The First Time (A Time For Love Book 2)

by Amelia Stone

  “No. You didn’t love me then.”

  “Then why do I remember everything about you?” I countered.

  “Yeah, right.” Her expression hardened, like my repeated declarations of love were starting to piss her off. “You probably can’t even remember my birthday,” she scoffed as she walked across the room.

  “October twenty-third,” I replied immediately.

  She whirled around, glaring at me. “You looked that up. It’s on your phone, in your calendar. You looked it up while my back was turned.”

  I dug in my pocket, pulling my phone out. I made a show of trying to turn it on. “It’s dead. I forgot to charge it last night.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Of course you did. You’d forget your own name if I didn’t shout it during orgasm,” she spat. “That’s why you’re telling me you love me right now, isn’t it? You just want to keep fucking me.”

  I narrowed my eyes. She was trying to piss me off, trying to push me away. I huffed. Good luck with that.

  “I remember everything about you, Jamy,” I insisted. “Every. Fucking. Thing.”

  “Sure you do,” she muttered. She walked away again, tidying the already spotless room. Trying to avoid the conversation.

  “Your middle name is Lyn. You love the Packers because you had a crush on Brett Favre when you were in the third grade. Your love for him faded, but your allegiance to the team stuck. Your favorite color is green, because that’s the color of your eyes.”

  She stopped, taking several deep breaths. Her hands shook as she picked up a bottle of nail polish from her desk. She set it back down hard, the sound echoing in the suddenly silent room.

  I stalked over to her, grabbing her shoulder and turning her to face me. Her eyes were swimming with unshed tears. Fuck. Seemed I was finally getting through to her.

  I laid my hands gently on her neck, rubbing my thumbs over her cheeks. “Do you remember the day we met?”

  She nodded slowly. “The first day of second grade,” she whispered.

  I squeezed her shoulder. “I saw you walk into the room, holding your Lisa Frank backpack in front of you like a shield, and I thought you were so pretty, I just had to talk to you.” I smiled. “And then I tripped over my own feet.”

  She huffed softly. “Because you’d forgotten to tie your shoelaces.”

  I nodded. “And then Celia tripped over me, yelling in Spanglish about stupid gringos.”

  She smiled, though it was faint. “And Todd ran over to defend her honor, only he tripped over your shoe.”

  “Because of course it fell off my foot,” I agreed.

  “Of course.” She looked away, blinking, as though trying to fend off tears. “And then Mrs. Brooks started yelling about a three-kid pileup, and she put all of three of you in detention during recess.”

  “And Celia hated me for a week, because she missed her double-dutch competition.”

  “Which Hannah ended up winning,” she finished. She looked back at me, and yeah, she was definitely fighting tears. “Why are you doing this, Sam? Telling old stories like this. What’s your point?”

  I rubbed my thumb across her lips. “My point is that it wasn’t just the first time I met you, Jamy. It was the first time I fell in love with you.” I leaned forward, kissing her lips softly. “I have always loved you. And I always will. Please. Just believe me.”

  She bit her lip, her eyes sliding away from me. “I can’t.” Her tone was plaintive. “I’m sorry, Sam, I just can’t believe you.”

  I took a deep, shuddering breath, taking a step away. I knew this would happen. I fucking called it, my first night back in Arizona.

  “I don’t think it’s me you can’t believe.” Her eyes snapped to mine, and I shook my head at her. “It’s you. You can’t believe in yourself, can’t believe that you’re worthy of love.”

  Her mouth crumpled, the tears finally spilling over. “I don’t know how,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I try. I really do.” She looked up at me, her eyes pleading with me to understand. “I try so fucking hard, Sam. But I don’t know how to believe in myself.”

  “Then let me help you,” I begged her. “We can go to therapy together. We can work on this. Or fuck, I’ll love you so hard that it won’t even matter if you can’t love yourself. I’ll love you enough for both of us.”

  She shook her head. “You can’t.” Her voice was wooden, and I watched as a final tear rolled down her cheek. Then she sniffed, wiping at her cheeks with the backs of her hands.

  I reached out a hand to help her, but she batted it away. “I know I can, Jamy. I already do. I love you so much.”

  I realized, as I stood in front of her, begging her to let me love her, that she hadn’t even told me whether she returned my feelings. And honestly, I didn’t care. I could wait for that. I’d wait forever, if it meant that she’d love me for even five fucking seconds. They’d be the best five seconds of my life.

  “No,” she whispered. She cleared her throat. “No,” she repeated in a stronger voice. “You can’t.” She looked up at me, her eyes going hard. “I won’t let you.”

  I stared at her, my temper simmering again. “You won’t let me?”

  She bit her lip, but she straightened her spine, facing me squarely. “Sam, you can’t fix me. I don’t even know if I can be fixed.” Her hands were shaking as she ran them through her hair. But her voice was strong and clear. “But I do know you can’t do it. I have to do it myself.”

  My pulse was pounding in my ear. I stared at her, dread growing in the pit of my stomach. “So now what?”

  She looked away. “I guess we break up.”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  Her eyes snapped to mine. “No?”

  I smirked, though I was anything but amused right now. “That’s right. I get to be the one to say ‘no’ this time,” I taunted. “We are not fucking breaking up.” I leaned down, until my forehead was touching hers. “You need time to fix yourself, you take it. But we belong together, Jamy. Now and always. That’s never fucking changing.”

  I kissed her, fiercely, plunging my tongue into her mouth, pressing my lips to hers with bruising force. When I finally came up for air, I bit her lower lip hard. She whimpered, and I got a grim sense of satisfaction when I pulled away, looking at the mark I’d left. Let her be reminded of me every fucking time she looked in the mirror.

  “I love you,” I repeated, stepping back. “And when you’re ready to love me – when you’re ready to love yourself – you come get me.”

  And then I zipped up my pants and walked away.

  My phone buzzed. I ignored it. I didn’t even bother to lift my head from the pillow to see who it was. I didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to talk to anyone. Didn’t want to see anyone. Didn’t want to do anything. Not ever again.

  My phone buzzed again. I rolled my eyes and reached for the stereo remote. I flicked the volume up until Morrissey’s plaintive bari-tenor nearly deafened me. Then I snuggled further under the covers, clutching my body pillow against me. I stared at the pattern of my sheets, counting the lines of the green-and-white check until they grew fuzzy. Then I started over again.

  My phone buzzed a third time. I grunted. “Ain’t nobody gonna answer that,” I grumbled, pulling the covers over my head. I hummed along with Moz. Every day was indeed like Sunday – tired and gray, and completely fucking pointless. You did nothing all day but worry about how badly tomorrow would suck. Why even bother?

  A knock woke me up some time later. I ignored it.

  Another knock a minute later. I pulled the covers down.

  “Go the fuck away,” I shouted over the music.

  “No.” Hannah’s voice sounded tentative, even though she, too, was shouting.

  I rolled my eyes and pulled the covers back over my head.

  A long pause. Then: “Come on, Jamy. Get up.”

  “Go the fuck away,” I repeated.

  “I need to talk to you.”

 
But I didn’t want to talk to her. I didn’t want to see her. I didn’t want to do anything more for her stupid fucking wedding. I didn’t want to celebrate her happily ever after. I just wanted her to go away.

  I wanted everything to go away.

  “Jamy, come on. Please get up. It’s a beautiful day.”

  I looked out the window. The sun was shining. It was early November, so it was undoubtedly a crisp eighty-ish degrees outside. There wasn’t a cloud in sight.

  It was fucking revolting.

  “No.”

  Another long pause. Then: “I’ll take you to Elmer’s.”

  I stared at the pattern of my sheets for two minutes and twenty-three seconds. Yes, I counted.

  I grunted, sitting up. “Give me twenty minutes.”

  ***

  An hour later, when I finally had a plate of chicken enchiladas in front of me, I spoke.

  “So what do you want?”

  Hannah sighed, and her forehead creased over her bright green eyes. Eyes that looked just like her brother’s.

  I looked away.

  “I’m worried about you.”

  I snorted, then brought a forkful of enchilada to my mouth. Green chili sauce made everything a little less horrendous. Not much less. Things were still horrendous. But they were less horrendous enough to have another bite.

  “Sabine said you haven’t been to work in a while.”

  I chewed slowly. Thoroughly. I didn’t want to answer her question. I didn’t want to answer any questions.

  Hannah laid her hand over mine, preventing me from scooping up another forkful. “Jamy.”

  I glared at her. She was coming between me and my enchiladas. “What?”

  “Did…” she hesitated, reaching up to twirl a lock of hair between her fingers. I took the opportunity to steal another bite. “Did you get fired?”

  I swallowed. Then I picked up my horchata, taking a long sip.

  “Will you please talk to me?” She sat back, crossing her arms over her chest.

  I reached across the table, grabbing a handful of strips. I piled some cheese on them, then doused them liberally with hot sauce. “No.” I opened wide, shoving the whole pile of tortilla chips in my mouth.

  “No, you won’t talk to me, or no, you didn’t get fired?”

  I finished chewing. “Both.” Then I scooped up a forkful of rice.

  “Then how have you taken all this time off?”

  I glared at her. She obviously didn’t understand the concept of ‘no.’ “Vacation.”

  “You’ve been out for almost three weeks.” She raised an eyebrow. “They give you that much PTO at the shelter?”

  I grabbed a strip, dipping it in my beans. “Rollover.”

  She nodded. “Ah. Nice.”

  I ignored her, focusing on my enchiladas for a few bites. This was a stupid conversation anyway.

  Everything was stupid.

  “I’ve missed you,” she said quietly.

  I looked up. “I’m sure. Who else do you have to listen to you prattle endlessly about your wedding?” I sounded angry. I didn’t care.

  She bit her lip, tears welling in her eyes as she nodded. “I deserve that.”

  I sighed. “I’m sorry. That was mean.” But I didn’t sound very sorry. I didn’t have enough energy for ‘sorry.’

  I didn’t have enough energy for anything. Normally, I’d be horrified that I hurt my best friend’s feelings. Now, even indifference was too much of a stretch.

  Much easier to just not feel at all. No one to be angry at or feel sorry for. Least of all myself.

  She shook her head. “No, it’s fair. I’ve been really selfish lately. I asked you to do too much, and I didn’t think about how it would stress you out.”

  I shrugged, sipping my drink again.

  “Anyway, I took care of all that stuff. The wedding’s done. I ordered the flowers, the menu is set, and the dresses have all been altered. All you have to do is show up now.”

  I took another forkful of rice. She wouldn’t get an argument from me. The old me might have protested, might have felt bad that I’d backed out on my promises.

  The new me didn’t have feelings anymore. They hurt too much. I was better without them.

  “Jamy, look at me, please.”

  I did. I expected her to look upset, maybe even mad at me. But she just looked sad. “I’m really sorry. I’ve been a shitty friend. I’ve completely ignored your needs.”

  I nodded. “It’s fine.”

  She shook her head. “No, it’s not.”

  No, it wasn’t. Nothing was fine. But it didn’t matter much. Nothing did, anymore.

  I looked at the wall. The mural needed a touch up. That wolf was looking a little long in the tooth.

  She sighed and pushed the strips toward me like a peace offering. I took a handful. We ate in silence for a while.

  “This is really bad, isn’t it?”

  I stopped, my fork halfway to my mouth, thinking she meant the food. I looked up at her. Her lips were pressed together, her eyes scrunched in concern.

  For me.

  I frowned. “I’m fine.”

  She shook her head. “No you’re not.”

  I tried to smile, but it was probably more like a grimace. “Well, as fine as I ever am.”

  She stared at me for a long minute. I tried to ignore her. I polished off my enchiladas. But I could feel her gaze on me.

  “No, it’s more than the usual stuff. The anxiety and all that.” She waved a hand dismissively. Like ‘all that’ could be dismissed so easily. “I think you’re depressed.”

  I snorted. No shit, Sherlock.

  “I mean, the apartment was not up to your usual standards today.” She sniffed.

  I shrugged. That was because I hadn’t cleaned in nineteen days. Yes, I counted. Any housework done was thanks to Sabine. And she generally didn’t give a fuck about housework.

  Hannah took a deep breath before continuing. “I saw Sam yesterday.”

  I froze. I couldn’t talk about this. Not now. Not ever.

  She frowned. “He loves you, you know.”

  I blinked rapidly. I would not fucking cry. Not today. Not ever again. I was done crying, forever.

  I nodded. “I know.”

  He’d been texting me on a daily basis, telling me how much he loved me. How much he missed me. How he hoped I was doing better. Telling me that he was still waiting for me.

  I hadn’t responded to any of them.

  She slapped both hands down onto the table. “Then call him!” she cried. “Get back together!”

  I shook my head. “Can’t.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Did he tell you it was over?”

  I sipped my horchata. “I thought you talked to him.”

  She frowned. “Well, I saw him. He didn’t talk much.” She paused. “He seemed kind of miserable, actually. Too miserable to talk.”

  I pushed my plate away. My appetite was gone now.

  “Jamy, tell me what happened.”

  I shook my head. “Can’t.”

  “Did he do something wrong?” she pressed.

  I huffed. “No.”

  “Because he can be kind of a dunderhead. Did he forget your birthday or something?”

  “No.”

  “Really? Because he can’t even remember mine.” She chuckled. “And it’s the same as his.”

  I stared at the table. “No, Hannah. He remembers my birthday.” And my middle name. And my favorite color. And how I liked to be fucked. And everything else about me. Because he loved me.

  Ironic, no? I waited for months for him to break us apart, to get tired of me, to send me away. I assumed that he wouldn’t really want me. But in the end, he was all in. Turned out, I was the one who didn’t want me.

  He was right. I couldn’t believe in myself. I couldn’t love myself. I didn’t know how.

  Oh, God. Being without him hurt so much that I couldn’t breathe. I felt like I was dying. And knowing I was the re
ason why we were apart made death seem like a relief.

  But of course, my anxiety made that impossible, too. I’d be too afraid someone would be sad that I’d died.

  Basically, I couldn’t win.

  “Okay, so what’s the problem, then?” Hannah took a sip of her iced tea. “He wants to be with you. You want to be with him. So just get together again.”

  I shook my head. “Can’t.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’m gonna need you to explain this better.”

  I picked up a strip, breaking it into crumbs. Then I did it again to another strip.

  “Jamy, for fuck’s sake!” she shouted. “Fucking talk to me already!”

  The young mother at the table next to us tutted, sending Hannah the evil eye as she covered her toddler’s ears.

  Hannah rolled her eyes. “My best friend is in crisis over here,” she explained. “F bombs will be dropped. Either deal with it or move.”

  The woman huffed, picking up her plate and her spawn and moving to the patio outside.

  “Okay, now seriously.” Hannah rescued the strips from me. “Since you won’t talk, how about I tell you what I think happened?”

  I shrugged. Whatever.

  She shook her head. “Fine. Let me guess. You and my brother got together. Everything was great.” She narrowed her eyes. “And that’s when you panicked.”

  I sat as still as a statue, staring at her. I couldn’t deny it.

  “Sam told you he loved you first, if I had to guess.” She raised her eyebrows. “That kid always jumps in head first.”

  I bit my lip. Right again.

  “And you didn’t believe him.”

  I nodded, tears filling my eyes.

  “So you pushed him away. Told him you didn’t love him, maybe?”

  Reluctantly, I shook my head. “I couldn’t lie to him like that.” Because, God, I loved him. I loved him so fucking much.

  I loved everything about him. I loved how he would focus when he graded papers, chewing the tip of his red pen and furrowing his brow like a sexy professor. I loved how he laughed like he’d just heard the funniest thing ever, even if it was the hundredth time he’d heard the joke. I loved how he would smile when he forgot something, this sheepish, lopsided smile, like he was saying, aw, shucks. Silly old me. Scatterbrain Sam strikes again.