Mister Romance

by Leisa Rayven

  It feels incredible, but I instinctively tense up. Doing anything else right now will lead to me crumbling like ash and flying away in the wind. “What are you doing?”

  “Helping you.” Warm breath on my skin makes me shiver. “Prolonged hugging relieves stress and lowers cortisol levels. Just relax into it, Eden. Let go. You’ll feel better, I promise.”

  I want to tell him that having him pressed tight against me feels better than anything I’ve felt in my life up until now, but the words get stuck behind the ever-growing knot in my throat. All of the good stuff stays inside of me, stuck to my fear like it’s flypaper. The only words I’m capable of right now are thorny.

  “Max, I can’t do this.”

  “Really? Because, so far, you’re doing pretty well.” He tightens his arms. “Being more enthusiastic about hugging me back would help, but still ... it’s a solid seven out of ten.”

  I pull out of his arms and go over to the side of the roof. The sun is setting, and everything is bathed in golden light. In moments like this, it’s easy to forget how devastatingly crappy life can be.

  “I meant, I can’t do this. You and me.”

  My back is to him, but I hear him walk over and stand behind me. “I’m not asking for anything, Eden.”

  “Yes, you are. You want to be there for me. To support me. Take care of me.”

  “And that’s a bad thing?”

  I turn to him. “I’ve been taking care of myself for years. I don’t need you to hold my hand.”

  “I know that. I just don’t think you should be alone right now.”

  “I’m not alone. I have Moby. In fact, I think I’ll stay here for a while and make sure he’s okay.”

  He moves closer and puts his hands on my shoulders. “And who’s going to make sure you’re okay?”

  I feel so small standing close to him. It would be so easy to get lost in his size, and warmth, and smell, which is exactly why I can’t.

  I look down at his chest. “Max, you have to stop treating me like I’m a bomb that’s about to detonate. I’m fine.”

  “You’re not. Do you think I can’t see through this tough-girl act?”

  “That’s rich, coming from the Great Pretender.”

  That gets to him. “Yes, I’m a pretender, but the difference is I know I’m doing it. You don’t. You’re so used to being strong you can’t see that sometimes, admitting you need someone is the brave option.”

  When I don’t say anything, he gives me an understanding nod before looking over at Moby. “Okay, so ... If you get lonely and need a friend, I’ll be at the Pencil Factory loft.”

  He turns and heads toward the stairwell, and just as the door closes behind him, the last sliver of sunlight fades over the horizon.

  TWENTY

  A Soft Place to Land

  I’m more exhausted than I’ve ever been – both physically and emotionally – but as I wander around Nan’s apartment, I can’t relax. I end up eating beans out of a can for dinner, and then when Moby crawls onto his side of Nan’s bed and puts his head under his wing for the night, I clean. I scrub her bathroom until the smell of bleach makes me dizzy. I dust every surface in the living room. I even wash the floors. And still, I’m filled with a type of anxious restlessness I’ve never felt before.

  Maybe staying here is a bad idea. Every time I turn around, I see a ghost of Nan as her beautiful, vibrant self, but that’s quickly followed by the memory of her in the hospital, frail and unconscious, dwarfed by the litany of machines around her.

  I have to get out.

  I make sure Moby’s food and water bowls are full, and then I lock up the apartment and just walk. The fresh night air helps a little, and the bustling streets of Brooklyn seem to quell my rising need for human connection. However, the longer I walk, the more I notice that everyone seems to have a place to go except for me. And someone to be with. I pass couples holding hands, couples sitting on park benches, couples looking lovingly at each other across tables in restaurants and cafés. I don’t think I’ve ever noticed before how the whole damn world seems to be paired off, and the more I notice it, the more agitated I become.

  No wonder single people become bitter. It’s like the universe is conspiring to make us feel defective. Every happy couple that passes is a slap in the face, as the world yells, “See? Look at the joy you’re missing out on. You think you’re content, but you’re not. Those two over there sucking face near the subway station – they’re the content ones. They have each other. You’re just alone and lonely, and trying to convince yourself you like it that way.”

  I turn a corner and see a bar. “Oh, yes.”

  Nothing like some hard liquor to dull stupid urges. I walk in and order a triple whiskey, no ice. The bartender gives me a look but complies. As soon as he hands it to me, I down the entire thing in three painful mouthfuls, which is an achievement considering I despise whiskey. “Thanks,” I say through a burning throat.

  It tasted awful, but at least it has the desired effect of distracting me from deeper thoughts. I throw down some cash and go on my way.

  As I turn east, I tell myself I’m wandering aimlessly, but I’m not. I try to be content in my aloneness, but I’m not. I contemplate calling Asha and sharing the burden of Nannabeth and how I’m feeling, but I don’t.

  Instead, I see the familiar building in the distance and walk faster. By the time I climb the steps and stand outside the huge metal door, I’m puffing.

  Emotions churning, I take a few deep breaths then knock. I can hear classical music coming from inside, as well the aroma of something cooking that smells delicious.

  I hear footsteps, and then the door pulls back to reveal Max, devastatingly shirtless and barefoot in his jeans. For a moment, he seems surprised to see me, then relieved. “Hey.”

  “Hey.”

  He waits for me to speak, and when I don’t he says, “Come in.”

  I nod, and he steps aside, so I can enter. After he closes the door, he walks around to stand in front of me. The distance between us chafes. So does the silence.

  “Eden?”

  I look at my feet. It’s easier than looking at his face. “Maybe you were right. Maybe I do get lonely.”

  He’s silent, but I can feel him staring at me. I see his bare feet poking out of the bottom of his jeans. They’re handsome, just like him. Large and attractive. When they move closer, I feel the heat of his whole body just inches away.

  “Admitting it is the first step,” he says, his voice soft. “And?”

  “And ... I guess tonight, I don’t feel like being alone. I want to be with someone.”

  He’s so close now, his cheek grazes my temple, but still he doesn’t touch me. Warm breath against my ear makes me shiver when he talks. “Don’t do that. Don’t seek me out and pretend it’s just because you need someone. The world is full of someones. You came here because you needed me.”

  He puts a hand on my waist, and I let him. “Say it, Eden. I promise, it doesn’t make you weak.”

  “Yes, it does. Every time I’m with you, I’m weak, and getting weaker every second.”

  He takes my hands and presses them flat into his chest. “There’s no shame in needing me. I need you, too.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know how to do this.”

  “Neither do I, but we’ll figure it out together. Just let me help you.”

  There comes a point where holding everything in is too hard. The pain of containing all of the things you don’t want to feel becomes too overwhelming, and as much as I despise crying, and as much as I try to stop the tears, they bully their way out of my eyes and onto my cheeks. I think tensing my jaw will stop them, but it doesn’t. I think digging my fingers into Max’s chest will help, but it doesn’t. My fear is too big for my body, and it squeezes out of me into the fresh air where it thrives and multiplies into giant, heaving sobs.

  “I could l-lose her, Max.”

  “You won’t. She’s strong.”

  “S
he’s old. I’ll lose her and then ... the only person left on the planet who l-loves me, is Asha ... and she’ll be gone one day, too. Married and happy ... and I’ll be truly alone.”

  “Never going to happen. Not while I’m around. Come here.”

  He pulls me into his arms, and I let myself feel comforted, and I let myself be weak and vulnerable. It’s so alien to me, I don’t recognize the tortured sounds I’m making. I haven’t cried like this since Mom’s funeral, and it’s just as painful now as it was then.

  I hate it, I hate it, I hate it.

  This is what loving gets you. This expanding world of pain. Because no one stays forever. They all leave in the end.

  “I can’t picture a world ... without N-Nan. I don’t kn-know who I am ... without her.”

  Max holds me closer and strokes my back, and when he encourages me to let it all out, I do. I cling to him like he’s my life preserver. He whispers to me, tells me it’s going to be okay. Tells me I’m amazing and beautiful. For some reason, that makes me cry harder. I know I’m making his chest wet with my tears, but he doesn’t seem to care, so neither do I.

  I don’t know how long we stand there, but it’s long enough that when I’m done, I’m so drained I practically fall asleep in his arms.

  Without a word, he scoops me up and strides into the bedroom where he lays me down on the crisp, white duvet and pulls a blanket over me. Then he lies beside me and strokes the tears from my face, until I close my eyes and drift off.

  * * *

  The next morning, I wake to find myself wrapped around a half-naked and unconscious man. His arm is beneath my neck, and I’m snuggled into his side, my head on his chest, my hand resting on his stomach. I look down to see my bare leg draped over his. I vaguely remember struggling out of my jeans during the night to get more comfortable, and it seems Max did the same, because he’s only wearing a pair of black boxer briefs.

  I close my eyes and suck in some deep breaths.

  It takes me a moment to understand how I got to his loft and why I’m in his bed, but then it comes back in excruciating detail. Oh, yeah. I inflicted my mental and emotional breakdown on him. As I was blubbering all over his chest, he must have patted himself on the back for being attracted to a crazy woman.

  I slowly move out of his arms and retreat to the other side of the bed. As mortifying as my ugly crying was, I can’t deny that I feel better today. The simmering anxiety that’s been with me since Nan’s accident has faded to a dull buzz rather than a deafening roar. Of course, I now have a different brand of anxiety brewing – the type that comes from my ever-expanding feelings for Max. Even watching him sleep inspires an uncomfortable level of affection.

  I study his face, so relaxed as he dreams. He really is beautiful, and that has nothing to do with his chiseled jaw or perfect face. It’s because he has one of the biggest hearts I’ve ever known. He thinks he used to be a terrible person, and maybe he was, but I don’t see that in him now. Everything he’s done for me since Nan’s accident proves it. I’ve never had a man want to take care of me like this before. And even though I’d like to believe I don’t need him, maybe I do. And maybe I can learn to be okay with that.

  Goddammit. Why did he have to complicate everything by being so amazing?

  I squeeze my eyes shut and lie flat on my back as an epiphany hits me, making the room spin.

  Sometimes when self-awareness comes, it’s in shadows and stealth, like a cat; winding around your body until it settles in your chest, comforting and warm. And at other times, it crashes down like a sky-diving elephant looking for a soft place to land.

  Right now, the elephant is sitting squarely on my heart, and its name is I’m in Love with This Man.

  I drape my arm over my face and sigh.

  Shit.

  I wasn’t lying last night when I told Max I didn’t know how to do this. A real, grownup relationship is something I have zero experience with, and I’m sure that if there are a hundred different ways to fuck it up, I’ll find each and every one, plus a few no one’s ever thought of. Furthermore, avoiding fucking this up is something I have no time for while Nan’s sick, so if Max thinks I’m going to drop everything to become some perfect little girlfriend, he can just ...

  I jump in surprise when a warm hand takes mine, and I open my eyes to see Max lying on his side, watching me as my heart skips several dozen beats.

  “Sorry,” he says with an amused expression. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “Maybe not, but your grin tells me you’re enjoying it, right?”

  He gives a non-committal shrug. “The noise you made was cute. Like a gerbil having shock therapy.”

  He looks down at our hands as he links his fingers through mine. “How are you feeling this morning?”

  I run my other hand over his and allow myself to enjoy the soft brush of skin on skin. I’ve never thought twice about putting my hand in a man’s pants, but stroking Max’s fingers? It’s such an everyday gesture for most people, but for me it’s a whole new world of intimate contact.

  “I feel a bit better,’ I say. ”Thanks to you. I’m sorry for falling apart. I don’t usually do that.”

  “There’s no need to be embarrassed.”

  “Really?” I tuck some hair behind my ear. “I went full-on emotional disaster area. Can’t think of anything more embarrassing than that.”

  “I can.” He props his head up with his hand, and against my will, I stare at his bicep.

  “Would you like to share?”

  “Well, you did wake up once and look at me like I was an axe murderer waiting to kill you. Then recognition sank in, and you ... uh, well ... then you made yourself comfortable by putting your hand on my crotch.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep. At first, I thought you were making a semi-conscious pass at me, but no. You just put your hand there and went back to sleep.”

  “Did you move my hand away?”

  “No. Cupping that general area seemed to soothe you, which is the only reason I didn’t do anything to stop it.”

  “Wow. Selfless.”

  He shrugs. “Eh. I do what I can.”

  “I don’t remember that at all.”

  He glances down at my bare legs then back up to my face. “That’s okay. I remember it vividly enough for both of us.”

  I know he’s thinking about touching me, because there’s no disguising his current arousal in those boxer briefs, but even though I want him more than is probably healthy, how on earth can I contemplate taking something for myself when Nan’s in the condition she is?

  “I should go.”

  “No, you should rest. You still look exhausted.”

  “I wanted to be back at the hospital by now.”

  “Dyson’s already there. Honestly, Eden, the best way to help your Nan is to take some time for yourself. We can call to see how she is, but then you need to take a day off.”

  He’s just picked up his phone from the nightstand when it buzzes with a message. He checks the screen then holds it out so I can see. It’s from Dyson.

 

  I smile. I barely know Dyson, and yet he’s giving up his time to help me.

  “Are you paying him?” I ask.

  Max shakes his head and puts his phone back on the nightstand. “Nope. When he heard, he wanted to help. I think he could tell how worried I was about you. And how important your Nan is to you.” He turns back to me. “So, there you have it. Stay in bed today. I’ll provide whatever you want. Food, drink, emotional support ...” He looks into my eyes. “Physical release … just tell me what you need.”

  We both go quiet as the air fills with tension. A big part of it is sexual, but there’s also a sense of awkwardness that comes from not knowing where we go from here. I can no longer deny I need hi
m. Last night proved that. But a few hours of emotional intimacy doesn’t make any of the issues I have go away. It just puts pressure on me to try to be different, and I don’t know how.

  “So,” he says then clears his throat. “You ... uh ... never mentioned the stuff we talked about at the warehouse. About my family.”

  I take his hand again. “Do we need to?”

  “Well, I hit you with the confession that I was raised to be a chauvinistic misogynist, and you have yet to comment. I’m not stupid enough to think you don’t have an opinion on it. In fact, I have no doubt your opinions have opinions.”

  I push up on my elbow and stare down at him. “Max ...” I struggle to find the right words. I begin slowly, so I don’t say the wrong thing. “I don’t know who you used to be, but I like who you are now, and that’s enough for me.” I’m so unused to being this emotionally expressive, my voice is shaking. “And I know you’ve been told this by a lot of women, but I ...” I look into his face. “I’ve never said anything like this to a man before, so for me, this is a big deal. You’re ... amazing. And what you do is amazing. If you see your work as some kind of penance, then I think you’ve more than made up for your past.”

  He lets out a noisy breath though his nose, like he’s been holding it in since he confessed his most shameful sins. Honestly, with what I now know about his family, I’m surprised he didn’t devolve into a class-A asshole and declare war on the world, but I guess those sorts of major life events define you. There’s a choice whether to give in to the darkness or struggle toward the light, and Max ended up being full of light.

  He stares up at me. “So ... I’m glad you didn’t take out a restraining order, but ... where do we go from here?”

  I suck up my fear and start with trying to be honest. “I’ve never had a healthy emotional relationship with a man. Or, any relationship with a man, really.” I say it fast, thinking it might sound less pathetic that way. It doesn’t. “I don’t even know where to start in trying to be with you.”

  He moves closer, so we’re almost nose to nose. “I’ve had a lot of perfect relationships, but none of them have been real. This whole thing will be one big learning curve for me, too.”