by RH Tucker
Staring past me, his face turns somber as he remembers. “We … It was a long time.”
I don’t want to push him, but I don’t want to end this channel he’s opened to me. He doesn’t give me the opportunity though, unleashing a new smile that tells me he’s done talking about it.
“Do you work today?” he asks.
“Nope.” I return his grin, deciding to go with it. “I’m hungry. Want something to eat?”
Leaning closer, he places light kisses along my jaw. “Is that a trick question?”
I sit up, pushing his chest. “I meant breakfast. I could whip something up really quick.”
“You don’t have to.”
“It’s what I do.” I smile.
He follows me into the kitchen, but I don’t pay attention to him. Finding my rhythm around the room, I feel at ease, and like everything is right in the world. It’s how I always feel when I’m cooking. In the kitchen, I’m free.
“You look like you’re dancing,” he says with a light chuckle. “You really love cooking, huh?”
“It’s my passion. You’re not passionate about training?”
“Passionate? No. I mean, I like it, but it just helps to take my mind off of stuff.”
Glancing over my shoulder, I see he sits on the counter in his jeans, no shirt, his palms pressed into the counter, emphasizing his already broad shoulders and chest. Giving me a crooked smile, his eyes float past mine and down at the pan I’m cooking in.
“You’re making me a pancake?”
“No, it’s a crepe.”
“Hm.”
“Please don’t tell me you’ve never had a crepe.”
“I don’t even know what that is. What happened to the classic bacon and eggs?”
“Eggs are disgusting.”
He laughs. “All right then.”
I finish whisking the mixture and grab some blueberries out of the fridge. The crepe cooks fast, and I slide it out of the pan, grabbing the blueberries and some cinnamon and powdered sugar, finishing the plate off. Taking a fork, I walk over to him, standing between his legs.
“I thought you were making breakfast. That looks like dessert.”
“You know what?” I point the fork at him. “I’m the one cooking for you, so you shouldn’t be complaining as much as you are.”
“I just know what I like. I’m a creature of habit.”
I cut the crepe with the fork, lifting it slowly to his mouth. He smiles, his eyes never breaking away from mine. His tongue runs across his bottom lip before opening up to the fork.
It’s always a nervous feeling that runs through me when someone I want to impress tastes something I’ve cooked. Give me a dining room full of customers, no problem. I know I cook well, and couldn’t care less because I know my food is spot on. When I cook something new for my sister, I feel the pins and needles prickling my skin, waiting to see what she says. I feel the same with Taylor. He takes the bite, chewing while his eyes stay on mine.
“What do you think?” I ask, unable to hide the shy tone.
He nods. “Tastes like you.” I pause, lifting an eyebrow. Taking the fork from me, he cuts another piece, taking a bite before licking it. “Delicious.” I feel my face heat up as he cuts into the crepe again, this time offering me the bite. “And I don’t know that anything’s ever been as big of a turn on as this.”
“Is that right?” a voice sounds behind me.
My eyes roll at the voice of Felicia. “I thought you left for work already.”
“Patty called and asked me to switch with her. I’m on my way to visit Mom. Hello again, asshole.”
“Hey.” I spin around, staring at her, surprising myself at how defensive I am over Taylor and how soon, too.
“What? He called himself that the first time I met him.”
“Still, his name’s Taylor.”
“I prefer asshole. Anyway,” she waves me off, heading to the fridge and grabbing a bottle of juice, “I’m headed out.” She waits by the kitchen door, her eyes bouncing back and forth, between Taylor and I. “Sash, can we talk for a minute?”
Even though I follow her out of the kitchen, I roll my eyes because I know exactly what she’s going to say.
“What the hell?” she hisses.
“Before you say anything else, we talked, okay?” I whisper back, glancing behind the closed kitchen door.
“When? In between sessions last night? Sasha, this isn’t a good idea. You told me yourself, he has issues.”
“I know.” I clench my fists, lowering my voice. “I know, okay? I know that. But yesterday we talked a little more. And this morning … Felicia, I don’t know. I like him, okay? And yeah, he might have a hang up, but it’s not an ex-girlfriend that he’s pining over. It’s—” I stop talking, glancing over my shoulder. I don’t want to tell anyone without Taylor saying it’s okay.
“It’s what?” she whispers back, more threatening than curious.
“It’s personal.”
“Of course it is.” She puts a perfectly manicured finger in my face. “It’s always personal for guys. And you’re always the one left holding the baggage. Sasha, I don’t want that for you. Not again.”
“I can help him, though.”
“How? By boning it out of him?”
Placing my hands on my hips, I scowl. “That’s rude.”
“Sasha, if he’s got as big of problems as you’re insinuating, he needs a shrink.”
“If you’re just gonna chastise me, I’m done talking about this.”
“Fine,” she hisses, walking toward the door. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you though.”
“Yes, yes,” I call back, louder than I mean to. “You know best, right? Say hi to Mom for me. Oh wait, you’re standing right there.”
“Bitch.”
“Takes one to know one.”
She slams the front door of our apartment shut, and I head back into the kitchen, still fuming. Taylor’s eyes find me, a curious grin on his face, as he leans against the counter. “Everything okay? I caught the bitch line, and definitely heard the door slamming.”
“Yeah, it’s fine.” I wave him off, walking over to him. “Sorry about that.”
“It’s fine. I did call myself that.” Taking the last bite of the crepe, he sets the plate down and opens his arms to me. It’s a subtle move that I’m not expecting but warms me, and I wrap my arms around him. “I kind of liked how you defended me.”
When I shrug, trying to play it off, my favorite V-neck T-shirt slips off my shoulder. “I was just being polite. You are a guest after all.”
He moves closer to my ear. “In that case, I’m still hungry.”
I look up at him, our faces only an inch apart. “I can cook some more.”
“Actually, I’m craving something else now.”
Chapter 18
Taylor
Micah drops an envelope on the coffee table in front of me, next to my biology textbook.
Other than the casual head nods, we haven’t spoken. When he’s home, I step out, either by telling him I’m helping set things up at Precision—which I’m not since Calvin is still waiting for machines to come in—or I say I’m going out with the guys. I do go out, but I just spend the night at Sasha’s.
“What’s that?” I point to the envelope.
“Next month’s rent.”
He’s never late, always giving me his share on the first, but with the end of the month still a couple days away, I look over at him, confused.
“I’m moving out, Taylor,” he says. I stare up at him and blink. “I’m gonna move back home and probably quit the gym soon. With you gone, it’s kind of lame there now.”
He chuckles, no doubt trying to lighten the situation, but I don’t crack a smile.
“For real? Nothing? I can’t do this.” His humor vanishes, and his eyes lock on mine. “You’ve said it yourself, you’re like my brother.”
“Damn it, Micah. I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have hit you.”
“This is
n’t even about that. Yeah, it sucked, and hurt,” he rubs his now healed lip, “but that’s kind of on me, too. I crossed the line. I should’ve never told Sasha that stuff. That’s not my secret to tell. Regardless, this isn’t about that. This is about you, man. I can’t do this.”
My brow furrows, even more confused. “What are you talking about?”
“I thought that first year after high school you’d get over it. I don’t mean any disrespect, I know Reese died, and that’s not what I mean. But you can’t keep doing this. Going out, hooking up with a different girl every night. It’s not healthy. And I thought I could help in just … I don’t know … pointing you in the right direction.”
“Screw you,” I yell, getting to my feet. “I don’t need or want some kind of guidance counselor. You’re supposed to be my friend, not a life coach.”
“This is what I’m talking about.” He raises his voice to match mine. “When I say I want to help, you bite my head off. You’ve helped me on more than one occasion. That’s what friends do. But you don’t want help, do you? You want to do your thing, work out, hookup, and try to bury your memories. But for how long, Taylor? You can’t live your entire life like that.”
Reaching down, I grab the envelope and shove it back to him. “I’ve done fine so far. Take your damn money, I don’t want any handouts. If you want to leave, leave.”
“Taylor, come on, man. I saw Ethan, and he told me Precision might not be open for another month. You don’t even have any clients. I’d stay if I thought it might help, but it’s not going to, is it? You’re just going to continue this self-destructive behavior. You’re like a brother, and I’m not gonna sit around watching you do it. I can’t force you to do anything, but I don’t have to sit by and watch it happen either.”
I could tell him I put up a flyer on campus for anyone looking for a personal trainer. I could say to him I haven’t been with other girls, that I’ve only been with Sasha. Speaking of, I could even tell him I haven’t been with another girl since that first time Sasha and I hooked up after the club. All of that would be honest, and probably make it sound like I am getting my life on course and moving past the incidents that started me along this path all those years ago. But I don’t say any of that to him.
“Just get the hell out of here, Micah. You can’t stand by and watch it happen to me? Thanks a lot, bro. And for the record, nothing’s happening to me that I don’t want to happen.”
“Right,” he scoffs. “Because you want to alienate yourself from friends and family, drowning your emotions in meaningless hookups rather than find someone you could trust and love like you did with Reese.”
Clenching my jaw, I step to him, putting a finger in his face. “Don’t you dare say her name again. Take your money and get the hell out of here. I don’t need your help. I don’t need anyone’s help.”
“Fine, whatever.” He shakes his head and turns to leave. “You may think you’re okay, but you’re not. My room’s empty, other than the dresser and desk that was already here. You think you’re okay? You can tell yourself that all you want, but I bet you didn’t even realize Veronica’s brothers were here these last few days helping me move. But you’re fine, right?”
I want to yell and scream at him, but I don’t. Watching him walk out of the apartment, I reach for my phone and send Sasha a text message.
Me: Hey, u busy tonight?
Sasha: I work, but I can see if I can have Ian cover the last part of my shift if we aren’t busy.
Me: Cool. Let me know when you’re off, and I’ll come over.
Sasha: Sounds good.
For some reason, she usually wakes up before me.
After I came over, she said she felt gross after cooking and wanted to take a shower. I offered to join, and she probably would’ve taken me up on the offer, but just then her sister walked out of her bedroom. They each exchanged a look, then Felicia went to the kitchen, and Sasha asked if I could wait for her in her room. Whatever their argument was about, it seems like it’s still simmering, so I agreed.
I just wanted to get lost last night—it’s the reason I immediately reached for my phone and shot her a text message—but as soon as she responded, a sense of relief fell over me. I thought it was because I could forget the rest of the night, but as the night went on, I realized it wasn’t. Because after her shower, and we did what I wanted in hopes of blocking out my thoughts, feelings, and memories, guilt set in. I can’t keep doing this to her. And I can’t keep doing this to myself.
She’s sleeping close, and there’s a soft glow from the sunrise peeking through her curtains. Like I said, she usually wakes up before me, but watching her sleep, I’m wondering if she ever thinks what I’m thinking now? If she does, then I’m an absolute piece of garbage.
Because I think she’s amazing. Her hair falls over her face, and she looks almost angelic. Her soft, unmasked by lipstick, light pink lips make me move closer to her. I reach up, lightly sliding my thumb over her lips, then caress her cheek. She’s strong and determined, and for some reason, she hasn’t given up on me. All of that makes me feel like scum because I don’t know how to be what she wants. What I think I want. I’m just here, unable, unwilling, and scared out of my mind that if I cross a line I’ve decided never to cross again, I’ll lose everything.
But I’m still here. I keep coming back to her. And I don’t know how to stop that either.
“Hey.” She smiles, letting out a small yawn, and reaches up, holding my hand to her face.
I smile back. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“It’s okay,” she replies, snuggling closer. “You want some breakfast?”
“No, thanks.” Staring up at the ceiling, my fingers aimlessly run along her shoulder.
Leaning up, she kisses my chin. “You okay?” I don’t answer. “Taylor?”
“I’m fine,” I say, kissing her forehead.
Laying her head down across my chest, I know she doesn’t believe me. Her nails lightly scratch my skin. “The rain makes mud, but it also washes it away.”
Moving to look at her, she lifts her head and stares back. “What?”
“Just something my mom used to tell Licia and me. Whenever we’d be going through something, she’d tell us that. Kind of like a ‘there’s always a rainbow after the rain’ kind of saying.”
Before I can second guess myself, my words slip out. “Washing things away isn’t forgetting. It’s starting anew.” She lifts her head back up and moves higher, so we’re eye to eye. She doesn’t say anything though. She waits. And even though my insides are telling me to stay quiet, that I don’t need to tell her, I want to. “Something my therapist would tell me.” I stop and look back at her, unsure how my words will sit with her.
She doesn’t flinch. Reaching over, she takes hold of my hand and pulls it closer to her, then shifts closer herself. “When did you see a therapist?”
“A few years ago.” I pause again, nervous, but she’s completely focused on me. “I saw her for almost a year.”
I’m not sure what else to say, so I stop there. It’s frightening and relieving at the same time.
“Did it help you?”
I shrug. “Maybe.” A new pang of fear hits me, and I look over at her. “Don’t tell anyone, okay?”
Drawing closer, she brings her hand to my cheek, holding my face. “I won’t. Whatever you need, whatever you do or don’t want to tell me, I’m here. All right?”
A soft smile crosses my lips. Pulling her closer, I know she’s telling me the truth. And I trust her in a way I haven’t trusted anyone in years. I should have warm feelings because of that, but I still feel scared. I’m still unsure that I’m doing the right thing even being with her right now. Whether it’s wrong or right, though, that feeling of trust doubles down. It makes me want to be with her, even if I’ll have nightmares forever.
Chapter 19
Sasha
“Order,” Manny calls out.
A waiter comes over to the p
ickup window and takes the plate while I put my pans in the sink.
“Going out with your sister and Tara tonight?” Ian asks, scraping his grill.
A small smirk crosses my lips, one I can’t hold back. “No. Just hanging out with Taylor.”
“Oh,” he replies. His tone is almost unsure, and it makes me look back at him. He shrugs. “So, it’s not just a casual thing.” I give him a confused look because I haven’t really talked much to him about Taylor. “Sorry, that’s what Rita told me.”
I scoff. “She would.” Drying my hands, I think over his questions. “It’s not casual. It’s … I don’t know. It just is.” I know it doesn’t make much sense, but it’s the best answer I have for him. He nods, but his expression tells me he wants to say more.
“Well, I hope he knows how awesome you are.”
He gives me a smile, but it’s not a playful one. It almost looks like he’s blushing. I decide to make it a joke. “Oh, he knows. Everyone knows I’m amazing, Ian. You know that.”
He laughs. “I do know that.”
Again, he still doesn’t look like it’s one big joke. A quietness drifts between us, just the muffled sounds from the dining room, and the grill crackling in the air. He’s always been nice, and we’ve gone out a couple of times, but only as a group with Manny and Rita, as a work thing. This feels different. Before I can respond, he clears his throat and turns his attention back to the grill.
“Get out of here,” he says. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Yeah … okay.” I stare back at him a moment longer, but he doesn’t turn back. Manny glances over his shoulder, setting up a new plate to be handed out, and nods to me. I turn around, heading to the locker room to change out of my greasy work clothes.
Walking out to the parking lot, I pull out my phone to text Taylor that I’m off when I look up and see him leaning over my car.
“What’s up, sexy?” he calls out, flashing a grin.
“Hey, what are you doing here already?” I ask, walking over to him.
