Just Love

by Prescott Lane

  “So you left your team?”

  “No one’s more important than you.” He moves a little closer. “Don’t leave.”

  “I can’t watch that,” I say, pointing back toward the gym.

  “Okay,” he says. “My parents, Brody, and Skye, we’re all supposed to go to dinner after. You should come, too.”

  “Bennett,” someone yells from inside. “You can kiss and makeup later. We need your ass on the court!”

  Rhett shakes his head, irritated. “Go,” I say. “I’ll see you later.”

  “For dinner? Or kissing and making up?” he asks, a big grin on his handsome face.

  Even though I try not to, I smile. “Dinner!”

  What the hell? I committed myself to sharing a meal with him. How did that happen?

  He goes back inside, and I look up at the sky, the stars settling in. One minute with Rhett, and my heart settles, no longer beating hard and fast. Now it’s soft and gentle, soothing, like a baby’s lullaby. I wish he didn’t still do that to me, but he does.

  That’s how you know you aren’t over someone. If your emotions continue to be all over the place, you’re still in their web. Even if the emotion is extreme anger, sorry to say, that means the person still has a hold on you. You’re not free. You’re probably still in love with them, too. Otherwise, you wouldn’t give a damn.

  I gently kick a few pebbles in the parking lot, knowing that’s why I had to get out of the gym. As soon as the game started, all I could think about was him getting hurt, getting hit in the face, his chair being knocked over. I couldn’t stand it. The thought of seeing him hurt or in pain again. It was too much.

  I was witness to all his pain before. I was the punching bag for all his anger. I handled it all. I ended up with nothing but a broken heart. I’m not going to sit in those stands and cheer him on, hoping and praying that I don’t see him get injured again. I know in my brain that he’ll probably be just fine, but my heart is scared shitless.

  Like an angel on my shoulder, I hear a voice in my head. If he did get hurt, would you rather not be there?

  My heart knows the answer to that question.

  I step back inside the gym. This time, I look straight out onto the court, finding Rhett on the sidelines. He flashes me a grin. Quickly, I look away. I know my heart still belongs to him, but that doesn’t mean I have to let it win.

  “I want you to meet the team,” Rhett says.

  His parents, Skye, Brody, and I hung around after the big win, waiting for Rhett and firming up dinner plans. He’s still sweaty, but he looks happy, smiling wide. We all walk over to some of the other players, and Rhett makes introductions.

  I hang back a little, letting his parents enjoy this moment with him. After all, he and I aren’t together, and it’s not my place to share his victories anymore.

  “The girlfriend?” a rough voice says behind me. Quickly, I glance at Rhett and the others to make sure no one heard that, but they’ve all stepped away, still celebrating.

  I turn around, finding a bearded, older gentleman looking up at me. I recognize him as the guy that Rhett was talking to in the huddle. Shaking my head, I say, “No.”

  “Well, damn,” he says. “I let Rhett start in my position to impress you. All for nothing.”

  “I wouldn’t say it was for nothing,” I say. “You did win!”

  He lets out a big, hearty laugh, raising his hand to me. “Elliott, T12 paralysis. Gunshot.” My eyes go wide. He starts laughing again. “Just kidding. Car accident. Gunshot sounds cooler, though.”

  Smiling, I ask, “Do you always introduce yourself like this? With so much information?”

  He laughs again then shrugs. “How I ended up in the chair is usually the first thing people want to know. So a few years ago, I just started introducing myself that way. That way, they don’t have to feel bad about being curious.”

  “I’m curious, what else you do besides basketball?” I ask.

  “Would you believe me if I told you I’m a Navy SEAL?” he teases.

  Smiling, I shake my head. This man is quite a character.

  “CPA.” His head tilts, moving a little closer to me. “So, not the girlfriend?”

  “The ex,” I say softly.

  “Ah, the accident destroyed more than his legs.”

  “It was his choice to end things, not mine.”

  He gives an understanding nod. “Five years,” he says. “After this happened, I divorced my wife. Five years later, we remarried. I get it. Rhett’s not the first man to let the one slip through his fingers.”

  “I’m not his one,” I say. “But I’m glad it worked out for you and your wife.”

  “I’m a living, breathing cautionary tale,” he says, tipping his head to me before rolling away.

  Opening the door to the restaurant, I walk to the hostess counter, knowing I’m later than everyone else. Why Brody picked this restaurant, I’ll never know. It’s just a couple blocks from the condo, which is convenient for me and Rhett, but not anyone else. I know Brody loves the spaghetti here, but there must’ve been a dozen other Italian places between here and the basketball game.

  Finding street parking in historic Charleston is about as hard as finding a unicorn. So rather than fight traffic or pay for parking, I used my spot at the condo then walked over. I fully expect everyone else is already here. In fact, I texted Brody and told him to go ahead and order without me. I didn’t want to keep everyone else waiting.

  I tell the hostess I’m meeting a group, and the five of them should already be here. “I just started my shift, so I’m not sure,” the hostess says, apologizing. “If you’d like, go ahead and take a look in the restaurant for your party.”

  Thanking her, I turn the corner, searching for my crew. The place isn’t big. It’s one of those classic mom and pop joints that always have the best food. The very best part is when they grate the parmesan cheese over your dish right in front of you. I love how they always tell you to say “when” for them to stop. Instead, I want to say just leave the whole block of cheese, thank you very much.

  There’s a six-top table in the center of the room, but I see only one man sitting there. Crap! Rhett looks up, smiling and giving me a little wave. This was the other reason I decided to take a little extra time getting here, not wanting to risk the possibility of being alone with him.

  Walking towards the table, Rhett’s hands go to the arms of his chair. The motion, the good manners are so familiar. It’s his instinct to stand up before the woman sits down, but he can’t. For that brief moment, he apparently forgot he was paralyzed. I see his eyes close for a second.

  “I thought I was late,” I say, reaching the table and pulling out my phone to check the time. “Where is everyone?”

  “Two minutes before you got here, I got a text from my mom saying my dad was tired, and they were going to skip dinner.”

  “That’s not like them,” I say, looking down at my phone and finding Brody’s response to my message. “Brody just texted that Skye isn’t feeling well, and they are going home, too,” I say, raising an eyebrow at Rhett.

  “I swear,” he says, holding his hands up. “I had nothing to do with this.”

  I’m inclined to believe him. He looks as surprised as I am.

  “Brody!” I snark, saying his name like it’s a curse word. Tossing my purse down, I take my seat. “Remember how we were so worried about what Brody would think of our relationship? Now he’s playing matchmaker.”

  “I don’t think it’s Brody. This has my mother written all over it,” Rhett says. We stare at each other across the table for a minute before Rhett gives me a little shrug. “I’m pretty hungry.”

  “Me, too,” I say, devising ways to kill my brother for orchestrating this. I’m sure Skye was in on it, too. Even if it was Diane’s suggestion, they all went along with it.

  “Just dinner,” he says with a smirk.

  Everything is “just” something: just fun, just love, just dinner. Like use of th
e word “just” makes things less significant. If I were a betting woman, I’d say before long, he’s going to be using “just friends” on me.

  The waitress comes over, pouring water into our glasses. “Looks like it’s just the two of us,” Rhett tells her. She briefly glances at him and nods. “Sorry we took up this big table.”

  “It’s fine, no problem,” she says. “Are you ready to order?”

  Rhett motions for me to start. “This will be separate checks,” I say, looking at the menu.

  “No, it won’t,” Rhett says.

  The waitress looks up from her little notepad, eyeing both of us, more than a bit puzzled. Holding his eyes, I offer my best smile, “Separate checks or I leave.”

  “You play dirty,” he says with a mischievous look.

  Satisfied I won, I place my order, then Rhett does the same. The waitress starts to leave, but before she gets too far, Rhett stops her, saying, “Separate checks is fine, but I’ll be paying both.”

  My jaw on the floor, I’m not even sure how to respond to that. I guess I could call his bluff and leave, but I’m starving. Damn it, I forgot how charming he could be in a completely frustrating way. No matter, I’ll just swipe my bill when she brings it. The waitress eagerly walks off, and we’re left staring at each other across the table again.

  “I saw you talking to Elliott after the game,” Rhett says.

  “He’s an interesting guy,” I say, not giving Rhett much to work with.

  Why should I make this easy on him? It’s not easy on me.

  He studies me for a minute, but I don’t look away. “You never told me why you left the gym the way you did.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “I’d like to know,” he says.

  “I really don’t want to talk about it.”

  He releases a deep breath, his hand reaching for his chest. For the first time, I notice a chain around his neck, disappearing under his shirt. He never wore any type of necklace before. Must be some sort of medical alert thing or something.

  “Are you dating someone? Or have you dated?” he asks, throwing me for a loop.

  A five-minute date where I burst into tears, and a near one-night stand—does that constitute dating? Why am I even thinking about it? It’s none of his damn business.

  “Have you?” I ask.

  His whole face changes, his forehead wrinkling up, his eyes narrow. “Yeah, I was getting it on with all the nurses.”

  “Well, you were just looking for someone to take your paraplegic virginity.”

  He releases a deep breath. “I’m sorry, okay? How many times do I have to say it? It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, breaking things off with you.”

  “It didn’t seem . . .”

  “It was harder than hearing I’ll never walk again,” he says.

  My eyes start to water, and I blink back my tears. “It was hard for me, too,” I admit.

  “I know,” he says softly, reaching his hand across the table, but I don’t take it. “Then you came to see me, and you were so beautiful and sweet. We kissed and . . . It was stupid of me to think we could just pick up where we left off.”

  “Is that what you wanted?” I ask. “To pick up where we left off? Or were you just looking to get laid?”

  “You know the answer to that.”

  “I know I wasn’t enough, Rhett. My love wasn’t enough.” Tears start to fall. “And nothing’s changed.” I get up, needing to escape to the restroom.

  “Ainsley,” he calls after me, but I don’t turn back.

  Thank God, the restroom is empty. And double thanks that it’s a single bathroom, so no one has to witness my breakdown. I look like a complete mess, my face red and splotchy. I’m tired of crying. I’m tired of being sad. Grabbing some toilet paper, I wipe my eyes and blow my nose.

  I seriously need to stop having breakdowns in public. This is it. This is the last one. From now on, I only lose my shit in the privacy of my own home. I take a deep breath, looking at myself in the mirror, sealing the promise I just made, gathering strength to go out there and face Rhett again, and all his damn questions. I don’t remember him being so damn inquisitive. Maybe things have changed.

  Love is a two-way street. Some people think that means that both people have to love equally for the relationship to work, but that’s not it at all. Real love happens in both giving and receiving. You have to give to another person, and you have to let them give to you. Rhett wouldn’t let me love him. He didn’t want it. For him, love is a one-way street.

  And let me tell you—it hurts like a mother to have someone reject your love. How could I ever trust him again? Trust that the next time things got hard, he wouldn’t do the same thing to me all over again?

  I can’t risk it. He has to know that. It’s not fair to let him believe there’s a chance. It doesn’t matter that I still love him. Sometimes love gets it wrong. I’m going to march out there and tell him there’s no hope for us. That’s the kind thing to do.

  Emboldened by my plan of action, I open the bathroom door and head out. It only takes two steps before I stop in my tracks. The determination I had ten seconds ago must’ve gotten left in the bathroom. Damn it! That’s another thing, I never used to curse as much as I do now.

  “You totally got screwed on that six-top,” another waitress say to ours. They’re standing at a computer around the corner from me, so I can hear everything they say.

  “Can’t really complain,” our waitress says. “Did you see the guy? Cripple.”

  My nails dig into the palm of my hand. I hate that word. I actually hate all the words—handicapped, differently abled, disabled. I mean, aren’t we all disabled in some way? Why do we feel the need to label people? Aren’t they just that? People?

  “It’s such a shame. He’s so hot. What a waste,” our waitress says.

  “Think that’s his girlfriend with him?” the other waitress asks.

  “Probably not. Do you think he can even get it up anymore?”

  I come out from my hiding place and yell, “Take that back!”

  The entire restaurant is suddenly staring at me, but I don’t care—not this time. I didn’t want anyone to see me cry, but I’m more than happy to let them see me call this little girl out!

  She stammers, “I don’t know what you . . .”

  “I heard everything you said,” I bark.

  She looks around, her manager joining us. “Is there a problem?”

  “You employees are rude, selfish little . . .”

  “A. Rose,” Rhett says, coming over to us. “Everything okay?”

  “She just started screaming at me for no reason,” our waitress says, conjuring up some tears for her boss and the restaurant audience.

  My finger flies in her face. “He is not a waste,” I say through gritted teeth. “You have no idea what a real man is.” Her eyes fall. “And because you’re so curious about his dick, I can assure you . . .”

  “Okay,” Rhett says, taking me by the waist. Before I know what’s happening, he has pulled me down onto his lap, wheeling us away. “That’s enough,” he says, continuing to roll.

  “Wait!” I call out, causing him to stop. I grab my purse, and the basket of breadsticks off the table. “I’m taking these!”

  “Dear God,” he mumbles, rolling us out of the restaurant.

  As soon as we make it to the sidewalk, I get off his lap. He busts out laughing. “Christ, Ainsley, you totally went rogue in there.”

  “You didn’t hear what she said,” I say, handing him a breadstick and starting down the street.

  He takes the stick, bending it down like a limp noodle. “I can imagine.”

  Playfully, I smack his hand. “Stop that.”

  “Me?” he says. “I thought you were going to get in a fist fight.”

  “I could’ve totally kicked her ass.”

  “I have no doubt,” he says. “But I don’t need you to fight my battles.”

  “I guess not,” I say, pic
king at my bread.

  “I mean, I’m flattered that you did,” he says, grinning at me.

  “I hate that people are so ignorant and make assumptions. They have no idea what type of man you are.”

  I stop when I realize he’s no longer rolling beside me. Looking back at him, he’s got the goofiest smile on his face. “I thought you were going to come out of that bathroom and say you never wanted to see me again. Instead, I realize you still love me.”

  “Rhett,” I say, gearing up to argue with him, but there’s no argument to make since he’s caught me red-handed. I do still love him, but I whisper, “I can’t.”

  “Not yet,” he says.

  “Maybe not ever.”

  “I’ll risk it,” he says.

  “Friends?” I ask, feeling stupid. I thought for sure he was going to play the “let’s just be friends” card on me, and here I am laying it down.

  “For now,” he says, wheeling up beside me, and asks, “Ice cream?”

  By the time we finish our ice cream, we’ve settled back into each other. How is that possible? How can he still feel so familiar? I almost forgot how cute and charming he is. Like so many walks before, he ends the night at my door.

  “Does that kind of thing happen a lot?” I ask. “People being rude?”

  His head tilts, letting me know it happens more than he cares to admit. “Usually, it’s more subtle,” he says. “Like I’m invisible or something. A waiter won’t ask me directly what I want to order. Instead, they ask someone I’m with. Like I’ve lost my ability to talk or something like that.”

  “You don’t seem too bothered by it.”

  “I was for a while, but I’m not anymore,” he says. “I figure if I act right, then the next time they come across someone in a chair, they’ll know better.”

  “That’s a good way to look at it,” I say, unlocking my door.

  “Ainsley,” he says. “You never answered my question before.”

  “Which question?”

  “If you’ve been seeing anyone? Dating?” he says. “I saw you changed your status online, and I’d like to know.”

  I lean back against my door. “I went on one date with this guy Skye works with. The whole date lasted about five minutes.”