Had To Be You

by Juliet Chatham

  “The thing is, Matt, I feel I was to blame for much of it,” she said, starting slowly. “I was young, scared, stupid…the list goes on. I still think about my dad, how he must have woken up one morning and just—well, you know, decided he didn’t want us anymore. Knowing how quickly things can change, where love just up and leaves, I think it affected me more than I wanted to admit when it came to my own relationships. Looking back, it was really hard for me to believe in anyone after that. Even you. And when we got close, the fear only grew worse. But I never meant to hurt you, Matt. Ever. And I’m so sorry if I did.”

  It seemed so late in the game to start offering these excuses, but Rory was running out of time.

  “It’s okay. I know that, Rory,” he said in his quiet, everything kind of way. “And I can’t fault you for how you felt—no one should do that. I really only ever wanted you to be happy.” He turned to meet her eyes in the moonlight. “I never said it had to be with me.”

  Something clutched desperately at her heart before it dropped to the pit of her stomach. Matt only kicked at the sand once before he turned to head back towards the beach house.

  This might be the last chance she ever got.

  Swallowing the lump in her throat, she moved to call after him, needing to strain her voice to be heard above the breaking surf and the desperate keen of her breaking heart.

  “But it is you.”

  She did it. She said it.

  He stopped short, shoulders hunched slightly before he slowly turned to face her again.

  “What?”

  Rory tried to steady the nervous tremors, ignoring the tight constriction of terror in her chest. “Being with you is what makes me happy. You’re still that same person to me, Matt—the one I want to come home to.”

  His expression remained unreadable in the dark.

  “That day we talked? I was talking about you, Matt. You and me, the way we used to be, and not just the friendship. And the night we were talking at your bar, after closing?” She reached up to brush the hair from her eyes, the wind picking up a little off the water. “Do you remember what I said about being afraid of the things I really want?”

  “Yeah,” he replied in a low, careful voice.

  “I think you misunderstood what I was trying to say, because I was talking about you then, too.”

  Tentatively, she moved towards him. Her feet dragged heavy in the sand, ten steps feeling like ten miles, until she was finally gazing up into his eyes.

  “I was always afraid, Matt…to want you too much, to love you too much, to trust you too much. So I tried to convince myself I wanted other things; that I needed to be other places, with other, safer people. Maybe I was afraid you could just walk away from me someday, like my dad, so instead I made sure to walk away first. I don’t really know why, to tell you the truth—and believe me, I’m not trying to turn this into some psychobabble excuse. All I know is that I really, really messed up and I really, really regret it.” Her voice trembled precariously, but she held it together. “ I need you to know that nothing has changed for me, in all these years. I still feel the same about you.”

  He only stared down at her, as if he couldn’t begin to understand or comprehend the words.

  “It’s you,” she said softly. “It’s always been you that I loved, Matt…and I’m still in love with you.”

  Her eyes waited on him for an answer. There was only the slightest flicker in his expression, a hint of something sparked inside his stunned silence.

  “Please say something,” she pleaded gently, the moment excruciatingly long.

  Slowly, his hand came up to touch her cheek in a tender caress, his eyes drifting over her face as he released a soft, quiet breath. Under a canopy of starlight, moonlit waves crashed softly against the shore, the only other sounds the beating of her heart and the unspoken whisper wish of hope. In that moment, it felt as if they could be the only two people on earth.

  But they weren’t.

  A sudden sweep of headlights flashed across the sand, the harsh, thumping beat of stereo speakers and the crunch of broken seashells and pebbles interrupting the moment as an unfamiliar car pulled into the driveway of the house. They both glanced over, squinting against the unrelenting glare of high beams. Then someone was calling out over the darkened beach.

  “Matt? Is that you?”

  “Ah, yeah,” he responded, still distracted and confused. “It’s me.”

  A lone figure was making his way over, the squeak and sifting sound of sneakers on sand. He stopped in front of them, his eyes darting back and forth from Matt to Rory.

  “I just pulled into town tonight. Amanda told me they were having your bachelor party, so I tracked you guys down.”

  “This is my, ah—um, Rory.” Matt motioned towards her, and paused on an audible gulp of air. “This is Peter, Amanda’s brother.”

  Instantly sick, her whole body started to tremble, hit with the full realization of what she’d just admitted to him one week before his wedding to someone else.

  The brother only regarded her with a sour, suspicious frown.

  Matt cleared his throat again to explain. “Rory was just—”

  “Leaving,” she cut in with a weak smile, sparing him. “I’m staying at a house a little farther down on the beach. I was just out for a late walk.” She glanced at Matt. “And now I should really let you get back to your party.”

  His dark gaze met hers for only the briefest second, and Rory couldn’t even begin to comprehend what she saw in those ocean blue depths.

  “Nice to meet you,” she mumbled to Peter, and immediately turned to walk away. The distant light from Danny and Kevin’s house was just a blur through her well of tears.

  If he doesn’t let me go, he still loves me, too.

  When she finally let herself glance back, the beach was dark.

  And Matt was gone.

  SIXTEEN

  From her room, draped diagonally across her bed quilt, Rory heard the soft slam of the screen door. Lowering her book, she rolled onto her stomach; then quickly scrambled to stand as she recognized his footsteps in the hall.

  “Hey,” he greeted her, strolling into her room to drop right into the spot she just vacated on the bed. “What’s up?”

  She carefully placed her book down on her dresser and tucked her long hair back behind her ear. “Um, not much. Just working my way through our summer reading list. Have you started yours?”

  “My what?”

  She arched a skeptical eyebrow. “Summer reading?”

  “Is that like one of those oxymorons?”

  Her smile lifted on a quick roll of her eyes. “Too easy.”

  Matt only grinned, chuckling a little to himself.

  She snuck in a longer look at him in the mirror reflection. He was a beautiful shade of light brown from their days spent at the lifeguard station at the beach; his dark hair recently cropped short to reveal a tan line at the back of his neck that she found inexplicably irresistible. She liked the way the lean muscle definition in his arms and chest was so evident underneath the nice fit of his faded t-shirt. Even his feet were suddenly handsome, tanned equally as brown and smooth in his athletic slides.

  Rory’s heart was softly pounding and it made her oddly short of breath. While there couldn’t be a more familiar scene than a lazy afternoon with him hanging out in her room, this felt so strange. Matt O’Shea suddenly made her nervous.

  “Where’s your mom?” he asked around a mouthful of cookie, obviously having snatched one off the cooling rack on his way past the kitchen.

  “She should be home any minute. And those are for the fireworks fundraiser bake sale, so you better not let her catch you.”

  He appeared mildly troubled as he swallowed the last bite. “No muffins this year?”

  “Sorry.” Rory shook her head. “She’s trying something new.” Taking a deep breath, she turned to face him.

  And so was she.

  “Matt, do you remember that night, a fe
w months ago, when your parents went to that wedding in Rhode Island?”

  He moved to sit upright on the bed, swinging his legs over until his feet were on the floor. Smiling, he reached for her hand, lacing their fingers together to draw her in close.

  “You mean the one they got home from really, really late?” He eased her right down onto his lap as his voice lowered. “And no one else was home, leaving us very, very much alone?”

  “That would be the one,” she agreed quietly. She nestled her head into the crook of his neck. He smelled like soap and sunshine and fresh air, the solid warmth of him surrounding her.

  “Oh, I remember. Of course I remember,” he said, stroking his hand down her back. “If you’re in need of a little refresher, however, I’d be happy to help.”

  Rory glanced down, her eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks. Her hand was resting on his broad thigh and she slid it over, moving slightly closer to that soft bulge in his shorts. She knew his body, was familiar with it. She had touched all of him. But she still didn’t know what he felt like.

  “This is more about what we didn’t do,” she explained. “And what we only talked about doing.”

  Rory wasn’t sure if she only imagined his body going still beneath her.

  “Do you?” she whispered, tentatively meeting his eyes. “Remember? Because you told me to tell you when I was ready—when I knew. That we didn’t have to talk about it again.” She held his gaze. “Well, I know now. And I’m telling you. I’m ready, Matt.”

  His lips parted, lifting up at both corners, but amazingly enough he seemed to be at a complete loss for words. Another first.

  Tentatively, he brought his hand to her face and gently touched his lips to hers before capturing her mouth in a slow, hot kiss. He broke away gradually, and his tongue wet his lips.

  “Right now?”

  “My mother is going to be home in like five minutes. No, not right now,” Rory replied in amused sarcasm and then softened as she nestled close, resting her cheek in the warm hollow of his neck. “Tonight, maybe?”

  He ducked in to kiss her forehead. “Well, I was just going to suggest we go down the old port for pizza, but I guess that would be okay, too.”

  She laughed softly as he gave her a tight squeeze and brought her back down onto the bed, rolling them over into another deep kiss. Outside the window, Rory heard a car turn into the driveway. Placing a hand on his chest for leverage, she broke away and sat up, quickly running her fingers through her hair to smooth it out.

  She felt it was important to greet her mother in the kitchen, thereby removing all suspicion from her mind as to what they might be up to.

  “Come on,” she said softly, giving his t-shirt a tug to drag him with her.

  “Wait—hold on,” he replied, keeping his voice to the same muted tone as he grasped onto her hand.

  Rory glanced back with a faint, curious grin.

  Matt sat up at the edge of the bed with her, and gently smoothed his hand down the back of her hair. His eyes drifted over her face with just a touch of amazement.

  “You really want this?”

  “Yes,” she insisted quietly. “Don’t you?”

  “Eh, I could take it or leave it, really.”

  Rory only rolled her eyes, shaking her head as she moved to stand from the bed.

  Matt quickly followed, catching her one last time before she left the room. He pulled her back against his solid chest, wrapping one arm around her waist to ease her into his warm embrace, his other hand smoothing a slow path down her tummy in an unexpectedly intimate caress that nearly stopped her breath.

  He bowed his head, and she shivered as he whispered in her ear.

  “You’re the only thing I’ve ever really wanted in my whole life.”

  ***

  Some mornings you wake to a cloudless blue sky, a warm summer breeze drifting in to gently coax you from slumber with the promise of a new day. Slowly, you open your eyes to those first golden rays of sunshine and think…“Oh, fuck no.”

  It was one of those kind of days for Matt O’Shea.

  Rolling from bed, his liquor-ravaged stomach lurched with the sudden movement, the throbbing in his temples escalating to the pounding of a jackhammer as he stood upright. It apparently hadn’t been enough to be pleasantly drunk all evening, so he had to go and get ugly wasted at the end of the night.

  He briefly flirted with the idea of flinging himself over the balcony railing of his bedroom loft to end it all, but then surmised the fall would probably only bruise or break him and not finish him off.

  Entering the shower, he practically whimpered in pain when the sharp, jetting spray first hit his skin. The steam rising carried leftover fumes of alcohol mixed with the stench of stale cigar smoke, which caused him to feel a bit nauseated and lightheaded.

  Maybe he could just drown in here. Don’t most accidents happen in the home?

  He stepped out onto the cold ceramic tile floor, head bowed as rivulets of water ran down from his soaked hair, he stopped to consider the possibly of slipping and—if all went well—hopefully cracking his skull open. He had to admit, however, there was a certain indignity in being found dead naked, in your own bathroom.

  Towel slung around his waist, he trudged back upstairs to his bedroom to pull a shirt from his closet, his fingers fumbling with the buttons. Sadly, even though whatever part of his brain controlled dexterity had been impaired, all other parts remained fully intact and functional, his memory of the previous evening’s events as clear as the sky outside his window. He closed his eyes on a miserable sigh, leaning to rest his weight against the doorframe.

  This couldn’t be happening. Not now.

  After dressing, he found his way to the kitchen to down half a bottle of Gatorade. Death by dehydration might be a little too agonizing and, more importantly, there were no guarantees as to how long it would take. Time was of the essence here.

  Glancing at the clock, he groaned softly and searched around until he located his wallet and keys. Slamming the door shut behind him, he jogged down the stairs and stepped out onto the already busy sidewalk crowded with tourists and pedestrian traffic. Traveling the three or four blocks to the bar, he thought about how, in cartoons, grand pianos were always randomly falling from buildings to crush people on the sidewalk below (and why he couldn’t be that lucky).

  Keeping his head low, he breezed past the deck patio, passing by the main bar to make a beeline for his back office, mercifully spared from having to say hello to anyone. Closing the door behind him, he walked over to his desk to slump into the swivel chair. Muttering a few quiet curse words, he leaned forward to drop his head into his arms.

  Hearing a knock on the door a moment later, he lifted his head from his desk.

  “Yeah?”

  Casey poked her nose in, obviously using some restraint in her knowing smile.

  “How are you feeling today?”

  Matt had to admit that was an interesting question. After only a couple hours of sleep, so hung-over that his eyeballs felt like they were ripped from their sockets, dipped in acid, and then shoved back inside his skull, just starting what was probably going to be at least a fourteen-hour work day, while all he could hear, repeating over and over and over in his head, was the girl he had been in love with for his entire life telling him that she finally wanted to be with him, exactly six days before he was set to marry someone else—well, how could everything not be okay?

  He tried to rub the guilt and remorse from his weary eyes.

  “Everything’s just great,” he muttered sarcastically.

  She narrowed her eyes. “You sure?”

  “Yeah. Can you just give me a minute here?” he replied. “And close the door? Thanks.”

  Casey looked concerned, but then nodded and did as he said. Matt only sat there a while longer until he finally heaved his body up to stand.

  Jerry was setting up behind the bar.

  “Coffee?” he asked, sizing him up in a single glan
ce.

  As Matt’s stomach felt like it was tied up in knots, he shook his head, wincing inwardly at the mere effort. That was nothing, however, compared to the sudden, stabbing pain he felt inside his gut only moment later when he spotted Amanda outside, marching up to the front entrance with her mother, aunt, and cousin trailing behind. Why hadn’t he just killed himself when he had the chance?

  He smiled weakly as she came through the doors, his voice small and strained.

  “Amanda…hey.”

  “Hi,” she replied with a rather tight smile, and lifted up to give him a light peck on the cheek. “You still smell like beer,” she hissed softly into his ear.

  The relatives stayed behind outside, lingering in the sunshine near the harbor side deck. Matt glanced past her to lift his hand, offering them all a feeble greeting through the big front windows, which they returned in kind. Still, he was unable to shake the feeling he somehow faced a firing squad—granted, one that looked more like it was dispatched from Mary Kay than the military.

  “And you need a shave.” Amanda added, although this time she seemed to temper it with some begrudging amusement.

  “Woke up late,” he mumbled with an uncertain chuckle, rubbing his hand over the dark stubble.

  He was suddenly unable to look her in the eye, like it was some kind of betrayal when he all he could hear was someone else’s voice in his head.

  “So, how was it?” she asked.

  “Ah, it was okay.”

  “Well, we’re in a rush this morning. Did you leave your apartment unlocked?”

  Matt only furrowed his brow in confusion.

  She touched her hand to her forehead, and his stomach sank to notice a hint of distress in the gesture. “Matt, I was planning on moving some of my things in today. That’s why everyone is here to help. Don’t you even remember? We just talked about all this the other day.”

  He desperately scrambled for footing, some recent recollection to latch onto and bring it to the front of his memory, pushing all the rest to the back. It was no use, however, his mind was already so overcrowded with the past.