The Risks We Take

by Barbara C. Doyle

  “You did?”

  He nods. “My manager has it, and he along with my publicists will get it taken care of. Your name will be cleared, I promise. The only thing people will know is that words got twisted, and I pulled an innocent girl into my lifestyle. You shouldn’t have to deal with what they were saying, and I’m sorry. I’m really fucking sorry.”

  I press my lips together, not sure what to say. That it’s okay? It’s not. That I forgive him? I don’t know if I do. I’m not even sure I hated him enough to need his forgiveness. Not about this.

  Funny how that works. I blamed him for twelve years over something that I believed was his fault when it wasn’t, and now that I have every right to blame him for something that is his fault, I don’t want to.

  I’m pathetic.

  No. I’m tired. Tired of hating. Tired of blaming. Tired of trying to be the perfect solution to everybody else’s problems, when I can’t even solve my own.

  Ian rubs the back of his neck, sighing. “I’m leaving, Kasey.”

  I stare at him, familiar feelings rising in the pit of my stomach. I felt the same way as the day I found out Ian’s family left. No warning at all. One day his house was just … empty.

  Leaving.

  As in, he won’t be here anymore. No annoying music blaring from his apartment. No showing up at my work trying to get me to catch up with him. No chocolate cake deliveries as bribery.

  Nothing. Like it used to be. Like I wanted it to be … before.

  I swallow past the lump forming in my throat. “Leaving,” I repeat, nodding my head like it’s no big deal. “When?”

  “Tomorrow morning.”

  My heart tightens. I silently tell it to settle down, because there’s no reason for it to react. This whole time, what little time we’ve had, I’ve been against getting into any form of relationship or attachment to Ian.

  And this is exactly why.

  Eventually, they all leave. He leaves.

  “You’re spending your last night in town cooking me dinner?” I doubt, staying impassive. “Do you think food will just make the storm pass?”

  He shoots me a heartbreaking smile. “There isn’t any other place I’d rather be, Kay. Plus, the storm will pass. It always does, believe me.”

  Believe me. It’s like asking me to trust him, and I can’t. So I stare blankly at him instead, because I can’t believe that something that blew up as quickly as this will just blow over. Or that he’d rather be here than with somebody who’s more fun to be around.

  “Don’t look so surprised,” he muses.

  I glance at the ingredients again. “I just figured you’d have somebody better to share it with, that’s all. I haven’t exactly been … forthcoming with the whole friendship thing.”

  He eyes me. “Are you calling us friends? Because if food was all it took to win you over, I should have come back here sooner.”

  I can’t help but grin. “Food is the true way to the heart,” I reply. “But no, I wasn’t exactly calling us friends. I’m just saying that I haven’t been nice to you, but you’re still here. You’re still trying. Why? You’re leaving tomorrow anyway.”

  I leave the point as a silent add on: So what’s the point?

  “I’m trying to prove that I don’t give up easily,” is all he says.

  I graze my hand against the wrapped tortilla shells. “I already knew that, Ian. What with your stalker tendencies and all.”

  He snorts. “If you really didn’t want me around, you would have tried harder to make sure I wasn’t.”

  I avoid his gaze, because he’s not wrong. If I wanted him to leave me alone, I would have made that clear.

  “Maybe …” I shrug. “Maybe you bugging me hasn’t been so bad. I mean, I wouldn’t want you doing it all the time, but since you’re not here long it’s not so bad.”

  “Are you saying you like me?”

  “Well, I don’t want to murder you.”

  He grins. “I’ll call that a win, then.”

  I swallow, meeting his eyes. “You should.”

  We stare at each other again, but there’s something in the stare that wasn’t there before. Something burning. Something buzzing.

  He takes a step toward me. “You’ve spent the last few weeks acting like you hated me. Careful, Kasey. You’re starting to sound like you might just like me.”

  “Well I don’t … hate you,” I declare.

  It’s in that moment when I realize something is about to change. There are choices we have to make that determine the outcome of our decisions. Do we, or don’t we? Do we make a move? Take a chance? Take a risk?

  Sometimes, risks aren’t worth taking.

  But sometimes … sometimes they are.

  Sometimes they consume you, like the decision you make will change everything, and that fear is what’s stopping you. Making you hesitate. Does anybody really love change? The feeling of the unknown? Never knowing what’s to come?

  I don’t.

  Something tells me that Ian does, though.

  I’m brutally aware of his slow movements, a dance from the predator to prey. He’s stalking toward me, eyes locked on mine, breathing uneven as he nears. I can feel my heart race in my chest, trying to talk myself out of this. Whatever this is. My body knows. My mind knows. My heart is still debating, weighing the options.

  He’s in front of me before I can decide, but the way my body arches toward him says it all.

  I want Ian Wells.

  But does my heart?

  Barely three weeks. That’s how much time we had. Less than twenty-one days to figure out the truth. To let it all out. To let him know who I am, because we’re not the same.

  The girl he left behind twelve years ago is dead, and only the ghost of her haunts me.

  Haunts him.

  He came to make amends, to see his best friend. And he’s leaving with a new acquaintance, because I can’t even call us friends now. We don’t know each other. Not anymore.

  My palms flatten on his chest … to push him away at first, but the feel of his warmth only draws me in. I gather a fistful of his shirt in my hands, tugging him closer. His hands go to my hips, his fingertips digging into the flesh of my jeans in a delicious way.

  “Ian.” His name is a struggle as it escapes my lips, the uncertainty thick and evident.

  Just like what’s pressing against my inner thigh.

  I can’t help but move my hips forward, pressing his erection a little harder against my thigh. His fingers dig a little farther into me.

  “I don’t know what we’re doing,” I admit, my voice breathy. “But if this is how we say good-bye then … I’m okay with not stopping.”

  “Kasey …” He dips his head into the crook of my neck, trailing hot kisses down my throat. He nips, causing a sharp intake of breath from me, my hips rolling forward again.

  “Ian, please. Can you just …” Stop. Don’t stop. My mind can’t figure out what it wants more, because my body is doing all the talking.

  My mind momentarily goes back to the kiss we shared. How it felt. How my body reacted.

  “What, Kasey?” he asks, looking me in the eyes, not making another move until he sees some sort of indication I want him to.

  Do I want him to?

  My lips part, then close again.

  What do I want?

  Sometimes, words don’t say enough.

  Wrapping my arms around his neck, I pull him toward me. When our lips meet he tenses, but quickly eases into the kiss. He lets me take the lead—take control. It’s about what I want, although the way he moves his mouth with mine says he wants this just as much.

  I run my tongue against his bottom lip, and he opens for me. When our tongues touch, his response changes. Pressing me against the counter, he rolls his hips harder into mine. His lips are rougher, kiss is hotter, and his hands are running up my body and taking my shirt with it.

  My body is on fire, even when my shirt is off and thrown somewhere on the kitchen floor. Hi
s hands are tracing what little curves I have, and the skin on skin contact makes me tremble in ways that should make me feel ashamed.

  But I don’t. God, I really don’t.

  When our lips crush against each other again it’s with a new hunger. One that neither of us can deny or stop. And the best part? We don’t want to.

  My hands greedily ball up his shirt and bring it up his body. He helps slide it off and then grips my hips, picking me up.

  My legs wrap around his waist as he settles me on the countertop. My breath is rugged and uneven, but craving so much more. We share the same breath. Same racing heartbeat.

  “Jesus, Kasey,” he groans when my hand slides down his front. His eyes are closed. “I didn’t come here for this. I swear, I didn’t. I just wanted you to know how sorry I am for what I dragged you into, and then make you dinner. I just want—”

  He’s out of breath and trying to restrain from going further, but I’m not having it.

  “Just shut up and kiss me, Wells.”

  And because he’s a great listener, like he keeps reminding me, he does. And he does it in the way that has a mewl escaping my lips.

  My hand cups him, causing him to buck his hips forward. My eyes widen when I feel the size of him, but it doesn’t stop me from wanting him just the same.

  My hands trail to the button of his jeans, popping it open. The slow sound of the zipper going down has him groaning.

  “Are you sure?” he asks again.

  I nip his collarbone. “Haven’t been more sure in my life.”

  He makes a noise that I can’t describe, and soon forget about when his mouth is on mine. Every nip of my lips, clash of our tongues, graze of his hands, it all makes my body feel something it hasn’t in a long time.

  Just as I’m unbuttoning my shorts, he pulls away, putting his forehead on mine.

  “Are you really sure about this? Because I’ve got supper ready to be cooked, and—”

  I deadpan, “Are you seriously thinking about food right now? Like … right this second?”

  He stares at me for a second. “You’re right, bad time. I was just thinking about how much you loved my grandma’s fajitas, and—”

  “Ian!”

  He snaps out of it. “Okay, yeah. Back to it.” His eyes search mine for a long moment. “I just want to make sure you want this. Because I do, but I really didn’t come over for this. You need to know I’m not the kind of guy who would get in your pants for no reason. I mean, I used to be that guy, but I’m not. And I never would be with you.”

  My palms slide into his pants, trailing the denim down his thighs. “Well your night just took a very interesting turn then.”

  He swallows. “I’m seeing that.”

  I bring my lips to his at the same moment his pants hit the floor. “Maybe we can have fajitas later. Because you’re right, I loved those.”

  He chuckles, stepping away from his pants.

  “I think I like this version of you,” he says, nuzzling his lips into my neck.

  “So you’re finally admitting I’m different in a good way?”

  He pulls away. “Can’t say I ever had these fantasies at ten years old. Those came later.”

  I feel my cheeks heat up.

  He chuckles at my reaction, trailing kisses up my jaw and cheek. “This version of you is something I would never be able to fantasize about. It would never do you justice.”

  His voice is raspy, and his hands are grabby, and my body reacts in ways that I have no control of.

  Choose what makes you happy—who makes you happy.

  I’m finally choosing, for one night.

  “Okay,” I whisper, mind completely made up. “Enough talking.”

  And that’s all it takes before he’s picking me up and carrying me to my bedroom. Another piece of clothing comes off. Then another. It’s like we’re worried we’ll get lost in each other, so leaving a trail is our only option.

  When my bare back hits my unmade bed, I know there’s no going back. I also know that I don’t want to.

  Tonight is my chance. My choice.

  “There’s no way to avoid regret, Kasey. It’s how we deal with it that makes all the difference.”

  I look at him. “What does that even mean?”

  “Make choices. Make regrets.”

  “With you?”

  “Always.”

  I’m going to regret this tomorrow, but I am going to embrace it today.

  His hands slide up my bare thighs, his fingertips digging into my hips as he moves over me. His lips are traveling up my body, my stomach, in between my breasts, up my neck.

  He nips at my throat again. “Last chance,” he whispers, but it sounds more like a warning—a partial plea not to stop this.

  I don’t say anything, giving him all the answers he needs.

  Then he’s over me. On me. His body shifting so his erection is brushing against the inside of my thigh. His hands are trailing down, his lips are going up.

  It’s like he can’t decide what he wants to do first, because everything is scrambled between us. We’re a frequency that can’t be cleared. The ocean that can’t be tamed—one of us is pushing while the other one pulls.

  We’re a dangerous mixture. The destruction of something old without the promise of anything new.

  To me, he’s closure. The ending chapter to a novel. To him, I’m the beginning of a verse. A new melody based on the harmony of our bodies moving.

  But really, we’re a song that can’t be written.

  IAN

  “Hey,” I whisper, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

  She pulls the blanket up to cover her chest, something nobody should do after exposing themselves fully only moments before.

  I’ve seen her. All of her. Or, all of her body. Clearly her mind is a different situation, like her thoughts are whirling around aimlessly for only her to hear.

  There’s an expression on her face, the way her lips are slightly turned down, that I don’t like. I know it’s only a matter of time before this moment ends.

  “You should go,” she murmurs, voice barely loud enough for me to hear.

  I stare at her, thinking I hear her wrong. But the lack of shine in her eyes tells me that I hear her just fine.

  Don’t do this, I silently plea.

  “Why?” I ask, voice distant.

  “Why what?”

  “Why do this?” I press, sitting up. “Why now? Why when I was telling you good-bye?”

  She slowly turns her head toward me. “I didn’t want it to be like last time, Ian. You left, and it hurt. I had no way to say good-bye. This … this is my good-bye. My choice. My control.”

  It hits me then.

  She used me to prove a point.

  We sit in silence. It’s thick and uncomfortable—full of unanswered questions. Unspoken truths.

  I shake my head and stand up, sliding on my boxers. “It didn’t have to be like last time, Kasey. We’re both adults now. We both get to choose if we stay in contact with each other.”

  She pulls the blankets around her. “We could have,” she agreed. “But we won’t.”

  My jaw ticks. “You’re saying that you’re not interested at all?”

  I don’t buy it. Not after what just happened. She doesn’t strike me as the fuck-’em-and-leave-’em type. I could be wrong, after all we never got to the get-to-know-you stage like I wanted.

  Like always, I do things ass backward.

  “What I’m interested in is closure. You came to say good-bye, and you did. We both did, Ian. Now we’re going our separate ways again.”

  She’s really doing this. She’s really kicking me out. If this is what rejection feels like, I don’t want to feel it again.

  “And what are you planning to do after I’m gone?”

  Does she think that this is what I want? Does she care at all that it isn’t? Everything about this moment shatters the very thing I felt confident about in us.

  We used to wo
rk. But we don’t anymore.

  That’s her point—the reason for this experiment.

  She doesn’t meet my eyes. “I’m going to build a life for Taylor. One that she deserves, where the people who care about her stick around. Where she can live a private life without any disruptions. She deserves the world. Happiness. Love. To be spoiled.”

  My jaw ticks, because I know she’s insinuating that I can’t give her those things. How can I, when my job requires me to leave? The reporters only gave her more of a reason to push this on me—an excuse as to why we can’t even talk again after I step outside the town lines.

  Make sacrifices.

  Making sacrifices is all I’ve ever done. They never seem like sacrifices until your soul is officially sold, without any chance of you getting it back. She wants to believe that my job will get in the way of making them happy—of finding some sort of love for them. With them. It doesn’t matter that it isn’t true, because her mind is made up.

  It’s just an excuse. One that I read loud and clear.

  “And Jake and Rosie are the people to give her that,” I conclude for her, knowing she won’t say it herself.

  I can’t be the one to spoil them. To make them happy. To love them. But they can.

  She stays silent.

  Message received.

  Looking back at her still body, I try to decide what to say.

  But what can you say when your heart is being ripped out of your chest? I’m not in love with Kasey. She’s not in love with me. But I could have loved her.

  I could have done a lot.

  I take a deep breath, slowly blowing it out. “I wanted more than this. Friendship. Contact. Most importantly, I want you to be happy, Kasey. I always have, and I always will.”

  I walk toward the door, my hand gripping the doorknob in a white-knuckle grip. It’s trying to hold onto the limited time we shared. Keep the memories—absorb them like they may fade away forever.

  I say the only thing I can say, because I know when the fight is over.

  “I hope you and Jake are happy together.”

  Then I walk out the door.