No One But Us

by Elizabeth O'Roark

  He shrugs. I get the feeling he still doesn’t believe me, probably because he reads the tabloids like everyone else. He takes the phone and leaves to have the messages transcribed.

  James reaches out and squeezes my hand. “You okay?”

  I nod, slipping out of his grasp. I’m going to be cool about this. If he wants to think of me as his friend, that’s his right.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, friend,” I say. So much for being cool.

  “Elle,” he says. “I just…didn’t know what to say. You know you’re more than that.”

  I want to be someone other than who I am in this moment. Someone calm and mature. But instead, bitterness spews from my mouth like I’m possessed.

  “Yeah? A friend you fuck? That’s so much better.”

  “Stop,” he says. “If you want to talk about this, we can, but don’t sit here where I can’t really discuss it and accuse me of shit. You have no idea how I feel.”

  My shoulders sag. “Okay.”

  “Give me your hand,” he says, holding his between our chairs. Reluctantly I reach over, but mine lays limp in his grasp.

  The officer comes back out, taking a quick look at our joined hands and smirking a little. “I’m turning the transcripts over to counsel,” he says. “They’ll make the final call, but I’ve got no doubt there’s enough there for a restraining order at the very least.”

  I nod, but my stomach falls. The truth is I was hoping he’d say there was nothing to worry about. I’ve been in the spotlight enough this summer to last me the rest of my life. And I know better than either of them that if this gets out, it won’t just be Edward’s life that gets worse.

  As we drive home, I’m still contemplating what lies ahead. I’m going to be in the papers again. Everything about me will be dissected. They will find every photo known to man and portray me as some kind of wild nymphomaniac, never mentioning that the bathing suit shot is from a family trip or that I’m posing in pajamas next a roommate cut out of the photo.

  And James. That’s the part that actually hurts, as opposed to making me sick with worry—although it does that too. After all these weeks, he’s still referring to me as his friend? We have only a little under two weeks left together, and that’ll be it. And he won’t owe me a thing, because he never took anything, or promised it.

  He pulls into the driveway, and I begin to open the door, but he stops me with a hand on my arm.

  “Elle,” he says. “Wait.”

  “We have to get ready for work.”

  “I know. I just want you to know that…back there…wasn’t what it seemed,” he says haltingly. “I know you’re upset. I just didn’t know what to say.”

  Does he really think that explanation helps his case? “Yeah, it’s pretty clear that you didn’t know what to say.” My voice is slightly hoarse with the need to cry, which I won’t do in front of him. “And it seems pretty clear to me that by now, you probably should.”

  I get out of the car and go inside alone. He doesn’t even try to argue with me.

  On the way out of the house that afternoon, Martin stops me, making me wish I’d gone in with James when his shift started instead of petulantly insisting I’d walk. I’ve only seen Martin from afar since the incident, but he has picked the wrong day to fuck with me, if that’s his plan.

  “Thanks for getting me disinvited to all the parties,” he says.

  “After the shit you pulled, you really think anyone wants you over here?”

  “It was worth it. I’m enjoying your panties very much.”

  “It was a bathing suit, not panties,” I reply, turning away. “Shocker that you don’t know the difference.”

  My mood was already piss-poor. After the incident with Martin and the walk to work, it’s shifted into something far worse. I get into the restaurant, sweaty and miserable. James watches me log in, and I ignore him. I spend the rest of the night giving all of my orders to the other bartenders. I know it’s childish, but I just feel like I could fall apart at the drop of a hat. Or at a single word from James’ mouth, even a kind one. Especially a kind one.

  “What’s up with you two?” asks Kristy.

  “We’re having a little disagreement.”

  “About what?”

  “James…” I begin, and then shake my head, suddenly choked up. “Just doesn’t see things with us the way I do.”

  She frowns. “I don’t know what he said, but it’s been obvious since your first day here that he’s crazy about you.”

  “If that were true he’d be willing to...” My voice cracks. “I just can’t believe…” I’m unable to continue, and she lets it go.

  This is what I would have said:

  I can’t believe I didn’t see it sooner.

  Chapter 47

  ELLE

  The cop we met earlier in the day leaves a message during my shift saying counsel won’t have an answer on the restraining order for a few days.

  Ginny’s back from her trip when I get home. I kind of wish she wasn’t. I don’t really have it in me to feign good cheer at the moment.

  “You okay?” she asks, frowning at me in the mirror.

  “Yeah,” I say, struggling to smile.

  She hesitates. “I know I haven’t been the easiest person to live with since the weekend Allison was here. I’m sorry.”

  “You think I’m like my parents,” I say flatly.

  “I don’t,” she insists. “Really. I just...let’s just say Allison stirred up some shit, okay? But I’m sorry.”

  “Okay.”

  “So are you excited to see Ryan?”

  “No, not particularly. Are you excited to see Paul?”

  She narrows her eyes at me. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “You’re aware that seeing him on stage isn’t going to make him seem less attractive to you, right?”

  She shrugs. “I’m not sure I was all that attracted to him in the first place. I was just looking for a substitute, and he was the first one I found.”

  “For Alex?”

  She bites her lip. “I don’t even know. I’m not sure who I was trying to substitute.”

  “I don’t suppose you ever told Alex about...the last time?”

  Her arms fold over her chest. “Of course I didn’t. I’m not about to lose him over one drunken mistake.”

  James drives us to the bar, not smiling once the entire way. I sit in back. Every time I glance in his rearview mirror, our eyes lock. Ginny prattles on about her trip without noticing that she’s basically the only person in the car speaking.

  The bar is packed, but that’s not surprising. Far Too Far shows always sell out. We reach Max, who is saving us a spot in a raised area to the right of the stage, just as the lights dim.

  The band comes out with Ryan front and center, effortlessly masculine, barely registering all the screaming fangirls at the front of the stage as he offers the crowd that panty-dropping grin of his and launches into their first song. His voice is low, rough, amazing. I remember the way I once felt when I heard him sing, and I know I’d be lying if I said some part of it wasn’t still there. But it’s not what I feel for James, and it’s only a ghost of what I once felt for Ryan.

  They do covers and they play their own stuff. When they begin to play “Used to Be,” my favorite of all of their songs, I jump off the platform we stand on and dive into the crowd, with Ginny right at my heels, and Ryan laughs and shakes his head. He was always oddly proud of the way I’d let loose when he played. I feel his pride at the same moment I feel James’ displeasure.

  The song ends, and Ryan steps back to the mic. He points at me. “That’s my ex-girlfriend,” he tells the crowd. “Isn’t she hot?”

  There are catcalls and laughter.

  “I messed up, Elle,” he says. “You don’t need to tour with me. I just need to know you’ll be waiting for me when we get back to school.”

  He launches into a song he wrote for me last winter b
ut said was “too girly” to play in public. As he sings it, I can’t help but look over at James, who is watching me. I’ve never seen him look so lost. It makes me want to comfort him, and angers me in turn. Why am I always worried about his feelings when he worries so little about mine?

  The song ends and Ryan mouths “I love you.” The noise of the crowd is deafening. They all love this kind of thing; even the girls who’ve come here to throw themselves at him are whistling and stamping their approval. It would have moved me two months ago, but it doesn’t now. Even if I’m only a fling, even though he plans to move on once summer is over, there’s no longer room inside me for anyone but James.

  We turn to the guys at the show’s end. “I’m going backstage,” Ginny says defiantly. Max looks like he wants to object but says nothing.

  James turns to me. “What about you, Elle?” Each word sounds bitten off. “Do you want to go backstage?”

  “I need to talk to Ryan for a minute,” I tell him.

  His face grows cold. “Have fun,” he says, walking away.

  The backstage of a bar isn’t much like you see in footage about real bands, but there’s still plenty of beer and plenty of inadequately clothed girls waiting around looking hopeful.

  Ryan sees me and grabs my hand. “Let’s go out back,” he says, pushing open the side door to an alley that smells like day-old trash.

  “I spoke to my mom, by the way. She thinks they’ll be in New York some time next week if you want an introduction to Tommy.”

  “You’ll come too, right?” he asks.

  I look away. “I don’t know. I’d have to take at least one day off work, if not more.” And if I think things are ugly with James right now, I can’t wait to see what they’d look like if I went to meet Ryan in another city.

  “Come on, Elle. I’ve never even met your mom. It’ll be weird without you there. Besides, it’s not like you need the money, right? I thought your dad paid for everything.”

  I laugh unhappily. “Not anymore. His twit of a fiancée apparently convinced him it was time I was pushed from the nest.”

  “Christ,” he says, rolling his eyes. “I’m sorry, but I’m still begging you to come.” We watch a rat squirm its way into the dumpster, and he laughs. “I’ve obviously chosen a romantic setting to try to win you back,” he says. “So did the song work?”

  For the first time in the year I’ve known him, he actually looks anxious. I hate seeing him like that. A part of me wishes I could give him the answer he wants.

  “No,” I say. “I’m sorry.”

  He looks at his feet and nods. “It’s that guy, isn’t it?” he asks, running a hand through his hair. “Your friend’s brother?”

  When I nod, he closes his eyes and rests his head against the wall. “How serious is it?”

  “It’s not,” I say. Sadness leaches into my voice. I guess I’ve made it pretty clear whose choice that was.

  “If he can’t commit, then you should be kicking him to the curb. Even I was able to do that.”

  He’s right. Ryan was not the right guy for me, but obviously James isn’t either, no matter how badly I want to believe otherwise.

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Well, I’m not done trying,” Ryan says. “Whether this guy fucks up or not, I’m not done trying.”

  I kiss Ryan’s cheek and let him return to the whole room full of girls who want him, girls he’d give up to be with me. And I head home to see the guy too embarrassed to even admit we’re together.

  James is waiting on the front steps. His stare burns me as I walk toward the door, which pisses me off. What possible right does he have to be mad when I’m the one getting jerked around?

  “Are you getting back together with him?” he asks. The words are clipped and tight.

  The rage in his voice makes me remember my own.

  “Why do you care?” I seethe. “You and I are only friends, right?”

  “We were never just friends,” he says, that muscle ticking in his jaw. “So answer the question.”

  “Why should I? You act like it doesn’t matter what happens when I go back to school, so how could it possibly matter now?”

  “Do I look like someone it doesn’t fucking matter to?” he rages, jumping to his feet. “You spend the whole night not speaking to me. Then I have to watch that bullshit between you and your ex-boyfriend, and now you won’t even tell me if you’re with him?”

  “And you’ve spent weeks treating me like a temporary hookup. You want some fling you don’t have to feel guilty about? Fine. But don’t for one second act like you have the right to know anything about what I’m doing. That right will be earned by someone who likes me enough to admit we’re together.”

  “It has nothing to do with how much I like you,” he hisses. “Nothing.”

  “Of course it does! When you meet the right girl, you’ll feel the way you did about quitting law school,” I tell him, and my voice breaks as I realize the truth of what I’m saying. “You’ll want her so much that you won’t care about the consequences. I just don’t happen to be that girl.”

  I bury my face in my hands, and he pulls me into his chest.

  “Elle,” he says, “you’re wrong. You’re so, so wrong.”

  “Tell me how.”

  “You have no idea how badly I wish our timing was different,” he says. “I wish you were older. I wish this could have waited until you were out of college.”

  There are a hundred questions I’d like to ask in response, but I say nothing. I just press my head to his chest, knowing that the answer he just gave provided all the information I really need. Because what he didn’t mention was a single way it could work.

  I wake just before sunrise, shocked to find that I’m still in James’ room. At some point last night he led me back here, curling his wide frame around mine, his whispered apologies and my tears the sounds that lulled us to sleep.

  I sit up, and he pulls me back down.

  “I need to go,” I tell him. “What am I going to say to Ginny?”

  “We’ll figure it out,” he says. He stares at my face, trying to find answers there. “Are we okay?”

  I blink back my tears. “Yeah.”

  But we are not okay. Or at least I’m not. Because last night finally confirmed what I should have realized long ago. This really is going to end.

  I get out of James’ room not a moment too soon. I’ve just climbed back into my own bed when Ginny comes home. She looks exhausted.

  “Late night, huh?” I ask.

  She sits heavily on her bed, facing me, and starts to cry. “I fucked up, Elle. I seriously fucked up.”

  “Paul?”

  She nods. “I mean, last time was bad enough but this… It’s too much. How could I do this to Alex?”

  “This was going to happen eventually. You and Alex just met too young.”

  “No,” she wails. “I don’t even like Paul, and Alex is perfect for me.”

  I sit beside her, rubbing her back and waiting for her to calm down. I suspect anything I say right now will make things worse.

  She raises her tear-stained face. “Why did I do it? Alex is everything I want in a husband.”

  “Just because he’s everything you want doesn’t necessarily mean you want him,” I tell her. “Honestly, Ginny, I think maybe you’ve been bored for a long time. I mean, were you really going to marry the first guy you slept with?”

  This makes her cry harder. I shouldn’t have brought it up. I never had any great sentiment attached to losing my virginity—which is a good thing, given how I lost it—but she did.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I know it was a big deal to you.”

  She begins crying and laughing simultaneously. “No, you’re totally right. Paul was so much better at it than Alex. I had no idea it could be that good. It wasn’t even like the same activity.” She laughs again and then begins sobbing. “I have to break up with him, don’t I? God, this has been the most fucked-up summer.
”

  I really can’t argue with her on that one.

  Chapter 48

  ELLE

  James and I don’t discuss our fight. Things continue just as they have, superficially. But instead of a quiet joy I have to struggle to conceal, it’s now a sharp pain in my center, a constant sadness and the exhaustion that accompanies pretending it’s not there. The truth is that I have lost. I thought I could sway him, and I did not. He’s going to leave, and this will end.

  We still do the same things. We walk into town for coffee. We go to the beach. We have sex. But a part of me is closing off to him, and probably should have closed off long before now.

  We’re just walking in the door when I get a call from my father. We haven’t spoken since the credit card incident.

  “I need to discuss something important with you,” he says.

  “That you’re getting married?” I sigh. If that’s why he’s calling, it feels a little late to make amends.

  “Well, yes, that’s important too, but that’s not it.”

  “Were you planning to tell me?”

  “Of course I was,” he says, as if I’m being tiresome. “But this is about my job.”

  Of course it is. Someone ought to warn Holly that his upcoming wedding falls such a distant second to his job status.

  “The network thinks they can rehab my image, and they’re offering me a correspondent’s position.”

  “Cool.” I pull from the part of me that should celebrate this fact, but find nothing there.

  “Yes, it’s beyond cool. But look, Edward’s got a story coming out next week, and they need to make sure you don’t comment. No matter what anyone asks you.”

  “Why would they be asking me anything?” I demand.

  He sighs. “I don’t know the details. I think he’s going to confess that he was infatuated with you.”

  “Why confess anything at all?” I cry. “Why bring my name into it?”

  “I assume because something has gotten to the press. Have you been talking about it?”