Love on the Outskirts of Town

by Zoe York

  When he arrived, both girls came to the door, Emily in a blur of curls and squeals, Natasha looking cautious.

  He stepped inside. “Hi.”

  She searched his face, her gaze full of questions, but Emily bounced into his arms. There wouldn’t be any talking until she was asleep, and maybe that was okay.

  “I missed you,” he told his favourite three-year-old, not that she knew why. “What have you been up to?”

  “Mommy got a new job.”

  “What?” He jerked his head toward Natasha.

  She gave him a small smile. “Yeah. I’m the newest cashier at Wiarton Lumber. It’s not really the job I was looking for, but the people who own the store are really nice and I’ll get a discount.”

  “Hey, that’s great.”

  “I need to find a babysitter, though, which is kind of stressful. But it’s going to work out nicely in the new year because Em can start pre-school.”

  He set Emily down and took a step closer. “That’s awesome, congratulations.” He wanted to hug her. Instead, he kept his arms at his side and felt like he’d missed an awful lot in a few days.

  “I’ll tell you more after she’s in bed,” she murmured, holding his gaze.

  He nodded slowly. “I can’t wait.”

  “I’m not tired,” Emily announced. She wrapped herself around Matt’s leg. “Let’s play ponies.”

  “Uh…” He grinned down at her. “Okay. And then bedtime.”

  She led the way upstairs to her room. Natasha followed too, stopping in front of the bathroom. “It’s been a day and a half. Do you mind if I take a quick shower?”

  He frowned. He’d been so focused on coming over and telling her about himself that he’d missed that she looked wrung out. “For sure. Take your time, I don’t think anyone is going to be rushed through ponies.”

  And that was very true. Emily had elaborate plans for him. She carefully told him where to sit, then got out a big box filled with prancing pastel toys. “These are my new ponies,” she said proudly. “Mommy got them.”

  They looked like they might be vintage, from when he and Natasha had been kids.

  “This one is my favourite.” Unexpectedly, it was yellow with a teal mane.

  If she was moving out of the pink phase, he’d kind of miss it a bit. He grinned. “Nice.”

  “What do you want to play?”

  “Whatever you want.”

  She pushed a purple pony into his hand. “You’re the princess pony.”

  “Okay.”

  “You were a bad friend.”

  “Accurate. Okay.” He cleared his throat and made the pony bob her head as he raised his voice. “I’m a selfish pony.”

  “You should say sorry.”

  He dropped back to his regular voice. “That’s good advice. Who am I apologizing to?”

  She wiggled her yellow one at him. “The queen.”

  “This is definitely accurate.” He swallowed a laugh and lifted his voice again. “I’m sorry, my friend. You are the kind, benevolent queen and I was…” Thoughtless.

  Emily held out her own, bigger pony. “Do you know what you did?”

  Matt had to fight back a smile. “No, not really.”

  “You should think about what you did.”

  “Trust me, I am.”

  “Go to your room.” Emily turned her pony around, then turned it back. He didn’t think plastic toys could look disappointed in a person, but there it was. “And pick up all your toys.”

  But that wasn’t the end of it. As soon as his naughty princess pony went to her room, he was given another pony, this one who had to have a whispered conversation about how the princess was doing a very good job at cleaning her room, and maybe they should throw her a party to make her feel better once she knew what she was sorry for.

  Matt liked that. More grown-ups needed to be as forgiving as the plastic ponies in a three-year-old’s bedroom.

  By the time they were on their third role-play, Natasha was done in the shower. She appeared in Emily’s bedroom door, her long dark hair loose and damp around her face. She was wearing Roots sweatpants and a faded band t-shirt.

  She was fucking gorgeous.

  He gave her a smile, acknowledging her presence, but he didn’t stop playing right away. He liked her watching him.

  “Emily,” she finally said softly. “It’s time for bed.”

  “I want five stories.”

  “Two.”

  “Two from you, five from Matt.”

  He laughed. “That’s seven.”

  She frowned. “No, I said five.”

  “Okay, pumpkin. Do you need to go brush your teeth?”

  She scampered past her mom and he stood. Finally they were alone. “Hi.”

  “You already said that when you got here.”

  “I’m saying it again.”

  “Hi.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. That scared him a hell of a lot more than he could properly admit. He’d hurt her through his selfishness. “Full disclosure: I’ve had a long week, but I didn’t want to tell you not to come over.”

  “I’m glad you did.”

  “Well, someone has to read her five bedtime stories, and it’s not going to be me.”

  He smiled. “Fair enough.”

  By the time Emily was racing back into her room, he was sprawled in the chair beside her bed. She climbed up onto her pillow and shoved a book in his hand. “This one first. Please.”

  “Tuck in, then. Head on the pillow, blanket pulled tight.” Once she was snuggled in, he angled the book so she could see the pages as he turned them, and he read it slowly, acting out each voice.

  “Another,” she whispered, and he picked one from the pile.

  The third story he read more softly, letting his voice drift on the same note. By the second last page, her eyelids were firmly shut, and he read the last page quiet as a church mouse.

  He tugged her blanket up around her shoulders, smoothing it over her back. She was so small and soft when asleep, such a marked contrast to her fiery personality when awake. Then he pulled her door shut and crept downstairs. He found Natasha curled up on the red velvet couch. She’d found a large crate to work as a coffee table, and a bottle of wine and two glasses were sitting in front of her. “Are you driving home tonight?”

  He shook his head. “Not if you don’t want me to. I’ll set my alarm and get up before Emily.”

  She nodded without looking at him. “Okay.”

  She didn’t look like she was in a talking mood. But if she was pouring them wine, she didn’t want to just head straight to bed, either.

  He thumbed through his phone, looking for the Havana song he’d downloaded. He hit play. “I listened to this on repeat a lot this week,” he admitted as he held out his hand.

  She looked at his outstretched fingers. “Why?”

  “Because it made me think of you. And I like remembering the way you move. I missed you in my arms.”

  She took his hand and slowly stood.

  “I missed you,” he said gruffly. “So much. I have a lot to apologize for here. But first I want to dance with you. Would that be okay? And I want to hear about your week.”

  She stepped into his personal space, bumping her hips against his, and he said a silent prayer of thanks. His hands felt right on her waist, her smile as they danced better than any burst of sunshine on a cloudy day.

  When she pushed up onto her toes and kissed him softly, he almost started crying, which was weird and disconcerting and fucking amazing at the same time.

  Instead, he kissed her back. Soft and endless, until the song started all over again, and she laughed softly. “We should dance.”

  “And talk,” he reminded her. “Tell me what’s been going on. Tell me about the job.”

  “That happened by accident. I left a resume on the counter when I was getting a countertop quote—I’d handed a bunch out at restaurants, and it was stuck to the bottom of my notebook—and they called me the next
day.”

  “Amazing.”

  “Anyway, I spent most of the week getting shit done. I crossed stuff off my to-do list like a boss,” she murmured as she rolled her body to the music. “But it feels like each done thing creates three more tasks to add to the list, and it’s kind of insane now. So much to do, not much time left before the holidays, and I’m not sure where to start with finding a babysitter.”

  “Can I help?”

  She sighed. “It’s fine. I’ll figure it out, and the Patels are flexible about when I start. If I can’t work many shifts before January when she can start preschool, it’s not the end of the world.”

  “What else is on your list?”

  “My sister is moving this weekend, and Em and I are both really sad about that. We’re going there tomorrow for a last dinner and playdate with her cousins.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah.” She twisted around as the song ended, and he turned his phone off. Wine time.

  Once they were settled on the couch, she lifted her glass. “To siblings and cousins.”

  “I can drink to that.” Siblings. Fucking hell, that was a segue if there ever was one. “A lot of my week has been spent untangling my thoughts about my brothers.”

  Her eyebrows hit the roof. “Really?”

  “Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “It’s complicated. I’m not sure where to start.”

  She leaned her head against the back of the couch. “I’m here to listen to any of it. All of it, if you want. Maybe just start at the beginning?”

  Was it that simple? “I lost a patient at the start of the year. That’s not really the beginning, but that’s what triggered all of…whatever I’m dealing with.” He told her about Fred, and it was harder than he’d expected. He got choked up around the death, and that emotional response took him by surprise because he’d gotten through telling the same story to his brother.

  He took a big slug of wine.

  Natasha just looked at him.

  He took another drink and thought how his chest was tight, his throat was tight, and why couldn’t he get on top of these feelings?

  “Tell me what’s wrong,” she finally said. “Tell me what’s scary.”

  Could she see the way that panic rose up from deep inside him? “Everything,” he said roughly. “Everything except this, everything except you. But the rest of it is kind of fucked up.”

  “Oh, Matt, I’m so sorry.”

  He put his wine down again and shook his head. “I don’t want sympathy, though. That’s the thing. None of this is really that big a deal.”

  She leaned in and brushed her fingertips against his temple. “But in here…”

  He shook his head and circled her wrist with his fingers, drawing her hand to his chest. “More like in here. Clawing fear.”

  She spread her fingers wide and pressed against his body. “I know what that feels like.”

  “Jesus, I'm sorry.” He wrapped his arms around her and pressed his forehead against hers. “I don’t want you to ever feel like this.”

  “But I don't feel it when I'm with you,” she said. “Not even when you left the other day, and I was mad at you.”

  That made him smile weakly. “You were mad?”

  “I was pissed. Men are so frustrating.”

  “I’m starting to see that. We’re not the best communicators.”

  “Huge understatement. But I see you, you know?” She sucked in a ragged breath. “We’re both kind of wrecks. Both sorry for the other, but maybe we shouldn’t be sorry. Maybe we should—”

  “Talk?”

  She nodded. “And find some kind of absolution in that.”

  They could be refuges in the storm for each other.

  He liked that idea a lot. So he dug deeper, right into the heart of the wound he’d exposed this week. “Those nightmares that I have…I run away from them. Literally, some days. I wake up in a cold sweat and I put my shoes on and run as hard and fast as I can. But I can never run fast enough.”

  “Are they about that patient?”

  “Sometimes. Snippets of that. I re-live that morning a lot, the drive to his farm, the way I joked with him. I hear myself being casual about women, about dating and flirting, and it turns ghoulish. Ugly.”

  “Tell me…” she said, her voice not even a whisper. A breath.

  Why would she want to know any part of that? He didn’t want to know it, and he’d lived it. But she was asking. She wanted to know, and if there was anyone in the world he could trust with this secret, it was her. Even if it broke him to admit it. “I lost sight of what mattered. I missed something because I was too casual.”

  “I don’t believe that’s possible.” Her words were gentle and kind and far too forgiving. “You are kind and good and giving and funny, but I don’t believe you didn’t do your job.”

  “I don’t know.” His voice cracked. He couldn’t tell anyone else this. “I know that by the book I did what I needed to do for him.”

  “But…?”

  “But I can't shake the feeling that we could have done more. That it could have been prevented, that Sean—” Blood pounded in his ears. “I mean—”

  “Oh,” Natasha whispered. Her eyes were locked on his, her breath sweet against his face.

  He felt his face drain of colour. “That's not what I meant.”

  “Are you sure?”

  It took him a long time to swallow around the lump in his throat. “No.”

  “Matt…”

  He shook his head. He didn't want her to say it. Didn't want her to pity him.

  “It's okay to cry about your brother.”

  “He’s fine.”

  “Now he is. He wasn’t then. You must have been terrified.”

  It all slammed into him like it was brand new. He tried to clench his hands but his fingers were shaking too much.

  She wrapped her hands around his and squeezed.

  “I’m sorry,” he groaned.

  “Why?”

  “I didn’t want to burden you with all of this. I wanted to have this shit straight before I came over.”

  “That’s not what I want. I want you.”

  “I’m not the guy you thought you met.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I want to be everything you need.”

  “That's not realistic. I need to be what I need. You can be what I want.”

  His heart pounded in his chest. “You deserve better than that.”

  “Do I? Do any of us? Or do we deserve to know that we are enough, without another person propping us up? That was my big realization this week. That I don’t need you in my life to be happy, but I want you anyway. I want you, Matt. Hear me say that, and hear how good that is. I. Want. You. Just the way you are, right now, damaged and imperfect.”

  “Why?” It wrenched out of him, because that was a complete mystery to him now. He understood why women liked the old him, the flirt, the player. He even understood why Natasha would have time and patience for him to go through a low point, because she was kind and strong and brave. But he couldn’t understand why she’d want him at his worst.

  “From the moment I met you, I thought, you’re too good to be true. And then I thought maybe the problem was that you’re Jake’s brother. Except you were again too good to be true there. Like it just didn’t matter.”

  “It didn’t.”

  “I know that now, but before, I thought, How can I ever measure up to that? I don't want you to be perfect. Don't you see how suspicious that is to me?”

  Shit. No, he hadn’t thought about it from that angle. “So…I’m not handling something well, and that’s a good thing?”

  “That sounds really horrible, but yeah, kind of. I just am relieved to know that you might find as much comfort in me as I do in you. Friendship and support—”

  “Not just friendship.” That distinction was so important to him now. “Right?”

  “Right.” She crawled into his lap and kissed him. “No
t just friendship.”

  He tangled one hand in her hair and spread the other across her back. He’d hold on to her so damn tight. Forever, if she let him. “This week I’ve realized a lot of things. Had to come to terms with a lot of shit.”

  “It sounds like you’ve been traumatized. That’s hard to come to terms with.”

  “It’s not just trauma. It’s also…I’ve had to think hard about how I feel about you. I’ve never let anyone get close. This is different. You are different to me. I want you, too, Tasha. So damn much, and I’m so sorry I couldn’t tell you all of this the other day. But I need you to know that I see you, too. I see that you’re right here, and I love how open you are with me even though a bunch of other assholes did their best to teach you men can’t be trusted.”

  “You showed me otherwise.”

  “And then I misstepped.”

  “We do that. We’re human.”

  He kissed her then, because he’d waited too long to do that. She tasted so sweet it made his knees weak. “That this has happened at the same time as I stopped coping in a bunch of other ways… I don’t know. Maybe it happened for a reason. Maybe I fell for you because I finally let my guard down.”

  She gasped. “You…fell for me?”

  “Too much?” he asked against her lips.

  “Shut up, I’m falling for you too,” she said with a sweet, unexpected laugh.

  He opened his mouth and let her take over. She stroked her tongue against his, then nipped at his lips. She kissed his face and rode his body and God, he wanted to take her right there on the couch.

  Relief surged through his body, hot and fast, and it felt a lot like heady arousal. Fucking hell. Fucking yes.

  She stroked her fingertips over his face, then up into his hair. “Can I take you to bed?”

  He felt big and raw and broken. Unwantable. And yet this woman sat curled in his lap, gorgeous and kind, and she wanted to lead him upstairs and hold him against her body.

  “Can you?” He laughed hoarsely. “I’d beg you for the honour, Natasha. Please, take me to bed.”

  And never let me go, he wanted to add.

  But he’d been given enough for one night. He’d ask for forever tomorrow.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  For the second time in a row, Natasha woke up because Matt had jerked awake beside her. But unlike the last time, when he’d rolled out of bed without saying a word, this time he grabbed his phone and, before answering it, whispered to her that he had to take the call.