More Than a Memory

by Marie James

  “Not going to happen.” The words streaming from the video make me look up to my bedroom door, torn between wishing Bryson would knock like he did earlier and praying he stays away from me.

  “Even your mother likes him, Ollie. That’s saying something.” He’s pretending to be okay with me moving on, but there’s a battle in his eyes. I can’t imagine how difficult it was for him to say those words.

  “He’s not who I want, Duncan. I want you. I need you. Not a stand in.” Tears stream down my cheeks. I’ve watched this video hundreds of times, but the pain hits me in the chest with just as much force as it did when we were chatting in real time.

  “You know that’s not going to happen. Don’t cry, sweet cheeks. Your tears slay me.” I shake my head, mimicking the girl in the smaller video window. I hate his parents for forcing me away. They claim they did it to make it easier on me.

  “It’ll help in the long run,” his mother whispered before he got on a plane and headed out of state for treatments from the best doctors in the country. “Don’t show him how sad you are. He can’t fight if he’s worried about you.”

  I squeeze my eyes closed, willing away the heartache. Had we known the experimental, last-ditch-effort treatments were going to do more harm than good, we would have rather spent his last days together. Well, I would have. Duncan started pulling away the minute he boarded the plane, no doubt letting his mother’s words sink into his own head.

  “I’ll never recover from this, Duncan.” I still haven’t.

  “You will. I promise. You have to.” I can’t. “Everything I’m doing is for you. You have to move on.”

  “Fight, Duncan. Fight for me. Fight for us.” He fought long and hard, but the leukemia won. A horrible disease took over his body and turned a vibrant, amazing man into a shadow of himself.

  “Ollie, I’ve been fighting for us for years. It’s over, baby. You have to accept it.” I didn’t know this then, but he’d already spoken with his doctors. They gave him four months max; he was gone in two.

  “I won’t.” I don’t even bother to wipe away the tears falling from my eyes.

  “No more video chats, sweet cheeks. I won’t—”

  My bedroom door flies open and I slam my laptop closed on instinct, glaring at Bryson in the doorway. As long as he’s been here, he’s never just barged in—except the last time I watched this video.

  “What are you doing?” I finally ask when he just stands there, eyes darting from me to my laptop and back again.

  “How long?” he asks, holding his hands palm up by his sides.

  “Wh-what?” I stammer.

  “How long are you planning on lying to me? Fighting what you feel for me? I need a timetable here, Olivia. I can wait as long as you need, but I need you to give me something, anything,” he says with a strained voice, taking a step closer to me.

  “I can’t,” I repeat the words from the hallway, lowering my head as I twist my fingers together in my lap. “Duncan—”

  “Is gone, Liv. Duncan is gone.” My eyes snap up to his as renewed tears force their way from my tired eyes.

  I shake my head, not because I’m denying it—I know full well my beautiful man, my best friend, is gone; I live the pain every day—but the barrier of Bryson not knowing the truth has protected me. I haven’t intentionally lied to him, but when he assumed I had a long distance relationship, I didn’t correct him.

  I've been confronted more than once about how I have chosen to grieve. I’ve dealt with frustration, misunderstanding, and criticism for months from people who insist I get over it. Bryson, however, is sad for me, not angry.

  I shake my head to ward him off as he steps closer. Undeterred, he squats at the edge of the bed and clasps my shaking hands in his.

  “Stop pretending, Liv.”

  I’m here.

  His words from the hallway rattle in my head. He knew then. He was giving me an opportunity to admit what I’ve been hiding since the day he showed up.

  This is more than I can handle. My emotions are all over the place. I’m relieved, yet apprehensive now that he knows. The cocoon I’ve built around myself has split open with the revelation of Duncan’s death. The layer of protection that’s kept him at arm’s length, the only boundary between us, is now gone. My heart aches for my loss, but my brain keeps reminding me Bryson may be able to help ease it somehow. I allow the anger to take over, reacting the same way I have numerous times—what caused my friends and family to walk away and never look back.

  I pull my hands from his and shove at his chest. Catching him off guard, his balance sways as he lands on his butt on my carpet. He looks up at me, confusion and dejected pain in his eyes.

  I steel my spine and look at him. “I need you to leave.”

  Chapter 22

  Bryson

  “Not gonna happen, Liv.”

  I pick myself up off her floor and stand over her. I’m not trying to intimidate her, but I refuse to allow her to push me away. I cup her cheek, only for her to jerk back from my touch.

  “Don’t,” she says, her voice quivering.

  “He wouldn’t want this.”

  Swollen eyes stare up at me. “You don’t have a damn clue what he would want, Bryson. Don’t talk to me about things you can’t even begin to understand.”

  “Liam sent me the video,” I confess.

  “That’s not…” she shakes her head violently, “that’s not any of his damn business. It’s not any of your business.”

  “They were friends, Liv. We are friends,” I say, keeping my tone soft. “He mentioned Duncan when I first got here and saw the memorial outside the baseball complex.”

  “There’s a memorial?” Confusion marks her brow.

  I nod. Has she not been out of this apartment since it happened? She’s only left with me once, and that was almost against her will.

  “I didn’t understand why you reacted the way you did when he came over earlier. At first, I thought maybe you guys had a fling or something.” She looks into my eyes, checking for the emotion evident in my voice: jealousy. I know she finds it, because I’m doing nothing to hide it. The thought of her messing around with one of my teammates makes my blood boil, even though I have no right to be angered by anything in her past.

  She huffs an incredulous laugh. “That would never happen.”

  Good to know.

  “He sent the video to my phone. I watched the entire thing, listened to the words he said to you. He wouldn’t want you like this, curled up every day refusing to have a life. He wanted you to live.”

  Her broken mood shifts at my words. “I am living,” she spits.

  “You’re not. You’ve convinced me for weeks Duncan is alive.”

  “I never lied to you, Bryson.”

  “Your omission of the truth is the same thing. We’ve talked about Duncan on more than one occasion, yet you never told me the truth. You knew I thought you guys were in a long distance relationship. Allowing that is the same as lying.”

  “I don’t owe you anything. The truth about my situation isn’t your concern.”

  “You couldn’t be more wrong, beautiful. I refuse to allow you to keep living this way. It’s time you started moving on.” I take a step closer, only for her to retreat farther from my touch.

  “I can’t do this,” she says, scooting back on the bed. The distance, both physically and emotionally, between us, kills me. “I want you to go.”

  “You can’t just push me away. You don’t have to fight what you feel for me. He wanted you to move on.” My eyes plead with her to realize I’m putting myself out there for her, that the love she holds so dearly for Duncan isn’t enough to keep me from her.

  “I don’t feel anything for you, Bryson. Please leave.” The tremble in her voice betrays her lie. “Besides, you have that super classy Simone woman. She can give you want you want. I’m not on the menu.”

  “Don’t do that. I’m not your friends, and I’m not your mother. I’m not just going to
walk away because you want to wallow in your pain. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

  She curls her knees to her chest, burying her face, and doesn’t acknowledge me as I climb in behind her, wrapping my arms around her small frame. Relenting marginally, she sinks into my embrace.

  Resting my head on her shoulder, I close my eyes and breathe her in. Silent sobs wrack her body, and I don’t know whether she’s responding this way because she feels guilty for being in my arms or finds comfort in my touch.

  “I never wanted any of this,” she mutters without lifting her head.

  With tender lips, I kiss the side of her neck. “Even as much as I’m drawn to you, Liv, even as much as I imagine you being mine, I wish he were still here too. I’d rather meet him on the ballfield and obsess over you from afar if it meant you had a smile on your face instead of the tears in your eyes.”

  She softens against me, relaxing further as I speak the truth.

  After a while, her tears begin to slow and she shifts her closed off posture until she’s lying back against my chest. Her hands cling to my arms as they remain wrapped around her. She may not give me much, but the soft touch of her fingers is more than I can ask for right now.

  Needing her to open up to me, I run my nose along the soft column of her neck. “Let me show you what living really is.”

  I pull her hair from her face and neck so my lips have better access.

  She stiffens. “I’m not going to sleep with you, Bryson.”

  I chuckle, shaking both our bodies. “That’s not what I’m talking about.”

  Turning her head so she can look into my eyes, I can’t help but drop my gaze to her lips. Her breath hitches at my perusal and my lips tingle to feel hers. The light brush in the hallway was torture to walk away from.

  Clearing my throat in an attempt to pull us out of a moment she’s not ready for, I say, “I don’t expect all of my dreams to come true in one night.”

  She frowns at my refusal to let the subject go, but I won’t lie to her. I need her to know exactly where I stand, and although getting her beneath me isn’t on the top of my list, it’s definitely within the top ten. Feeling like I’m losing her, I get off the bed and hold out my hand.

  “What?” I smile at the quizzical look on her face.

  “Let’s go for a drive.”

  I expect the immediate shake of her head. “It’s late.”

  “And tomorrow, you’ll complain it’s early. Now is as good a time as any.”

  “I can’t.”

  “You can,” I insist. “If we stay here, I’m going to want to kiss you.”

  She frowns.

  “Fine,” I say with a shrug, climbing back onto her bed.

  She shifts her weight until she’s lying on her back and I’m positioned to her side. I’m only doing it to force her hand to leave the apartment with me, but I end up testing my own willpower as her lips tremble and her gorgeous blonde hair fans out, a contrast to her dark comforter.

  “I’d rather stay here and make out with you anyway,” I admit, wagging my eyebrows up and down. I pucker my lips in an exaggerated way and lean into her. Her hand shoots up and I laugh around her fingers when she uses it to cover my mouth.

  “Stop,” she says, a lightness in her voice I haven’t heard in days.

  Keeping with her playful mood, I stick my tongue out, wetting her fingers.

  “Gross.” She pulls her hand from my lips and scrubs it on the bed before turning her eyes back to mine.

  Even though it’s not what she wants right now, I hate that my body is beside hers rather than lined up between her legs. Sex wouldn’t solve a damn thing, but I’m pretty sure an orgasm or ten would lift her mood some. Feeling like an asshole for wanting her so fiercely while she’s in so much pain, I smack a kiss to her forehead, climb off the bed, grab her arm, and pull her up with me.

  “Come on, Liv. It’s just a ride and grabbing a bite to eat.”

  She shakes her head. “First it was a ride and now you want to eat?”

  I pat my stomach. “I’m a growing boy. I’m always hungry.”

  “There’s nothing boy about you, Bryson,” she mutters under her breath.

  I grin at her as she turns her face away in embarrassment, hating that her cheeks are already red from crying. I’d love nothing more than to see them flush pink from her slip up.

  “We’ll get drive-thru. How long has it been since you’ve had fresh French fries?”

  Her face softens. “Too long.”

  “Now’s the time then.” I pull her toward the bedroom door, our hands still clasped.

  “Maybe tomorrow,” she says, tugging her hand from mine.

  “Nope. Strike while the iron is hot.”

  “I’m not dressed,” she complains.

  “It’s a ride around town and a drive-thru window, who cares what you’re wearing.”

  She looks down at her sweats and tank top, forcing me to notice her hardened nipples for the first time since we stood in the hallway earlier. My mouth waters and my tongue tingles for a taste.

  “Maybe throw this on,” I say, picking up her hoodie from the floor and offering it to her.

  Turning my back to her, I adjust myself in my own sweats, doing my best to keep in mind she’s not in the same place as I am in our mutual attraction.

  I wait for her near the door and she eventually walks out of her room, a scowl on her face. Once she’s standing in front of me, I reach out and force the corners of her lips up.

  “No frowning or I won’t let you get a cookie for dessert.”

  With a resolved sigh, she follows me out of the apartment. Reaching down to her fisted hand, I pull it to my mouth and kiss her knuckles. She eyes me, but doesn’t pull her hands from mine. The smile on my face as we walk to my truck couldn’t be forced away even if someone tried.

  Chapter 23

  Olivia

  “So, we’re just going to hit the drive-thru and head back home?” I ask, eyeing the crowd loitering outside the hamburger joint Bryson just drove up to.

  “That’s not what we discussed,” he says, giving me a side-eye.

  “What the hell are they doing out?” I ask, looking at the time on my phone. “It’s three in the morning on a school night.”

  Bryson pulls his truck into the line for the drive-thru and turns his attention to me, frowning as I cower lower in the seat and pull my hood up until it’s almost covering my face.

  “Why are you hiding?” he asks with a chuckle.

  “I recognize half of these people.”

  His face falls as he looks over to the outdoor seating area filled with college students. “You don’t want to be seen with me? That’s kinda fucked up, Liv.”

  I roll my eyes at him. “It’s not that at all. I just don’t want to be seen.”

  His face shifts. “Did they hurt you? Were they mean…you know, after?”

  I shake my head. “Nothing like that. I just can’t stand the pity. It’s in their eyes, in the way they act around me—like I’m a fragile piece of glass that will break if they act normal. Duncan was very well known around campus, everyone was so generous, but then…” I tuck my chin to my chest as my voice trails off.

  “I’m here to support you while you work on healing and moving on, but I’m a full disclosure type of guy. Some of the things I’m going to say are going to upset you, but I want you to know that’s not my intention. I’m not going to walk on eggshells around you. It won’t do either of us any good.”

  “Hell of a preamble there, Bryson. Is this where you yell surprise and push me out of the truck into the middle of the crowd all sink or swim like?”

  I expect him to laugh, but he doesn’t give in to my attempt at distraction. Not in a playing mood.

  “If you don’t want people to treat you like glass, you have to stop acting like glass. Getting out this evening is the first step. Take this off,” he says, reaching over and pulling the hood from my head. “Sit up and be strong.”

>   “I don’t feel strong,” I tell him, keeping my eyes on him and refusing to look out at the people only a few feet away. My skin burns from their stares, from their judgement.

  He reaches over and takes my hands, resting them on my thigh. “Pretend until you do.”

  “Fake it ‘til I make it?” He nods as I look out at the small groups of people. “I can do that.”

  As we pull up a couple feet over the next fifteen minutes, I realize no one is looking in our direction, and I’m thankful for the dark tint of Bryson’s truck windows.

  “That’s all you’re going to eat?” he asks, angling his head toward my large fry and chocolate chip cookie.

  “No judging,” I chastise. “You don’t see me asking about the three meals you ordered.”

  His smiles gleams at me. “I got one of those for you. I know you’ll get hungry eventually.”

  We drive around town for half an hour, eating and sitting in companionable silence before I grow weary and wonder if he’s being quiet as a way to get me to talk. If he is, it’s working.

  “Just gonna drive around all night? You have class in the morning,” I say, as if he’s not aware of his own schedule.

  “We can head to Wal-Mart. Get a little grocery shopping done. I ate all the lunch meat,” he says as we pull up to the same red light we’ve seen a half dozen times already.

  I shake my head, still looking out the window. “I don’t want to be around people.”

  “Okay,” he says, simple as that.

  “Hold on. You ate all the lunch meat? There was over half a pack left.”

  He gives me a mischievous grin. “Growing boy, remember?”

  I cringe, thinking about my comment earlier. He’s caught me staring at his chiseled body more than once and seems to remember every reaction and word I say. A man who pays attention even when you don’t want him to, what a novelty.

  I lift the straw to my diet soda to my mouth, finding it empty as the echo of my futile suction rings in the cab of the truck.