by K. Ryan
"Well," Skyler started easily as she leaned back in her chair. "Late night, huh?"
"I just had some trouble sleeping," I sighed.
I didn't need Skyler assuming I was hungover or something, but figured I knew the woman well enough to know she wasn't going to accept that as a sufficient answer.
"Yeah, looks like it," Skyler huffed. "Look, we've got a full schedule today and I'm gonna need you at as close to 100 percent as you can get, alright?"
I nodded and set my purse down in its usual spot, which held the product of my near-sleepless night, readying myself for work. When Skyler first hired me, the plan was for me to eventually handle office duties on my own, without Skyler's ever-watchful eyes, so she could free up some time to help her friend Celeste Bacall over at The Oval Office, the club's other sort of legit enterprise.
So far, Skyler had already left me alone for hours at a time, but never opening and closing and I got the feeling that everything, including today, was just one giant test.
I guess I'd better not fail today.
"Well," Skyler continued, gesturing to the garage window as she spoke. "If it makes you feel any better, Isabelle, it looks like Caleb is in the same boat as you today."
My head shot up at the mention of Caleb and my eyes found him out in the garage, clad in his blue Sawyer Auto Repair work shirt, and looking just as bleary-eyed and dead on his feet as I felt.
When he caught my gaze, he grinned sheepishly and waved. My heart leapt up into my throat at the simple gesture and I needed a moment to regain my bearings. It wasn't until I turned back towards my desk that I realized Skyler had observed the exchange with careful, if not slightly suspicious, curiosity.
I jumped on the stack of invoices on my desk and not on the fact that Skyler's eyes were still following me. The invoices, which my boss had so lovingly placed on my desk before my arrival, would definitely keep me busy until my lunch break.
Respite finally came when Skyler, satisfied with my performance, shooed me out of the office. As I shuffled towards outside, Caleb was already waiting for me at our picnic table and a flush of heat rushed to my cheeks.
This was so stupid. This anxiousness and nervousness...
This was just Caleb. He wasn't going to laugh at me or make fun of me, though up until recently, I wouldn't have put it past him. All I needed to do was woman up and pull the sketch out of my purse. It was the least I could do considering everything he'd done for me last night.
Simple as that.
Sure.
Caleb's head turned at the sound of my footsteps and an easy grin tugged across his face.
"Yo, Iz!" he called over to me with a wave. "Get your ass over here. I'm starvin'!"
"What?" I laughed as I swung my leg over the bench. "You think I brought you lunch or something? I'm not your mother, you know."
"And thank God for that," Caleb muttered under his breath.
"That's not very nice," I chided and wagged a finger at him. "Can you imagine what Skyler would do if she heard you say something like that? I think she'd have your balls in a vice faster than I could say hand over my Mountain Dew."
Caleb's shoulders shook with laughter and he shook his head, his fingers shooting down to the paper bag on the picnic table. In two seconds flat, his turkey sandwich was out of the plastic wrap and en route to his hungry mouth.
"Wow," I murmured, eyebrows raised. "You know you didn't have to wait for me, right? I'm pretty sure I would've gotten over it."
"Nah," he replied between bites with a shrug. "You know I can't eat without ya."
I huffed playfully. "God, what was I thinking last night making that present for you? I must have been out of my mind."
Caleb's eyes widened, mouth still full of turkey sandwich. "You made me a present?"
Suddenly, any nervousness or apprehension I felt going into this just slipped away.
Caleb seemed to just make everything easier and I should've known there was nothing to be worried about. He'd solidified his trustworthiness pretty well after last night anyways.
I knew there should be some part of me that was scared by that—the fact that I trusted Caleb Sawyer. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized it was one of the few things in my life I was absolutely certain of. I trusted him with my life. So why was I sitting here worrying I couldn't trust him with this?
Throwing all my remaining caution to the wind, I reached into my bag and handed over the folded piece of paper. "Yeah, ya jerk. I made you a present."
In a flash, the sandwich was left abandoned on the picnic table and he wiped his hands clean on his pants. His fingers nimbly unfolded the paper and it was then, as he stared silently at the sketch I'd made of his bike last night, that the nervousness swept back over me.
"I, um, I just wanted to thank you for last night. You really didn't have to do what you did and I know you said you wanted a sketch of your bike so..."
I didn't know what else to say and it definitely didn't help that he was just staring obsessively at the sketch in his hands.
"So, um," I tried again with the little courage I had left. "What do you think?"
Caleb's head shot up at my words, his brow creased in confusion. "What do I think? Iz, this is amazing. I wish I'd paid attention more in English class because I have no idea how to describe how cool this is."
"Oh," I bit my lip shyly. Another wave of heat rushed to my cheeks, but this time is wasn't from worry or embarrassment.
"I mean," he went on, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "You got everything about her perfect. Every line. Every curve. Just beautiful, Iz. She's beautiful."
With the way he was looking at me now, I sucked in a deep breath, a surge of...something rushing through me.
It was like he could see everything about me. Everything that I'd never really tried to show anyone else and here it all was, on a piece of paper in his hand. He just got it. He got all of it and he understood that it was just something I had to do. Not having to explain away every single thing to him or make any excuses for how I spent my time just felt so good.
"You know where this is goin'?" he was asking me now and he didn't give me a chance to answer. "Right next to my pillow, so I can see it when I roll my lazy ass out of bed every morning."
I laughed, chewing on the inside of my cheek to keep from showing too much emotion. I didn't really know how to describe what I was feeling right now either and I'd been the one actually paying attention in English class. These new emotions, just coiling around, wouldn't settle. They pulled and turned and bellyflopped all the way down to my stomach.
"I'm glad you like it. I had to basically do it from memory, so if I got anything a little off—"
"No," Caleb cut in. "It's perfect, Iz. You got everything exactly right. I told you already. It's amazing."
"Okay. When you put it like that..."
Caleb just shrugged and carefully folded the sketch back up, setting it gingerly next to his lunch bag. "You know, have you ever thought about going to some kind of art school or somethin'? I think those people would be kickin' down your door to get you to go to their school. Give you a scholarship or some shit like that."
"I don't know about that," I shifted a little in my seat. "I mean, that whole starving artist stereotype exists for a reason, you know? Besides, even if I could get into a school like that, what are the odds I'd actually be able to make any money off it?"
He shrugged like it was the most natural thing in the world. "I guess you'll never know if you never give it a shot. Maybe you wouldn't make tons of money, but who needs tons of money anyways, right? I guess what I'm trying to say is that whenever I see you sketching, you just look...totally and completely happy and you're sorta in your own little world when you're working. Like that's exactly what you were put on this earth to do and honestly, I think it is. It's not very often that people get a chance to go after something that makes them happy, Iz, and maybe this is your chance. I don't know. Somethin' to think about I guess."
>
No one had ever said anything like that to me before and I didn't know how to even begin sifting through everything he'd just told me. I'd gotten so used to believing I'd never be good enough at anything...hearing the opposite, from him, made tears prick my eyes.
"I think all the really good art schools are in New York or Chicago or something like that anyways," I allowed, especially since art school was never anything I'd even considered a legitimate possibility before.
"Well," Caleb shrugged again. "There's gotta be at least one good school somewhere around here, right?"
I spun my empty Mountain Dew can in my hand and figured it had to be true. It was just going to be a matter of mustering up the courage to research, let alone find the guts to apply. Ever since I'd found out my mom was sick, I'd been searching for something out of reach, something that felt so intangible at the time. And now, for whatever reason, I felt like Caleb had just thrust me on the path to finding out what that something was.
"Maybe I'll look into it."
Even if I still wasn't completely sold on the idea, it was still an idea. A place to start. A potential door to open.
Caleb grinned widely back at me like he'd just won some sort of undeclared battle between us. "That's what I like to hear, Iz. Well, at least I can say I finally have an Isabelle Martin original when you get all filthy rich and famous and forget about all the little people you had to step on to..."
He trailed off when Brandon's truck pulled into the shop's parking lot, rap music blaring from his rolled down windows. While the appropriate reaction to seeing my boyfriend pull up unexpectedly at my work should've been somewhere in between surprise and happiness, I found myself bristling with annoyance instead.
Then a glimmer of guilt popped right up next to it. None of this was really fair to Brandon. He really hadn't done anything wrong and he certainly hadn't done anything to deserve the way I felt towards him right now.
I glanced in Caleb's general direction and almost—almost—smiled when I realized his entire body had coiled, ready to pounce on Brandon at a moment's notice. Caleb's lips curled back into a barely visible sneer and his shoulders rose tensely, like he was waiting for Brandon to make one wrong move. His hands disappeared under the picnic table, probably so I wouldn't see how tightly his fists were clenched.
"Hey, Isabelle!" Brandon's deep voice called out.
When he broke out into a jog towards the picnic table, I kind of had to acknowledge his presence and so I shot him a weak wave and an even weaker smile.
When he reached our table, he bent down and pressed a hard, possessive kiss on my lips. It felt like I'd just been branded, right in front of Caleb, and I had a sinking feeling that was exactly what Brandon wanted to do. I was too shocked, too stunned to even bother looking for Caleb's reaction. I was pretty sure I knew what I would find anyways.
"Hey, Sawyer," Brandon rasped out quickly, barely glancing his way.
When I finally let my eyes find Caleb, I had to clench my teeth together to keep from reacting. It was like the Caleb I had been talking to only a few minutes before had vanished and a hard, impenetrable mask of cocky arrogance slipped into place instead.
"Davis," Caleb replied easily with a smirk and folded his arms across his chest.
"You mind if I have a minute with my girl here?"
Caleb's eyes flicked to me for a moment before leveling his gaze back on Brandon. "For you, Davis, 30 seconds."
He didn't wait for Brandon to reply and instead, swung his legs over the side of the bench and stalked off towards the garage. I watched him just long enough to see him dig into his back pocket for a cigarette. When I turned back to Brandon, he'd already slid in across the table, taking Caleb's place, and my heart lurched violently in my chest.
"Hey, Isabelle, I'm sorry for showing up here like this—"
"I really wish you'd called or something," I cut in abruptly. "If I wasn't already on break, you could've gotten me in a lot of trouble with Skyler."
Whether or not that was actually true, Brandon needed to know I wasn't exactly happy to see him right now.
"Okay, okay," he held his hands out in defense and then glanced over to the garage.
I followed his gaze and nearly jumped in my seat when I realized Caleb was standing at the edge of the garage's entrance, puffing away on a cigarette as he observed us with dark, hollow eyes. A moment later, he flicked the spent cherry to the cement at his feet and disappeared inside the garage.
"Look, Isabelle," Brandon continued quietly. "I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am about last night. I shouldn't have left with the guys. I know I should've stayed with you and I knew I'd really messed up when you didn't answer any of my calls. I just wanna make it up to you, okay?"
My eyes squeezed shut. I hadn't answered any of his calls last night because I'd been too busy taking care of my dad with Caleb to worry about what Brandon was or wasn't doing. Besides, if I had answered, it wasn't like I would've explained where I was and why anyways.
He never would've understood and I had a sneaking suspicion he wouldn't have offered his continued assistance either...unlike Caleb, who hadn't needed an explanation.
He just got it.
But it also wasn't fair to judge Brandon when I wasn't telling him the whole story. I hadn't really given him the chance to prove himself and here I was, comparing him to Caleb, someone he couldn't be more different from.
Another wave of guilt crashed against me and tears pricked at my eyes again. God, I hated feeling like I was always going to cry...
Brandon was trying to apologize for something he didn't do. All he'd wanted to do last night was hang out with his friends and that wasn't a crime. The worst part was, I wasn't even upset that he'd left—if anything, I'd just felt relief when he was gone. And that just made me feel even more like an asshole.
Here he was, trying to fix things between us and I couldn't care less.
I really was an asshole.
"Don't worry about it, Brandon," I replied with renewed determination.
He just shook his head, refusing to accept my indifference. "It wasn't okay for me to just leave you like that. I didn't even think about how you would feel."
A smile tugged at my lips. This was why I'd talked myself into seeing him again in the first place. He really was a good guy who cared about other people and he was trying so hard to make things work between us this time around. Didn't he deserve a little of that in return? I'd barely given him a chance here and now it was my turn to make up the difference, to put a little effort into it.
"I know," I whispered, barely recognizing the sound of my own voice. "I appreciate you coming here just to say that. It really means a lot."
His entire face brightened at that new admission and I couldn't help but feel a stab of guilt.
"So," he started and the hope creeping back into his voice kind of made me want to bang my head into the picnic table. "Does that mean you're gonna let me make it up to you tonight?"
"Depends on what you have in mind," I tossed back, trying to be playful, but it still felt forced.
"Oh, you'll just have to wait and see," he reached across the table to play with my fingers and I smiled at the sweet gesture.
"Okay," I grinned back.
My options were pretty limited here and I felt like I had to at least try to prove to him tonight that I was going to put just as much effort into this relationship as he was. This time around, things could be different. I could be different, if I just gave it a chance.
. . .
Later That Night
What the hell was I thinking?
When Brandon asked to come in, I'd known it was probably a bad idea, but couldn't turn him away after the night he'd planned so meticulously for us. He really had pulled out all the stops to 'make it up to me' and that just made me feel even more guilty.
I was trying. I really was. I wanted him to know this wasn't completely one-sided, or at least, I didn't think it was, and that I wanted to be with hi
m.
I didn't know who I was trying to convince more—Brandon or myself.
The night was just about as perfect as he could've made it: reservations at my favorite restaurant, drinks at my favorite bar, and he'd even brought my favorite flowers when he picked me up. He'd done everything he thought he was supposed to do and yet, I still felt like something was missing.
The guilt followed me all the way up the stairs, when Brandon walked me up to my door and asked if he could come in. I couldn't say no, not after tonight and not after how hard he'd tried to make me happy.
And so I didn't say no when he started to kiss me and when he led me upstairs to my bedroom. I knew it was exactly what he expected and part of me really wanted to make him happy too; the other part of me just shut off completely.
Even when he was on top of me, moving against my body, I could tell he was trying to make it good for me. He was touching me in all the places he remembered, the ones he used to know so well. It felt good for a few moments, but was I wishing it was someone else's hands...someone else's mouth?
And then I just wanted it to be over.
"I'm so glad we're back together," he murmured into my hair. "I've never gotten over you, you know. All that time, all that distance, babe. I've always been thinking of you, wondering where you were, if I'd ever get to see you again."
All I could think about was how I needed to wash my sheets now and how I just wanted him out of my bed. I'm pretty sure those thoughts officially made me the worst person ever.
At least I could play this whole messed up situation with my dad to my advantage now. He'd be calling for a ride soon and there was no way Brandon could be in the house when that happened, if ever.
"Hey, um," I started, shifting away from him on the bed as much as I could without being too obvious about it. "My dad is going to be home soon and I know how much this sounds like old times, but..."
That was really all I'd needed to say and Brandon leapt off the bed, throwing his clothes back on with lightning speed. I almost wanted to laugh—how many years later and Brandon was still scared shitless of my dad, not like there was much left to be afraid of anyways. He was usually too drunk or hungover to bother with anything going on in my life, let alone care I'd gotten back together with the boy he'd once referred to as 'an idiot who would go nowhere'.
