What If It's Right?

by J B Heller

  I chose to remain silent, nothing I could say would help this conversation. But Weston didn’t agree.

  His eyes narrowed on Luke, “You do realise she’s not his biological mother right? So technically Bro Code doesn’t apply here.”

  Luke frowned, “She’s not?”

  Seriously? Did I look old enough to be Finn’s birth mother? God I hoped not. I cleared my throat, “No, I’m not Finn’s biological mother, but he’s still my son. Has been since he was ten years old. His mother was my sister.”

  This wasn’t something we spoke about much. And I hadn’t really thought too much about it. I spoke to Vera about it, and obviously Weston knew. But I hadn’t thought too much about what others thought about me and Finn’s relationship.

  Luke slowly nodded, “Makes sense. You’re too hot to be that old.”

  A serious blush crept up my neck, “Uh, thank you. I think.”

  Weston’s fist shot out and punched Luke in the shoulder, “Eyes off. I’ve got dibs.”

  Luke rubbed his shoulder, “I figured.” He muttered.

  “Uh, sorry to burst your bubble, but nobody has dibs on me.” I said before they could continue.

  Luke’s eyes lit up, “So, you’re available.”

  Weston’s fist once again shot out, but this time he put more force behind the hit. “No, she’s not.”

  I crossed my arms across my chest, “Since when?” I demanded.

  All of a sudden, all eyes were on me. I swallowed, I hadn’t meant to speak so loudly.

  “What’s going on?” Finn asked, having been brought out of his and Nixie’s impromptu make out session.

  My eyes shot to him, “Nothin.’ I’ve gotta go. All this cake is calling my name and I’m losing the strength to resist. If I stay any longer, I won’t fit my dress for the wedding.” I stood up and kissed Nixie’s cheek, then scruffed up Finn’s hair and kissed his cheek too, “Bye, guys.” Then I scurried out of there.

  Once in my car, I flew out of the parking lot and away from a conversation I still wasn’t ready for.

  I managed to avoid Weston the following week, but come Saturday there was a knock on the door frame to my workshop. I turned my head to see him leaning against the frame. “Hey,” I mumbled as I turned my focus back to the piece I was assembling.

  “You been avoiding me again, Tory?” he asked.

  I didn’t turn back to him, but I replied honestly, “A little.”

  “Because of last weekend?” he questioned.

  “Yep. I’m not ready to continue that conversation, so if that’s why you’re here, you can leave.” I fiddled with the piece of wire that wasn’t doing what it was supposed to.

  I heard him dragging a chair over to sit by me as I worked. I glanced at him from the corner of my eye, he was watching my hands as I worked. “You’re really good at this.” He murmured.

  “Thanks,” I didn’t know what else to say, and it didn’t seem like he was going to push the relationship bounds again today, so I relaxed and kept working.

  We sat in comfortable silence for a few more minutes. And it was actually nice. It didn’t feel weird having him in my space like I thought it would.

  “I just need to ask you one thing, then I’ll let it go.” Weston said quietly.

  I could feel the seriousness in his words, so I put my tools down and turned to face him. “Okay.”

  He nodded, and licked his lips. My eyes watched his tongue until it slipped back inside his mouth, then I regained my focus, shook my head, and told him, “Shoot.”

  “Am I wasting my time here? Will you ever be ready to finish that conversation we started the other day?” his eyes never left mine as he spoke.

  I blinked a few times before I could find my voice. “That was two questions.” I laughed drily, trying to lighten the moment, but nothing but my answer could do that. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and cleared my mind of everything but the two of us. Then I opened my eyes and told him the truth, “You’re right, I do want to be with you. But it’s not that simple.”

  He went to speak, but I held up my hand, stopping him. “Let me get this all out first.” I waited for him to nod, then I continued. “Finn isn’t going to be happy about it. And he’s my priority. I have to talk to him before I agree to anything with you.”

  I didn’t realise I was reaching for him until my palm was cupping his stubbled cheek. He closed his eyes, leaning into my touch, and my thumb grazed lightly over his bottom lip. “I don’t know when it will be the right time to talk to him, and I don’t expect you to sit around waiting for it.”

  Sighing I closed my eyes, “You’ve been so patient with me, and I’ve rejected you at every turn. I can’t ask you for more time, you’ve already given me so much.”

  The next thing I knew, Weston had picked me up and brought me onto his lap. His large hands gripped my thighs, as he pressed his forehead to mine, “I have so much more to give. And I will. When you’re ready.”

  A sob wretched from deep within my chest. “I can’t push you away again, but I can’t lie to Finn.” I sobbed.

  Weston’s hands moved from my thighs, up my back, bringing me closer, “Then I won’t ask you again until you’ve spoken to him.”

  Relief, pure and sweet, filled my lungs, and I cried harder. Weston began stroking my back with his fingertips, “Shhh, Tory. We’re on the same page now. Everything will be okay. We will be okay.”

  I slumped against his shoulder, “I know.” I whispered.

  After carrying guilt, fear and shame around for so long, when it was lifted all I could do was cry with relief as I breathed in Weston’s scent filling my heart with hope for the first time in a long time.

  I’m not sure how long we sat like that, me straddling his lap, snuggling into his shoulder while he gently stroked my back. But when my tears had dried, I knew it was time to move. Pressing my hands to his firm shoulders I pushed myself into a sitting position, then grinned at him.

  I’d never seen him so happy. And he was practically glowing.

  His hand slid up the back of my neck, tangling in my hair as he brought my face closer to his, “Just one, to hold me over,” he murmured before his lips caressed mine and he stole my breath.

  Nothing had ever felt so right.

  My hands moved from his shoulders into his hair as his tongue slid across the seam of my lips. I whimpered and opened for him just as his fist clenched the hair at my nape. “I can’t wait to have all of you, Tory,” he groaned against my lips, and I smiled knowing it wouldn’t be long before I gave myself to him.

  Now that I had let go of everything that had been holding me back, and admitted my feelings for him, all I had to do was talk to Finn.

  Weston pressed one more kiss against my lips, “I won’t push you to talk to him, but please, don’t wait too long.”

  I nodded, and slid off his lap onto my wobbly legs, “I won’t.”

  Two Months Ago . . .

  Finding the right time to talk to your son about wanting to start a relationship with his best friend was apparently impossible. Every time I thought I could broach the topic, the words I’d practiced would flee from my mind and I’d end up babbling about random things like peanut butter M&M’s versus crispy ones. Or something equally unimportant.

  Today we had had another one of these strangely random conversations. I’d just gotten home when my phone chimed with a text, I glanced at the screen and saw Weston’s name staring back at me.

  I trudged down the hallway into my room and flopped onto my bed, then opened the text.

  You look particularly miserable today.

  I frowned at the screen, when had he seen me? I tapped out a reply.

  How would you know?

  The little dots appeared immediately letting me know he was replying.

  Saw you get home just now. What’s up?

  Sighing deeply, I decided I should tell him what was going on. He’d remained true to his word and backed off on the relationship front. I saw him
around and things between us were almost normal. Except for the cheeky texts I would get when we were in a group setting and Luke would pretend to flirt with me.

  I chewed on my lip trying to find the right thing to tell him.

  I tried to talk to Finn today. It didn’t go to plan. It never does. I start babbling about random crap like swans being the only birds with an external penis.

  The dots took a little longer to appear this time.

  Do you want me to talk to him?

  As much as I would love to not have this conversation with Finn, it had to be me that did it.

  Thanks, but no. It needs to come from me.

  This time the dots didn’t come up at all. But a tap on my semi closed bedroom door did. I lifted my head and saw Weston strolling in like he owned the place. I raised a brow, “What are you doing here?”

  He shrugged, “Believe it or not, I’m not big on texting. Especially when the person I’m texting is right next door.”

  My head flopped back against the pillow, “Fair enough.”

  “So do I even want to know how you know that Swans have an external penis?”

  I shook my head, “Probably not.”

  The bed dipped as Weston sat on the edge then shuffled up until he was leaning against the headboard. He crossed his arms behind his head and I noticed a new tattoo, at least, I thought it was new.

  Reaching up I traced my finger over it, feeling it was still raised a little I knew it was new. “When’d you get this one?” I asked as my finger tip traced the intricate arrow on the inside of his bicep.

  He glanced over to the spot I was touching, “Week before last. You like it?”

  I nodded, “Yeah. It’s nice. I was going to get something similar.” I reached over and grabbed my phone so I could pull up Pinterest and show him the design I’d chosen. When I found it I handed my phone to him.

  “Huh, it is pretty similar. You still going to get it?” he asked as he handed my phone back.

  Shrugging I took my phone and started looking through the other designs I’d pinned. “I think so. One day. I like the meaning behind it.”

  Weston smiled down at me, “Me too. That’s why I got it.”

  I smiled back, and nodded. “To moving forward,” I murmured as I kept scrolling through my boards.

  “To moving forward,” Weston seconded softly and reached down to twirl a strand of my hair around his fingers.

  We stayed like that for the next hour, him playing with my hair, me showing him designs I liked. Until his phone rang in his pocket.

  He kept playing with my hair, and answered his phone with his free hand. “Hello,” he said with a frown. “Yes, speaking.” He said after a second, then his hand stilled and tension filled his limbs. He sat up straight and turned to the edge of the bed. He still hadn’t spoken, but the phone was still pressed to his ear.

  I sat up behind him and crawled closer, then his phone slid from his grasp and hit the floor. “Weston, what’s wrong?” I asked as I slid up beside him.

  His face had lost all its colour, and a sheen of sweat had broken out across his forehead. I reached for his face but he jolted before I could make contact then burst into my bathroom, dropped to his knees and threw up in the toilet.

  Glancing down I noticed the call was still connected and it was from a number that wasn’t programed into his phone. I picked it up and held it to my ear, “Hello?” I said softly, not knowing if I was doing the right thing or not.

  “Hello, is Weston Banks still there?” the voice on the other end asked.

  I shook my head, “No, he’s sick. Who is this?”

  “My name is Bernice, I work with Vera, Weston’s mother. Something happened at work, the ambulance came and—” she paused and I heard her suck in an anguished breath.

  My pulse picked up, “What’s wrong with Vera? Where is she?” I demanded.

  “She’s gone.” Bernice whispered.

  “I don’t understand? What hospital was she taken to? Where is she?” I continued my demands, something was very wrong, I could feel it in my bones.

  A stuttered cry came through the line, “She’s gone. She was gone before the ambulance arrived.”

  I shook my head, “I don’t understand. What are you talking about? You’re not making any sense.” I couldn’t let myself believe what she was implying. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be.

  “They took her to the public hospital. I’m sorry. I’m so, so, sorry.” Then the line went dead.

  My entire body went numb, I didn’t even feel it when my legs gave out and I hit the floor with a thud. I curled into a ball and stayed there. If I stayed there long enough someone would come and tell me that this was all a sick and twisted joke.

  But nobody came.

  Sometime later I pulled myself together enough to check on Weston. I found him slumped against the side of the bathtub. His skin was ashen, grief dripped from his pours. And I dropped to my knees in front of him.

  His empty eyes came to mine, “She was all I had.”

  My heart broke for him.

  My heart broke for myself.

  Weston’s mother, my best friend, Vera, was gone.

  Grief overwhelmed me and I dropped my head to Weston’s raised knees and sobbed.

  We later found out that Vera had suffered from a brain aneurism. She had died instantly. The doctor told us that 40% of ruptured brain aneurisms are fatal. And in his opinion she was lucky as the remaining 60% either died on the way to the hospital or suffered permanent brain damage.

  I wanted to punch him in the face for making Vera sound like she was just another statistic.

  By the time we got home it was dark outside. I was operating on autopilot and Weston hadn’t spoken a word since that afternoon in my bathroom.

  I walked beside him to his front door, when he didn’t make a move to open it I offered, “Do you want me to open it?”

  He shook his head, and looked me in the eyes, his pain was raw, and crippling. I took his hand in mine, and led him back across the lawn to my house. I opened the door and pulled him in behind me.

  His hand was cold, and stiff, but he held mine as if it were his lifeline. I gave it a squeeze and tugged him in further down the hall to my bedroom. He didn’t protest when I guided him to the bed and sat him down.

  I climbed onto the bed beside him, and gently nudged his shoulder to get him to lay down. Then I curled into his side and stayed there until the sun came up the next morning.

  Neither of us slept a wink. But we didn’t fill the silence, our bodies gave the comfort that our words could not. Weston held me as tightly as I held him. No words needed to be spoken between us.

  The morning of the funeral came, and I had no idea how I’d gotten there. I didn’t remember helping Weston make the arrangements, although I know I did. From the moment I’d pulled myself off my bedroom floor until now, I’d been in a daze.

  Weston had spent every night at my place, in my bed. And each night we held each other in silence. Those were my only truly lucid moments in the days that had passed.

  I didn’t try to push him to enter his own house, I knew what he was feeling, the same apprehension as I had felt when I had to walk inside of Jacq’s house for the first time after she died. It was one of the hardest things I ever had to do. But I had to do it.

  It helped me heal, I’m not sure how, but it brought a closeness to her that I desperately needed in those days. I wanted to tell Weston that it would get better, he would be able to breathe again without feeling the pressing weight of grief crushing his heart with every inhale.

  But today was not the day. Today another step had to be taken, and this one, may well be the hardest of all.

  Today we put Vera to rest.

  Today signified the end of a beautiful life, and the beginning of learning how to live without it.

  One Week After Vera’s Funeral . . . Six Weeks Ago . . .

  Weston still hadn’t gone inside his and Vera’s house. A week had come and g
one since the funeral, nearly two weeks since Vera passed and I knew I was the only person who could get him to take that step.

  He’d stayed at my house since that first night, and even though we held each other there was no intimacy shared between us. Just comfort.

  In fact, we’d barely spoken. I’d tried to engage him in conversation, but he was too lost in his own thoughts to even realise that the outside world kept on moving around him.

  Everyone grieved differently, I knew that, but he was worrying me.

  My phone chimed with a text from Finn.

  How is he today?

  Finn knew Weston had been staying with me, but he didn’t know he’d been staying in my bed. And now was not the time to have that conversation.

  He’s in the shower. Going to make him coffee and see if I can get him to go over to the house today.

  The little dots popped up immediately.

  Want me to come over? Help?

  I thought about it briefly, but decided against it. I didn’t know how Weston would react to going into Vera’s personal space, if he agreed to go that was.

  No. Let me try first. I’ll call if I need you.

  Just as I slid my phone back onto the countertop, Weston strolled into the kitchen. I turned to smile at him, but my smile faded when I saw the bags under his eyes. “Have you been sleeping at all?” I asked.

  He grimaced, “Maybe an hour or two here and there?”

  I nodded then returned to fixing a couple of extra strong coffees. The high pitched squeak of a bar stool being pulled out grated against my ears. When I turned to him his elbows rested on the counter as he cradled his head in his palms.

  “Coffee?” I asked as I slid his mug over to him and took the stool beside his.

  “Thanks,” he mumbled but made no move to take it.

  Instead of asking if he wanted breakfast, since I knew he would refuse, I picked up my coffee and sipped the steamy caffeinated goodness like it was my first and last coffee ever. I nudged his elbow, “Try it, I used the new hazelnut beans I got yesterday. It’s really good.”