by Monica Cole
“Sorry. I’m at my body disposing limit for the month.”
She narrows her eyes.
“Whatever. He’s not worth it anyways.” She unties her sarong and readjusts it. Some guy whistles when he walks by, and she winks as he disappears through the sliding glass doors.
“So,” she turns back to me and plants a hand on her hip, “how did Parker convince you to come here? God knows I can barely get you to go to parties with me.”
I pick at a loose string on my shirt. “I don’t know.”
She arches an eyebrow.
“Fine. I felt bad, okay? He really wanted me to come, and I didn’t want to say no. I felt like I owed it to him.”
She purses her lips with a little nod of her head. “You do, but I’m glad you’re here. If I had known you were coming, I would’ve found you earlier.”
“Considering you were just thrown in the pool, I’m kind of glad I wasn’t hanging around you.”
She shoots me a look as Parker approaches with a giant blue beach towel.
“Here. Thought you might need this.”
She wraps it around her shoulders, before leaning down to give him a quick hug.
“Thanks, Parker,” she says, clutching the towel in front of her. “I’m about to head inside for another drink. Ya’ll want something?”
Parker shakes his head. “I’m good. I’m actually about to head in and find Brady. Talk some football before he’s totally gone.”
“I’ll go with you,” I tell Whitney, a little nervous to remain hanging out by the pool with Garrick still lurking around. I look at Parker. “I’ll find you in a little while.”
He waves me off. “Go. Have fun.”
That’s all the permission Whitney needs to drag me inside the house. It’s huge, but there are so many people it looks small and cramped and the temperature is ten degrees warmer than it is outside. We push our way through a crowd of people to the kitchen. Whitney grabs a beer, but I’m feeling something stronger. I mix up a cranberry and vodka then follow her to the living room.
“So what are you doing here?” I ask as we hover close to the big screen TV. It’s the only place in the room that isn’t swarming with people since most of them are sticking close to the kitchen.
“I know Brady’s sister, Meghan,” she explains. “She was in my Biology class last semester and texted me an invite this afternoon.”
I nod, not the least bit surprised. It seems like Whitney knows everyone. I don’t recognize a single face. There’s a good chance I went to school with some of them, but these are mostly people Parker knows. Former classmates and teammates, some probably long since graduated.
I go to take another drink but look down to find my cup already empty. I should slow down, but it’s been a while since I’ve drank and I’m kind of enjoying the numb sensation growing in my stomach, the haziness in my head, and the lightness in my chest.
“Are you tipsy already?” Whitney is staring at me, green eyes slightly narrowed.
I lift the hair off my neck, wishing I’d brought an elastic to tie it back with because it’s hotter than the flames of hell in here. “Barely. And does it matter? You’re always telling me to loosen up.”
“Hey, I’m not judging. Actually, I’m proud. You seem relaxed tonight.”
I lean against the wall, matching her position. “This party isn’t as bad as I thought it’d be,” I admit.
“Most things you gripe about aren’t.”
I jab her in the ribs with my elbow.
“It’s true,” she replies, poking me on the arm with her finger. “That’s what I keep trying to tell you. You’d get a lot more enjoyment out of life, if you didn’t assume everything’s going to make you miserable.”
I pull my hair over my shoulder, examining the dead ends. “I guess you’re right.
“I am right.” She tips her head back to take a drink then steps away from the wall. “Okay. I’ve seriously gotta pee. I’m also going to see if I can fix this disaster that is my hair.” She lifts a damp, blonde lock and pouts.
“I guess I’ll be here,” I say, motioning at myself, but she’s already making her way down the hall.
While she’s gone, I decide to get another drink. The kitchen has cleared out some and when I glance out the patio door, people are gathered around the pool watching Garrick and some other guy have a chicken fight with two girls balancing on their shoulders. Instead of mixing a drink, I take a shot of rum then crack open a Coke to chase it down. Then I lean against the counter and continue watching everyone outside. I spot Parker on the deck, laughing and talking to a group of guys. He didn’t mention how long we’d be staying, but from the looks of it, he’s in no hurry. I wander back to the living room. I wish Whitney would hurry back from the bathroom, but if I know her, she’ll be in there for at least thirty minutes.
I’m tired of standing, so I make my over to the white leather couch. I keep my arms tucked in and my head down as I maneuver past a group of girls but end up smacking into someone. I stumble back a few steps, clutching my drink that goes flying everywhere. The girls stop talking, and I can feel them staring as I trail my eyes up the person’s back, their white t-shirt now soaked with Coke. The guy doesn’t react immediately, but when he does it’s like the room shifted, and I’m watching everything play out in slow motion. The guy turning around. My gaze moving higher. His face.
His face.
My heart tenses, and it almost feels like its struggling to beat.
And his eyes.
So dark. The color of coffee and just as warm. Just as strong and potent and overpowering if you’re not used to their intensity. Even though I’ve looked into his eyes more times than I can count, I’m still affected; because eyes like these, you don’t get over them. After two years, I thought it’d be different. But as we continue staring at each other, I realize nothing has changed and with just the right look, he could slay my heart before I even saw it coming.
We continue staring, but before he can react, I spin around, shoving past the girls watching us and towards the hall, my heart faltering with each step. The hallway is dark with all of the doors closed. I sprint to the nearest one, but as soon as I figure out it’s locked, I’m being jerked around and dragged in the opposite direction. Canyon throws the door open and yanks me inside a dark bedroom, then slams the door closed by pushing me against it. He’s right in front of me, his chest heaving, one hand resting above my head. But he’s not touching me and for that I’m thankful. If he touches me, I’ll lose it.
I’m already panicking. Trapped in a room with his body inches from mine and he smells… God he smells amazing. Not at all like he used to smell. It’s better. Every inhale filling my lungs but I still feel like I’m suffocating.
“I can’t breathe.” I whisper, my chest restricting. I shut my eyes and try to inhale, but he’s too close making it impossible to do something as simple as breathing. I open my eyes and he’s staring, eyebrows furrowed like he’s trying to figure out if I’m serious or trying to bullshit my way into escaping. If I weren’t actually experiencing a panic attack right now, he’d be right to doubt me, but there’s nothing false about what I’m feeling, and I hate that he can’t see that.
Placing my hands on his chest, I shove hard enough to turn around and reach for the handle. The door cracks open but immediately slams shut, his fingers clicking the lock into place. He leans forward, and I’m caged between his arms, his chest pressed against my back, his breath spiraling down the side of my neck. I drop my forehead against the cool wood and try not to think about how this is making me feel. How it's killing me and making me come alive all at once.
“I just want to talk,” he says close to my ear, and I can feel the vibrations in his chest against my back.
Talk.
He makes it sound so simple. But there’s nothing easy about this moment, even though I’ve played it out in my head a thousand times.
I shake my head because I can’t find my voice then fumble w
ith the lock, desperate to get out. He grabs my hand, but I jerk it away then duck underneath his arm, putting some distance between us. He slowly drops his arms from the door and faces me. For a brief second, his eyes flicker up and down my body almost like he’s trying to figure out if I’m real or just some long lost illusion from his past.
“I need you to let me out of the room,” I say, and even though I’m whispering, my voice pierces through the silence.
He continues staring, his gaze all consuming. “I want to talk.”
I shake my head slowly. My eyes wide. My heart thudding. “I don’t have anything to say to you.”
He takes a step closer, blocking my way around him. I’m cornered between a dresser and the bed, retreating with each step he takes until my legs bump against the mattress. He pauses a foot away, directly in a stream of moonlight spilling through the window. It reminds me of how he looked the first night we met, with the same concentrated expression on his face like I’m a bomb he’s trying to figure out how to diffuse without killing the both of us.
“I don’t want to talk to you, Canyon,” I say again, more forcefully this time.
The muscle in his jaw tenses as he scans my face. “Yes you do.”
I shake my head, baffled that he thinks I still want anything to do with him. But even more baffling is that he’s right. I do want something to do with him. Seeing him hurts, but it’s the type of euphoric pain you want to experience again and again because it makes you feel something. It feels good, even though it shouldn’t. And it’s been so long since I’ve felt anything.
I shake my head again and try moving past him, but he reaches out capturing my shoulders. I shove hard against his chest, but he doesn’t budge. He grabs my wrists mid punch, dodging my leg when I try to knee him where it hurts. We fall back with him landing on top of me as I bounce against the mattress. I writhe underneath him, arms and legs flailing as I struggle to get free.
“Stop fighting me,” he grunts, attempting to grab my legs as I kick.
He wraps his hand around my calf, and I immediately freeze, the blood and air and fight draining from my body. Our eyes meet, our heavy breathing mingling together, and I’m pretty sure we look like we’re tangled up in some crazy sex position with the way he’s holding my leg midair and pinning my hands at an awkward angle above my head. The way he’s looking at me with those stupidly gorgeous brown eyes isn’t helping matters either.
I squeeze mine shut.
There.
Problem solved.
“Elle,” he breathes; his voice low and gruff sounding. It reminds me of music. A song I haven’t heard in ages but still know all the lyrics to.
When I still don’t open my eyes he sighs, his fingers tightening for a brief second before he releases my leg. Unfortunately he still has a hold on my hands, but that’s because he knows better. If he had let go, I would have made a run for it. Canyon drops his body, so that it’s resting on top of mine, spreading my legs with his knees, so that he can settle between them. I squeeze my eyes tighter, trying to ignore what parts of us are touching, but it’s hard because I feel him everywhere. Inside and out.
“Look at me,” he commands softly.
He releases a deep breath, and my mouth parts when heat tingles my skin.
“Elaine.”
My eyes fly open automatically. Canyon never called me by my full name, not unless he meant business. His eyes are focused on my mouth, and it feels like hours before they trail up my face and connect with mine.
“Talking. That’s all I want.”
He gives me a pointed look, and I manage a small nod just so he’ll get the hell off me.
He starts to climb off but pauses with his hands above my head. “Don’t think about running either, because I have no problem dragging your ass back in here.” He warns then pushes himself off me.
I scowl and scoot to the head of the bed resting my back against the headboard and tucking my knees against my chest. “Talk,” I say shortly.
He matches my position and our legs touch. I jerk mine away.
He releases a long breath. “I don’t even know where to start,” he admits, dragging a hand through his hair, back and forth then drops it hard on his knee.
“You could start with saying you’re sorry,” I reply bitterly.
“You deserve more than an apology, Elle. I just don’t know what I could do or say to fix what happened between us.”
“Then why are we having this conversation? What’s the point of bringing up the past if we can’t put it back together?”
“Because I’ve thought about this moment every day for the last two years and now that it’s happening, I don’t want to screw it up.”
He’s practically shouting, face twisted with the same torment that masks mine. Like Canyon, I never thought this moment would actually happen. Never thought about how I’d react. In my mind, I imagined everything going back to the way it used to be but now that our past is out in the light, I see how mutilated it really is.
“How did you think this would play out?” I ask in a whisper. “When you thought about it. What happened between us?”
He drops his head against the wall, staring at the ceiling. The position draws all my focus to his sharp facial features. His square jaw, covered with stubble and the straight plane of his nose, with the slightest crook in the arch. He looks the same yet different. He never used to have this much stubble on his face, and it makes him look older, although not in a bad way.
And here I am thinking about how he looks when I’m supposed to be disgusted with him. I rest my head against my knees.
“I thought it would go like this,” he admits, and I keep my head down, listening.
“I imagined you being mad. I saw the sadness in your eyes and that was the worst part because I knew I put it there. That same kind of vulnerable, hopeless look you had the night you tried to take your life.” He pauses, almost like he’s struggling to say the words. “That sadness… I put it right back there Elle and that has seriously haunted me every day since you left.”
I’m crying now, tears bleeding down my bare legs.
“I’m not expecting things to go back to the way they were, and I’m not asking you to forgive me. I broke a promise, and I fucked up. I get it. I just needed to tell you that I’m sorry.”
My body shakes as I inhale. “Your apology would mean a lot more if I knew what you’re sorry for.” I lift my head and wipe the tears away with my t-shirt. “I know you broke a promise, Canyon. I know you lied, but still not knowing what you lied about is what scared me.”
He draws a leg up and stares at the ceiling again. “I couldn’t tell you then…”
“Then tell me now,” I interrupt.
He opens his mouth, but I already know what his response is. Nothing. Always nothing.
“Forget it,” I say, crawling off the bed. He catches my hand, but I jerk it away and stalk towards the door. He follows, grabbing my arm and swinging me around. He guides me back until I’m flush against the door, but he keeps his distance. Arms tight at his side.
“I want to ask you something.”
I’m staring at his chest, because I know it’s not safe to look at him when he’s this close to me. But then his fingers capture my chin, and I don’t even protest when he tilts my head back.
“Other than telling you what you want to know, what would it take for us to be friends again?”
I almost laugh. Friends. Because that’s what we were before this all happened. I resist the urge to knee him in the balls and actually consider his question. I shouldn’t be entertaining the idea of being friends with him at all. Even though that’s what I thought we were for a long time, Canyon and I were never just friends. There was too much sexual tension thriving underneath the surface of our relationship that it’s a wonder we stayed “just friends” as long as we did.
So, being friends with him now? I don’t know. Part of me wants to tell him to screw off, because he’s the reason we’
re having this conversation in the first place. Then there’s another part of me, some miniscule piece squeezing itself into my brain, trying to convince me to give him another chance.
“I don’t know of that’s a good idea,” I say slowly. He’s watching me intently, like he’s trying to figure out what I’m thinking.
“I’m not saying we have to be best friends. But I spend a lot of time helping Parker. Whether you like it or not, we’re going to be around each other. Don’t you think it would be easier if we were on speaking terms instead of you running away every time you see me?”
No.
I lean my head against the door and stare at the ceiling. His fingers graze the underside of my chin before he drops his hand.
“Why have you been helping Parker?” I ask, curious what he has to say about it.
“Because he needed it,” he answers. “Because your mom asked and because I wanted to help.”
I drop my head to look at him.
“Mom asked you?”
He nods. “Not long after you left she was switched to the night shift. Parker needed someone to be there in the morning and help him, so she asked me since I was already picking him up for work.”
My body quivers as I take a deep breath. I’m still not over the fact that Canyon had to help Parker. I’m not mad, but it’s difficult hearing how Parker needed help, and I wasn’t there to offer it. That Canyon had to step in and do what I should’ve been doing instead of running off.
“I’m not trying to make this harder for you, Elle. But I’m going to be around a lot, and I’d rather it not be like this every time we see each other.”
I look down between us, staring at my black flip flops and his stupid gray Converses with my scribble all over them. As much as I don’t want to admit it, he has a point. I’ll be here all summer, and I can’t run away every time I see him. And apparently, I’m going to be seeing him a lot.
So I cave. “Fine.” I graze my teeth over my bottom lip and look up just in time to see his eyes fall to my mouth.