by Scott, S. L.
“What do you want then?”
“A new beginning.” He centers himself, staring directly into my eyes, refusing to be deterred from his goal. “Name the time and place and I’ll be there.” His determination gains steam, and a small smile appears.
“I’ll figure it out today and text you. Will that work?”
His grin grows. “That will work.” Leaning down, he kisses my temple, and then whispers, “Thank you.”
Tilting my head, I brush my cheek against the roughness of his jaw, but I stay right there until both of our breaths come out a little harder. I close my eyes and swallow the emotions building in my chest before I turn and take a step back. “I’ll text you.”
“I’ll wait for you.”
I’d point out that he did it again, waiting for me instead of waiting to hear from me, but I know what he’s doing, and I can admit I like it. Since this, whatever this is between us, feels so good, I decide to tease him. “I’m going in now, so I can finally drink my coffee, you stalker.”
He chuckles. “I only pull out my best stalker moves for you.”
“I’m flattered. Now go. It’s not even seven in the morning.”
With his hands up, he says, “Going. Going. But don’t forget about me.”
“I’ve tried but never could.”
“Good.” I’m sent a wink before he heads down the steps.
Leaning over the rail to get one more good look at this man, I say, “For whom?” when he appears from the stairwell.
“Guess that remains to be seen, but I’m feeling pretty damn good right now.” He opens the door of his SUV, and asks, “How about you?”
I wave my hand. “I can’t tell you all my secrets, or what will be left?”
“The whole world and when we burn through that, the universe.”
My knees weaken. He was always a poet with dreams bigger than the lives we were born into. His success comes as no surprise. I just wish I could have been there to watch his star shoot across the sky. “Save your lines for your lyrics, pretty boy.”
That makes him laugh again. He starts the engine and rolls down the window. Resting his arm out, he looks back once more at me and gives me a little wave.
I stand there for a few seconds before I go back inside, not ready to see him leave. When his car pulls out of the parking lot, I actually mourn the loss. He was once my life. We’re not kids now, so we need to talk as adults and then move . . . and then . . . and then what? I think that’s the crux of the problem. A few days ago, Rivers Crow was but a painful memory. But now, he’s in my present.
Beginnings. That’s what he wants. Logic tells me I’d be stupid to even consider it. “You’ve closed your heart off for so long, Stel. But you deserve happiness.” I hear what Meadow is saying, but will letting him into my heart equal happiness?
We need to talk, but I wonder if we’ll discover there’s too much water under this bridge to go back to what we once were.
“Morning.”
I jump, covering my heart with my hand. “Good lord. What the hell, Meadow?”
She laughs. “Jumpy much?”
“Yes, when people sneak up on you and catch you off guard, especially before seven a.m.”
“So what was going on outside?”
“Nothing.”
“Really?” She puts the K-Cup in the coffee machine and presses the flashing button. “Nothing?”
“Nope.” She doesn’t need to know that I just made a date—Ugh. Not a date. An appointment . . . with Rivers. Yes, that’s what it is. That’s all it is.
“I heard voices.”
“That was just me. Umm . . . talking to myself.”
She turns around and studies me. “You sure? It sounded like Rivers.”
I drag out my sip of cold coffee and shrug. When that doesn’t satisfy her, she stares at me just as the coffee machine gurgles. She turns her attention to the coffee thank God. When she finishes adding creamer and takes a sip, she heads for the bedroom. She’s already out of sight when she says, “I have a date with my bed and bad TV movies today. I’m glad you have a date with Rivers.”
“It’s not a date,” I call, loud and clear.
“Sure.”
I get up in a huff, tilting my head. “It’s not a date, Meadow.”
Her eyes are glued to the TV as she sips her coffee while snuggled in bed. “Okay. Whatever. Have fun.”
“It’s not about having fun. It’s about finalizing—”
Shifting her gaze to me, she asks, “Finalizing what? The breakup? Who are we kidding? That was finalized years ago.”
I lean back on the arm of the couch and fall back, leaving my legs dangling over the side. “You’re exasperating.”
“Actually, you and Rivers are exasperating. Hence, why I’m happy you’re finally going on this date.”
“It’s not a date.” I drape my arm over my eyes.
“Whatever you say. Where you going on this date anyway?”
“Oh my God, I can’t with you.” I swing my legs off the couch and go to my bag. Realizing I didn’t pack clothes for today in my rush to get over here, I look down at the shirt that covers me. My cheeks feel hot to the touch just thinking about that smile on his face when he caught me in this shirt, braless.
After pulling out my flip-flops and packing my heels from last night, I zip my bag closed. “You enjoy your movies. I’m going home.”
“It’s not your home. Also, we need to start looking for a place since the two bedroom in the next building we were supposed to get renewed their lease.”
“Between our measly salaries, it’s not going to be good. Prices have skyrocketed in the past few years, but I’ll start looking again.”
“Me too. Also, keep me posted on your date,” she says, laughing.
I’m not going to bother going back in there to give her my resting bitch face, but I will correct her. “It’s not a date.”
“I let you live in your fantasies, so let me live in mine.”
“You fantasize about me and Rivers going on a date?”
“Yes. Now leave me to it. Later, gator.” The volume on the movie she’s watching is jacked up just as the scary music starts playing.
That’s my cue to leave.
On the drive to the guesthouse, I think of Brian and how I need to tell him as soon as I secure a new place. He’s been more than generous by opening his home to me when I was evicted. I often think about what my father has told me. “Be with someone reliable, someone who won’t abandon you out of nowhere.” Oh, the irony, Dad. Reliable.
Reliable is like a rash Rivers got rid of a long time ago. That and my heart. But then he shows up being kind and begging for time, and I can’t say no.
I pull into the driveway and park in front of the converted garage. Brian’s dressed for exercise and stretching on the patio. I open the door and ask, “Going jogging?”
“Before it gets too hot. Need help with your bag?”
“No, I’ve got it. Thanks.”
Reaching into the back seat, I grab the bag and lock the car. While I walk to my front door, he says, “Nice shirt. Good band. Saw them a few times in college.”
My body tenses as I stand frozen on the porch behind him. Looking down, I catch a glimpse of the crow design feeling equally protective and exposed.
Protective of Rivers and the band to any potential scrutiny, I fold my arms over my chest, feeling as if he can tell I kissed Rivers Crow last night.
He says, “When I get back, I’ll shower, and we can go to breakfast if you’re hungry?” Crisis averted.
His even-tempered nature makes him a great principal. He doesn’t blow up or overreact. He likes to get the facts, to have a plan, and to follow protocol, but he’s stepping out of his usual boundaries by wanting to go out. I momentarily pause, thinking it over. I owe him so much that this will be a good opportunity to thank him for the hospitality he’s shown me. “Okay. Yes. I’ll be ready.”
Beyond the teachers who talk about him
in the teacher’s lounge, I overhear the girls in my classes comparing him to a cross between Bradley Cooper and Matt Damon. I don’t see it, but apparently, he’s “like a hot dad.” The phrase itself bothers me, but it does make me wonder how I overlooked something everyone else so obviously sees.
He’s been a good friend, but that’s all he’ll ever be to me. Is Meadow right? Am I still so hung up on Rivers that I can’t appreciate a handsome and kind man? Is that why I need to talk to Rivers? To be free of that connection? That bias? And if I do talk to him, will it actually free me or hook me again?
“Great. I’m off.”
“Have a good run,” I reply.
Life is strange and unpredictable, and I have no idea what the next few days will bring. “I’ll wait for you.” I guess that’s where I start.
11
Stella
One mimosa in and I’m ready for another. So is Brian. “They’re light pourers with the champagne,” he says, looking for the waitress. He’s nervous, which is unsettling. Why is he so nervous? “Would you like another?”
I’d like ten because he’s right. There’s barely any champagne in these drinks, and I need the hair of the dog. Is it inappropriate to order a beer at this hour? Probably. “Yes please.” Our drink order is placed when our breakfast plates are set down.
He asks, “Would you like a bite of my eggs Benedict?”
“No, I’d feel like a traitor to my pancakes.” I snort laugh. It’s a terrible joke, but I’m hungover, and after waiting almost an hour to get in here, my brain is too tired to be clever. “You know, like Benedict Arnold. The traitor from the Revolutionary War. Get it?”
“Ohhh. I get it now.” He still doesn’t laugh, though.
“Goofy teacher’s joke, I guess.” I’m too hungry to care. “These blueberry pancakes smell like heaven. Want a bite?”
“They look too good to pass up.”
I wait for him to cut off a portion, but he seems to be waiting on me. “Take what you want.”
“I was hoping you could maybe feed me a bite.”
“Why?”
Oh. Does he think this is more than friends grabbing a meal together? The last time I fed a male food was Rivers when . . . Oh, no. “Um, Brian, I’m sorry.”
“For?”
“For giving you the wrong impression. I just thought this was something casual, two friends eating out.”
I see the disappointment trickle into his eyes. “It is.” He fixates on his napkin on the table. “Just friends.” When he looks back up, he asks, “But would a date with me be so awful?”
He could provide the security my mom always told me to want.
The predictability my father insisted was a good trait.
My heart beats in protest.
“No. No. Not at all. I’ve just always considered you a colleague and friend. In our positions, we shouldn’t tangle in new territory.”
“There’s nothing in the policy that would stop us.”
There’s also nothing that has drawn me to him. I feel terrible as he stares at me waiting for an answer to a question I haven’t asked. “I’m not in any position to date someone. There have been so many changes in the past few years, emotional things that I’m dealing with. I think it’s just safer right now, better for me, if I focus on fixing me.” Reaching across the table, I cover his hand with mine. It’s not warm like Rivers’s was, and there’s no electricity between us. We’re more physics than chemistry. “I’m sorry, but please know I value our friendship.”
His hand is pulled back as he leans back in the booth. “Yeah. Okay. Friendship. Value. Got it.”
Clearly, he’s upset. Now I feel even worse. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. I was just seeing if there was something more between us, but there doesn’t seem to be.”
Not the best for my self-esteem, but I’ll take the lumps now while his pride is injured. We’ll be fine, but if we’re not, I guess I’ll deal with that when it comes. “Right. Nothing. Okay then. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be right back.” I slip out of the booth and go to the bathroom.
I should have never come out this morning. He’s been supportive, but I’m not dumb or blind. What I hoped—us being friends—doesn’t seem to be possible. This was a bad idea. I won’t make the mistake again. I won’t lead him on or cause him more hurt feelings by staying in the guesthouse longer than I need to either. I’ve tried to be a good tenant and not invade his space when it seems more obvious than ever that invading his space is what he’s wanted all along.
Finding a new place to live was already a priority, but now it’s been put on a rush.
I move in front of the sink and wash my hands. Wetting a paper towel, I press it against my face. I’ve made such a mess of things. Looking in the mirror, I stare into my eyes, searching for the life that once lived there but can’t find it.
Is this how I want to spend the rest of my life? Stuck in some . . . rut? I’m not interested in Brian, and I don’t think it has to completely do with things not being resolved with Rivers. In this case, we just seem so different. I don’t want to live in this mire of singledom. I wonder if it’s possible that the dark clouds of my past are clearing? I didn’t lie to Brian. I am dealing with very emotional and difficult issues at the moment, yet my heart—okay, and body—wanted to cling to Rivers last night and this morning. Somehow, I think being that honest with Brian would be more hurtful than not, and that’s not something he deserves.
* * *
My ex is a member of one of the biggest bands in music. It’s a lot to process and something I never really have. The band of three brothers became four when Ridge joined them. The Crow Brothers were signed by Outlaw Records. The label was started by Johnny Outlaw, the lead singer of one of the biggest bands in the world, The Resistance. After their first full album was released, it shot to the top, like they did.
The fame.
The money.
The records.
None of that mattered when it came to Rivers. I just loved a boy who once loved a girl.
Life has stolen our innocence away.
Their music video comes on my laptop, and I close my eyes, thinking about what Rivers said this morning. He’s making an effort and in charming ways. I didn’t ask him how long he’d been out there waiting on me, but for that alone, I owe him a chance to speak his piece. We may have ended horribly, but I can see how agonized he is. And despite how much pain I endured, I still hate the idea of him being hurt. Maybe talking to each other can heal some of the wounds.
I pick up my phone ready to text him, simply because I want to see him again when a soft rap on the door causes me to set it down.
Brian.
“Coming.”
Swinging my robe around me, I tie the belt as I unlock the door and then open it. “Hi.”
“Hi. I wanted to check on you and to clear any bad air. I feel bad about this morning.”
“There’s no bad air.”
He shifts and glances over his shoulder. When his eyes return to mine, he says, “I still owe you an apology. I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable.”
“You don’t have to apologize, but I’m glad we talked. I consider you a friend, and I’d hate to lose you.”
“You won’t,” he replies, a smile appearing. “I value our friendship as well. It’s been nice to have someone renting this place who I know.” Looking me over, he asks, “Are you not feeling well?”
I laugh. “No, not really. I drank too much last night. Today is payback.”
“What did you end up doing?”
Tightening the belt and looping it around my hand, I keep the details vague. “I went out with Meadow.”
“Did you go to dinner?”
“We grabbed tacos and then went to see a band play downtown, ran into some old friends, and . . .” I pause because I almost said I had fun. A sudden need to protect my time with Rivers washes through me. We all laughed a lot, and hell, I even climbed out a window with
a rock star while we escaped a mob of groupies. That was unexpected fun. “It was a good night.”
“Good. So are you attending the fall banquet? The PTA will be honoring me.”
“Yes, I’ll be there and congratulations.”
“Thank you. Maybe we can ride together if you’d like?”
I consider my answer carefully. I don’t want to lead him on in any way, and I’m learning that I must keep my boundaries. When I see him patiently waiting, I’m blindsided by an irrational thought.
No. It’s too crazy. I can’t. I shouldn’t. It would be ridiculous. Fun . . . maybe. It would be a great way to get Brian to look elsewhere for his companionship. Rivers always did look good in a suit. Maybe I should. Hmmm . . . No. Rivers and I are nothing more than passing ships. He’ll be gone so soon, I’m not even sure if I’ll get a goodbye. It was ridiculous for me to even think he’s an option.
“I have a lot going on this week. Probably best if we take our own cars.”
“Yep. Sure. Will do.” Turning to go back to his gardening, he picks up the weed whacker and glances back at me. “Sorry for the noise.”
“No problem.” As soon as I close the door, I lock it and lean against it. Have I lost my damn mind? What was I thinking? Rivers asked me for more time, but this may completely blow up in my face.
* * *
Rivers Crow is hard to miss and looking better than he should. I spot him the second I walked through the doors of Highball. I immediately start second-guessing myself, my feet becoming heavy with every step I take toward him.
I’m so conflicted when it comes to what he wants and what I need. Are they one and the same? I can’t help but hope he’s changed—for the better. I know I have—for the worse. Is it time to forgive even if I can’t forget? Why does just the sight of him make my heart still hurt so much?
Rivers stands from the red vinyl booth to greet me. He’s nervous, dragging his palms down the front of his jeans. “Hi. I’m glad you texted.”
“Me too.” I don’t mention how hard it was to make the move, but the ball was in my court. He gave me that courtesy, so I’m giving him the same.