by Snow, Jenika
“You’ve really made this house nice, Beckham,” I found myself saying and then snapped my mouth shut, my jaw aching from how hard I clenched it. I didn’t want to pretend things could be pleasant between us, but I also reminded myself he didn’t have to help me. He didn’t have to give me a place to stay. He could have told me to fuck off. He didn’t even have to answer the damn phone when I called.
I looked over at him when he didn’t say anything and saw that he watched me intently. I wondered what he was thinking, wondered if he regretted inviting me to stay.
“I promise I won’t be here that long.” God, I was so nervous.
He shook his head slowly. “Lenora, I meant it when I said it’s not a problem. You’re welcome to stay here as long as you want.” His voice was soft, gentle. He sounded sincere.
I wanted to believe him, but I was on guard, had that wall up around me. I kept telling myself this was temporary, that once I had my shit together, I’d be out of his life and hopefully be able to put him in my rearview mirror, so to speak.
I’d be able to put the way I felt for him, the love I felt for him, behind me.
But even thinking that, telling myself that, I knew it was a damn lie.
* * *
Beckham
I stood on the other side of her bedroom door that I’d just closed, staring at it, picturing her getting settled in there. God, I’d fucked up so badly, but now was my chance to make it right. I didn’t want her to leave. Ever. But how could I tell Lenora that? How could I prove to her that I’d loved her for as long as I could remember?
Because she’d throw it back in my face that if somebody loved another person, they never would’ve said such hurtful things.
My heart fucking broke at that thought.
I exhaled and curled my hands around the doorframe, hanging my head. I couldn’t hear anything, and I wondered if she knew I still stood out here. I was seconds away from knocking on the door, but I dug my nails against the wood, telling myself I needed to go slow.
All I wanted to do was talk to her. I could see she was having a hard time. I’d heard it in her voice, not only when she called me and asked for help, but this entire time, with every word she said. Her darkness had come through so strong. And I knew she hit rock-bottom, because she asked for my help. And I was the last person she’d turn to after... everything.
I turned and forced myself to head into the kitchen and opened the freezer, grabbing the bottle of whiskey then getting two shot glasses out of the cupboard. I set the three items on the counter and just stared at them, wondering if going and talking to her right now was the best option. I should let her get settled. We had a lot of things to discuss. I had a lot of things I needed to make amends for.
I put the shot glasses back and took the bottle of whiskey into my room, closing the door and sitting on the edge of my bed. Knowing she was in the room right across the hall had my pulse racing. So instead of making an ass out of myself, I opened up the lid and brought the bottle to my mouth, taking a long drink.
Nothing like getting shitfaced while the girl you were in love with was right across the hall, hating you.
Chapter Four
Lenora
The next morning
I’d been awake for God knew how long. I’d just stayed in my room, in the bed, staring at the ceiling, watching as light moved through the blinds to cast shadows across the wall.
The truth was, I was nervous. I was scared to face Beckham and this new day, terrified to face my actual reality. Since coming to his home and getting settled in the room, I pretty much stayed to myself. It was only when I heard him ask me through the door if I needed anything from the store and that he’d be back soon that I finally left the room and explored a little.
Although I’d been in this house before when I was younger, helping Beckham and his father paint when they were renting it out, everything was different. Leather furniture adorned the living room, and new granite countertops were in the kitchen. He got rid of the ugly lighting in the dining room, this god-awful ‘70s-style chandelier that hung over the table that we both used to make fun of. Now in its place was this modern, sleek chrome lighting fixture. In fact, he renovated just about everything in this place.
The bathrooms were redone, with no more gold-leaf mirrors nor Formica countertops. He got rid of all the nasty brown shag-like carpet, replacing it with hardwood flooring. It was gorgeous. I was envious.
The upstairs was a wreck though, with ladders and paint cans. He was renovating that, the loft style area, bedroom, and bathroom upstairs the only rooms above.
And after I grabbed something quick to eat a, I locked myself back in the room for the rest of the day. He hadn’t bothered me when he’d gotten home either. Maybe he’d know I needed my space. Maybe he’d know this was just as weird for me as it was for him. Either way, I knew I was going to have to face him… face this new reality eventually.
I might as well get it done and over with, right?
So I pushed the blankets off my body and sat up, letting my feet hang down, my toes touching the bare floor. It was chilly despite this time of year. I braced my hands on the edge of mattress and stared at the window. The blinds were closed, so I couldn’t make out what was happening outside, but I imagined how active it would get as the day progressed. People going to work, getting ready to start their day.
Which reminded me that I needed to look for a new job right away. I needed to start making money so I could contribute to staying here, as well as saving up so I could leave. God, I wish I’d had the kind of relationship where I could speak with my mother, where I could lean on her for support, where she told me everything would be okay.
My cell phone vibrated with an incoming text and I glanced over at it, picking it up and looking down at the screen. Speak of the devil. My mother, although I’d like to think her intentions were good, had always been self-absorbed. Her looks, the way she dressed, how she lived in general... it all screamed “Me.”
And so when I saw the text picture of the five new designer dresses she had sprawled out across her silk comforter on her king-sized bed, I felt annoyance. Her text explained how she was excited she and Rodney—the man she had the affair with and former student—were attending a charity event at a local country club. She had the nerve to ask me which dress she should wear. My mother, who knew how bad I had it right now, all but rubbed this in my face. My mother, who hadn’t even offered to give me moral support, let alone any financial help, sent me this.
All I could do was exhale in frustration and set the phone down.
She didn’t care about my problems, because me telling her anything, confiding in her, would only ruin her day. In fact, it had when I explained my job loss, the fact that I couldn’t afford my apartment. She’d asked me what I had done wrong to be fired.
She’d actually asked me that.
I ran a hand over my face, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, and slid my fingers through my hair, trying to detangle the strands. I stood and walked over to my bag, grabbing my makeup bag and a change of clothes, and then just stood there and stared at the door.
I didn’t hear anything.
“Stop being a baby. You’re twenty-two years old, a grown-ass woman. Just get it done and over with. Don’t let him know you’re still hurting or that you love him, and you’ll be fine.” I pulled my shoulders back and held my head high, feeling a little bit of resolve fill me. “Wear that fucking armor like you own it,” I whispered to myself, even if I felt like it was a lie right now.
After changing my clothes, I opened the bedroom door, stood there, and just listened. The only thing I could hear was a clock ticking in the distance. All the lights were off, the morning sun illuminating what I could see in the living room, as well as a little bit of the hallway. I stepped out and my bare toes kicked something on the ground. I looked down and saw my favorite candy bar sitting there.
I nearly cried.
He’d gotten it for me when he’d gone
to the store.
I bent down, picked it up, and saw some writing on the white package.
These always made you feel better, and I think right now you could really use some cheering up.
Beckham had written that? He felt that way? It seemed like the old him, the man I’d grown up with, the man I fell in love with. But it didn’t seem like the man from six months ago.
I didn’t want to think too deeply on any of that.
I set the chocolate bar on the nightstand and headed to the bathroom, putting on a little makeup before storing my stuff and going into the kitchen. What I wanted was a big cup of coffee to help me wake up and get my day started, to help me get the motivation to start looking for work. As I saw the coffee machine, I told myself, fuck it, and went over to it to start making a pot.
As the coffee brewed, I leaned against the counter and stared out the window. The kitchen and dining room were all one large area, with a decent-sized picture window right in front of the table. The blinds were open slightly, and I could see the neighborhood through them, a woman walking her dog, two elderly ladies speed-walking in nearly identical track suits.
It didn’t take much time for the scent of coffee to fill the kitchen, and I grabbed a mug and poured myself some, filling it to the brim. I opened up the fridge, hoping he had half-and-half or at least milk. The latter was all I found, so I opened it and put a little splash in, found the sugar and added a couple spoonsful, then leaned against the counter again and took that first heavenly drink.
I went back to staring out the window. In this moment, where it was just me, the silence stretching out, I felt peaceful, almost at rest. But that was short-lived when I heard a rustling from down the hallway, then a door opening, then heavy footsteps coming closer.
Instinctually, my body straightened, tightened. I cupped the coffee mug in both hands, felt the warmth through the ceramic, the heat coming through. And then I saw Beckham walk around the corner, his focus on the ground as he ran his hand over the back of his head, slightly messing up the short dark strands.
My heart jumped into my throat at the fact that he only wore a pair of gray sweats and nothing else.
His chest was on full display, toned and defined, hairless and so masculine.
And then my gaze dipped down to his crotch before I could stop myself. I could see the very defined outline of what he sported behind that cotton, and even though he wasn’t aroused, his dick was incredibly impressive.
Oh, God.
I felt my entire body heat, flushing. I looked away, because I knew my face had to be red. My heart was racing, my palms starting to sweat, which had nothing to do with the fact that I held a hot cup of coffee.
He glanced up, and I could see he was startled by my presence. He stopped, both of us just staring at the other, that thickness I felt yesterday increasing.
“Hey,” he said in a deep voice.
I forced myself not to keep checking him out. It was the last thing I needed on my mind. “Good morning,” I said softly, maybe too softly to sound normal. I cleared my throat and gestured to the coffee machine. “I hope it’s okay. I made a pot.”
He gave me a crooked smile, and I felt my heart jump to my throat. “Lenora, you’re welcome to use anything here. You’re staying in the house, so what’s mine is yours, okay?” He smiled again. “You’re hungry—grab whatever you want. You’re thirsty—drink the last beer in the fridge. Hell, you want to bake a cake at midnight, have at it.”
I actually felt myself chuckle at the last part. “Bake a cake? When have you ever known me to not burn something?”
He started laughing and lifted his hand again to rub the back of his head, giving me a half shrug. “True, but I guess my point is, you’re staying here, so this is your home now too.”
I didn’t know how I felt or how I was supposed to feel at hearing him say that, but the truth was it had electricity moving through my body. In this one moment, it felt like how we used to be.
It made me feel good hearing him say those things. It made me feel like maybe he didn’t hate me. Although I know that was probably not the case, it was a nice passing thought.
Because going down that rabbit hole had my thoughts going darker, that hurt starting to try to creep forward. But I pushed that bitch down. There was no place for that here. Not now. Not ever again.
He came into the kitchen, and I stepped aside so he could grab some coffee. The awkwardness was heavy, so I moved to the dining room table and sat down, staring out the window. I felt Beckham watching me then and glanced over at him.
“You know we need to talk,” he finally said, and I exhaled.
“I know.” I brought the mug to my mouth and took a long drink. “Just not now,” I murmured.
He nodded. “Okay.” He sat down across from me, and as we drank our coffee in silence, as I thought about everything that would have to be said, have to be done, this little sliver of hope surfaced in me.
I loved this man. I loved him so much my heart broke in two at the thought of never having him in my life. My heart fucking cracked at knowing what had been lost.
And I felt my world shift in the worst possible way at knowing he’d probably never feel the same way for me as I did for him.
And because of that, I wanted to repair what had been damaged. Because having him in my life, even as just a friend, was better than not having him at all.
I just didn’t know if that was possible.
Chapter Five
Beckham
Several days later
She’d been avoiding me like the fucking plague. And I’d let her. I’d given her space.
But the time for us to talk, to hash things out, lay everything bare, was here.
So I rented us a movie, one we’d seen years ago, a cheesy comedy, but it brought back a lot of good memories. I bought a six-pack of the beer I knew she liked, this peach-flavored one I was never fond of, but because Lenora enjoyed it, I got it. I also ordered us two pizzas, one of them having sausage, ham, and black olives with thin crust just like she liked.
I wanted to bring back those memories we had together, happy ones, ones that would remind her what we used to have. Maybe I was trying too hard to convince myself that things could go back to the way they’d been, that I hadn’t really fucked everything up.
I knew she found a job, and although she’d been avoiding me, I overheard her on the phone with the initial interview. I asked her about it, and that’s when she said she got a position at the artisanal café in town. She’d been very excited about it, although she hid it pretty well. But I’d been able to see it on her face... relief. I couldn’t help but think it was because she couldn’t wait to leave, to get away from me.
And I hated that.
I ran a hand over my jaw as I sat on the couch, waiting for the pizza to arrive. I knew she’d be home in the next twenty minutes, the café closing at six, and because it was just in town, a short ten-minute drive from where we lived, it would take her no time at all to get home.
I’d offered to pick her up, but Lenora had always been really independent, not wanting to rely on anyone else. It was a trait I loved about her, admired.
I thought about having this home with Lenora, sharing it, both of us in the same space together.
God, that sounded so fucking perfect. I wanted to make that my reality, my future forever.
A handful of minutes later, there was a knock on the front door. The pizza. After paying the delivery guy and bringing the boxes into the kitchen, I opened up the fridge and grabbed a beer. It wasn’t the kind she liked, but I needed a little something to take the edge off. I was nervous, so fucking terrified of how this conversation would go. I wanted her to tell me about everything that happened, not just hash out the past, but why she called me for help, how the circumstances of the situation brought her back into my life.
I wanted to know all of that so I could try to help fix things. God, that’s all I wanted to do… fix things for her, for us.
And then I heard a car pull into the driveway. She’d called a car service, something I didn’t like, something I tried to help her with as well. I wanted to take her to work as often as I could, but she refused any help I offered. She needed a vehicle, but I knew she couldn’t afford it on her own. That was another thing I needed to help her with.
A few moments later, the front door opened and closed. I knew if I didn’t intercept her, she’d haul ass down the hallway and into the bedroom, and I wouldn’t see her the rest of the night.
“Lenora?” I called out loudly so I made sure she heard. A second later, she popped her head around the corner, looking at me.
“Hey,” she said softly.
I cleared my throat and gave her what was no doubt an awkward smile. “How was work?”
She stepped fully into the kitchen, and I could see on the white button-down shirt she wore there was a small coffee stain. Hell, I could smell the scent of vanilla beans and cinnamon on her. Her hair was a little messy, strands falling around her temples as it had gotten loose from her ponytail. Fuck, she was beautiful the way she looked. She was beautiful all the time.
“It was good,” she said genuinely and gave me a smile I knew was real, not forced, not uncomfortable.
I nodded and felt my stomach knot up, felt my muscles tighten as my nerves tried to get the better of me. “I—I thought maybe we could have that talk tonight.” I stuttered that first word and felt like a fucking moron. A heavy silence stretched between us, and I wondered if she was thinking of a way to get out of it, thinking of an excuse. Maybe she’d tell me she was too tired. I wouldn’t blame her. But I sure as hell hoped she didn’t.