Only Him

by Melanie Harlow

  “Looks like I might have to go back east for a few weeks. Maybe even a couple months.”

  Her dark eyes were concerned. “Everything okay?”

  “I’m not sure yet. I hope so. I know that’s a long time, and I don’t expect you to keep my position open—”

  She held her hand out to silence me. “Your position is here whenever you get back. I won’t say we won’t miss you since you’re so damn popular, but your job is safe, Dallas. You’re wickedly talented and professional as fuck.”

  That made me smile. “Thanks.”

  “When do you need to take off?”

  “I have to call my brother back tonight. I’ll know more after I talk to him.”

  “Okay. Just let me know. You’ve got appointments on the books but I’m happy to call them and reschedule for when you get back, or suggest another artist.”

  I nodded. I hated to lose business to another artist because I had worked hard to build up a clientele over the last few years, but the truth was, I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to work again anyway. And it wasn’t like I needed the money. “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Are you okay? I know you said this thing with your family is stressing you out, but I feel like there’s something else. Some kind of inner turmoil.”

  Beatriz was good at reading people. In fact, she claimed to be a little psychic. “Maybe you can tell me,” I said. “Did you bring your crystal ball today?”

  She reached over the counter and gave me a shove in the chest. “Crystals are not the same as a crystal ball, asshole. And it’s not my psychic powers telling me something is off with you, it’s your face.”

  I looked down at my reflection in the mirror standing on the counter. Same dark hair with a cowlick that wouldn’t behave. Same stubbly jaw that could probably use a razor. Same scars above my eyebrow and beneath my chin. And if I smiled, I’d see the tiny chip in one front tooth my mother always wished I would get fixed. “What’s wrong with my face? I don’t see any turmoil. Looks the same as always to me.”

  Beatriz sighed heavily. “There’s nothing wrong with your face, Dallas. You’re gorgeous. You know that. If I liked men and I wasn’t your boss, I would totally want to bang you. It’s your expression, the vibe you’re putting out there, your soul. It’s full of inner turmoil.”

  “Hm. Well, maybe it’s just been a long day, and my soul needs a beer.”

  She shrugged. “There’s that.”

  “On that note”—I turned and headed for the door—“I’m out. See you tomorrow.”

  Widmer Brothers was just a couple blocks away from the shop. As I walked over, I debated calling my brother and getting it out of the way. While it would be nice to have the buzz a couple of beers would give me to dull the edges of what was sure to be a tense conversation, I knew I’d feel even less like making the call once I’d knocked them back. Knowing me, I’d blow it off again. It’s not like I had made a decision yet.

  Finn wouldn’t get that. He thought he knew best, just like always, and he was going to pressure me to do what he said. Well, it was my fucking life and I’d make my own damn decision when I was good and ready. Maybe he needed to hear that, and maybe provoking a fight would let me blow off a little steam. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I stood on the sidewalk in front of the brewery and made the call.

  It was nearly eight here, which meant it was just before eleven p.m. in Boston. Maybe he was already sleeping because he had to get up early, although I had no idea what a neurology professor’s schedule was like during the summer.

  Yes, my older brother is a neurologist as well as an associate professor at fucking Harvard Medical School.

  That’s right, Harvard.

  As you can imagine, Finn was the pride and joy of my family, always had been. Excelled at everything he’d ever done, from academics to music to running track. When he graduated from high school, class president and valedictorian (naturally), and proud holder of not one but two state records in track and field, he had already accepted his full ride to study chemistry at Harvard, although it had been very difficult to turn down his scholarship to study piano at the San Francisco Conservatory. My mother practically cried every time she told the story.

  I was the other son.

  When I entered high school two years after he left, teachers were expecting another Finn Shepherd, Wonder Boy. What they got was me. I didn’t blame them for being disappointed—plus I was used to it. I’d been disappointing my parents for fourteen years. What was another four years being a disappointment to strangers?

  “Hello? Dallas?” Finn sounded anxious.

  “Yeah, it’s me.”

  “Why didn’t you call me back yesterday?”

  I’m fine, thanks. How are you? “Sorry. I was busy.”

  “I fail to see how anything could take priority over this.”

  Of course you do. We’ve never understood each other. “I told you I needed time to think.”

  “And you haven’t called Mom yet. Do you know how uncomfortable it makes me to have to hide this from her?”

  “Again. Sorry.”

  “I got you an appointment with Dr. Acharya at Mass General. He’s the surgeon I told you about. The best.”

  “I haven’t made my decision yet.”

  “It’s just a consultation. But Dallas.” He paused. “You don’t have a lot of time to waste. Please take this seriously.”

  I exhaled, looking at the darkening eastern sky. “When’s the appointment?”

  “Tuesday. Eight a.m.”

  Today was Wednesday. I had to work tomorrow, so that gave me only five days to get from Portland to Boston. “That’s not really enough time for the drive.”

  “For Christ’s sake, Dallas, you can’t drive that distance. Get on a plane. You shouldn’t be behind the wheel at all.”

  My doctor here had said the same thing, but I’d ignored him. And I actually hated flying. I didn’t like any situation where I wasn’t in control.

  But I wouldn’t admit that to Finn. And I wouldn’t let him tell me what to do. “I want to drive. I need the time alone to think about all this.”

  Finn sighed heavily. “Whatever. You do it your way, like you always have. But I cannot stress enough how important it is that you are here for that appointment. I had to call in a lot of favors to get it. And for God’s sake, be careful.”

  “I will.” Evan approached on his bike and I lifted a hand in greeting, then held up one finger to let him know I’d only be another minute. He nodded and began locking up his bike.

  “Are you taking the Depakote?”

  “Yes.” But I wasn’t, not regularly. It made me feel dizzy and tired, and I wasn’t convinced I needed it.

  “Good, you need to. Especially if you’re driving. What about the eye doctor? Did you go back?”

  “Yeah. She changed my prescription.”

  “Did it help with the headaches or vision issue?”

  “Some.”

  “Good. Please call Mom and Dad, okay? I know things aren’t easy with them, but this isn’t just about you.”

  I laughed. I couldn’t help it. “See, that’s where you’re wrong, Finn. In fact, this is just about me. It’s my head, my future, my decision. And I will deal with the consequences of whatever action I choose to take. Wasn’t that the whole point of Mom and Dad sending me away? So I could learn the hard lessons?”

  “Christ, Dallas. Why do you have to be such a defensive asshole all the time? They tried everything they could to get through to you, to ensure you’d have a good future, and you kept fucking up. What were they supposed to do?”

  Accept me for who I was, I wanted to say. Better yet, except me for who I wasn’t—you. But he would never understand.

  “Nothing, Finn. Forget it. I’ll see you next week.”

  Another heavy sigh from my brother. “I’m sorry. I know this isn’t easy for you. And … I’m glad you reached out.”

  “Yeah, well …” I looked at Evan,
who jerked his head toward the door, signaling he’d go in without me. I nodded. “Listen, I gotta go. I’ll be in touch.” I ended the call, slipped my phone into my pocket, and went into the brewery. Spotting Evan at the bar, I made my way over and took the seat next to him. “Sorry about that.”

  “No problem. Your brother?” Evan was the only person I’d told about what was going on with me.

  “Yeah.”

  “You didn’t have to cut the call short.”

  “I was pretty much done. There’s only so much fake concern I can take.”

  “Come on, man. They’re your family. Isn’t it possible they are actually concerned about you?”

  “It’s all fake with them. Or it’s just because I’m their blood relative. It’s not because they care about me. There’s a difference.”

  “You don’t think it’s possible for them to come around? Maybe they didn’t get you as a kid, but—”

  “Because they never made any effort to get me. They expected a certain kind of son, and I was never going to be him. So they got rid of me.”

  Of course, that was a bit of a simplification. I was leaving out the parts where I failed classes on purpose, got into fights that had nothing to do with me, mouthed off when I felt like it, and pulled some pretty ridiculous pranks. But all these years later, it still made me angry that they’d attended every single one of Finn’s endless piano recitals, but they’d never once come to an art showing of mine.

  It’s not a performance, Dallas. It’s just a drawing, I can see it at home. It’s not like you’d actually be doing anything while we were there.

  After a while, I didn’t even invite them anymore. It’s not like they’d have appreciated it anyway. One Christmas I gave my father a sketch I’d done of his childhood home. He’d studied it critically and said, You got the windows wrong.

  I shook my head. “You know what? It was better that way. I’m just different from my family. I’m sure they were happier when they didn’t have to deal with my shit anymore, and I was glad to get out of their house. There’s a reason they’re all on the East Coast and I’m in Portland.”

  “I get it, man.” He shrugged. “You’re just so laid back about every other thing in life except your family. Seems like, with everything happening, this might be a good opportunity to—”

  “I don’t really want to talk about it.”

  Evan held up his hands. “Okay. No problem.”

  The bartender came over, and after we placed our orders, I asked Evan how his wife, who was nearly nine months pregnant, was doing. He groaned and launched into a huge diatribe against pregnancy in general and his wife in particular. Our beers arrived and I listened to Evan talk, but my mind wandered. I couldn’t stop thinking about Maren.

  Out of nowhere, a memory surfaced—our first time. It was so intense, I felt paralyzed by it. I could see her face in the dark, smell the rain on her skin, hear thunder outside my bedroom window, feel her hands on my back. She’d whispered in my ear, Don’t stop this time. I want it to be you.

  And our last time, in the backseat of my car.

  The taste of her on my tongue. The sound of my name on her lips. The feel of her on my lap, sliding down my cock.

  The agonizing weight of knowing it was the last time, and keeping it from her.

  Did she hate me for it? Would she ever forgive me? Did it even matter to her anymore?

  All these years, I’d told myself I’d done the right thing by staying away, that she deserved better than me. I still believed that.

  But now … I wanted to see her again. I wanted to know she was happy. I wanted to tell her I was sorry for what I’d done. Was it too late?

  It’s never too late.

  Maybe it wasn’t.

  By the time I went to bed that night, my mind was made up. Instead of driving to Boston, I’d fly to Detroit on Friday. Then I’d rent a car and go see Maren, or at least try to see her. After that, I’d drive to Boston. That would still give me plenty of alone time to think about my decision.

  I wouldn’t do exactly what Lisa had said—I wouldn’t tell Maren about my feelings. That was too fucked up after all this time. But I could see her again and apologize for what I’d done. Even if she refused to forgive me, asking her to would ease my conscience.

  It might be the last chance I got.

  Three

  Maren

  After talking to my sisters about the nightmare, I felt better. I even thought it might go away.

  It didn’t.

  In fact, it got worse. By the middle of the following week, I was so sleep deprived I was starting to imagine snakes everywhere. My heart would pound every time I had to open the trunk of my car or a closet door or the lid on the washing machine. I kept expecting a fucking Burmese python to jump out at me and sink its fangs into my skin. And I fell asleep two more times teaching class.

  On Friday morning after Yoga for Seniors, Allegra came into the room and asked how I was doing, and I broke down in tears, weeping into my hands.

  “That’s it,” she said, setting her mat aside and rubbing my back. “I’m sending you home on mandatory leave. Go get some rest. I don’t want to see you here until Monday at the earliest. And if you need another day, you call me.”

  Under normal circumstances, I might have tried to argue with her, but I was so tired I couldn’t think straight. And maybe she was right. Maybe I had been working too hard, and this was my body’s way of telling me to slow down and hit reset. Put my own needs first—physically, mentally, spiritually. “Okay,” I agreed, sniffling. “You win. I’ll take a few days for myself.”

  “Good girl. This is the right decision, you’ll see.”

  On the drive home, I tried to think of ways I could treat myself that would contribute to an improved sense of well-being. Should I get a massage? A couple spa treatments? Have my hair done? I wasn’t into fussing with my appearance too often, but a trip to the salon might be just what I needed. A little pampering. A little indulgence. Some guilty pleasure.

  But first … an epic nap.

  I went straight to bed when I got home, practically asleep before my head hit the pillow.

  The doorbell woke me up.

  I sat up, groggy and stiff, and checked the clock. Whoa—it was after four already. I’d slept for almost five hours straight and hadn’t even dreamed. Even my subconscious must have been wiped out.

  Whoever was at my door knocked on it loudly three times in a row.

  “Okay, okay. I’m coming.” Tossing the covers aside, I got out of bed and went to answer it, wondering who it could be. I wasn’t expecting a delivery or a visitor, and my sisters both had a key. Yawning, I turned the lock and pulled the door open.

  My heart stopped.

  It had been twelve years, but I recognized him instantly. That unruly hair. The square jaw, now covered with scruff. That dimple in his chin. Those deep-set eyes, somewhere between sage green and cerulean blue. The sculpted lips, curving into a smile at the sight of me.

  The memory of those lips on mine clutched at my throat—I couldn’t breathe.

  Fuck you, universe.

  “Hey, stranger.” Dallas’s voice was a little deeper. His chest a little broader. He wore dark jeans and a black T-shirt that fit him like a snakeskin—I mean, a second skin. Tattoos were scattered along his forearms, and on his wrist was a thick black watch.

  Tick, tick, tick.

  I swayed, a bit unsteady on my feet, and braced one hand on the doorframe.

  “Maren? You okay?”

  “Yes.” My voice cracked, and I cleared my throat. Forced my shoulders back. “I’m fine. What are you doing here?”

  “I wanted to see you.”

  “Why?”

  “To apologize. Can I come in?”

  “No.” It surprised me how raw my anger felt, given how much time had gone by. Like fresh blood spilling from an old wound.

  He nodded slowly, sticking his hands in his pockets. “Fair enough. I know it’s probably a sho
ck to see me.”

  “To say the least.”

  “I probably should have called you first.”

  “You probably should have called me twelve years ago.”

  He nodded. “You’re right. I should have.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “What can I say? I was a kid. It was a dick move.”

  “That’s your apology?” I stared at him for a moment longer, then I shut the door in his face. He blocked it, keeping it from closing all the way.

  “Hey, wait.” He pushed it open again, but he didn’t try to come in. “Look, I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say. I was seventeen, and I didn’t know how to say goodbye.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “Maybe you were too busy fucking me to remember.”

  “What can I say? I like sex better than talking. And I’m much better at it.”

  “Not. Funny.”

  He took me by the upper arms, which were bare in my yoga top. Warmth pooled at my center, and I felt light-headed. His touch had always done that to me. “Maren, I’m sorry. Really and truly sorry for leaving that way. My parents sprung it on me less than twenty-four hours before they put me on a plane. After fighting with them, I went right to you. I have no excuse other than I didn’t want to spend our last night together being sad.”

  “That was selfish of you. Maybe you didn’t want to say goodbye, but I would have liked the chance.”

  “I should have given it to you. The truth is …” He took his hands off me. Ran one over his stubble, which distracted me, because I’d always loved his hands. “I thought you’d be better off without me.”

  “That wasn’t your decision to make.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “Is that why you never answered my texts or calls?”

  “Yes.” His dark eyes were solemn. “I knew I had let you down, and I was ashamed of myself for it. Can you forgive me?”

  I exhaled, biting my lip. Could I? I liked to think of myself as a forgiving person. I certainly didn’t believe in holding grudges, and anyone who knew me would say I was a peacemaker, not a fighter. But I also felt like I’d earned the right to get a few things off my chest.