Just Watch the Fireworks

by Monica Alexander

  I smiled at him before I pressed my lips to his again. “How far are we from your apartment?” I breathed, not really believing what I was saying.

  He pulled back again and looked at me with fire in his eyes that told me he was thinking the same thing. “Are you sure?”

  He was the one who had wanted to take things to the next level the last time we were together, but I think he was surprised that I was actually agreeing to it.

  I nodded, kissing him again. “I’m sure,” I said, through my kisses. “Yes.”

  “Okay, then,” he said, conceding easily. “Let’s go.”

  He set me down once, then kissed me fervently for a few seconds before his hand found mine, and he ducked out into the rain. I was right behind him, running toward his apartment and either the best or worst mistake I would ever make.

  I laughed lightly as the rain came down on us. He cut through some of the side streets that I had never been down before he reached Charles Street. We ran halfway down it before we reached his building. He dug his key out and jammed it in the lock, turning it with such intensity that I swore it was going to snap off, but the door swung open and his key came out. He took my hand again, as we ran up the stairs to his third floor apartment.

  I turned around to face him. He picked me up and carried me into his bedroom, laying me down on his bed. He laid on top of me and kissed me deeply before he leaned up. I saw him reach for his stereo remote.

  “I have thin walls,” he said sheepishly, as Toad the Wet Sprocket started to play.

  It was the music that reminded me of him and only him. I smiled.

  “What?” he asked, registering the smile that had flashed across my face.

  I shook my head. “Nothing,” I said, smiling again. “I feel like we’re back in college, that’s all.”

  “We were both happier then,” he said quietly. “So maybe it’s a good place to be.”

  He gazed at me longingly as he ran his finger down the side of my cheek before letting it trail all the way down to my waist. His eyes didn’t move from mine the entire time. I shivered slightly as I looked up at him.

  “Let’s get you out of these wet clothes,” he said with a grin.

  “Happily,” I said, sitting up and removing my soaking wet tank top.

  ***

  Beckett’s arms were around me, pulling me against him, my head on his chest. I listened to the sound of his breathing, as his fingers ran absentmindedly through my hair, and I made little swirl patterns on his stomach. I had not felt that safe or that comfortable in years. It was like coming home again. I hadn’t remembered it like that. I hadn’t remembered how nice he was or how into the moment he was whenever we were together. It was like we just fit.

  “That was really wrong of us,” I said.

  “You could say that,” he murmured.

  “I don’t regret it,” I said, looking up at him.

  His eyes were closed. He looked at peace with what we’d just done where as my stomach was starting to churn slightly as I came back to reality. As much as I didn’t regret my decision, I still felt over-the-top guilty.

  “I just couldn’t stop thinking about what it would be like to that – with you, again. But, it was so wrong,” I said.

  He ran his hand up and down my arm slowly, absentmindedly. “And how was it? Everything you’d dreamed about?” His hand paused while he waited for me to answer.

  I nodded. “And more. That’s what makes me feel so shitty.”

  On his stereo, Good Intentions by Toad the Wet Sprocket was playing, and I couldn’t help but think how much the song resonated with me in that moment.

  “Don’t think about it,” he said, as he kissed my forehead. “We’ll figure everything else out later.”

  Twenty-Seven

  “You’re going to like this guy,” Beckett said to me, as we walked from the T to the bar where the ‘dude with a guitar who sings cover songs’ was playing that night. “He does all the old stuff.”

  Beckett had told me about him over lunch on Thursday while we ate at a pub near BC. We’d eaten outside on the back patio and had made plans to come back with our friends that Saturday night to see this guy play.

  “Nice,” I said, trying to act normal and forget what we’d done earlier that day. “Does he take requests?”

  “Oh yeah,” Beckett said, and I could see his excitement.

  I wasn’t sure if it was from the music or what had happened between us, but he seemed to be in good spirits. I’d had some time to process what we’d done, and I wasn’t sure I echoed the same sentiments that I had that morning. Regret and guilt were vying for the top spot in eating away at my conscience.

  We entered the bar as a group, and I looked around for a table that would seat all seven of us. Summer and Patrick were with us, along with Kelsey, who Summer had invited when she heard Beckett was dating again, much to my, and probably Beckett’s, dismay. Now he was stuck pretending that he was on a date, which now that I thought about it, was probably for the best. Rounding out our uneven group were Kate and Tim who had just hit the two week mark the day before and seemed to be going strong.

  As I looked around for a table, Beckett kept walking all the way through the bar to the back patio, so we followed. I was surprised to see the place packed and wondered if we’d find a table. We should have gotten there earlier, but Summer hadn’t gotten done at the store until late.

  When we got outside, Beckett walked over behind the outside bar and gave the bartender a guy handshake/hug. The bartender indicated a table near the small stage in the corner by the fence where a guy was setting up a microphone, his guitar case open in front of him. Beckett turned around and waved us over to the table where he removed a sign that said ‘reserved’ and handed it back to the bartender.

  “Can we get two pitchers of Sam?” he asked the guy.

  “Sure thing, Mr. Ryland,” the guy said.

  “Nate, I’m not your teacher anymore. Call me Beckett,” he said, shaking his head as Nate went back behind the bar.

  “Nice hook up,” Patrick said, as he settled into his seat.

  “I know all the right people in this area,” Beckett said, sitting in the seat directly across me at the table. “Being a professor has its perks.”

  Beckett poked my foot under the table to get my attention. As soon as I looked up, he ran his toe up my lower leg. He’d kicked off his flip flop, so his foot was bare. I tried to keep my composure and not react to what he was doing. He was smirking, as I looked over at the stage. I was trying my hardest not to shiver, as flashbacks from that morning popped into my head. I pushed them away.

  Nate returned with our pitchers, as the guy with the guitar was introducing himself as Tom, The Traveling Guitarist. He cracked jokes and let everyone know that he would be taking requests as he held up a fishbowl that people could drop requests into and a tip jar that sat on the corner of the stage. He put on a pitiful face as he talked about his nine starving children at home that needed new shoes before he launched into his first song of the night.

  Soon we were all drinking and listening to the music, and I was having fun. When Tom took a break, I took the opportunity to put in a song request. In the center of the table were squares of paper and pens that we could use to write down songs to drop into the fishbowl on the stage. Beckett leaned over to see what I was writing.

  I looked up at him. “Perfect Blue Buildings by Counting Crows,” I said. “It’s resonating with me at the moment.”

  “Nice. That’s a good one,” he said, not showing any indication of understanding why I’d picked that song.

  “I don’t know that one,” Kelsey said, leaning closer to Beckett. She seemed like she was into him. She kept leaning over, in an effort to let him look down her shirt even though he wasn’t looking. He was looking at me.

  “That’s because it was released when you were three,” Patrick offered from across the table.

  “Hey, that doesn’t mean anything,” I said. “Beckett and
I were six when that album came out.”

  “Yeah,” Beckett said. “Take that, Patrick.”

  Patrick rolled his eyes. “Yeah, just because your sister made you listen to all that grunge rock whenever she drove you anywhere doesn’t make you a musical genius.” To Kelsey, he said, “Courtney and Beckett have an obsession with music from the nineties. You’ll have to excuse them.”

  I stuck my tongue out at Patrick and went to the stage. I was surprised to find Beckett right behind me. His right hand reached for my left one as I dropped the folded piece of paper into the fishbowl.

  “You’re wearing your ring,” he hissed at me, giving me a look that questioned why that was after what we’d done.

  I just looked at him, my eyes trying to communicate what I couldn’t say out loud. He suddenly laughed a short, mirthless laugh as he let go of my hand and dropped his slip of paper into the bowl on top of mine and several others. I knew he could tell I’d had a change of heart, and he wasn’t happy about it.

  “What did you pick?” I asked, hating that he was mad at me.

  “You’ll just have to guess,” he said, flatly as he dropped a five into the tip jar. “It reminds me of you.”

  Thirty minutes later, Tom dug into the fish bowl to pick out the next song. He’d just played my request and several others that I didn’t think were Beckett’s, but I wasn’t sure. He had been across from me, nodding to the music and drinking his beer, his arm around Kelsey. I’d been watching him, but he hadn’t make eye contact.

  “Okay,” Tom said, unfolding the next piece of paper from the fish bowl. “Apparently Counting Crows are in demand tonight. This next song is for ‘the girl who got away’. Wow that’s deep and a very interesting song choice I might add, but who I am to judge? Okay. Here we go.”

  Tom launched into a rendition of Murder of One by Counting Crows. I knew instantly that it was Beckett’s song, and I was suddenly filled with rage. I glared at him, but he wouldn’t look at me. He just nodded his head in time with the song, mouthing the words. Under the table, I kicked him hard, hoping it would get his attention and let him know how I felt about his dedication. I watched him wince, but he didn’t turn his attention to me. Finally, I got up and went to the restroom in an effort to collect my thoughts. It was all too much.

  After I used the restroom, I was too fired up to go back outside, so I took a seat at the bar inside and ordered a beer. I sipped it slowly, trying to calm down. That song had gotten to me, and I knew it was his intention. It was a shitty way for him to tell me how disappointed he was that I hadn’t broken things off with Ryan after we’d slept together. I knew it was what he’d been expecting.

  Within a few minutes, someone slid into the seat next to mine, grabbed my beer and took a sip. I knew it was Beckett as soon as he sat down. I turned on him, glaring as hard as I could.

  “Really, Beckett,” I said. “Really?! That’s the song you picked? And you dedicated it to me.” I shook my head. “What is wrong with you?”

  “It was supposed to be endearing,” he said. “It wasn’t supposed to piss you off, but hey, if it succeeded in doing that, fine by me.”

  “Screw you, Beckett. I’m not yours, and I’m not going to be. I’m sorry about what happened today. I got caught up in the moment, but I shouldn’t have done it.”

  I knew my words were harsh, as I enunciated each syllable slowly, but I felt like I had to be clear with him. We’d crossed too many lines that day, and it needed to stop. I kept coming back to the fact that Beckett had hurt me, he had left me and he would do it again if I chose him.

  “Dammit, Courtney,” Beckett said, hitting his hand on the top of the bar. “I fucking knew you would do this. Why can’t you see that we should be together?” He looked at me expectantly.

  I turned to him. “No matter what happened today, I’m with Ryan. I’m going to marry him,” I said softly, trying my hardest to let him down easy. “You and I are not going to be together.”

  “You’re not going to marry him,” Beckett said quietly, taking another sip of my beer.

  I twisted in my seat, fixing my gaze on him, taking in his slumped shoulders. He leaned on the bar, a twisted expression on his face.

  “Beckett, you need to get it through your head that we are not going to be together. This little game we’re playing ends now. Do you understand? I can’t be with you. I can’t do this,” I said, pleading with him to understand. I was really regretting what we’d done.

  “You seemed fine with it today,” he said, looking at a point in the distance. “Hell, you initiated it. You said you wanted to be with me.”

  I gritted my teeth. “It was a mistake,” I said, emphasizing the word. “I made a mistake, and I’m sorry.”

  “It wasn’t a mistake,” he said, turning to face me. I could hear the conviction in his voice. “We’re supposed to be together, Courtney. Me and you. That’s how it’s supposed to be.”

  “No, we’re not,” I countered.

  He took a deep inhalation of breath, steeling himself for what he would say next. “Then tell me why. Give me one good reason why you don’t want to be with me, because I love you. I love you more than he ever could, and I want to be with you,” he said, his eyes locked on mine, as he waited for a response.

  I looked down at the bar. I couldn’t face him when I told him the reason. I knew it would hurt him too much, but I also knew that I couldn’t get hurt by him again, so my decision was the right one. I was guarding myself against the pain because if I had to deal with it again, I might not survive.

  “You hurt me more than anyone has ever hurt me in my entire life,” I said, clearly and calmly. “When you left, it was the worst time that I can remember. I don’t trust you, and I don’t trust that you won’t hurt me again.”

  “Courtney, I won’t hurt you,” he insisted. “I won’t leave. I just want to be with you.” He was pleading with me, but it didn’t matter.

  I turned to face the bar, putting my head in my hands, as I started to cry.

  “What can I do to make you see that you can trust me,” he pleaded. “What can I do?”

  I turned to him, tears in my eyes, and said, “Nothing. There is nothing you can do.”

  “So that’s it,” he said. “You’re just going to marry that asshole who you don’t really love because he’s safe, and he won’t hurt you. Am I right?”

  I didn’t answer him, but in the back of my mind I knew he was right.

  “I’m right,” Beckett said. “You don’t even need to answer to let me know that I’m right. And apparently I was right about something else too. You’re life is a shame. It’s a fucking shame, because you’re scared and you’re running away from something that could be pretty fucking good if you just gave it another chance.”

  With that, he got off his stool and walked away from me, leaving me with my tears and my decisions. A minute later, Summer slid into the chair on my left side that Beckett had vacated, and Kate slid into the chair to my right. They pulled me into a three-person hug.

  “I told you he was an asshole,” Kate said, as he hugged me.

  I pulled back, wiping my tears away with my hands.

  “What happened?” Summer asked. “Beckett came outside and let us know that you needed us. He seemed pissed. Did you guys get into a fight or something? Why are you crying?”

  “Because he’s an asshole,” Kate said again, answering Summer’s questions.

  “He’s not an asshole,” I said, giving Kate a pointed look. “He just doesn’t get it.”

  Summer leaned forward, so she could look at me. “Sweetie,” she said. “What doesn’t he get? I don’t understand.”

  “I slept with Beckett today,” I said quietly, not wanting the bartender or the other patrons to hear.

  “You what?!” Kate said, leaning away from me in disbelief. “Courtney!”

  “Oh sweetie,” Summer said, shaking her head, as she pulled me back into a hug. “Why?”

  “Because I’m weak, and he’s
been such a good friend, and I don’t know.” I pulled back and buried my head in my hands. “I can’t believe I did this to Ryan. I am so screwed.”

  I kicked the bar with the toe of my ballet flat, wincing in pain as I did so.

  “He’s in love with me, and he wants us to be together,” I said, shaking my head.

  “Jesus,” Kate hissed, next to me.

  “You told him no, huh,” Summer said, and for some reason I didn’t think that was the first time she was hearing this news.

  I turned to face her. “Summer, did you know he was in love with me?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at her.

  She took a deep breath, and I wondered if she would lie to me to avoid a fight. Summer hated conflict. “Yes,” she said. “He told me last week when you were away with Ryan. He said you hooked up before Fourth of July, and then when he slept over that night, I thought you were in love with him too. I just kept waiting for you to tell me that you were leaving Ryan for him. I figured you’d come back from The Vineyard single.”

  I shook my head back and forth. Beckett told her that we’d hooked up. He told her he was in love with me. She knew and didn’t say anything to me. Of course, if I put any thought into it, I couldn’t blame her. It wasn’t like I confided in her about what we were doing, sneaking around, stealing kisses and spending the night. I’d been just as bad of a friend.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Sum,” I said.

  She just shook her head. “It’s okay. I know you had your reasons. The thing is, he asked me if he thought he had a chance with you.”

  “What did you tell him?” Kate asked, leaning forward so she could see Summer.

  “I told him I thought he did,” she said, and I could hear the regret in her voice. “I’m sorry, Courtney. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  I put my arm around her, letting her know that I wasn’t upset. “It’s okay, Sum.”

  “So why doesn’t he have a chance?” Kate asked then, looking back and forth between Summer and me. “You’ve been spending all of your free time with him lately, talking about him non-stop and getting all giddy when you know you have plans with him. And apparently there are some physical things happening too. I don’t get it.”