One Step Away (A Bedford Falls Novel Book 1)

by Sydney Bristow

  “What do you want me to say? It’s different for men than women. When we see an attractive woman, we can’t help but look. It’s a reflex. It doesn’t mean anything. Half the time, we don’t even notice what we’re looking at.”

  “But the other 50 percent of the time, you are looking. And that’s not good enough for me.”

  “Is that what this is? You’re breaking it off with me…again?” He sat back in the booth, an arrogant grin parting his lips. “How many months before you come calling? Last time it was nine months. And you look pretty serious, this time. I guess I’ll see you in about…15 months, maybe 16.”

  “This time is for good. I can’t trust you. I won’t trust you. Ever again.”

  Shaking his head, he picked up the menu again. “I’ve never been in this joint before.” He surveyed the room. “It’s pretty cool. Like it’s the ’80s again.”

  “That’s the idea, Brad. It’s a themed-restaurant. And I meant what I said. I’m going to the washroom. When I come back, I expect you to be gone.” She got up to leave.

  He locked his palm around her wrist, half-getting out of his seat. “Okay, I kissed her. Is that what you wanted to hear? I’m weak. I admit it. But you know we’re supposed to be together. Why else do we keep finding our way back to each other?”

  “I guess I was just as weak as you…until now, that is.” She pulled her hand out from under his and stepped away from her booth.

  “Every day I think of your hair and…it smells really good.”

  Marisa stopped. It sounded like Brad was trying to remember the words from Alex’s poem. She looked over her shoulder, not because she wanted to belittle a man she truly wanted to feel something for, but to remember what it felt like to see him work so hard to cover up his lies.

  “And your eyes…”

  “What about them?”

  “They’re so…perfectly spaced on either side of your nose. Well, I didn’t write that obviously. But what I’m trying to say is—”

  “Please stop. We both know Alex wrote that poem for me. I’m going to the washroom. When I return, I expect you to be gone. Goodbye, Brad,” she repeated. She walked down the aisle, pushed through the bathroom door, and stepped inside.

  The four stalls were empty. No one stood at the two sinks. She was alone. “Thank God.” She pulled out her cell phone and called Kelsey.

  After three rings: “Hello.”

  “Hi, it’s me. I’m actually…in your women’s restroom right now.”

  “Of course. Because all my friends call me from my restaurant bathroom. Did you know that I get more compliments about our restrooms than I get about our food? Perhaps we should start cooking in there from now on.”

  Marisa could always count on Kelsey for a laugh, and right now she needed it more than anything. “I just broke up with Brad. He’s sitting out there in one of the booths, and I don’t think he’s going to leave. I told him that I never want to see him again.”

  “Finally,” Kelsey said with a smile in her voice. “It’s about time. And I’m holding you to that. If I see you together again—”

  “You won’t. I promise. But could you check to see if he’s still out there?”

  “Sure. Going to check right now. I saw you leave last night in a hurry. Is Brad the reason you rushed out of the party?”

  “Partly.” She didn’t want to get into it now.

  “Sorry to say, but he’s still there.”

  “What’s he doing?” Marisa asked.

  “Looking through the menu. Oh, now he just glanced at the women’s restroom door. All right, he’s back to looking at the menu again.”

  “And I went to the restroom, so he could save face and things didn’t get awkward.” Knowing she’d need to face him again made her feel uneasy, so uneasy that she now actually had to use the lavatory. “Oh, well. I’ll be out soon enough.”

  *

  The Twilight Zone ringtone kicked in on Alex’s cell phone, indicating that Kelsey was trying to reach him. He answered it. “Hey, I’m a block away. I thought maybe we could get together for a movie and maybe have an early dinner. What do you think?”

  “Sounds great,” she said in a relieved tone of voice.

  “Is everything all right? You sound…kind of worried.”

  “Yeah, everything’s fine. See you in a couple.”

  “Sure thing.” A couple minutes later, Alex entered the diner, walked up to the counter and, after telling Brittany, an 18-year old blond woman, that he was going in back to speak with his sister, he pushed through the swinging double-doors, hung a left, and entered his sister’s office.

  Kelsey sat behind a mahogany desk that held a desktop computer and a monitor, a few framed photographs, and an empty Reese’s cup wrapper. “Great, you’re here. Close the door behind you.”

  “Cloak and dagger stuff, huh?” He closed the door and took a seat opposite her. “What’s going on?”

  “Marisa just broke up with Brad. She told him that she’s done with him. For good, this time.”

  A smile came to his face. He hadn’t expected to hear that, especially from Kelsey. He’d hoped to hear it from Marisa. But as long as she broke it off with Brad, he couldn’t ask for more, especially since she never planned to reunite with him.

  “She went to the restroom. In the meantime, Brad won’t leave.”

  Last night, after leaving his father’s home, Alex had anticipated a moment like this. His pulse quickened but not uncontrollably. “I’ll see what I can do.” He got up and opened the door.

  “Don’t let him start a fight, okay? I don’t want my customers freaking out.”

  Alex took it under advisement. How could he prevent Brad from engaging in fisticuffs? If he threw a punch, Alex couldn’t politely ask him to refrain from doing likewise. He stepped through the doorway and, when he turned the corner, took a deep breath, calming himself.

  He saw Brad sitting in a booth at the other end of the diner and made his way over to him, noticing how Brad continually glanced from the menu to the women’s restroom door and back to his menu.

  Brad turned, probably looking for a waitress, and saw Alex instead. “Hey, no-date. That Cassandra girl isn’t that great of a kisser, huh? Guess that’s why she liked you so much. It takes one to know one, right?” He chuckled.

  Alex ignored the insult. He slipped into the booth across from Brad. “I’d like you to leave.”

  Brad laughed. “You’d like me to leave? Well, I’m not. I’ve got every right to be here. I want to order something, but that waitress with the juiciest pair of—”

  “She’s not going to wait on you. The way I understand it, Marisa broke up with you, and she doesn’t want to see you again.” He deepened his tone: “So please leave.” He didn’t alter his tone to frighten Brad. If anything, doing so would just antagonize him. He wanted the customers around him to hear that he’d politely asked Brad to leave the building.

  Brad lost his smile. He straightened up. “And I already told you, I ain’t leaving. If anyone’s going to leave, it’s you.” He got to his feet, glaring down at Alex. “So you better get gone.”

  Alex looked to his right, past Brad, and saw Kelsey standing behind the front counter, shaking her head with great concern lining her face. She waved her hands, whispering in an exaggerated way to take it outside.

  “You may be man enough to ask me to leave,” Brad said. “But you’re not man enough to make me.”

  Alex released a breath, cleared his mind and subdued his nerves. He placed both hands on the tabletop, lifted himself up, and stared at Brad.

  “Finally down to it, huh?” Brad said. “Me and you. Ready to get your ass kicked?”

  Alex didn’t respond. He just stared at his opponent’s chest. Doing so allowed his peripheral vision to notice both arm and leg movements, giving him a quicker response time if Brad attacked him.

  “Not man enough to look me in the eye, huh? You’re not even worth my time.” He extended an arm, expecting to push Alex.
>
  But Alex stepped aside.

  And without the counterweight to prevent him from losing his equilibrium, Brad fell forward and accidentally bashed into an elderly man in the next booth. The plate of food by his right wrist slid across the table and fell onto the floor.

  The man let out a loud grunt, as he’d been struck in the back, although it seemed he’d reacted more out of surprise than pain. The disturbance caught the attention of everyone in the diner.

  “Hey, old man,” Brad said, annoyed. “Watch what you’re doing?” He immediately righted himself, turned back to Alex, and grinned. “So you want to make this worthwhile? It’s about time.” He cracked his knuckles.

  Alex hated that Brad had criticized an elderly gentleman who wanted nothing more than to enjoy his breakfast in peace. And now, everyone in the restaurant stopped chatting with their friends and relatives and directed their irritated gazes at Brad.

  Alex wanted to ask him once more to leave, but he knew that doing so would only be met with resistance. Even if Alex relented and said they should take it outside, Brad would either consider it an attempt for Alex to hit him from behind or a way for him to get outside and run away. Brad wouldn’t accept either option. He wanted to fight.

  The ominous gong and drumbeat from Michael Jackson’s “Beat It” blared through the speakers at a volume much louder than Kelsey had ever dared to play it before.

  Alex saw his sister return from the back room. In the past, she had always played this tune with more than a hint of humor in her eyes, but this time she lost all sense of jocularity and fixed him with a hard stare: a determined look that Alex interpreted as the clincher – the last time Kelsey ever expected to play this number again.

  For the first time, this song, along with Kelsey’s confidence in him, drove the music’s beat deep into Alex’s chest, energizing him, filling him with complete assurance and overloading his muscles and senses with adrenaline. Unlike every other time in the past, the song now had meaning: he needed to get past Brad in order to have a shot with Marisa. Otherwise, he’d always be looking over his shoulder for Brad or any other competitors for her heart. And he would never let that happen again.

  Brad approached with cocky body language. Then, with about eight inches separating them, he straightened with lightning speed and threw a right jab.

  Alex slapped Brad’s fist away, pivoted to his left, and threw a quick hook into his opponent’s nose.

  Off balance, winding his arms behind him to avoid falling, Brad regained control. He shook his head, dazed. He placed a palm under his nose, and looked at the slick red liquid dripping off his hand and plopping onto the floor.

  The restaurant door slammed shut, drawing Alex’s attention. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t have heard the noise, but all conversation in the diner had ended, and every customer looked at Alex, some unblinking, awaiting the next development in the fight, others simply chewing their food, their eyes looking to Brad then Alex and back again. Therefore, the sound clashed with Michael Jackson’s classic song.

  Without removing his gaze from Kelsey, Damon walked into the diner, toward the counter with a puzzled look on his face. Noticing the frightened expression on her face, he turned to the right and looked at Alex. He lifted his eyebrows in shock. Then he glanced at Brad. His eyes bulged in disbelief. And a smirk overcame him.

  Although curious about what had urged Damon to visit the diner, Alex decided to return to that question at another time. Now, he turned back to Brad.

  His adversary sneered at him, dragged the back of his left fist under his nose, and sent a line of crimson across it. Then he charged again.

  Alex kept his hands out front, prepared for the attack, ready to let his enemy dictate how he responded.

  Brad threw a roundhouse right.

  Alex lashed out with both arms, his left arm striking Brad’s forearm the same instant his right arm slammed down on his Brad’s right bicep. A second later, he chopped Brad in the neck, and while his face moved in the opposite direction, Alex followed that up with an elbow strike to Brad’s face, sending him in the opposite direction, wavering on wobbly legs before he crashed to the floor.

  Brad lay on the ground, immobile.

  The entire diner remained silent. No ringing phones. No forks clinking against plates. No voices engaged in conversation.

  Alex walked around Brad’s body, watching for a sneak attack. He moved in to find out if the man had lost consciousness.

  Brad kicked out.

  Alex caught his leg. He planned to slam his elbow down on Brad’s knee, which if thrust with enough force would have cracked bone. Instead, he grasped Brad’s shoe and dragged his body across the shiny linoleum floor toward the exit.

  The diners started laughing. Then they started clapping and whistling, drowning out the music blasting through the speakers.

  Hunched over, trying to hit Alex’s hands away from his shoe but unable to do so, Brad swiped at air.

  Damon ran across the floor, reached the front door, and opened it with a huge grin.

  Alex passed through the threshold, walked across the sidewalk, and stepped into the street. A car hoping to make a right turn slammed on the brakes, stopping just inches from Brad’s head. The driver beeped his horn.

  Ignoring him, Alex let go of Brad’s leg and looked down at him. “Marisa doesn’t want to see you again. And I don’t want to see you again. Now get the hell out of here.”

  Brad glanced in both directions, then stared at his reflection in the car’s shiny fender. He nodded. Then he got up, placing both hands to the pavement, and launched himself in the opposite direction, scuttling down the street.

  Alex watched him run away. He expected to feel good about defeating Brad, but he felt the empty inside. He pitied Brad. Startled by this revelation, he made his way back to the diner and met Damon, who still held the door open with a big smile. He offered his hand, and Alex clasped it, whereupon Damon pulled him in close for a congratulatory man hug.

  Kelsey had cleared the song from the stereo. The diners had stopped clapping and whistling and returned to their meals. But their voices were louder and more animated than normal. Now a steady, rhythmic drumbeat and the sound of cymbals tinkled through the speakers as the beginning of Peter Gabriel’s song “In Your Eyes” began to play.

  As Alex passed through the doorway, he saw Marisa at the other end of the diner, just outside the restrooms, looking at him with a luminous smile.

  And he finally got his wish: she offered him that tender smile, the one that promised a life of excitement and passion and love. He returned a smile that pledged all of that and more.

  Then he noticed the distance between them, and it allowed him to live out the scene that Marisa said didn’t exist: the one in Jerry Maguire where Tom Cruise and Renee Zellweger met for their date outside her home, smiling at each from opposite ends of the street, eager to begin a relationship that neither of them would ever forget.

  He walked toward her with tentative steps at first, but seeing her smile brighten with greater intensity as he closed the distance between them, he quickened his pace.

  Marisa did the same. Unable to stand idly, she rushed at him.

  Then Alex caught her in his arms, his smile slowly faltering as he looked into Marisa’s eyes, hoping to find his future there.

  She held his gaze with such fragility that she quivered in his grasp. Then she looked to the side, nibbling her lip, anxious.

  The emotional withdrawal didn’t surprise him. “What’s wrong?” Receiving no answer, he gently cupped her cheek in his palm, tilting her face to meet his gaze. “Talk to me.”

  Tears had entered her eyes. “Please, Alex,” she said, her voice cracking. But she lowered her head.

  “Hey, it’s me. What’s wrong?”

  Reluctantly, she met his eyes once more, looking like she might start sobbing. “Please…” And tears slipped down her cheeks. “Don’t hurt me.”

  How could she ever think that? Then again, she had voi
ced that concern before, while explaining why she didn’t want to consider him as a romantic partner. “Never.” He looked deeply into her eyes so that she grasped the depth of his feelings. “I’ll never hurt you.”

  Marisa let out a sigh of relief and clutched him like she feared that he’d let her go at any moment. She rested her head against his shoulder, her mouth hitching as though trying to ward off a sob.

  Nothing compared to holding his soul mate so close to his heart, comforted by her sweet scent as it washed over him. It had taken two years to get to this point…and it had definitely been worth the wait.

  Other than the music, the diner had grown quiet again. Marisa raised her head and glanced around to find all of the customers staring at them, waiting with hopeful expressions. “Oh,” she said, “I think…I think they want us to—”

  Alex placed a finger under her chin, turning her head toward him. Just as she met his gaze, he pressed his lips to hers, lifting his other palm to her face, getting lost in the way she felt against his body and the way she held onto him as though refusing to free him from her embrace.

  Hearing that soft groan in her throat, he took her mouth again, hungry to taste what he’d waited so long to possess, giving in to all of the desire that had built up in him since the first day they met.

  And when he parted from her, only now hearing the clapping and whistling lower in pitch, Marisa lingered, her eyebrows drawn together tightly, as though reluctant to awaken from a wonderful dream.

  “Well,” he said, sighing. “I guess my job here is done.”

  Startled, Marisa snapped awake. “What?”

  Watching the anxiety on her face, he broke out laughing. She shoved him in a playful manner, but he took the opportunity to grasp her hand and interlace his fingers with hers. He led her towards the front counter, where Damon laughed at Kelsey, dismissing her with a wave of the hand, causing her to lean over the counter.

  “He’s Superman,” Damon said with great passion. “He would crush Buffy. Besides, ‘Super’ is in his name. What does Buffy have? ‘Buff’ as in nude? It wouldn’t even phase him. X-ray vision, remember? He could see her naked any time he wanted.”