On Solid Ground (A Touch of Fate)

by K. L. Grayson

“What are you doing here?” My words come out harsher than I intended, and Brit flinches as though I slapped her. Avery’s eyes snap toward me, her lips parted in shock. “Sorry,” I mumble. “I didn’t mean for it to come out like that. It’s just—”

  “It’s just what, Tyson?” Brit growls, hands on hips. “Did you think I’d just go away … that you’d never see me again?” I shake my head, but she doesn’t give me the chance to respond. “This is my home too. My family is here. And if you would’ve responded to one of my four text messages, then you wouldn’t look so damn shell-shocked right now.”

  Fuck.

  Brit has sent me a text every day for the past four days asking to talk, but I never answered. It’s either because I’m a fucking dick and don’t really care what she could possibly want, or I’m a pussy and don’t want to face the train wreck I caused. Either way, she’s right. It would’ve been nice to prepare myself for this. And Harley … it would’ve been nice to prepare Harley.

  I open my mouth, but Avery chimes in before I have a chance. “Wait a minute.” Her eyes bounce between Brit’s and mine several times before narrowing on me. “I’m so confused. How do you two know each other?”

  “Do you want to tell her or should I?” Brit says. Every single part of me wants to be pissed at her and demand to know what kind of game she’s trying to play. But when she slips her bottom lip between her teeth, I instantly recognize her tell-tale sign indicating she’s nervous, and something inside of me relaxes.

  “Brit—Brittany and I were engaged.”

  Avery’s eyes widen and her mouth opens, then it quickly slams shut. I can see when the realization of the situation finally dawns.

  “Oh, shit.” A hand flies to her mouth. “But you work … and”—she turns toward Brit—“you work”—she turns toward me again, eyes wide—“and Harley works …” Avery’s words trail off, and if the situation weren’t serious, I’d laugh at the comical look on her face.

  My gaze slides to Brit, and I find her watching me with open curiosity. Her eyes are a bit glassy, and just when I think she’s going to turn around and walk out of the room, she shocks the hell out of me.

  “How is Harley?” Brit asks, her voice surprisingly devoid of any sarcasm. I can’t help but take the olive branch.

  “She’s good.”

  Brit nods and bites down on her bottom lip before averting her eyes. I know why when she asks the question. “And Max … how’s Max?”

  I have absolutely no idea how she knows about Max, and honestly it doesn’t matter. This can’t be easy for her. As my mind replays the abrupt way I walked out on her in New York, I suddenly feel the need to make things right … well, as right as I can possibly make them.

  “What time does your shift end?” I ask Brit. Her brows furrow, probably confused as to why I asked, and when she doesn’t answer right away, I look over at Avery. She still looks like she’s watching a damn tennis match, the way her head is swiveling between Brit and me. She’s just going to have to be confused because I’ve got too much shit on my damn plate to explain this clusterfuck right now.

  Brit clears her throat and I shift my attention in time to see her glance at her watch. Her eyes, full of anxiety, lift to meet mine. “Ten minutes. Why?”

  “Do you want to go get a cup of coffee?” I ask, even though getting coffee with Brit is the last thing I want to do. Especially since it’ll mean getting home later than I had hoped. Not to mention the fact that I’ll have to tell Harley where I’m going … or maybe I shouldn’t. She’ll only jump to conclusions, and that’s the last thing she needs. Her blood pressure is already elevated as it is.

  Pushing those thoughts to the side, I focus on Brit. She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. I can’t help but think that she needs this just as much as I do.

  “Sure,” she says. “Is Java’s still down on Main Street?”

  “Hold up!” Avery inserts herself between Brit and me. “I don’t think this is a good idea.” Her eyes are pleading with me to rethink this, but really, there’s nothing to rethink. Brittany was my girlfriend for years, and then my fiancé after that. It doesn’t matter that I never felt for her what I feel for Harley; she didn’t deserve the way I walked out on her. And if I’m being honest, this has felt like unfinished business since the minute I left her—business that I need to take care of, not only for me but for Harley and Max.

  I gently grip Avery’s shoulders and move her out of my way. Brit is watching Avery with amusement, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, and I can tell that these two women would be great friends under different circumstances.

  “I’ll meet you there?” I ask Brit.

  She nods, and that’s enough for me. Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I step into the hallway and send Harley a quick text letting her know I’ll be home in about an hour. Squeezing my eyes shut, I take a deep breath, fighting back the wave of nausea that’s working its way through me. I hate not telling Harley the whole truth, but it’s probably something we need to talk about in person … in a nice, calm environment.

  Speaking of nice and calm, I hope to God that this meeting with Brit goes well.

  Flinging the door open, I step into Java. The rich smell of coffee wafts through the air, and for one brief second I’m transported back to my days in New York. Brit and I spent countless hours studying in Brew Ha, a coffee shop down the road from our condo. We frequented the place so often that we’d walk in, sit down, and within minutes our drinks would be delivered. Java’s has the same vibe as Brew Ha, and when I spot Brit tucked in a corner booth, I have to swallow past the rush of emotions.

  Brit and I were together for years, and despite the fact that I knew I had feelings for Harley—strong feelings—I stayed with Brit. That wasn’t fair to her, and the look on her face when I told her I couldn’t be with her is forever ingrained in my head. Walking away from Harley when she told me she loved me all those years ago is by far my biggest regret, but right up there with it is the way I treated Brit.

  Rubbing my sweaty palms along the front of my pants, I decide to get this over with. Bypassing the counter, I head straight for the booth. I don’t intend for this to be a long meeting. Get in. Get out. That’s my motto at the moment.

  “Hey.” Sliding into the booth across from Brit, I prop my hands on the table. I’m not sure what I expected, but her looking up and offering me a warm smile wasn’t it.

  “Hey,” she says, echoing me. It’s been two years since I’ve seen Brit—two years since I broke off the engagement and left her in the Big Apple. She hasn’t changed much. Her blonde hair is still perfectly straight, only cropped a bit shorter than I remember. Bright blue eyes the color of the sky stare back at me, and I can’t help but wonder if she’s taking note of all of my changes as well.

  We fall into a comfortable silence, which is quickly broken when a barista walks up to our table and sets down two mugs. Brit and I both mutter ‘thank you’ and the young girl walks off, leaving me staring at yet another part of my past.

  “Is that what I think it is?” I ask, eyeing the brown liquid. Steam is rolling off the top and my mouth waters.

  My gaze lifts to see Brit smiling at me, then she nudges the cup in my direction before picking up the other. “It is,” she says, blowing across her drink before taking a sip. “Caramel Latte Macchiato.”

  “I haven’t had one since that morning.” Her hands freeze on their way back to the table. We both know what morning I’m referring to, but why the hell did I say that?

  Taking a deep breath, Brit sets her cup down and laces her fingers together. “Well, then this is a long time coming, isn’t it?” She nods toward the cup in front of me and I finally pick it up, blowing across the top before tasting it.

  My eyes nearly roll back into my head, and I’m left wondering why in the world I gave up this drink. Come to think of it, I’m not sure why I stopped drinking it. Maybe because it reminded me of a part of my life that I was desperate to forget. Regardless,
it’s a part of my life I’m letting back in because good Lord this is good.

  “So, did you go on a coffee strike when you moved back or what?” she asks. “If I remember correctly, you couldn’t function without one of those bad boys.”

  I chuckle at the memory of the two of us rushing to the coffee house for our morning fix before class each day, and then I remember the way I’d sit there with Brit and think about Harley. Suddenly, the memory isn’t so funny. “No strike.” I shrug, taking another sip as I figure out the best way to answer her question. I resolve to just tell the truth. “I think it reminded me too much of New York.”

  “Ahhh.” She nods as though she understands what I’m trying to say, which is funny because I’m not even sure what I’m trying to say. “Erasing the past, and all that fun stuff, huh?”

  “I guess you could put it that way.” I look away, hating how that makes me sound like such a dick.

  “Well, since we’re here,” she says, blowing out a long breath. “That’s actually why I wanted to talk to you when I sent you the texts.”

  “You wanted to talk about the past?” I ask, cocking a brow as my eyes find hers.

  “Despite what you may think, it’s not exactly a time in my life that I care to revisit.” This time when she speaks, her tone is clipped. The hurt on her face is visible and my stomach drops. I hate that I hurt her. “You left me high and dry in a huge city. Sure, I had friends, but at the time you were my only family and my actual family was hundreds of miles away. Do you know how hard that was on me?”

  “I’m sor—”

  “Don’t!” She throws up a hand, and I snap my mouth shut. “I don’t want to hear your apologies, Tyson. That’s not what this is about.”

  “Well then, what is this about? You texted me, remember? What did you want?”

  “You didn’t just leave me in New York. You left behind a completely furnished condo, and as much as I’d love to take everything and burn it, that’s not the type of person I am.”

  “I don’t understand.” I don’t know what she’s wanting from me. When I left, I took what I wanted and that was that. For all I care, she can have the rest.

  “I sold the big stuff,” she says, grabbing her cup and taking several long drinks as though she needs the caffeine to get through the rest of this conversation. “The bed, living room furniture and kitchen table … they’re all gone.”

  “Fine.” I nod. “What else?”

  “There was a box of stuff you left behind with pictures of your family … of Dallas.” Her voice trails off when she says my brother’s name and her eyes soften, and for a split second I swear she’s going to say something about him. Thankfully, she doesn’t. “There was also a nightstand you left behind.” I pinch my eyes shut. That was my grandfather’s nightstand. I can’t believe I left that behind. “Don’t worry,” she says quickly. “I didn’t sell it.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate that.” And I do. She could’ve easily tossed it, but she didn’t. “What else?”

  “That’s it,” she says, sighing. “I want to give you half of what I made selling everything, as well as half of the rent deposit we’d paid on the condo.”

  “No.” I shake my head. “Absolutely not. You keep it all.”

  “Yes, well, I can see that this is where we are going to disagree. You see, just like your Macchiato reminds you of me, all of that stuff reminded me of you. That’s why I didn’t want it, and that’s why I refuse to keep your half of the money.”

  As much as I hate it, she’s right. I understand where she’s coming from. “Okay. You can give me my half.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And you can mail the stuff to me. I’ll pay for shipping.” That’ll cost me an arm and a fucking leg, but there’s no way I’m making a trip to New York just to pick it up.

  “No need. It’s all here at my house.”

  Damn it. I forgot she works with me now, which means that she lives here as well. If that isn’t like a bucket of fucking ice water dropped on my head, I don’t know what is.

  “So you’re going to be working at the same hospital as Harley and me?”

  Brit’s eyes flash with an unknown emotion … uncertainty, maybe? “Well.” She clears her throat. “I didn’t know Harley worked there too, but yes. Congratulations,” she says with a hint of sass. “You’re looking at your newest coworker.”

  Son of a bitch.

  My mind works furiously to try and remember when Harley’s next shift is, because I’ll need to tell her before then. The last thing I want is for her to go in to work and ‘surprise, you’re working with your fiancé’s ex-fiancé.’

  “What floor does Harley work on?” Brit asks as though she was reading my mind.

  “She floats.” Brit nods slowly in understanding. “So you’ll be seeing her around. And I know that the two of you never really got along, but I hope that you can at least—”

  “Really, Ty? You think that little of me?”

  “No. It’s just—”

  “I’ve grown up. I’m not the same person I was back then, and I’m sure as hell not the same person I was when you left. I know how to be courteous and professional.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” I say, my tone more defensive than I intended. “It’s just that she’s got a lot going on right now. I’m sure this is going to be stressful for her, and she’s not supposed to—”

  “Is she okay?” Brit asks, concern marring her face.

  Despite the sincerity of her question, I growl. “Would you let me finish what I was trying to say?”

  She looks away, a flush seeping into her cheeks. “Sorry. Go ahead.”

  “She’s fine. I just want the two of you to get along, that’s all.”

  “Fine.” Grabbing her mug, she tips her head back and finishes off her coffee, then sets her mug at the edge of the table. “Now that that’s settled, when can we meet so I can give you the money and your stuff?”

  “I’m not sure,” I say, running my hand along my jawline. “Let me text you once I look at my schedule.”

  “That works.” Brit slides from the booth and turns to walk away, but then she stops midstride and slowly spins around. Her eyes are imploring and soft, much like the girl I fell in love with so long ago. “It was good to see you, Ty. You look good … and happy.”

  “I am, and so do you.”

  “Not yet,” she says with a gentle shake of her head. “But I’ll get there.”

  Her words don’t settle well with me. I want to ask what she means and maybe apologize again—not that it’ll do any good—but in the blink of an eye, she’s gone.

  My mind is racing a thousand miles a minutes trying desperately to comprehend what I just read. Looking down, I run my hands over my face and sigh.

  How the hell could he do this? How could I not see this coming?

  My eyes drift to Tyson’s phone sitting on the table in front of me, and I swipe my finger across the screen, once again bringing up the text.

  Brit: It was good seeing you yesterday.

  I swallow hard and remind myself that Tyson is engaged to me now. Then I read the next message, even though I already know what it says.

  Brit: I’m off tonight and tomorrow if you want to come over. Let me know.

  Bile rises in my throat and I swallow past a wave of nausea. He saw her yesterday. It was his day off, and he got called in to work in the morning and didn’t come home until after six o’clock. Yet he managed to make time for her—the one woman who brings out all of my insecurities. The woman he left me for once already.

  What the hell am I supposed to do with that?

  Without permission, my brain takes control, reminding me of the one time in my life that I’ve worked so hard to try and forget. I squeeze my eyes shut as the memories pour in, but I can’t keep them out.

  Confessing my love to Tyson.

  Tyson choosing Brit over me.

  The difficult memories are quickly replaced with even more painful ones, a
nd I grip my shirt over my heart as adrenaline pumps through my body.

  Dallas.

  The smell of stale beer and cigarettes overwhelm my senses, and for a brief second I swear I can smell Dallas’s pungent breath as he growls my ear.

  My head smacking the ground.

  Dallas’s cold hands, pushing and pulling, fighting and ripping—

  “Harley?” Warm hands land on my shoulders, startling me, but I can’t open my eyes. Taking a deep breath, I pull on the invisible mask that I haven’t had to wear for quite some time. It feels foreign and I hate wearing it again. “Baby, are you okay? What’s wrong?” Tyson’s voice is laced with concern, and when I’m confident that my armor is firmly in place, I glance up.

  “I’m okay.” I offer him the best smile I can muster, and his face relaxes a bit. “I just don’t feel all that well,” I say, dropping a hand to my stomach.

  “Do you want me to get grab you a Tums?”

  I shake my head. “No, it’s not really heartburn, but I could use some water.” Tyson hurries away, and a tiny voice in the back my head yells at me to just get this out in the open. I take a few deep breaths, mustering up the courage, and before I know it Tyson is back.

  “Here you go, babe.” Tyson drops onto a chair next to me, opens the bottle of water and slides it over to me.

  I take a swig, but the cool liquid goes down rough—presumably because my heart is blocking the way—and it does nothing to assuage the nausea. My stomach rolls, warm saliva filling my mouth, and I bolt toward the bathroom and collapse on the cool tile. Hugging the porcelain, I heave as my stomach expels every last bit of breakfast I had managed to stuff down.

  In a matter of seconds, my hair is whisked from my face and a soothing hand lands on my back. Tyson doesn’t say a word—he’s learned over the past couple of weeks that when I’m throwing up, the last thing I want is to be talked to. Right now, I’m especially grateful that he stays silent.

  I spend the next several minutes mentally calming myself down. My stomach jerks several more times, but nothing else comes up, and when I’m certain there will be no more vomiting, I push up from the floor.