were coming out of the fog, you thought I was her and you looked at me—at her—like she was all you needed in the world to be happy.”

  “Wait—I what? Why didn’t you tell me that?”

  Panic had risen up, and it was making him slower and dumber.

  “You mean, tell you that I think you’re still in love with your ex-wife on the night that you took my virginity? I’m sorry, but I couldn’t quite find a way to work that into the conversation.”

  It wasn’t her words that made the panic rise and twist, like a vine around his throat. It was her tone of despair.

  “And that’s what you thought you saw on my face today, when I saw her in the office.”

  She was nodding.

  “You’re wrong, Becca. It was just shock, and the weirdness of seeing her again after so long. That’s all it was.”

  But she was shaking her head, and his chest tightened. It was like he’d stepped into the middle of a situation he’d already lost control of. It was beyond his reach, the moment to salvage it already missed, receding into the past. His mind calling out, too late, too late, too late, I knew, I knew, I knew.

  “Jesus, Becca, be reasonable.” He heard the edge in his voice and tried again to bring himself down, but the anger was rising with the suffocating fear, the two emotions twined around each other like bittersweet around the branches of a tree.

  “I am being reasonable, Griff. I know what I saw.”

  “You—God, Becca! You know what you saw? You saw what you wanted to see. You never feel like you deserve to be happy. You never feel like you’re good enough. You never feel like you deserve anyone to love you, so you take one look at the situation and you see what you need to see so you can run far and fast in the other direction. Damn it!” The words spilled out in a hot, angry slew, before he could stop them. He was so hurt and so mad and so frustrated, and he could see it all—the note in his hand and the empty living room, and his dorm room full of his useless shit, and how good it had once been and how bad it had felt tonight when torpor had pinned him to that ugly chair. “I can’t do this again! I can’t be with someone who isn’t enough of an adult to know what she wants.”