"When she left, you didn't go in there.” Renee’s voice was thick and hoarse with pent-up emotion, and her eyes, usually hazel, had gone impossibly bright green with the sparkle of unshed tears. Michael's fingers twitched against his leg as the urge to reach for her became overwhelming; she saw the motion and took another step back, widening the chasm between them. "That's it, right? You couldn't go back in there? The way parents don't go into their child's room if the child dies?So all this time, right up until right before we– that room was still–"
Michael shrugged, feeling helpless to stop what was coming but still unwilling to lie. "I didn’t think of it like that," he said. "Not to plan it that way or anything.” He shrugged again, watching the play of emotions on Renee's face. "It was just ... hard ... to go in there. At first, it was because we had spent time in there together. The room smelled like her. Still looked like her." At this, Renee arched her eyebrows in silent question and Michael rushed on, trying to explain. "She had left some things, a few books on a table, a snow globe, some little trinkets. Photos."
"How long did it take you to go in there? To clean it all out? Years, Michael."
Michael closed his eyes again and sighed, turning to look out of the open bay door. Ben was walking across the parking lot with their lunch order in his hands, but as Michael met his eyes, he changed direction and headed for the lobby instead. "I know. I finally emptied it a fewweeks ago,” Michael said, still not looking at Renee. "I was drunk and my mom was hurt, and I was seeing Sherry more often than before. And … God, Renee, I couldn't stop thinking about you. Everything was happening all at once, and it was just ... it was time. It took me so long I thought I’d never be ready to move on. But I wanted to that night. And I want to now." Her mouth had dropped open as he spoke; she closed it with a soft popping sound, and Michael watched her throat work as she swallowed. His stomach was a twisted knot of fear, his heart was pounding painfully hard in his chest, and his skin was crawling with goosebumps. He hadn't been so nervous in years.
"You couldn't stop thinking of me? What’s that supposed to mean?"
Michael sighed again, frustrated; Ben turned the intercom on and made rustling noises into the speaker, a quiet but not so subtle reminder that there was still work to be done. "I don't know," he said. "It's like you said before, the day you came to my house after your date. You've always been Renee, my pal. My movie night. My ... whatever you are if your sister is married to my brother. But when you stayed with me and helped with my mom, I saw you in a totally different way. And the Harvey thing… I couldn’t stand the thought of you with someone. And now? Now you're Renee, but so much more than a pal. You’re… beautiful. You’re soft lips and warmth and sexuality and date night and good conversation and someone I trust. You’re… mine. If you will be."
A smile teased at the corners of her mouth, and Renee looked up to meet Michael's eyes. "I don't know, Michael,” she said in a whisper. "I could believe that wholeheartedly, and believe me, I want to. But ..." her voice trailed away, and she swallowed again. "I saw the shock on your face when you saw her. Maybe you thought your heart was healed before, but when you saw that big pregnant belly, I ... Michael, you looked devastated. And every time you forced a smile for me that afternoon because you thought you had to ... I just don't want that. I don't want us to become that."
It was killing him to stand there and look at her face, to stand there feeling helpless as she backed out of what they had started. "What are you saying?"
A particularly loud snap from the intercom drew her eyes to the window into the lobby, where Ben was pretending not to be interested in what was going on in the garage. "Does this intercom go both ways?” she asked, her eyes flicking back to Michael's face.
She had talked about his forced smiles; he forced one now, and offered it to her as he spoke. "No, he can't hear us," Michael said. "He's just ... we're behind on some deadlines.He’s reminding me."
"I see. Well,” she paused, glancing at the clock on the wall. "I should go, then."
"Renee." Reaching out, he caught her wrist and tugged her closer. "Don't just walk away."
"Call me when you get home," she murmured, bringing her hands up to press lightly against his chest.
"What? This isn't a phone call, Renee. Don't blow me off on a phone call because you’re scared of this or scared that I'm not really invested. We both owe each other better than that, don't we?"
Dropping her forehead to his chest, Renee shook her head. "You're right. So we'll make plans to get together, then. Dinner somewhere?"
Michael laughed, amused at the irony. "We finally get together, our families have apparently been counting down to this for years, you told me the first night we were together that you had been counting down to it for years, and I'm finally taking you on a date so that you can dump me. I guess some guys really do have all the luck."
"Oh, shut up." But she fisted her hands in the fabric of his shirt, and he felt her face move as she smiled against his chest. "Even if we do go back to just friends, it’s not like I'm dumping you. But I care about you, Michael, and I care about our friendship. This right here, this awkwardness, this transition period ... it's what women are afraid of, you know? I don't know how to go from friend to girlfriend.And I don’t want to lose one to become the other."
"I don't know any of this either,” he answered quietly.“We'll just have to figure it out as we go."
"Or stop it before it gets too complicated?"
"I don't want to," Michael said. “We’ll work it out.”
She exhaled a shuddering breath, her shoulders heaving as Michael tightened his arms around her. "I'm gonna go, let you focus here. I'm sorry to– I didn't mean to bring this up,and not at your workplace, but… I wanted to see you. I just want to clear the air."
"I don't like the wedge between us,” Michael answered.
"Me either."
Chapter Forty-Three
The conversation with Ben was awkward and stilted after Renee left the shop. He and Michael stood together next to the counter in the lobby, quietly eating. Now and then Michael would catch Ben just watching him; Michael would arch an eyebrow, then roll his eyes as Ben shook his head in silence. Finally, they rolled up their garbage, tossed it into the small can below the counter, and headed back into the garage.
“So… aside from the small talk… dude, you okay?”
Michael glanced over his shoulder at Ben and smirked, rolling his eyes again.“Yeah I’m fine, man. Why? Wanna hold my hand‘til I stop crying?”
Laughing, Ben chose not to answer, brushing past Michael in favor of getting back to work, and the two spent the afternoon in easy partnership. By the end of the day, they were sweaty, filthy, exhausted, and very close to being all caught up– and Michael was thrilled that he’d finally heeded Ben’s requests to work more in the garage. He was glad to have the help, glad to have the company.
Glad to know that he’d have someone to leave his business to, since women seemed to run away from him faster than he could stand, and at the rate he was going, he’d never have a son of his own.
Face it, dude. Some men are meant to be alone. The thought ran repeatedly through Michael’s head as he pulled away from the shop, echoing back like a haunting voice in an empty cavern as he headed to the liquor store down the street. Your supposedly infertile wife left you and then magically ended up pregnant with another man. You couldn’t keep Sherry around. You’ve already managed to push Renee away.
“And the common denominator is me,” Michael muttered to himself as he circled the liquor store parking lot in search of an empty spot.“Nicolette was a nice girl, a good wife. Sherry, nice girl too. Issues, but only because she’s been used by too many men like me.” He found an empty spot, shifted the truck into park, and dropped his forehead to the wheel.“And now Renee.” He sighed, shaking his head.“It’s gotta be me. It’s just gotta be me.”
He backtracked in his mind as he shopped, collecting bottles of vodka, rum, and whiskey.
He kept circling back, trying to find the place where he’d gone wrong as a man, trying to find the thing that made him something women always threw away. Maybe his flaw was that he didn’t know what that thing was, that thing that made a person desirable. What he was utterly terrified of in that moment, in the deepest recesses of his heart, was finding out that whatever itwas, he didn’t have it.
“Havin’ a party, hmm?” The clerk behind the counter gave Michael a wink as he slipped Michael’s drink choices into a paper back, slipped that bag into another for added protection, and clicked the keys on the register.
“Party of one,” Michael said dryly.“But I like to keep my bar stocked, just in case.” He reached into his pocket for his wallet as the clerk announced the total, and handed over his credit card, grateful that this wasn’t the same cashier that had rung him up when he’d been in less than a week ago.
“Hey, I like the way you think, man,” the clerk answered. He laughed as he took Michael’s credit card and zipped it through the card reader, then passed it back over the counter with a grin.“Have a good night, man.”
“Thanks, you too.” Shame rolled through him as he cradled his package close to his chest to prevent the heavy bottles from clinking together too hard or falling through the bottom of the bags. So much liquor. He drank so much now, so often that it barely affected him at all anymore. He didn’t get outright drunk, rarely got clumsy, never got sick. But it took the edge off the pain of loneliness that hovered around him, it loosened the noose of sadness that strangled him every day. But it hurt too, in its own way.
Michael was a strong man, or at least, he had always liked to think he was. He was the person his sisters had always called on for company, for protection, for security. He was the son his parents called, the brother his brothers looked up to. What would they all think if they saw him now, driving home with the passenger seat full of poison that ate at him even as it soothed his wounds? He knew; his father would shake his head, his mother would purse her lips, maybe give him a talking-to in her perfect motherly mix of sternness and love. His sisters would pretend they didn’t notice. Evan would give him the brotherly eye, probably make little comments about Michael fitting in well with the party boys on the college football team Evan played for. Drew would be the one to pull him aside, to question him, to remind him of the alcohol related horrors that he saw every day in his work as a police officer. Drew would be the one to ask him if he thought he had a problem, the one to tell him that if he needed someone to talk to…
By the time he pulled up in front of his house, he wanted to open the caps on all the bottles, to watch the liquid purl from the long necks and into the drain of the kitchen sink. By the time he walked into the kitchen and placed the bag on the counter, his skin was crawling, his palms were sweaty. By the time he pulled the first of the bottles from the bag and broke the seal… he couldn’t do it. He turned away from the sink, flicked the bottle cap onto the counter, and brought the neck of the bottle to his lips.
Rum. He knew it by the pungent odor of its perfume. Knew it by the dirty-water taste in his mouth. Knew it by the burn down his chest as he swallowed, swallowed again. It settled in his stomach like a dream, spreading out in a blanket of warmth that coated his raw nerves. He swallowed again, lowered the bottle to hiss softly as the alcohol burned its way to his stomach. Grimaced as the bitter aftertaste coated his mouth. Swallowed again.
Finally, Michael capped the bottle and slipped it into the cupboard over the refrigerator, adding the other two bottles he’d purchased.“God, what a loser.” Standing back, he surveyed the stash of booze, his hands on his hips, his mouth twisted in disgust.“I gotta get my shit together.” Still, he pulled the rum down again, twisted the cap away, and brought the bottle to his lips one last time. He was still supposed to call Renee before he went to bed, and he was going to need the fortitude.
Michael waited until he’d showered and dressed to make the call, mustering his courage as he waited for the alcohol in his belly to spread into his bloodstream. When his lips began to tingle and the edges of his depression blurred, he picked his phone up and made the call, switched it to speakerphone, and dropped the phone in the center of his bed.
Ring. Michael dropped into the bed, too, face-first next to his phone, bringing his arms up to pillow his chin.
Ring. He watched the call timer counting seconds, waited for the sound of her voice. Felt like a fool for being nervous, felt like a fool for feeling like a fool.
Ring. He prepared himself for the fact that she wasn’t going to pick up, consoled himself with the thought that maybe she’d gone to bed, maybe she was in the shower. Maybe–
“Hello?”
“I thought you weren’t going to answer.”
Renee sighed softly.“Of course I’d answer,” she said.“I want our friendship to survive this, whatever this ends up being. And we can’t be friends if I don’t answer the phone.”
Friendship. Is that where this is going? Back to friends, just regular friends? Could he do it? “Right, that’s totally true,” he said aloud.“So…”
“Dinner,” she answered.“Don’t be awkward, Michael. I’m still me, remember?”
Still Renee. Still the girl with the magical tongue that knew his body now better than he did, the girl with the rock star panties, the girl who looked him in the eyes while they made love, so that it wasn’t just bodies melting together, but souls.“Right, I know,” he forced himself to say.“So, dinner plans then. Yeah?”
“What time do you think you’ll be done at work tomorrow? I have a class in the park at noon, so…”
“Maybe three? No, that’s early for dinner still. Five?” Michael turned over and stared up at the ceiling, watching the fan spin in lazy circles. Once, he had watched that fan with Nicolette, laughing as they imagined how mesmerized their babies would be by the spinning paddles. His throat tightened; he swallowed to force down the sudden lump that had formed there and turned back over on his stomach. How hard is it to rip a ceiling fan down?
“Five is great, actually,” Renee said.“Want me to meet you at the shop so we can drive together?”
“Sure, we’ll take my truck.” The longer the conversation went on, the more the awkwardness eased. Could they be friends again? He didn’t know. Could he stop imagining the taste of her mouth, the way her stomach clenched under his lips, the sweet nectar found at the juncture of her thighs? Probably not. But was it worth it to try? Was it worth it to work on repairing and preserving the most valuable friendship he’d ever had? Yes it was, without a doubt.
It didn’t take long to make the necessary arrangements or to choose a restaurant, and within ten minutes the call was over. Michael looked at his phone, watching Renee’s face vanish from the call screen.“Well, nothing worth doing is easy,” he muttered, turning over again. The fan was still there, still turning. Mocking him.
Michael closed his eyes, denying the presence of the fan and the way it filled his chest with longing until there wasn’t enough room for air. His breathing slowed, evened out, became a soft, rumbling snore. And in his sleep, Michael dreamed of family.
Chapter Forty-Four
Michael woke up twenty minutes late in the morning with a dead phone, a dry mouth, and a conflicted spirit. He had spent the night in conflicted dreams, and when he woke up, his sheets were damp with sweat. The day went by without struggle though, and he and Ben worked through their backlog of repairs and maintenance jobs with an ease that had become routine. He had taken care not to get too dirty or sweaty as he worked, though, and while it had meant moving a little slower, he still felt good at the end of the day. He and Ben were only behind by two small jobs, and he only thought of it as being behind because the deadline was tomorrow– but knowing that the jobs would be done in the morning before the cars were due to be picked up in the afternoon settled his soul, and he had time to think about what he wanted to say to Renee at dinner.
When she arrived in the afternoon, the air already smelled of
twilight, and the late spring sun was just beginning to slip over the horizon. Michael had changed into a clean shirt, and was cleaning his tools for the day when Renee stepped through the door that led from the lobby to the garage. She smiled almost shyly when he looked up to greet her, and Michael gestured for her to come closer, waving a wrench lightly over the scattered tools on the counter in front of him.“I’m almost finished here,” he said,“if you don’t mind hanging out for just a second? I can leave it though, if you want to head out.”
More Than Friends (Kingsley #4) Page 21