One Step Away (A Bedford Falls Novel Book 1)

by Sydney Bristow

  Marisa looked down and exhaled, trying to regain her peace of mind. She knew where his temper stemmed from, and she couldn’t blame him for unleashing some of it on her. But she feared that bringing up a personal issue during a professional one might not be a wise decision, so she stayed with the topic at hand. “We’ll work with your library to try and…make this adjustment as smooth as possible.”

  Alexander just shook his head. “Smooth?” He laughed. “Like that’ll happen. Your library has been giving away the store for over a decade, and you decide to overturn all of that goodwill with less than a month’s notice? Your Board has just walked into a public relations nightmare, and you’re dragging my library down with you.”

  Marisa didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t do anything to help him. She met his gaze, hoping she could say something, do something that would lessen the magnitude of the situation he now faced. But nothing came to mind. Besides, based on his demeanor, she got the impression that any attempted measure of consolation would infuriate him.

  “I didn’t think taking a promotion would wreck my career,” he said. “And even worse than that? Knowing that my last employer would get the ball rolling.”

  “I’m sorry. I wish—”

  He waved off any explanation she might offer and headed for the exit. “I’ve got go. I’ll see you around.”

  “Alexander, please—”

  Just as he reached the threshold, he swiveled back to her. “And from now on, call me Alex.”

  He stared into her eyes with such intensity that Marisa felt her knees weaken. He had never talked to her like that. She opened her mouth to reply, but she couldn’t summon her voice. She could only nod.

  Seeing that she got the message, he spun around and disappeared.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  An hour later, to get his mind off of the career challenges that awaited him, Alex got on his bike and rode to the DMV, placing his full concentration on his surroundings in order to ride safely on the streets. Once he arrived at the facility, he was surprised to find it still open – he forgot that he’d left work early to attend the meeting at Bedford Falls.

  The facility would remain open for another hour or so. He didn’t want to wait to practice, which meant he’d need to stick around until after the last person left, because according to a sign in the lot, practicing on the range was prohibited. He turned to leave, but instead focused on how the library that helped him rise to the position of library director now basically declared war on him.

  Disgusted by the negativity in his life, he decided to take the motorcycle test. After all, he’d taken to the streets for over a week now, and he hadn’t encountered any difficulties in traffic, so he expected to do just fine on the course. Besides, he needed to succeed at something to prevent a dark cloud from following him home.

  He entered the driver’s facility, handed in paperwork to take the test, then sat and waited for fifteen minutes before a female instructor called his name. Alongside her, Alex walked out into the parking lot, a small range exactly 30 feet wide by 75 feet long.

  He got on his bike, rode over to the instructor, listened to her instructions, and pulled up to the starting point to begin weaving through the five cones, which were separated at twelve foot intervals in a zigzag pattern. Alex needed to navigate his 650-pound bike at two miles an hour between cones essentially three feet apart. The task seemed impossible, but he’d done it a number of times in practice, so he expected to pass.

  He eased off of the clutch and turned the throttle. He veered around the first cone then maneuvered around the next one. Excited by his success, Alex warned himself not to hit the throttle too hard or shift the handlebars too quickly; the slightest shift in the wrong direction could push him off the course.

  But that didn’t happen. Instead, because he was so intent on not making mistakes, an image of Marisa appeared behind his eyes, glaring at him with an expression that said, “You aren’t good enough for me.” Never mind that she’d never uttered those words or even looked at him with such distaste. She could never be that cold, that distant.

  Now, after seeing that impression in his mind, Alex couldn’t move the handlebars for the next turn. His brain wouldn’t even allow the command to register to his hands and arms. Frozen with indecision and uncertainty, he plowed into one cone. Then another. And finally the last one. He pulled in the clutch and hit the brakes, stopping the bike.

  “Okay,” said the instructor, coming up to him while jotting down notes on the test sheet attached to her clipboard. “Next, I’d like you to line up—”

  “I’m done,” Alex said, infuriated for letting the most embarrassing moment of his life (that never actually happened) enter his mind at the most inopportune time. Anger boiling under the surface made his heart thunder in his chest.

  “You could still lose four points and pass the test,” the instructor said, not looking up from her document.

  Marisa’s imagined expression hit him once more, one that said he wasn’t worthy of her love. Unable to block the image from bombarding his brain, Alex knew that if he continued with the test he would fail by epic proportions. He shook his head. “I’m done here.” He accepted his driver’s license from the instructor, got back on his bike, and took off down the street.

  Riding home, he couldn’t get over how he’d allowed his fears to intrude upon a completely unrelated segment of his life. He’d wanted to overcome this obstacle to improve himself, and he’d allowed his past to affect his future.

  That night, Alex wanted to leave his troubles behind and, thinking that consuming a good supply of alcohol could cure his incompetence, he drove over to Apocalyptica to meet Damon, who just texted saying that he met a woman at the gym and would arrive a little late. Alex ordered a couple shots and waited at the bar, watching dozens of fish zipping through a tank that stretched twenty yards in length behind the bartenders.

  “Well, if it isn’t Alexander no-date,” said Brad, walking up to him.

  Alex released a breath, not in the mood for Brad’s antics. He ignored the comment, although he had to hand it to him: it was a witty remark.

  “I said, hey, Alexander no—”

  “I heard,” Alex said, turning to meet Brad’s grin. “Congratulations. It only took you a few weeks to come up with that one.”

  Brad gestured at him with a glass devoid of liquor but loaded with ice cubes. “It must suck that you can’t get a date.” He pulled up beside Alex, got the bartender’s attention, and ordered another whiskey sour. He faced Alex, staring down at him. “I could warm up some of these honeys, you know, talk you up, that sort of thing. Maybe you’ll even get lucky. You game?”

  Alex snickered. “I’m good.” He shook his head, amazed at Brad’s arrogance.

  “Just trying to help you out.” He examined Alex’s face. “Seriously, how long has it been? A few years, at least, right?” He scrutinized him with greater concentration. “Whoa! Longer? How about five years? Really? Longer than that? Maybe I was right: a decade!” After the bartender filled his glass, Brad took a healthy swallow and looked at Alex.

  “What’re you staring at?” Alex asked.

  “Nothing important.”

  Feeling anger rising inside him, but determined not to let it control him, he turned to Brad. “What’s your problem?”

  “Glad you asked,” Brad said, slamming his now empty glass on the counter. “You’re my problem. You’re the reason I haven’t gotten with Marisa since you two had that fight or whatever. And yeah, I’m talking sex – something you’ll never have with her.”

  Alex imagined throwing a left jab to Brad’s face and feeling an adrenaline rush that urged him to follow it up with a right hook. But since Brad would give a good fight, they would both end up on the ground, throwing punches at each other until a pair of beefy bouncers pulled them apart. The confrontation would likely result in getting arrested and thrown in jail.

  Nevertheless, Alex wanted to find out if Brad could back up his to
ugh-guy act. “What are you saying? That Marisa won’t have sex with you…because of me? Can’t say that I’m surprised. We’re best friends. We share secrets. How much more intimate can you get than that?”

  “Yeah, right?” Brad laughed. “That’ll be the day.”

  “Then have you considered that she won’t touch you because you’re just pathetic in bed?”

  Brad flinched as if hit. He narrowed his eyes. “What?”

  “Best friends tell each other everything, right?” Alex looked undecided. “Or do they? I mean, you get more intimate with Marisa than I do. Only you know the truth, am I right? Yeah, it’s probably best that you keep it to yourself.”

  Brad threw a right fist.

  Alex expected the blow. He ducked and jumped out of his seat.

  Thrown off balance, Brad’s mid-section slammed into the counter, and he bounced backwards into a stool, knocking it to the ground.

  “Hey,” shouted a thick-necked, broad-shouldered bouncer, charging up to them. He intercepted Brad just as he righted himself, prepared to lash out at Alex once more. The bouncer clutched Brad’s shirt, tugging him toward the exit without much effort.

  Brad pushed himself away from the bouncer, turned back towards Alex, and pointed at him, glaring. “I’m going to finish you!”

  As Brad turned and exited the building, Alex had a difficult time fighting off the adrenaline rush. Since Brad seemed intent on fighting him, Alex had to find a way to get over his anxiety that he might hospitalize his opponent, because if they did exchange blows and Alex held back, he might be the one getting hospitalized.

  He had to find a way to meet Brad’s desire to fight with total control. Otherwise, Brad would consider him a coward, which he would no doubt mention to Marisa, if he hadn’t already.

  And when he thought about her, something shifted in his thought process, something that he’d never considered before: other than his reluctance to injure an opponent, he realized that a part of him felt inferior to every man Marisa had dated, because she’d chosen them…and not him.

  This conclusion hit him like he’d just gotten zapped by a shock of electricity. Never before had he considered this possibility, probably because he didn’t want to believe it. Heat rushed into his cheeks at this newfound insight. Summoning his father’s comment a few weeks ago that Marisa felt something for him, which Damon reiterated a short time later, Alex wished that he’d done more dating over the years so he could have picked up on what Marisa was subconsciously trying to tell him all along.

  Not only that, but because Marisa had more experience than him in the dating world, he felt that he couldn’t measure up to her expectations; he hadn’t picked up the practical knowledge of how to relate to her as a boyfriend, since he’d never been in a long-term relationship before. It made him think that she’d compare him to every man she’d dated, and he automatically felt incapable of giving her what she needed.

  He remembered Damon talking about how women tested the men in their lives, but only now did he understand why they did so: these women wanted to determine if these men were worthy of them. They constantly challenged a man’s masculinity by arguing, throwing tantrums, or trying to take control of the relationship – even when they didn’t want to, all to see if the man in question showed that he had the balls to challenge them right back.

  And Alex now realized that, although he and Marisa weren’t a couple, she had called him out on these very issues – and he’d always caved in to her opinions and requests for various reasons: it was that time of the month; she’d had a bad day; she was stressed out, etc.

  These reasons explained why Alex felt uncomfortable with Marisa when it came to romantic gestures. Deep down, he felt like every other single man had an advantage over him: experience. And since he had no idea what she was really trying to tell him, rather than being nicer and more lenient when she tested him, which only exacerbated the situation, Alex could have reversed the dynamics of their relationship if he’d simply told her how he felt. Only now did he realize that, because he failed to be himself, she lost some respect for him as a man.

  And how could he blame her for that? After all, he wasn’t being true to himself. In essence, he was lying to both of them. The notion made him feel useless, worthless. How had he been so oblivious for so long?

  If he hoped to have Marisa as a girlfriend, he had to feel that he deserved her love and respect. Yet he knew how many stronger and more attractive men had attempted to win her affections. And in order for Alex to feel like she couldn’t do any better than him, he had to take charge and remain in control of any and every situation.

  He already knew he needed more self-confidence, but felt frustrated to discover how difficult it was to implement such drastic change in his life. After brainstorming about additional ways to help improve his confidence, he took to Google for ideas and soon stumbled across an activity that made him smile.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The next morning, after researching martial arts academies and dojos online, Alex watched a video featuring a seven-time black belt instructor named Master Ulrich teaching his students Combat Hapkido, a Korean form of self-defense that focused on joint-locks and pressure points while also employing techniques from other martial arts systems.

  Rather than teaching fancy techniques, Hapkido emphasized the importance of using the opponent’s weight, leverage, and fighting approach against him, thus avoiding using strength to fight strength. Alex found this method appealing because Hapkido would allow him to remain calm in a fight, while taking advantage of whatever striking methods his adversary might use.

  A short time later, Alex visited Master Ulrich’s martial arts dojo. While many other instructors boasted top-notch facilities, offered a wide selection of martial arts curriculums, and had collected a massive student enrollment, Alex had no interest in becoming just another nameless face in a crowd, nor did he want to enter an austere facility. He needed an instructor who engaged his students and took an active part in helping them reach their full potential.

  Alex lined up at the outskirts of the red mats that stretched across the floor, standing beside a teenage boy wearing a customary black outfit secured by a white belt, indicating the lowest skill level in the class. After Master Ulrich introduced Alex to the class, the group went through a variety of stretching exercises before gathering the dozen or so students, ranging in age from 14-72, all with various skill sets, and touched on the basics.

  Unlike other instructors who taught a set curriculum, starting with the most elementary techniques, Master Ulrich skipped around by mixing in black-belt maneuvers with white belt exercises. This approach gave even the most accomplished students a chance to challenge themselves while continuing to perfect the strategies they had learned upon first entering the school. It also presented newer students with the opportunity to pick up maneuvers they might not learn until some point in the future.

  The students broke into pairs, and Alex set to work with a fifteen-year-old girl with a long black ponytail that reached her waist and dark eyeliner around her green eyes. Since Alex held a 60-pound advantage on the 90-pound, frail-looking teenager wearing a brown belt, he felt a little uneasy about practicing the throwing movement Master Ulrich had just demonstrated.

  “What’s the problem?” she asked, smiling. “Afraid to hurt a girl?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “This is your first day. You couldn’t hurt me if you tried.” She exchanged a knowing glance with Master Ulrich and smiled. “Throw a punch,” she told Alex.

  Alex threw a right jab.

  She slapped his wrist, knocking it aside, and whacked him upside the head before setting her arm just above his elbow and leaning her weight against it. The tactic drove him onto his knees, groaning in pain. Then she slammed a heavy chop onto his back, spreading him onto the mat. A second later, she hopped to her feet, looking down at him. “Still afraid to hurt a girl?”

  Master Ulrich looked down at him. “In Hapkido, size
doesn’t matter. Strength doesn’t matter. A skilled technician will use her opponent’s size, strength, and balance against him. Understood?”

  During the next hour, Alex learned five more elementary concepts before class ended and he set about acquainting himself with his classmates. Every student smiled and welcomed him with kind words. Afterwards, excited by the possibility of improving his combat skills, Alex signed up to take three sessions per week, twice on weekdays and one each Saturday.

  Later, energized to think of everything he would learn and already feeling more confident, Alex went home and took his bike over to the local school parking lot. He set stones onto the pavement at the same intervals as the cones at the driving facility and practiced weaving around them until he managed to do so successfully twenty times in a row. This accomplishment stunned him. In the past, he’d never managed to complete the maneuver to perfection more than a few times in a row.

  This achievement, however, came with a drawback. The repetitious nature and constant friction of frequently cutting the handlebars from one direction to the other produced the origins of a blister on his left palm. He found himself continually pulling in to gradually release the clutch in order maintain a slow but steady speed.

  Nonetheless, he took to the streets, working on leaning into each turn. The blister, and the pain associated with it, would make practicing difficult over the next week. And with the threat of winter fast approaching, he realized he might not get a better chance than today to take the test – only one day after he last failed.

  In late afternoon, an hour before the DMV facility planned to shut its doors, Alex arrived and waited a while before meeting an instructor on the range. He listened to the instructions and lined up to take the test, where he needed to veer around a set of cones.

  He took a deep breath, released it, and closed his mind to outside distractions. Encouraged by his success in the school parking lot, he released the clutch and turned the throttle, starting out slowly, once more curving around the first two cones without a problem. Similar to his last test, he told himself to remain diligent with both speed and accuracy.