by Luana Ferraz
“May I help you?” he says when he opens the door and finds me there.
“Maybe,” I say, faking a thoughtful expression. “There’s this guy I’ve been hooking up with for the past few days. Really handsome, tall, dyed blond hair, have you seen him?”
“It’s natural,” he argues, an annoyed look on his face.
“Guess you haven’t seen him, then,” I sigh, turning around to leave. “Well, in case you do, tell him I’m looking for him.”
I don’t make two steps away before he grabs me by the waist. I squeal as he pulls me inside his room, kissing the back of my neck. When he closes the door, he pins me against it and stares into my eyes.
“Guy you’ve been hooking up with?” he raises his eyebrows.
“Do you know a shorter term for it?” I joke, but his face gets serious. His eyes fall to my mouth and he takes a few steps back.
“What did you mean with official?” he asks.
I sigh. I don’t really know what I meant. I don’t want to make him think I want more than what we have. Especially because we can’t—he’s leaving tomorrow and I’m staying. That’s the end of it.
“When he asked if we’re together, I assumed he was asking if we’re in a serious relationship,” I try to explain. He nods slowly, biting his lip. Then he walks to his bed and sits down, staring at the floor.
“Do you want to be with him?” he asks suddenly.
“What?” I gasp.
“I would understand,” he continues, looking up to me. I’m shocked to see he actually means it. “I mean, I would try to.”
“Why would I be here if I wanted to be with him?” I ask, walking towards him with wide eyes.
“That’s my point,” he says. “I don’t want you to feel pressured to be here just because—”
I interrupt him with a kiss. He clearly wasn’t expecting it, which makes my heart break a little.
“You have a better shot with him,” he continues when we break apart. “I’ll be gone in a few hours. He’ll still be here. If you want—”
I kiss him again. This time he reciprocates a bit better. I make it last as I straddle him and guide his hands to my waist. He still has an uncertain look on his face when we break apart. It’s quite cute, to be honest. Who would have thought Tyler Hackley could be so insecure?
“You know what I want?” I whisper. He shakes his head. “I want you. You idiot.”
He finally smiles, blushing slightly.
“You know what I want?” he asks back.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m not as dumb as you are.”
He tickles my ribs, making me giggle manically. Then he throws me on the bed. And we both get what we want.
***
The sun is in my eyes. They’re still closed, but I can feel the brightness behind my eyelids. I was having a nice dream—that already evaporated from my mind—and the sun woke me up. I guess someone forgot to shut the blinds last night. We were distracted by something else.
I carefully stretch my arm in his general direction. My stomach drops and, for a split second, I think he’s gone—he left in the middle of the night. He’s bitter because of the nurse. But, then, the tip of my fingers brush against his soft, bare skin. He’s here.
“Good morning,” he says, his voice cracking at the edges.
I open my eyes to find his sleepy face staring at me. There’s something about him and the morning light that makes me warm inside.
“Morning,” I smile. “What are you doing up?”
“Just watching you,” he smirks.
“Creep,” I try to frown, but can’t. He chuckles, running a single finger through my tight curls. I close my eyes again. “How much time do we have?”
“The rest of our lives,” he says, making my eyes shoot open again. He doesn’t wait for a reply and sighs, “A couple of hours.”
I nod, taking him in. The way his naked chest rises and falls in the rhythm of his breathing. The way his arm muscles tense up as he reaches out to caress my scalp. The protuberant bones of his shoulders, his golden hair falling to one side, his ocean blue eyes glued on mine.
“We should make the most of it,” I suggest.
“Aren’t we already?” he raises his eyebrows, making me melt.
“Ty…” I whisper, trying it out. His eyes shrink with a smile. I think he likes it.
“Yeah?” he whispers back.
“Would you hold me?” I ask.
Without a word, he pulls me closer and I rest my head on his hairy chest. I listen to his heartbeat intently, running a lazy finger over his collarbone. He does the same down my spine. It’s pure bliss.
“I’m gonna miss you, Ella,” he says quietly, and it pains me to realize I’m gonna miss him, too.
“How many different nicknames can you come up with?” I ask. I don’t think he repeated a single one.
“I’m just trying to give you options, so you can decide which one you like the most,” he says.
“I already have a favorite,” I say, grinning.
“Oh, yeah?” he asks. “Which one?”
I lift my head from him so I can look him in the eyes and then I say, “Becky.”
He smiles, rolling his eyes.
“I knew you’d say that,” he says. I don’t believe him.
I lie back down and we stay silent for a while. I could easily go back to sleep.
“Will you go out with him?” Tyler breaks the silence.
“With who?” I frown.
“Patrick.”
I don’t answer. Mainly because I don’t know how to answer. I don’t want to say no and give him some kind of hope or make it sound like a promise. I also don’t want to say yes because I don’t want to hurt him. And probably because I won’t go out with him, anyway.
“He seems like a nice guy,” he continues before my silence.
“I guess,” I shrug.
“So?” he asks.
“So what?”
“Will you go out with him?”
“Why are you insisting on this?” I ask, lifting my head once again.
“Morbid curiosity,” he says.
“I don’t know, Tyler,” I roll my eyes. “I don’t know what my life will be like tomorrow, let alone if I’ll eventually go out with a guy that lives six hours away from me.”
“Would you tell me if you did?” he asks, making me widen my eyes.
“Will you tell me when you do?” I ask back. “When you hook up with fans or go on wild nights with crazy beautiful supermodels?”
“Oh, yes, I’ll tell you all about them,” he says, smirking.
I roll my eyes, lying back down. I can’t take the image of what I just described out of my mind. Maybe that’s how he’s feeling, too. I just can’t tell if it’s a good or bad thing.
“Are you upset?” he asks softly, squeezing the back of my neck. “I don’t want to upset you.”
“I’m not upset,” I say.
“But we will talk, right?” he asks and something in his voice makes me look at him again. “Maybe not about that stuff, but other things.”
“Like what?” I ask, resting my chin on my hand.
“Like your grandma,” he says, making me smile. “I would like to know how she’s doing.”
“Okay,” I nod.
“And your career,” he continues. “I want to know when you get your record deal, if the label is nice to you.”
“Okay,” I nod again, smiling wider.
“Pete,” he says. “I want to know if… he’s alright.”
I don’t nod at that. He notices and watches me closely. I wonder if he knows already. I wish Tristan would talk to him.
“I wanna ask for something,” I say, making him frown. “Be nicer to Tris.”
“What?” he gasps. “I am nice!”
“Be nicer,” I insist. “I think you could be his Pete.”
“What?” he chuckles.
“I’m just saying you could be friends,” I sigh, not sure where I’m going with
this.
“We are!” he argues. “I think it goes without saying that he’s my favorite brother.”
“Maybe you should say it,” I suggest. “He needs to hear it, every once in a while.”
“Okay…” He narrows his eyes, considering it.
“It’s nice to have someone on your side, no matter what,” I say. Now, this is something I can vouch for.
He nods, studying my face. I have the feeling he’ll ask questions about it, but he says nothing. He reaches up, touching my face, and I rest my cheek against his palm.
“Now it’s my turn to ask for something,” he says softly.
“Choose wisely,” I warn. He holds my gaze for a moment—he’s trying to guess my reaction.
“Don’t forget me,” he says rashly, catching me by surprise. “I know this sounds corny, and I’m not asking it in hopes that this can be anything more than it already was—”
“I won’t,” I interrupt him. His relief is so intense that it makes me chuckle. “You didn’t really need to ask, though.”
“I wanted to make sure,” he smiles.
“Will you write songs about me?” I ask jokingly.
“You’ll have to keep track of our records to know,” he smirks, making me roll my eyes.
“I probably will. I like to torture myself,” I say, and he tickles my ribs.
“Will you write songs about me?” he returns the question.
“You wish,” I scoff and he laughs.
We stay like this, in silence, for what feels like an eternity. He holds my face, running his thumb over my mouth, while I trace his jawline with my fingers. It’s almost like time stopped.
“I won’t,” he says quietly.
“Won’t what?” I gaze into the calm waters of his eyes.
“I won’t ever forget you, Becky.”
***
We decide to have breakfast in bed so we can stretch the moment as much as possible. Then we have a shower—together, finally—and then we have to part ways to pack our bags. That’s our couple of hours over. Actually, that’s our twelve days over. How is it possible? Twelve days seemed like a lifetime before we started. And, now, it feels they were gone in the blink of an eye. Yet, so much has changed. A professional direction, some personal closure, and even the possible rediscovery of my heart. Indeed, a lifetime. In two weeks. How is it possible?
I decide to ask for a second breakfast before I go to my room, for Pete. I call reception from Tyler’s phone and ask for a simple coffee, a chocolate croissant and some aspirins. If he drank everything he took to the room yesterday, he’s gonna need it. I wait in the corridor until the order arrives, and then I enter the dark room.
I wait until my eyes adjust to the lack of light, then approach the bed. He’s curled to one side, taking less than 10% of the space. I trip on something on the floor, almost spilling the coffee. I look down to find the bottles and cans from last night, unopened. So he didn’t get drunk. Hmm.
I rest the mug on the nightstand and hide the croissant behind me as I jump on the mattress, bouncing slightly. It takes a few seconds, but he finally reacts—pulling the covers over his head and muttering unintelligible things.
“Good morning, sunshine!” I chant, trying to impersonate his morning mood. Well, his usual morning mood. “I brought you coffee and drugs.”
“Coffee is drugs,” he argues.
I pick up the mug from the table and wait for him to uncover his head with a manic smile on my face. When he does, he frowns. He sits up with difficulty and I hand him the coffee and the blister of aspirins.
“Chocolate is also drugs,” he says. Then I take the plate I’d hidden and give it to him. He smiles.
“How was your night?” I ask, sitting beside him.
“Lonely,” he says, taking a sip of coffee. “Despite your efforts.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say nonchalantly. He glares.
“How was your night?” he asks.
“Good,” I answer, trying not to look as giddy as I’m feeling. Of course, I fail.
“Jesus,” he narrows his eyes. “You’re fucking glowing! I hate you and your skin and that subtle smile and those tired eyes of who spent the whole night gently doing it with a famous pop star.”
“I should have never mentioned that to you,” I frown in disgust.
“Too late now,” he mumbles.
I watch as he cradles his mug and pretends he’s eating but is just picking the croissant apart. So I grab his face, making him look at me. He’s startled at first, but then he sighs, defeated.
“How was your night?” I ask again.
“Lonely,” he repeats, in a different tone. “I’m sad, Becks. I’m so fucking sad. And guilty, even though I don’t regret it. I can’t regret it, you know? I do like him, I like him a lot, and I think I was able to help him in some way—and I’m fully aware of how self-indulgent this sounds. But at what cost? Not only losing Lindsey, but hurting her, repeatedly. Making her watch as I slowly burned our bridges down.”
“You’re not the only one to blame for it, you know that, right?” I say, still holding his long face. “The three of you had a part in this mess.”
“I know,” he sighs, closing his eyes. “I still wish I had handled it better.”
“We all wish we had handled things better,” I tell him, letting go of his face to hold his chocolate-smudged hand. “It’s easy to look back and see where we went wrong, but no one has that clarity when the thing is still happening.”
I know that now. I think I’ve known for a while. And it’s knowing exactly where things could have gone differently that makes it all so hard, so painful. The hard thing is accepting there’s nothing you can do now and move on.
“Where did this wisdom come from?” he asks suspiciously. It makes me laugh. How can he be so blind?
“You, silly,” I say, bopping the tip of his nose. “You’ve been telling me different versions of it for years. I guess I was listening.”
It’s true. He was always the one to make me see the bright side, to make me try, to make me not so fucking depressed all the time. I guess it’s my turn to try to do the same for him.
“I sound really smart,” he says after a while, almost himself again. I roll my eyes but smile. He rests his head on my shoulder. “How do I stop being sad?”
Oh, Pete.
“You don’t,” I answer honestly. “You have to ride it.”
“Are you sad?” he asks, looking up. “That he’s leaving?”
I feel a tug in my stomach that indicates that yes, I am.
“A little, yeah,” I admit.
“Will you see each other again?” he asks. The million-dollar question, I guess.
“Who knows?” I shrug. I’m trying not to get my hopes up.
“I don’t like those odds,” he says, clicking his tongue. I smile.
“Please, it’s not like we’ll be out of reach,” I argue, remembering how Tyler said he’d like to stay in touch. “We have each other’s number, we know where each other live.”
“He’ll be stupid if he doesn’t come running back to you the first chance he gets,” he says, making me chuckle.
“I don’t think he’s stupid,” I say. Then I feel myself blush. When did I become so ridiculous?
“My God,” he sits up straight, staring at my face. “That’s high praise coming from you.”
I roll my eyes, punching his shoulder lightly. I want to ask him the same question—will he and Tris ever see each other again? Stay in touch? Will he and Lindsey do that? I don’t have the courage, though. He’s smiling and making fun of me and I don’t want to make him think of those things right now. He doesn’t need to have answers right now.
“Finish up your breakfast,” I say, getting up from the bed. “We have a meeting soon.”
His eyes widen. He’s probably forgotten about it again. I didn’t. That’s a first.
“I need a shower,” he says suddenly. Then his face darkens—the
thing I wanted to avoid. “Have you seen Lindsey today?”
I sigh. I’m so sorry for him. I’m so sorry for her.
“No, I think she’s still in her room,” I say. “Do you want me to go over there? Get your stuff?”
“No, I’ll go. I don’t want to avoid her,” he says.
“Okay,” I say, kissing the top of his head. Just by this attitude, he shows that he’s a better person than I am. I think he’ll be fine.
***
I call grandma before heading out. She sounds a lot better, with more energy, less grumpy. She asks me about Pete, saying Jo is worried that he’s been ignoring her calls. I don’t know what to say to that. I try to lie, say there’s nothing to worry about, that we’ve been busy and tired. Of course, she doesn’t believe me. But also doesn’t push me. I think she’s not willing to strain our renewed, yet frail, bond. I end up promising her I’ll bring him with me when I go to see her again, which actually sounds like a good idea. We should both go home for a few days. Home home. I’ll talk to him about it.
When I’m ready, I head to the lobby where Pete is already waiting for me. As I walk towards the desk to leave my suitcase, I see Todd hanging around, worriedly glancing at his watch. He approaches me when he sees me.
“We leave—”
“—within the hour,” I don’t give him a chance to say it. He stares at me blankly. “I know.”
“Then why didn’t you come down earlier?” he complains.
“Todd,” I sigh, turning to him, “fuck off.”
He widens his eyes in shock. As if he didn’t deserve it.
“I just left Tyler packing his things, by the way,” I say as I walk towards Pete. “He’ll be down in a second.”
I don’t look at him long enough to appreciate the rage on his red face. I still enjoy it, anyway.
“Ready?” I ask Pete, who’s sitting alone, his leg bouncing up and down.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” he says.
We text Neil, who tells us to wait for him in the conference room. We have to ask the hotel clerk where it is. It ends up being just a sort of office room near the back exit—a small, stuffy room, with a round table and four chairs around it.