by S. M. West
“Sweetness, I know you went out with him a couple of times. I’m sorry, I was out of line.”
He was watching me. The thought still messes with my head and my heart. It irks me and turns me on. Damn him.
“Yes, you were, and yes, we went out, past tense. So, anything new with the letter and Paola?” I ask, changing the subject.
“It’s going well. From what we’ve gathered so far, it looks like what she says is true, but we’re still digging to make sure this isn’t a trick or something.”
I’m surprised and pleased by the little that he’s shared. It’s way more than he ever has before, and it gives me pause. He’s really taking to heart what I said about letting me in, trusting me with things, even those that might be dangerous. I truly believe we can overcome anything together, no matter the risk, and I wonder if he’s beginning to believe it, too. He’ll always want to protect me, I know that, but perhaps he’s also accepting that I get to decide what risks I’m willing to take.
“I’ve got something for you.” His gruff, low voice brings me out of my thoughts as he hands me a blue paper bag with white tissue paper.
I noticed it before, but thought it was for Ma. Hesitantly, I remove the paper and the contents, gazing up at Evan every so often. He’s studying my every move.
I pull out a copy of The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis. Its significance is not lost on me; it’s one of our all-time favorite reads. Glancing up at Evan, I see his lips are faintly upturned as he anxiously awaits my reaction.
Upon further inspection, I see the cover is old, but in great condition. It hits me what I’ve got in my hands.
“Holy shit, Evan,” I squeal, wrapping my arms around him for a quick hug, completely forgetting that there’s nothing ever fleeting or innocent about Evan Hart.
His embrace is tight and warm. I can’t help but feel cherished, and while I don’t want to break our connection, it’s the smart thing to do.
He takes my cue when I push and readily lets me go. I glance down, willing my now flushed cheeks to cool and hoping no one is looking. Fortunately, it’s too loud for others to have noticed my outburst.
My hand reverently glides over the cover before opening it. He got me a rare first edition of the UK version. I love it. All our late-night reads, from as young as six until he left for the Army, flick through my mind like a slideshow, and I’m unable to contain my joy.
“Thank you so much. I love it. It makes me want to ditch this party and run upstairs and read.”
“I’ll go with you.” He smirks. “Like old times.”
My breath hitches and my stomach somersaults as some of those old times run through my mind, like when in high school we’d start off reading and very quickly escalate to kissing and heavy petting. As if he’s reliving the same moments, his eyes glitter and he grins at me with a wink.
“You know, you were always Aslan.” I snap us out of our walk down memory lane. “What you did, leaving, was such an Aslan move. I just wish you’d realize that I don’t need saving. We would have been stronger and better off together.”
Like a bucket of icy water, the cold, hard truth kills the joyful glint in his eye. He swallows hard, his expression grim as he scans the room, most likely gathering his thoughts and deciding if we should continue this conversation here or not.
I used to call him Aslan when he’d try to do something selfless but unnecessary. His intentions were always good, but in some cases his self-sacrifice was also hurtful, like when he told me we were over and there was no future for us, yet everything I saw, heard, and learned told me the opposite.
He never left. He didn’t walk away.
Anger heats my insides. I would have waited. I’ve told him that a hundred times if I’ve told him once. I will always wait for him.
Picking up where we left off before the precious gift, I dive back into it. “Max and I went out twice and quickly realized that we were better off friends than anything else. While he’s a hot guy, super nice, funny, and smart, unfortunately, he didn’t do it for me,” I snap. Only one person does—you.
Evan sighs. “I’m sorry.”
Taking both my hands, he pulls me closer to him, face to face, intimate—too close for comfort.
“Sweetness…”
“Carys.” Greg’s voice cuts through both our connection and conversation like a samurai sword, quick, smooth, and final.
Now
Carys
GREG GLANCES DOWN TO where Evan’s still holding my hands. Shit. I hastily pull away, walk toward him, and peck him on the cheek.
“Hey, you made it. I thought you weren’t going to be able to come.”
“Yeah, I got through what I needed to. Of course, there’s always work to do, but I wanted to see you and wish your mom happy birthday.”
He drags me to his side and his arm fits snugly around my waist. Greg isn’t into public displays of affection, but like Max, he, too, has picked up on Evan’s silent signals. Without even knowing who Evan is, he’s sensing a threat.
“I’m Evan Hart.” He extends his hand to Greg, but again, his eyes are on me.
Evan’s eyes say everything he can’t with words. He’s not backing down, and Greg isn’t a threat.
“E-Evan.” Greg stumbles over his name. “The Evan?”
Greg swallows uncomfortably, pulling his hand out of Evan’s grip.
“Sounds like you’ve heard of me.”
Nodding, Greg says, “When did you get back?”
“Oh, a few weeks ago now. Has it already been that long, Sweetness?” He deliberately insinuates that I’ve been aware and likely spent time with him, and using his pet name is the icing on the cake.
Folding his arms and widening his stance, his presence grows, engulfs all three of us, if that’s even possible. The room feels small and claustrophobic. I wish the ground would open and swallow me whole.
The men stand side by side. Where Greg is lanky and lean with a runner’s body, Evan is tall, rugged, and muscular. I can’t look at them together for much longer without giving in to the overwhelming nausea. Stepping out of Greg’s grasp, I take his hand.
“Greg, let’s go say hello to everyone. Ma will be glad to see you.”
Greg ignores me. “Where were you?”
Raising his eyebrows, Evan’s lips quirk, like he’s enjoying this. “Around.”
“Bye, Evan.” I raise my hand with my book inside the bag, giving him a small smile. I don’t want to bring attention to it, but want him to know that I love it.
Without so much as a backward glance, we leave Evan, spending the rest of the night avoiding him. Yet no matter where he is, he’s with me. He follows me with the heat of his stare burning me, branding me, making me antsy, achy, and aggravated.
As the crowd dwindles, Ry tells us to leave. We have an ongoing agreement. I plan and kick off the party, and he takes care of clean-up. Once we’ve said our goodbyes, we go to my place in silence, no touching, no talking, but lots of tension.
With the door barely closed, he questions me. “He’s been back for weeks?”
“Yes.”
“Where has he been all this time?”
“I’m sorry, I should have said something. We just never talked about Evan, so I didn’t know how to do that.”
“Yes, I know, Carys. I tried, remember? And every time you shut me down.”
“I know you tried, but I didn’t want to talk about him — still don’t. There’s nothing to say.”
“I don’t see it that way. This guy was the love of your life and he broke your heart. Now I’m the guy in your life, and I get to ask a few questions.”
“Look, when he came back, I didn’t want to have to rehash all that,” I admit, moving to sit on the couch.
“Well, I’m sorry you didn’t want to rehash it, but we’ve never even talked it out. I’m having a hard time with this. Can we please talk about it? What does him coming back mean for you?” he pushes.
“Nothing. It means nothing. We’re ov
er,” I yell, my ire petering out as my angry tone registers with me. I’m confused and frustrated. “I’m sorry. I just don’t know what it means.”
“What does that mean?”
I take a breath and gather the little patience I have left. Having Evan stalking me all night has put me on edge. Greg has a right to want answers. I know this deep down inside, I just don’t know what to say.
“I mean, I don’t know if he’s here to stay, if I’m going to have to see him every day or not…” Again, losing the will to talk about it, I trail off.
“And how do you feel about that? If you have to see him every day?”
“How do you think I feel? You know enough about this to know that we didn’t end. There was no nasty breakup, and to now have him back after he told me that he never would come back has me in a tailspin. I’m sorry if I don’t have the answers you want or need right now.”
Coming to sit beside me, he takes my hand. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to push you, babe. I didn’t see this coming. I feel blindsided.”
“That was never my intention. I was trying to find the right way to tell you. I knew you’d have questions. I just don’t have the answers, so, stupidly, I said nothing.”
Having him sit so close doesn’t feel right. Putting Evan aside, I need to break things off once and for all. It’s just going to get messy and ugly with Evan back. Why didn’t I make the move sooner? Because I was comfortable, and that right there sounds wrong and horrible.
I hadn’t figured it out, I was just coasting. Since Evan Hart walked out of my life, I haven’t been living. I’ve just been existing. I’ve been getting my moments of happiness from my family and friends and all the great things happening in their lives.
In terms of myself, other than the bar and what I’ve accomplished there, the rest of my life has been on pause, and I guess Evan’s return has forced me to face the sad truth: I didn’t want or try to do anything to move on.
“Greg, we need to talk, but not tonight. I need to gather my thoughts. Can we just pause this for now?”
“Do you hear yourself? This is our relationship. You want to pause it?”
“Greg…”
“Does he want you back?” He asks the one question I’d hoped he wouldn’t.
“Greg, I don’t…”
“Don’t answer, I already know. Of course he wants you back. I saw it tonight.” His tone is flat. Running his hand through his hair, he sighs. “Carys, I love you. I understand you’re confused. I’ll give you as much time as you need to put this Evan thing to bed, in the past, where it belongs, so we can move on.”
This is where I should say something, tell him how I feel and put an end to this. Instead, I walk away, but upon reaching my room, my cowardice sickens me and prompts me to face him head on.
I boldly turn around to seek him out, only to discover that he’s gone. It was barely a minute and he slipped out, leaving a note on the kitchen table saying he went back to work.
It’s no surprise he went back to work, but what is odd is that he didn’t say goodbye. Despite this, relief rushes through me, drowning out the grimy sensation of my faintheartedness. I’ve dodged the bullet—for now.
Then
Evan ~ 22 years old
“FUCK, I’M FREEZING MY balls off!”
“Pussy!”
Tripp whips a snowball at my jacket. The cold, hard snow pelts my arm and my body shivers. Damn, I need heat. I wish I was in the desert, and that surprises me. I never thought I’d say that, having grown up in New York.
Crouching down, I grab a handful of chilly, dense snow and quickly mold it into a ball. With a brief assessment as to Tripp’s location, I lob the frosty grenade at him. He luckily ducks down behind a park bench and I miss. My aim is off, my limbs not as fast or agile as I’m used to. Shit, I’m freezing. Even my ears burn against the icy wind.
“You’d think you never knew what winter was,” Ry jeers, running up behind me to dump a small clump of wet snow on my shorn head.
“Fuck!” I yelp, shaking it off, but ice crystals are already beginning to form in my hair. “It’s been a while and this jacket is shit! What did you do, give me the thinnest one you had?”
It’s blistering cold, and coming straight from Afghanistan, my civilian clothing is limited. While the nights can be chilly, depending on the time of year, and it does snow from time to time, I have no use for a winter jacket out in the desert.
Upon arrival in the States, I borrowed clothes from Ry, including a winter jacket, but something tells me this coat has seen better days—or else I’ve become a wuss. At that very moment, a gust of wind whips straight through me. Mother fuck! I might as well be naked because I’m chilled to the bone.
I’ve been out of the country for years, first in the Army, then as a Green Beret. With the 9/11 attacks, I’ve been deployed several times, sent to active combat zones. I’ve only just been recruited for Delta Force, and when I go back, the highly confidential mission could either mean guns blazing or covertly carrying out our assignment unnoticed.
This is my first time since leaving New York that I’m visiting family. I’d been back in the U.S. a few times, but not on leave. When I did have down time, I spent it close to the base.
Ry was surprised when I called. I should have called Carys or Ma, but I wasn’t sure how I’d handle hearing their voices after years. My timing coincided with his Cornell visit to see Tripp.
My next stop is Carys. I have to see her, although I contemplated not going. It’s not that I don’t want to see her—I do, more than anything — but seeing her is going to be both the best fucking thing ever and the worst.
Walking away from her when I left was the hardest thing I’d ever done. The only thing that kept me putting one foot in front of the other was the knowledge that I would see her again, that I needed to do this so our future would be good, solid, and bright.
We haven’t spoken in years, and my letter writing has been bad as of late. It’s all my doing. As sure as the sun rises and sets, she writes me, and I look forward to every letter, every mundane update on what she is doing, how school is going, the news that she got into Columbia. It isn’t the same as talking to her or seeing her, but I take what I can get.
The three of us trudge down the narrow snow-filled path toward my reprieve from this weather. The welcome aroma of brewing coffee assaults my senses upon entering the campus coffee shop.
Tripp heads to the counter to order our coffees and we find a table off to the side. It takes me a few minutes to finally give up the jacket, the same one I cursed as useless only minutes ago.
“I see our boy hasn’t changed,” I say, tipping my chin in Tripp’s direction.
Ry turns, then glances back at me, his appreciative grin on full wattage. Tripp’s chatting up a cute redhead behind the counter. It’s blatantly obvious they’re into each other with his puffed-up chest and his come-hither smile. The poor girl is done for and doesn’t know how to hide it. Her flaming cheeks, downward glances, and bashful smile are a dead giveaway.
“You gettin’ some?” Ry asks, when Tripp finally brings our coffees.
“Nah, not my type. Too goody-two-shoes for me. I’d corrupt her,” he says dismissively.
“Okay, well, I’m gonna give it a try.” Ry pushes out his chair, not at all subtle about what his game is—calling Tripp’s bluff.
“She’s cute,” I chime in, egging Ry on. We’re on the same wavelength. Tripp’s full of it, and we call bullshit.
Ry’s almost out of his seat when Trip grips his forearm, halting his motion.
“Don’t you dare.”
A slow smirk spreads across Ry’s face. “Hey, I asked, man. You passed. The way I see it, she’s fair game.”
“She’s not. She’s off limits.”
“You’re into her,” I say, stating the obvious, as he gives me a confused expression like he’s coming out of a daze, or more likely a jealous haze. “Don’t deny it.”
Shaking his head, his
lips twitch up into a sheepish smile. “Yeah,” he admits, resigned.
“Then make your move,” Ry says.
“Can’t. What I said is true. She’s a good girl, just look at her.” We both turn. “Shit, don’t both fucking look at once!”
We glance at him with matching shit-eating grins, deliberately getting his goat. Damn, I’ve missed these guys.
We’ve kept in touch, written letters, but way less frequently than Ma or Carys. After all, we’re guys. Sitting here harassing Tripp brings back memories of similar times. In some ways, it’s like I never left, but in other ways, it’s glaringly obvious.
“You’re an idiot,” I say.
“I’m not looking for anything serious right now. She’s the kind of girl you don’t screw around with. She’s the kind of girl you date for the long haul.”
“So, till then, you’re going to sit around and watch someone else make their move? Someone else is going to make a move,” Ry predicts.
“Soon,” Tripp responds.
Ry’s words cause my stomach to knot. It’s been three years since I’ve seen Carys. I hadn’t planned to let it go this long, but as more time went by, I knew if I went home and saw her, I wouldn’t go back. As much as I’m torn up about missing her, needing her, and loving her, there’s a deeper, darker part of me that’s pushing me to see my commitment to the Army through.
I’m getting the guidance and sense of accomplishment my father would have given and instilled in me, had he been alive. To be the man Carys deserves, to be a man I can be proud of, I need to do this. I can only hope she understands and isn’t pissed.
But fuck, with me having been away so long, she’s likely with someone else. I intend to talk to Ry, subtly drill him for details. Being back in the real world—or shit, maybe it’s not real because what I was doing in the desert is as real as it gets—has me out of sorts. Going to school and hanging out with friends in coffee shops is so easy, yet it’s also foreign to me, though only a few short years ago I did all these things.
Doing what I do every day makes me see how short life is. Fuck waiting. Life is serious. Tripp going gaga over some girl but refusing to make a move is wasted time. There’s no reason he can’t have fun with her, a woman who does it for him.