Rebound Therapy (Rebound #1)

by Jerica MacMillan

  “Neither of us expected you,” I continue in the same soft, steady voice. I look back down at the desk, continuing to straighten the piles of paper, pushing stray paperclips into a little pile, putting pens back in the pen cup off to one side.

  “You brought me a glass of wine, started flirting with me, and used logic and charm to convince me to go out with you. You were sweet and patient and understanding. You never pushed for more than I was prepared to give, and you made me feel special in a way I haven’t felt in a long time.” I look at him now, gathering my confidence around me. “You made me happy. And for the first time since Tom died, I stopped thinking about him all the time. Little things throughout the day started reminding me of you instead of him. And when I did think about him it was only in relation to how different he was from you.

  “On the day that should have been my first anniversary, I’d spent the night with you. I woke up in your house, in your bed, and we spent the day together until it was time for me to go home so I could go to work the next day. And I didn’t even realize what day it was until I was at work the next day and had to write the date on something.” I have to look away again, clenching my fists at my sides to push away the pang of guilt that still slithers up my spine at the memory. I take a deep breath and push on.

  “When Cathy, Tom’s mom, came in here last week, it made me realize how caught up in you I’d become. And I couldn’t push away my feelings of guilt anymore.” Brian’s face, which had grown softer as I spoke, hardens when I mention my guilt. I can’t help thinking he’s remembering our last conversation. “I felt guilty about Tom’s death, blaming myself, but I felt guilty for moving on. For being happy with someone else. For not thinking about him anymore, so much that I didn’t even notice the date on what would have been our anniversary.” I close my eyes and force myself to say the next part, “For falling in love with you.”

  Brian grunts in response, like someone’s hit him in the diaphragm.

  “I’m sorry for pushing you away and hurting you. I didn’t know how to deal with everything, and so I broke up with you hoping that would ease some of my guilt. It didn’t, though. If anything it made it worse. Because I added the guilt of knowing I’d hurt you and destroyed our relationship, too.” I want to reach out and touch him again, but I’m afraid he’ll reject me. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper. If Brian weren’t still blocking the door, I’d be running out of here by now. As it is, he’s still standing there with his arms crossed staring at me, but I can’t bring myself to meet his eye.

  Finally—finally, his impassive façade breaks. Brian drops his head forward, his hands coming up to run through his hair then drag down his face. He stays like that for a moment, face in his hands, fingers pressed against his eyelids. “What is it you want from me, Jenna?” It sounds like he’s trying to keep his voice neutral, but some other emotion bleeds through—frustration, pain, maybe hope? I decide to focus on what he’s wanting me to hear and see rather than trying to parse out suppressed signals for fear I’m projecting my own desires onto him. I can’t let myself hope when what he wants is to stay impassive, neutral, carefully devoid of emotion.

  “Understanding. Forgiveness.” I stop there, too scared to push too hard.

  He drops his hands from his face and looks at me. “I understand and I forgive you.”

  “A second chance?” I say it with as much confidence as I can muster, but my voice betrays me by coming out breathy and pleading, breaking on the last word.

  Brian continues to look at me, examining my face for something … sincerity maybe? Then he lets out a long breath. “I don’t know if I can do that, Jenna,” he finally says.

  I nod once, dropping my eyes, and try to swallow the lump that has formed in my throat at his words. “Okay. I … I understand. Thanks for hearing me out.” I take another deep breath, pushing down the tears that are trying to escape. I’ve had months of practice of holding back tears, keeping it together on the outside while I’m falling apart inside. I’ve just never had to do it in front of Brian before. Gathering the remaining shreds of my dignity, I step toward Brian and the door. He moves to the side and opens it for me. I step through it, the sound of the door closing behind me echoing through me with a sense of finality.

  I really did destroy the best relationship I’ve ever had.

  CHAPTER TEN

  It’s eleven o’clock now and I’m sitting on my couch in the dark, a blanket on my lap, staring at the blank TV.

  After I left Brian in his office, Amy took one look at my face, said goodbye to Adam, walked me out to the car and brought me home. She didn’t say anything until we got back to my place.

  “What happened?” she asked. I filled her in with the barest of details. I told her I’d apologized and asked for a second chance and he’d said no.

  “He doesn’t want me anymore,” I choked out through the lump in my throat that hadn’t gone away no matter how many times I swallowed. “I ruined everything.”

  Amy just hugged me and let me cry on her like she had done so many times before. After the worst of it passed, she gathered up my favorite lounge clothes that I’d changed out of earlier, pressed them into my hands, and gave me a gentle push toward my room. After I changed and came back out, she’d tucked me into the couch and gotten two spoons and a pint of Ben and Jerry’s from my stash in the freezer. She stayed with me for an hour or so, watching TV shows on Netflix, eating more of my ice cream than I did. After she’d eaten half the container and I had only taken two or three bites, she got up and put it away. We didn’t talk. She just sat with me, lending me the silent comfort of her presence for a while, and then left me alone, knowing that was what I wanted most.

  I had left the TV on, autoplay keeping the next show coming until it stopped, words on the screen asking if I was still there. I didn’t use the Apple TV control to tell it to continue or not, just left it sitting like that. Eventually the little device went to sleep from inactivity, and then my TV did the same.

  I’m not sure how long ago the TV turned itself off. It doesn’t seem like that long ago, but the passage of time has ceased to have any meaning for now. It could have been five minutes or an hour.

  A knock at my door pulls me out of my still contemplation of the bars of light coming through the blinds from the parking lot, occasionally broken by the swing of headlights from cars leaving or coming home. That’s why I know it’s eleven. My eyes automatically searched out the clock at the sound of knocking at my front door.

  My brain slowly ticks over, realizing it’s late. Who could be knocking at my door? Amy would text if she wanted to check on me. She was just here not that long ago, there’s no way it’s her. Besides, she just uses her key and comes in. After rooming together in college, our relationship hasn’t been the kind where you knock, except as a courtesy warning of your presence, in years.

  The knock sounds again, more insistent. I slowly push the blanket off my lap onto the floor and unfold myself from the couch. I stop breathing when I look through the peephole and see Brian standing there. I can’t suppress the sudden wave of hope that washes over me.

  I open the door. “Hi.”

  “Can I come in?” he asks. He looks worse than when I left him earlier tonight. His hair is disheveled. I can tell he’s been running his hands through it all night. He does that when he’s thinking or frustrated or both. I open the door wider and gesture him in.

  After I close the door and turn to face him he grabs me by the shoulders, giving me a little shake. “Why did you have to push me away?” he demands. His voice is raw now, pained, all of the careful control from earlier stripped away. I open my mouth to answer, but before I can he cuts me off with a kiss. This isn’t like other kisses we’ve shared. It’s hard and punishing, giving no quarter, no mercy. He breaks it off abruptly, his hands still hard on me, but not hard enough to bruise.

  “Why couldn’t you let me in? You can trust me with your guilt and your pain. Why don’t you know that?”

  �
��I’m sorry.” It’s the only thing I can say. He doesn’t really want my answers, my pathetic explanations.

  He pulls me roughly against his chest, his arms tight around me. “I wanted to stay away. I told myself to stay away. But when I got in my car tonight, I ended up here. How do I know you won’t do this to me again? What will you do the next time someone that knew you with Tom sees us together and says something to you? Are you going to run from me again?”

  “No,” I say. I try to shake my head, but his hold on me doesn’t allow much movement. I push back against him, and he loosens his hold, allowing me the room to look him in the eye. “I won’t. I won’t push you away again. I won’t run.”

  His eyes look back and forth between mine, weighing my words against the naked openness of my gaze. I’ve dropped all the walls I started putting up earlier, letting him see to my core. He kisses me again, this one more gentle. “I love you, Jenna,” he says when he pulls back.

  “I love you, Brian.”

  *

  I discovered it’s true what they say about makeup sex. Tom and I never had a big enough fight for makeup sex to be a thing. After our mutual declaration of love, Brian took me to bed and kept me up most of the night. Sex with Brian has always been good, but wow. This was a whole other level.

  We’ve spent all day together on Saturday, mostly just talking and enjoying each other again. Brian has started asking me more about Tom and encouraging me to talk about him any time I want to. It’s weird in a way, talking about my former fiancé to my new boyfriend. But he says that if I feel comfortable talking about Tom with him then it will help me work past the residual guilt that I have for moving on. Even though the logical part of my brain realizes that Tom’s death isn’t my fault and that I’m not cheating on him by being with Brian, those feelings don’t go away overnight. Hopefully Brian’s right, and talking about Tom more will help.

  Brian has to work tonight, so Amy is coming over to my apartment to get ready again.

  “I need details,” she says as soon as she comes through my door, her arms full of clothes for our night out.

  I had texted Amy that Brian and I were back together earlier today, and she had kindly refrained from demanding more information since Brian was still here at the time. Now that he’s gone and she’s here in the flesh, all bets are off.

  I smile at her demand for information in lieu of a greeting. Typical Amy. Instead of hassling her about it like I normally do, I tell her what happened last night.

  “And was there makeup sex?” she asks when I stop at the point where he kissed me and said he loves me.

  I give her a prim look. “You know I don’t kiss and tell, Amy.”

  “Jenna,” she whines. “I’m in a dry spell here. You know I have to live vicariously through you.”

  “Yes, there was makeup sex.”

  “And?”

  “And, that’s all I’m saying. I’m not going to talk about the size of his…you know, or how skilled he is with his tongue.”

  “So, you’re saying he’s skilled with his tongue. Interesting. What size shoe does he wear?”

  I shoot her a puzzled look. “I don’t know. Maybe a ten or eleven, why?”

  She gives me a sly look, and taps her index finger on her lips as though contemplating something. “So, he’s got good sized feet. Not super huge, but not small. You know what they say about a man with big feet, right?”

  “I already told you I’m not answering questions about penis size, so get over it.”

  “Okay, fine.” She waves a hand, dismissing that issue. “So, was the sex better than ever?”

  “Amy.” I try to infuse the two syllables with warning.

  “Jenna,” she says in the same tone of voice. “I’ve never had make up sex. I just want to know if it lives up to the hype.”

  “Fine. Yes, it definitely lives up to the hype.”

  “Good. I’m glad one of us is getting laid at least.”

  I laugh at her and change the subject.

  An hour or so later we’re both changed and ready to go to The Barrel Room. Amy has convinced me to wear another bra and panty set that she got me for my lingerie shower last year. She said that since Brian didn’t get to fully appreciate what I wore last night, he needs another chance tonight to admire Amy’s taste in lingerie. Since they are pretty and I never got a chance to wear them for anyone, I go along with it.

  Going into the wine bar tonight is a much more relaxed affair than last night. I’m not sweaty and shaking with nerves. My salivary glands seem to be functioning appropriately. Brian greets us from the bar with a smile and a kiss for me. Amy and I sit in our usual seats, chatting with each other and Adam and Brian when they’re not too busy with other customers.

  When Brian takes a break for dinner, he pulls me back into the little office. As though to replace last night’s unpleasant memory with something better, the minute we’re inside, he closes the door and pushes me against it. His mouth is on mine, hot and demanding, and his hands are roaming my body, caressing and fondling as they go.

  After a moment he breaks the kiss, both of us breathing hard. “I have something for you,” he says. He walks over to the desk and I follow him. He pulls a key out of the top drawer of the desk and hands it to me. “It’s a key to my house,” he says. My eyes widen a bit. “I was going to give it to you … before. I want you to have it now. I’ve also made some room in the dresser and the closet for you. I want you to keep some things at my house for when you stay over. Like tonight. I want you to stay over tonight.”

  I step closer and kiss him, slow and lingering and full of promise. “Thank you,” I say when I pull back. “I’d love to stay over tonight. We’ll have to stop at my place first, though, if you want me to bring things over.”

  “That sounds fine,” Brian says, pulling me in for another kiss. He breaks the kiss and we stay that way for a moment, his arms wrapped around me, my head resting against his shoulder.

  “I guess Amy was right,” I muse aloud.

  “What about?”

  I smile and say, “I just needed a rebound guy to shock me out of my funk. I’m glad it was you.”

  The End

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  Jerica MacMillan is a lifelong reader and lover of romance. Nothing beats escaping into a book and watching people fall in love, overcome obstacles, and find their happily ever after. She was recently named a semi finalist in Harlequin’s So You Think You Can Write 2015 contest.

  Jerica is living her happily ever after in North Idaho with her husband and two children. She spends her days building with blocks, admiring preschooler artwork, and writing while her baby naps in the sling. Sign up to receive updates on her reading and writing life at www.JericaMacMillan.com.

  Rebound Series

  Rebound Envy

  Amy's best friend Jenna is engaged ... again. And she's asked Amy to be her maid of honor again. Amy can't help but feel jealous that Jenna's ready to walk down the aisle for the second time, especially when her own love life is virtually nonexistent.

  Adam has wanted Amy since she first walked into his wine bar. After he finally got the chance to take her out, issues from his past got in the way.

  Now she's dating someone else, and he's jealous of the lost opportunity.

  Will Adam and Amy work out the issues from the past and present that are keeping them apart? Or will their jealousies ruin their relationships and keep them apart forever?

  “A glass of red wine appears on the low table in front of me, next to my half drunk flute of champagne. A low voice rumbles next to my ear. “We just got in a new Syrah last week. Try it. I think you’ll like it.”

  I turn in surprise to find Adam’s face close to mine. His dark hair has gotten a little long since I last saw him, curling more than it does when it’s shorter. I like it. I want to touch i
t, run my hands through it. There’s no hair product there that will make me feel like I need to wash my hands afterward. Of course, I don’t. We don’t have that kind of relationship.

  “Hey, Adam. Thanks.” I reach for the wine, glad to have something better to drink than the champagne. Especially since I am now faced with Adam. A strange mix of elation and dread fills me, causing my stomach to swirl and all of my saliva to dry up. He always makes me feel something. Avoiding him for almost two months hasn’t changed that at all.

  He takes the seat next to me, lounging back in the comfortable chair, his golden eyes studying me as I take a sip. He quirks a brow at me. “What do you think?”

  “It’s really good. Thanks for getting it for me.”

  He flicks a couple fingers at my champagne flute. “I saw your date got you that. While it’s good champagne, I know you prefer reds over whites.”

  I nod. “I do.” There doesn’t seem to be much else to say to that, even though he seems to be fishing for something.

  He glances over to where Scott is still talking and mingling. “I’m surprised you’re over here by yourself. Usually you like to mix and mingle. Tired of your boyfriend already?”