The Crossroads Duet

by Rachel Blaufeld

  I must be hallucinating.

  His warm breath tickled my cheek as he whispered my name in my ear. I leaned all my weight into the counter in front of me, pressing my pelvis flush with the hard stone to steady my thoughts and brace myself, since I was obviously sleeping while standing up and I didn’t want to fall.

  Brooks barked, interrupting my dream. “Shh, be quiet,” I said out loud.

  I heard the voice again. “Bess?”

  “Hmm?” I answered, holding a conversation with a figment of my imagination.

  “Bess, it’s me. I’m here. Right behind you.”

  Something pressed against my back a little harder. His full hand. It moved, making circles that were soothing and comforting. I shook my head, trying to separate reality from fantasy, before opening my eyes and turning around.

  And there he was. My eyes widened as I took in the beard. That’s new.

  “Lane?” I said so quietly, I could barely hear myself.

  “Bess.” He leaned in and touched his forehead to mine.

  “You’re here? How? Why?” I murmured. I didn’t move for fear he would disintegrate.

  “I’m here.” He brushed his thumb along my cheek, pulling back and looking directly in my eyes. “I needed to say I was sorry in person, to explain, to make amends. I never meant to hurt you, but I don’t want to interrupt your date. I didn’t think,” he said, waving toward the now closed door.

  “What date?”

  “You said you had a hot date. Your door was open, you were yelling to Brooks.”

  “No, no date. Just Brooks and me. Pizza and a movie.”

  “Oh, that’s good . . . very good,” he said after letting out a long breath.

  Horses were galloping across my chest. I brought my hand up to my heart, kneading and massaging it back to a regular rhythm.

  Lane lifted his hand and placed it over mine. “I’m sorry I startled you. I probably should’ve called or texted, but I didn’t stop to think, I just acted. Came straight here,” he said, not letting go of my fingers.

  The horses picked up their pace and I couldn’t breathe. “I have to sit,” I said, my voice raspy and throaty.

  Lane guided me to the couch, and I sat. Brooks followed to curl up at my feet.

  “I thought you were a dream,” I said, looking at the Lane I remembered, but with a beard.

  He shook his head. “I’m here.” He paced back and forth for a moment before asking, “Can I sit?”

  I nodded.

  He took up the space next to me, and used his fingers to turn my face toward him.

  “Bess, I’m here, here because I was wrong. Wrong to lie to you about being there with you at the gym, even though it was a long time ago. And even more wrong to have just abandoned you that night. And wrong to have sent you off without an explanation when you came to Florida to save me. I’ve spent the last six months working with someone . . . a therapist,” he said, grabbing his temple, pinching his eyes shut.

  He stood abruptly and my heart dropped, free-falling to the pit of my stomach.

  Was he leaving?

  “Christ, it makes me seem like such a pansy. A therapist,” he said, roaming the small space of my sitting area. He looked like a caged animal, waiting for someone to set him free.

  Was that what this was about? Setting himself free . . . from me?

  “Don’t say that,” I whispered. He shouldn’t beat himself up, even if he was saying good-bye.

  Didn’t we already do that?

  “No, it is. I am. But I went for you. For us. Even though I didn’t really go about anything the right way, and I don’t even know if there will be an us. I had to try,” he said, kneeling on the floor at my feet, bracing his hands on my shaking knees.

  My heart moved up to my throat, lodging itself in my vocal cords, making it impossible for me to speak.

  “Bess,” he said, bowing his head, staring at the floor. “You don’t deserve anything I’m about to tell you.” He took a deep breath as if gathering himself, then looked into my eyes. “My brother, Jake, was responsible for our parents’ deaths.”

  I felt a shudder run straight through his body into mine.

  “He’s . . . he’s not a murderer. It was an accident. He’d been playing with the car, pretending to change the tire like we’d seen our dad do. My dad used to tinker with that car all the time. Our parents carpooled to work and usually took my mom’s van, but the day after Jake played car mechanic, for some reason, they took my dad’s old one. He loved that car . . . it was a ’79 Chevy Nova he bought when he was a student.” Lane barked out a laugh, his eyes pained. “It was so beat up, and when he drove it, he looked like such a hippie behind the wheel, with his wild hair blowing in the breeze as he jammed to the Beatles.”

  He took a breath, still staring at the carpet. I brought my hand to his wild hair and realized it must be some type of tribute to his dad. Even with his fancy pressed suits and his perfectly tailored designer jeans, his hair was an ever-present memorial to his hippie father.

  With my hand sifting through his locks, he went on.

  “They never came home that day. The tire hit some leaves and rolled off when they braked . . . at least, that’s what the Youngstown police believed. But I always knew the truth. Jake had loosened the bolts and hadn’t been strong enough to tighten them back up enough the day before. Our sitter wasn’t paying attention and I was busy playing Legos, but I was watching Jake in the driveway through the window. I was jealous of him, of his free spirit, of how he did whatever he wanted to do.”

  His eyes met mine, the anguish in them painful to see. “You see, it’s my fault too because I watched and didn’t do anything. I saw our nanny go out in the driveway and grab Jake from under the car and bring him back to the house to clean up, but she never checked to see what he’d done. And I didn’t say anything.”

  He took a deep shuddering breath before adding, “By the next afternoon, it was too late.”

  I watched Lane’s back heave with slow, ragged breaths and remained quiet, suspecting he wasn’t done. My heart burned with searing pain for the broken man in front of me.

  “At nine years old, after we were sent to our grandparents in Pittsburgh, Jake and I made a secret pact in the dark hours of the night . . . after what our sitter told us right before we left. She said they could lock Jake up for murder. That was the night the nightmares began, and they lasted until I moved to Florida. Everyone thought they were just because my parents died, so it was easy to go with that excuse. Those dreams tortured me with guilt and obsession over Jake. I was so mad at him for what he did, but also scared to fucking death that I would lose him. I’d made a deal with the devil to never let anyone take him from me, so for years I covered up for all his stupid shit and went along with all of his dumb games.”

  “Lane, look at me,” I said and waited.

  He raised his eyes to meet mine, anguish turning them into two deep-water pools.

  “Lane, you were a kid,” I said gently. “You weren’t responsible, and neither was Jake. He was a kid too. You didn’t deserve to let this haunt you as long as it has—”

  He didn’t let me finish. “It’s why I was at yoga that night, the night you collapsed. I was covering for Jake. He was sleeping with the instructor and wanted me to pretend I was him. And like always, I never said no to him. Fuck, it was such a nightmare. You had fallen right on top of me . . . and your friend, she freaked out and ran off. I guess she was lit up on something too. At first, I was confused why no one was coming to help, and then I remembered I was supposed to be Jake. So I pretended to whip into action.”

  I stopped him, running my hand along his jaw, his beard bristling along my fingers. “My falling, nearly OD’ing, that wasn’t your fault either, Lane.”

  He shook his head. “Well, it was my fault you were all alone in the ambulance. I was so mad at Jake for putting me in a bad place again that when he showed up, I decided it was more important to reveal his little ruse. I wanted to check
on you or visit you, something, but I never did.”

  Glancing up at me, he said, “Actually, that was when the offer to move to Florida came and I took it. It was a new start for me. No more Jake, no more fall weather with winter on its heels, no more emotional triggers. I’d seen a therapist a little when I first moved south and then declared myself fine. I was in the warmth, away from the cold weather that only reminded me of the worst time of my life. Then I met you and the triggers started again, not just old ones, but a new one. Love.”

  He took another long, deep breath and said, “I couldn’t give love if I didn’t feel worthy of love.”

  Was that what this was about? He wasn’t saying good-bye?

  Taking my hand in his, he threaded his fingers through mine before he snared my gaze. “I love you, Bess.”

  His eyes were so blue in that moment, clear skies for miles, and I wanted to fly away in them. Stunned at his admission, I could only stare at him, wondering once again if I were hallucinating. This couldn’t be happening, not to me. How could I deserve this?

  “To be honest,” he said, “I’ve thought about you every day since that yoga class. You seemed so beautiful on the outside, but I could tell you were broken on the inside, and there was such a push-pull going on inside me about whether to help you or not. I thought you were beyond repair, but that turned out to be me. You turned out to be the strong one. The one who made me want to fix myself after always fixing everything for Jake.”

  I frowned at him, frustrated at how hard he was being on himself. “Lane, you were not broken beyond repair. You need to forgive yourself. That’s the hardest step for anyone. Believe me, I know.”

  “Can you forgive me?” he asked, laying his head in my lap.

  “There was never anything to forgive.” I smoothed my hand over his head, comforting him like I did in his foyer—like a heartbroken little boy.

  “But I sent you away,” he mumbled. “I used our connection to forget all of this shit, our intimacy, when you showed up in Florida.” He stared up at me in pain, his eyes searching for forgiveness.

  With a sigh, I said, “I know. I knew you had something much deeper going on than the secret about knowing me and about the drugs, and as much as that hurt me, you deceiving me, I knew there had to be more. And I wanted to be there for you. Because I love you. I have since you kissed me in the hallway on Christmas. You stole my heart that night. And even though I saw you were all mixed up, I couldn’t make myself leave you alone.”

  Relief flooded me. The look I’d seen before deep in his eyes, the hazy fog of indecision and regret, it wasn’t just about deserting me—it was something much worse. A horrific event, a burden that no child should have, but Lane had carried it since he was nine years old. To make it worse, Lane had taken on his brother’s guilt too, although I suspected Jake felt the weight of his own participation in different ways. That haunted look was evident in his blue eyes too.

  “Well,” he said, “I took care of that for us. I sent you away, as if I could forget you. That night after you left, I decided to hunt down absolution . . . for you.”

  Brushing a few stray hairs away from his forehead, I confessed, “I knew you were wrestling something bigger.”

  Wrapping his arms around my knees, he squeezed. “I couldn’t forget you. The need to remember you was stronger than my need to keep this bottled up inside any longer.”

  I lifted his chin with my fingers, forcing him to look up at me again. “I knew you would slay your inner dragons. I didn’t know how, but I knew you would. I just didn’t know if you would come back to me. I’m not whole myself, Lane. My life, it’s boring and mundane . . . and simple. I’m not a party girl anymore. I can’t ever be. Watching movies with my dog is a big night on the town for me.”

  He kissed the inside of my wrist. “I love that—all of that—about you, Bess.”

  I half smiled as I teased, “But your playboy image will be tarnished.”

  I had to joke about something—this conversation was getting too intense. And Lane’s pain over his parents still swirling in the air was making me weak with need. I wanted to stick my hand deep down inside the man and pull out his suffering, then stuff it inside my own soul.

  He straightened, remaining on his knees, but bent forward and kissed me. It was a gentle kiss, full of promise. It was a promise I wasn’t sure he should make, one I didn’t know I could fulfill.

  “I’m not a playboy, Bess. That was my disguise. Women, partying, pretending to be naughty . . . those were my drugs. But with you, I can be me. Plain, boring, business executive me. And now I can be whole because you know the truth. Can you live with what I allowed Jake to do? What I’ve covered up all these years?”

  “Lane, you were a kid. You have to accept that. I don’t have to accept anything.”

  “I am. I’m trying.”

  “Can you accept me?” I asked, my voice trembling. “For my past wild behavior? And my not-so-wild life now?”

  “I love you, Bess. You have to know that, boring or not.”

  I leaned forward and kissed Lane, winding my hands through his hair.

  And then I stopped suddenly, pulled away and asked, “How’s Jake?”

  I hadn’t seen him in a few weeks. I loved the man in front of me, but I’d come to care for his brother. And now I realized how much they both kept bottled up inside.

  Lane gave me a wry look. “I hear you two are friends now. In fact, the little fuck used it against me, pushed all my hot buttons, made me jealous enough to get on a plane and come back here.”

  I laughed. “He’s sleeping with Camper, I think.”

  He shook his head. “Well, I hope she doesn’t get too attached, because Jake doesn’t do commitment.”

  “But how is he?”

  “He’s okay. How’s he been when you’ve seen him?”

  “It’s been a while, but he’s always his same cavalier self.”

  His tone impatient, he said, “Well, I think he’s going to be shedding some of that. He’s going to work with a therapist that my doctor connected him with.”

  Apparently Lane was done talking. He pushed me back onto the couch and slid on top of me, taking my mouth.

  When he whispered, “Bess, I love you,” against me, my whole body shuddered.

  It was cold and wet outside, but I was warm underneath Lane, his long body covering mine. His hands were everywhere, touching, bringing life to my skin and meaning to the blood pulsing through my veins.

  Taking my hand, he lifted it and slipped it inside his pocket without ever breaking the kiss. My fingers caught something sharp inside his jeans, and Lane broke free only to say, “Take it out.”

  With shaky hands, I pulled out the necklace. It shimmered and sparkled in the evening light, catching stray colors streaming in from the window.

  “I think this belongs on you,” Lane said, moving to attach it around my neck.

  It was the first time I’d worn it; I’d never gotten the chance to put it on before it had disappeared. The pendant was cold against my skin, and I reached up to stroke it as my eyes pricked with tears.

  “Don’t cry,” Lane said, and wiped a tear from my cheek that had dared spill over my lashes.

  Then with a twinkle in his eye, he took my hand again and brought it over to his other pocket. Something else awaited me in there.

  Pulling it out, I found a bracelet. It had two strands of plain white gold rope that came together into a knot, like you would see on a gift bag. Dangling from the two loose strands were jewel-encrusted charms: a yellow-stoned B and an onyx-lined L.

  “Lane, it’s too much.”

  He shook his head and moved back to kissing me.

  Brooks interrupted with a bark. Jealous, he nudged his head under Lane’s hand, begging for attention.

  “I’ll do you one better, Brooks,” Lane said, grabbing his small piece of luggage he’d dropped by the door and pulled out a huge dog bone. It was shaped like a skeleton for Halloween, and had an enormous
black and orange bow tied around it.

  Unwrapping it, Lane tossed it in the corner for my dog, and then scooped me up and carried me back to my bedroom. After laying me down on the bed with my hair spread out around my face, Lane kicked off his boots.

  “Those are kind of silly,” I said.

  He gave me a mock pout. “Hey, I was rushing to see my girl in the country, and ran to get a pair of shit kickers.”

  I giggled. “They’re Prada, Lane. They’re the furthest thing ever from shit kickers.”

  “It doesn’t matter, they’re off now and I don’t plan on going back outside.”

  Once again done talking, he climbed up my body and slipped his hands under my shirt, lifting it up and over my head before flicking off my bra. He unfastened my jeans with his other hand, then began tugging them off as I lifted my hips to help.

  Traveling the full length of my body with kisses, Lane snagged my thong and pulled it off with one finger before settling his face between my legs. His warm breath teased me before his tongue swiped up my center, landing where I silently prayed he would. Then he slipped a finger inside me, his mouth sending vibrations straight through my clit, his beard tickling the inside of my thighs in all the right places.

  I was burning up, ready to become a fiery inferno of orgasm, when he slid a second finger inside me. And then it burst through me. Flames were licking all around my body, and the only way to douse them was for Lane to dip inside me. But I didn’t want to put them out yet. I liked the sensation I was feeling and wanted it to last.

  Lane moved back up beside me. He had trapped my arms above my head with one hand and was smoothing his palm up my side when I whispered, “Lane, I need something.”

  “What, darling Bess? What do you need?”

  “I need my hands,” I said, sucking in a breath.

  Immediately releasing my hands, he said, “Did I hurt you?” with a pained expression.