The Complete P.S. Series

by Renshaw, Winter

  That’s not the Nick I know.

  The lock on the bathroom door pops, and I peer past my doorway in time to get a glimpse of Sutter with a towel wrapped low on his hips making his way to his room.

  Funny how a month ago, I was freaking out about his indecency, and now I'd give anything to sneak a peek at that fine derriere of his.

  Making my way to his door, I give it a light rap with my knuckles and bite away a smile as I wait.

  34

  Sutter

  I answer the knock at my door, one hand loosely gripping the knotted towel at my waist, the other hand braced against the door.

  “Hey,” she says, full mouth twisted at the side as her eyes sparkle.

  I know that look.

  I know what she came for.

  She’s not getting it.

  “Hey,” I say.

  She glances over my shoulder. “What … are you doing?”

  “Heading out,” I say.

  Her expression falls. “Yeah?”

  “Meeting some friends for a beer.”

  Melrose squints, almost like she’s waiting for an invite that never comes.

  She asked me earlier about her mystery question. And I was going to tell her. I figured at that point I had nothing to lose, and her cousin seemed pretty convinced the feeling was mutual.

  But then Nick called.

  And I watched her smile grow from big to bigger.

  I watched her plop down on her bed and settle in for a long conversation.

  I heard her infectious laugh through the walls.

  If it’s true that Melrose has a thing for guys she can’t have … then she must have a thing for Nick.

  She’s wanted him her entire life, I bet.

  Her best friend.

  Her confidant.

  Her everything.

  And he’s always been out manwhoring around, refusing to stay in one place with one girl a minute longer than he has to.

  He’s the definition of unavailable.

  “That’s too bad ...” she says. “I was hoping we could order a pizza or something.”

  “Don't you have some packing to do? Or something?” I have to start distancing myself from her, and I have to start now.

  If she weren’t leaving, I’d fight for her.

  I’d tell her how much I want her … how much I need her … in my life.

  But now I’m just going to be some roommate she hardly knows, some guy she fucked around with a few times, some lovestruck schmuck who waits until zero hour to tell her how he feels.

  Her suitcase is packed.

  Her plane leaves in three days.

  And this ship? I’m afraid it has sailed.

  “Have fun, Sutter.” Her words are cordial. Her tone is not. But it’s better this way. I wouldn’t want her to run off to her job missing a guy she’s got no business missing.

  She needs to focus on more important things.

  What kind of selfish bastard would I be if I stole her focus at a time like this? If I so much as expected her to make me a priority?

  Melrose disappears down the stairs.

  I get dressed and disappear down the street, in a dark sports bar that smells like spilled beer and not Melrose’s intoxicating perfume. In a space filled with everyone looking to escape from something and not in the arms of a woman who has become my escape.

  She’s not even gone and already I miss her.

  35

  Melrose

  The doorbell rings a few minutes past nine thirty Wednesday night. I pause tonight’s reunion episode of Real Housewives, toss the throw blanket to the side, and make my way to the foyer to find out who the hell would ring a doorbell this late at night.

  Peeling back the white curtains that block the little window in the front door, I see a teenage boy, messy hair the color of California sand, and behind him, a Yellow Cab is parked in the driveway, headlights pointed at the house.

  Yanking the door open, I step outside and put my arm around Tucker.

  “Are you okay?” I sign. “What are you doing here?”

  The cab driver gets out of the front seat and flags me over.

  “Stay here,” I sign.

  “Kid ordered a ride on his phone,” the cabbie says when I get closer. “Didn’t say two words the whole time. Just gave me the address. I pointed to the fare when we pulled up and then he looked at me with this—”

  “He’s deaf.” I cut to the chase because I don’t have time for this. I need to make sure he’s okay, and I need to get a hold of Sutter. “How much do I owe you?”

  “Ninety-four bucks,” he says. Clearing his throat, he adds, “Plus gratuity.”

  Jesus.

  “I’ll be right back.” I dash inside, find my bag, and pull out my debit card before returning outside. I give him a generous tip for having the decency to help Tucker despite not quite understanding what was going on. “Thank you so much.”

  The cabbie leaves, and I usher Tucker inside. He takes a seat on the sofa, staring at me with wide, unblinking eyes, and in the dim, lamp-lit room, I make out the sunken dark circles under his eyes.

  He hasn’t been sleeping, and for all I know, he hasn’t been eating either.

  “Are you hungry?” I sign.

  He nods.

  I hurry to the kitchen and fix him a sandwich and chips and pour him a glass of milk, and when I get back, I text Sutter. The message shows delivered but not read.

  “Did something happen?” I sign to Tucker as he eats.

  He places the sandwich down with both hands, finishing the oversized bite in his mouth.

  “Dad was drinking,” he signs back. “Throwing things again.”

  “Did you tell Sutter?”

  Tucker shakes his head no. “I just wanted to leave. Before it got worse.”

  I check my phone again. My text still doesn’t show as read. He said he was going to some sports bar, but there are literally dozens of them in this area alone. I could drive around all night and still not find him.

  But the important thing is, Tuck is here and he’s safe with me. I’ll wait up with him. I won’t leave his side until Sutter gets home.

  “You like this?” I hit play on the remote and point to the TV.

  Tucker reaches for a potato chip and wrinkles his nose.

  “What?” I sign, pretending to be shocked. I find the button on the remote for the closed-captioning and sink back into the sofa.

  A few minutes later, his eyes are glued. I don't know if he’s trying to be polite and humor me or if he's truly into this middle-aged-female reality drama stuff, but I can only hope that for a fraction of his young little life, he might be able to distract himself from all the chaos and bullshit at home.

  Once the episode ends, Tucker carries his plate and glass to the kitchen. When he returns, he studies me, forehead kind of wrinkled and eyes narrowed, and in his current state, he looks exactly like Sutter.

  “Can I ask you something?” he signs.

  I nod.

  “Do you like my brother?”

  I almost choke on my spit, but he waits with patience painted on his sweet face.

  I glance to the side and contemplate my response. It needs to be carefully crafted, something a fourteen-year-old could understand because this situation is complicated.

  The first time I met him, I couldn't stand him, but then he began to grow on me.

  “He’s a very nice man,” I sign.

  Tucker makes a face, like he doesn't buy it.

  “I’m leaving in three days,” I sign. “I’m going away for work. It’s not a good time to date someone. But if it was … I would like to date your brother.”

  His lips—ones that match Sutter’s—curl and his eyes widen.

  “But I don't think he likes me,” I add. “Not like that.

  Tucker rolls his eyes before nodding vehemently. “He likes you. Believe me.”

  He's got a funny way of showing it then.

  Tucker’s eyes graze past my shoul
der as the front door swings open and Sutter stands in the doorway, watching the two of us.

  “What's going on?” he asks.

  I go to him, placing my hand on his chest and feeling the rapid thumps of his heartbeat and hot flush of his skin. He’s looking like he’s two seconds from murdering someone: their father.

  “How did you get here?” he signs to his brother.

  “Cab,” I answer.

  “How did you pay?” he signs again to Tuck.

  I tap my finger against my chest twice.

  “You didn't have to do that,” he says.

  “That’s what you do when you care about someone.” I leave the two of them and make my way upstairs, though I'm willing to bet he's watching me still.

  It’s really too bad that we’re back to this—him freezing me out, pushing me away.

  I was going to wait up for him tonight. I was going to tell him how much fun I’ve been having. How much I love this whole other side of him that he keeps hidden from the rest of the world. I was going to tell him how much I like him.

  And then I was going to do something equal parts brave and insane: I was going to ask him to wait for me.

  36

  Sutter

  “Are you hurt?” I ask, taking a seat across from my little brother in the living room.

  Tuck shakes his head ‘no.’

  “Dad was drinking again?”

  Tuck shakes his head ‘yes’.

  “You’re not going back there,” I sign.

  I guess in a way it works out that Melrose is leaving in three days. I’ll give Tucker her room and maybe talk to the landlord about letting me out of the lease early. There’s a school for the hard of hearing and profoundly deaf in the next town over. I’m sure I can find something for us there. First thing tomorrow, I’ll call my attorney and start setting everything in motion.

  Dad doesn’t have a dime to his name, but parental rights in the state of California can trump even some of the best legal sharks.

  “I told her you like her.” Tucker signs before pointing toward the stairs. He turns his face to hide a half-smile.

  “You violated bro code,” I speak with my hands. “Not cool.”

  “You should tell her,” he signs. “I don’t think she believed me.”

  “Are you hungry?” I ask him.

  “Melrose fed me.”

  Of course she did.

  “You smile more,” Tuck signs. “You didn’t smile before her.”

  Random.

  “She’s in love with someone else anyway,” I say, whether or not she knows it.

  Tuck drags his palms down his cheeks, exhaling.

  “Who?”

  “Nick,” I spell his name.

  “Your roommate?”

  I nod.

  Tucker sticks his tongue out and crosses his eyes.

  He gets it.

  “It’s late,” I tell him. “You should go to bed. And you’re sleeping on the couch this time.”

  I leave to grab a spare pillow and blanket for him. It’s funny what kids notice … I had no idea I was smiling more, but I’m not surprised.

  I hand off the bedding and make my way upstairs to head to bed. A belly full of chicken wings and pale ale and a mind heavy with the weight of the world won't exactly make for the most restful of sleep, but the sooner this shit-tastic night is over, the better.

  Climbing into bed and rolling to my side, I bunch my pillow beneath my head. My eyes have been shut for all of four seconds when my phone vibrates on the nightstand.

  Hope lurches in my chest for a second, and I know why. The smallest part of me, the part that refuses to be denied, thinks it's her … texting from the next room.

  I swipe my phone and squint at the bright screen against the dark of my room.

  NICK: HEY. WANTED TO LET YOU KNOW I’M COMING HOME TOMORROW. GOING TO SURPRISE MELROSE, SO DON'T SAY ANYTHING.

  ME: YOU’RE LEAVING THE TOUR TO SURPRISE HER? CAN YOU DO THAT?

  NICK: TOLD THEM IT WAS A FAMILY EMERGENCY.

  Wow …

  NICK: I NEED TO TELL HER SOMETHING BEFORE SHE GOES. SOMETHING THAT TOOK BEING AWAY FROM HER FOR ME TO REALIZE.

  And now I know …

  Nick is in love with her too.

  NICK: CAN YOU LEAVE THE BACK DOOR UNLOCKED AROUND 2 PM? MELROSE HAS MY KEY. OBVS.

  ME: YEP.

  NICK: THANKS, DUDE!!

  I put my phone on “do not disturb” and darken the screen.

  I need to shut the world out.

  37

  Melrose

  We bump into each other by the front door Thursday morning, after I finish an early jog. I’m not sure why, but I woke up at 5 AM this morning wide awake and couldn’t get back to sleep.

  “Hi.” I dab my sweaty forehead on the back of my hand. I’m sure I look hot. Literally, not figuratively.

  “Hey.” He reaches for his dusty work boots that rest on a wool rug by the front door. His white ALCOTT ELECTRIC t-shirt is blinding almost, contrasting against his bronzed skin. It must be new. “So thanks for taking care of Tucker last night.”

  “Is everything okay? With him, I mean?”

  He bites the inside of his mouth for a second before nodding. “Yeah. He’s a tough kid. He’ll get through it.”

  “Probably helps he has you.”

  I expect Sutter to roll his eyes or tell me to stop glorifying him, something self-deprecating, but he stands there staring, lost in thought almost, like he’s thinking hard about something.

  If only he could read my thoughts—then he’d know how badly I wish I could kiss him. I don’t even care that I’m slicked in sweat and smell like the outdoors. I want to feel the heat of his mouth. His fingers in my hair. All of him consuming all of me.

  I want him to look at me the way he did before—like I was some kind of wonderful.

  Sutter glances at the door. I know he has to go.

  “What are you doing tonight?” I ask.

  “Not sure yet.”

  “Maybe … we could hang out?”

  Sutter walks to the door, placing his hand on the knob as he lingers. “Yeah. Maybe. We’ll see.”

  There’s an ache in my chest. An actual ache. My stomach knots as I watch him swing the door open.

  “Why are you doing this?” I ask.

  He turns to face me. “Melrose.”

  “I know you felt it too, Sutter.” My eyes burn, but I refuse to let him see me cry.

  “I have to go.” He shuts the door and trots down the front porch steps, climbing into his truck a few seconds later.

  I’d like to think he’s going to let my words sink in on his drive to work, but knowing him, he’ll probably drown it out with his favorite classic rock station.

  He’s good at shutting out the world when things get too intense. I just never thought he’d shut me out—not after how far we’d come since the day we first met.

  At the end of the day, I suppose I have to accept the fact that I don’t mean what I thought I meant to him.

  But it won't make me miss him any less when I’m gone.

  * * *

  I couldn’t stay home today.

  Tucker vegged out on the sofa next to a stack of books he found God knows where, and I packed up Murphy and hightailed it to Gram’s house. Later this afternoon, I met up with Aerin and Maritza for a late lunch, and then I drove to Abbot-Kinney in Santa Monica and did some window shopping before settling into a corner table at a coffee house for a little soul searching.

  Speaking of that … I haven’t heard from Nick since Wednesday morning.

  Grabbing my phone, I shoot him a quick text, asking what he’s up to. If he’s still on the East Coast, it’s almost dinner time, so hopefully he’s up.

  His little “existential crisis” episode was unnerving. He’s always been the calm one. The one who had his emotions under control and knew exactly what he wanted out of life. Somehow our roles have reversed.

  I finish my almond milk latte and he
ad back to my car. With traffic, it takes nearly an hour and a half to get home. The 405 is mostly stop and go for a while, and every time we stop, I think about seeing Sutter tonight after what I said earlier, and then I have to make a conscious effort to stop tapping my fingers or bouncing my knee.

  I’m not good at being anxious. I can cry on command, but Lord help me if I can pull myself together.

  I’m dying to know if he thought about me today, about what I said to him in the foyer. I basically confessed that I felt something between us, and then he … left.

  Maybe he was running late for work, but I like to think that the conversation made him that uncomfortable that he had to get the hell out of there, and the reason it made him that uncomfortable was because he felt something too.

  By the time Murphy and I pull in the driveway to the little bungalow, I kill the engine and scoop my dog under my arm, heading in.

  The house is dark inside, all the shades drawn, but it smells sweet. Like fresh roses. Wine. Candles.

  Inch by inch, my crazy heart climbs up my throat until it reaches my ears. The sound of my pulse whooshing almost drowns out the faint sound of soft music.

  Sutter isn’t the romantic type, at least from what I've seen, but I have experienced the thoughtful, selfless side of him before, and I wouldn’t put this past him.

  There’s a very real chance he feels bad about this morning, and about icing me out these last couple of days.

  Maybe this is his way of making it up to me?

  I can’t help but grin as I picture him standing in the next room, waiting to scoop me into his arms and tell me he feels the same, that he’s going to miss me like hell when I’m gone, and that he had to tell me how he felt before I left.

  I visualize him telling me I’ll have something to come back to in a couple of months, someone waiting for me.