“Well I guess you boys win, it’s fair and square since you got here before us. I just don’t know what we should do with all these extra supplies? I mean, we just filled this bucket up with ice,” she’d whined to Jimmy.
I smiled as he took the bait—and our ice.
I helped Angie pour it into his giant industrial-size drink cooler, hopeful the smell of pickles wouldn’t be too obvious. After we screwed the lid back on for him, we ran all the way back home, laughing till we cried.
Unfortunately for us, our principal was also at the field that day for a tournament, and she had been especially thirsty for some lemonade. When Jimmy investigated the sour taste that people were complaining of, they were able to pin-point the source, easily. Mrs. Brown did not find our little prank funny, earning Angie and I her special attention for the rest of the school year.
Ultimately though, it had been worth it.
“That was a great day,” I said.
“I can just imagine that taste…how awful!” Charlie cried.
I watched as Charlie awkwardly inched the blanket higher onto her chest with one arm. The wind was chilly, but the heater and seat warmers had made it bearable—she had been right about that. I reached over and lifted the top of the blanket up to tuck it behind her shoulder.
“How’s your wrist, Shortcake?”
“About the same. I don’t feel it as much when it stays stationary like this. I think the ibuprofen really helped.”
“Are you just saying that so I don’t take you in for a stronger prescription? Or is that really the truth?” I challenged.
Her brows furrowed into the sassy look that I had come to expect from Charlie.
“I have never been dishonest with you, if anything you’re the liar here.”
“Whoa…those are some big words for a munchkin. When have I lied to you?”
“Uh, hello! Although I had a great time tonight, coming to this party was not the result of your stellar honesty,” she said, “and…you did tell me there would be dancing.”
“Hmm…the party was a bit of stretch, but I did fess up to it before you got in the car. The dancing? Well, we’ll have to remedy that when you’re not sportin’ a broken wing.”
She turned her face to me and smiled, the wind whipping her ponytail to the side.
“Is that a promise, Briggs—or should I say…Calvin?”
I grimaced.
Angie better be very glad she lives an hour away.
Charlie
Oh, that was even more satisfying than I had imagined.
I have Angie to thank for that.
I had wondered about his name—I mean, who named their son Briggs? But the answer had been simple enough. It was the first half of his hyphenated last name, Briggs-Morrison. It had started out as a sports nickname in middle school, but by the time he was in high school, it had replaced his given name—Calvin, entirely. According to Angie, no one knew him by anything other than Briggs.
I smiled; it was unique, just like he was.
He parked the car and was at my door before I could even unbuckle my seatbelt. He opened it, focusing his eyes on mine.
“Okay, so I’m going to help you out, and then I’m going to help you get settled-in for the night, Shortcake.”
What? No.
“Um, that’s okay, Briggs. I’m sure I can manage-”
“No.”
“But it’s just my-”
“No.”
I huffed in exasperation. The look on his face wasn’t likely to fade—I knew it well.
“Is there anything I can say to-”
“No.”
“Alright then, sounds like a plan,” I said, rolling my eyes.
An insane fluttering started deep within my core as he leaned over me. I wanted to laugh from the anxiety welling up inside me, but thankfully, I didn’t. The meds I had taken hours earlier had all but worn off, and I was definitely feeling the pain now, yet his close proximity dulled it tremendously.
“Don’t try to help, Shortcake, just relax—otherwise you’ll strain your wrist, and it will hurt.”
I raised my arm as Briggs un-tucked the blanket from my body, an immediate shiver running down my spine like a pulled zipper. My seatbelt was off a second later. He carefully scooped his arm behind my back as I kept my arm pinned to my abdomen, and slid me out of the seat to stand on the pavement. I felt my face flush with heat as our bodies touched, deciding then to keep my eyes away from his, which took every ounce of will power I had. I focused instead on my wrapped wrist, as if my gaze alone could heal it.
He followed me inside the house.
As we neared the top of the stairs, I realized he had never been up there before. I told myself it was stupid to feel so nervous—he was a paramedic—wasn’t he put in awkward situations like this on a daily basis? I was just another patient, some injured girl with a hurt wrist that he was providing care for.
He stopped in the doorway of my bedroom as I went to sit on my bed. I kicked off my heels—which felt completely ridiculous since I was still wearing Angie’s sweats pants—but they were the only shoes I had with me since I had destroyed her flip-flops in the mud pit. As they thumped on the floor I looked up at him, his face curious and conflicted.
“What do you need, Charlie?”
The question caused my chest to constrict like a rubber band—proving my answer was far from simple.
I needed to figure out what on earth was going on with me.
I needed to understand how Briggs could be undoing the damage in my heart, with just a look.
I needed…
I just needed.
Briggs
I needed to move.
I needed to do something other than stand in the doorway of her bedroom.
“What do you need, Charlie?” I had asked.
She didn’t respond at first, she just kept staring at me as if I was wearing the answer on my forehead.
I asked again.
“Charlie, what can I get for you? Want me to find you a pain reliever that can help you sleep? You should also ice it again,” I looked around her room, “Maybe I can find something to prop your arm up-”
“Briggs…” She took a deep breath.
I waited, watching an inner-battle take place inside her. I was certain a big part of her wanted to tell me to leave—to tell me that she was fine—not that I would listen. I knew she wasn’t fine, and as I searched her face again, I had a feeling it was for reasons beyond the pain in her wrist.
“Sure—thank you. The meds are downstairs and there’s some extras pillows in the hall closet to the right,” she said.
I found the extra pillows easily, and then searched the medicine cabinet downstairs in the kitchen. It was not only stocked, but well organized (thanks to Mrs. Julie). I carried a glass of water, along with the pain pills, into Charlie’s bedroom. She hadn’t moved an inch.
“Here you go. These should knock you out. I also brought you some extra ibuprofen so you can take it first thing in the morning. You may even want to set your alarm—it’s better to stay ahead of the pain,” I said.
She nodded absently; putting the pills in her mouth before washing them back with the water I brought her. She worked to scoot herself back with her good hand, but bumped her bad arm in the process, wincing in pain.
“Charlie, stop. Let me help you,” I said.
I pulled back her blankets, helping her lay down before propping her arm up on the extra pillows. If I had ever thought Charlie smelled good before, her bedding was the embodiment of that blessed scent. She flinched as I pulled the blankets up to her waist.
“Did I bump it?” I asked, concerned.
“No, it just hurts all on its own,” she said, trying to smile.
“I’m sorry, Shortcake—I’m sorry for chasing you through the mud, too.”
I smiled back at her as she laughed softly.
“Will you…” she began.
“What?”
“Will you…stay? Just
until I fall asleep, I mean?”
The vulnerability in her face matched the softness of her voice. I swallowed hard.
This was dangerous for me; she was dangerous for me.
This kind of proximity to a woman had only ever ended one way. Charlie wasn’t just any woman to me, though. She wasn’t a part of my past, and I would never allow her to be.
I took a step back from the bed—my eyes landing on a temporary solution:
A chair.
Chapter Twelve
Charlie
I had been nervous to ask him.
But the fear was already starting to creep in, like an old bad habit. I knew if I didn’t change its course and distract from it soon, the nightmares would claim me again tonight. They would deprive me of sleep by robbing every droplet of peace that I had accumulated over the last seventeen years.
When Alex left, it triggered something inside me—uprooting memories I had long ago buried. I didn’t want to spend my time and energy trying to figure out why they were back again, my mama had stolen enough of that already.
Briggs walked across my room to my desk chair, turning it around, but not moving it an inch closer before he sat in it.
I felt a pinched of hurt, wondering why he would choose to sit so far from me, but his distance didn’t lessen my need for a distraction.
“Will you tell me about your parents?” I asked, feeling my eyelids grow heavy.
He slid his elbows down his thighs, stopping to rest them on his knees, and took a deep breath.
Briggs
I was surprised at her question, but I was even more surprised that I was willing to answer it.
Where do I start?
It was like trying to direct someone out of a traffic jam—unless they were familiar with the side streets, it was a wasted effort.
“Angie and I were born in Boulder, Colorado. My mom was an attorney and my dad was the VP for a local bank. From the outside we were a perfect family. Nice house, nice cars, two nice kids and a nice golden retriever. But it was far from nice.”
I looked up and she nodded for me to continue.
“It’s hard to describe the chaos, Charlie, but that’s what it was…chaos. No structure, no discipline, no care. Angie and I were our own family unit from as far back as I can remember. They would fight, scream, cry, yell for days on end, and some days they wouldn’t come home at all. They worked all the time, but they played too—without us. They gave us money, of course—there was always enough money, but that’s about all there was. Our material needs were met, but not much else. They were so absorbed in chasing after their dreams, that they didn’t even notice when we stopped following.”
“Where are they now?”
“Divorced. Mom’s in Colorado, and last I heard, Dad was somewhere back East.”
“You don’t talk to them?” she asked with quiet wonder.
I smiled sadly, keeping my voice soft as I saw her eyes blink with sleepiness. “No Charlie, we don’t talk. It’s better that way. There’s not much left that hasn’t already been said, and I’m happy with the family I do have…even though most of them aren’t blood relatives.”
Her eyes closed then, and her breathing slowed with a heavy calm. I stood to make my exit. The meds had obviously done their job. As I neared the doorframe, I paused, watching her. She looked so peaceful.
Despite myself I quietly walked over to her bedside and pushed back the hair resting on her face. I leaned down then and brushed my lips against her forehead.
With that one simple act, my heart was gone, my fate sealed.
No other woman would ever compare to Charlie Lexington.
She was the only one I wanted.
Charlie
As it turned out, I didn’t need an alarm.
My wrist woke me up about thirty minutes before I could take my next dose of pain medication. I dragged my still body to the restroom—which proved to be interesting. Managing menial tasks while one-handed was quite a talent.
How is it possible that my wrist feels worse today?
As I finished up, I stood in front of the mirror, gasping at the frightening reflection that stared back at me. At least it was consistent with how I felt. I looked down at my wrist, which was throbbing with a whole new level of intensity.
This better not really take a week to heal! I have stuff to do…how will I get dressed, or compose Tori’s processional, or work at the office?
I wanted to scream in frustration, but it was too early for that. Instead, I cried. And it wasn’t a trivial cry, it was my ugly cry—the one that spurt big, fat, pitiful tears while contorting my face like a fun-house mirror. I didn’t care, though. It had been a long time since I had let myself cry like this—and with no one home, I could be as dramatic as I wanted. Living in such close quarters at school had left little room for an anti-humiliation tear-fest.
This ugly cry was long overdue.
I remembered when my mom had first talked to me about hormones. She had put her hand on my shoulder, “Charlie, some days a woman just needs to cry—even if there doesn’t seem to be a good reason for it.”
There were times my tears had started for one reason, but by the time I was finished crying, I had convinced myself that they were a result of something entirely different. I wiped at my face, clearing my dripping nose and wet cheeks with the sleeve of Angie’s t-shirt.
There was a knock at the bathroom door. I jumped, wincing as my wrist jerked away from my body in surprise.
“Charlie…are you okay in there?”
Oh my—no way! This isn’t happening!
Silence.
Could someone just shoot me, please? I cannot answer him! Not after…
“Charlie?”
“I’m okay,” I croaked out.
Except for the fact that I look like an idiot sobbing in my bathroom. Wait—why is he even in my house?
Suddenly, my mortification made a U-turn, heading toward anger instead.
“Why are you even here, Briggs?”
“I…I stayed downstairs. I didn’t want you to…be alone if you needed something in the middle of the night and couldn’t get to it.”
Urgh! Why does he have to be so nice to me?
“Oh.” Way to sound grateful, Charlie.
“Are you gonna come out of there?” he asked weakly.
“It depends.”
“On?” he asked
“How long you’ve been standing there.”
Silence.
Silence.
Silence.
“Wow…lying would’ve have been so much better, Briggs.”
He laughed, “Open the door, Shortcake.”
I did.
Briggs
I woke up to the sound of a door closing somewhere upstairs.
It took me a second to remember where I was and why I was there, but then my mind drifted to Charlie.
Lately, almost all my thoughts had to do with Charlie.
As I started up the stairs I was about to call her name so she’d know I was there, but then I heard her crying.
Angie used to cry like that.
When she thought I couldn’t hear her, or when she thought I was asleep, she would cry. I dealt with the rejection from our parents in other ways, but crying was how she coped. I knew now that if she hadn’t, it would have changed her—hardened her. But though I could reason through Angie’s tears, Charlie’s were different. Knowing that she was just on the other side of that door was like smelling the smoke without being able to extinguish the flames.
I hated it.
I also hated feeling like a stalker.
My relief was instant when she opened the door to face me.
She stood there with her bedhead hair and red-rimmed eyes, Angie’s clothes still hanging on her loosely, yet she had never looked more beautiful to me.
“Hi.”
“Hi,” she said, staring at the floor.
The urge to reach out to her and pull her into my arms, was almost unbea
rable. I clinched my fists closed to keep from doing it. Her vulnerability was too high and my uncertainty of being able to let her go was far too low.
“Can I make you some coffee, or were you planning on going back to bed? It’s just after six.”
“Coffee.”
Good, at least she isn’t going to hide from me. That’s something.
“Okay—is there anything you need help with before I go downstairs?”
She looked up at me, her cheeks flushing pink.
I cleared my throat.
I’m sure that getting dressed with a sprained wrist would be tricky, and if it had been the apocalypse and not a just typical Sunday morning in Dallas, I would have stepped up to the task. Somehow though, even with years of experience as a paramedic, conducting myself with Charlie in a professional manner, didn’t feel possible. To date, she had been the only woman to cause my heart to race when wrapping her injured wrist.
“Do you have a girlfriend you could call if…?”
Her blush deepened.
Geesh…0 for 2.
“I’ve got it. Thanks.”
I nodded, turning away quickly. “Sounds good.”
Charlie
Did he actually think I was going to ask him to help me get dressed?
I could have died right there in the hallway—again! His question had only made me evaluate the chores of my day—the ones I was going to have to manage one-handed.
I could ask Jackie?
She wasn’t the best choice in friends, but she was probably my only choice. Everyone else was still away at school. Jackie went to community college part-time and lived close by, plus it was Sunday. More than likely she was home—nursing a hangover.
Maybe having a friend over would be nice today, and maybe an extra hand—literally—would prove helpful?
I walked downstairs after him and watched him pull out a chair for me to sit down at the breakfast bar. Alex had never done that. Charm he had, but proper etiquette between males and females wasn’t his thing. His charm was purely selfish.
“I was thinking I’d make you some peanut butter pancakes, they are sell-your-soul good,” he said grinning.
All She Wanted (Letting Go) Page 10