One Step Away (A Bedford Falls Novel Book 1)

by Sydney Bristow

  And once more, at the back of his mind, Marisa told him that she didn’t care about him. But instead of giving in and believing her, he thought back to this morning and what he’d accomplished in Hapkido. It banished self-doubt, and he concentrated on the task at hand.

  He cut to the right a little too tightly and his front tire ran over the base of the cone, but instead of letting this mistake consume his mind, he let it go, and continued through the other two cones. When he finished, he turned back toward the instructor and discovered that each of the five cones still stood upright. Confidence swelled inside him. Before long, he completed the remaining four tests without incident and waited off to the side as the instructor finished writing on the test sheet.

  Then she walked over to him, checking a few more things. “Congratulations, you passed. I’ll meet you inside where you can get your license.”

  Her monotone voice only heightened his excitement. After all, he guessed that most people who received their motorcycle license hadn’t defeated their greatest fear. Overcoming this mental roadblock opened up new possibilities in Alex’s mind. If he could accomplish this feat, he could accomplish anything.

  Brimming with a newfound conviction, he went into the driver’s facility, obtained his new license, and walked out of the building, feeling…not so much like a new man, but a more complete one; a man who could tackle any obstacle. Never before had he felt so proud of himself. Never before had he felt that a world of opportunities, rather than barriers, had opened up for him.

  *

  On her way home after another grueling workout at the gym (light weightlifting for half an hour, followed by forty-five minutes on the treadmill), Marisa headed to Kelsey’s new restaurant, The Witching Hour. Because she hadn’t talked with Alexander lately, Marisa wanted an update, as well as an explanation as to why he now wanted to be called Alex.

  Outside her car, she heard what sounded like a gunshot. She glanced out the windows, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary, until the car began pulling to one side, and she realized that one of her tires must have blown. She pulled over to the side of the road, turned on the hazard lights, got out, and circled the car. The right passenger side rear tire had blown into pieces. She would have to remove the jack and get out the spare. Only one problem existed: she’d never replaced a tire before.

  Cursing her poor luck, Marisa got out her cell phone and called her father. He didn’t answer. Annoyed, she dialed Brad. Once again, no answer. A fitting response, considering that they hadn’t spoken since he’d last visited her apartment. She thought of calling Alexander…Alex, but decided against it. It seemed too self-serving to say that she wanted no contact – except when she needed help.

  Just as she consulted her mental rolodex, she spotted a man wearing a black leather jacket riding a Harley pull off the road until he stopped about fifteen feet behind her car. Marisa should have felt relieved, but she couldn’t see through the biker’s helmet shield, and she took that as a bad omen. She feared that he might remove the helmet to reveal a leering lunatic. She dialed 9-1 and kept her finger above the last 1 in case she needed to call for help.

  The rider killed the engine, got off the bike, and walked toward her with powerful strides as he unsnapped a button on his helmet.

  Marisa imagined a sweaty-faced man with thick, oily sideburns behind that helmet. Underneath the jacket, she envisioned a hulking figure bent on slamming a fist into her face, which would knock her unconscious, only to drag her into her car and cut up her body parts. Then she recalled that she was on a major road in daylight. Those facts reduced her apprehension.

  The biker lifted his helmet to reveal…Alex!

  Marisa stared at him, speechless.

  He grinned as he strutted toward her, his hair unruly from the helmet. “You didn’t have to puncture your tire to get my attention. You could have just picked up the phone.”

  “A bike?” That was all she managed to mutter. Although dumbfounded by a man she thought she knew everything about, Marisa felt her heartbeat throttling with confusion, relief, and excitement. Other than their brief meeting yesterday, they hadn’t really spoken in the past three weeks.

  Yet everything about him seemed different: the way he walked, his posture, his grin, and the way he spoke to her. It seemed like an imposter had taken up residence inside his body.

  Something inside her clicked, and God help her, but she couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed and incredibly drawn to this new person.

  He turned back to his bike. “Pretty wild, isn’t it? I worked my way up from a Huffy to a Harley. Not much of a learning curve, either. Who would have thought?” He checked out the damaged tire then stopped beside the trunk. “Could you pop it?”

  “Um, sure.” She did so but couldn’t stop staring at him as he lifted the sheet of cardboard above the spare tire well. He removed the lug wrench, unfastened the bolt and wing-nut style fastener, and pulled out the spare, placing it beside the near obliterated tire.

  “You know how to fix a flat?” she asked.

  “What’s the worst that can happen – you pull into traffic, the tire falls off and you spin out? Sure, you can get into a pretty nasty pile-up, but who wouldn’t trust a librarian? Am I right?”

  Fueled with irritation at his joking, frustrated because he’d turned into a stranger, Marisa shoved him in the chest. “You could get killed. What are you doing?”

  “Hey,” he said, holding both hands up in surrender. “Take it easy. I won’t be driving your car. I brought my bike. You’ll be the one who—”

  “Not the car. I’m talking about that bike. How did you learn? Who did you get it from? Why are you even riding it?” Hysterical with worry, she couldn’t help but lash out at him.

  Unleashing a sarcastic grin, he said, “Is this a multiple choice quiz…or essay format?”

  “Stop with the—”

  “Because it’s probably best that I just get you back on the road ASAP. Sound good?” He brushed past her, affixed the lug wrench to one of the lug bolts, and loosened it before moving on to the next. “Can you get your owner’s manual? I want to find out where I should put the jack.”

  “You’re scaring me,” Marisa said, stopping beside him. “Do you know how to fix a spare? Be serious.”

  Alex looked up at her, offended. “The owner’s manual?”

  Feeling guilty for questioning his abilities, she went off to get the car manual then returned and handed it to him.

  She had so many questions, but it seemed that Alex didn’t want to answer any of them. Annoyed, she just watched as he found the page he needed, examined a diagram, then placed the jack in front of the rear tire, and hitched up the vehicle six inches off the ground before removing the damaged tire. Alex placed the spare onto the car, tightened the nuts a little, lowered the vehicle to the ground, and completed tightening the nuts in a diagonal pattern.

  She watched him with rapt attention, shocked that he took care of the tire so quickly, so effortlessly.

  “Okay,” he said, getting to his feet. He picked up what remained of the tire and placed it into her trunk, followed by the lug wrench. He brushed his hands together to remove a few pebbles. They came away filthy. “Do you have a rag or something?”

  “Uh, yeah.” She went back into the car, took out a roll of hand towels and removed a couple. Then she grabbed a half-empty water bottle from the front seat, returned to him, and poured some water onto his hands.

  Alex cleaned off his hands and wiped them down. “Well, it seems my work is done here. Glad I could help.” He smiled at her. Then he turned around and walked back to his bike.

  Stunned at his sudden arrival, quick assistance, and imminent departure, Marisa just stared at him as he put the helmet back on and started up his bike. The engine chugged to life. He glanced over his shoulder and, finding the nearest cars quite far back, pulled into the closest lane. He kicked into a higher gear and nodded at her as he zoomed past her.

  Never so puzzled than at this mo
ment, Marisa watched him speed away, leaving her with a functional vehicle, but a confused frame of mind. What had happened to her best friend?

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  That night, Alex stopped by Apocalyptica to meet Damon. They had only exchanged a few short texts since last weekend when they met Cassandra and her friend, and Alex wanted to update him about all the changes that had taken place in that time.

  He also apologized for leaving the bar last night before Damon arrived, due to his near fight with Brad. After Alex downed a shot of Vodka Skyy, Damon appeared, dropped a hand on his shoulder, and ordered a couple more shots.

  “So how did it go with Cassandra last week? And don’t skimp on the details.”

  “It didn’t feel right,” Alex said, not wanting to go into great depth. Unless he’d closed the deal with her that night, Damon would have been disappointed. “I couldn’t take it there. I told you. I’m in love. I can’t just ignore it.” He downed his shot.

  “Love,” Damon said, disgusted. He accepted the shot glass from the bartender and gulped it down then asked for another round. “Damn, dude. Cassandra was hot.” He shook his head. “Love.” He glanced around the room. “There a jukebox in here? Maybe get some Tina Turner going to get your head straight?”

  Alex got the “What’s Love Got to Do with It” reference. Some might believe that Damon was upset because he’d spent time “coaching” Alex to get his love life straightened out, only to have his pupil fail. But muttering the word “love” with such revulsion revealed that Damon understood exactly why Alex couldn’t sleep with Cassandra and, more than that, he sympathized with him. “When was the last time you were in love?” Alex asked his friend.

  Damon met his gaze and held it for a moment, looking uncertain whether he should touch on the subject. The bartender appeared at that moment and refilled their shot glasses. Damon used the interruption to avoid answering by consuming the liquor in his glass. But he looked pensive, perhaps debating whether or not to answer.

  “Forget I asked,” Alex said and took his shot.

  “No,” Damon said, looking straight at his reflection in the mirror opposite them. “You were there the last time I was in love.” He turned to Alex. “Didn’t go over so well, did it? Guess it’s not cut out for me.” He chuckled without humor. “I even have a little quiz I give every potential ‘victim’ of mine to see if they might be right for me. It’s juvenile, I get that, but…”

  Alex, intrigued that Damon decided to confide in him, gave him his full attention. The last time they discussed this topic took place while Damon suffered all those months of heartache back in college. Damon probably figured that if he never again opened himself up to the possibility of getting hurt, he wouldn’t feel the pain of lost love.

  Alex couldn’t conceive the idea of living life without allowing his heart to love. After all, in a world with so much pain and violence, what was the point of living without the chance of finding love?

  Damon asked, “If you were stranded on a deserted island and you had three wishes, what would they be? I ask every woman I meet that question. None of them get it right.”

  “The question is subjective.”

  “No, if you plan on remaining stranded, it’s not subjective at all.”

  That’s when Alex recalled that Damon mentioned asking this question in college. Katrina, his great love, had once asked Damon that question. And of course, at that point, he also thought the answer was open to interpretation. He had said, “I only need two wishes: a house with all my belongings in it…and you.”

  Katrina looked disappointed and later admitted to him that his response became the beginning of the end of their relationship. According to her, there was only one correct response: “a boat – to get off the island.” And now, it seemed that Damon had taken Katrina’s question and made it his own in an attempt to find the one woman who could answer it “correctly,” perhaps giving him the freedom to give love another chance.

  In Alex’s opinion, Damon’s trick question was either romantic in a tortured sort of way or one of the dumbest things he’d ever heard in his life. He supposed both were probably accurate.

  So it seemed, even after all of these years, Damon still hadn’t gotten over Katrina. Alex had never met her, but the way his friend tormented himself with her memory made Alex wish he could one day bump into her just so he could understand what about her made Damon so lovesick that he couldn’t wipe her memory from his mind.

  “Meeting Cassandra wasn’t a total loss,” Alex said with a glimmer of pride, simply to liberate Damon from his demons. “All I’ll say is that I could have, you know…”

  Damon, returning to the present, unleashed a slow smile. “All right.”

  To get off the subject, Alex said, “I got my motorcycle license today.”

  “Well, all right!” He patted Alex on the shoulder. “That calls for a drink on me.” He got the bartender’s attention and ordered another round. “That’s awesome. I’m looking forward to riding with you. Two loners on the highway. Heading out towards the sunset.”

  “What are we…gunslingers in the old west?”

  “On a steel horse, we ride,” he said, re-adjusting the lyrics of a Bon Jovi song.

  Rolling his eyes, Alex said, “You and Marisa would sure hit it off.” A second later, he added, “I just joined a martial arts class today: Hapkido.” Alex told him all about the art form, but not about the motivation behind his interest in taking up the sport.

  Damon offered a knowing smile, the kind that intuited that Alex had finally understood why Marisa had failed to find him attractive. “So where do things stand between you two? Any movement there?”

  Alex took his time detailing their meeting at the Bedford Falls Public Library yesterday and his unexpected encounter on the road with Marisa a few hours ago.

  “Split decision,” Damon said. “The whole thing with your library – that sucks big time! But this afternoon? You scored major points there. It’s about time Marisa meets the cooler side of Alex Lawford. Nicely done. Remember, keep it going. Don’t wimp out. Make sure she understands that you want more than friendship.”

  “How do I do that?”

  “By not seeking her approval. By taking the lead. By not letting her make all the decisions. By not being affected by what she says or how she acts. And by letting her know that she’s in your world now, and not the other way around. Take every opportunity to give her a hard time…in a charming, smooth way like we talked about. Make her want to spend time with you. Other than meeting a couple times recently, you two have been basically apart for three weeks.

  “For a best friend, in chick-terminology, that’s like an eternity. That means you’ve had time to change. She already noticed it. You have to emphasize things by not going back to acting like a wimp again. And part of that means that you can’t be the same friend you were: don’t act like her girlfriend, wanting to know her deepest feelings, secrets, and thoughts, unless she offers them up. That is worth repeating: she has girlfriends. They fill that need. You have to encourage her to see you differently by acting differently but still remaining true to yourself. Do all of that, and she’ll want you. I guarantee it.”

  *

  After Marisa called Kelsey to let her know that she would have to cancel due to the blown tire, Kelsey decided to drive over to her friend’s house with a Home Run Inn pizza. After Marisa removed it from the oven, they sliced it up and let it cool while they refilled their glasses with Merlot. Marisa hadn’t seen Kelsey since before “the incident” with Alex a few weeks ago, and she missed not confiding in one of her closest friends.

  Considering that they ordinarily communicated daily and spent time with each other a few times a month shopping, seeing movies, or stopping for a bite to eat, the time apart felt like forever. Kelsey understood her need to separate for a while, and a couple minutes after they hugged, they fell back into an easy rapport.

  Marisa had already explained everything that happened during her
meeting with Alex today, and spent some time mentioning his more direct manner and his request to refrain from calling him Alexander. “All told,” she said, “I found it off-putting.”

  “Off-putting, huh?” Kelsey asked. “Until now, I hadn’t considered you a snob.”

  “Whoa, I’m many things: but a snob? No way.”

  “Then use a normal word, like—”

  “Concerned? I’m concerned, okay. But why does he want to be called Alex all of a sudden? There’s something wrong.”

  “Being a library director now, it makes sense that he’s more direct and decisive. He has to be. The same goes for you, now that you’ve moved up. So why are you worried?”

  “We always talked things through. We always knew what the other was thinking. And now…”

  A smile spread across Kelsey’s lips.

  “What?”

  “You don’t know what I’m thinking right now, do you?”

  “You’re thinking I’m crazy.”

  “Actually, I’m thinking that I have cramps, I feel bloated, and I shouldn’t be eating that pizza.”

  “Which makes you want to eat it even more.”

  “Well, of course.”

  “But why does he want to be called Alex? Did he tell you the same thing?”

  “No. I think he’s been avoiding me and Mom. Not Dad, because they don’t talk much. Nothing to really talk about, I guess, since they’re so different. I’ve called Alexander a few times, but he just texted me back, apologizing for being busy. He answered me, but he wasn’t really giving me the bonus features. I don’t know what to think.”

  From that response, Marisa presumed that Alex hadn’t told her family about his recent big purchase. “Don’t you think riding a Harley might be grounds for concern?”