One Step Away (A Bedford Falls Novel Book 1)

by Sydney Bristow

  It appeared as though in her attempts to save their friendship, Marisa may have destroyed it.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “I unloaded on her,” Alex said to Damon while sitting beside him on a stool at the front counter of Forever and Always. He’d asked for Kelsey, but one of the waitresses told him that she wouldn’t be in until a little later. “She needed my help, and I offended her. What was I thinking? I just kept doing what you said: don’t kiss her ass.”

  “But did you lie to her?”

  “No. I told the truth.”

  “Then don’t worry about it.”

  “How can you say that? I really hurt her.”

  “You’re not going to understand this now, but you couldn’t have handled it any better. Your relationship with her will be better off for it.”

  Alex couldn’t believe such a ludicrous statement. Why had he trusted Damon so much? Why had he listened to such idiotic advice? But he couldn’t deny that it proved valuable: otherwise, he wouldn’t have found himself in Cassandra’s apartment. “Pay attention now, because what I’m about to say is very important: you’re a misogynist moron.”

  Damon laughed. “I said you wouldn’t understand it. And don’t give me that sexist crap. I write books for women.”

  “It means you’re a good writer.”

  “You’re on the right path. Trust me.”

  “I made her cry. How often does the hero of your novel make his love interest cry?”

  “Valid point. But my heroes aren’t in the situation you’re in. My heroines were already attracted to them. This is new ground you’re breaking.”

  “Wait a minute,” Alex said, holding out a hand. “I thought you’ve handled my situation before.”

  “No, I said that it’s nearly impossible to get out of the friend zone. But that you have a great chance of doing it. Back to the issue: you told her the truth, and Marisa didn’t like hearing it. That’s all that happened. She’ll get over it.”

  Alex poked Damon in the arm.

  “What the hell?”

  “Just wanted to make sure you have feelings. Then again, that doesn’t mean you have a heart. One that beats anyway.”

  “Remember when I told you to be unpredictable? I said that because it keeps women from getting bored. They’re emotional. Much of the time, they make decisions based on how they feel. For example, women will sometimes start fights with their boyfriends or husbands to feel something other than the same old thing. They want to make sure their man is still committed to them, and if their guy gets upset or fights with them, they take it to mean that because he felt angry enough to fire back at her, she feels reassured that their bond is still strong. Not only that but it also makes her feel alive. I know it sounds stupid, but some women give in to their feelings this way. And every once in a while, it’s not a bad thing to make her feel strong emotions. You may think it’s manipulating her, but they do the same thing by causing the argument. Make sense?”

  Alex nodded. “But I think making her cry goes beyond—”

  “Think of it this way: if someone she didn’t care about told her that, she might question it. But her best friend said it to her, someone she cares strongly about. It affected her. You affected her. She cried because she cares about what you think and how you feel. Don’t underestimate that. Seeing her cry means she can be vulnerable with you. Isn’t that what you want?”

  In a perverse sort of way, Alex understood the theory, but he didn’t agree with it. How could he encourage her to feel a tighter connection with him by hurting her feelings? And recalling how Marisa looked at him, so dispirited, he felt horrible for admitting…the truth. But isn’t that what friends did? Divulged the truth with great delicacy? After all, he didn’t intend to hurt her.

  “Trust me, when she—”

  “You keep saying that. I want a relationship, not sex. Why am I listening to someone who screws women left and right, then leaves them and starts all over again? What does that have to do with a committed relationship? Katrina broke your heart, when was it: ten years ago? And you go around doing the same thing day after day to every woman you sleep with.”

  “I don’t break their hearts. They barely know me. Look, women know where they stand with me. I don’t promise something I can’t give. I’m honest.”

  “If you’re as good in the sack as you think you are, don’t you think these women might want something more? You said it yourself; they respond to their emotions. If they enjoyed talking with you enough to have sex with you, don’t you think they’d want to get to know you?”

  Damon kept his gaze on his empty coffee cup. His jaw muscles strained against his cheeks from gritting his teeth so hard.

  “Don’t you have any feelings?” Alex asked.

  Damon didn’t respond.

  “I guess Katrina took them when she stole your heart.”

  He spun around, grabbed Alex by the shirt, half-lifting him up before shoving him against the counter. Eyes popping wide with rage, Damon said, “You asked me for help, remember? So I’m helping you.”

  An interesting thought struck Alex: his friend had attacked him without hesitation, and although Alex’s heart pounded, it didn’t beat as quickly as when Brad had confronted him. He couldn’t determine if the reason hinged on the fact that having been attacked in martial arts class numerous times, he felt more confident and in control while handling an assault, or whether it was because he knew that Damon wouldn’t throw a punch.

  Besides, Alex got the impression that his friend had little control in his life, and leaving each woman after spending the night with her counted as a form of not only controlling himself, but others as well. And by grabbing hold of Alex, he was acting on this need yet again.

  “You wanted to turn me into you,” Alex said, hitting a nerve that felt true. “That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? So you could have a wingman. Because if I joined in, you’d feel better about yourself. You thought if we went out each night looking to hook up with women, you wouldn’t feel so bad about manipulating them.”

  Damon didn’t look away from Alex but released him and took a half-step back. “You’re not who I thought you were.” He looked around the diner, glancing at all of the faces that had looked up from their meals to give him their undivided attention. He recoiled from so much attention.

  “No,” Alex shot back. “I’m exactly who you think I am.”

  Damon turned and headed for the door.

  Alex, surprised to see his friend hurry away, couldn’t pinpoint if Damon had left because he felt uncomfortable with so many eyes on him or because he was afraid to confront the fact that having broken up with Katrina all those years ago still affected him.

  Just as he exited the building, Kelsey pushed open the swinging doors, entering the public area of the restaurant from the kitchen area holding a scalding pot of coffee, glancing every which way. An orange Chicago Bears cap captured her blond hair, and she wore a white Brian Urlacher jersey. She wiped her hands on the clean white apron tied around her waist. She spotted Alex and walked over to him. “Were you starting a fight? Nina told me two guys were getting into it out here.”

  “No.”

  “Liar,” said an elderly man who squinted to read a newspaper even though he placed it only inches from his spectacles. The paper shook in his hands, indicating that he suffered from Parkinson’s disease. “Got my coffee?”

  “Sure thing, Mr. Steinmetz.” She poured black coffee into his empty cup.

  Alex sat a few stools down, wondering how the man had figured out that Kelsey had appeared, since the paper blocked him from seeing anyone who might approach the counter from the back room.

  Kelsey moved down the counter and stopped opposite her brother. “Fighting in my joint?”

  “The boy wasn’t in any danger,” said Mr. Steinmetz, still reading from the paper. “He could handle himself.”

  Kelsey regarded her customer with a smirk before returning the coffee pot to its maker then went back
to Alex. “He’s one smart fella.”

  “Nope, just observant, young lady.” He gnawed on the inner lining of his cheek.

  Kelsey grabbed a spray bottle and squirted a wide area along the counter top then grabbed the black washcloth hitched to the side of her apron and smeared off bread crumbs and some greasy residue. “You going to Lauren’s Halloween bash on Friday? It’s a week or so early, but there’s still supposed to be like 80 people there. Maybe more.”

  “I wanted to go as Daredevil, but the costume cost too much.” He thought the whole martial-arts/fighting for justice ideal would have worked well considering his background with Hapkido and serving the public. “But finding a Batman costume was easier and cheaper.” Besides, Batman probably considered himself a public servant, rather than a vigilante. He also worked out and knew martial arts, so the costume seemed symbolic.

  Superhero comic books had helped Alex learn to read, and growing up he had identified with Spider-man, Daredevil, Captain America, and Batman more than any other heroes. Of course, they were all crime-fighters, but just as important, they wore masks, because in one way or another, they felt awkward in their own skin. Growing up, Alex felt unpopular (Spider-man), invisible (Daredevil – due to his blindness), weak (Steve Rogers before he became Captain America), and unable to live up to his father’s standards (Batman).

  “George Clooney, cod-piece Batman?” Kelsey asked. “Or Michael Keaton’s Batman? Hey, what about Christian Bale’s Batman?”

  “None of them. I’m going vintage—Adam West’s Batman.”

  “The cheesy 1960s TV show?” She roared with laughter. “You’ll be the hit of the party.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed, grinning. “To be made fun of. Actually, I’m going Michael Keaton style. In my opinion, it’s a more badass costume than Christian Bale’s. It’s sleeker. More chiseled.”

  “I disagree. Christian Bale’s hotter.”

  “I didn’t say anything about being hot. His costume is too drab. There’s no personality there. I’m talking about the costume and how it reflects upon the man. And I’m more of a Michael Keaton than a Christian Bale. More insightful than brooding.”

  “That makes sense. I think I’d have a better conversation with Keaton’s Bruce Wayne. But something about Christian Bale – that arrogant, unapproachable, tortured soul kind of thing really gets to me. I’d like to make him a grilled cheese sandwich and a bowl of soup. Afterwards, I’d show him the restorative powers of a passionate woman.” She unveiled a dreamy smile, looking off in the distance, fantasizing about what would probably happen after he finished his meal.

  “Thank God,” Alex said, exhaling with relief. “Glad I won’t be rocking the Christian Bale costume. How about you? Who are you going as?”

  “Who else? Buffy. It’ll be so easy. She doesn’t wear a set outfit. I can just walk around with a wooden stake all night. Dab on some make-up for dried blood, maybe add a bruise from fighting vampires in the cemetery, and I’m good. Plus, I get to jab people with Mr. Pointy – preferably some good-looking guys. You and Marisa could be part of my Scooby Gang. You’d be a good substitute for Xander, and Marisa could be Willow.”

  “You’d be happy to live in that TV show, wouldn’t you?”

  “Hell, yeah. I could operate the Doublemeat Palace. But I’m going as Buffy because no other woman embraces female empowerment better than the Slayer. She could beat the tar out of Wonder Woman. She could kick her ass using puns alone.” She looked contemplative. “Plus, I could get Spike.”

  “You already said you’re bringing a stake.”

  “No, Spike is a character. He’s way hotter than Angel.” Noticing that she’d lost her brother with the intricate dynamics of her favorite show, she snapped the rag at her brother. “What’s this I hear about riding a hog?”

  “And here I thought women hated to be called overweight.”

  She flipped the cloth over her left shoulder. “I’m serious. You bought a bike? Why? Why didn’t you tell me? Or Dad?”

  Alex could spend half an hour justifying the purchase, but because Kelsey wouldn’t believe him or let him off the hook no matter how many ways he tried to explain himself, he decided to sum it up with just a few words. “It’s just something I needed to do.”

  Kelsey looked at him with great deliberation as she touched his arm. “Hey, are you okay?”

  Looking down, touched by her concern, Alex nodded. “I’m getting there. Slowly.”

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  “I need to take this journey on my own.”

  She held his gaze. “Okay. But I’m here for you. You know that, right? Forever and always.” She grinned.

  Alex felt lucky to have such a devoted sibling. He expressed that sentiment through a half-smile.

  “All right,” she said, scanning the area. “I’ve gotta get back to work. I’ll see you Friday night at the party.”

  Just as he turned away from the counter, the elderly man with Parkinson’s cleared his throat, his eyes still examining the paper. “You’ve got good friends.”

  Unsure if Mr. Steinmetz directed the comment at him, Alex looked to see if the man had spoken to another customer. But none were close enough to hear the statement. “I’m lucky, I guess.”

  “I’d trust the young man who roughed you up.” He licked his thumb and turned the page. Due to his jittering fingers, it took a few moments for him to accomplish the task.

  Alex, always one to seek wisdom from those with more experience and more years under their belts, approached him. “It feels wrong.”

  “That’s why it’s right.” He barely craned his neck and settled sincere but bloodshot eyes on him. “If you love her, you’ll trust your friend.” He waved a finger that looked like a withered branch hanging from a dying tree. “If you made her cry, don’t you think she’ll want to see you sooner than later?”

  “I guess.”

  He raised his eyes. “If you’re her friend, you won’t need to guess. And if you want to be more than her friend, you’ll know.” With that, he pivoted back to the front of the counter and grunted again. Obviously, their short conversation had ended.

  Mr. Steinmetz’s advice triggered a positive response in Alex’s mind. He got up from the stool and stepped over to him. Thanking him, however, felt too sappy. Instead, he knocked on the counter to get the man’s attention then nodded his head in gratitude. Now he had to find out if there was any truth to the man’s recommendation.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  After looking out the peephole and seeing Alex standing solemnly on her front porch, Marisa debated whether or not she should pretend to be elsewhere. She had to admit, however, that he hadn’t intended to hurt her feelings.

  He had told the truth. And it only hurt because she saw the validity of his remarks. Put in that light, how could she punish him for verifying what she’d always suspected but never knew? If anything, she should be grateful that he cared for her enough to have told her such a hard truth. It would allow her to work on becoming a better friend.

  She opened the door and stood in the doorway, staring at her best friend.

  “Hi,” he said. “What I said earlier…I didn’t mean to hurt you. Can we talk?” Unlike the past, where he would have looked at her and then glanced away, Alex looked right into her eyes.

  Marisa had always figured that his inability to meet her gaze hinged on a lack of self-esteem. It reminded her of a little boy who sought permission before making any decision. With great effort (because it really annoyed her), she’d learned to disregard it. But now, his eyes didn’t waver. He looked confident. He looked like a man who didn’t seek permission but gave it. She really liked that attribute. But once again, it made her wonder how he’d managed to overcome that affliction in just a few weeks’ time. She stepped aside, welcoming him inside.

  Alex entered her apartment. Light shone through the opened blinds. An episode of Modern Family played on the flat screen across the room. He spotted a red gown with gold-fleck
ed seems in a long, transparent bag lying against her leather recliner. “Who are you going as?”

  “Cleopatra. Brad is going as Mark Antony.”

  “Brad wearing a toga?” he asked with a smirk. “That’s worth the price of admission.”

  “He’ll be wearing leather and battle garb.”

  “Damn. I wish I had a camera. I would have snapped a picture of him in a toga.”

  She hadn’t expected him to take the news so trivially. After all, he and Brad almost got into a fight a few weeks ago. If anything, she expected him to look dour. “Really? You’d take a picture of him?”

  “Then I’d have it developed – why pay for a dartboard?”

  At least she knew he wasn’t acting just to pacify her. “Would you like something to drink? I’ve got lemonade and orange juice.”

  “How about Diet Coke – and some hard stuff?”

  She smiled. “You read my mind.” Then she crossed the dining room, heading for the kitchenette.

  “That’s not too difficult. There’s not much up there. Each time you move your head, I hear a couple nickels rattling around.”

  She entered the kitchenette and chuckled, glad to see that he wasn’t tip-toeing around her earlier sorrow. He would have just a few weeks ago. “Don’t be surprised if I toss a few thumbtacks in your drink.” She pulled out a two-liter bottle of Diet Coke from the fridge and a bottle of Bacardi from the cabinet below the sink (he’d brought it months ago, but since she didn’t regularly drink hard liquor, it had remained untouched).

  “Great. A little extra crunch keeps things interesting.”

  “Especially if it shreds up your vocal chords.”

  “As long as you can drive me to the hospital, we’re good.”

  Just as she pulled out a couple glasses, Marisa realized how and why he’d managed to have found his confidence. As she had figured, becoming the leader of a large organization would make a big impact in that area.