It’s more than that, though. Parker has been through some of the same things I have, even if we haven’t discussed them in-depth. We’re both victims, careful with our hearts but trusting in our nature. I can put up with his prickly side, just like he doesn’t cower from my brutal honesty and sarcasm.
When he looks at me, my throat gets this weird knot of emotion that I can’t quite deal with yet.
Here I am, sitting at his baseball game, with the other wives and girlfriends. I wouldn’t be here, and he wouldn’t have asked me to be here, if it didn’t mean something.
As rapidly as a person can fall, that’s what I’m doing with Parker. It’s been so long since I felt the stirrings of attraction, of lust, and maybe even love, that I didn’t realize it until just now.
It both scares the living shit out of me and excites the part of me that thought it would never be possible after the trauma I’ve gone through.
10
Parker
Three weeks of games, practice, Brennan working on my house, and impromptu sex sessions pass.
And it dawns on me that this is the most fully committed relationship I’ve had since Summer. Brennan and I don’t talk about making plans, we don’t go on dates, and she hasn’t asked for anything from me other than payment on her construction work and an orgasm every time we rip each other’s clothes off.
But … I know things about her. She’s told me about her large, divorced, remarried, step-siblinged family. The other night, after we finished fucking with her spread eagle on my dining room floor, she lazily filled me in on her decision to forego college as I traced circles around her upper thigh with my fingertips.
When I helped her to hold up a support beam on one of the walls she was re-doing, we talked about my baseball career, and she gave me her take on the strategy my team was employing on defense. Her knowledge of my sport turned me on so much that we ended up buck naked, knocking work boots on my couch.
And the other night, when I ordered way too much Mexican takeout and made her think I’d done so by accident, convincing her to stay for a meal, Brennan talked about how she liked to read autobiographies on great historical figures. Not something I’d have ever guessed, but the cute way she wrinkled her nose when talking about her latest read on Thomas Jefferson … I couldn’t get enough of it.
It’s amazing how comfortable you’ll get with a person how attached to one woman you can become, when she just organically wiggles her way into your life. When I was with Summer, everything was hard. I loved her in a tragic, struggling kind of way. We fought like teens because we were teens. I loved her with a fierceness that only first love can bring, and when she smashed my heart into a million pieces, I never thought I’d be able to put it back together.
But somehow, Brennan has. I’m not as moody, I find myself whistling in the shower, and the way she puts me at ease? It’s like she was meant to drop down into my life and do just that.
Even Owen has said there is something different about me, as we’ve gotten a beer a time or two since he moved to Philly. We still aren’t completely at the destination of forgiveness, but I’m getting there.
It’s also been three weeks of Brennan and I driving to support group together. She sings along to whatever song comes on the rock station I have on in my car the majority of the time, and I try to pay attention to the road while sneaking glances at her. Simple. It’s the word to describe our relationship. There is nothing complicated, or heavy, or even dramatic. Brennan is exactly who I need, and I hope she feels the same way about me.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” she asks, her fingers threading through mine.
It’s rare that she shows a public display of affection, even though we’re driving in my car alone. Brennan isn’t the touchy-feely type of girl, and I’ve learned that she doesn’t need affection to feel appreciated. The fact that she’s trying to comfort me now … it says a lot about how much she cares. And the fact that I’m letting her hold my hand when a year or five ago I would have pulled it right away? That says a lot for how much I care about her.
“You shared your story. I can share mine.” There is almost a pout on my lips.
“This isn’t an ‘anything you can do, I can do better’ kind of scenario, Parker. You haven’t even opened up to me about your abuse, and this will be in public. What if someone goes to the press with your story? You may find it too difficult to talk about when you get up there. It’s okay to just sit and listen. There are members of the group who never get up there.”
“Is that concern I hear in your voice?” I chuckle sardonically.
“Parker, be serious.” Brennan levels her gaze at me.
I park my car and then turn to her in the parking lot of the recreation center. “I know. It’s daunting, but I have to do it. I’m tired of hiding from this, and seeing you own your truth up there only makes me want to do it, too. Don’t worry, I’ll still be the rage-filled asshole you like. I’ll just be a gentler, less burdened one.”
Brennan’s hazel eyes explore mine, and leaning over, she plants a soft kiss on my lips. It’s tender and full of promises, ones that both terrify me and ignite my soul.
“Then I’ll be sitting front row,” she says and moves to get out of the car.
It’s been a long time coming, me getting up on that podium. A lot of grief, anger, destruction, and years wasted being melancholy. For such a long time, I’ve chosen not to open up about what happened between Summer and I, and it’s poisoned me from the inside. I thought I was all but a rotten shell of a human until Brennan walked uninvited through my door.
Ten minutes later, I’m standing up in front of a room full of relative strangers, ready to tell my story.
“I know you all know who I am. That isn’t meant to be conceited, just an acknowledgment and a plea that you not share any of what you’re about to hear outside this group. It’s taken a lot for me to get up here, and I wouldn’t have done so if I wasn’t empowered by the strong people in this room, so … if you could keep this within this basement I’d appreciate it.”
I take a deep breath.
“I met Summer when I was fifteen. I was into girls in the way an adolescent boy is. I was all spite and fire, big on my shit and cocky as hell. She was … so beautiful. The girl next door, the Kansas homecoming queen. I was enthralled. I was in love, instantly, in that way only a first time love feels. We were good for a while, great actually. The typical teenage prom king and queen, the jock and the cheerleader. I didn’t know, in that first year, what she was truly like. I’m not sure she ever knew what she was truly like. Where I’m from, they don’t do mental health awareness. We don’t go to shrinks or have diagnoses. Summer, she was just … wild. She’d go weeks being her normal self, the girl I met in the beginning, and then, something would shift. She’d become manic, a symptom I later learned could have been caused by bipolar disorder or schizophrenia. She’d drink herself to what she considered sanity, even in the middle of an afternoon on a school day. And because I loved her, I’d follow along. We’d cut class, do some crazy shit, once or twice we almost got ourselves killed. And when none of that was enough, she’d hit me. No … not hit, more like beat.”
My voice breaks off, because I remember so many of the good times and it’s hard to juxtapose them with the horrible times.
“Summer would go into these terrible, evil lows. She would drive herself insane and take it out on me. One time, she took a bat to my head while I was sleeping in the back of my pickup. I’d taken her out to the lake to watch the stars, and the next thing I know, I was bleeding from my mouth and trying to stop her while my vision went in and out. When she came out of the manic spell, she was hysterical. Had no idea what she’d done, apologized and cried until she made herself vomit. It was … the worst fucking thing that had ever happened to me. But I loved her. So I stayed. I tried to help, tried to research and talk it through with her, but she wouldn’t hear me. A couple weeks would pass, she’d be okay, and then she’d pour scald
ing hot water over my arm if I told her the oven timer had gone off while we were cooking dinner with her family.”
There is still a place on my arm where the hair doesn’t grow because of the burns I sustained that night.
“I was stuck so deep in the trenches of it, worrying about her, that I didn’t realize the damage it was causing me. Yes, the physical pain hurt, but the mental scars it’s left in its wake … they haven’t healed and it’s been ten years. Probably because I never got closure. Not long after her seventeenth birthday, about a week after our two-year anniversary, Summer committed suicide. Slit her wrists in the bathtub, left no note.”
I’m numb as I say this, because sometimes I still can’t believe it’s true.
“There are days I’m glad she’s gone. And other days where the love I had burns a hole of grief in my heart. But mostly, I’m fucking confused. Would I have left her? Would I have gotten out? She couldn’t even give me that choice, because she made it for me in the end.”
Hanging my head, I let the cathartic release of finally sharing my story wash over me. A mixture of relief, deep sorrow, community, and loss crash through my veins.
When I look up, my eyes connect with the only woman who has ever really seen me.
Tears stream down Brennan’s cheeks, but a small smile graces her lips.
We’re both born from pain and injustice. But together, we may be able to forge a path to happiness.
11
Parker
“I, uh, I don’t have a place for children to sleep …”
I trail off as two tiny bodies zip past me, trailing glitter all over my dark hardwood floors.
“We’re staying at Minka’s, so don’t worry about it, Avery. Wouldn’t expect you to have a child’s bed lying around.” Clint chuckles, though it’s more like a boom coming from my massive giant of a friend.
Clint Bellows has always been larger than life, both in his stature and the way he gives his heart to the world. He and his wife Kelsey are here visiting Philly from their home in Virginia, near the university we all attended. Their five-year-old daughter, Nia, has been prancing around my house with Nathan, Owen’s son, in tow for about two hours now.
“Good. Because if they get another ounce of glitter on my floors.” My voice goes full-on grump.
“Oh, stop it. You missed us. These peanuts could draw stick figures on your walls and all you’d do was groan about it and smile behind our backs, you old Scrooge.” Kelsey waves me off.
She has a point. The kids are kind of adorable. I haven’t seen Nia since she was a tiny baby, fresh home from the hospital to the animal preserve Kelsey now runs in Virginia. With her wild red hair and nurturing personality, she’s the perfect mix of Clint and Kelsey. And, as usual, those two bring a whole lot of spice and calmness to the mix. It’s crazy to me how they fit together, what with Kesley’s nomadic ways and my dude being who he is. Clint was always the level-headed, friendly guy in our group. Somehow, though, they’ve made it work.
“So, when are you going to get down to Grover and give my boys a clinic?” Clint asks.
He now works on the coaching staff of our old college baseball team. I haven’t been back to Grover since I left, because I’m not one for nostalgia. I’ve always just … moved on to the next part of my life. I didn’t think anyone missed me, and that lie only makes me sink deeper into the gloom that surrounds me. Not that it isn’t true when it comes to my parents, I haven’t spoken to them since the day I left for higher education.
But with Owen, Miles, and Clint all standing in my kitchen in Philly, I can see now that I’ve been wrong. These guys are my family, once upon a time, and falling back into step with them feels as natural as breathing.
Only now, I’m not the odd man out.
I look over to where Brennan is watching Nia do a cartwheel and narrowly missing my television. Minka sits next to her, a hand propped on her belly, while Nathan sits in Chloe’s lap and babbles on about something or other in her ear. Kelsey joins them, plopping down in the middle of her two best friends, and begins chatting with Brennan.
The four of us guys stand at the island in my kitchen, the one I had Brennan spread eagle on, sipping generous tumblers of whiskey.
“She fits in nicely, doesn’t she?” Owen smirks into his highball glass, winking at me.
I roll my eyes. “Stop trying to insinuate, I see what you’re doing.”
He shrugs innocently. “What? I’m just happy to see you happy. And I think you should lock Brennan down.”
“She’s been working on my house for less than two months,” I deadpan.
Miles snorts. “Working on your house. Right. Is that what we’re calling it now?”
“Parker and Brennan, sitting in a tree—” Clint starts to hum to himself, and I punch him in the arm. “Ouch! Jesus, bro, I was only joking.”
“You’re all fucking hilarious. Regular Jerry Seinfeld’s over here.” I spit venom, because they’re pissing me off.
“I knew he was under all that reformed bad boy he’s sporting. Hey, old Parker, good to see you.” Miles waves at my chest as if I’m not currently occupying my body.
“Just tell her you like her, man. You can tell she feels the same way.” Owen nudges me, silently hinting that I observe the woman I’m sleeping with.
Brennan tosses her head back laughing at something Kelsey says, and when Chloe gets up to use the bathroom with her round pregnant belly leading the way, she plops Nathan in Brennan’s lap. My fuck buddy/life coach/house fixer/who the hell knows freezes, glancing down at the baby. And then, the little guy giggles at her, pretending to tickle her. Her face softens, and she tickles him back.
“Hmm, I think she’s a natural with kids.” Clint nods.
“And a natural with Parker. Seriously, man, when have you ever been this comfortable or interested in a woman?” Miles argues.
“It may be fast, but you were never one to dilly dally. She’s it, my friend.” Owen’s voice sounds as if he’s making the final decision for all four of us.
The woman knows me better than I know myself, because after I shared my story at the support group she was silent the whole way home. When we finally pulled up to my mansion in the woods, as she calls it, she led me by the hand upstairs. We made slow, lazy, intense love for what felt like years. Brennan rode me, stroking my face and kissing every inch of my jaw and cheeks as she brought both of us to the brink. We spent the next twelve hours under my sheets.
I never realized how simple it would be to share my story until I met her. I’d kept the truth bottled up inside for so long that when I finally heard Brennan lay her past out for the group to hear, she made it seem not so difficult. It’s only because of her that my attitude has changed, that I’m seeing a light at the end of the dark tunnel I’ve resided in for more than a decade.
But it doesn’t mean I’m not running scared. I debated even inviting her here tonight when all of my friends and their wives and children would be here for dinner. It feels formal and places a meaning on our relationship that I’m not sure I want to extend. I’m only now just working through the tangle of fucked-up feelings I’ve kept inside, about everything from Summer to my own dreams and goals. There may not be a place to start a serious romantic relationship in all of that. Though, every time I think about saying goodbye to Brennan, my stomach turns to a nauseous pile of goo.
Walking into the kitchen, away from the noise and chaos happening in my open concept living room, I go to the sink. Not that I need to wash anything, but I just need a break. My thoughts have jumbled together and the guys are in my ear, and I just need to take a moment for myself.
“Hey, you.” Brennan slides her arms around my waist from behind, pressing her cheek to my back.
I can’t help the way my heart melts like I’m a goddamn pussy when she does stuff like this.
“Hey.” I turn in her embrace, wrapping my arms around her and ducking my head to meet her lips.
I love how much taller I am than her,
how my body dwarfs her when we stand like this. Her mouth greets mine, our kiss light as a feather with just a promise of what’s to come when everyone vacates for the night.
No, I can’t quite grasp the idea of saying goodbye to Brennan. Thinking about letting her go, even just from this embrace, sets off a chain reaction of negative feelings in my gut.
For now, we’ll teeter in purgatory, ignoring the anvil that might crash down onto our heads.
12
Brennan
Parker keeps finding projects for me to complete around his house.
It’s almost funny, watching as I check in with him on the final day of work, only for him to hem and haw over something else that has to be done. I kind of want to stop him, tell him I’ll still be around, still want to see him, even if he isn’t paying me to work on his mansion. Kind of. That would require a whole other conversation, though … one I think we’re both avoiding.
Because if I’m done working on his home, that means we have to actually say aloud that we want to be with each other even when it’s not convenient. That I’d have to come over as his, what? Girlfriend? That label sounds silly for what we’re doing, but by finishing up my time on the projects, we’d have to have a conversation about what it is that we’re doing.
There is a nail in my mouth, a hammer positioned against a floating shelf I previously built and stained, when I hear the front door open.
“Brennan? I’m back from practice. Brought smoothies. The peanut butter strawberry one you like.” Parker’s voice echoes through the hall.
I crack the hammer against the nail, securing the shelf into place.
“Wow, that looks great,” he says to my back as I make sure the heavy wooden piece is solidly attached to the beam in the wall.
Over the Fence Box Set Page 64