She rolls down her window, wiping another tear from her cheek. "I won't be back next year. I'm sorry if this ruined your book, that's the last thing I wanted. But I just can't do this anymore."
She can't give up for good. I grip the door of her car and lean in to the open window. "Fuck the book, Fallon. It was never about the book. It was about you, it always was."
She stares at me, silent. And then she rolls up her window and pulls away, never once slowing down as I pound on the back of her car, chasing her until I can't anymore.
"Shit!" I yell, kicking at the gravel beneath my feet. I kick it again, stirring up dust. "Goddammit!"
How am I supposed to go back to Jordyn now when I no longer have a heart to give her?
Fifth November
9th
My flaws are draped in her mercy
Revered by her false perception
And with her lips upon my skin
She will undress my deception.
--BENTON JAMES KESSLER
Fallon
Previously, when I would think about events in my life, I would organize those events chronologically in my mind as before the fire and after the fire.
I don't do that anymore. Not because I've grown as a person. Quite the opposite, actually, because now I think about my life in terms of before Benton James Kessler and after Benton James Kessler.
Pathetic, I know. And even more so because it's been exactly a year since we went our separate ways and I still think about him just as much as I did before after Benton James Kessler. But it's not so easy to rid my thoughts of someone who had such an impact on my life.
I don't wish ill on him. I never have. Especially after seeing how torn he was with his decision when we parted ways last year. I'm sure if I cried and begged him to choose me, he would have. But I would never want to be with anyone because I had to beg. I don't even want to be with anyone if there's even a remote possibility that there's a third party at play. Love should be between two people, and if it isn't, I'd rather bow out than take part in the race.
I'm not one to believe things happen for a reason, so I refuse to believe it was our fate not to end up together. If I believed that, then I'd have to believe it was fate for Kyle to die at such a young age. I'd much rather believe shit just happens.
Injured in a fire? Shit happens.
Lost your career? Shit happens.
Lost the love of your life to a widow with an infant? Shit happens.
The last thing I want to believe is that my fate has already been mapped out for me and I get no say in where or who I end up with. But if that's the case and my life will turn out the same in the end no matter what choices I make, then why does it matter if I leave my apartment tonight?
It doesn't. But Amber seems to think it's a big deal.
"You can't stay here and mope," she says, plopping down on the couch next to me.
"I'm not moping."
"Yes, you are."
"Am not."
"Then why won't you come out with us?"
"I don't want to be a third wheel."
"Then call Teddy."
"Theodore," I correct.
"You know I can't call him Theodore with a straight face. That name should be reserved for members of the royal family."
I wish she would get past his name. I've been out with him several times now and she still brings it up every time. She can see the irritation on my face, so she continues to defend herself.
"He wears pants with tiny, embroidered whales on them, Fallon. And the two times I've gone out with you guys, all he does is tell stories about being raised in Nantucket. But no one in Nantucket talks like a surfer, I can promise you that."
She's right. He talks about Nantucket like everyone should be jealous he's from there. But besides that small quirk and his pretentious choice in pants, he's one of the only guys I've been around that can take my mind off Ben for more than an hour.
"If you hate him as much as you seem to, why are you insisting I invite him out with us tonight?"
"I don't hate him," Amber says. "I just don't like him. And I'd rather you come tonight with him than sit here and mope about how it's November 9th and you aren't spending it with Ben."
"That's not why I'm moping," I lie.
"Maybe not, but at least we can both agree that you are moping." She picks up my phone. "I'm texting Teddy to tell him to meet us at the club."
"That's going to be awkward for you and Glenn, considering I won't even be there."
"Hogwash. Get dressed. Wear something cute."
*
She always wins. I'm here . . . at the club. Not at home, moping on my couch where I wish I could be.
And why did Theodore have to wear the pants with whales on them again? That just makes Amber the winner and right.
"Theodore," Amber says, fingering the rim of her almost-empty drink. "Do you have a nickname or does everyone just call you Theodore?"
"Just Theodore," he says. "My father is referred to as Teddy, so the nickname gets confusing if we both use it. Especially when we're back in Nantucket around family."
"Riveting," she says, dragging her eyes over to me. "Want to walk to the bar with me?"
I nod and scoot out of the booth. As we make our way to the bar, Amber threads her fingers through mine and squeezes. "Please tell me you haven't had sex with him."
"We've only been out four times," I tell her. "I'm not that easy."
"You had sex with Ben on the third date," she says in retort.
I hate that she brought up Ben, but I guess when you're discussing your sex life, the only guy you've ever slept with is surely going to be part of the conversation.
"Maybe so, but that was different. We knew each other a lot longer than that."
"You knew each other for three days," she says. "You can't count entire years when you only interacted once a year."
We reach the bar. "Change of subject," I say. "What do you want to drink?"
"Depends," she says. "Are we drinking because we want to remember this night forever? Or because we want to forget the past?"
"Definitely forget."
Amber turns to the bartender and orders four shots. When he puts them in front of us, we hold up the first shot and clink our glasses together.
"To waking up on November 10th and having no memory of the 9th," she says.
"Cheers to that."
We down the shots and then immediately follow those up with the next two. I don't usually drink a lot, but I'll do whatever it takes to speed up the night just so I can get it over with.
*
Half an hour passes and the shots have definitely done their job. I'm feeling good and buzzed, and I don't even mind it that Theodore is being a little handsy tonight. Amber and Glenn left the booth a couple of minutes ago to hit the dance floor, and Theodore is telling me all about . . . shit. I have no idea what he's talking about. I don't think I've been listening to him at all.
Glenn slides back into the booth across from us and I try to stay focused on Theodore's face so he'll think I'm listening to him jabber about some fishing trip he takes with his cousin during summer solstice. When the hell is summer solstice, anyway?
"Can I help you?" Theodore says to Glenn, which is odd, considering he said it in an unpleasant tone. I turn to face Glenn.
Only . . . it's not Glenn.
Brown eyes are staring back at me and I suddenly want to push Theodore's hands off of me and crawl across the table.
Fuck you, fate. Fuck you to hell.
A slow smile spreads across Ben's face as he returns his attention to Theodore. "Sorry to interrupt," Ben says, "but I'm going from table to table, asking couples a few questions for a paper I'm working on for grad school. Do you mind if I ask you two a few?"
Theodore relaxes once he realizes Ben isn't here to mark his territory. Or so he thinks. "Yeah, sure," Theodore says. He reaches across the table to shake his hand. "I'm Theodore, this is Fallon," he says, introducing me to the o
nly man who has ever been inside me.
"Nice to meet you, Fallon," Ben says, clasping my hand with both of his. He makes a quick brush of his thumbs over my wrist, and the contact of his skin on mine is scorching. When he releases my hand, I look down at my wrist, sure it left a mark.
"I'm Ben."
I raise what I'm hoping comes off as an uninterested, lazy eyebrow. What in the world is he doing here?
Ben's gaze slides from my eyes to my mouth, but then he focuses on Theodore. "So how long have you lived in Los Angeles, Theodore?"
So many things to process in my alcohol-riddled mind right now.
Ben is here.
Here.
And he's probing my date for information.
"Most of my life. Going on twenty years, I guess."
I glance at Theodore. "I thought you grew up in Nantucket."
He shifts in his seat and laughs, squeezing my hand that's resting on top of the table. "I was born there. Wasn't raised there. We moved here when I was four." He turns his attention back to Ben, and dammit, Amber wins again.
"So," Ben says, pointing a finger back and forth between Theodore and me. "You two dating?"
Theodore puts his arm around me and pulls me against him. "Working on it," he says, smiling down at me. But then he looks back at Ben. "These are oddly personal questions. What kind of paper are you writing?"
Ben pops his neck with his hand. "I'm studying the probability of soul mates."
Theodore chuckles. "Soul mates? That's graduate-level work? God help us."
Ben raises an eyebrow. "You don't believe in soul mates?"
Theodore wraps his arm around me and leans back in his seat. "Are you saying you do? Have you met your soul mate?" Theodore glances around the room half-jokingly. "Is she here with you tonight? What's her name? Cinderella?"
My eyes slowly make the journey to Ben's. I'm not sure I want to hear her name yet. He's eyeing me hard, trading glances with the fingers that are sliding up and down my arm.
"She's not here with me," Ben says. "In fact, I was actually stood up by her today. Waited for over four hours but she never showed."
His words are like icicles. Beautiful and sharp as a knife. I swallow the lump in my throat.
He actually showed up? Even after I told him last year I wasn't coming? His words are doing too many things to me right now, and it feels all wrong since I'm sidled up next to a guy I wish would stop touching me.
"What girl is worth waiting four hours for?" Theodore says with a laugh.
Ben leans back in his seat, but I'm eyeing his every movement. "Just this one," he says quietly, to no one in particular. Or maybe his words were only meant for me.
Speaking of Amber. Or maybe I wasn't speaking of Amber, I can't remember now that Ben is here and my brain isn't functioning properly. But Amber is back.
My eyes grow wide when I look up at her. She's looking between me and Ben like one of us is a mirage. I totally get it, because I feel the same way. Might just be the alcohol, though. I shake my head and widen my eyes to let her know not to acknowledge that she knows Ben. Hopefully she understands my silent instructions.
Glenn is walking up behind her and I try to do the same with him, but as soon as he reaches the booth, he smiles and yells, "Ben!" He slides in next to him and throws an arm around him like he's just found his best friend.
Yeah, Glenn's drunk.
"You know this guy?" Theodore says, pointing at Ben.
Glenn starts to point at me, and that's when he sees the look on my face. Good thing he's not too drunk to decipher it. "Ummm . . ." He stutters. "We . . . um. We met earlier. In the bathroom."
Theodore chokes on his drink. "You met in the bathroom?"
I take the opportunity to slide out of the booth, in desperate need of a break. This is way too much.
"Want me to come with you?" Amber asks, grabbing my elbow.
I shake my head. I think we both know I'm hoping Ben follows me so he can explain what the hell he's doing here.
I walk quickly toward the bathroom, slightly embarrassed by how fast I just made a break for it. It's funny how a grown adult can just forget how to function properly in the presence of someone else. But I feel like my insides are so hot, they're beginning to scorch my bones. My cheeks are warm. My neck is warm. Everything is warm. I need to splash water on my face.
I walk into the bathroom and even though I don't need to pee, I do anyway. I'm wearing a skirt that Amber forced me to put on and it's so easy to use the bathroom when you're in a skirt, it's stupid not to take advantage of the opportunity. Besides, I'm pretty sure I'm getting a cab home right after I punch Ben in the face, so I might as well use the restroom while I'm here.
Why am I justifying the fact that I'm peeing?
Maybe because I really know all I'm doing is wasting time. I'm not sure I want to step out of the bathroom yet.
As I'm washing my hands, I notice how bad they're shaking. I take several calming breaths while I stare at my reflection in the mirror. Looking in the mirror now is a lot different than it was before I met Ben. I don't obsess over my flaws like I used to. The occasional insecurities are still there, but thanks to Ben, I've learned to accept myself for who I am and be grateful that I'm alive. Part of me hates that he gets some of the credit for my confidence, because I want to hate him. My life would be so much easier if I could hate him, but the guy is hard to hate when he's had such a positive impact on my life. It's the negative impact he's had on my life for the past year that makes me appreciate Amber for forcing me to make an effort tonight with my appearance. I'm wearing a slinky purple top that brings out the green in my eyes, and my hair has grown a few inches since last year. At least Ben is seeing this version of me rather than the version of me that was moping on the couch two hours ago. I don't want to exact revenge on the guy, but it would be nice if, when he looks at me, he feels as though he missed out. I would feel a little vindicated that he fell in love with another girl if I knew he was experiencing a few pangs of regret.
So many questions run through my mind as I finish up at the sink. Why isn't he here with Jordyn? Did they break up? Why is he even here? How did he know I'd be here? Or did he just show up by chance? And what was he expecting when he went to that restaurant today, hoping I'd be there?
My reflection reveals no answers, so I make the brave journey to the bathroom exit, knowing he's probably out there somewhere. Waiting.
No sooner than I have the bathroom door open, a hand grips my arm and pulls me further down the hallway, away from the crowd. I don't even have to look at him to know it's him. My whole body feels the familiar hum of electricity that moves between us anytime we're together.
My back is against a wall, hands are beside my head, his eyes are boring into mine. "How serious is it with Whale Pants back there?"
Dammit if he doesn't make me laugh right off the bat. I groan. "I hate those pants."
A crooked, smug grin spreads across his face, but as soon as it appears, it disappears, replaced by a flicker of disappointment. "Why didn't you show up today?" he asks.
I can no longer tell a difference between the beat of my heart and the base of the music. They're in perfect sync, one no louder than the other, thanks to Ben's proximity.
"I told you last year I wasn't going to show up today." I glance down the hallway, toward the club. It's dark back here, past the bathrooms, past the people. Somehow, in a building full of warm bodies, we have complete privacy. "How did you know I'd be here tonight?"
He gives his head a dismissive shake. "The answer to that question isn't nearly as significant as the answer to mine. How serious is it with this guy?"
His voice is low, his face close to mine. I can feel warmth radiating from his skin. It's hard to concentrate in this kind of distracting environment.
"I forgot what question you just asked me." I sway a little bit, but his fingers splay out against my hip and he steadies me.
He narrows his eyes. "Are you drunk?"
"Tipsy. Big difference. How's Jordyn?" I don't know why I say her name with spite. I don't harbor any resentment toward her. Okay, maybe just a little bit. But not much, because Oliver is such a cute kid and it's hard to be mad at someone who can make such a cute kid.
Ben sighs, glancing away for a split second. "Jordyn is fine. They're good."
Good. Good for them. Good for him and Oliver and their adorable fucking little family.
"That's nice, Ben. I need to get back to my date." I try to push past him, but he leans in closer, sandwiching me against the wall. His forehead meets the side of my head. He lets out a sigh and feeling the breath fall from his lips and rush through my hair forces me to squeeze my eyes shut.
"Don't be like that," he whispers into my ear. "I've been through hell today trying to find you."
I cringe from the way his words twist my stomach into knots. He slides his arms around me and pulls me into him. He feels stronger. More defined. Even more like a man this year. I'm stiff against him as I ask my next question. "Are you still with her?"
He looks crestfallen as he says, "You know me better than that, Fallon. If I had a girlfriend, I certainly wouldn't be standing here trying to convince you to come home with me." He studies my face for a reaction, scrolling over each of my features with desire-filled eyes. I try not to notice, but he's pressed against me, my thigh firm between both of his legs. It's obvious by the scorching hardness pressed against my thigh that the look in his eyes is genuine.
Feeling him like this again--his mouth dangerously close to mine--reminds me of the night I spent with him. The only night I've ever allowed a man to completely consume me, heart, body, and soul--and the thought of what he was able to do to me that night almost forces me to whimper.
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