What brand of douche nozzle threatens a girl anyway?
The Foley Montgomery brand.
Wisely, Foley backs off. “Control your Terrier, dude,” he spits, walking away, his lackeys following behind him like trained puppies.
“A rabid Terrier, Foley!” Savi screams, throwing him the finger in the process. Jesus.
Turning a hard stare at her, her mouth snaps shut. She has the decency to look contrite, but I don’t buy it. She’s a hellion who doesn’t take bullying well. So, I know without a shadow of doubt that she’s unapologetic. God help me, she looks beautiful. Mischievous, infuriating and beautiful. My purple-haired monster.
I wish I could kiss her.
“Thank you for saving me,” she rushes out. “I talk a big game, but that guy would’ve kicked my ass into Tuesday.” She swipes imaginary sweat from her forehead and blows out an exaggerated breath.
“Do you think I would’ve let that happen, Crazy Hair?” I ask rhetorically, grabbing her in for a hug. She feels so warm, so precious, so mine.
“I’m glad we’re best friends, Kyle,” she says and my heart crumbles at the words. Friends…best friends. That’s all we are, all we can be.
“Right.” I pull away from her, but she pulls me back, staring up into my eyes. She tosses my too-long-in-the-front hair out of my face and I tuck a lock of hers behind her ear.
This is a perfect kissing moment, but in an instant, the rain starts pelting around us. No warning, just sudden. The icy fingers of the droplets dig into our skin, but instead of running frantically for shelter as everyone around us is doing, Savi starts laughing…and dancing.
I watch her, entranced, as she twirls and jumps and stomps her feet around, a deep joy settling in my heart. And, like her fool, I join her.
I dance with my purple-haired sprite.
Kyle – Present
Our trip down memory lane is short, but it does the trick to relax us. After getting off the Ferris wheel (with my dignity intact this time), we walk around the fair, fascinated with the joy permeating the atmosphere. We share cotton candy and then gulp down two bottles of water because, shit, those things are diabetes-inducing! Much like our consumption of Pop Tarts and purple soda, this indulgence can’t be often.
The rain comes down within minutes of our walk. Savi and I stare at each other, memories colliding between us. A huge smile brightens her gorgeous face and, like our last time here, my best friend starts dancing in the rain…
And I start dancing with her.
It’s an asinine and child-like thing to do but being able to experience the pure happiness written on her face right now is such a gift. I know these past few days – hell, these past few years – have been filled with sorrow and regret; and that I’m the cause of it all. In this moment, though, with the rain dripping down on us, there is serenity.
I’m captivated by her. Purple hair swishing around her beautiful face so wild and free like she is – this is peace. She is home.
We don’t stay dancing for long, what with our smartphones on the verge of being water-logged. We dash under the ring toss booth, laughing like loons. We put away our phones – hers in her purse and mine on the inside of my jacket – and wait for the rain to ease up. Savi and I are pressed together with some of the patrons seeking shelter from this rain. It dawns on me then that both of us haven’t had such a laid-back time like this together in years.
And fuck if that shit doesn’t make me sad.
She shakes the end of her hair and I glimpse my globe necklace sitting neatly around her neck. Transfixed, and obsessed with touching her, I brush her collarbone – feeling her shiver – and pluck the necklace between my fingers. I stare at it, still remembering what it meant, still remembering what her Big Book of Dreams meant.
The world is hers…
And so am I.
“You still wear it,” I whisper reverentially, in awe that after all these years it still holds pride of place around her delicate neck.
“It’s my lucky necklace,” she answers as if I should know this. “I never take it off.”
I’m still staring at it; turning it between my fingers and feeling my chest swell with pride. I still remember that piece of shit unicorn necklace Grayson bought her for her birthday. There was a time when that was all she wore, until I saw this beautiful piece in a jewelry store months before we graduated and paid the first deposit on it. I knew then that she’d love it.
“It was meant for you,” I murmur absently.
She has never known that I was the one to give her the necklace. Until now…
“Kyle…” she hedges on my name; dawning making her features go ashen. “It was you, not Gran.”
I should deny it; tell her that I had nothing to do with it, but I’ve been desperate for a win with Savannah.
“Ten years ago, I saw it in a jewelry store window and knew it was made for you,” I respond, keeping my eyes on hers.
I want to keep going, to tell her that more than ten years ago, I knew she was made for me, but I don’t see myself getting away with saying that without a knee to the balls. She is planning my wedding after all. Don’t think I want to turn those plans into a funeral or have her think of me as a piece of shit.
But you are…
I’ll deal with you later, conscience.
Smiling, I wait for the hug I know she’ll spring on me. She doesn’t do them often, so when they do come, I bask in their warmth. My best friend can be a little tough, but I know just how to soften her up.
Savi walks away from me, the mist from the rain enveloping her form. I stare after her dumbfounded because that is definitely not what I expected. Running after her, I catch up with her quick strides and grab her wrist.
“Hey, what the hell?” I shout at her.
This woman infuriates me at times, but even I know that that shouldn’t have been the question to ask.
“What’s wrong?” I amend, contrite.
She spins on me, readying to release a tirade. She shoves me and I stumble back, giving her the space she needs. Opening her mouth, I wince in anticipation of her words, but I don’t get them.
She sighs instead and stares at me. Years’ worth of sadness in their blue depths. I see the hurt. I see the pain. Feel it all as if it were my own because, truthfully, I’ve felt the hurt and pain right along with her. Our friendship has been wrought with unsaid feelings and unexplored love. So much time wasted on frivolous relationships and lies. So many opportunities lost and mishandled.
I don’t deserve her. Never have. Yet…
“Savi–”
She cuts me off, as she rightly should. “I can’t do this,” she tells me.
Rain cascades down her face, but I also suspect that it’s mingled with tears. Her purple hair, normally full of luster and life, is matted to her head and hanging around her like a wet mop.
And yet, she still looks breathtaking.
A thousand swords pierce my heart and I feel like I could die. I open my mouth to beg, to grovel, to come clean, but she shakes her head. She’s done hearing me out, done with my excuses and…
With me.
“I’ve already asked my assistant to take over.”
My heart pounds a painful rhythm, breaking apart bit by bit. I can’t dig my way out of this hole because I caused this.
“I’m going back to Miami,” she decides. “It’s better this way.”
“Savannah,” I try, stepping closer.
She steps back and it’s like a kick in the chest. How had I not seen this before? I’ve been hurting her deeply, and clarity strikes me sharp and fatal now when she’s leaving me, ending us.
Savi takes the necklace I gave her off and stares at it in her hand. A mirthless laugh escapes her before she confesses, “I always felt grounded wearing this and I never understood why. Now that I do, I’m letting it go.”
I’m letting you go.
She reaches for my hand and the same tingles I felt when we were fifteen years old – the same
tingles I feel every time we touch – ignite. She turns my palm up and drops the necklace tenderly in my hand. I’m too heartbroken to put up a fight, too stunned to protest. This is the end of an era. The end of the Kyle and Savi show. The end of Pop Tarts and purple soda.
The end of us.
Pain ricochets from my heart and explodes all over my body. I stagger, dazed, but find it in me to hold on to her. Pulling her close, I hug my best friend. I hold my shit together enough to tell her, “I’m sorry, Sav.”
She lets me hold her, gives me a proper goodbye, before she kisses my cheek and walks away. This isn’t how things were supposed to go, not how I envisioned things working out. I’m grasping at straws, panic gripping me like a vice.
“Savi!” I call out to her desperately, my heartbeat matching the chaos brewing inside and around me.
“It’s for the best, Kyle,” she responds sadly, reaching for her neck and coming up empty. I see her chin wobble when the reality of what she’s lost crashes into her. She looks at me with palpable pain before cutting her eyes away, jumping into her car and speeding off; all before I can come up with a reason for her not to leave us like this.
Later that night, I ignore calls from Grayson – who I’m sure just wants to say “I told you so” – and drown my sorrows at this bar down the street from my office and pour my heart out to the bartender, Boyd.
He’s such a great listener with kind eyes…
Chapter Twenty Six – My Eyes! It Burns!
Kyle – Present
WELL, WOULD YOU look at fate!
After leaving the bar last night, I was reminded of what lay ahead of me: my impending nuptials. The conversation with Boyd was interesting, to say the least, and enlightening, to say the most. It’s renewed my efforts to go on as planned, with a few minor adjustments, of course.
I’d almost given up hope yesterday; almost threw in the towel. Seeing my best friend through the eyes of her hurt over the years had me ready to say “fuck it” to everything. I hate seeing her cry, hate seeing her disappointment; but after last night, now I am even more focused than before.
The goal will be the same – marry the woman of my dreams – though the timeline has to be shoved up. My future wife can be an impatient little thing.
I have a meeting with Savannah’s assistant at two this afternoon and, though I’ve got a hangover the size of my dick – and it’s a huge one, by the way – I am anxious to meet with her. I think it’s better this way, anyway. For what I have planned, Savi doesn’t need to be part of it. I’ll just need her for one thing…
I call Grayson but it rings out to voicemail. Assuming he’s still mad at me, I make a mental note to go see him at his office. He may punch me in the taint, but I need him to hear me out. Bringing up my schedule for the day, I try to pencil him in, but realize that my only free time is after my meeting with Savi’s assistant. That’ll have to do.
My cousin works two blocks away from me at his own construction and architecture company, Moxam Buildings. My uncle is into real estate, so it was a match made in Heaven with Gray taking this direction. It’s a lucrative business, and Grayson actually does some legit shit. Dear old cuz has been the mastermind behind some of the finest buildings and homes that have been constructed across the NC in the last three years.
The guy’s good, I’ll give him that. Still a pain in my ass though.
Fiddling with a boot spur that I found on top of my car this morning, I send Savi a text, hoping that she hasn’t blocked me. Her trigger finger gets a little happy when I mess up. I’m not beneath begging, though; not too proud to stalk her until she gives me the time of day, because I’ll be damned if I lose her.
I’m not giving up without a fight.
Me: U owe me Pop Tarts & purple soda, Crazy Hair. Its bn way longer than 5yrs.
I wait, anticipation feeling like acid in the pit of my stomach. My message doesn’t bounce back so that gives me hope – at least I’m not blocked. If she never answers, I’d understand, but that’d just make things a lot messier since I’m not above kidnapping at this point. I’m fucking desperate to salvage what Savi and I have.
After forever, she finally responds with:
I’ll try 2 pencil u in.
She’s being cheeky. There’s hope. I’ll fucking take it, no matter the morsel.
Me: How’s Saturday?
She responds immediately with: No can do. I leave 4 Miami the nxt day.
Bt that sounds like the perfect time 4 us 2 meet up, I try to reason.
Crazy Hair: Not 4 me. I don’t want 2 look in ur eyes & hv something in them change my mind. There’s no hope 4 us, Kyle. There nvr was.
There never was. Fuck if that doesn’t hurt like a kick in the balls. I can only imagine that this is the kind of hurt she has been feeling over the years. I may not deserve her, but it doesn’t mean I don’t deserve to try to.
Me: Ok, Sav. U give me the time then, bt the place has gotta b Cape Aventura.
Because I have plans and the Cape has been an important staple in our friendship.
And in our love…
I stare at my cell phone for more than a minute, willing her to respond. All through my online meeting I check to see if she’s answered. Nothing. Four fucking hours, nothing. I’m about two seconds away from driving to her office and demanding an answer when her text comes in, making me sigh in relief.
Crazy Hair: Friday @ noon. We could finesse it as a lunch break.
I snort because, who uses the word ‘finesse’? Surely not my Savannah. She doesn’t waste her words on pop culture frivolity. So, I take this for what it is: an olive branch. Just like when a person reaches out to someone when they’re going to commit suicide, our impending separation now seems like a cry for help.
And I don’t mind answering.
Me: Lol! Okurr!
My response does exactly what I hoped it would, makes her laugh her ass off.
Crazy Hair: Bahahahahahahaha!!!! Who’re u? Kylie B?
I snort out a laugh, and fire back a response.
Me: Ayy! Said lil’ bitch, u can’t fuck with me if u wanted to…
I hope she gets the reference. I’m smiling from ear to ear, hoping Savi doesn’t realize that she’s fallen into my trap. If I keep her talking to me, this may actually work.
Crazy Hair: These expensive, these is red bottoms. These is bloody shoes.
She fucking gets it. And for the next five minutes, we respond with line after line of that rapper chick’s song, though we give up in the middle of the first verse on account of us not understanding much of what she says. Is she even speaking English half the time?
We continue to finalize our plans for this Friday after that – I should bring the purple soda, while she will bring the Pop Tarts. She tells me that her assistant should be there soon and then she retreats behind her walls.
I allow her to retreat, because if I have my way, she won’t be able to hide much longer.
My intercom buzzes and Nova’s voice comes through, “Marla Winters is here from Purple Prizm for your two o’clock meeting.”
I’m still not used to a subdued Nova. It’s freaking me out.
“Do you need some time off, Nova?” I ask her, because I’m not a total dud.
“If you think I’ll miss the next few days or weeks, you’re as dumb as this plan.” She disconnects the line and I smile.
The plan is risky but not dumb.
Miss Winters enters my office looking like nothing I expect. She’s almost gothic with her dark hair caught in a bun on top of her head and wisps falling around her face; dark, smoky makeup around her eyes and red lips; a dark green and black, long sleeve tailcoat Steampunk-type top; ripped-at-the-knees black skinny jeans; and red stilettos to match her lips.
I am about to put my big day in the hands of a Goth. This should be interesting.
“Good morning, Mr. Moxam,” she greets, extending her hand for a shake.
“Call me Kyle,” I tell her, taking her outstretched h
and tentatively.
“I see the wheels turning in your head, Mr. Moxam,” she says. “But I guarantee you, Miss Carpenter would not entrust me with your happily ever after if she didn’t think I could do it.”
“Was I that obvious?” I remark, taking a seat and gesturing for her to sit in the chair facing my desk.
“It was the clothes, wasn’t it?” she jokes, her face breaking into a bright smile.
We share a laugh before it’s down to business. Like ripping off a Band-Aid, I blurt out, “I want to move the date up.”
Marla’s green eyes widen before hardening. “Mr. Moxam, I must say that this wedding was already rushed. Purple Prizm doesn’t take jobs that aren’t at least six months in advance,” she explains, a bite to her tone. “And now you want to move it up?”
“I know, I know, but hear me out,” I beg her.
“Give me one reason why I should,” she demands, already rising.
I pull out my wallet from my jacket and open it. I slip my fingers into a secret compartment and pull out something that has been there for over ten years. It’s an old, folded photo booth picture from the carnival we went to as teenagers. I remember this day like it was yesterday; remember the feeling it elicited in me.
I still feel that way, even after all these years.
“Because I’m in love with your boss.”
For thirteen years I’ve been in love with my best friend. I scarcely remember a time I wasn’t. Even when we weren’t on speaking terms, my love for her never wavered. I tried to convince myself that we were better off as friends; that I was never good enough for her. That this all-consuming love I was feeling was the type all best friends had.
I was wrong.
It’s taken me almost half my life to realize what everyone saw: I’m an idiot. And not just an idiot, a damned fool.
I tell Marla our story – the hope, the pitfalls, the good, the bad and the downright crazy – and when I’m done, I feel renewed in my efforts. We’re meant to be together, there is no doubt about that. I just hate that it has taken me this long to recognize what my heart has been beating in Morse code all these years:
Better Late Than Never Page 30