by B. Cranford
Sebastian: About the fact he didn’t recognize the poison oak before he laid down on it so Sophia could ride him.
Bright Star: *snort*
Sebastian: Anyway, my point is . . .
Bright Star: Always check the ground before you lay down?
Sebastian: No.
Bright Star: Sex in the wilderness should always be performed on a blankie?
Sebastian: Nothing sexier than taking your BLANKIE on a date but also, no.
Bright Star: I’m out. What’s your point?
Sebastian: I took you on a picnic and we went swimming. Do you remember how I finally got you into the water?
Bright Star: . . .
Sebastian: I pushed you.
Sebastian: :)
The words well played sat in the text box of her phone, an acknowledgment that he’d steered her in the exact direction he wanted her to go. She got the point he was making—that pushing her led to good things, fun things—but still she balked.
His texts were wonderful, whether long or short, and they made her feel special. But, she sighed, they’re all about the pursuit.
Was she being silly, thinking that maybe, just maybe, this was merely the first rush, the first blush, that giddy honeymoon period that every relationship goes through? Perhaps. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that she needed something else from him. Something that showed that he planned to stay. To woo her and coax her into forgiveness—not that she could be coaxed if she truly didn’t want to be—with his charming, silly, sweet words, but also be the consistently kind, thoughtful man she’d known, or thought she’d known, two years ago?
But what, she thought.
If she didn’t know, how could he? And if he didn’t know, she worried she wouldn’t ever be able to take that final step towards him and away from their past.
Mind reeling, she deleted her last message and slid her phone back into her pocket. She couldn’t think about this now, not with her thoughts scrambled.
And certainly not with the image of Declan covered in poison oak distracting her.
Brighton: Can I ask you a question?
Declan: I don’t know, can you?
Brighton: You’re a bit young for Dad jokes, aren’t you?
Declan: Was that your question?
Brighton: No!
Declan: All right, fine. Yes, I’ve had a wet dream about you.
Brighton: That’s not what I was going to ask.
Brighton: Wait, what? You have?
Declan: Just the once, but it was the same night I dreamed about flying puppies doing yoga, so I feel like it’s safe to assume I’d drunk too much.
Brighton: Flying puppies doing yoga?
Declan: It was intense.
Brighton: Sounds it. Anyway . . .
Declan: . . .
Brighton: Did you really get poison oak on your back?
Declan: Fucking Sebastian. No comment.
Brighton: I’ll take that as a yes.
Declan: Did you interrupt my very busy workday to ask me that?
Brighton: No . . .
Declan: Then what? Ask away, Bright.
Brighton: How did you learn to trust Sebastian again?
Declan: About that poison oak . . .
Brighton: Dec . . .
Declan: I didn’t.
Brighton: You didn’t?
Declan: Bear with me, okay? It’s going to be a long one.
Brighton: That’s what she said.
Declan: Glad to see you haven’t lost your sense of humor.
Declan: I didn’t learn to trust him again, Bright, because I never stopped trusting him. He’s been my best friend since I was a kid and, yeah, he fucked up in a big way, but that doesn’t change the guy I know. That I’ve always known. It’s different for you, I know. But for me . . .
Declan: It was about forgiveness, not trust. I can forgive him for making huge mistakes because I trust he won’t do it again. He’s smart enough to learn from it, you know?
Brighton: Yeah.
Declan: Doesn’t help, does it?
Brighton: I don’t know.
Declan: I’m sorry, sweetheart. I wish I had the answer.
Declan: Actually, I do have the answer.
Brighton: Oh yeah? Enlighten me, oh wise one.
Declan: Take a chance on him, Bright. He’s different with you. He was then, and he is now. He loves you, I know he does.
Brighton: I know he does too.
Brighton: Thanks, Dec.
Brighton: PS we will be talking about that dream sometime . . .
Declan: Can’t say I blame you. Puppies doing yoga are adorable. FLYING puppies doing yoga is next level.
The next text Brighton received from Sebastian was simple and sent at 8:09 Saturday morning. She’d been thinking long and hard about what to do. How to trust him. She’d turned to Declan for advice and in his own way, he’d helped her understand a little bit—it wasn’t always going to be about trust.
It had to be about forgiveness and faith too.
The words on her screen were a reminder, a memory in just a handful of characters. Something he’d said to her every morning they’d woken together, always at the same time—with her alarm playing as the backdrop to his sweet sentiment—when she’d tried to convince him she didn’t need to get out of bed, and he tried to convince her that she should.
Sebastian: You look beautiful today.
Even on the mornings when they’d been apart for whatever reason—work, family, life—he’d send her a message and tell her that. She’d asked once why, and his response had melted her into a puddle of lust and swoons. In fact, she had practically raised the back of one hand to her forehead, while the other gripped a nearby piece of furniture in an effort to stave off a full-blown weakening of the knees.
Because you’re beautiful every morning. I don’t need to see you to know that.
She responded to his message with a star, her heart in her throat, as she tried to think of something, anything else to respond with.
Your tattoo makes me want to lick you from head to toe.
I missed you so much.
Did Declan really get poison oak that day?
Your tattoo makes me want to punch you. But gently. More like a love tap.
I can’t believe you left me, when you still wanted me.
I want you to push me, even though I don’t.
I don’t know how to trust you again. I want to, but I don’t know how.
I forgive you.
I’ll never forgive you.
Those photos . . . I didn’t know you still had them all.
Did you really have to include that one photo? You know the one, where the angle makes it look like I’m picking my nose and my forehead looks like the surface of the moon thanks to hormonal acne and my scrunched eyebrows?
Okay, so maybe a couple of them could be struck from the list of possible responses, but she had so much she wanted to say and not the first clue how to go about it. Her chat with her parents the evening before had been cathartic in a way, but mostly unproductive.
It’s not like they could talk back to her and give her reassurance.
In the end, she decided the star was enough, even though she really did want him to adios that one awful snapshot. The likelihood was they’d end up texting again throughout the day, so she didn’t need to send more.
Setting her phone aside, Brighton forced herself to concentrate on a new story for Patrick the Panda and approve the artwork for an upcoming release, which thankfully had been placed in the hands of a much more competent artist when she'd signed her first contract. She smiled, thinking of Sebastian’s texts from the night before, his teasing about her admittedly weak artistic skills. Her next release was only a few weeks away, her ability to produce new tales for Patrick a source of pride, with another scheduled for later in the year.
The happy, rectangular panda smiled up at her from the page as she worked, and she found the hours melted away, her joy at living and
working her dreams allowing her to forget—for just a little while—that she didn’t have everything figured out.
By the time she was ready to call it a day, she wasn’t any closer to working out how else to respond, or if she should add anything else at all, especially since she hadn’t heard from him otherwise. She whiled away the night, trying not to read too much into it, by watching terrible television, playing a word game on her phone, and eating four mini candy bars. In her mind, four minis was probably the equivalent of one big one, so it was acceptable.
It could've been four king-sized ones, she reasoned.
Brighton yawned as she made her way through her nightly routine and tucked herself into bed. Leaning down, she picked up the phone charger that was plugged in beside her bed and popped the cord into place, watching as her phone lit up to show it was receiving power.
Sebastian.
His name was in the little preview box on her sleep screen, indicating a text she’d somehow missed. Though the box showed the full message, short as it was, she swiped the message open and felt her breath catch in her chest, her heart squeezing as she read what Sebastian had to say.
Something he’d said every night before they’d fallen asleep, his arms settling around her as he pulled her back to his chest and pressed his nose into her hair, breathing in deeply and out with contentedness.
Sebastian: My North Star. Always leading me home.
She'd never realized how comforting it was, to hear those words from him every day, a constant reminder that when nothing else was right or when things changed, he was there. He would be there.
She was still so confused. The message spoke of traditions, of consistency, of nightly rituals adhered to by a couple who were deeply ingrained in each other’s life. But it was also something that she hadn't experienced in so long, she couldn't wrap her mind completely around it.
On one hand, in the days since what they had started jokingly referring to as “the Panera incident,” he'd been so kind, so fun, so sweet and . . . well, everything he'd always been to and for her.
But on the other, she remembered every angry thought, every flicker of hatred that coursed through her body when she'd realized what he'd done. He hadn't just gambled away their future; he'd stolen her money, too.
It had been in a joint account, yes, so technically speaking it was theirs, but still. It had taken her weeks to truly process that months and months of hard work, saving money, squirreling away every penny was gone in the spin of a roulette wheel or the flick of a dealer’s wrist.
How could he?
She'd so blindly trusted him that she'd failed to see what was happening right in front of her. It was just one more reason she wasn't sure she could let that unwavering trust form between them once again. No matter that her body ached for him, that the fire of their kisses on his couch still burned her lips.
Being with him was like wearing blinders, or being closed in a dark room.
The what ifs barreled back into her head, though their weight was lessened by each sign from him that this time—if there was a this time—the end result would be different.
What if he takes my money again?
What if he takes my heart again?
What if I don't see it coming again?
Brighton breathed deep. She didn't trust him still, but, she realized with surprising clarity given the muddled state of her mind of late, she didn't not trust him either.
His apologies, so genuine and heartfelt, helped and since his return, he’d given her all his attention, most of his time, and some—granted, not a lot, since he was intent on pushing her—space to figure out what she should be doing. Believing. And it made her think that maybe, just maybe, he was different.
No, not different. The Sebastian he’d been before the gambling, the addiction, the lies. She couldn’t explain it, not really. Call it a gut instinct, or a naïve optimist wishing for a fairytale, but something was different.
Which meant, finally . . . Progress.
Forcing all the thoughts from her mind, determined to not give it any more time tonight, she let her fingers type the response she wanted to give him—a sign to him that even if it wasn't their time again yet, it was closer than ever before.
Bright Star: I'm so happy you finally made it home, Seb.
Yes. Their second chance was coming. And hopefully, the giddy, childish voice within her whispered, you soon will be, too.
With a little snicker at the immature nature of her thoughts, Brighton added a golden star to end her message, and switched off her phone. For now, that was all she had to give and she knew she wouldn't sleep if she lay there waiting to see what he would reply, so it had to be enough.
She closed her eyes with a sigh and tried to imagine him lying in his own bed. Maybe his face was turned to the illuminated frame, watching her face as the photos cycled around and around, stopping to laugh at nose-picking, wrinkly forehead Brighton.
Maybe he was already asleep, two days after his accident, his body weary, medicated and hurting.
Or maybe, as he read her reply, he was smiling, knowing what she now knew.
They were inevitable.
Chapter Twelve
After weeks of messages from Sebastian, the message Brighton received from Jade was as welcome as it was unexpected. Not that she wasn’t enjoying her exchanges with Sebastian, but…
She needed something else. Someone else.
Jade: If I don’t get out of this office and into a bar soon, someone’s gonna get it. You in?
Brighton smiled at the sass just pouring from the screen. Though she'd hardly call her and Jade friends, she was more than happy to spend some girl time with her—for her to be her someone else.
Brighton: To be clear, you meant to send that to me, yes?
Jade: Yes. So, you in?
Brighton: Name the time and place.
Jade: ASAP. I'll find the address and send it. One sec.
It had been less than a week since Sebastian’s accident and new texts were still coming daily. He made her laugh with his notes, his jokes, his gag gifts and the exchanges they produced.
But it was with his words, his actions and his thought-out gestures that he made her heart race—memories of their life together and the way they’d always had so much fun invading her every thought.
Now, with a drink planned with Jade, she finally had someone to talk to about it.
Well, someone other than her parents, who were unresponsive. For obvious reasons.
In any case, she could use another perspective. She had the feeling that whatever happened with Sebastian next was out of her hands and though she believed they were inevitable, that didn’t mean she wasn’t still wondering what would happen, and when.
It kind of all hinged on her making a decision. And damn if she still had no idea which decision was the best one.
Getting dressed quickly in dark skinny jeans and a loose, cranberry and white striped tank, Brighton headed for the bar Jade had directed her to. Walking in, she smiled at the sight of a pink-haired woman in a black pencil skirt, black blouse and bright pink heels knocking back a margarita at the bar.
Looked like the party had started already.
Brighton approached Jade, coming up behind her and resting a gentle hand on her shoulder. “What on earth was so desperate that you needed booze, a bar and a stranger on a Tuesday at,”—she turned her wrist to check her watch—“5:45?”
Jade’s laughter was dark. “What else? Men.” She gestured Brighton to take the stool beside her and continued. “I love my job, but somedays . . . Ah, I probably shouldn’t be talking to you about it, huh?”
Brighton shrugged. “I don’t see why not.” She paused to give her order to the bartender who’d made his way over, smiling at the flirty way he asked her friend if she needed another. “I won’t tell. And believe me, the men I suspect you’re talking about have pissed me off more times than I can count.”
“Ha, yeah, you’re right. It’s just—�
�� Her fresh drink was slid in front of her, and she took another huge gulp. “When he comes by the office, I suddenly feel the need to find a new use for my stapler.”
Brighton laughed, and though she suspected she knew the answer, she asked the question anyway. “And by he, you mean?”
“Jackass.” Jade’s face flushed, a red that clashed with her hair and her heels. Brighton suspected she was going to have to cut her new friend off sooner rather than later. “He’s such a jackass.”
“I’m curious to know how you went from ‘hot friend’ to ‘jackass’, I have to say.” Brighton smirked from behind her glass. “Sebastian mentioned it,” she added, before Jade had the chance to ask.
“Know what? I don’t even want to talk about it anymore. I’m swearing off men. Next man who hits on me, I’m telling him I’m a lesbian.” Jade polished off the last of what was her third margarita, and started to wave to the bartender for another, when Brighton stopped her. “I would be a great lesbian.”
“Maybe take a few minutes to let those, ah, digest,” Brighton suggested, holding back a laugh at what appeared to be a completely serious suggestion on Jade’s part. “There’s no need to swear off men forever.”
“Not forever. Just for a while. I like girls, too. Maybe it’s time to do what everyone suggests and pick a side once and for all.” She raised her hand in a fist pump, and cried, “TEAM PINK,” at such a volume that Brighton winced.
“Right, well, okay.” Brighton had no idea how to handle this version of Jade, but there was something kind of charming about the pink-haired spitfire currently lamenting her love-life. “If it helps, I have no damn clue what to do about men at the moment, either. One man in particular.”
Sebastian’s pursuit was welcome, but that didn’t mean she was suddenly over everything. Although, she was starting to annoy herself with her dilly-dallying. And not just because she’d started using words like dilly-dallying.
“Oh yeah, to be honest, that’s why I initially planned to invite you tonight. Then jackass arrived and plans changed.” Jade pulled a face that was clear in its opinion about Declan. “But I have to know what’s happening.”