The Loss Between Us

by Brooke McBride

  “I have a few more in the car.”

  She walks over to the box. “May I?”

  “Of course. He would want you to have these things. I found some of his old trophies and grade reports. Some things I assume he made. I kept some things, so if there is something specific you want and it’s not in any of the boxes, let me know. I have a pretty good idea now where everything is and I can get it to you.”

  “I’m sure what you have brought is fine.”

  I swallow trying to push back the unease. “I also brought some of the baby’s things.” My voice starts to crack but I continue on. “The teddy bear you bought and the onesie that says, ‘I Dig Grandma’.”

  “Oh.” She grabs my hand and squeezes. “Thank you, sweetheart.” I look away not able to face the sadness on her face or the tears in her eyes. The whistle of a tea kettle breaks the silence. “Let me go grab the tea.”

  I sit down on the couch and run my hands over the fabric. I remember the first night Jeff brought me here. After his mom had gone to bed, we stayed up late and talked.

  “I told you she would love you.” he said.

  “I know, but she’s your mom. I wanted to make a good first impression.”

  “Babe, you’ve never made a bad first impression, and tonight was a great first impression. Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For taking the time to come here and meet her and my sister. It means a lot to me.”

  “Of course.” He started to play with my hair and then leaned down to kiss me. After a few minutes, we both pulled back breathless. “Stop. We can’t…not in your mom’s house.”

  “Oh, come on. I was too scared to do it when I was in high school.”

  I couldn’t resist those eyes. I remember him gently laying me on the floor and hovering over me with a look of such happiness that I wanted to freeze time. When we had finished, and he wrapped me into his arms, he whispered, “I’ll never be able to look at this floor again without blushing.”

  “Jensen?” Doris’ voice snaps me back to the present.

  I turn and feel the smile as well as the blush on my face. “Sorry…”

  “That’s okay, you’re smiling. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you smile.” My smile fades. “No, Jensen. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel guilty.”

  “No, that’s okay. I shouldn’t be smiling.”

  “Oh, sweetheart…” She rushes up to me and grabs my hands. “Jeff would want you to be happy.”

  “I know.”

  “I’m not sure I believe. It’s obvious you don’t believe it yourself. But it’s going to take time. You’re going to be okay, Jensen.” I try to reassure her with my smile as she gently lets go of my hands. “I made some sandwiches. Do you want to join me for a little bit?”

  I know that we’ll spend the time talking about Jeff. I’m better now at getting through conversations talking about him, about us, without breaking down. So, as I look at Jeff’s mom and see his eyes staring back at me, I say, “I would love to.” And I mean it.

  I climb into bed exhausted but relieved to have spent the day with Doris. We laughed, we cried, she told me stories I had never heard of about Jeff. She told me more about Jeff’s dad, Derek, who walked out on them when Jeff was three. I could never get Jeff to talk about him much. But Doris told me how much in love they once were. They were young and poor. Jeff was three and Megan had just been born. She said it was just all too much for him and one night he didn’t come home. Doris wished she didn’t still love him. But she always would.

  And then she said I would always love Jeff too, but that I was too young, smart and pretty not to love again. I told her that I didn’t think I had it in me, but she just smiled and said, “Jeff always talked about your big heart. I know there’s room for someone else in there.”

  Chapter 31

  I pull up outside the house I found to rent. It’s by no means my dream house. But it only took me two weeks to find and they allowed me to sign a month-to-month lease in case my house sells fast. The paint is faded, and the roof is on its last legs. But I was drawn to the craftsmanship and charm that it had to offer. The past few weeks have also been the first time I’d started to think about money again. It may not be the nicest, but it’s all I can afford.

  “Here it is.” I lean back against the driver’s seat door and look past Nash out the passenger side window.

  He looks over at me. “What?” And then out his window. “Here?”

  “Yes. What’s wrong with here?”

  “Are you serious, Jen? This isn’t the best neighborhood.”

  “Oh, stop. It’s fine. Plus, I don’t have a lot of choices until the house sells. The only equity I have is tied up for the time being. Once it sells I can look at something else.” Thankfully, the market is up and with a little luck, I can make some money on the sale.

  “But I’m called to this area a lot, and it’s not for heart attacks. This is a rough part of town."

  “You’re overreacting. Plus, you haven’t seen the inside. It’s quaint. Very kitschy chic.”

  “Kitschy what?”

  I sigh. “Come on.”

  Climbing out of the car, I head for the front door. Nash is behind me, taking his sweet time scoping the place with his brows pulled in and tension in his arms. I place the key into the lock. It won’t budge, so I jiggle it.

  Nash comes up behind me, and the heat radiating from his body causes me to pause. He leans over my shoulder and his breath brushes against my neck. “Is it stuck?”

  My hair stands up on both arms. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and move closer to the door to put some distance between us. “No, it’s just a little tight, that’s all.”

  “Here, let me try.” I step aside to put even more distance between us. His muscles strain as he pushes harder against the door. He jiggles the key a few times until the door finally opens. “Well, there’s something I’ll have to fix. After you.” He steps aside and motions for me to walk ahead of him.

  “See, it’s quaint. I love the lead glass windows.” His gaze flits around the room as he scans everything from floor to ceiling.

  “Did you ask if the fireplace is safe to burn in?” he asks.

  “They told me not to use it, so I take that as a no.”

  “Hmph…”

  “The kitchen’s back here.” I escort him down the narrow hallway and point out the floor as we walk, “Look at the hardwood floors. They're original."

  "Yeah, I can tell." I try not to let the sarcasm in his voice bother me.

  "This is the kitchen."

  He walks in shaking his head. "Jen, seriously?"

  "What?"

  "How old are these appliances? They look like they're from the 1950's."

  "That's because they are. I think they're cute, retro. They don’t make them like this anymore."

  He paces around the kitchen, which doesn’t take him very long. "I don't see a dishwasher."

  "There isn't one. It's just me. What do I need a dishwasher for?"

  He circles back to me. "There's no room for a kitchen table."

  "Sure there is.” I walk around him and say, “If I get a bistro set and push it up against the wall here." Nash moves across the kitchen to the back door while I lean against the counter. “What is it Nash?” I ask.

  I wait while he gathers his thoughts. “I’m sorry. I’m trying to come up with something positive to say...but..."

  "But?"

  “It’s not what I was expecting.” His lips purse in thought. “I can’t picture you living here. Is this really what you want?”

  I cross my arms as well as my legs and lean back on the counter. “It’s not ideal, but it’ll work.”

  “You can ask for help sometimes, ya know?”

  “No, I can’t. My parents carried my mortgage for over a year, and they’re going to have to continue to carry it until it sells. Who knows how long that will take? And they’re loaning me money to cover rent. Any money that
Jeff and I had is tied up in that house, so until it sells, I need to watch my money. This will be fine.” I move away from the counter and pace around, looking at what needs to be done. “It needs some work, but it’s my first step, Nash.”

  "Do you need money?"

  I open my mouth and realize I’m about to say something mean. He’s only trying to help, not make me feel as small as possible, "No Nash, I don't need money. I need my best friend to support this decision."

  He scratches at his five-o-clock shadow before saying, "On one condition.”

  “Yes?”

  “Before you sleep here, let me fix the front lock.” He walks to the back door. “And let me replace this back door since the top half is glass. Deal?"

  I don’t want his help, but he has a point. If anyone would have asked me two years ago if I would be living in this neighborhood I would have called them crazy. "Deal."

  He smiles, looking pleased with my answer. “Well, are you going to show me the upstairs?”

  “Sure.” I walk back toward the front door and up the stairs. “There are only two bedrooms, but they’re pretty good size, which is nice considering the downstairs is a little tight. The master bedroom is…” I hear a crack in the wood and yell “ouch” before looking down. My foot has gone through the top stair.

  Nash rushes up beside me. “Are you okay?”

  I start to laugh. “Yeah, but my foot is caught.” My right foot and half of my calf is lost beneath the stair.

  “Let me help you.” Nash leans down and wiggles my foot around, finally pulling it out. “You cut the crap out of it. We need to clean it off.”

  I start to walk again, but I feel shooting pain and I go down. “Ow.”

  “What is it?”

  “I think I might have twisted it.”

  Nash leans down. “Yeah, I think you’re right. It’s already swelling.”

  I take one more step but stop, hissing out in pain.

  “Here, let me.” Nash walks over to me and scoops me up into his arms.

  “Nash, I can…” But before I can finish, I’m enveloped by Nash’s arms. I feel his breath on my face and take in his scent. He smells like fresh cut grass on a sunny day. His eyes are steady with a small amount of blue peeking out behind large pupils. They move downward to my lips, and I want to take up permanent residency in his arms. He leans his forehead onto mine and closes his eyes before taking a deep breath. Slowly he opens his eyes, and then I’m wishing for something more. I lick my lips as he studies them, but then abruptly looks away.

  “Where’s the bathroom? I need a better look at it.” His voice is strained, almost angry.

  I clear my throat. “Second door on the left.”

  When he reaches the bathroom, I fumble with the switch as he lowers me to the countertop. Swiveling, I peer into the empty medicine cabinet to distract myself. I didn't like how good it felt to be in his arms. Or maybe I did, and that’s the real problem. Focus, Jensen. I turn and our eyes lock. I clear my throat again and say, “Looks like water will have to do.”

  Nash looks around the very small and very pink bathroom. “There’s no toilet paper. Is there anything in the kitchen?”

  “No, I haven’t had a chance to bring anything over yet.”

  His eyes frantically move around the room and then he hesitates. His eyes hold mine as he grabs the back of his shirt and swiftly pulls it over his head.

  “What are you doing?” I scoot forward to jump down from the counter when his hand lands on my waist and pushes me back. He leans over me, and my heartbeat rushes through my ears. The water starts to run and my head hits the mirror behind me. He cocoons my body as he wets his shirt. His neck is three inches from my lips and I swear I can see his pulse throbbing. I keep my hands flat against the cool counter, not trusting them to go anywhere near him. I take a few deep breaths but immediately regret it when his scent assaults me.

  “I need to get the dirt and blood off so I can see what I’m working with.” The breath from his mouth caresses my neck, and my body jumps forward again. His hand moves back to my waist and this time he leaves it there. “Would you stop? Sit still.”

  Do I want to run? Yes, into his arms, idiot. I shake the thought from my head as his body comes back into view. I try. I really do. To not stare. At his shoulders, a yard wide and molded like bronze. At his chest, broad and tempting as my eyes trail down to his six-pack. My hand inches away from the cold counter, wanting to feel heat. The heat his body is giving off. The heat my body is producing in response. My fingertips prickle with anticipation as they’re drawn to the tribal tattoo that runs down his left arm and continues along his shoulder and back. They begin to lightly brush against it, and he stills. He inhales a sharp breath but continues looking at my ankle.

  “When did you get this?” I ask as my fingers continue to trail over his warm skin. I feel like a child exploring a present on Christmas Eve. Just because you know you shouldn’t do it doesn’t mean you can stop yourself.

  “Different life. Different time. I know tattoos aren’t your thing.”

  “I like it. It suits you.”

  “Jen.” His voice has a struggle in it I’ve never heard before as he moves away from me. When he does, my eyes pull away from his tattoo and land on the lower part of his abdomen where a mix of healed wounds live. There is one main line that is jagged and curves like a river, with smaller rivers breaking away from it in every direction. It’s about twelve inches long with faint tick lines along it like a ruler. Each line is symmetrical to another line across from it. The skin underneath it doesn’t match the rest of Nash’s unblemished core. This skin is an angry pink and mottled. Some areas are raised in mangled bumps while others are taut and smooth.

  “What happened?” I whisper.

  His eyes follow my line of sight as his jaw tenses. They quickly move back to my leg. “Can we just focus on what’s in front of us? Give me your foot!”

  I wrap my arms around my body in response. The feelings of warmth and desire have been extinguished.

  He then leans over me, both hands flat against the counter, pinning me in. “Hey,” he whispers.

  But I make no movement to respond. I then feel his finger running underneath my chin, moving my entire face so that we’re now eye to eye with one another.

  “It’s not something I like to talk about. Especially right now while you’re bleeding and in pain. Can you please give me your foot so I can try to help you?”

  I raise my leg as Nash’s eyes roam over my face. He finally pulls away and takes my ankle in his hand. He begins to rub the dirt and blood off my foot, and a new pain overtakes me.

  I jerk my leg back in response.

  “Sorry. That hurt?”

  “Ya think?” But I’m happy for the distraction. Heat is flushing through my body at the realization that he is definitely hiding something from me. I cross my arms over my chest and dig my fingernails into my palms.

  “Please tell me you haven’t already signed a lease and put a deposit down?”

  “Yep!” I say, popping the p.

  He glares at me before saying, “Why didn’t you wait until I had a chance to look it over for you?”

  “Because you’re not my dad.”

  “Speaking of, what did he have to say?” He’s still cleaning my ankle, but now that he has gotten the worst of it off, his fingers are light and gentle as he works. I take a few deep breaths watching him work. He’s focused and meticulous and caring. The only way he’s ever been with me. The tension in my body starts to fade. He’s trying to take care of me while I’m trying to get him to tell me something he obviously doesn’t want to tell me. And that’s not fair. There has been one constant between Nash and me since we met: a mutual understanding that we don’t have to talk about things we don’t want to.

  “My dad hasn’t seen it either.”

  “Really, Jensen?”

  “You’re acting like I’m a child, Nash. I can make my own decisions.”

  “Appar
ently not. This place is a shithole in a shithole neighborhood. I’ll never sleep knowing you’re living over here by yourself.”

  “My God, you’re being dramatic. It’s fine. I’ll be fine.”

  He looks up at me. “Yeah, you really look fine with your ankle the size of a cantaloupe.”

  I glance down at my already swollen ankle. I’m sick of him handling me with kid gloves. I’m sick and tired of everyone handling me that way. I’ve never been a wallflower, but ever since Jeff’s death that’s how everyone treats me.

  It’s time for that to change. “I’m fine.” I jump down and try to put weight on my foot before tumbling over into Nash’s arms. My hands have somehow found their way again to his bare chest, warm and solid. Everything around me fades, and all I hear is my labored breathing. His finger tenderly traces the line of my cheekbone and jaw. His strength supports my weight and I feel safe. But as our eyes meet, I see hesitation staring back at me. So I pull back and try to retreat on one foot.

  He laughs. “Stop being so stubborn. Let me help you.”

  “Whatever.” I glare at him and will that smirk right off his face. That’s the feeling I’m trying to focus on, not the empty feeling of no longer being in his arms. Or that distant look in his eyes.

  His voice is quieter as he grips my arms. “Does that mean you don’t want my help?”

  I should want to push away from him, but that’s what I’m feeling. And since my body won’t do what I want it to, I use my mouth to push him away. “Would you stop being a cocky ass?”

  “If you’ll stop being a stubborn one!”

  “Did you just call me an ass?”

  “I believe I did.”

  “Ugh! You’re bothering me.” I can’t stand being this close to him anymore.

  “Come on, let me help you.”

  I walk away from him. “No, I can manage on my own.”

  I squeal as he comes up from behind me and hoists me into his arms. “Nash stop!”

  “I’m not letting you walk back down those stairs on your own.”

  I try to wiggle out of his arms, but it’s no use. I finally relent and wrap one hand around his neck and place the other one on his chest. My eyes move back to his face, where the shadow of a beard gives him an even more masculine appearance. He stops moving and ducks his head almost as if he’s trying to hide the effect I’m having on him, but he’s doing a lousy job. Without warning, we’re moving again as he’s rushing down the stairs. He sits me down and leans me up against the railing. “You stay put. I’ll get the lights.”