by Julie Kriss
And then what? I was supposed to live across the street from the guy who caved my heart in? Because—I already knew it—I was attached. Andrew meant more to me than anyone else ever had. I didn’t want to think about him dumping me.
“Does he know what you do for a living?” Nick asked as I put my groceries on the checkout belt.
Nick had Googled me, obviously. “Of course he does,” I said. “And he likes it.”
“I’ll bet,” Nick said.
I rolled my eyes. “Shame me if you want, but I happen to know you don’t have a job, either. And you never have. You’re even more useless than I am.”
“You model lingerie for a living,” he growled.
I didn’t, actually. Not anymore. I wasn’t going to take any more modeling gigs, even if they came my way, and sitting on the passenger seat of my car was the stack of papers I had to go through to apply for nursing school. I was going to do something useful, even if Andrew’s brother—and mother—thought I was a tramp. “So what?” I said to Nick.
“If Andrew is going to find someone, then he needs to find someone nice,” Nick said. “Someone who cares for him. Someone… I don’t know, selfless and giving or something. Someone who will put him first.”
I paid for the groceries and picked up my bags. Nick stepped forward to take some of them—so he wasn’t completely without manners—but I snatched them out of his hands and walked away.
I was stung. No, more than that—I was hurt. I wasn’t selfless and giving? I wasn’t nice?
And in the back of my mind was a little voice: He’s right. Andrew deserves someone better than you.
“Okay,” Nick said as he followed me across the hot parking lot. “I shouldn’t have shit on your choice of job.”
“Fuck you,” I said without looking back at him. “Some of us have to make a living, and we do it however we can.”
“Fine. You’re right. I know I can be an asshole. Believe it or not, I’m the nice brother.”
“I can’t believe someone actually married you.”
“Neither can I.”
That was kind of funny, but I was still mad. I beeped open my car and opened the hatchback, shoving grocery bags in. “Andrew told me about the suicide attempts,” I said.
“Jesus Christ. He did?”
“Yes.” In a way I could see why Nick was acting like a flu virus. He’d been with Andrew through all of the worst times and nearly lost him. If it were me who worried about Andrew day and night and some bra-model hussy came along, waving her boobs at him, I’d scratch her eyes out and I wouldn’t think twice.
“He never talks to anyone about that,” Nick said.
“I know. That’s because he never talks to people. Which isn’t exactly good for him, by the way.”
“I know.” Nick ran a hand through his hair. It was nice hair; it was a nice hand. Nick’s wife probably had to wipe up her drool every time she looked at him, even though he was a jerk. “I’m trying to get him to come with me to the comics convention in Detroit, but he refuses to go.”
I tossed in the last bag of groceries and looked at him. It was my turn to be surprised. “He didn’t tell me about that.”
“That’s because he’s being his dumbass self and won’t even consider it. They want us as guests on a panel and to sign comics for readers. It would be fucking amazing, but he won’t go.”
I could see that. A convention venue, crowds, a hotel—Andrew would hate all of those things. Still, I thought it over. “He should go,” I said.
“I agree, and so do his doctor and his therapist.”
I felt my jaw drop. “You talk to his doctors?”
“What do you think?” Nick said. “We’ve been crossing paths for seven years. His physiotherapist and his wellness therapist, too. They don’t tell me anything confidential, but we all know each other, and we all talk. Even though he’s an asshole, he’s still everyone’s favorite patient. They’d walk over broken glass for him.”
“Really?” I said. “So I’m not the only one. I’ve had a crush on him since day one. Like, bad.”
Nick sighed. “It doesn’t matter how fucked up he is, that’s the effect Andrew has on people. I’m used to it. Everyone who gets to know him goes nuts for him. And he doesn’t even notice, which makes it worse.”
We had a moment of silent agreement, the first one we’d had since he accosted me in the store. Both of us stood there in the ugly parking lot, thinking about how one guy in a wheelchair made us both crazy in the best possible way. It was almost like Nick and I had something in common, like we could be friends.
And then he ruined it. “I have to look out for him,” Nick said. “There’s been no one else to do it since the accident. I want what’s best for him, that’s all.”
My throat closed. Because what was best for Andrew probably wasn’t me. He was right. I wasn’t nice or sweet or understanding. I didn’t know how to be with a man who had as many needs as Andrew did, the sharp and specific kind that you couldn’t guess at. Hell, I’d never even had a long-term relationship with a man who had working legs and an average IQ. I was in over my head with Andrew.
I was that raw teenage girl again, the one who wasn’t good enough. Not good enough for her parents or school or friends or boys. I wasn’t going to get accepted to nursing school—that was a pipe dream. The truth was, I was a fucked-up girl who was no one. I was hot and sexy, and that was literally all I was.
Andrew needed someone he could lean on, someone who could actually help him with his shit. He didn’t need me.
“I got it,” I said, my voice choked.
Nick’s eyes narrowed in alarm when he heard my voice. “Hey,” he said.
“No, really. I got it.” I slammed my hatchback shut. “I’m okay for your brother to get laid with, but I don’t cut it anywhere else. I hear you. We’re clear.”
For the first time, he looked a little bit contrite. “I didn’t really… That isn’t what I meant.”
I pulled my sunglasses from on top of my head and put them on. “Sure it is,” I said. “We understand each other, don’t we, Nick Mason? I know your type, and you know mine. Have a nice day.”
I got in my car and drove off, leaving him standing there, alone.
Twenty-Nine
Andrew
* * *
When Tessa came to the door, I buzzed her in, barely glancing at the security feed. I was deep in a coding problem on the Lightning Man website, my earbuds in my ears, CCR playing on my iPhone. I wasn’t in a bad mood for once. In fact, life almost seemed pretty freaking good.
I’d run reports on Lightning Man sales this morning, and downloads were up twenty percent over the previous month. We had fans writing in to the Gmail account I’d set up and a company interested in printing Lightning Man merchandise. Evie, who owned a bakery during the day, had taken a few evenings to set up an Instagram account for us, and we already had over five thousand followers. The hobby that Nick and I—a college dropout and his depressed, wheelchair-bound brother—had started in desperation was catching on.
We’d never planned on taking Lightning Man public at first. But we had, and people were reading it. It felt pretty good.
And then there was Tessa.
I’d never planned on her, either, but here she was. Those long legs and that blonde hair. The way she arched an eyebrow when I was being an ass and the way she threw her head back and laughed when one of my jokes caught her off-guard. She was either hanging out with me during the day or sending me caustic texts from wherever she happened to be. And at night, there was sex. Glorious, magical, incredible sex. How had I lived so long without sex? How had I lived so long without Tessa?
She came through the door as I pulled my earbuds out, her arms weighed down with groceries. Her big sunglasses were on, showing only her nice nose and her sexy mouth. “Hey,” she said.
I looked at the bags. “You bought groceries?”
“Well, yeah.” She walked into the kitchen. “I eat all of
your food, Mason, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
“I hadn’t noticed,” I said, watching her walk through the doorway. Even in loose-fitting cargo pants, Tessa walking was a nice thing to watch. The nicest. “You don’t have to do that, you know.”
“I know,” she said from the kitchen. “I’m trying not to be an asshole.”
It was something in her voice, maybe. A slightly flat tone. I put my phone down and turned my chair so I wasn’t facing my desk. “What’s wrong?”
She was still in the kitchen, the cupboards banging. “Wrong?”
“Yes, wrong. As in not right.”
She was silent for a long minute as the cupboards continued to bang, the fridge opened and closed. Then she came back out to the living room, empty-handed. She pulled the sunglasses from her face and leaned against the doorframe, looking at me.
“What?” I said.
She blinked and bit her lip, looking away.
“Tessa.”
“What are we doing?” she asked. “You and me.”
I frowned. “What do you mean, what are we doing?”
“Us,” she said. “Whatever it is that we’re doing together. I’ve never even had a steady boyfriend, did you know that? The longest I’ve ever dated someone has been a week.”
Something went cold in the middle of my back, moving up the back of my neck.
“I’ve never even owned a cat,” Tessa went on. “I got my GED by the skin of my teeth when I was twenty-one. All I own is a few garbage bags full of clothes and that’s it.”
The cold had traveled to the pit of my stomach. “Tessa, what are you saying?”
She looked at me. I’d never seen her look quite like that, like someone had stripped the skin off her and left her raw. Not even when she’d banged on my door and told me her deepest secret.
“I’m saying I don’t think I can do this,” she said. “I thought I could, but I can’t. I’m not a strong enough person.”
Now the cold was in the back of my throat. My hands were like ice on the arms of my chair.
Dumping me. She was dumping me.
Part of me had expected it. What was she doing with me, anyway? I’d never figured it out. I was used to people leaving. I was too much, I knew. I was too difficult. It was all too fucking hard.
And still it hit me in the chest like the slice of a blade.
Through the numbness working its way through me, something crossed my mind. She hadn’t been like this this morning; she’d been flirty and relaxed when she left, her usual self. “Something happened,” I managed to say. “While you were out. Something happened.”
“I did some thinking, that’s all,” Tessa said, but she looked a little panicked. She was a terrible liar, at least with me. “I just… thought things over.”
“No, you didn’t.” I put my hands in my lap. “You overthink everything, like I do, but that isn’t what this is. Something happened that made you do this.”
She shook her head.
And then it came to me. My brother, telling me I didn’t know Tessa, that she could be anyone. Then quietly picking up his things and leaving, the argument over. “It was Nick, wasn’t it? Nick got to you.”
Panic again. “Andrew, no one got to me.”
“Bullshit.” The word came out harsh, like sandpaper. My brother. My fucking brother, the person I relied on most in the world. “You were fine this morning. You were fine last night. You were a strong enough person then.”
She flinched, the expression moving over her beautiful face. Pain crossing her blue eyes. She may not have been good enough for L.A., but I had never seen a woman as beautiful as Tessa. “What are you suggesting we do, Andrew?” she said, her voice raw. “Are you suggesting we become boyfriend and girlfriend, when neither of us knows how that works? That we move in together, get married, have kids? Are you suggesting we follow the script? Neither of us knows how to read it.”
“I don’t follow a script, and neither do you.” My own voice was rough with pain. In a way, she was right. We’d never be a normal couple, starting with the fact that I couldn’t take her on dates. My own fucked-up failings. “We can make our own script. Both of us do that already. We make this, whatever it is—we make it what we want it to be. We make the rules ourselves, and fuck whoever doesn’t agree with them.”
“Great,” she said. “And then something bad happens. You have a bad day, or I do. Or both of us. And when that happens, I’m going to say the wrong things and make you angry or hurt your feelings. And I won’t know how to handle any of it or what to do. I won’t know what you need or how to give it. I’ll be clueless and stupid. And I’ll fuck it up.”
“You’re doing it right now,” I said. “What did you and Nick do? Meet up somewhere I couldn’t see you? Talk about me like I’m a kid you share with your ex? Figure out what’s best for me?”
She let out a little sound in the back of her throat, halfway between a moan of pain and a growl of frustration. She ran a hand through her hair and pulled away from the doorframe. “I have to go.”
“You don’t have to, you want to,” I said. “Let’s be clear on that at least, Tessa. You’re leaving because you want to.”
“I don’t know what I want.” She walked toward the door. “I’ve never known, Andrew, and you haven’t cleared things up at all.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I have to go,” she said again, like it was something she was repeating to herself, and the door closed behind her.
I didn’t have to turn on the security feed to know she was walking back across the street to her own house, going in and closing the door. Shutting me out.
I sat there for a long time, the silence ringing loudly in the room. Taking one breath. And then another.
I’d had Tessa. And then I’d lost her.
One breath, and then another.
When the car had hit the guardrail seven years ago, I should have been knocked out. In a world with even an inch of justice, I should have been unconscious on impact, out of it until I woke up in the hospital.
I wasn’t. I was awake every minute as the paramedics came. Awake in the dark, unable to move, with Theo dead beside me in the driver’s seat. In a way, even though seven years had passed, that darkness was the same darkness I saw every night after the sun went down.
For a short while, I hadn’t faced that darkness alone. Those had been the best nights of my life. Tonight I’d be alone again.
On the table next to me, my phone buzzed. I closed my eyes, then opened them again and wheeled over to grab it. It was Nick, calling me. I swiped to cancel the call.
He called again. I cancelled the call again.
Before he could redial, I texted him. Leave me the fuck alone, I wrote. We’re done.
Then I turned my phone off, turned back to my computer, and got back to work.
Thirty
Tessa: Andrew?
Tessa: Andrew??
Tessa: Please, please talk to me. It’s been three days.
Tessa: Please??
Tessa: Okay, if you won’t talk, then I will. I have no one else to talk to, anyway. It’s two o’clock in the morning and I can’t sleep. I’m lying on my sofa, wide awake, thinking about you.
Tessa: I guess that’s stupid, right? You’re not talking to me. I deserve it. Maybe you won’t talk to me again, because I freaked out the other day. I panicked. And I fucked up, just like you said.
Tessa: You were right, by the way. Nick talked to me. He tracked me to the grocery store so you wouldn’t know. He told me I’m not good enough for you, and I believed him. Or, the girl I used to be believed him. She’s gullible like that.
Tessa: And you were right that we talked about you behind your back. Like you aren’t a grown man who can have face-to-face conversations. So we both fucked that up.
Tessa: You aren’t talking to him either. I know because he found my number somehow and called me. He’s beside himself. He even went to your door and you wouldn’t let him in. I
f you’re not talking to me, you should at least talk to him. I’ve never heard a man so wrecked in my life.
Tessa: He loves you, by the way. A lot. I wish I had a brother who loved me like that. Or a sister. Any sibling, really. Seriously, Andrew. Talk to him.
Tessa: I miss you.
Tessa: I put in my nursing school application. It was lonely. I wished I had you with me.
Tessa: That sounds selfish, like it’s all about me. Except it isn’t. I want to do whatever you’re doing, talk about whatever you want to talk about. I don’t care what it is. Even if you want to yell at me. I just fucking miss you, you know? I fucking miss you.
Tessa: I made a mistake, and I know that. I’m sorry. But at the same time, that screwed-up girl lives inside me. I do my best to shut her up, but I don’t think she’ll ever be gone. She’s part of who I am. Does that make sense? Does it even matter?
Tessa: You haven’t blocked my number, so I’m holding on to that. Like maybe you’re listening.
Tessa: I miss sex with you.
Tessa: And all of the other things.
Tessa: I miss everything.
Tessa: Okay, I’ll shut up now. Good night.
Thirty-One
Andrew
* * *
I thought it would be the worst thing. Being dumped by Tessa. Learning the entire thing was arranged by my brother. Watching him stamp out the first happiness I’d had in seven years, as if he couldn’t take seeing me happy with anyone but him, even though he’d gotten married.
Being unable to stop any of it.
And it was bad. It was very fucking bad. But in the depths of the shittiness, with my phone on silent and the quiet deafening, something happened. My mind cleared, just a little. I didn’t die. Instead, I started to think.
Not about them. About me.
“Your tones are muted today,” Donna the wellness therapist said as she lit some incense. “You’ve turned off all of your computer monitors. Something is different.”