by Scott, S. L.
I don’t notice her arrival until her hands cover mine. “I think you’re supposed to beat them, not annihilate them.” I get a good look at her. She’s washed her face clean of makeup, but her hair is still a fucking mess—literally, and my heart still insists on residing in her eyes. With an eyebrow raised in question, she plucks the knife I’d already set down. “Maybe I should cut the tomatoes while you tell me what’s wrong.”
Moving around my kitchen like she’s been here before, she takes a bowl of cherry tomatoes from the fridge, smiling when she catches me staring. She asks, “What’s going on?”
What is going on with me? I know, but do I want to address it? I might go crazy if I sit with my anxiety for one more minute. “What are we?”
Setting the bowl down, she starts halving the tomatoes. “We’re Chloe and Joshua.”
“True.” It’s not the answer I was looking for, but it’s the one that most likely fits. It’s also the one I need to be okay with for the time being. “Do you want cheese in your omelet?”
“Yes, please.”
I retrieve cheddar but stop to watch her knife skills. “You’re pretty good.”
“The curse of a doctor. I’m great at carving a turkey, too.”
“I should have you over for Thanksgiving.”
She laughs. “You should.” But the lightness that was finally returning is replaced by a dark cloud that’s blown in. Her sigh comes soft as she continues cutting.
“I spoke before thinking—” We’re on such shaky ground. One night together doesn’t erase six years of heartache and pain. I’m trying to live in the moment, but everything is tenuous and scaring the shit out of me.
Her hand stops, and she looks at me. “No, it’s okay . . .” With the knife on the board, she angles toward me. “Joshua,” she starts, but then tugs on her lower lip. “Please know that when I apologized, I meant it then, and I mean it now. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I know they’re only words, but if you tell me how to fix it, how to fix this fucked-up situation, I will. I’ll do anything to make this better since I can’t make it right.”
“You can’t fix it.” I temper my tone for her. Her remorse makes things worse. But anyone else would have received my wrath for daring to mention my punishment. “I served the time.”
“I’m sorry. From the core of my soul, I’m so sorry, Joshua.”
Her distress isn’t just heard in the words but felt in her touch. We were collateral damage to the decisions of her dad. I’m not sure how I forgive her father, but it would be easier if I could lay fault somewhere else. It feels possible, but it would help put things to rest.
The thoughts I had in the middle of the night come back. Can we find our way back to each other?
It’s time to lift this burden from our shoulders and look forward instead of back.
She begins to cut the tomatoes, and I can tell it’s a distraction from the pain. This time, I still her hands, tenting mine over hers, and take a breath. Our words have repercussions, so I can’t fuck this up. “I want you to know something.”
She looks up at me and gives the minutest of nods.
Pulling my hands back, I want to caress her face, kiss and make everything better, but this can’t be fixed like that. “Last night you accused me of something I didn’t do.”
Shame tugs the corners of her eyes down. “I’m so—”
“I want you to know that I did the time that your dad sentenced me to. I was punished for loving you.” Her cries are silent, but the tears fall. I pull her into my arms and hold her. “We don’t get do-overs. And if we did, I wouldn’t erase anything because loving you then was the best thing I ever did.”
Sobs wrack her shoulders as she clings to me with her face buried down against my chest. “I don’t deserve you.”
Rubbing her back, I try to comfort her, not because this is about her, but because she served her own sentence. She may have been walking around free, but I wouldn’t wish the guilt she carried on my enemy. “It’s not about deserving, Chloe. It’s about knowing.”
She wipes her tears on the sweatshirt and looks up again. “Knowing what?”
“That I can’t play cool with you. Believe it or not, I never had revenge scenarios when it came to you. So being with you again is sort of the opposite. A dream come true.” I run my hand through my hair, my nerves making my hands unsteady. “But I’m sure I’m fucking it up by coming on too strong too soon.” I’ve never been so nervous in my entire life, not before the judge—not ever.
“No, you’re not. We were probably fooling ourselves thinking we could treat this casually. I can’t.”
I smirk. “Then we’re even.”
“We’re even.”
Wiping away her tears with the backs of my fingers, I say, “So everything is out in the open, I was going to tell you that what you accused me of last night never happened.” Her eyes are glassy and filled with curiosity. “From the day we met, I have never eaten a grilled cheese sandwich with anyone but you.”
Hitting my chest, she looks away, determined not to laugh. She can’t resist, though. “You scared me. I thought you were going to say . . .”
I take hold of her hips and swivel them my way. “What’d you think I was going to say?”
The laughter trails off, but the happiness remains. “I thought you were going to tell me we shouldn’t be together.”
I take advantage of the situation and kiss her again. “I could never say that.”
46
Chloe
I thought our bubble was smaller, but between the hospital, the restaurant, and our apartments, my place is the outlier. I would have been fine taking the subway, but Joshua insisted on a car—together. Guess it saved me a walk of shame despite still wearing his sweatshirt over my outfit.
We talked. Granted, there was still a lot to be said, but this morning felt like a breakthrough of sorts. I’m not sure where we go from here, but knowing that we can talk openly and honestly makes me think that the journey is possible.
Sitting in traffic, I pull the shirt away from my chest, and say, “I’ll wash it and get it back to you.”
Sometimes when he looks at me, I see an emotion that teeters between entertained and grateful. This morning, I get a flash of hope in there as well. It looks good on him. “You can keep it.”
“You can’t give it away before you have a chance to wear it.”
He spreads his legs a little wider to accommodate his size in the cramped back seat of the car. “I never planned to.”
There are so many undiscovered sides to this man that I don’t think I’ll ever not be utterly fascinated by him. “I don’t understand.”
Since we’ll be here a while, he seems to settle into sharing a story by relaxing back, still holding my thigh. “When I worked at the diner, kids used to come in wearing their Yale shirts and sweatshirts, the logoed stuff. The expensive shirts I could never afford. I mean, eighty bucks for a sweatshirt is fucking insane.” I know what he means now, but I didn’t understand then, when money wasn’t something I thought twice about. Now, I relate. I wouldn’t be able to justify it now on my salary. Things were different back then, though.
I pluck the front for levity. “Yet here we are.” I appreciate the chuckle he sends. I may not be the funniest person around, but he’s a great ego booster. I joke about his ego, but Joshua has always been good for mine. I tickle the back of his neck with my nails, and he continues that smile.
“I bought it because I couldn’t back then.” Shaking his head as if he’s embarrassed to admit that, he looks at me. “You should keep it. You earned it.”
This must be so hard for him. I can’t imagine. “You earned yours, Joshua. You were only a few credits from finishing when . . .” I clamp my mouth shut before I say too much and upset him. I don’t want to be that person to him. If that means finding contentment with the peace, I’ll do that and never bring it up again.
The car finally starts moving again, and he replies, “I broke their
code of conduct. My father even called. Despite being legacy, the board wouldn’t allow me back.” His hand tightens on my leg just enough for me to notice but not enough to do any harm. The stress flows between us on the delicate subject. He continues somberly, “Yale was his redemption for the biggest mistake he ever made. It’s funny that once that dream of me getting my degree died for him, I might as well have, too.”
I rest my head on his shoulder, and his arm comes around me to hold me there. Even though he’s trying to hide it, I can feel pieces of his pain. “I’d like to say I don’t know how a father could be so cruel, but I can’t.”
“I’m sorry you can’t.” The comment isn’t said in malice, but I guess it’s something else that bonds us. The car pulls in front of my building, and we get out. Joshua spends a few seconds checking out the neighborhood and then my building. “It’s safe enough.” I shrug and walk to the door to punch in the code. Holding the door open, I say, “Come on in.”
He walks with purpose, taking the door from me. “‘It’s safe enough’ isn’t reassuring.”
We start up the stairs to the second floor. “I’m in my residency. I don’t make much to offset living in the city. This building isn’t cute like the one I had in New Haven, but it’s affordable. I’m paying my dues, but come June first, I’m done.”
“You finish in two weeks?”
Holding the handrail, I glance back when I detect a note of panic. “Yes.”
“What will you do? Where will you go?” We walk the rest of the way and arrive at my door.
I pull the key from my purse. After twisting it in the lock, I use my hip to bump the door open. “Sometimes, it sticks.”
Walking inside, I continue the conversation, “I’ve put my interest in for a position at City Medical, but I haven’t heard back.”
“What’s your backup plan?” He enters the apartment, reminding me of that first time back in college.
I shut the door and lean against it. He’s big in my apartment, taking up more space than I can afford with my couch and treadmill in here. “I don’t have one.”
His head whips around, his eyes wide. “What do you mean? You always have a plan. A to Z.”
“Not this time.” Spying the couch, I shuffle the pillow and blanket down to one end.
“Interesting.” He eyes the pile I leave behind and then the treadmill. “This is the same couch you had.”
“Yes, same everything. It all came from New Haven with me. It was in storage while I was in medical school. I wish Ruby still lived next door, but she lives uptown.”
“She’s doing well?”
“Well all around.” Tired of talking in the darkened room, I tuck the blackout curtain panels behind their hooks to let some sunlight in. Smiling, I bend down and rub my finger along the edge of the pots. “Did you guys miss me?”
It’s not until I do it that I remember I’m not alone. It’s not that care that I sound like a crazy plant lady. It’s that I remembered who it is behind me too late, and my heart rate spikes as my panic sets in.
Joshua.
With my back still to him, I stand upright in silence and try to make him out in the reflection of the window to no avail. When the quiet between us stretches, I finally steel myself and turn around. “Is that Dwayne Evans?”
“Who, that?” What am I doing? I’m scrambling, that’s what. Please don’t let him take him from me. I take a step back, each of my hands protectively covering a portion of the pot. “That’s Hemsworth and Frankie. You remember Frankie.” Yes, play it off. He’s eating it up, none the wiser.
“Yes, I remember Frankie. I can’t believe she’s alive.”
“Pfft.” I scoff in offense. “Of course, she’s alive. I’ve spent years giving her the good life. She and Hemsworth.” Guilt starts to fill me up.
He tilts his head to the side to see around me. I shift not so casually to protect my babies. “Who’s Hemsworth?” Damn his persistence.
There’s no use. I can’t lie. Not to him. I once made him a promise. Anyway, he’d recognize his damn plant anywhere. “Technically, Hemsworth is Dwayne Evans.” I turn around and carefully pick him up. As if I’m presenting Simba to the pride, I hold his bonsai in the air.
Unexpectedly, Joshua plops down on the couch. “I think I need to sit down.”
The ceramic pot is heavy, so I lower my arms. And since my dramatic interpretation didn’t win any awards, I set the pot on the coffee table in front of him. “He probably missed you.”
He smiles and tugs the pot closer, leaning in to give him a once-over. “He looks a little sad.”
Defensively, I pull the pot across the table, closer to where I’m sitting. “He’s not sad. He’s happy. He loves it here with Frankie and me. He gets long soaks in the sink, and sometimes, I bring them into the bathroom when I shower so they absorb the moisture. I mean, you should have seen the condition he was in at one stage. I never judged because we were all a mess back then—”
“Why do you call Dwayne Evans Hemsworth? Not that I’m knocking Chris Hemsworth or anything. The dude isn’t The Rock, but there are worse Hemsworths to be call—”
“He’s named after Liam Hemsworth, not Chris.”
His chin jerks back as he stares at the tree. “Well, no wonder he’s sad. I’d be sad too if I were named after second best.”
“Liam Hemsworth is a great actor,” I say, nodding my head like a maniac. “And very handsome.”
Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he takes a deep breath and then slowly exhales. He reaches forward and takes the pot in hand. “I’m going to forget that Dwayne Evans was ever renamed because I’m assuming you have your reasons—”
“I do,” I reply pointedly, crossing my arms over my chest as if this man didn’t already hold so much of my heart in his hands. Joshua sits back with Hems—Dwayne Evans—wrapped in his arms. Not wanting Frankie to feel left out, I go get her and bring her back. Crossing my legs in front of me, I cradle her in my arms. We stare at each other. “Do you want to share those reasons?” His voice is calm, comforting.
My apartment was already my safe space and having him in it doesn’t change that. It makes it feel better, in fact. Homier, like it was missing him as much as me. “I know what he means to you, but his name hurt to say, so one day, when I was tired of feeling so much pain, so much loss of you in my life, I decided I would change it for my own well-being. My therapist agreed.”
His hand comes to rest across my ankles, and he says, “I’m sorry for hurting you. And I’m sorry you were caught in the crossfire.”
“I wasn’t caught. I was the reason for the battle, Joshua.” I dip a foot to the floor and set the pot down. Scooting across the middle cushion dividing us, I take the pot from Joshua and set him next to Frankie. Then I climb onto his lap and wrap my arms around his neck.
“There should have never been a war.”
I stare into the clear amber of my future. “But we survived. You and I outlasted them all.” I kiss him and that leads to him carrying me into the bedroom.
As our bodies tangle, the layers fall away, allowing the seed we planted years earlier to bloom again. This isn’t sex. It never was with him. Our bodies are slick with sweat, creating love with every kiss, touch, and thrust.
47
Chloe
The late afternoon sun shines in the living room, but the bedroom remains dark with the curtains closed. I’ve drawn a million figure eights on his chest, through the hair he allows to grow naturally, over the ebb and flow of his stomach muscles, not wanting to fall asleep. Instead, I want to enjoy every minute I have with him before we have to leave for work.
In the peaceful aftermath of losing ourselves in each other again, he asks, “Do you sleep on the couch?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
The truth is the only path forward with him. “It wasn’t only your bonsai’s name that I struggled with. The bed . . . this bed . . . when I pulled it out of storage, I used to lay here just to feel yo
u next to me again.” I angle up to see his face, his reaction from my words, “I could still feel you next to me, but when I’d open my eyes, the bed was empty. I was empty.” Everything about me felt empty in those moments.
Stroking my hair, he whispers, “At night in jail, I didn’t know if the visions I’d had of you were real. They were so real I could feel the heat of your skin under my fingers. I couldn’t tell if they were dreams to comfort me or nightmares to haunt me.” He rolls his head to the side, his gaze finding me in the dark. “Seems we suffered the same.”
“Even.”
“Even.” Taking my hand, he kisses my palm and then my fingertips. “I’ll never take something so simple for granted ever again.”
“My hand?”
His smile arrives with hesitation, giving away more than he appears to want me to know. For all that makes him tough on the exterior, there’s still a boyish charm on the inside.
His incredible eyes leave me momentarily while he thinks of what he wants to share, or maybe admit fits better. “The first time I saw you, I liked your face and your bonsai.” As usual, he hits me with honesty. “But then at the diner, it was your hands.”
“So it’s been an ongoing love affair with my hands?” I hold the free one up to analyze it.
A chuckle rumbles the mattress, and then he shrugs. “You have very elegant hands.”
“Is this a sexual fetish I need to know about?” I twist my mouth to the side, but I can’t suppress my grin.
“Now that I think of it . . .” He rolls his eyes. “No, seriously. There’s a gracefulness in how you use them. Steady like a doctor’s.”
He’s speaking my love language, and I don’t want him to stop. He continues, “Caring in their touch.” I run my fingers through his hair again, scraping my nails lightly against his scalp. His eyes dip closed as pleasure takes over. He kisses my shoulder, and the feel of his lips on me sends a spark of electricity through my body.
