Something More Than This

by Barbie Bohrman

  The light of day sucks.

  I slowly peel away the blanket and slide out of bed as smoothly as possible, trying my hardest not to make a sound and to be as quiet as a church mouse. Dylan doesn’t stir or open his eyes, thank God. I tiptoe out of his room and down his hallway, making my way to the kitchen to pick up and put on some of my clothes. Then I head to the entryway to pick up and put on the rest of my clothes. I make an executive decision not to put my sneakers back on until I’m safely outside, for fear that they might make a squeaking noise against the hardwood floor.

  My hand freezes on his doorknob; the only sound I can hear is the soft hissing of the air conditioner and then nothing . . . nothing but the steady thrum of my heart beating, building and building with each step I take closer to the door.

  Leaving Dylan feels as sneaky and dirty as it looks to the outside eye, like a thief running off into the night. But in my case, it’s the early morning hours after the best night of my life. I decide right then and there to go home and take some “me time” to figure out what I’m going to do next and push away the nagging thought that I’m making yet another mistake.

  Closing the door with the stealth of a well-trained burglar, I speed walk to my car in the parking lot. Once I’m safely inside, I grab my phone and see five missed calls from Simon, two from Conner, and one text from Mimi, which says:

  Wherever you are and whoever you’re with, I hope it’s worth it because Simon is looking for you and driving me nuts. xo

  Oh no, I didn’t even think to let Mimi know that I wasn’t coming home last night. Knowing her, she probably got Simon off her back eventually, but I’m sure it took a while. I’ll just swing by Starbucks and pick her up a coffee and something sweet for breakfast to make it up to her. And then figure out how to deal with Simon later, because there are more important things to concern myself with right now.

  I spare one last glance at Dylan’s door as I’m putting my car in drive and ignore the ache in my chest when I pull out of the parking lot and onto the street to go home.

  When I arrive at the apartment with two cups of Starbucks and a baggie of goodies for Mimi and me, it’s still really early. Obscenely early . . . so early that the beach traffic that usually builds up in and around the Fort Lauderdale area is not yet to be seen.

  I decide to talk things out with Mimi. Hopefully she’s awake and willing to listen without too much interruption and commentary and, God bless her, analogies to movies that make no sense whatsoever in relation to my life.

  With a little juggling, I’m able to hold the coffee tray and unlock the front door, only to walk in on the most disturbing scene I’ve ever been witness to.

  Simon is behind Mimi, gripping her hips. She’s bent over and holding on to the back of the couch with her back to him, and he’s got his pants off, and thankfully Mimi’s body is covering that part. But she’s covering that part of his body because he’s plowing into her like there is no tomorrow.

  Now, I’ve seen Mimi semi-naked before. But never this much naked. Because the amount of naked I’m getting an eyeful of right now is just not normal to share with friends. Like, ever.

  “Holy shit!”

  I yell this at the top of my lungs and drop the coffee tray on the floor, followed by the bag of goodies. Then my hands fly up to cover my eyes since I’m pretty sure they feel like they’ve been doused in acid.

  Turning around like I was getting ready to play pin the tail on the donkey, I hear rustling of clothes and cursing coming from both Simon and Mimi. With my back turned to them, I reach out blindly with one hand, eyes tightly shut still, and slam the door so loud I’m pretty sure that if the neighbors weren’t awake after me yelling, they’re definitely awake now.

  “Are you dressed?!” I ask, still yelling.

  “Hang on, hang on,” Mimi says as I hear her or both of them rushing around behind me. “Okay, you can turn around.”

  Slowly I turn around and open my eyes. Simon is still straightening his uniform and Mimi is sitting on the couch in her robe, twirling a piece of her hair between her fingers and looking everywhere but me.

  “Where the hell have you been? I’ve been worried sick about you,” Simon says. “Did you even think to check your cell phone, Katy? Or call me back or something so I wouldn’t be here looking for you at all hours of the night?”

  My mouth drops open, and nothing, not a word or the slightest sound, comes out. Because he has got to be kidding me right now.

  I look to Mimi, who is rolling her eyes at Simon and then finally gets the nerve to glance in my direction. She notices the spilled Starbucks coffee cups on the ground and says, “Oooh, was that for me? I could really use one right about now.”

  “You could really use one right about now?” I repeat in shock.

  They look at each other, and Simon at least has the decency to look halfway embarrassed. Mimi, on the other hand, looks as if it’s just another day at the office. And then it clicks . . .

  I point to Simon while talking to her. “It’s him? Simon is your mystery guy? And don’t you dare lie to me or I swear I won’t tell you anything about my personal life again.”

  “Did something new happen last night?” she asks and clasps her hands together in excitement. “Oh my God, did you sleep with Conner or Dylan? Tell me everything and don’t you dare hold out on me! I’m dying to know!”

  Simon starts to yell at the top of his lungs, “What the hell is she talking about, Katy? How many men are you involved with? And it better not be the Conner I remember, because that kid was an asshole!”

  I love my brother to death, I really do. But the amount of times he has pulled his self-righteous and holier-than-thou attitude on me along with the usual overbearing nonsense has reached its limit. It ends today.

  “Get out, Simon.” I say this calmly and quietly.

  “Not until you tell me where and who—”

  Then I lose it. “Get out!”

  It’s so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Mimi then says, “She’s not joking. You better get out of here, Simon.”

  He looks to Mimi and says, “I’ll call you later.”

  Gathering up the last of his things, Simon storms by me and out the door, to which Mimi doesn’t have any kind of reaction. Then she gets up and runs to the kitchen. She comes back to where I’m still standing, frozen in shock, and starts to clean up the spilled coffee.

  Startling both of us out of the self-imposed silence is a loud knock on the door.

  Mimi yells out, “Go home, Simon!”

  But he ignores it and knocks even louder this time.

  She curses under her breath and stands up, reaching for the door and swinging it open. It’s not even halfway open when she starts to go off on him.

  “Simon, for the love of God, just please—”

  She cuts herself off and then says, “Oh, hey, Dylan, sorry about that. I thought you were someone else.”

  “Katy,” he says and I turn around.

  He seems as if he literally jumped out of bed and threw on the first T-shirt and jeans he could find and ran here trying to track me down. And I’m sure by the confused and hurt look in his eyes, he is wondering why I left to begin with. I’m not even sure why.

  Mimi is between us, holding the door open. She points to him and then me and then back to him and then me one more time.

  “Did what I think happened actually happen between you guys last night?” When neither of us answers her, she adds, “Somebody better start talking here.”

  “Mimi, do you mind?” I ask as nicely as possible given the situation I just walked in on.

  She must realize that I’m not in the mood, so she puts her hands in the air in defeat. Before disappearing into her bedroom, she bends down to pick up the paper towels now soaked in coffee from the ground and tosses them in the garbage can.

  Then it’s just the two of us.

  I notice that he still hasn’t stepped inside.

  “Do you want to come inside?”

/>   “No,” he answers quickly.

  This throws me off. Because if anything, I think we can maybe talk this through and figure out where we go from here.

  “Listen, Dylan,” I start, and his demeanor instantly changes. “It’s not what you think, I just need some time to think and figure things out. If you just come in and we talk, it—”

  “Talk? Talk about what?” In frustration, he runs a hand through his hair and takes a quick breath. He smiles sarcastically and goes on. “Should we talk about how you came over my house last night and we made love for hours? How about we talk about you leaving me this morning as if I were a one-night stand? Or maybe we can talk about how you’re always playing with my fucking head and I’ve had it with this shit? How about we talk about all of that before we talk about any other excuses you want to throw my way.”

  “It’s not like that, Dylan. I swear, it’s not.”

  “Then what is it like?”

  I struggle to find the right words to make all of this go back to the way it was. But I can’t. The look in his eyes tells me that no matter what I say, it won’t be enough and won’t make sense to him. Hell, how can I explain when it doesn’t even make sense to me?

  “You know what, Katy? Don’t bother.” He starts to walk away from me, stopping only once to say, “Just leave me the hell alone.”

  And then he turns around and leaves for good.

  The worst part is that I don’t even stop him. I can’t because he’s right, I royally screwed things up. My friendship with Dylan, which has always meant the world to me, is ruined.

  This is bad enough in and of itself. But what hurts more is the knowledge that I threw the wrecking ball.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Leave me alone,” I shout, huddled underneath my blanket.

  I’ve been hiding in my bedroom since yesterday morning, only coming out to use the bathroom. Every ounce of energy is gone. Every piece of me hurts, literally. Which I have to laugh at, because I’ve read books where they say stuff like “my heart hurts,” and I’d thought: How in the hell can your heart hurt unless you’re having an actual heart attack? It’s impossible.

  Or at least I thought it was impossible. Because the pain that I feel in my chest is real. It’s as real as anything I’ve ever felt before. And I’m the one who created it.

  Why am I so stupid? Why didn’t I go about this in a more civilized manner rather than rushing over to Dylan’s and skipping right to the good stuff? Sex and friendship are not something you should ever mix . . . and I knew this. But I couldn’t help myself.

  I felt something.

  More than lust and more than friendship, but is it really love?

  It’s ironic how the tables have turned and now I’m Conner from nine years ago and Dylan is me, unsure and angry at how things have played out. He doesn’t deserve any of this. And I wish more than anything that I could talk to him, but the disgusted look on his face when he left here yesterday pretty much told me that ship had sailed. I can’t blame him. I’m disgusted with myself too.

  Not to mention that I haven’t even begun to tackle the whole Conner situation and how I left things between us. I can’t imagine what he must be thinking of me . . . or I should say, how little he thinks of me right now.

  A soft tap at my door startles me. Mimi tried getting me to open the door yesterday, but I refused. So she should know better than to try it again today.

  “I said, leave me alone!”

  “Open the door, Katy,” Jonathan says.

  At the sound of his voice, I start to tear up. Because if there is anyone I can’t refuse, it’s him. And knowing that I’m going to have to tell him everything makes me hurt all over again.

  When I open the door, Jonathan takes one look at me and sees that it’s really, really bad. The tears start to fall when he opens it farther and takes a step inside. As he closes it behind him, I walk backward until the backs of my knees hit my footboard and I plop down. My hands automatically cover my face as I cry, and I feel him sit beside me. Gently, he wraps his arm around my shoulder and pulls me into his chest, where I cry even harder. The whole time he’s rubbing my back and not saying a single word, knowing that I just need to get past this part first before I can start talking.

  Once I calm down enough that I can actually talk clearly, I ask, “Did Mimi call you?”

  From outside my door in the hallway, she answers, “Yes, I did!”

  He chuckles lightly, pulling me away from him slowly to look me over. Then he’s ducking his hand into his jeans front pocket for a handkerchief, reaching up to wipe away the tears that are still running down my face.

  “I give up,” he says with a small smile and hands it to me. “Just keep it.”

  I use it to wipe my face a little, then hold it in my hands, turning it over and over until I see the cursive monogram on the corner: ML.

  “This was dad’s?” I ask.

  “Yeah, I found them when we packed up all of their stuff years ago. I have a couple more at home.”

  I bring it up to my nose, and even with the stuffiness from crying, I can still catch the faintest trace of Old Spice, my dad’s signature scent.

  “Thank you,” I say as the tears start up again.

  “I didn’t mean to make you cry more than you already were, Katy. Sorry.”

  I gather myself once more and wave him off. “Don’t be sorry, it’s no use at this point, as you can see.”

  “So.”

  He lets the word hang. Then, without further prodding from Jonathan, I tell him everything. And I mean everything. So to say that I am mildly embarrassed about crossing the final frontier of talking about sex with my brother would be an understatement. But to his credit, he just sits and listens. He doesn’t interrupt me and doesn’t say a single word until I’m done.

  “Wow.”

  “You can say that again.”

  Then he turns to me with a look of disbelief. “All of this happened after I left the game the other night?”

  I nod.

  “I don’t know if I should be impressed or horrified.”

  “If it helps, I’m horrified,” I say.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I’ve said this to you before, and I’ll say this to you again . . . that’s a child’s answer. You’re a grown woman. You can’t bank on ‘I don’t know’ for the rest of your life. The rest of your life is now. You need to figure out what you’re going to do and figure it out fast.”

  “I hate when you lawyer up, because it makes it that much more difficult to counter your argument.” I fall back onto my bed in frustration and throw an arm across my eyes. “Jonathan, how can I even go to work tomorrow and face him?”

  “I don’t know, but you’re going to have to hold your chin up and do it.” He hesitates to say the rest. “I warned you about that, Katy. You can’t just expect to sleep with your boss and pretend it’s not a big deal . . . no matter if he’s your friend or not.”

  “I know.”

  Then he’s quiet for a few beats before he asks about the other player in this. “What about Conner?”

  “I’m going to have to see him before he leaves this week, I guess. I just haven’t figured out when or how I’m going to do that, as you can tell by the fact that I’ve been in the same clothes for almost three days.”

  “How do you think that will go over?” he asks.

  With a sigh, I uncover my eyes and sit back up. “Honestly, I don’t know.”

  “Do you love Conner?”

  Do I?

  I think the answer was pretty obvious the other night when Dylan’s face was dancing around my head as Conner kissed me. If that’s not proof that at least I’m not in love or crushing on him, I don’t know what is. That doesn’t take away the fact that I let him kiss me and I kissed him back the same night that I slept with my best friend, Dylan.

  “No, I’m not in love with Conner. I’m sure of it.”

  �
�But you feel something for him,” he says more than asks.

  “I think so . . . not love, definitely not that,” I explain, shaking my head. “But there’s something special in our past, something that warrants enough of my attention and yes, feelings, that I can’t let him leave without talking to him about it.”

  “Okay, fair enough. Now, let’s talk about Dylan.”

  “Yeah, let’s,” comes a muffled response from the other side of the door, which I don’t even bother to acknowledge.

  “I think I’m in love with him.”

  “You think or you are? There’s a big difference.”

  “I know there’s a big difference, I’m not stupid.” He raises an eyebrow. “Okay, okay, I may be acting stupid about it and going about it all wrong, but here’s the thing. I think I’m in love with him and have been in love with him for some time, but it’s hard to separate whether or not I was motivated because I was afraid of losing him as a friend or being replaced by another woman, in this case Rachel. It’s like seeing something for the very first time without rose-tinted glasses on, and you’re like, ‘Whoa, where have you been all my life?’ But he’s been there all along, and that’s what makes changing the nature of our relationship from one day to the next so difficult for me to figure out.” I take a big gulp of air and grip the handkerchief in my hand a little tighter. “I think that’s why I freaked out and left him yesterday. I just needed a minute to make sure that I was doing the right thing, because the thought of not having him in my life is something I don’t think I can bear. Actually, I know it’s something I can’t bear.”

  “You do realize that sleeping with him was probably not the best decision you ever made, right?” he asks. “And trust me, yes, I’m having a very hard time talking to you about this.”

  This makes me smile a little. “I know I probably should have thought things out before running over to his place the other night. I can’t explain it. It’s like if I didn’t go over there right then and there, I felt like I was going to die. Does that make sense?”