Undone

by Rebecca Shea

  “I am. I really like her,” I tell him, backing away. I grab my glass and hold it up, motioning to the kitchen door. “I’m going to go get another one.”

  He nods at me as I step around him and open the door. Stepping into the cool air-conditioned house, goose bumps prick at my skin. I pull the towel around me tighter, tucking it under my armpits. I note his clean, modern kitchen. Everything is perfectly in its place. Not a towel on the counter, not a dish in the sink.

  I pour another glass of sangria and set the large glass pitcher back on the kitchen island. Through the kitchen window, I see him squatting down next to the pool, talking to Lindsay. His body language is telling me he’s not happy.

  Opening the door quietly, I step out onto the patio, and walk over the large flagstone pathway that leads to the gas fire pit. In a circle around the fire pit sits a group of six oversized cushioned chairs. I sit in one and prop my feet on the edge of the unlit fire pit.

  “What’cha doing, Doc?” he asks as he pulls a chair up, closer to mine. He sets the chair so close that the arms of the chairs are touching. I like when he’s near me; it’s a safe, comforting feeling.

  “Just came to check out the fire pit. Is everything okay over there?” I motion to Lindsay, who is still floating in the pool.

  “Everything’s great,” he says with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

  I damn near polish off my third glass of sangria and I can feel the red wine’s effect on me as my body warms and my head becomes just a little fuzzy. We sit and stare at our feet, which are both propped on the edge, but neither of us talk to each other. Oddly, it’s comforting—but I have so many questions for him.

  “Remember when we were walking the dogs?” I break the silence as he turns to look at me.

  “I do,” he responds, tilting his head slightly.

  “You mentioned you had feelings for someone before—that you thought you loved her.” He swallows hard.

  “Mmm hmm.”

  “Be honest with me. Did you love her?”

  “Jesus, Reagan, no. Where is this coming from?”

  “Honest, you don’t still have feelings for her?”

  “No.”

  “What was her name?”

  He takes a deep breath and I feel his arm go rigid next to me.

  “Jessica,” he says quietly. “The honest answer is, no. I don’t love her.”

  I sip the remaining few swallows of sangria and turn to face him.

  “Why are you so afraid of me?”

  He laughs, and closes his eyes. “I’m not afraid of you, Reagan.”

  “Yes, you are. You’re afraid to let me in. Why?”

  “No, I’m not afraid of you.” He sits up straight in his chair, pulling his legs down. His voice is raised and I see Lindsay slip out of the pool from the corner of my eye.

  “Then why…” My voice breaks. Goddammit, I curse at myself for letting my emotions get the better of me. “Then why won’t you try to be what I need?” I whisper because it seems easier than yelling.

  “What is it that you need, Reagan? You want a boyfriend that isn’t going to hurt you—that is going to worship you like you deserve and not fuck up, right? Someone that isn’t going to hurt you… because, Reagan I don’t want to hurt you, I already told you that. And I will hurt you.”

  “You know what? Fuck you, Landon!” I stand up quickly from the chair. Pulling the towel off that is wrapped around me, I toss it in the chair. Stepping around the chair, I walk briskly toward the house.

  “Where in the hell do you think you’re going?” he bites out.

  “Home,” I yell, slamming the door behind me. I damn near run down the hallway to his room, shutting the door behind me. I lean against his door as my stomach turns and tears sting my eyes. I’m hurt and frustrated that he won’t let me in, but more importantly, I’m angry with myself for letting me fall so quickly for someone I know so very little about.

  Walking into the bathroom, I lock the door behind me and change quickly. Grabbing the wet swimsuit, I find my way to the living room where I set my purse.

  Lindsay rounds the corner from the kitchen. “You okay?” I nod, for fear if I try to talk, I’ll start crying. I dig through my purse, looking for my keys and cannot find them. Leaning against the wall, she finally speaks up, “He took them, your keys. He’s waiting out front for you.”

  I pull my purse onto my shoulder, and take a deep breath. I hold up the wet swimsuit. “I’ll wash it and get it back to you ASAP. Thanks for letting me borrow it.” I turn and walk quickly to the front door. I’m embarrassed Lindsay witnessed my temper tantrum.

  “Reagan,” she says just as I step outside. “I’m sorry. I heard you guys arguing—and you’re right, he won’t let you in, but you don’t know his story. Please be patient and don’t give up on him. Not yet. I know he cares about you…” She offers me a small, sad smile.

  “You can’t give up on something that doesn’t want you,” I say as I close the door tightly behind me and walk to my car. Landon is sitting in the driver’s seat and the engine is running. I’ve never had such a myriad of emotions running through me as I jog to the driver’s side door and yank it open.

  “Get out!” My voice is loud and my entire body is shaking. He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. And I have—almost twice today. “Now, Landon,” I bark at him.

  “You’re not driving. So you can stand here on the street and yell at me all you want, but I’m not fucking moving from this seat.”

  “I’m not drunk, so get out of my car—now.”

  “Not happening. You’ve been drinking and you’re emotional—you’re not driving.”

  “Then Lindsay can drive me; you’re not taking me anywhere.” I see him flinch when I say that.

  “Reagan, from how I see it, you have two fucking choices. One. Get in the fucking car now, and I will drive you home, or two, I will get out of this car, pick your ass up, and make you get in this car, then drive you home. Those are your two choices, so you pick which one you want—either way, I’m driving you home.” His voice is loud, full of anger, and I can see the muscles in his forearms twitch as he grips the steering wheel.

  This man infuriates me. Anger and hurt boil just beneath the surface and I know with one more word, I will crack. All hell will break loose. Without a word, I walk to the passenger side of the car and jerk the door open. Stepping up into the seat, I sit down and slam my door shut. Before I can change my mind, he puts the car in drive and weaves carefully through the streets, headed to my condo. The radio is off, and the car is silent as I rest my head on the window and close my eyes as I try to calm myself down.

  I wake up and the room is black except for the tiny hints of moonlight seeping through the shutters. I have no memory of lying down, but I can see a small stream of light from underneath my bedroom door and realize that the kitchen light must be on. My head throbs as I scold myself for almost driving home. As angry as I am with Landon, I’m appreciative he drove me. The large throw blanket that I keep draped over the end of my chaise lounge is lying across me, and I push it off, throwing my legs over the side of the bed.

  My head continues to pound as I sit up and remember the three large glasses of sangria I drank. I do not handle red wine well, and my head is proof I should have stopped after one glass. I shuffle to my bathroom, flicking on the bright lights. Squinting, I open the medicine cabinet and pull out the small bottle of ibuprofen. As I slowly move to the door, I see it out of the corner of my eye. The small box sitting on my nightstand, all closed up. Everything that was scattered on my bed is gone. I presume it’s tucked away safely in the small box, but my heart stops when I realize it wasn’t me who packed it up.

  The small pill bottle in my hand rattles as my hand shakes, reminding me to go get water. Opening the door, I walk the long hallway toward the kitchen. Rounding the corner, I stop dead in my tracks as I see Landon sitting at the kitchen island, his head buried in his hands with a cup of coffee sitting in front of him.


  “What are you doing here?” I ask quietly as I walk around him and open the cupboard, pulling down a small glass.

  “Wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  “I’m fine, just tired and the sangria didn’t help.” I realize my tone is less than friendly, but I’m not in the mood to make small talk right now.

  “You were passed out in the car. I carried you to your bed and you didn’t even know it.”

  “I was sleeping, Landon.” My voice snarls when I say his name. Setting the bottle of pills on the island, I push the glass into the water dispenser, filling it with cold water. Landon picks up the bottle of ibuprofen and opens it, dumping the pills into his hand.

  “Here.” He hands me two small pills, returning the rest back into the bottle. I take them from his hand and swallow them along with the cool water. “Drink some more water,” he says, taking the glass from my hand and refilling it.

  “I think I can handle this. I’m a doctor, for God’s sake,” I say quietly, taking the glass of water from his hands.

  “I know you can,” he says quietly. “But maybe I want to take care of you.”

  God, I want that, more than anything. Care for me, love me—choose me. I want nothing more than to lay my head against his chest and have him hug me, hold me—but my temper gets the better of me.

  “Seems to me that the only person you need to take care of is yourself—go figure your shit out,” I say bitterly and toss back the glass of water he handed to me.

  “Thanks for driving me home.” I turn and walk toward the hallway. “You know how to let yourself out.”

  “Doc,” he says as I’m walking down the hallway. “This isn’t done.” I stop, but don’t turn around to look at him. I can’t.

  “Yeah, it is. You said it yourself; you can’t be what I want or need. As far as I see it, it’s done. Go home, Champ.” I walk as quickly as I can to my room, shutting the door behind me, before throwing myself onto the bed and crying into my pillow. I now know it’s possible to love and hate someone in the same breath. Landon is everything I do not need, but he is everything I want.

  Her words sting—but she’s right. Pushing the stool away from the island, I pull my phone out of my pocket. Debating on whether to call Lindsay or Matt to pick me up, I pause when I hear her muffled cries. I stand momentarily listening to her ragged breaths and gentle cries—and I feel helpless. Turning the doorknob, I press the door open and see her body wound into a tight ball huddled in the center of her bed with a pillow pressed against her chest. The room is dark, but the bathroom connected to her bedroom has a light on, allowing me to see her. Her long hair lies on the pillow beside her, and her entire body shakes as she tries to settle her crying.

  “Reagan,” I say quietly. “I’m not leaving until I know you’re okay.” Her breaths are still ragged and she grips the pillow pressed to her chest tighter. Leaning against the doorframe, I stand and watch her. She remains curled in a ball, never bothering to look at me, or to acknowledge I’m standing here.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper just loud enough so that I know she can hear me. “I never wanted to hurt you or upset you.” Her crying has subsided, but her body remains still. I step away from the doorway and into her room. I stand at the foot of her bed, watching her, wanting her.

  “Reagan, I’m not leaving until I know you’re okay,” I repeat myself. She continues to lie still. I can see her eyes are open and she stares straight ahead, making no attempt to look at me when I talk to her, or seek answers from her.

  Moving from the end of the bed to the side where she’s facing, I kneel on the floor, bringing us to eye-level. Her blue eyes glisten as pools of unshed tears have collected, waiting to spill over.

  “Talk to me, Doc.” I whisper. “Where did all of this come from today?” She watches me carefully, studying me as I do the same in return. She relaxes her hand and slides it from the pillow she is gripping and lays it flat on the bed, as if she is reaching out to me. I set my hand on top of hers and watch her as she looks at me—willing her to talk to me.

  Her hand shifts slightly under mine and I tighten my hold on it. I don’t want her pulling away again.

  “Let me start, okay?” I push myself up from kneeling and sit on the side of her bed. Her head shifts slightly to follow me and I pull her hand into mine, linking our fingers together.

  “You were right when you told me to figure my shit out, Reagan, and I have a lot of it I need to figure out.” I swallow hard and run my thumb over her hand. Her eyes are attentive and focused on me as she watches and listens to me. “I have so much baggage and I don’t ever want that coming back to hurt…”

  “What baggage?” Her voice is raspy and quiet, and it catches me off guard. I’m not at a stage where this is open for discussion with anyone—even her.

  “Just secrets from a long time ago, Doc. Secrets I’m not ready to share.”

  “We all have secrets,” she says quietly, her chin quivering and her lip twitching. Tears leak from the corners of her eyes, spilling onto the satin pillowcase on which her head is resting. I release her hand and reach out to wipe her tears. Her eyes close, but her tears don’t stop.

  “My secrets are in that box,” she says, gesturing to the nightstand. My stomach turns when she says that, since I packed up the contents that were spread across her bed. My heart hurts for her. “You know everything about me, and I know nothing about you.” I wipe the tears from her cheeks, but as fast as I wipe them, more take their place.

  “Landon,” she says, her voice breaking, “we can’t keep doing this.”

  I know what she’s talking about, but I want to hear her say it. “Do what, Doc?”

  “Pretending that we can be strictly friends, when I want more,” she admits. I stare into the most perfect blue eyes I’ve ever seen and, for half a second, I think I might be able to make her happy, that I can try to be what she deserves and expects in a man—but then every insecurity I have beats those thoughts away.

  “I can’t…” I begin, when she interrupts me.

  “No, you can,” she snaps at me. “You could try, but you won’t.” Her words are full of venom, and she rolls over so her back is to me. I see her shoulders shaking gently as I move closer to her and lie down next to her, pulling her into me. I wrap my arms around her and kiss the back of her head.

  She’s right. I could try, I should try, but I’m so fucking afraid that when I fuck this up, because I will… I will lose her, and I’m not sure I could handle that. I hold her tight against my chest. I can feel her tears slide from her cheeks and onto my hand.

  “Shh,” I whisper and press my lips to her head. Pulling her closer to me, I can actually feel her heart beating.

  “This is what I want,” I hear her whisper. “This.” And I want this more than anything in the world. I do, but I’m too fucking afraid to admit it. So instead of saying anything, I hold her—comfort her and kiss her.

  “Landon,” she asks, tearing my thoughts away from her.

  “Yeah, baby.”

  “You know we all have secrets, right?” She turns to face me. “We all have scars; some scars can be seen and others cannot. Every scar has a story and every story needs to be told. When you’re ready, I’ll be here to listen to your story.” She runs her hand across my chin, letting it come to rest on the side of my neck. Laying her head on my chest, she whispers to me, “You may never love me the way I need to be loved—but don’t deny yourself the opportunity. Let me love you. You deserve that.”

  My heart hurts, it actually aches when I hear those words. The most amazing woman I’ve met is lying here next to me, opening her heart, telling me to accept her love, knowing I may never be able to return that love to her. My stomach churns and I feel nauseous. Pressing a soft kiss to her lips, I know I need to leave.

  “God, Reagan,” I sigh. “Tell me what to say and I’ll say it. Tell me what to do and I’ll do it, I’ll try—I promise I’ll try—for you.”

  “Stay.” Her fingers
dig into my arm as she clings to me. “Stay,” she whispers against my lips as she bites at my bottom lip.

  “I can’t, Reagan.”

  “You can.” She kisses her way from my lips to my neck. “Please,” she says, nipping at my neck. Pushing me gently onto my back, she crawls on top of me, positioning herself across my hips. Sitting on top of me, she rests both of her hands on my chest.

  Her eyes search mine, and I so badly want to tell her what I’m thinking, what I’m feeling—but I can’t. Where she is strong, I am weak. Where she has words, I have none. I can see a million thoughts flash through her eyes, but she doesn’t need to speak the words I feel coming from her at this moment—I know them as if they were my own.

  From her position of lying down on my chest, she slowly slides off of me. Weaving her legs through mine, her arm drapes across my waist and her head rests on my shoulder.

  “I don’t know what it will take for you to open up to me, but I will wait. I will fight for you,” she breathes against my neck. Those words, while startling, might be the sexiest words a woman has ever spoken to me. I pull her closer to me, if that’s even possible, and hold her. Her breathing settles and I can hear the steady purr of her breaths telling me she’s fallen asleep. Pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, I disassemble our tangled bodies and slide out of her bed. Setting a blanket across her, I watch her sleep—not sure that I’ve ever seen such a beautiful sight. Leaning over her, I whisper words I never thought I was capable of saying, “I’ll fight for you too, baby. I promise.” As the words roll off my tongue, my stomach turns at the thought that I may not be capable of loving her the way she wants me to, the way she needs me to.

  I pace the dark wooden floor in Reagan’s living room, as I wrestle with everything I learned and shared today. I stop to study the pictures that stand perfectly organized in frames on top of the fireplace mantle, pictures of Reagan and her family from past and present. She is equally as stunning in photographs as she is in person.