Beneath the Shine

by Lisa Sorbe

It was coming from somewhere deep inside—

  ohmygod I’m being stabbed

  —and spikes of pain flashed from my core all the way down to my toes.

  My mind told me to go back to sleep.

  Go back to sleep, Betsy, it said.

  The world was dark, and the darkness was blurry.

  How can the dark be blurry?

  I tried to cry out, tried to expel the pain with my voice, but my tongue felt like it was glued to the roof of my mouth. My teeth felt soft against my cheeks, like they were made from the same type of material as those rubbery, pencil-tipped erasers.

  An image of a smiling mouth with stubby little pink erasers for teeth hit me, looming in my vision like the sneer from some demented clown, and I choked back a gag.

  The smell of chlorine was overwhelming.

  “What can I do?”

  I snort. “Pretty sure you’ve done enough.”

  Adair sighs as he brings the vehicle to a stop in his driveway. “Betsy—”

  But I fling the door open and am halfway out before he can even put it into park. I stalk up the sidewalk, pull my key from my pocket, and unlock the door. Gabe meets me in the entryway, feet tapping anxiously against the floor, a clear indication that he needs to go outside. Everything’s a blur as I snag his leash and clip it to his collar, hoping a walk in the cold will help me cool down. The energy ping-ponging against my bones, shooting through my marrow, is so intense I want to physically smack something. Or someone.

  Preferably Adair.

  I kept up a perfectly pleasant demeanor all day—thanks in part to the champagne—managing to smile and laugh and not storm out of the house so I could scream into the wind. My mother, thankfully, managed to get the Betsy-bashing out of her system by the time the guests arrived for dinner, and aside from feigning appreciation for the gift my parents got me (a cashmere sweater set in beige), the rest of our interactions were strictly superficial: would you mind grabbing another chair from the garage and could you please pass the pepper and aren’t these potatoes simply scrumptious?

  Just thinking about all those false pleasantries is enough to make me fume.

  And I’m pretty sure I know where I’d like to shove those scrumptious potatoes.

  I turn to head back outside and run right into Adair. He reaches for my shoulders in an attempt to steady me, but I brush him off. “Well, what do you know? I was just thinking about you.”

  He smirks, though his eyes are wary. “Yeah? Clothes on or off?”

  So. He thinks he can smooth things over with an adolescent sense of humor, huh?

  I peer up at him from under my lashes, lowering my voice so it’s sweet as syrup. I press my chest lightly against his, feeling the beat of his heart through my sweater. “Off.”

  His eyes widen.

  “Because it will be so much easier to shove what I was thinking about shoving up your ass without your pants on.” I push past him, dragging Gabe behind me. “Jerk,” I toss over my shoulder.

  Gabe and I only get a few steps from the house before he tugs on the leash, pulling me toward what has become his favorite spot in the yard. He turns his back to me while he does his business, so I return the favor, giving him the privacy he craves and turning my attention to the sky. It’s dark out, the sun having sunk below the horizon hours ago, and the only illumination comes from the glow of the full moon. It bounces off the snow, giving everything a surreal quality, like we’re on some celestial planet where light doesn’t just come from above, but also from somewhere deep below.

  I imagine being in a place that doesn’t rely on the sun or the fickleness of the weather. A planet that can wholly support itself because it carries its own radiance, its own light. It doesn’t have to depend on something else just to survive.

  It’s got its own back, Jack.

  I hear a scrambling behind me, the squeak of heavy-soled boots sliding against fresh snow.

  “Betsy, love. Come on inside and let’s talk, okay?”

  I twist around, refusing to look at him. “Don’t use that sweet charm of yours on me, McTaggart. I’m not one of your… your floozies.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut and internally kick myself.

  Floozies? Who says floozies?

  My grandmother probably did. Maybe my mom.

  Sounds like their brand of smack talk.

  I’m looking down at Gabe and watching him kick snow over his stinky business when I hear a snort behind me. Crossing my arms, I ignore it, leading Gabe a few steps farther down the driveway. When the snort turns into a full-fledged laugh, I spin around and stalk right back the way I came.

  Adair is clutching his stomach with one hand and covering his mouth with the other.

  The landscape may be shades of gray, but all I see is red.

  “You think this is funny?”

  “You… You said floozies.” His eyes are all shiny, though I can’t tell if he’s laughing so hard he’s crying or if it’s just a reflection of the light from the moon. He tries to stop, but one look at my scowl and he loses it again.

  “Forget you,” I say. My jab at him is pathetic and juvenile, but I’m too annoyed to care. I spin on my heel, patting my leg and urging Gabe along with me. He follows reluctantly, his short legs working through drifts of snow that brush his belly.

  Adair plows after me, his long legs eating up the distance between us in no time.

  “I’m sorry…” He reaches for me and I jerk my arm away. The second time he catches my shoulder and forces me to turn. His face is rosy from the cold. The snow that’s been spitting all day is now falling heavily, and flakes catch in his hair, his beard.

  I give the hand resting on my shoulder a pointed look before turning my face back to his and raising my brows.

  He removes his hand and sighs, his breath hovering in the air between us. It hangs like a ghostly bubble, and as I watch it unfurl into the night I imagine it’s full of all the things we leave unsaid.

  Day after day. Year after year.

  “As I was trying to say…” He pauses, trying to catch my gaze. “Christ, Betsy. Would you look at me?”

  I watch as the ghost bubble dissolves into nothing—like us it never was anything, not really—and when it’s gone completely, I force my eyes to meet his.

  “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry.”

  He says it like it’s nothing. Like by simply saying sorry everything is suddenly all well and good, like today never happened. His betrayal never happened.

  I groan, frustrated. “I just… I can’t believe you did that. I mean… Damn it, Adair! You sided with my mother! My overbearing, loves to put me down, always looking for a reason to pick me apart mother!”

  He tilts his head, his face is thrown into shadow. “She asked me what I thought of the guy, Betsy. And you know very well how I feel about him, so I’m not sure why what I said came as such a shock to you.”

  “But you didn’t have to tell my mother!”

  Adair takes a step back and rakes a hand through his hair. “And what would you rather I had done? Huh? Lie?”

  I throw up my hands, exasperated. Gabe gives a little yelp when the leash pulls taut. “Yes! Exactly!”

  “You’re talking nonsense.” He waves me off. “I’m not going to lie if it’s not in your best interest, doll. Especially not to your mum.”

  “What? Why? Because you’re such a choir boy, hot stuff?” I snort. “Hardly.”

  “No,” he shoots back, his voice taking on an edge I’ve never heard before. “Because you’ve got yourself in a right situation with this chancer and I hate to see you settling for some arsehole who doesn’t deserve you!”

  “And just who are you to decide who or what I deserve?”

  Adair looks at me like I’m crazy. “Who am I?” He laughs then, a mad laugh that chills me more than the prairie wind that’s trying to pry apart my coat. “I guess I’m no one. Isn’t that right, Bets? I mean, I thought I was you friend, one of your very best friends at that. But no. You…”
He shakes his head. “You know what? Never mind.”

  “No,” I snap. “What? I what?”

  He crosses his arms. “Do you really want to know?”

  “Sure I do,” I say, crossing my own arms and staring him down. “You apparently know me so well that you feel it’s your right to determine what I may or may not deserve. Or who I date, because lord knows you always have an opinion on that. So, come on. Spill the beans! Enlighten me!”

  Adair points at me, his eyes blazing. “You, Betsy, don’t have friends.”

  For a moment, I forget how to breath. My chest is moving, my lungs are working, yet it’s like my windpipe is pinched shut and nothing’s getting through.

  “I have friends.” I mean for it to come out in a shout, to counter the total untruth of his statement. But it comes out in a whisper.

  “No, you have acquaintances. You never give enough of yourself to be a friend.”

  I jerk as if I’ve been slapped. And he might as well have. Because even that would have been preferable to this.

  “Are you kidding me right now? I give everything to my friends. Hell, to people! I’ve been volunteering since high school, I stop drinking hours before everyone else so no one has to drive drunk. I gave up almost an entire summer to help Miles remodel his shop in exchange for, what, takeout and beer? I even helped you paint your tap room when everyone else was,” I make air quotes, “too busy, just so Rusty Bucket would be ready for its grand opening. I…” My voice is hoarse, and I have to pause and bite my lip so I don’t cry. Does Adair really think this way? That I give nothing to the people I care about?

  “But you don’t give yourself.”

  I just stare at him, confused.

  “You keep people at arm’s length,” he continues. “You show them what you think they want to see, and you become whatever that person needs at that moment. It’s a lie, though. Can’t you see? Because you can’t be everything to everyone. You’re never you.”

  I huff. “So you’re saying I’m a fake?”

  “Betsy.” Something too close to pity flashes in his eyes, and I have to look away or I really will lose it. Because my emotions are all jumbled up right now, and I can’t decide whether I feel angry or sad or just flat out crazy. But I’m something, because I’m vibrating with one of those emotions, and the heat flaring in my cheeks is definitely not from the cold.

  “You have these walls up. No one ever gets to see the real you. Friendship is equal parts give and take. You give. You give and you give, but you never give anyone the chance to give back. It’s like…” He tips his head back, clasps his hands behind his neck, and sighs, frustrated. “You’re the most loving yet the most indifferent person I’ve ever met. You’re fine as long as the focus is on someone else. But the minute it’s on you? Your personality flips, and you act all distant. It’s like suddenly you’re just…I don’t know…a goddamn stranger or something.”

  “I don’t want to bother anyone. What’s wrong with that? I can take care of myself.”

  “People don’t want one-sided relationships. Do you know how much it frustrates me that you bend over backwards for everyone—my sorry behind included—yet when I offer to help you, you turn me down? Every damn time? And don’t get me started on the losers you date. It’s like you purposely pick guys you know you have no future with for the sole purpose of not having to get close to anyone! You know it won’t turn into anything, so there’s no chance of ever having to feel anything.”

  “You’re one talk,” I snap. “If I’m not mistaken, I see the same pattern in your so-called relationships. I’ve never seen you with anyone for more than a few weeks in all the years you’ve been here. Fuck ‘em and leave ‘em, isn’t that right?”

  Our chests are heaving, and the air is heavy with our breath.

  We’re saying stuff now.

  My lips wobble, and a stupid sob slips out.

  Adair opens his mouth, shuts it, then opens it again. “I…” He turns his back to me, mumbles something that sounds like fuck, and rakes a hand through his hair again. His shoulders rise and fall, deep breathes that mirror my own.

  I wait for what feels like forever, staring at his back and wishing more than anything I could wrap my arms around his waist and bury my forehead against the leather of his jacket. He’s had the thing forever, since before he came to the States, and one time he even let me wear it. It was right after he moved here, a time when we really only knew each other enough to nod hello in passing and that was it. But mutual friends kept us tethered, and one night one of those mutual friends insisted that we all pile into his gigantic muscle car and trek a few towns over to check out the new haunted house that everyone was raving about. The place was sweltering, and I took my jacket off the moment we stepped through the door. But, because I was too afraid to open my eyes and kept tripping over my own feet, I ended up dropping it as we raced through the maze of rooms. It was an old fleece jacket, and a cheap one to boot, so I was fine leaving it to rot with the ghosts and ghouls; I had absolutely no desire to walk through the house of horrors again to hunt for it. Still, the whole experience was pretty cool—it took place in an actual farm house that was so far off the beaten track that we had to take a hayrack ride from the makeshift parking lot to the house two miles away. It was festive and they served apple cider and hot chocolate on the rides there and back, with a bonfire and marshmallow roast at the end. And aside from the spook show in the old house, I’d loved everything about that night. Adair wrapped his leather jacket around my shoulders on the trip back and then spent the rest of the ride pretending to huddle next to me for warmth. I’d kept that jacket for an entire week before returning it, stopping every time I passed it hanging on the hook by the door so I could smell it.

  I started crushing hard on him that very night. Feelings bubbled to the surface on that bumpy hayrack ride that I hadn’t felt since I was a teenager—the pure, swoony sort of puppy love that makes you weak in the knees and dull in the head—that scared me more than any haunted house ever could. I shoved the feelings down, told myself I was being ridiculous, and immediately started dating a bartender who called himself Ax and who did not scare the pants off me.

  I’m thinking this, all of this, when the crunch of snow pulls me out of the past and makes me start.

  Adair takes another step forward, so close our snow-covered feet are nearly touching. I stare down into the drifts, note the way the powdery chunks catch on the cuffs of his jeans. I wouldn’t doubt it if we were snowed in tomorrow.

  “Hey,” he says, his voice low.

  I swallow, peer up at him nervously before responding. “Hey.”

  I’m a monster who just threw a temper tantrum. I lost control, lashed out at the one person I love the most in this world. And for what? For telling the truth? For wanting to look out for me?

  And is it the truth? Am I really cold to my friends? Do I only get involved in relationships that I know have no future?

  I’m not one of those people. Of course, I’m not. I believe in Happily Ever After, don’t I? I realize that just because love doesn’t work for some people doesn’t mean it can’t work for others. And one bad relationship—hell, even a dozen—isn’t reason enough to swear off love entirely. In fact, I get so frustrated with people who say they’ve been burned so badly that they refuse to even try again.

  But am I doing the same thing, just in a different way?

  “Where’d you go?” He slides his hand down my arm and cups it over mine.

  I blow out a breath. “A hayrack ride.”

  He chuckles, gives my hand a little squeeze. The electricity knocking through my body is enough to catapult me to the moon. All I’d have to do is leap…

  “I remember than night,” he says. “You tried to steal my jacket. For days after I thought you were a right thief.”

  “I was not a thief! I just… I mean… I didn’t know where you lived so I could get it back to you.”

  Adair nods. Hmm,” he says, pretending to think
. “Guess you forgot I plugged my number into your phone that night. I waited around for days for you to call—the bonnie lass with the mesmerizing green eyes.”

  I know he’s just being nice. Just being the sweet-talking flirt that he is and all of this really means nothing. And if even it did mean something, if he was being serious and swept me up into his arms and carried me off to bed, I’d put my foot down and stop it. Because I can’t imagine not having this man in my life. Ever. I want to know what he looks like with streaks of gray silvering his hair, his beard. I want to be close enough to watch as laugh lines deepen around his eyes in spidery crinkles and listen to the sound of his voice as it grows gruff with age. I want to be able to call on him always, to know he’s just a heartbeat away and has my back in that fervent way that only the most devout friends do. And the quickest way to ruin any friendship is to try and twist it into something romantic.

  I’d rather we be forever friends than scorned ex-lovers with broken hearts.

  “You’re a nerd,” I mutter. But my lips turn up, just a little, contradicting my words.

  “Yeah, yeah,” he says, pulling me in for a hug. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m so sorry. For everything.”

  I press my face into the leather of his jacket and nod, taking in his scent that always smells like fresh forest pine coupled with the ocean. My body softens, molding to his as he pulls me tighter against him. The wind blows and the snow swirls, and we cling to each other under a blanket of stars, not even caring that a blizzard is eating up the night.

  I’m about to let go; I’m telling myself to let go.

  I really should let go…

  But.

  When he pulls back just enough to sweep a kiss over my forehead, I sigh.

  When his mouth travels down to brush my temple, I lean into his lips.

  And when he slides a finger under my chin and lifts my face to his, I let him, closing my eyes and parting my lips.

  I should feel shame for this, for dropping the resolve I so adamantly vowed just moments before. Regardless of whatever this is right now—

  his lips are close, they’re so close