Only the Positive (Only You Book 1)

by Elle Thorpe

  I pulled myself out of the memory and scanned the bar. If he was here, that’s where he’d be, not reminiscing like I was. I couldn’t see the far end of the room with the amount of people in the way, so I pushed through, my heart thumping quicker every time I noticed a tall, dark-haired guy who even remotely resembled Low. I pulled up short when I hit the opposite wall. No Low.

  “Reese?” The familiar voice came from behind me and when I turned around, Jamison was sitting by himself at the end of the bar, nursing a tumbler full of dark liquid.

  “Oh, hey, Jam.”

  His eyes were as glassy as the bridesmaids’ had been.

  “Come sit?” He patted the empty barstool beside him.

  I scanned the room once more, but nothing had changed. Low wasn’t here. A wave of exhaustion rolled through me and combined with the stress and anger of the last few hours, an empty seat and a glass of wine suddenly seemed like a great idea.

  I slid onto the barstool and asked the bartender for a drink before I turned to Jamison. I wanted to ask him what he was doing here, but he beat me to it with questions of his own.

  “So you didn’t find him, then?”

  I shook my head. “I’ve checked his place, and I just broke into the stables at work because I thought he’d be there for sure. But nope.”

  Jamison shook his head and let out a low whistle. “Shit. He got bad news at the doctors today, didn’t he?”

  I froze. “He told you about that?”

  Jamison nodded, and I let out a long breath. Not having the sole responsibility of knowledge made all of this a little easier to bear.

  “Any other ideas where he might be?”

  Jamison brought his glass to his lips and swallowed before he answered. “He runs when he’s stressed. But I don’t know that he’d go any place in particular.”

  My shoulders slumped, and I twisted the stem on my wine glass, watching as the pale yellow liquid sloshed around. “I’m all out of ideas. This was my last resort.” I sighed. “What are you doing here tonight, anyway? Did you come alone?”

  He nodded. “I had a really shitty day.”

  “Bet you can’t top mine. Low broke up with me via text message.”

  “I walked in on Bree and some guy having sex in her apartment.”

  My eyes grew wide. “Holy shit. What did you do?”

  “Turned around, walked out, and came here.”

  I tucked my arm beneath his and hugged it to me briefly, since I couldn’t give him a proper hug while we were sitting next to each other. “You’re so calm. I probably would have punched the guy in the face.” I didn’t voice that I’d also like to punch Bree. That callous bitch. Jamison was one of the sweetest guys I’d ever met. He didn’t deserve this.

  He laughed and held his drink up a little. “These help.”

  My heart went out to him. The pain in his eyes made me wince and even though I could tell he was putting on a brave front, he’d obviously had his heart smashed to pieces.

  The bartender came back and we both ordered another drink, pushing cash across the bar into his waiting hands.

  “Well, we’re quite the pair tonight, aren’t we? Low broke up with you in a text message? I think you win the shitty day contest.”

  I shook my head. “No way, you’re being generous. You walked in on your Mrs. cheating. That’s worse than a text message breakup, no doubt. Plus, we’ve only been together a few weeks…” I shrugged, but tears pricked at my eyes and I blinked furiously for a moment to keep them in check.

  “Doesn’t hurt any less, though, huh?”

  Tears under control, I glanced up at him. “No, it doesn’t. I thought… I know it sounds lame, but I thought this was something special.”

  “Then fight for it.”

  “Oh, I intend to. But that’s easier said than done when I can’t find him and he won’t answer his phone.”

  “So you’re stuck here drinking with me, huh?”

  “I’d rather drink with you than drink alone.”

  “Cheers to that.” Jamison held up his glass and I clinked mine together with his. “Here’s to shitty days and drinking to forget about them.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” I murmured before downing the rest of my glass.

  28

  Reese

  The first thought I had when my mind switched out from the darkness of alcohol induced slumber was, where’s my phone? I cracked an eye open but closed it when pain sliced through the swirling fog in my head.

  I reached an arm across the bed and breathed a sigh of relief when my hand made contact with another warm body instead of the little piece of technology I’d been searching for. He was back. I hadn’t heard him come in, but he was here. I opened my eyes, as everything within me calmed and relaxed. If he was here, that meant he wanted to sort this out, he wanted to make this work.

  My vision cleared and I snatched my hand back in horror as I realised the sleeping body next to me wasn’t Low’s. I clapped a hand over my mouth before I could scream. Memories from the night before washed over me. Searching for Low. The club. Jamison. Alcohol. So much alcohol.

  Guilt flooded me like an ice-cold tsunami and I stifled a sob full of self-loathing. One night without Low and I was back to this? Back to getting drunk and sleeping with random men just so I could forget for a few hours? But it wasn’t the accident, or my father’s cruel words I’d been blocking out last night. It was Low’s rejection.

  I was going to vomit, and I probably couldn’t even blame it on the alcohol. Disgusted with myself, I ran for the bathroom and emptied the contents of my stomach into the toilet. I knelt on the cold tiles, retching, and let the tears fall. Once they started, I couldn’t stop them. Falling tears and dry heaving turned to sobs and I grabbed a towel, stuffing my face into it to muffle the sounds of my misery. How had I gone from the amazing day out at Low’s grandparents’ place, with the horses, and the love that permeated the air there, to this? Vomiting on the bathroom floor with a man who certainly wasn’t Low in my bed. I’d regressed weeks’ worth of progress in the space of a few hours. The hate I felt for myself right now overwhelmed me, and a fresh batch of tears poured not just from my eyes, but from my heart.

  “Hey, kid.” Jamison stood in the bathroom doorway, and I groaned, burying my head further into the towel. Why was he still here? Didn’t he know one-night-stand etiquette was to just leave quietly? Maybe if I stayed here on the floor crying for long enough, he’d get scared off. Guys hated tears.

  “Reese.”

  I looked up at him, positive I had yesterday’s mascara smeared down my cheeks and the stench of vomit on my breath. “What?” My voice was tired and flat.

  He held out a glass of water and some ibuprofen. “Thought this might help.”

  Despite wishing the ground would open up and swallow one of us whole, I took the drink and tablets gratefully, eyeing him as I swallowed them down. He was wearing the same clothes he’d had on last night. Jeans and a short-sleeved button-down shirt. The jeans were rumpled this morning, though, and the shirt wasn’t buttoned correctly. I sighed.

  “You okay? I heard you get up. I wanted to come in while you were vomiting to see if you were okay, but you know…” He looked at me sheepishly. “I wasn’t sure you’d appreciate it.”

  “I don’t blame you, but thanks anyway. You’ve gone well and above one-night-stand etiquette.”

  Jamison’s mouth dropped open and he shook his head, slowly at first as if he were trying to grasp what I’d meant. Then a smile spread across his face, and he laughed.

  “Why are you laughing? Low is your best friend. We are awful people.” I scrubbed my hands over my face, wiping away a fresh batch of tears.

  “Oh my God…you think? No, no, no. Reese. No. We didn’t have sex. Just look at yourself.” His eyes dropped down my body and for the first time, I realised that I was still wearing the clothes I’d had on last night. I was as rumpled as he was but, yes, still fully dressed.

  “We didn’t?” I
frowned as I tried to sort through my black hole of a brain. But I had very little beyond drinking at the club. A spark of hope ignited within me.

  He laughed. “Wow, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise you were that drunk. No. We didn’t. We shared an Uber back here. You said I could crash because we drank all my cash and I didn’t have my cards with me. But we just slept. I swear it.”

  “So, nothing happened. At all?”

  Jamison crouched down to my level. “Nothing. We’re friends, Reese. And Low is my best friend.”

  “No, I know that. But it’s just…” So unlike me, I finished in my head. I heaved a sigh of relief and let the last of the tears I’d been holding in slide down my face. Jamison sat down next to me on the cold tiles and put an arm around my shoulders.

  “I know you, Reese. You wouldn’t cheat on Low.”

  I sighed. “Thank you.” He was right. I wouldn’t. I should have known, even intoxicated, I wouldn’t ruin this thing between us. It was too important. Every bone in my body screamed it and I was an idiot for doubting myself. Old habits died hard, though.

  “In fact, the more drunk you got, the more I had to listen to you talk about him. And some of that was way more detail than I ever wanted to know about my best friend. You know, you might have an unhealthy obsession with his abs.” He pulled a face and I laughed, but my smile fell quickly.

  “Has he called you?” I could hear the desperation in my voice, but I didn’t care.

  Jamison shook his head, then sighed. His gaze became determined, locking mine in place, and I stilled under the intensity.

  “I don’t know exactly what’s going on with you two, but you’re good for him. I hope you know that.”

  I shrugged. “His grandparents said much the same thing. But I don’t know about that. He keeps pushing me away. There’s this connection between us I can’t deny, and I know he feels it too. But maybe that isn’t enough.”

  Jamison settled back against the bathroom wall. “Don’t say that. You didn’t know him before. He always had people around him, but he was lonely. The different hook-ups every night—it was just something to fill his time. It didn’t make him happy. He was always the life of the party, but something inside him was broken. He could never let himself feel anything for anyone. He had walls so firmly up around him that even Bianca, Riley, and I had to fight tooth and nail to get a real friendship out of him. But you’re different. You get him. Something about you heals that broken bit within him.”

  Jamison broke off and I stood there gawking at him with my mouth hanging open. Jesus. Who knew Jamison was all poetical and deep? Or that observant even? I smiled as his words sank in.

  “But what you don’t know, Jam, is that he did the same thing for me. Everything inside me that’s broken doesn’t feel so bad when he’s around either.”

  Jamison nodded, then gave me a wry grin. “Guess we better put you two broken halves back together, huh?”

  I groaned and punched him in the arm. “And here I was thinking you could be a poet with your deep and meaningful observations. But then you come out with a line so corny it belongs on a fortune cookie.” But my smile faded as quickly as it had appeared. “Seriously, though, we need to find him. I’m worried.”

  “I know. Don’t worry, we will.”

  29

  Low

  The bottle of tequila clenched in my fist and the empty bottle of Jack on the coffee table announced I was drunk. And if exhibit A and exhibit B hadn’t been enough proof, the way the room spun was the clincher.

  There was a clock on the shelf, I knew that much for sure, but no matter how much I squinted at the glowing green numbers, they refused to come into focus. My eyes strained until my brain ached. Something would bust open if I kept that up.

  I slumped against the lounge room wall, the wooden floorboards hard under my ass, but I was so numb I barely noticed. I must have been sitting here for hours. Days maybe? If I could just work out what time it was, maybe I’d know.

  I’d made it home from the clinic well after dark, then Rob, my neighbour had wanted to chat when I’d gone over there to get my spare keys. Why did he always want to chat? It was better here, with my Jack and my tequila and nobody talking.

  My body coursed with alcohol-induced warmth, my head fuzzy enough I could almost forget why I was drinking. Almost. More tequila would take care of that.

  I lifted the bottle in my hand and took a long swig. Didn’t I have a glass? I was sure I’d started this not so little drinking session with a glass. My gaze moved around the living room, to the front door and to the tiny stretch of hallway I could see. Nope. No glass. No idea where that went. I should get up and get another one, but fuck it. Who cared? I was a grown up, I could swig straight out of the bottle if I wanted to.

  Yeah, being a grown up and doing whatever I wanted was working out well for me, wasn’t it? Be a grown up, sleep around, catch a sexually transmitted disease that would ruin my life. Yep. Being an adult was awesome. Fuck, I was an idiot.

  My ringtone pierced the silence and self-loathing around me. The phone vibrated on the floorboards, the screen flashing up Reese’s name and a photo of her smiling face. It was one I’d taken of her at the zoo. Was that really only a few days ago? It felt like a lifetime. I swallowed the lump in my throat as I watched it ring. The call diverted to my voice mail eventually, just like the other thirty or forty times she’d called since I’d left her.

  Guilt swamped me. What an asshole I was, just getting up and leaving her there like that. She was probably still willing to forgive me, because she was that woman. The one who always saw the best in people but let them walk all over her because of it. And now I’d done it to her.

  I picked my phone up and flicked through the photos of us at the zoo. Reese, sticking her tongue out as I’d snapped a pic of her in front of the chimpanzee enclosure. A selfie of the two of us, with a koala asleep in a tree behind us. And one where she hadn’t noticed me, too busy staring up at a giraffe as she fed it. She was so incredibly beautiful. I didn’t deserve her, but, God, I wanted her. My whole body cried out to touch her, to have her near me. I just wanted to hold her and bury my face in her sweet smelling hair. But that was why I couldn’t have her. Not anymore. Not after this. She deserved better after all the shit I’d put her through, and all the shit to come in my future. She deserved someone who could give her everything. Someone who could give her a proper, stable life.

  A timid knock on the door snapped my head up. My breath got stuck in my lungs, and I held it there, frozen in spot with the bottle of tequila halfway to my lips.

  “Low?”

  My heart squeezed painfully at the sound of Reese’s voice. I let the breath I was holding out in a whoosh and hoped like hell she couldn’t hear it through the door.

  “Low? Please. If you’re in there, let me in.”

  I didn’t dare move for fear she’d hear me. Fuck. Not only was I an idiot and an asshole I was also a coward now. Yet another reason to add to the growing list of reasons I needed to leave her alone.

  But damn. Her voice was like honey. Sweet and pure and I wanted to drown in it. I wanted to wrap myself around her, feel her silky hair and let her talk in that honey-covered voice until everything felt right again. The ache inside me widened and I took another slug from the bottle as silently as possible in an attempt to fill the void. God, how much longer until I’d pass out? It couldn’t be much longer.

  Reese went silent and I tried to imagine what she looked like on the other side of the door. Just knowing she was only a few feet away and not being able to touch her…I dropped my head into my hands as that pain hit me like a punch to the face.

  Idiot. Asshole. Coward.

  Something jingled in her handbag. What was she doing out there? Then it dawned on me with horror—she still had my keys. She could walk in here at any moment and I’d have to face her. My stomach took another nose dive at the thought of confronting her.

  The jingling stopped, and there was a minute of
silence. I was just beginning to think she’d left when there were more muffled sounds from outside, and a thin stack of papers slid under the door. A pink square stuck on the front stood out sharply against the more subdued colours of the papers beneath.

  A tapping noise came from the door and I lifted my eyes as her soft voice, resigned this time, came again.

  “Read it, Low. I mean it, even if you don’t want to hear it. Maybe you’ll believe me if it’s right there in front of your face.”

  Her soft footsteps on the floorboards of the hallway dimmed as she walked away, and still, I sat there staring at that bright pink Post-it note. Because of course it was a Post-it note. It was exactly the same as the other eleven billion of them she had at her place.

  I let the tequila bottle slip from my fingers, not caring where it landed, and dragged myself up, using the wall for support. I held still, waiting for the spinning room to stop. Don’t pass out yet, jerk. Get to the paper first.

  Fuck, I was drunk.

  I tried to pull myself together as I stumbled across the living room to the front door, smashing my shin into the coffee table as I went. The pain barely registered, though I was sure it would in the morning. I knelt down and picked up the papers.

  It took me a minute to focus on the words, my eyes taking even longer to focus than when I’d tried to read the time. Goddammit, brain, just work for one more minute!

  When my eyes finally adjusted, small, neat writing had trailed off the square and onto the papers beneath.

  Only the positives, right, Low? Here are three I know for absolute sure. I’m positive you’re my best friend. I’m positive I’m in love with you. And I’m positive I want this. I want us. Always.

  Her words knocked the breath out of me and I slumped back on the solid wood, as if I’d been kicked in the gut. I wanted to throw the door open, run down the hallway, and keep going until I found her. I wanted to wrap my arms around her, kiss her amazing mouth, and tell her I loved her. Tell her I should have said it before now, at my grandparents’ place or at the zoo or the restaurant or in the car. I could have told her at any of those times that I was falling in love with her. That I was in love with her.