The Rebound

by Winter Renshaw

  Our server drops off two waters and Griff’s hand shakes when he takes his glass. It’s like he went from lively and exuberant to pale and weak over the course of several weeks and I hardly noticed.

  He was always laughing and smiling, same old annoying Griff, cracking jokes at my expense and being the pesky brother I never had while simultaneously pretending he wasn’t madly in love with me—a fact we addressed early on and haven’t had to deal with since.

  “I’m having an operation next week,” he says. “This one’s a little different. A little riskier.”

  My heart races and I toy with the delicate diamond necklace Nev gave me, nearly breaking the gold chain. My stomach tightens. He’s going to tell me something awful, I just know it.

  “There’s a fifty percent chance the surgery could be a success,” he says. “And there’s a fifty percent chance there could be complications.”

  “Complications. What kind of complications?” I lean closer, watching the flickering candle paint warm colors across his pale complexion.

  “There’s a chance I could wind up comatose,” he says, “or in a vegetative state.”

  I draw in a sharp breath, my mouth dry. Sitting across from Griff, there’s a very good chance that a short time from now, he might not even be here. He won’t be around for me to call. He won’t be sending me annoying text messages at six in the morning just because. He won’t be laughing at my terrible jokes or making fun of my shoes just to mess with me.

  It’s like someone has ripped out my insides.

  I’m hollow, gutted.

  And I can only imagine how Griffin feels.

  “My parents have made it clear that if that happens, they have no intentions of pulling the plug,” he says with a sigh. “They’re, uh, a bit extreme in their beliefs. Their religion literally stands against any kind of modern medicine or treatments. When they found out I’d been going in for chemo and radiation and scans, they about lost it.”

  “So they just believe that if you’re sick and about to die, you should die? And not try to get help?” I ask.

  He nods. “Basically.”

  “That’s so fucked up, Griff.”

  “Yeah, I know,” he says. “So this is where you come in.”

  “Yes, tell me what I can do to help you,” I say, reaching across the table and placing my palm over the top of his hand. “I’ll do anything.”

  He’s quiet for a moment, maybe piecing words together or getting up the courage to ask what he’s about to ask. Griff’s always been so independent, never asking anyone for a damn thing. I imagine this is difficult for him.

  A moment later, his eyes flick onto mine. “I need you to marry me.”

  Sitting back in the booth, I question if he literally just asked me to marry him or if I imagined it.

  “What?” I half chuckle.

  “I need you to marry me,” he says. Griff isn’t smiling or laughing. There’s no mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “I need to have someone who can legally make sure things happen the way I want them to happen, should I become incapacitated.”

  “Can you be more specific?”

  “I don’t want to spend the rest of my life as a vegetable,” he says. “If the surgery fails and I’m hooked up to a machine, I want you to be the one to pull the plug.”

  This is heavy. I’m sunk.

  “Griff …” my eyes burn. “I don’t know if I can.”

  “I don’t have anyone else,” he says. “You’re my best friend. You’re the only one I trust, the only option I have.”

  My mind goes to Nevada, trying to figure out a way I’d even explain this to him, trying to guess whether or not he’d give us his blessing. Last fall, Griff kissed me at homecoming and it took me forever to calm him down. When he was home for Christmas break, he was shooting daggers Griff’s way every chance he got, telling me he didn’t trust him.

  If I tell him I need to marry Griffin, he’s not going to believe me.

  Then again, Nevada has a good heart. Maybe if he’ll just give me a chance to explain, he’ll understand?

  “What?” Griff asks. “What are you thinking right now? Tell me.”

  “I’m just thinking about Nev …”

  He smirks, head cocked as he stares at me with unrequited love in his eyes like he always does. “Of course.”

  “This isn’t just about you and me,” I say. “This will affect him too.”

  “And I respect that,” Griffin says. “If you want me to talk to him—”

  “—no,” I cut him off. Bad idea. Very bad. “I’ll talk to him.”

  First thing tomorrow …

  … after I’ve had a night to really think about this.

  “I promise you, Yardley,” Griffin says, “this is strictly a business arrangement. I even got you this to prove it.”

  Digging into his jeans pocket, he retrieves a chintzy gold ring with the words “best friends forever” engraved on the band.

  I take it from him, smiling, eyes watering. It’s too much. All of this at once is overwhelming, and I’m not sure what to say.

  “I’ve already asked my Grandma, Greta, if she’d be our witness,” he says. “We could skip school one day next week, run down to the courthouse, and get it done. It’s ninety dollars for the license, five minutes in front of a judge, and we’re out of there.”

  “I’d have to tell my parents.”

  “Of course,” he says. “But tell them after. Easier to beg for forgiveness than ask permission. That’s always been my motto.”

  “As evidenced by the time you tried to shove your tongue down my throat. Twice.”

  He laughs. “Anyway, if I pull through, I promise you can divorce my ass and carry on with your life like it never happened.”

  Sliding the dainty gold band onto my finger, I trace the engraving with the pad of my thumb.

  How can I say no?

  Nev and I have our whole lives ahead of us. We’re healthy. We get to live. Griffin doesn’t have that luxury. There’s a fifty percent chance he won’t wake up from his surgery next week.

  “I can go over everything with you tomorrow,” he says. “I have a list. Everything is covered in detail, right down to the color of my headstone should I die.”

  “Can we not talk about this anymore?”

  “Why?” Half his mouth draws up, he’s incredulous. “Not talking about it isn’t going to make it go away. I’d rather talk about it now so we can get some kind of plan going. Surgery’s going to be here before we know it. Eleven days, actually.”

  My heart drops.

  Eleven days from now, I might watch my best friend being wheeled into the OR and by the time they’re done, I might never see his smile or hear his voice again.

  “Can I give you an answer tomorrow?” I ask when our food arrives. I’m not hungry anymore and I can hardly taste the lemon pepper chicken placed before me, but I need this distraction.

  “Of course,” Griff says. “I only want you to do this if you feel comfortable with it. I won’t force you or guilt you. It has to be your decision. I’m simply one friend … asking another friend for a favor.”

  By the time we leave, Griff looks exhausted and when he stands, he almost loses his balance. Hooking my arm around him and draping his around me, I escort him out the front door, leading him across an icy February parking lot toward my car.

  This is all happening so fast.

  And it feels like something I need to do. For him. For my best friend.

  Nevada will understand. He has to.

  Chapter Sixty

  We Need To Talk

  Nev

  “How long have you been waiting here?” I ask, leaving the hospital.

  “Too long,” she says, slipping her phone into her pocket as she leans against the driver’s side door of my car. “We need to talk, Nevada.”

  “I’m going to need you to move,” I motion with my hands and she surprisingly obliges.

  “I married him, Nev,” she says. Ice floods my
veins, followed by a raging inferno. “I married Griffin Gaines.”

  I jerk my door open. “So much for being ‘just friends.’”

  “We were just friends,” she says, brows furrowed.

  “Last I checked, best friends don’t usually marry each other, especially when one of them is supposedly madly in love with someone else,” I say, spitting her lies at her.

  Climbing into the driver’s seat of my SUV, I start the engine and slam the door.

  I’m leaving.

  By myself.

  Without her.

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Dandelion Wishes and Google Searches

  Yardley

  This is crazy, and I know it is before I so much as help myself into his moving car, but I’m doing this and there’s no stopping me now.

  “What the hell are you doing?” He slams his SUV into park.

  “Talking to you.”

  His expression is dark and he refuses to look at me.

  Perched on the edge of the passenger seat, my body angled toward him, I say, “Ten years ago, on Valentine’s Day, Griffin asked me to marry him.”

  Nev flinches.

  “But it’s not what you think … he had cancer, Nev. He was dying. And he needed someone who could legally carry out his final wishes because his parents refused,” I say. “I didn’t want to hurt you, Nev. I was going to explain everything to you the next day. Apparently someone else got to you before I did.”

  “Someone saw the two of you together, saw him giving you a ring,” Nevada says, voice low. “Saw your arms all over each other. Saw you laughing and crying, celebrating.”

  Jesus, whoever it was that saw us painted a really misleading picture for him. No wonder he hated me all these years.

  “He gave me a friendship ring,” I say, rolling my eyes. “It said ‘best friends forever.’ I don’t even think it was real gold. It was his way of assuring me it was nothing more than a friend doing a favor for another friend.” I reach across the console, placing my hand on his forearm. “And yeah, we laughed and cried because the situation was absurd and sad and we were feeling a little bit of everything. When we left, there was ice in the parking lot and he was a little weak, so I had to help him get to the car. That’s why our arms were around each other.”

  Nevada sits frozen, staring straight ahead. The radio plays softly in the background, some Rolling Stones song, and I hadn’t even noticed it was on until now.

  “Yes, I loved Griffin,” I say. “But I loved him as a friend. My love for him was different than my love for you. I just wish you’d have let me explain.”

  His nostrils flare as he breathes, his body rigid.

  “We were healthy, you and me,” I continue. “We had the option of spending the rest of our lives together. Griffin’s future wasn’t guaranteed, he was literally living his life one day at a time, hoping for the best. And as much as I hated what it did to you, Nev … what it did to us … it was an honor to be the person to carry out his dying wishes. And it’s an honor that I’ve struggled with since the day he died.”

  My lips tremble. I haven’t spoken of Griff’s death since I can’t remember when, and the pain of losing my best friend sinks me all over again. Dabbing at a tear with the back of my hand, I squeeze my eyes tight.

  I can still picture his goofy grin, I can still hear his annoying laugh.

  “I loved him as a friend, Nev, but I hated that he put me in that position,” I say. “So when you asked if I knew what it was like to both love and resent someone … yeah. I do. But it wasn’t his fault. I was all he had. I couldn’t say no.”

  Opening my eyes, another tear slides down my cheek, only this time Nev reaches across the front seats and wipes it away.

  “He didn’t make it out of that OR,” I tell him, my words jagged. “He died on the table.”

  Our eyes meet, and his expression is softer than it was a few moments ago.

  “I lost my best friend and my father and my first love all within a couple years of each other,” I say. “It destroyed me. I became this shell of a person, subsisting off dandelion wishes and Google searches. If you want me again, Nev, I’m all yours. But I can’t lose you twice. I don’t think I could survive that.”

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  All Bets Are Off

  Nev

  “I think it was right here,” I say, pulling to a stop in front of a white cookie cutter house in a new subdivision called Rainier Heights, “where we were caught by that sheriff. Remember that?”

  When she first dropped that truth bomb about Griff, I was stunned numb. I couldn’t think, couldn’t focus, couldn’t hear a damn thing. Despite the fact that we’ve been driving around for hours now, I’m still a bit shaken, unsteady on my feet.

  None of this feels real.

  Every thought I held onto for the past decade no longer makes sense.

  Every reason I gave myself to write this woman off … no longer applies.

  It’s a strange feeling, losing your truth—or what you once believed was your truth. I’ve never been much for dwelling on regrets, but I can’t help but wonder what life would be like had I just listened to her at the time. But back then I was nineteen. I didn’t know anything. All I knew was how I felt … betrayed, hurt, dumbstruck.

  I didn’t want to hear her out.

  As far as I was concerned, her reason made no difference. The damage had been done. There was no coming back from a broken promise.

  But had I heard her out all those years ago, I wouldn’t have my girls, and I could never regret them.

  “Of course I remember,” Yardley says, glancing at the spread of new construction occupying space that was once some cranky farmer’s cornfield. “I remember everything.”

  We linger, quiet and contemplative, and take in an entire neighborhood that stands where there once was nothing but dirt.

  “So what next?” she asks. “For us, I mean. Where do we go from here?”

  Turning to face her, I drink in her pretty face and squeeze her hand. “Thought I’d take you on some dates. Get to know you all over again. You said yourself, we’re just a couple of strangers.”

  Yardley’s smile lights her face. “I’d like that.”

  Leaning over, she cups my face in her hands and kisses me, soft and gentle.

  “For old times’ sake,” she says when she’s done. “I’d climb over this console and do you one better than that if that man mowing his lawn over there wasn’t staring us down. Better go before the neighborhood watch gets involved.”

  “Okay, sprinkle this on top.” Yardley hands Lennon a bag of shredded mozzarella cheese as she balances on a step stool near the kitchen island. They’re making homemade pizza for dinner tonight, Len’s choice.

  Watching Yardley with my daughter is almost kind of magical sometimes. They’re kindred spirits, really. They just get each other, they speak the same language.

  “Daddy, come look at my pizza!” Lennon yells.

  Hoisting Essie on my hip, I carry her across the kitchen and tell her how beautiful her hot mess-looking pizza is, and she beams from ear to ear.

  “Lennon did a great job for her first time,” Yardley says, rubbing Len’s back.

  “Yes, you did, sweetheart.” I ruffle her hair before heading to the pantry to grab Essie’s dinner. Turning back to Yardley, I lean close. “So, I was wondering … what do you have going on Friday night? Was thinking I could take you out on our second-ever first date.”

  Her pink lips draw into a smirk. “I’ll see if my mom can watch the girls.”

  I don’t kiss her, not with the girls here. One thing at a time. But as soon as the kids are down for the night, all bets are off.

  Yardley Devereaux is all mine, all over again.

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Epic

  Yardley

  Two Months Later

  We buried Greta on a humid day in early June, next to her beloved grandson. For the past month, she fought like hell, giving us false ho
pe a time or two, but in the end, it was her time. She hadn’t been back home more than a couple of days when she went to bed one night … and the next day she was gone.

  Within a week of the funeral, I received a letter in the mail from some local attorney. Turns out Greta left me her entire estate, hundreds of thousands in various retirement accounts mostly. I promptly donated all of it to childhood brain cancer research in both Greta and Griffin’s names.

  “Yardley, you ready?” Lennon balances on the edge of the cement, just outside the pool Nevada had refinished a few weeks ago.

  I stand in position, arms out and ready to catch, as she jumps into the water. A big splash later and she’s giggling, doggy paddling back to the steps to do it all over again.

  The sliding glass door to the patio opens a moment later, and Nevada carries the baby in his arms. He’d been inside feeding her earlier, but now she’s decked out in a little baby swimsuit and a white hat that ties under her chubby chin. He even put a blob of white sunblock on her tiny nose.

  I chuckle as he grabs a baby floatie shaped like a giraffe and enters the pool with Essie.

  “We should take a trip soon,” I say. “The four of us.”

  “Like a family vacation?” he asks. Growing up, I remember him saying he’d never once been on a family vacation, that his mom could never afford them. The whole concept was foreign and unappealing to him anyway, being trapped in a car for hours upon hours, squished against your siblings.

  “Maybe we could rent an RV and just drive across the country?” I shrug.

  “Sounds boring.”

  I punch his shoulder. “The girls would love it. And I think we could all use a change of scenery.”

  It’s been a hard couple of months. Hell, it’s been a hard ten years.

  Slipping my hand beneath his arm, I bounce on my toes and kiss his mouth. I taste chlorine and inhale sunscreen as sunlight warms the top of my head.