“I have some Tums in the car. Maybe that’ll help.” He smiled as he said it but I could tell it wasn’t genuine. His forehead creased with worry lines, his eyes narrowing as he assessed me. Something was up and that something was all my fault.
A heavy downpour of guilt dampened everything good about this night. All I wanted was to get home and be alone, even if I was sure being alone with these thoughts was dangerous.
“London, are you sure it’s not . . . something else?” Bryce’s concerned stare robbed me of my self-assurance. I was the worst liar. He would see right through me. But I couldn’t tell him the truth because even I didn’t know what the hell the truth was.
I blinked my eyes and swallowed hard. Both were most likely easy tells, a dead giveaway that I was being dishonest. But Bryce overlooked it and nodded his head. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”
He abandoned my side and started for his BMW, dodging parked cars and barricades. I followed behind him, picking up the pace when I noticed his strides became longer. He was mad.
Shit! I was screwing this all up. He didn’t deserve this, not after everything he’d done for me. Not after we had a great time tonight. Well, until Sam and Patricia came along and ruined the whole thing.
I shook those thoughts from my head and rushed to him. “Wait up!” I called out, but he’d already reached the driver’s side of his car and was getting inside.
That alone was very un-Bryce-like. He always opened and closed my door for me before getting in himself. This was a first, and a sure sign that he was pissed off. Did he know my mind was elsewhere, thinking about another man, about my best fucking friend? Or was he just annoyed that I’d become distant after such a wonderful evening together?
“Hey.” I was out of breath as I sat next to him in the car. “I’m sorry. This just came out of nowhere.” It was partly true. Only the “this” I was referring to wasn’t a case of unexpected heartburn, but rather unexpected jealousy toward Patricia.
“It’s fine.” He huffed, buckling his seatbelt and pressing the start button to turn on the ignition. He looked over to make sure I was buckled as well, and then threw the car in reverse and pressed on the gas.
The speed lurched me forward and then I jerked backward into the seat when he switched gears to drive and accelerated.
“Bryce!” I warned. But he paid me no mind. Looking forward and signaling out of the parking lot, he flipped the radio on and turned up the volume—an angry tune to match his angry mood. And it was all my fault.
Regardless of whose fault it was or why I was reacting this way, there was no excuse for Bryce’s sudden reckless behavior. “Bryce,” I shouted over the heavy bass. “Let’s talk. Don’t do this.”
I reached out to turn the knob but he grabbed my wrist to stop me. As my arm retreated back to my side, he stepped on the gas again, the speedometer rising in increments of five miles per hour at a time.
“Bryce! Stop! You’re going too fast.” My warning was pointless. It was he who was in his own world now, shutting me out, thinking the worst, reacting. Overreacting.
His jaw was tense, his knuckles white as he strangled the leather of the steering wheel. He weaved in and out of the light traffic on the residential streets, his speed only slowing to maneuver safely. By some miracle, none of the traffic lights turned red. At this rate, I was certain he’d run them anyway. By the time we made it to the highway, the song was over and the brief pause between that one and the next gave me the opportunity to speak up.
Once again, I reached forward for the knob. This time he didn’t stop me, but he didn’t regard me either. “Bryce,” I said again. “What the hell is this all about?”
There was a steady flow of traffic on the highway so his speed slowed somewhat, but at my question, he jerked the car to the right and took the first exit, back to racing down quiet tree-lined streets.
I had no idea where we were. It was pretty clear he didn’t either because his thoughtlessness brought us to a dead end, where he was forced to stop and throw the car in park.
I thought about getting out, rushing to the other side of the car and demanding answers. But he was unpredictable and I wasn’t so sure he wouldn’t drive off and leave me stranded here. Besides, I still felt guilty as ever. This was my fault and I felt terrible for getting Bryce worked up.
It was time to put an end to this. A genuine apology might calm him down and bring him back to reality. “I’m sorry!” I shouted past the lump in my throat.
“For what, London? Why are you sorry?” His head and arms rested atop the steering wheel, his back rising and falling with heavy breaths. This was a test. I could tell by the tone of his voice. He wanted me to admit to him what I didn’t want to admit to myself.
“I’m sorry I ruined the night.” What more was there to say? That’s what I’d done. Did we really need to pick it apart and make things worse than they already were?
Bryce sat back then, brushing his hands through his hair and returning them to the steering wheel. That poor thing was getting quite the punishment tonight. Thank God for the craftsmanship of BMW; it had withstood one hell of a beating.
Before I could say another word to further prove my remorse, Bryce turned to face me and let out a long, raspy breath. “You know,” he said, his eyes dark and glazed over. “This whole time I was worried about your ex-husband. I knew you were having a hard time getting over him and that your mother’s condition only added to everything. I worried that your heart still belonged to another man and that he would could come back to claim it. I thought about that a lot at first. I obsessed over it a little, too.”
His words scratched at the wound that had finally started to heal. There was no need to bring up Hunter. His fears wouldn’t come true. We were over. I knew that now. “Bryce, you have nothing to—”
“Let me finish,” he interrupted, his hand up in protest.
I nodded and allowed him to continue.
“London, I-I . . . I really like you. I see a future with you. I want a future with you. But I’m going to ask you something and I want you to tell me the truth.” This time his tone was not harsh nor angry. It was pained, hesitant. I knew what was coming. God damn it, I knew.
“Okay,” I said, gulping back my emotions: my fear of hurting Bryce again, the guilt for doing it in the first place.
He closed his eyes for a beat, inhaled through his mouth and exhaled through his nose. “Do I have to worry about Sam?”
A nervous snicker escaped me. “Bryce . . . don’t be—”
“No! Don’t tell me I’m being silly or irrational or crazy. I know what I saw. I just didn’t expect to see it on your end, too. Which makes me have to ask again, do I have to worry about Sam, and is there anything going on between you two?”
That I could answer truthfully. “Of course not.” I shook my head. “We’re best friends, Bryce. We have a history, and I’m sorry if you’re uncomfortable with it, but I can’t change that. I can only make a more conscious effort.”
“A more conscious effort?” He laughed. “You mean, you’ll control your reaction to seeing him with another woman the next time it happens, or you’ll pretend he means nothing to you, the way you’ve been doing all along?”
“Bryce, you’re being ridiculous.” Okay, maybe I was caught off guard by seeing Sam with Patricia, but I wasn’t harboring any unrequited feeling for my best friend. I was simply . . . overwhelmed, confused, messed up in the fucking head because of everything going on.
“I’m not sure I believe you.” He laughed through the accusation but there was no amusement in the throaty reaction. He was frustrated beyond compare, stirred up because of me.
Could I blame him? I was a yo-yo of emotions all the damn time. He met me at a time when I wasn’t whole. I had so many gaping flaws. I was dealing with so much. Bryce should have been my reprieve. And he was, from the moment he walked into my life. But then . . . Sam.
Just . . . Sam.
I couldn’t even put an explan
ation to it. Sam, what? Sam was back. That was normal enough. But Sam was back and I was single and vulnerable and he was acting weird and asking me to move in with him and looking at me in ways he never looked at me before and I was—
“I’m overwhelmed!” I finally shouted, pulling at my hair. Tears leaked from my eyes and a knot formed in my stomach. I didn’t want to react this way in front of Bryce, but what choice did he give me? I was basically backed into a corner with nothing left to do but fall apart in front of him.
“Fuck, London!” Bryce groaned beside me. “Please don’t cry. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
I was sure he didn’t, and my tears were not the result of his actions alone. I was crying because I didn’t know how to fix this or whether it would ever go away. Most of all, I hated knowing I upset Bryce and made him doubt my feelings for him. There were feelings, I just needed time and patience to sort through everything hovering over me and clouding my judgment.
I sniffed to stop the crying and sat up straight. “You didn’t make me cry. This is my fault. I don’t know why I acted how I did tonight. I’m sorry if it made you suspicious of my feelings for Sam or for you.”
At that, I looked over to him and realized the darkness in his eyes had waned. The warm caramel hue had returned to its original state and Bryce breathed steadily, all traces of his anger gone.
“Bryce, I really like you, too. I love our time together and I love that you’ve been there when I needed something—someone—to make my days brighter.”
His lips were a straight-lined smile. He nodded and arched a brow. “But?”
“There is no but. Well, at least not like you’re thinking.”
“You’re not breaking up with me for acting like an ass tonight?”
I reached over and put my hand over his. “No, I’m not breaking up with you, but I am asking you to be patient with me. I hate that being with me comes with that kind of caveat but unfortunately, right now, it does. So much has happened in the last year, and no matter how good you are to me or for me, I’m still learning how to deal with it all.”
A calmness washed over his features, or maybe it was relief. He wilted against the leather seat and took me in. A heavy sigh wracked through him, his shoulders rising and deflating. “I know, beautiful. I get it and I have no problem being patient. But London, do you have feelings for Sam? I know he has feelings for you and I won’t sit back and watch him creep in to steal what belongs to me.” That could’ve come out the wrong way. Predatory or demanding. But the soft and endearing spark in Bryce’s eyes proved he was simply being candid with his emotions. He was being brave and putting it out there so I knew where he stood.
At least one of us was. Because I was too wrapped up in everything to be brave. And yet I didn’t want to disappoint Bryce. He was a good guy. He was good for me. I had to set his mind at ease, even if just to be done with this conversation, done with this night. I wanted to go home. I wanted to be alone to think.
Forcing a smile, I blinked away the varnish of old tears and said what he needed to hear. “I don’t have feelings for Sam.”
The only thing was . . . I was pretty sure I did.
BRYCE DROPPED ME off at home with the understanding that I needed a hot minute. He was more than sweet for the duration of the ride, apologizing profusely for driving the way he had.
It was evident we both felt awful about ending our date on such a sour note when it started out so perfectly. But this was the crux of a solid relationship, wasn’t it? Highs and lows and working through them.
My head was still jumbled with a million and one unsettling thoughts, but when I kissed Bryce good night, my lips lingering and my actions reassuring him of my feelings, I knew we were past this particular low. For now, at least.
It daunted me that there should even be a low this early on. It worried me that I was fooling myself in believing this too would pass. It terrified me that I might actually be going crazy, because these sudden swings in my emotions were so all over the place. One minute I was depressed about losing Hunter. The next I was moving on with Bryce, blissful and optimistic. And now here I was, second guessing everything because Sam showed up like a dark horse, when really, he’d been there all along. It never occurred to me that what I needed, or wanted, was right under my nose.
In the blackened room, illuminated only by a small lamp in the corner, I sat on my couch in a pair of oversized sweatpants and a tank top. I clung to the stem of my wine glass, sloshing around the cold Pinot and staring off into space. Robotically, I took a sip and closed my eyes as the crisp drink slid down my throat with a slight burn that coated my insides. After that first night home alone, the same night Bryce came by to surprise me, I stocked up on a few bottles with nights like this in mind. I never imagined one would come again so suddenly, especially since things with Bryce were going so well. And they had been—undoubtedly. Until this whole Sam thing came dropping down on me like a flaming meteor set to obliterate the planet. And obliteration was actually the perfect description for what this recent revelation was doing to me.
I had always thought Sam was good-looking, and sometimes I caught myself wondering what it would be like to . . . be with him. But I chalked those instances up to a common thread between a man and woman. As long as you weren’t related and no matter how plutonic your relationship, when the opposite sex was attractive, every now and then your thoughts wandered.
Mine wandered a total of three times in the last seventeen years: that time Sam kissed me when we were barely teenagers; right after I met Hunter and had a brief lapse of judgment because things were moving so quickly; this past week—more specifically, tonight.
Maybe it was that he’d been gone so long. They say absence made the heart grow fonder. Had mine grown exponentially warmer for Sam while he was away? That had to be it. I was just happy he was home. I missed him, especially right after the break up. During those first few months, I didn’t have Hunter to soften the blow of missing my other favorite person in the world while he was millions of miles away. And now, in Hunter’s absence, I relied on Sam a little more than usual.
God, what a mouthful. Even the most qualified of psychoanalysts and psychiatrists probably couldn’t pinpoint the severity of my dependency issues. And while those issues were the perfect rationalization to this tangled web of chaotic emotions taking over me, I still couldn’t get over how my body reacted to seeing him with another woman.
It shouldn’t have mattered because I had someone in my own grasp. I had Bryce. He was the perfect mix of sweet and sexy, chivalrous and domineering. He’d found a way to make me happy again. And yet all of that vanished at the sight of Sam with Patricia.
My heart had jumped into my throat on the spot. I felt as if all the blood in my body drained from my scalp and trickled down slowly, all the way to my feet. At first, I thought it was the initial shock of seeing him there at all, but one look at him holding her and everything felt hot. Too hot to breathe, to think, to do anything other than seethe.
As I sat here now, hours later, replaying that moment caused the same, rabid fire to spread all throughout my system again. Not even the cool stream of wine flowing down my throat could extinguish the burn, and no matter how many times I tried to convince myself that my reaction was irrational, I could not put it to rest.
With one more glass of wine, that might change. I downed what was left in my glass just as I saw the headlights beaming through the window.
Sam was home.
I jumped from the couch and ran to the window. I had to know if he brought her with him. Again, not that it mattered. He could screw whomever he wanted, wherever he wanted, but I watched on like a suspicious spouse or a nosy neighbor waiting to catch him in the act.
To my surprise—and relief—Sam was alone. I let out two lungsful of air that I didn’t realize I’d been holding hostage inside my chest. He slammed the car door shut and started up his walkway. But when he reached the hood of his car, he crossed the front of the stee
l-gray Audi and stormed toward my house, hurdling the row of bushes that separated our property from his.
“Oh, God,” I whined when I realized he was coming for me.
I looked around, panicking. Most of the lights were off so maybe I could duck down and pretend I was sleeping. Then again, he had a key. If he wanted to come in, he would. There was no way around this. From the looks of Sam’s harried rush to get to my front door and the staunchness to his gait, there was a serious conversation looming. One I wasn’t quite sure I had the guts to endure without breaking, without telling him the truth.
“London,” he bellowed while thumping his fist against the door. “London! Open up. I need to talk to you.”
Moment of truth. Pretend I was asleep, or face him—my best friend, the man who knew me inside and out.
Recognizing that I had years of familiarity on my side, and that we were adults who shouldn’t run from their fears, I staggered to the door and held on to the handle with my eyes closed.
One . . . two . . . three. It was an internal countdown. The process somehow calmed my nerves and pushed me forward. I opened the door and readied myself to greet a man I’d invited into my home hundreds, if not thousands, of times before. Only this time it felt so different, so strange to face him.
“Hi,” I whispered when our eyes locked.
“Is he here?” he asked, looking over my shoulder and into the empty house.
“Who, Bryce?”
He whizzed by me before I could give him an answer.
“Yeah, your boyfriend. Is he here?”
“Well, what does it look like?” I smarted.
“Lots of things don’t look the way they seem these days, London. I think we can both agree on that. Don’t you?”
Oh, so he was going to jump right into this. No sugar-coating, no dipping our feet into the shallow end before we dove headfirst. I wasn’t ready. And I didn’t know if I ever would be. Confessing what I felt tonight would mean admitting that something had changed between us, and I already loved what he had. I didn’t want anything to change.
Every Breath You Take (The Every Breath Duet Book 1) Page 18