“Now we’re wolves?” Autumn pulls both of her legs up to sit cross-legged in her seat. “Look what you did, Sharon. Now we’re wolves.” She chuckles into her glass and it’s infectious.
“I’m sorry,” Sharon says, holding up both hands. “I just want to know what’s going on so I know who to root for is all.” Her bare feet pad on the flagstone as she gets up to reach for her own throw. As the sun sets behind us even further, the solar lights switch on and in an instant, it feels that much cooler.
Renee takes her place at the fire again, poking and prodding the flames along.
“I don’t even know who to root for,” I tell them. “It’s … it’s just a mess and I don’t know. Neither of them have said anything about dating or boyfriend-girlfriend shenanigans.”
“Do people still use that phrase?” Autumn questions.
“Boyfriend and girlfriend?” Renee clarifies.
I can only shrug, and Sharon peeks up from over her glass to find us all waiting for an answer.
“What was the question?” she asks and Autumn leans her head back against the headrest then moans, “Oh my word, someone help this woman.”
“In all seriousness, though, I think Mags is going through a lot and maybe that’s why it’s a bit different?”
“From the outside looking in, it seems like it,” Autumn says, nodding in agreement.
I tell them, “It’s just been a lot recently … because of Bridget.”
Sharon nods and comments, “Well, that makes sense.”
“Do you have the results yet?” Autumn asks at the same time that Sharon asks, “… So, this Brody. He’s the Brody. For sure, for sure.” That’s already been established via text messages over the past week in bits and pieces. Girls’ night was desperately needed.
“Not yet, and correct,” I answer and then pick my glass back up, gathering my thoughts.
Autumn says, “So … Brody is like the new hot guy who’s also an old flame?”
“But then there’s Robert, and we all know that’s never really been over,” Sharon adds. Every bottle of wine that’s ever graced this patio knows Robert’s never really been out of the picture.
“Robert really asked you to marry him?” Autumn asks and I know she must be feeling the alcohol because we’ve all already covered this in text messages. So I just nod.
“I feel guilty just thinking about it.”
“What did he say?” Sharon asks, seeming to sober up as she pulls her hair into a ponytail. “Like, he had to have said something to go from zero to one hundred.”
“He brought up a promise he made years ago. He said we were meant to be together.”
“He played with your heartstrings,” Renee chimes in.
“That he did.” I take a deep breath and then a long gulp of red.
Autumn, cross-legged and glass of wine in her hand, asks a question I’ve thought about since the moment I stood up from the table. “If Brody hadn’t shown up, would you have said yes?”
All the girls lean in. It’s so quiet all I can hear is the sizzle and snap of burning wood in the sputtering firepit while my heart runs away again. That’s all it’s done lately. It’s trying to escape the torture I’m putting it through.
I don’t have to think it through to know the answer to that question.
“Yeah,” I answer and my throat feels dry all of a sudden. Too dry for a single gulp of wine to quench it, so I take more sips of the sweet red. “If Robert had asked me any time in the past year, I could see saying yes to him, but wanting to keep it a secret for a bit. To ease into it publicly, you know?”
Autumn sighs and I bring my gaze to her, only to find her lips in a pout. “I’m sorry.” Her attempt to console me isn’t needed. I’m aware of how awful that truth is.
“Don’t be. I don’t think he would have proposed if it wasn’t for Brody coming around.” The truth is a hard pill to swallow, but it doesn’t mean I can change it.
“Men are weird about marking their territory,” Sharon comments and I think she means it to be funny. I have to admit it elicits a small laugh from me.
“That’s one way to put it,” I say.
Renee huffs a sarcastic laugh. “He could have started with asking you to be his girlfriend—”
“Does anyone do that anymore nowadays?” Sharon questions, interrupting Renee. “It seems more like … the olden days.”
“The olden days?” Autumn’s expression is one of horror.
Completely ignoring her, Sharon continues to lighten the mood. “Who’s better in bed?” She points at me with the hand that’s also holding her glass of wine. Or rather the glass that used to hold wine since it’s empty now. With a straight face and a narrowed gaze she adds, “That one wins.”
I can’t help the smile that stretches across my heated face and I cover it with both hands, leaning into the outdoor throw pillow as I do. I clutch it to my chest when I slowly sit back upright.
My girlfriends are crazy and put me on the spot sometimes, but they have good hearts and even better senses of humor.
A few moments pass of easier conversation and the town’s latest rumor regarding Autumn’s sister Bri and Asher … which is surprising to me, but the second it all settles down, Renee brings the issue back up.
“Do you have a plan?” Renee questions, bringing back an air of seriousness although I know she’s only asking because she’s my friend.
“I don’t have a plan, which is why it feels so …”
“Chaotic?”
“Yeah.” I’m quick to agree with Sharon. It really does feel like chaos, and I’m not sure how it’s going to end without me being wrecked beyond repair.
“Love is chaotic.” She sways in her seat, a simper across her face at the statement that drives me crazy, yet spoken as if it’s romantic.
Chaos isn’t a good thing. Chaos is booming thunderstorms and damaging winds. It’s messy to the point of brokenness. Yes, that’s what love is at first. And it’s terrifying.
“Well maybe you don’t need a plan,” Sharon suggests.
Autumn agrees. “Yeah. Just see what happens.”
“What do you think, Renee?” Sharon asks and I look to my lifelong friend who knows more of the sordid details than anyone else.
“I think … let’s see what happens. Just do what feels right, because you are the one that has to live with it. Not either of those men. Not even little Bridget, and I know you don’t like me bringing her up when it comes to things … that you might regret. But seriously. You need to look out for you because you’re the one who’s going to be in your head every night before bed wondering and worrying.”
“Yeah.” I whisper my response, lacking the confidence I know I should have at that suggestion.
Renee’s expression is riddled with concern, but she softens it to add, “Does that make sense? I’m a little drunk.”
“I’ve always tried to do what felt right. I can keep that up.”
“There is no right or wrong when it comes to love.” Sharon adds another romanticized line I’m not certain I agree with, even if she’s staring off into the distance like the line is swoonworthy.
“Back to your sister,” I say, turning the attention to Autumn and then nestle back down in my seat, letting Renee’s advice really sink in. “Asher is never going to settle down, so I don’t know why she’s barking up that tree.”
“Probably because it’s a long, hard tree,” Sharon says, emphasizing long and hard and instantly the tense situation evaporates.
It’s then that Robert messages me.
Can I swing by? I want to tell you something.
My response is instant: I’m at Autumn’s. The second I send it, though, I think about Brody and guilt worms its way in. They both know about each other. I don’t know what to tell them, but I don’t have the answers and it’s too much pressure to feel like I should. Love is complicated and a tangled freaking mess.
The girls laugh as Sharon tells a story, and I pull my legs into my
chest, letting out a laugh of my own although I’m not listening and I have no idea what she’s saying.
Robert doesn’t respond right away although he’s seen the message, and all I can think is that I love him—for years I have loved him. If Brody wasn’t in the picture, I absolutely would have said yes. I would have married him, and that weighs heavily on my mind.
It’s nearly nine at night and I should get going, given that tomorrow is going to be a long day. I ask him, You okay?
He answers that question immediately: Yeah, I’m all right, Mags. Just wanted to talk if you had the time.
I want to talk too. I know I need to talk to him. There’s so much that should have been said years ago and tears prick my eyes at the thought.
I text him and then prepare myself for a difficult conversation I wish I didn’t have to have: Let me get home and get Bridget in bed, come by in like half an hour?
Magnolia
I don’t know exactly where to start, but Robert needs to know that I don’t know where I stand. I love him, I’ve always loved him, but I don’t know if it’s enough. The worst part is that I feel awful for not knowing. It’s a pain I don’t think I’ve ever felt.
He deserves better. There are plenty of ways I could start the conversation. They run wild in the back of my mind as I dip a bag of tea into steaming water and then stare at the clock on the stove.
My nightshirt is my most conservative one. I would have stayed in my clothes if they didn’t smell like smoke. With no makeup on, my skin still pink from freshly scrubbing it, and my baby girl in bed, I’m ready for bed more than anything. My eyes are so heavy, I could sleep a million years. Yet the anxiousness would keep me wide awake. I think until I get these thoughts out of me, it’ll keep me up.
Sometimes the truth just needs to be spoken. It feels like a breakup, not because I want it to end, but because this situation no longer serves either of us. I realize that as I make my way to the sofa and pull the thin chenille throw over myself, steaming teacup in hand. I love him, but I think I’m in love with someone else as well. There’s no way anyone would ever be okay with that.
At that thought, the front door opens slowly and quietly. I told him to come on in. I’m halfway up off the couch when our eyes meet. I’m sure mine express the doubt and insecurities that have burrowed themselves in every thought.
I wasn’t prepared for the sight of him.
He motions for me to sit back down, quietly closing the door. With one hand running through his hair and the other tossing keys onto the foyer table, the strong man I’ve always known is nothing but as he swallows thickly, the cords in his neck tightening.
His eyes are rimmed with red when they meet mine again for only a split second. He glances down the hall as he slips off his windbreaker, leaving him in dark taupe khakis and a pale blue polo that matches his eyes.
“You okay?” I can’t help the concern that overwhelms me seeing him like that. My immediate thought is that something happened with his mother. He doesn’t like to talk about it, and I didn’t consider it with everything else going on. He’s come over more than a half dozen times this late, simply not to be alone after spending the day with her.
“Yeah, is she asleep?” he asks softly, sitting down opposite me in the armchair. I’m grateful for the distance.
“She’s passed out,” I answer him and search his eyes for what’s wrong. Is it us? Is it something worse? “What’s going on?”
A sad smile graces his lips as he leans back. “That’s a loaded question, isn’t it?” Resting his head on the back of the chair, he avoids my gaze and stares at the ceiling instead.
“I’m sorry,” he says before anything else and I’ll be damned if I don’t feel selfish at the sight of him falling apart. “I didn’t want to come,” he starts as I set the teacup down and scoot to the edge of the sofa closest to him and with my bottom barely on the cushion at all. Slipping my hand to his knee, I tell him it’s okay.
“Mom’s not doing well and I know you have enough on your plate right now, but—”
“You can always come here.” I say what I’ve told him for years, but a pang of regret hits me hard in my chest. The same thought must hit him as well, because he finally looks at me and admits, “I’m not so sure that I should, though.”
I start to protest, but his strong hand lands on mine and he says, “It’s all right, Mags.”
“Robert—”
“I get it.” He cuts me off again, his thumb running soothing circles on my knuckles. “I can’t seem to do the right thing.” At that statement, he pulls his hand away and both of them cover his face. “I knew I shouldn’t come because it’s already too much, but I couldn’t stay away.”
He swallows thickly, holding back emotion that’s already shining in his glossy eyes. “I know it’s selfish, but I just needed—” his last word is choked and he throws his head back, covering his face again and cursing.
“It’s okay—”
“It’s not, though. You asked me for time and I’m afraid if I give it to you, I’ll lose you forever.”
His confession knocks me completely off-balance and I pull my hand back only a fraction, but he’s quick to grab it, holding on to it. Our eyes meet, the pain between us palpable, each of us afraid of losing the other.
It’s quiet, too quiet as all pretenses leave us and I usher out the confession I know is going to tear us apart. “I love you, but I think I love him too.”
Never in a million years would I have thought he’d respond the way he does. “I know.” He licks his bottom lip, taking in a slow, steadying breath. “I know, and that’s why I shouldn’t have come, but I love you.”
Tears slip out from the corners of my eyes and I have to pull my hand away to wipe them as I attempt to gather myself and calm my racing thoughts.
My chest rises and falls with staggered breaths and I reach for my tea, focusing on it rather than Robert’s apology when he says, “I wanted to tell you I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t fight harder. I’m sorry I … I’m sorry I wasn’t better, Mags. If I could go back,” he starts and I murmur his name in a plea for him to stop. He does.
“I’m sorry too,” I manage to get out and without taking a sip of the now warm tea, I set it back down, sniffling and steadying myself. I am grateful for honesty, even if it doesn’t help a darn thing. I can feel him slipping away, the distance between us growing even though neither of us dares to move.
“I shouldn’t have come over, but I couldn’t just let him—” Robert stops himself from finishing whatever he was going to say.
“Him. Him as in Brody?” I ask to clarify and I’m almost certain I know what he was going to say.
Brody changes everything, and it feels like my heart’s breaking all over again.
“I’ve been trying to do the right thing. It’s just … I can’t not love you, Mags. I tried. As fucked up as it sounds, I tried to not love you when you told me you didn’t want me. When you—” He stops abruptly, not completing his thought. Slowly, his pale blue eyes meet mine and he admits to me, “I tried to not love you once and it killed me. I can’t do it, Mags. Even if you love him too, I can’t help loving you.”
Robert’s never been a man of emotion. He is logic and reason. He is comfort without needing to say a word. Yet here he is, laying bare things I wish he would have said so long ago.
“What can I do?” He’s always helped me. Even when I hated myself and when I didn’t have anything at all to give him in return, he came through. There’s not a lot of people in the world who can say they have someone like that. To see him like this utterly shreds me. “What can I do so that you don’t stop loving me?”
“I don’t think I could ever not have love for you,” I speak slowly. The way I said have love, seems to strike him.
“I’m sorry about … the other night.”
Before I can tell him it’s all right and that I’m sorry too, before I can explain how it caught me off guard, he heaves in a deep breath, notice
ably distressed and adds, “I don’t want you to hate me again. I need you.”
“I’ve never hated you,” I speak over him, reaching out to him to stress that point as I shake my head in complete disagreement.
Robert doesn’t look me in the eyes although his strong hands wrap around mine, covering them with a warmth that’s absent between us.
I hate it all. I hate the way this feels and I just want it to stop. I used to think when you love someone, seeing them in pain is the worst thing in the world. But it’s not. When you love someone, the worst thing is when you’re aware that you’re the one putting them in pain. It’s an awful feeling, so awful I imagine it’s what death feels like. “Why does this feel like goodbye?” I manage to speak and I wish I hadn’t said it out loud, but I suppose we’re being honest tonight.
“I don’t want to say goodbye. I don’t want there to be anything …” his voice hitches slightly before he pauses and I can tell he’s holding back.
“I’m not saying goodbye … you’re my—” I almost say “best friend,” but I stop myself short. It’s more than that, or different.
“I’m just sorry and I wish we could go back. You know that I love you, don’t you?”
There are different kinds of love. I know that all too well. The way I love him and the way I love Renee compared to the way I love Bridget … it’s all different, but it’s still love.
“I do, and I love you, Robert. I love you so much—” In an instant he leans forward, his arms pulling me close as he slips off the chair and lands on his knees in front of me. His fingers grip the curves of my waist, his touch hot and desperate, yet somehow steadying me. He rests his forehead against mine with his eyes closed, and I’m trapped in this moment.
There’s a moment of time before he kisses me, a moment where I know I could stop him, a moment where I know he’s waiting for approval … it’s the moment I lean forward, closing my own eyes and welcoming the familiar comfort to ease our pain. My lips mold against his and when he sweeps his tongue across the seam of my lips, I part them, granting him entry. Shifting forward, he pulls me in closer and my hands land against his strong shoulders to keep me steady. It’s something I’m used to, yet somehow it feels new and unexpected. His touch is tender as his hands splay against my back and the swell of my breasts press against his hard chest.
Autumn Night Whiskey (Tequila Rose Book 2) Page 9
