“Fuck this,” he growls, and his hands wrap around my waist and lift me onto the table.
* * *
Later, I wake up, naked. I peer around the dark room, recognizing Nick’s dresser, realizing I’m in his bed. I let out a sigh of exhaustion and contentment and turn over to find he’s not there.
Sitting up, I glance around for him, but he’s not in the room. Soft light filters in from the hallway.
I glance at the clock. It’s midnight.
Knowing his night hours are strange, working at the bar a few nights a week, I can only imagine his sleeping patterns are wonky, so I climb out of bed, wrapping the top blanket around me, and walk to the bedroom door. When I creak it open, I hear his voice, low in the living room.
“ . . . I care more about her than I realized,” he says.
I stop, dead in my tracks, not wanting to intrude but knowing I shouldn’t linger in the hallway either.
“No. It’s not like that. We’re just friends.” He pauses a moment and my heart hammers in my chest. We’re just friends? Is he even talking about me? Or does he just not want anyone to know we’re more than what we are? I feel sick thinking about it, but I can’t stop my feet from moving toward him.
The floor creaks beneath my feet, and Nick looks up from his hunched position on the couch. He smiles immediately, which calms me. “Hey, man, I gotta go. I’ll catch you tomorrow.” He laughs at something the person says on the other end, and drops his phone on the coffee table.
“Hey, did I wake you?”
I shake my head. “I don’t think so. I just, I woke up and you were gone.”
“You looked so peaceful while you were sleeping, I didn’t want to wake you, but I couldn’t sleep.”
He saunters over to me in his pajama bottoms and eyes me up and down. “As much as I like you in my sheets,” he says, leaning in for a kiss. “I like you in my bed even more.” He lifts me into his arms and carries me back into his room.
His smile is the stuff of romance novels and sweet, dirty dreams. I could get lost in him, in his eyes and the way he looks at me, like he can’t believe I’m real.
After Nick sets me in bed, he leans in to kiss me. It’s sweet and soft, and his mouth lingers against mine. “Are you going to get back in bed?” I ask more feebly than I like, but I want him in here with me. I want him to lie with me so I know he’s real and that he’s mine.
“Hell yeah, I am.” He tucks the blankets around me and walks around the bed to crawl in beside me. In one swift motion, he pulls me against him, squeezing me tighter as he inhales and kisses my shoulder.
“You should go back to sleep,” he says. “You have to get Jesse in a few hours.”
“I don’t want to sleep,” I tell him, turning in his arms to face him. I peer into the dark shadows of his face, wishing we could lie like this forever.
Pressing a kiss to his lips, I commit the feeling of this moment to memory. Parents, school, the future—none of it matters right now because I have strong, amazing Nick, and for the first time in my life, I don’t feel alone.
I brush his jaw with my thumb and lean back ever so slightly. “Thank you,” I tell him.
“For what?” he whispers.
“For all of this.”
Nick stares at me for a few breaths and runs his fingers through the ends of my hair. Then, he kisses me, a featherlight touch that holds an inexplicable promise.
Forty-Seven
Bethany
The next morning is rough, but not because I didn’t get much sleep. I don’t want to go to class or deal with real life. Not yet. But want and reality rarely go together, so I roll my ass out of bed and pull on my jeans and a fresh t-shirt.
As soon as I hear Nick shut off the shower, I grab my toiletry case so that I can squeeze into the bathroom to finish getting ready.
“You shower longer than I do,” I shout, uncertain if he can hear me.
He creaks the bathroom door open. “What?”
“You shower like a girl,” I repeat.
“I already told you, I work hard to look this good.”
Smiling, I shove the pajamas I didn’t even wear into my bag.
Nick’s phone vibrates on his nightstand, making me jump. I wonder if I should get it or not, or maybe take it to him, as I walk over and pick it up. “Your phone’s ringing,” I tell him.
“It’s fine. I’ll call her back later.”
I stare at the name blinking on the screen and the pretty redhead who’s smiling back at me. He knew it was Savannah calling him, which is strange, but I try not to let it bother me. I know that they’re friends and they talk sometimes, even if it is seven in the morning.
But even though I know that, it doesn’t sit right with me. He saw her last night, that’s why he was late getting home, and she’s calling him again, already. I know Nick isn’t Mike, but his friendship with Savannah hits a little too close to home for me to brush it off completely.
When the call goes to voicemail, I see there are four missed calls since last night, one of them was around the time I woke up to find him out in the living room. Was that who Nick was talking to?
I try to remember what he was saying, but it’s a bit of a blur.
“We’re just friends.” But who was Nick talking about, me or Savannah?
His words stoke a smoldering memory from three years ago, and I can’t help the churning unease in my stomach, it’s too visceral and alive to ignore.
“You knew it would be Savannah,” I say.
“Yeah, I figured.” He says it so nonchalantly, like her popping up on New Year’s, and last night, and this morning after we shared the night together, is something I should get used to.
My grip tightens around his phone. “Why is she calling you so much?” I ask, finally dropping his phone on the bed.
I hear the medicine cabinet open and shut before he answers. “I already told you, she’s having a hard time with a few things.”
His easiness in speaking about his ex-girlfriend makes me bristle. “Never mind the vagueness of that statement, don’t you think it’s weird that you guys were together, she broke it off, and yet she’s still calling you all the time?” I can’t help but wonder if whatever is between him and Savannah isn’t over.
“No, it’s complicated. It’s just how we are.”
And we’re complicated and look how we are, I don’t say.
“We didn’t break up because we don’t get along, it was because of distance. So, of course we’re still friends.”
I stand in his room, staring at the doorway, my mind and heart telling me two different things. He probably doesn’t get it, he doesn’t understand how hard this is for me. But, the red flags are too glaring to dismiss just because it’s Nick.
He comes into his bedroom and clasps his hands on my shoulders with a grin. “Please don’t be weird about this, okay? We really are just friends.” He leans in for a quick peck on my cheek and tugs his shirt over his head.
I hand him his phone, wondering what his feelings for her really are, the ones deep down he doesn’t admit to. The remnants of the relationship they had that he didn’t want to end.
“Please stop looking at me like that, Bethany,” he says, finally stopping long enough to take this seriously. “I would do the same thing for Sam or Mac, and you wouldn’t get upset about that. I hope.”
“No, I wouldn’t. But you haven’t slept with Sam or Mac. They didn’t dump you like Savannah did.”
He glares at me. “That’s a little harsh, don’t you think?” He slides his phone into his back pocket.
“I’m sorry, Nick, but it’s true. Have you stopped to ask yourself why she keeps calling you? Because it seems like she’s not over you yet.”
He shrugs. “Maybe she’s not, but why does it matter? Nothing will happen, and I can’t just ignore her. You have to understand that.”
“I understand that you don’t want to hurt her feelings Nick, and maybe she does need you, or maybe that’s why you g
uys need to stop talking—so she can move on. She’s going to have to eventually. Now seems like a pretty good time to me. You have to understand that, too.”
“Bethany,” he says, more irritated now. He scrubs his fingers through his damp hair. “Look, it’s not that simple.”
“Why not?”
“It’s just not. I need you to stop making a big deal about this, okay? I promise you, nothing will happen. We’re just friends.”
It’s a familiar story I’ve heard before, and even though I believe Nick thinks that, I have to know one thing. I follow him into the living room where he plops down on the couch. “Does she know we’re together?”
“What?” he pulls on his shoe. I don’t repeat myself because I know he heard me. “No, she doesn’t. I haven’t had time to tell her.”
Red fury consumes me. “Are you serious right now?” I bite out. My heart is racing and all I can see is Mike and Sam. All I can picture is another phone call between Savannah and Nick, turning into another and another until it turns into something more. “You’ve had how many conversations with her in the past twenty-four hours alone? In the past few days you couldn’t find a single moment to bring it up? After everything that’s happened, did you really think I would be okay with that—that there’s another girl on the side?”
Resting his elbows on his knees, he glares at me. “Are you serious? She’s not just some ‘girl on the side.’”
“Don’t I look serious?” I ask him, causing his brow to furrow deeper.
“I already told you, Bethany. I’m not Mike.” He pulls on his other shoe then stands up and brushes past me. “Stop comparing us.”
I’m not sure if it’s the fact that he isn’t even trying to see my side of it, or if I truly am worried he and Savannah might still have feelings for one another, but I head back into his room to grab my things. The more I think about the time they spend together, about how they are together—how I’ve seen them in public and how comfortable they still are together—the more convinced I am that their friendship might not be something I’m able to accept, not if he’s going to act like I’m crazy for simply wanting her to know I exist. I shove my toiletries back into my bag.
“That’s not the sort of thing that just comes up in a conversation with your ex,” Nick says more forcefully from the kitchen.
“Well, maybe it should be.” I pull my phone charger from the wall and grab my hairband. Maybe I’m overreacting and he hasn’t had time to tell her. Or, maybe on some level he doesn’t want to tell her because he’ll drive Savannah away and she’ll be gone forever and he can’t handle that. Either way, I feel sick to my stomach, and I can’t stay here and pretend that I’m okay. “I’m going to get ready at my parents’.”
“Seriously?” He stops in the doorway, anger pinching his features. “You’re that upset about it?”
I don’t bother pointing out the obvious. “I have to take Jesse to school anyway.”
“Bethany, nothing is going to happen with Savannah,” he says and steps closer. “I promise. Why aren’t you hearing me?”
“Why aren’t you hearing me? It’s not only about that,” I say and turn around to face him with my bags in hand. “I don’t want to be second anymore, Nick.”
“There we go with the Mike thing again,” he grinds out.
“I know you’re not him. But you meeting up with Savannah and talking to her at all hours of the night—her knowing nothing about me—makes me feel like a dirty secret. Maybe if you had the gnawing, rotten feeling settled in the pit of your stomach, like I do, you’d understand why I can’t simply deal with it.”
Nick looks confused and maybe a little hurt, a lot like I feel.
“I gotta go,” I tell him, and shut the door behind me. I need space before I say something I might regret.
Forty-Eight
Nick
I sit in my Explorer in front of the Fairchild’s house for a minute, collecting myself. I’m not exactly sure why I’m here, only that Bethany didn’t answer my call this morning and I didn’t see her around campus today. I figured something must’ve happened with Jesse—or, the more I think about it, I’ve screwed everything up more than I realized.
I should’ve known Savannah would be a trigger for Bethany; she’s the reason New Year’s ended with me standing outside in the cold, alone, after all. And, I’ve thought about telling Savannah about Bethany a couple times, but I haven’t wanted to hurt her, especially when she’s already feeling alone and struggling with being in Hannington Beach.
Climbing out of the car, I brace myself for whatever awaits me on the other side of the door, and I head up the walkway. I see an unfamiliar Volvo in the driveway, so I know someone’s home.
Even if it’s pathetic, I can’t go through the day not knowing where me and Bethany stand or what exactly happened. So, before I can change my mind, I knock on the front door.
There’s movement inside before it slowly creaks open and who I assume is her mom is standing there, eyes red, and blonde hair pulled back out of her face. She’s attractive, if a little more haggard than I imagined.
“Can I help you?” she asks, looking me up and down. Not in a judgemental way, but curious, I think.
“Yeah, Bethany’s not here by chance, is she?”
Her eyes narrow slightly and she shakes her head. “And you are?”
“Nick,” I tell her. “I’m her—project partner, I guess.” I’m not sure what we are anymore, and it kills me.
“You don’t seem certain.”
“Yeah.” I let out a breath and run my fingers through my hair. “I’m not,” I mumble and turn to head back to my car. “Sorry to bother you.”
“Nick,” she calls, opening the door fully. Mrs. Fairchild is still in what looks like her pajamas, which surprises me. “She’s at the salon until closing.”
I nod, grateful. For the first time, I wonder what happened this morning that would leave Mrs. Fairchild’s eyes puffy and more rumpled looking than Bethany described. “Thank you.”
She clicks the door shut, and I climb back into my car.
The instant my phone rings, my heart races and I pull it from my pocket. When I see that it’s Mac, not Bethany, my heart sinks instead. “Hello?”
“Hey, can I move your maintenance appointment from next Monday to Wednesday afternoon? We have a big—”
“Yeah, sure. That’s fine.” I glance back at Bethany’s house.
“Okay . . . Why do you sound weird? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I tell her and turn the ignition. She and Sam have already said their fair share about my relationship with Bethany, I don’t want to hear any more. Especially an “I told you so.”
“Well, you’re clearly full of shit. Come on, tell me—”
“You’ve already done enough, thanks though.”
“Excuse me? What the hell is your problem?” She’s quiet a minute, and I’m not sure what to say, or if I want to say anything. “Is it Bethany?” Mac asks.
I lean my head back against the headrest. “Yeah.” The hesitation in Mac’s voice stirs up a bit more anger than I expect. “I hope you guys had fun with your jabs the other day at the beach. She would barely talk to me after we left.”
“What?” she says breathily. She’s surprised and somehow, I feel a little vindicated. “I’m so sorry. Is that what this is about?”
“No, but it doesn’t help, Mac.”
“Then . . . what is it? What’s going on?”
I run my hands over my face and laugh at myself. “I think I just fucked it up.”
Forty-Nine
Bethany
Stepping out from one of the tanning rooms, I put the spray bottle behind the desk and check the schedule for the next clients. It’s been a busy day, one wave of people after another, but I guess busy is good. For the business and for me. It saves me from dwelling on my otherwise looping thoughts about Nick, about Jesse’s morning meltdown, and playbacks of my mom’s message after I left this morning.
She sounded more distant than usual this morning, different than her rigid, frantic self while Jesse was upset. I’m not sure what’s happened since then, but she wants me to come home after work to talk. Nick wants to talk too. I know I need to talk to them both—I want to talk to Nick, so badly it’s all I can think about. I regret getting angry this morning, but I’m not sure I should. Part of me feels justified, knowing he’d be unhappy if the tables were turned and I were having late night phone calls with an ex-boyfriend.
Another part of me keeps saying that this is Nick we’re talking about, and he would never purposely hurt me. Then, darker shadows of the past remind me that the hurt sustained between us over the years started out as unintentional, too. They were misunderstandings that spiraled. What’s to stop any of that from happening again?
Feeling a bit toasty in the warm spring air, I pull my hair up into a ponytail in preparation for the next round of clients. Unbidden, my gaze shifts outside to Schmitty’s deli. I want more than anything for things between Nick and I to work, but until he decides to tell Savannah about us, I’m not sure I can begin to accept their friendship.
“Thank you,” one of our regulars says as she hurries out from one of the rooms. She tosses her towel on top of the overflowing pile. “I have to pick the kid up from school.” She says it like she’s going to be late, then she waves. “See you next week.”
“See ya next time, Brit.”
Laundry, a quick rub down of the rooms, cashing out, reminder calls to a select few clients for tomorrow . . . I have plenty to do before we close up shop in a few hours, and I really hope Trent is doing a decent job with the inventory in the back so that I don’t have to manage that later too.
I wipe down the counter around the register and try not to think too much about Jesse’s morning spiral. It happens sometimes if he didn’t sleep well or maybe he had bad dreams. And then my mom didn’t have any of his favorite shirts washed for him to wear. I just try not to assume any of it’s because I’m not staying at home right now. Jesse knew I’d be picking him up—he knew he’d see me, and our morning routine would be mostly the same. I try to tell myself that, just because I don’t live there anymore doesn’t mean his breakdowns will be a regular occurrence. I hope.
Saratoga Falls: The Complete Love Story Series Page 91