Where We Belong

by Shann McPherson

  “But you’re together now?” Anna looks at me, quirking one of her brows with a devious giggle. “Like, together together?”

  I nod, trying so hard to smile like a woman happily in love, but it’s almost impossible. Yes, I might like Harley, but right now all I want to do is crawl into a hole and disappear. “So, anyway. What about you guys?” I start, in an attempt to shift the conversation away from my blatant lie. “How did Nash propose?”

  I don’t really care. In fact, it’s the last thing I want to know. But it’s the only way to get the focus off Harley and me. From the way Harley’s breathing has increased beside me, I’m worried he’s about to spontaneously combust under the scrutiny of his best friend’s suspicious gaze from across the table.

  “Well,” Anna begins, her cheeks flushed as she flashes Nash a sneaky sideways glance. “I came home from classes and he was at my apartment. He’d surprised me by cooking my favorite meal. There were fresh flowers everywhere. Candles …” She trails off, positively gushing as she recounts every detail. “It was very romantic.”

  I try to smile—I really do—but I can feel my face beginning to fall of its own accord, which is precisely when Harley’s arm around my shoulders tightens a little in a show of support I didn’t realize I needed up until that moment, and I know he knows exactly what I’m thinking.

  “So, once I’d freshened up,” Anna continues with a faraway look in her eyes, “I came out to find him on one knee, and the ring was glistening from the collar of my darling Scottish Fold, Sheba.”

  I can’t help but wonder if this is some kind of sick joke: flowers, candles and a damn cat named Sheba. It takes all I have not to laugh out loud. If it wasn’t so hilarious it would be nothing but ridiculous. All I can taste is the familiar bitterness of bile as it climbs its way up the back of my throat. I reach across and grab Harley’s glass of whatever it is he’s drinking, thankful that it’s just Coke, taking a few unladylike gulps to stop myself from gagging.

  “It was so beautiful!” Anna clasps her hands together beneath her chin, turning to Nash with an adoring look in her eyes, her thick eyelashes batting. Nash smiles, reaching out and tucking her blonde hair behind her ear, a move so innocently intimate, and I watch on, remembering all the times he tucked my hair behind my ear for me through the years.

  Harley clears his throat once more, shifting beside me, pulling me from my thoughts. “You’ve changed, man.” He chuckles, looking at Anna with a mischievous grin. “The Nash I know would’ve ordered a pizza, had a sixer of Miller Lite chillin’ on ice, and asked you to marry him during the commercial break of a Falcons’ game.” He downs his glass of Coke while flashing me an apologetic glance, and I know he’s just trying to stifle the awkwardness, trying to placate my overwhelming emotions, and I’m so appreciative, but it’s all pointless.

  “I am a changed man.” Nash shrugs, leaning in and placing a kiss on Anna’s cheek. “For the better.” Unsurprisingly, his words are like a kick to my stomach, but he continues, despite my crippling pain, and the worst thing is, I have a bad feeling he knows exactly what his words are doing to me. “It took me a while, but I finally met the right girl for me.”

  My jaw actually drops, and I stiffen as every single muscle in my body goes numb. My heart races, my skin pricks, tears sting the backs of my eyes, and it almost feels as if I can’t breathe, like some unseen force is suffocating me from the inside out, squeezing the life out of me.

  “Aw, babe!” Anna cries, turning and wrapping her arms around his neck, brushing her nose against his as she murmurs something to him.

  Harley’s hand squeezes my shoulder, letting me know he’s still here with me, and I turn slowly, looking up and meeting his eyes. “Will you take me home?”

  His jaw is tight, but he manages a smile. “Yeah,” he whispers. “Let’s get the hell outta here.”

  I shuffle out of the booth with Harley close behind me and, with one last fleeting glance over my shoulder at Nash and Anna who are both oblivious to our departure, I don’t even bother saying goodbye before walking away.

  Chapter 19

  The entire drive home, my mind keeps flashing back to Nash. His words reverberate through my head like a broken record. A changed man? For the better? Finally met the right girl? I’m still reeling. Those words were like a slap to my face, and I’m almost certain that’s what he was aiming for. He once told me I was the only girl for him. That I made him the best version of himself. That there would never be anyone else for him. That I was it. Forever and always. So what? Was he lying back then, or is he lying now? Or has he always been a liar and I’m only just seeing him now for what he truly is?

  “You okay?”

  I startle from my thoughts, turning to see Harley watching me from the driver’s seat. And it’s at that moment I realize we’ve stopped. I glance out the window to see my house shrouded in darkness, and I exhale a heavy breath, grasping at my purse in my lap. “Thanks for the ride,” I murmur, reaching for the door handle. But I stop mid-way, glancing back at him, and the words are out of my mouth before I even have a chance to consider them. “He really loves her, doesn’t he?”

  Harley seems to hesitate a moment, his eyes looking at me so intently they’re almost looking through me. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, clearly stalling, but finally he nods, offering me a sad smile. “Yeah, he does.” He shrugs. “But he still shouldn’t have said what he said. There’s a thing called tact, and unfortunately he just proved that he doesn’t seem to have much of that left in him.”

  I huff out a defeated breath, pursing my lips as I stare straight ahead through the windshield. “I thought I was imagining it. Actually, I hoped I was imagining it. I didn’t want to accept it. But he really has changed, huh.”

  “People change, Murph. There’s nothing wrong with that,” he says with a shrug of his shoulder while inspecting something closely on his steering wheel, and I don’t miss the context within his words. A deep furrow is etched between his brows, his jaw tight as he focuses intently on the cracked leather, picking at it with his thumbnail. He’s awkward. So am I. Things have changed between us, and I know I’m not the only one who feels it.

  “Do you want to come in for some coffee?” My question surprises me just as much as it seems to surprise him.

  He straightens, squaring his shoulders and turning to me, his eyebrows raised as he meets my eyes. I stare at him, waiting for a response, and when he moves to unfasten his seat belt, nodding once, my shoulders sag as I breathe a sigh of relief because I really need him right now.

  ***

  I can’t even begin to count the number of times Harley Shaw has been inside my house over the years. Thousands, probably. When we were kids, he and Nash were forever hanging around, rifling through the pantry, raiding the fridge and drinking straight out of the juice carton. But this is the first time Harley’s been in my house when it’s ever felt different. Suddenly, with my confusing, newfound feelings for him, his presence in my home is overwhelming, like he’s almost too big for the small space. As we stand in the kitchen across the island from one another, I can hear every one of his breaths, feel his eyes on me as I idly stir the two mugs of hot tea. And it’s at that precise moment I realize I need something a lot stronger than chamomile tea.

  “Actually,” I say, turning and tipping the contents of both mugs into the sink. “Can you please get me that bottle of Johnnie Walker from on top of the fridge?”

  “Blue label?” Harley chuckles from behind me. “Livin’ large, Murph?”

  I place two glasses onto the counter, rolling my eyes at him. “It’s the only one that doesn’t give me heartburn.”

  Harley smirks, pouring us each a nip of liquor before replacing the cork in the bottle. “Cheers.” He smiles, holding his glass in the air.

  I nod in return, meeting his eyes momentarily before he tilts his head back and takes a generous sip of the scotch whiskey. His eyelashes flutter closed as he hums in appreciation, and the sound alone
elicits goose bumps to prick all over my skin. It takes all I have not to outwardly swoon as I sip my own shot, forcing myself to look away. I can’t stand to see the look of satisfaction on his face any longer. So, instead, I focus down at the small tiles on the countertop as if they’re the most fascinating thing I’ve ever seen.

  What am I doing? I don’t actually know. I’ve never considered Harley this way. He’s never had this effect on me. Where Nash was always the love of my life, Harley was the annoying background noise I just couldn’t seem to turn off. He was that insolent older-brother type who once ripped a whole heap of pages from my diary when I used to write Justin Timberlake fan fiction in freshman year. He showed everyone at school, and all his jock football buddies made fun of me for weeks.

  One time in sophomore year, after the school had installed vending machines in the boys’ bathroom, he chased me through the halls laughing like a lunatic with a flapping condom flailing in the air. In fact, for most of my teenage life Harley Shaw was been the bane of my existence, until he became the best friend I never knew I needed when I had no one else. And now, all I can imagine is what his calloused finger might feel like brushing against the curve where my shoulder meets my neck. What his lips might be capable of doing to me with just one kiss.

  “I should get going.”

  I shake my head free of my inappropriate thoughts, watching as Harley places his empty glass onto the counter, and my heart begins to race as panic dawns on me. My mind works overtime to think of something, anything to get him to stay. I don’t know why, but I don’t want him to leave just yet.

  “Can you fix my washing machine?”

  Harley offers me a double take, his brow furrowed, and I can tell he’s just as confused by my spluttered question as I am.

  “Um, I-I mean, it.” I pause for a moment before I stammer an explanation. “It’s making this really loud clunking noise. I think it’s off-center, and I don’t know how to fix it.” It’s a total lie, of course. It isn’t off-center at all. And even if it was, I know how to fix it. I’ve had that washing machine for years. It was my mother’s and the damn thing goes off-center at least once a week. But Harley doesn’t know that.

  “You want me to have a look at it now?”

  I nod.

  “Murph—” He stops, looking down at his watch. “It’s after midnight.”

  I roll my eyes. “Yeah, but I have clothes I need to wash so I can pack for Myrtle Beach in the morning.”

  “You mean to tell me you, Alice Murphy, Miss Organization herself, didn’t have your bag packed on Sunday when you found out about the damn bachelor party?” He quirks a dubious brow.

  I shake my head, despite his assumption being eerily accurate. Of course I had my bag packed for Myrtle Beach days ago. I’ve repacked it three times since then. But he doesn’t need to know that.

  “Fine,” he huffs, turning and heading for the laundry, and I follow him with a smug smirk, although right now I hate myself.

  I lean against the doorjamb, watching Harley on his knees, his head halfway inside the washing machine drum. I’m immediately captivated by the way his tight jeans pull slightly lower, the band of his boxer briefs showing, as is a sliver of his tan, taut lower back, and I can’t help but smile to myself like the cat that got the cream.

  “That should do it,” Harley grunts as his arm yanks at something deep in the machine and, much to my dismay, he’s done far too quickly. But, short of asking him to mow the lawn in the backyard, and paint a recoat of oil over the front porch, there really is no other reason to keep him here. With a forlorn sigh, I watch as he pushes himself up from the floor, finding his feet and brushing his hands over the back of his jeans.

  “All good?” he asks, his eyebrows slightly raised as he looks down at me.

  I nod, biting down on the inside of my cheek as I rack my brain. I know what I need to do to get him to stay. I need to make a move. In fact, I really should tell him how I’m feeling. The problem is, I keep imagining a million humiliating scenarios in my head, and I’m far too chicken. I simply cannot risk it.

  “Murph?”

  I pull my eyes from the spot on the floor I’ve been catatonically focused on, looking up to find him watching me with the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.

  “Yeah?”

  “Um …” Harley shifts awkwardly, pointing behind me. “You wanna move outta the way so I can get past?”

  I turn quickly, feeling my cheeks heat as I lead the way back through the kitchen. Harley follows close behind, and I can smell his intoxicating scent, feel his looming presence just over my shoulder. It overwhelms every one of my senses, and I blame it and the tequila for my embarrassing befuddlement.

  “So, I’ll stop by in the morning to pick you up?” Harley checks, standing in the kitchen doorway. “Eight o’clock on the dot.”

  I watch as he twirls the keys to his truck around his index finger, my eyes zeroing in on the tarnished old Stonemason ring he wears, left to him by his grandfather when he died a few years back.

  “Murph?”

  I jump, realizing once again that I’ve been staring at him like a total weirdo. Meeting his eyes, I nod again, swallowing hard. My throat is suddenly dry, and my tongue feels like sandpaper as I clear my throat, continuing regardless of the consequences. “You know, y-you could just stay … If you w-want.”

  A crease etches its way in between his eyebrows as he processes my words. And, to be honest, I can’t blame him for his obvious confusion. I’m just as confused as he seems to be, because what the hell am I even saying?

  “What?”

  “I mean, you can … umm …” I fumble with my words, looking down and picking at the tiny blue tiles covering the countertop. “I mean, instead of going home. It’s late.” I look to the clock before meeting his eyes once again. “And your house is on the way outta town.” I shrug. “We could just stop by and grab your things on the way to Myrtle Beach in the morning,” I ramble.

  Harley continues watching me, that sharp crease still furrowed into his brow as the air between us suddenly grows thick with a palpable tension. Awkward as hell. The longer I look at him, the more I wish the floor to my house would open up and suck me deep down into the depths of the unknown, or at least the basement. My heart is thumping, wild and aggressive, each beat whooshing in my ears so loud, it’s almost deafening. My palms are damp with perspiration. I can feel a prickly heat climbing its way up from the base of my neck, and I actually want to die. I think death would be less painful, right now.

  “You ain’t got no spare bed. And there’s no way in hell I’ll fit on your couch,” he says, his voice a little raspier than usual.

  I press my lips together to stifle the laughter threatening me. It’s both embarrassing and frustrating, and if I don’t laugh, I fear I might cry. I mean, do I need to spell it out to the guy? I take a deep breath. My feet are heavy, like they have weights tied to them. My knees wobble a little unsteadily. And I can’t help wonder if it’s my body’s way of telling me to stop whatever the hell it is I’m about to do. But I ignore all the apparent warning signs, crossing the small distance, and coming to stop just a few inches shy of him. Harley’s chest rises and falls in a heavy, trembling breath as he looks down at me, his shoulders tensing when I gently, hesitantly reach out, tugging at his T-shirt.

  “Murph,” he begins, his voice wavering. “W-what are you doing?”

  Ignoring his hushed, stammered question, I swallow the lump of apprehension at the back of my throat, staring up into his green eyes that glisten beneath the overhead lamp. I stand on the tips of my toes, craning my neck and breathing him in as I inch closer and closer to his lips. His eyes turn a slightly darker shade, smoky and heavily hooded, his pupils dilating ever so slightly with every inch closer I move. I’m completely intoxicated by both the alcohol I’ve consumed and his heady scent, and I’d like to say I have no idea what I’m doing, but of course I do. I know exactly what I’m doing. Closing my eyes, my lips finally brush ag
ainst his, shocking me through to my core, and it’s everything I imagined it to be and more. His lips are warm and soft. They feel like home—something I hadn’t been expecting—and I’m forced to stifle the contented murmur as it creeps its way up the back of my throat when his lips parts and the very tip of his tongue glides against my bottom lip.

  But suddenly, like a cold, hard slap to my face, everything comes to a crashing halt when I almost fall flat to the floor with how quickly he moves away from me.

  “What the hell, Murph?” he yells, his voice hoarse as it echoes throughout the stark silence of the kitchen. “What the hell are you doing?”

  I gape at him as he steps even farther away, keeping a good few feet of distance between us. Anger is evident within his blazing eyes. His chest is heaving as if he’s just run a mile. His cheeks are a deep shade of pink as he glares at me, his eyes almost threatening. “This is all bullshit, Murph,” he hisses from between gritted teeth. “It isn’t real! It’s a lie. It’s your lie. Remember?”

  “I’m s-sorry, I just—” Lost for words, I grip the edge of the countertop behind me. I breathe hard as the world around me begins to spin. I want to die. But, maybe I’m already dead.

  “This was all your idea. Your stupid idea,” Harley continues, and he’s so angry. Furious, even. But, to be honest, I’m not even really listening anymore.

  “I didn’t mean it. I—” I try to speak but I’m suddenly riddled with a humiliation I doubt I’ll ever be able to overcome. An unexpected sob bubbles up the back of my throat. “I’m sorry,” I cry out, violently swiping at the hot tears trailing down my cheeks before pushing past him and running upstairs to my bedroom, desperate to get away from him and my mortification. I close the door behind me, resting my forehead against the cold wood as I try to catch my breath. But it’s no use. I’m a mess. I hear the front door open before slamming shut, and I turn, sliding down my door and falling into a heap on the floor. Burying my face in my hands, I continue crying uncontrollably.