If Only

by A. J. Pine

  “Hey man,” Griffin says. “Glad you guys could make it.” Griffin and I lower ourselves into the booth on the other end. He looks down at Noah’s palm, still covered with a bandage, but not the mustache one I gave him. This one is plain, flesh colored, and much bigger, covering the wound better than mine did. And, thankfully, he’s no longer bleeding.

  “What’d you do?”

  At this, Noah’s eyes meet mine, and the memory of cold water running over our intertwined hands sends shivers down to my toes. I bolted from this feeling only hours ago, but now I hold fast to the small space in the booth, his stare planting roots in my chest.

  “I broke a glass I was washing, took a little bit of my hand with it. Nothing a few stitches can’t take care of.” Hailey intercepts his hand as he pulls it back from Griffin, covering the bandage with soft kisses. I hurt him, but she gets to fix him.

  My stomach turns at the lie and the seriousness of the wound. Only because I know the truth do I hear the betrayal in the waiver of his voice. With the volume level slowly increasing, neither Griffin nor Hailey detect the falsehood. Griffin responds with a generic, “That’s too bad, man,” and the table’s conversation turns to something else.

  Noah takes the easy way out. It’s better than explaining why I knocked him to the ground outside of class. Because the why is mine, not his. Excluding me from the equation leaves no room for questions. Ignoring the encounter altogether makes life easier for everyone. But my throat tightens at Noah’s choice to look me in the eye before the lie.

  “I’m getting us a round of shots!” I back out of the booth and away from the table as the ridiculous words leave my mouth. I don’t do shots. Never have. But I need an excuse to move and something more than cider to dull my senses.

  Elaina finishes an order as I approach the bar. After pocketing her generous tip, she places two shot glasses in front of me.

  “Who is that, getting his face sucked off by the blondie?”

  I slump onto a barstool. “The reason my answers about Griffin sound like questions.”

  “Okay. We need shots.”

  I nod, willing to do anything to keep Noah from getting to me.

  Elaina pours us two straight shots of vodka. I should tell her I’ve never had vodka before. I should tell her that other than watered-down American college beer, snakebites top my list of strong beverage. Vodka may affect me more than a gentle combination of lager and cider.

  Ignoring my inner monologue as it screams in wild protest, I pick up the shot glass and say “Fuck it,” before downing it in one gulp.

  My eyes burn, as does my throat. Elaina’s empty shot glass sits on the bar, and she laughs at me.

  “You have never had vodka.”

  “No!” It comes out as a whisper, probably because I’ve burned off my vocal cords. I clear my throat and restore some semblance of sound. “And don’t lecture me on drinking right now, not when I have to walk back to a table where a guy I wanted didn’t want me. Be on my side, please.”

  She crosses her arms and stares up toward the ceiling, contemplating her reply.

  “Elaina!” I whine.

  “Yes. I will be your ally. And I start by refusing to serve you anything else that comes in a shot glass.”

  I am grateful for both of these things.

  “Fine,” I agree. “But I need to bring a round back for the table.”

  Elaina rolls her eyes, but she obliges, making enough shots for everyone except me.

  “I make you lemon drops, not too strong. It’s still so early.”

  I lean across the bar and kiss her on the cheek. “Thank you, ally. Please come over to the table when it slows down.”

  She pushes me away, and I spin back toward the table, tray of lemon drop shots in hand. Whoa. Perhaps I spun too quickly because the room is now slanting ahead of me. Was it this slanty when we got here?

  “Oy, I’ll grab those from ya, lass.”

  Duncan whizzes by, relieving me of my tray-carrying duties.

  I scan across the slanty room to our booth, but don’t see Griffin. In fact, the booth sits empty. Griffin has no doubt joined the mob of Fyfe residents that stands around Duncan, the tray of shots deposited onto a high table at the other end of the bar.

  Good. I’d like to sit down. My first step toward the sanctuary of the booth takes me sideways. Hmm. Definitely wanted to go straight.

  An arm wraps around my waist, steadying me.

  “What do you say we get you a glass of water?”

  The deep, soothing voice sports a boyish rasp, and I smile despite the slanty room. Oh no. Boyish rasp.

  I turn to face my rescuer. Noah. I expect his expression to match the amusement in his voice, but when he sees me, his brows knit together, and his smile fades.

  I pull out of his grasp and regain my footing, my lightweight-drinker dizziness dissipating.

  “I’m fine,” I insist, wanting anything but his help.

  Oh, hey there, slanty room. You’re back.

  I take another side-step, and this time Noah ushers me into the nearest booth, a small two-top on the wall parallel to the bar. He sits across from me.

  “You are not fine, Jordan. How much did you drink?”

  “Why do you assume I’m drunk? Isn’t it possible the bar is on an incline, and we’ve only now noticed? I should tell Elaina. She’ll get it fixed.”

  Noah’s eyes soften, but he doesn’t appreciate the joke.

  I scoff at my lack of tolerance, at Noah seeing me like this, at the whole mess of this night. “Two pints and a shot…over the past two plus hours.” I smirk at my impressive beverage to time ratio. “I don’t drink much.”

  A throat clears to interrupt our conversation. Elaina stands at the table with two pint glasses of ice water.

  “Have I told you lately that I love you?” I ask her.

  She places a pint in front of each of us and stares at Noah, arms crossed and lips pursed. I down the full glass before offering any sort of introduction.

  “Elaina, this is Noah. Noah, this is my flat-mate, Elaina. She works here. And Duncan has a huge crush on her.”

  She shifts her glare from Noah to me. “You wanted an ally tonight, yes?”

  Shit.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Elaina.”

  She softens at Noah’s salutation, and I want to do some sort of hallelujah dance and say, “See? See? What is it about that voice?” But instead I watch the magic of Elaina unfold.

  “Where is your girlfriend, the blond one?” Noah’s smile falters for a brief moment.

  Hailey. She doesn’t deserve Elaina’s scorn or me coveting her boyfriend.

  “She’s over at the shot table with the rest of the group, including Griffin.”

  A tiny sting lies below Noah’s mild tone. I feel it. Elaina does, too. No one wins in this scenario.

  “No more alcohol for you, my pussy lightweight.”

  I almost spit out my water. Almost. “E-LAI-na!”

  She shrugs. “What? It is true.”

  Both of them laugh. At me. And while the nickname fits, somehow the alliance has shifted, making me the odd man out.

  Nudging my head toward the bar, I ask Elaina, “Don’t you have a few hundred customers waiting?”

  She calls my bluff and looks back over her shoulder where a gaggle of customers waits.

  “Only water for her, Mr. Blue Eyes. You understand?”

  They really are coconspirators now.

  “Got it, boss.” He salutes her as she walks away with no parting greeting for me. “I like her,” he adds.

  “Yeah. I did, too, before she betrayed me.”

  He laughs again, and my breathing quickens at the sound of it.

  “I don’t know if I’d call bringing you a glass of water and cutting you off betrayal. You clearly need both. Lightweight.”

  “You mean a pussy lightweight.” I snort, and Noah’s shoulders shake. If there is any word in the realm of English slang I cannot pull off, it’s that on
e.

  “I like that about you. Means you aren’t out getting wasted all the time. What’s wrong with that?”

  My eyes burn. He can’t ignore an encounter with me to save face with his girlfriend and then compliment my lack of party skills.

  “Why did you lie?” The words spill out of me without warning. I will add this to the list of reasons why I should stay clear of anything that comes in a shot glass.

  His pupils grow wide, turning his blue irises almost black. He knows what I mean. He’s quiet for a moment, and I can’t help but stare. I’ve spent most of the night trying to avoid Noah, and now is the first time I really pay him any attention. His dark hair brushes the roll-neck collar of a cream fisherman’s sweater. The look suits him. In this small, northern, seaside town, Noah Keating somehow fits. But the two of us, we seem to keep colliding.

  “I don’t know,” he finally says. “It was easier. The truth, for some reason, seemed like it merited explanation, and I’m not really sure what I need to explain.”

  He takes a sip of his water and runs his hands through his hair. He could use a trim, but I like his dark waves a little unkempt.

  “Dammit, Jordan. You took off after…after…”

  I lick my lips, parched though I drained a pint of water.

  “After what?” I ask, my heart hammering against my rib cage.

  “What was that in the bathroom?”

  “The loo,” I amend. Stupid vodka. Shut up, Jordan.

  He tilts his head back in exasperation. “Seriously? You’re correcting me?”

  Now I’m on the defensive. “What then? What about the bathroom? What was I supposed to wait around for?”

  He doesn’t answer. I close my eyes, bringing us back to the sink, the water, him asking me to wait. Wait. Shite. All I’ve done for two years is wait.

  I reach across the table and grab his wrist above his bandaged hand. He sucks in a breath as we touch, and I steady my own exhale enough to ask again, gently, pleading. “Why did you lie about your hand?” My voice catches, and his hand curls into a fist. When I write about this later, I will chalk up the tension to the vodka. I can lie, too.

  “We came here together.” His words strain to leave his lips.

  “What?” My grip on his arm falters, my voice a tremble as I speak.

  “Me and Hailey.” He pauses. “I tried to tell you the day after the train, on the scavenger hunt. You let me off the hook so easily, though, and I didn’t push. I should have told you everything then. Maybe… I don’t know.”

  “Maybe what?” I try to push my chair away, wanting to be anywhere but here listening to this, but the chair tilts back on its back legs, and I lurch forward, catching myself on the table. Listening it is, then.

  He continues. “We came here together, from Ohio State. We’ve known each other since high school and started dating the end of freshman year at OSU. We were together when we decided to study abroad.”

  “Were?” I don’t understand. Isn’t he with her now?

  “We broke up late this past summer, just past the one year mark. But we were already signed up for the program. And it’s comp—”

  “Yeah, I know, Noah. It’s complicated. I already told you I don’t do complicated.”

  His hand grabs mine this time, and he winces but doesn’t let go.

  “But it was more than just that kiss. I watch you in class, arguing for Lucy Honeychurch or stubborn, judgmental Elizabeth Bennet.”

  “Hey.” I point my finger at him. Buzzed or not, I can always defend my Lizzie. “Darcy deserved her reproach. He humiliated her the first time he ever saw her, saying she wasn’t handsome enough to tempt him. And it doesn’t matter that she wasn’t supposed to hear. Darcy’s intent doesn’t diminish Lizzie’s hurt.”

  “He was shy,” Noah argues. “Sometimes people do stupid shit when they’re unsure of themselves.”

  My jaw tightens. “So it’s okay to hurt someone in order to save face? I’m going to call bullshit on that one.”

  Noah squeezes my hand in his. I scan the bar. Doesn’t he care if someone sees us? “God, Jordan. Why can’t you cut me some slack here? I’m trying to explain myself, but you don’t want to listen. I see you every day, and you act like I’m a stranger. And I keep thinking, what if? What if I didn’t answer the text on the train? What if we knew we’d be spending the year together? But you never gave me a chance.”

  He stares at me, his chest heaving from his tirade. And he still doesn’t let go. The kiss. He hasn’t forgotten the kiss. But when I remember what followed the kiss, I disentangle my hand from his and pull away. “But you did answer the text. And it was Hailey.”

  He nods, massaging his injured hand with the other. I watch a small, red circle bloom like a tiny rose from the center of the bandage, but I ignore the urge to take care of him.

  “She wanted to pick me up at the train so we could talk.”

  He kissed me and went back to her. Within hours.

  “There’s too much history between us.” He hesitates for a few seconds. “And there’s a future, too. We had it all planned out until we hit a snag in July.” I think I recognize some sort of hurt in his eyes, but he shutters his expression too quickly for me to be sure. “I let myself believe I was lucky to spend a half hour with you, that I could leave it at that. I was an idiot not to think to ask if you were on your way here, too.”

  I’m an idiot, too, a self-absorbed idiot. How could I have known him, known both of them for all these weeks, and not known any of this?

  “I get it now,” he says, “why Lucy would say yes to Cecil, in A Room with a View.”

  I swallow past the catch, eliminate it all together.

  “Because,” he continues, “she’s being logical, trying to do what she thinks is the right thing.”

  He looks down into his glass of water.

  “So you choose logic.” It’s not a question but a painful realization.

  He looks at me now. “I don’t have a choice, not when she’s trying to fix what we broke, to fix what broke me.”

  It’s too much. I don’t want to know his history with Hailey or that what they had was intense enough to break him, important enough for him to want to try again. But his eyes still burn into mine, not letting me look away.

  “But you have to know, Brooks…”

  I shake my head. “Don’t call me that. Not now, Noah. Don’t fucking call me that now.”

  He grips the edge of the table, the tips of his fingers turning white.

  “Jordan,” he says, the distance between us growing, though neither of us moves. “You’re the one who said it—this year isn’t real. But reality is all I know. That doesn’t give me much of a choice—”

  He doesn’t finish the thought. Whatever I have to know leaves with Noah as he stands in time to meet Hailey and Griffin’s approach. Hailey drapes herself on Noah, fastening her hands tight around his neck. She sways against him, evidence of her presence at the shot table. I turn my eyes to Griffin, sure I don’t want to watch what comes next with Noah and his logical choice.

  “I thought you were joining us for shots. In fact, I thought you were buying.” He leans down to where I sit and kisses me on the cheek.

  “I was,” I say. “I mean, I did. Buy the shots. I drank mine at the bar with Elaina. Let’s say vodka and I have been introduced, and it didn’t go well.”

  “Ah, yes. I do remember Elaina coming by and mentioning something about a pussy lightweight. Does that ring a bell?”

  I roll my eyes, too exhausted to protest. Noah and Hailey head toward the group. I watch them walk away, waiting for Noah to turn back, but he never does.

  Griffin puts his hand on my cheek and squats down beside the end of my booth. He kisses me gently, repeatedly. To hell with logic. I lean into him, run my fingers through his hair and kiss him harder. His lips are soft. I ignore the spice of whisky still on his tongue and let it through my parted lips. I feel myself letting go, letting Griffin’s kiss fill the space I’v
e kept empty, kept at a distance. But allowing him to do this means we’ll break the rules of our agreement. He must know that. So when he smiles against me as I grab his collar, I take it as a sign, pulling him closer.

  “Wanna get out of here?” he asks, his voice heavy with desire.

  My ragged breath disguises the reappearing tremor in my voice. “Yes. I want to get out of here.”

  “Where to?”

  Elaina’s warning replays in my head. Our walls are paper thin.

  “Can we go to your place?”

  He nods, pulling me up from the booth, his mouth still on mine.

  Noah and Hailey stand at the large, round table where the night began. As soon as his eyes catch mine, I turn away, leaning into Griffin.

  “Take me home,” I plead.

  And so he does.

  Chapter Ten

  Duncan’s door hangs ajar when we walk past, so Griffin nudges it open. No sign of Duncan.

  “He does this a lot,” Griffin tells me as he reaches for the handle to close it.

  “Wait!” I slip past him, heading straight for the dresser where the bottle still sits. “I’ve been in Scotland for almost two months and still have not had Scottish whisky. Time to drink with the big boys, right?”

  Griffin’s brows pinch together, and he pries the bottle from my hand. “Are you sure about this? Elaina made it seem like you were done for the night.”

  My protective flat-mate did not give Griffin the same directive as Noah, to keep me off the sauce for the rest of the night. I am following up one bonehead move with another, but right now I don’t care. I want to clear my head, or, I guess, if whisky is going to be involved, to fog it up a bit.

  “I’ve been drinking nothing but water for the past hour. I’m fine. It’s still Duncan’s birthday, right? Let’s celebrate.” I grab the bottle and move toward the door.

  Within seconds, I unscrew the lid and swig straight from the bottle before I’m out of Duncan’s room. “Shit! I bet Elaina’s coffee has nothing on this!” Holding the bottle by the neck, I press it to Griffin’s chest. As he grasps it, I let go and slide around the corner into Griffin’s room.