One Good Reason

by Sarah Mayberry

  She dropped her gaze to her body. Her T-shirt was old and stretched out, the fabric swamping her small breasts and bunching unattractively around her waist. Her jeans were cut for comfort rather than style, their fit loose and utilitarian. Her sneakers were old and scuffed, again chosen for comfort over appearance.

  Gabby blinked, but it didn’t change what the mirror was telling her. The voice in her head was suspiciously silent.

  She looked like a boy.

  Was it any wonder that Jon had made assumptions? Really?

  She sat on the rim of the tub, feeling shaky. As though someone had pulled a veil from her eyes and forced her to see an unpalatable truth.

  When had she stopped caring how she looked?

  When had she stopped wearing makeup and going to the hairdresser instead of trimming her own hair with nail scissors? When had she stopped buying sexy underwear and high heels and pretty clothes?

  When had she ceased to think of herself as an attractive, sexual being and slipped into this sexless, safe disguise?

  She didn’t know the exact date, but she could guess: the moment she’d given up on Tyler. Nearly four years, give or take. Four years of seeing him every day, convincing herself they were better friends than they had ever been lovers and that she’d done the smart thing—the only thing—in breaking off their relationship.

  She laughed suddenly as a bitter irony hit her: she’d broken up with Tyler to protect herself, but he was the one who had moved on. He’d found love, while Gabby, apparently, had been marking time.

  A wellspring of emotion tightened the back of her throat. She pressed her fingers against her eyelids. If she started crying, she’d never stop. And there was no way she was going to hide in the bathroom and cry at her own birthday party while her ex and his new wife fretted about her on the other side of the door.

  No. Freaking. Way.

  She took an unsteady breath, then another. She stood and shook out her hands.

  “Come on, princess. Get it together.”

  She tried out a smile in the mirror. It looked more like a grimace than a smile, but it would have to do.

  Then she threw back her shoulders, straightened her spine and opened the bathroom door.

  She had a birthday party to survive, after all.

  JON SHOOK HIS HEAD AS TYLER offered to refill his wineglass, his brother only belatedly noticing that Jon hadn’t finished his first glass yet.

  “Driving,” Jon said at Tyler’s enquiring look.

  Tyler didn’t say anything, but Jon guessed from the dawning understanding in his brother’s eyes that they would be having a conversation about his abstinence in the near future.

  Great. Exactly what he wanted. Not.

  He glanced toward the hall for the second time in as many minutes, very aware that Gabby had been gone for a long time. Judging by their casual demeanors, neither Tyler nor Ally seemed to find her extended absence unusual but they were still in the honeymoon phase of their marriage, totally wrapped up in one another. They probably wouldn’t notice if Jon jumped on the table and started doing the chicken dance.

  It was possible he wouldn’t have noticed Gabby’s absence, either, had he not been sitting next to her. He’d felt her tense when he’d asked about her girlfriend. And even though she’d brushed off his assumption and made a joke about it, he’d felt her continuing tension. She’d practically vibrated with it, like a plucked harp string.

  He’d hurt her feelings. Unintentionally, but the result was the same. He might be a lot of things, and she might be a pain in the ass, but if he could take back the moment, he would.

  He was about to suggest Ally go in search of her absent guest when Gabby returned. Jon studied her face as she sat. She was wearing a polite social smile but he could see the unhappiness behind her eyes. Damn.

  He was going to have to apologize. Not that he hadn’t already done so, but clearly he was going to have to try again.

  He reached for his glass, his fingers closing around the stem. Only when he was carrying the wine to his mouth did he register what he was doing. He reversed the action without drinking.

  Two months. That was how long he’d sentenced himself to abstinence. Not because he truly believed he had a drinking problem, more to prove to himself that he could stop if he wanted to.

  It occurred to him that a guy who didn’t have a drinking problem should be finding it a hell of a lot easier to go without than he had the past few days. Certainly he probably shouldn’t keep catching himself fantasizing about grabbing a six-pack on the way home from work, or imagining the warm creep of alcohol stealing over his body and numbing his mind.

  “So, Jon, what’s this mysterious apartment you’re staying in like? Tyler tells me it’s around the corner from the workshop,” Ally said, drawing his thoughts back to the moment.

  “It’s a serviced apartment. Nothing mysterious about it that I can see,” he said.

  “Great. Then I guess the coast is clear for Tyler and I to come over for dinner one night soon.” Ally had a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

  He was well aware that his sister-in-law was quietly campaigning for a closer relationship between him and his brother. It was never going to happen, for a variety of reasons, but Ally would realize that soon enough on her own without him pointing it out to her.

  “Sure. As long as you like take-out pizza.”

  “You’re as bad as Gabby,” Tyler said. “I swear I was never that pathetic when I was single.”

  “Isn’t there a rule about not dissing a person on their birthday?” Gabby said.

  “No. And even if there was, it’s not until Saturday, so I’m in the clear,” Tyler said.

  “I can cook,” Gabby said.

  “Ditto,” Jon said, because he figured he owed it to her to provide backup.

  “Microwaving frozen meals doesn’t count,” Ally said.

  “Toast does,” Jon said. There was an echo, and he realized Gabby had said the same thing simultaneously.

  She glanced at him, disconcerted. He offered her a faint smile. Not too big, since he didn’t want to push his luck.

  Her gaze became frosty.

  He was still in her black books, then. It figured. She hadn’t liked him much before he’d got her sexuality wrong—she would probably go home and burn an effigy of him in her yard after tonight’s events.

  Ally served lemon cheesecake for dessert—Gabby’s favorite, apparently—and they all watched as Gabby dutifully blew out the single candle. They moved to the couches while Tyler prepared coffees with their shiny new espresso machine.

  Jon’s gaze kept drifting to the wall clock, trying to calculate when it would be acceptable for him to leave. Immediately after coffee? Or would that mark him as the crassest of social boors?

  He jiggled his leg impatiently, willing Tyler to hurry. Once the coffee was ready, Jon gulped his down while it was still too hot and earned himself a burned tongue for his troubles. Finally he decided he must be in the clear and made his excuses.

  It wasn’t until he was on the porch, the door closed behind him that he remembered he’d planned to apologize to Gabby again.

  He turned, raising his hand to knock, but lowered it without doing so. The least he could do was apologize in private, save Gabby a rehashing of what had obviously been an embarrassing moment.

  He’d have to find a few minutes alone with her at work tomorrow. No doubt she’d find some way to give him a hard time. But he’d do the right thing because, contrary to what she obviously believed, he wasn’t a bad guy.

  IT WAS NEARLY MIDNIGHT BY THE time Gabby let herself into her apartment. She threw her bag onto the couch and checked her answering machine—nothing—then walked to her bedroom and into the ensuite.

  Flicking on the light, she gave herself a moment to adjust to the sudden brightness before beginning her nightly ritual. First, she washed her face, then patted it dry and smoothed a lightly scented moisturizer onto her face, neck and shoulders. She switched to almond
-scented body lotion for her arms, hands and legs, working it in with long, smooth strokes.

  At least you didn’t give up everything. Apparently, you still care if your skin is nice.

  Her hands stilled on her calf. Somehow, she’d managed to keep a lid on her emotions. But now she was in the safety of her own home and it was time to come clean with herself.

  More than time—about four years overdue, in fact.

  She straightened, and for the second time that night she stared at her own image in the mirror, trying to understand herself.

  Was she still in love with Tyler? Was that what all this was about? Had she been kidding herself for years when all along she’d been holding a candle, pining, hoping?

  Dear God. Please don’t let me be that woman. Please don’t let me be that pathetic.

  She didn’t want it to be true. But the facts were pretty damned convincing. She’d gone on exactly one date since she’d broken up with Tyler. One date in four years. And it wasn’t through lack of invitations, either. She’d had her share of admirers in those first few years of being single again. She couldn’t remember what excuses she’d come up with for not accepting any of the offers to see a movie or go out for dinner. She simply hadn’t been interested, and eventually the offers had dried up.

  If she was being honest, she’d have to admit she hadn’t really noticed or cared. She’d been too busy organizing Tyler’s business—whipping it into shape when she first came on board then doing all she could to help lift him to the next level in subsequent years. Too busy recasting herself as Tyler’s faithful sidekick, the sexless, tireless little buddy who never let him down.

  What did you think was going to happen—that he’d admire your skill with a balance sheet so much that he’d finally fall all the way in love with you?

  Because, of course, Tyler had never loved her the way she’d loved him.

  It still hurt, even after all these years. She turned her back on her reflection, unwilling to play witness to her own unhappiness. Which pretty much answered the big question, didn’t it?

  She brushed her teeth, staring at the tile wall. Once she was finished, she walked into the bedroom and stripped to her underwear. Kicking her clothes into the corner, she crawled beneath the covers.

  The sheets were cool against her skin and she shivered as she waited for them to warm, legs drawn up, arms pulled tightly to her chest.

  On nights such as these, she used to make Tyler spoon her from behind, the heat of his body like a furnace against her back. She’d loved feeling his warm breath on the nape of her neck, loved having one of his strong arms wrapped around her. Tyler had always moved in his sleep, however—he’d liked to spread out, to have his own space. Nine times out of ten she’d woken to find their positions reversed, him curling away from her while she clung to his back, her body molded to his.

  Chasing him, needing him, even in her sleep.

  She made a distressed sound and burrowed deeper into the pillow. It didn’t stop the tears from coming. Four years’ worth, pushed down deep.

  The truth was, she’d never allowed herself to grieve for Tyler. She’d been too busy being tough. Moving on. Assuring him there were no hard feelings and that they’d still be a part of each other’s lives. She’d convinced herself that she’d done all her grieving beforehand, before she’d made the painful, wrenching decision to call things off between them. She’d been so sure she had it all together, that she was on top of it.

  More fool her.

  Her pillow was getting wet. She rolled onto her back. The sound of her sobs seemed very loud in her quiet bedroom. Tears streamed from the corners of her eyes down her temples into her hair. She pressed her palms to her sternum and pushed, willing the ache to go away.

  She didn’t want to still love Tyler. She didn’t want to be this weak and tragic.

  Dear God, if Mom could see me now, she’d kick my backside into the middle of next week.

  The thought prompted a hiccuping laugh. Gabby sniffed noisily, then sat up and wiped at her eyes with the backs of her hands.

  She’d been raised by a fiercely independent woman who’d prided herself on never needing anyone—men being at the very top of that list. Divorced from Gabby’s father when Gabby was only two years old and her sister, Angela, barely one, Rachel Wade had thrown herself into single motherhood like an Amazonian warrior. She’d taught herself how to change fuses, tap washers and car tires and had hammered into her daughters from the moment they were old enough to understand that they always had to stand on their own two feet and that no one could ever make them unhappy unless they allowed it.

  Nice in theory, but often not so great in practice, as Gabby and her sister had discovered many times over the years.

  Fortunately for Gabby, her mother was halfway around the world at present, living her dream of working and traveling through Europe.

  Still, the thought of her mother was enough to make Gabby reach for the box of tissues. She blew her nose, mopped her eyes dry. Then she switched pillows and lay down and tried to go to sleep.

  There wasn’t much else she could do, after all. She’d been in love before—Billy Harrison when she was seventeen, Gareth Devenish when she was in her early twenties. Neither of them had been as important in her life as Tyler was, but both experiences had taught her that there was no willing away a broken heart. She would simply have to wait the pain out.

  It’s been four years. How long do you freaking want?

  A good question. A scary one, too, because she’d already wasted four years longing for something she could never have.

  She fell asleep late and woke early. The first thing she did was walk to her wardrobe and throw the doors open. She had to dig deep to get past jeans and yet more jeans, but after a few minutes she pulled out her black leather miniskirt and her stiletto ankle boots. A rummage in her chest of drawers produced the tight orange tank that through some mysterious trick of design managed to give her cleavage. In the shower, she shaved her legs and her armpits, washed and conditioned and exfoliated. Then she smoothed on body lotion and pulled out her make-up bag. Twenty minutes later she inspected herself in the mirror on the back of her bedroom door.

  She’d always had good legs, and her backside was a nice shape, neat and round and perky. The boots and the skirt she’d chosen made the most of her two best assets, while the tank and push-up bra worked their magic upstairs.

  Jon was going to eat his words when he saw her this morning. He was going to take one look at her in this outfit and realize how wrong he’d been about her. He was going to—

  Gabby froze in the act of spritzing on her most expensive perfume as it occurred to her that, as well as all those other things, he was going to know that she’d done all this—the legs, the hair, the makeup, the clothes—for him. To prove something to him. Because she cared what he thought. “Damn it.”

  Annoyed with herself, Gabby stripped. Dressed only in her underwear, she pushed hangers out of the way until finally, at the back of the wardrobe, she found what she was looking for—a pair of shapeless cargo pants she kept for really dirty work. The top shelf yielded the box with her Doc Martens boots, a relic from her teen years. She was stumped for a moment with regard to the top, but then inspiration struck and she grinned. Throwing herself across the bed, she grabbed the phone from the nightstand and dialed.

  “Jen, it’s Gabby. Sorry it’s so early, but I need to borrow something…”

  No way was she going to let Jon think that she cared what he thought or said. No. Way.

  JON WOKE BATHED IN SWEAT, HIS heart racing. It took a full five seconds to work out where he was and that he’d been dreaming.

  He let out a sigh and lifted a hand to his face. His skin felt clammy and cold. Throwing back the covers, he stood and walked out of the bedroom and into the apartment’s living space. He poured coffee into a fresh filter and turned on the coffee machine.

  Hard to work out what was worse—suffering broken sleep from the nightma
res that had become his almost nightly companions since he’d given up drinking or waking with a thundering hangover.

  This morning’s dream had been a doozy—his father storming up the hallway of their family home toward him, the thick leather belt he favored for beatings clutched in one hand. Tyler’s whimpers of fear from behind him. No sign of his mother, although Jon knew she should be there, that she should be the one standing between them and the monster bearing down on them. The almost overwhelming urge to run had gripped him. The need to abandon Tyler and run, run, run to save himself. And then, finally, he’d been hit with the dawning, horrible knowledge that there was no escape, that there was nothing he could do to save himself or his brother.

  Really restful stuff. The kind of stuff that made a guy want to spring out of bed whistling a tune, ready to head out into the day to rub shoulders with his fellow man.

  The carafe was full. He grabbed a cup, poured coffee, stirred in sugar. Mug in hand, he wandered over to the sliding doors that led out onto his tiny balcony. He glanced at the redbrick wall opposite, then changed his mind about going outside. The lack of view hadn’t bothered him when he’d taken the place, but the looming wall that filled every window was starting to get on his nerves.

  No one’s forcing you to stay. Book a ticket, get on a plane. Go find someplace with no memories, no ties. No expectations.

  It was what he’d wind up doing eventually, he was sure. But he wasn’t ready to go. Not yet.

  He wasn’t sure what was holding him back. But soon enough he’d get over whatever it was, pack his meager belongings and head off to a new start somewhere.

  Downing the last of his coffee, he dumped the mug in the sink and went to shower. It was early, but he might as well be at work as here.

  Half an hour later, he pulled into the parking lot at T.A. Furniture Designs. Belatedly it occurred to him that he’d left the key in his jeans from yesterday—then he spotted the red car parked close to the building.

  Gabby. It figured she’d be the first in. If there was an employee equivalent of teacher’s pet, she was it.