Be My Reason

by Samantha Christy

  I still haven’t gotten the chance to ask Emma about it. I’m sure Emma knows everything about everything as she has practically lived in Raleigh at least part time over the past six months. All this time, I’ve told her not to talk to me about Nate. But after last night, I wonder why at the very least she didn’t tell me that he wasn’t the home wrecker I thought he was.

  Nate turns around to walk out. “You said she would be at work,” he huffs to Graham.

  “Chill, man and sit on the freaking couch for a minute.” Graham pushes his friend over to the sectional in our living room.

  “Emma, can you and Lyn bring out some coffee please?” Graham sweetly asks his new wife.

  “We’re on it,” she says, planting a kiss on his cheek. She turns to me. “Don’t worry. We’ll be out of here in a few minutes.”

  Emma pours some coffee into two cups and hands one to me. I shake my head at it. No way am I serving him. She rolls her eyes. “Follow me,” she says.

  In the living room, it doesn’t escape me that Emma and Graham remain standing between the couch and the front door. Nate is sitting down looking pissed and I have no idea what to do or say.

  “Sit.” Emma points to the couch.

  “What? Why?” I give her my ‘what-the-hell’ look.

  “Lyn, sit your pretty ass down on the couch right now,” she admonishes me.

  Geez. So bossy. I walk the few steps over and sit at the opposite end of the sectional from Nate. I eye Emma and Graham nervously. What is this all about?

  Graham looks from Nate to me and back to Nate. He points at both of us. “You two . . . you have to work your shit out. You,”—he points to Nate—“are my best friend. And you,”—he points to me—“are Emma’s best friend. You have to learn to get along and play nice together.”

  “We are tired of being in the middle,” Emma says. Then she looks at me. “Lyn, I love you and we have abided by your request not to say anything about you to Nate and about Nate to you. But it’s exhausting. We have basically been lying to you guys by withholding the facts and we’re tired of it.”

  She looks at Nate. “And you, we haven’t said anything to Lyn about your situation because . . . well she wouldn’t let us talk about you and because it’s not our story to tell. But after your little outburst last night, you might as well get it all out there.”

  Graham adds, “Quit acting like adolescents and try to be friends. For our sake. For your sake. Work it out.”

  And with that, Emma grabs her purse and they turn around and walk out the door.

  For their two-week honeymoon.

  No goodbye or anything.

  The door closes behind them, leaving Nate and me sitting on the couch, dumbfounded.

  My eyes search the room for something look at. You could hear a pin drop. I have no idea what to do. Nate shifts on the couch and I know he is looking at me. I slowly turn my head in his direction and lock eyes with him. We stare at each other for about five seconds. Then we break out in hysterical laughter. My eyes are watering and my stomach hurts but I can’t stop laughing. We both try to stop but then we look at each other and start up again.

  “Why do I feel like our parents just gave us a lecture and then a time out to think about it?” Nate says, and then we laugh some more.

  “Because that is pretty much what happened,” I say.

  Once our laughter subsides, it gets a little uncomfortable again.

  I figure, what the hell, I’ll start.

  “Sorry—”

  “I’m sorry—”

  We both say at the same time and then smile awkwardly at each other.

  “You go,” he says.

  I take a deep breath and try not to focus on the way his thumb is rubbing circles into the couch. Just like it was into my back last night. “Okay. Um, after Michael died I was a mess and of course I thought you were a philandering cheater, bedding every co-ed around so I didn’t want them to tell you he was gone. I had a hard time getting over him. I still have bad days. I didn’t need the added pressure of you . . .”—I wrinkle my nose—“pestering me.” I look down at my hands.

  And I never intend on getting into another relationship ever again.

  “So, let me see if I understand this correctly.” He clears his throat. “You told Graham and Emma not to tell me Michael died.”

  I nod.

  “And you told them not to talk about me when they were around you.”

  I nod again.

  “So, this whole time, you thought I not only slept around on my wife but was bedding everything in a skirt?”

  “That pretty much sums it up.” I bite my lip.

  “God, Brooklyn. That couldn’t be further from the truth.” He closes his eyes and his head falls back against the cushions. “I hate that you thought that about me this entire time. Claudia . . . my wife . . .” he says, then takes a deep breath, “my ex-wife, she cheated on me so I ended the marriage.”

  I stay silent and wait for him to continue. I really want to hear the whole story as long as he’s sharing.

  “I kind of went a little wild after our divorce. I did sleep with a few too many women. But they all knew the score. I wasn’t dishonest about my intentions. But I changed. When I saw you in Raleigh two years ago, I changed.”

  He shifts so that he is closer to me. “Brooklyn, this was all just one big misunderstanding. I’m sorry as hell that you lost Michael. Believe me, I am. But, I really think we could be great together. You can’t deny the chemistry we have. We had. Even all those years ago.”

  He reaches out to take my hand.

  I pull away. I pull away even though I want to feel his touch. I know what his hands feel like on mine. I know what they feel like on my body. I felt it again last night when we danced. I know that if I let him touch me, I might lose control. He is my kryptonite. He has been since I was seventeen. I will be fine as long as I stay away. Far away. I must stay focused. I can’t let my emotions get in the way. Emotions lead to heartache. Every. Single. Time.

  He looks hurt and is eyeing the hand that I pulled away. “Brooklyn—”

  “Nate, I appreciate what you’ve told me. I’m glad that you are not the terrible person I thought you were.”

  I see him cringe. He runs his hand through his hair. “But?” he says.

  “But that doesn’t really change anything. I’m not looking for a relationship. With you. With anyone. Ever. It’s not in the cards for me anymore. I’m sorry.”

  “What? That is crazy. How can you say you won’t ever have another relationship? You are only twenty-seven years old. Besides, it looked like you were getting pretty cozy with that . . . Ryan was it? From last night.” He pulls away from me.

  “Ryan is a very good friend. He is my partner at Brooklyn’s . . . remember, my bakery?”

  “Partner?” he asks.

  “Yes. An investor who is helping me to expand my business.”

  “Partner,” he says again like he is trying out the word. “He didn’t look like your partner last night. More like your boyfriend.”

  “He is not my boyfriend,” I say.

  “Does he know that?”

  “Of course he does!” I bite back. “It’s not like that. Besides, he has a girlfriend.”

  “She must be very understanding. I saw you dancing with him last night.”

  I roll my eyes at him. “Yes, she is. She is a nurse who works nights so Ryan and I hang out sometimes. As friends. She is cool with it.”

  “How convenient,” he says. He looks pissed now.

  “Whatever.” I get up off the couch. “I don’t have to justify anything to you, Nate. And as long as we are sharing, why don’t you tell me what the hell happened in high school?”

  He holds up his hands in surrender. “Okay, fine. I don’t want to fight with you, Brooklyn.” He sighs. “That is a long story. One I don’t have time for right now. All I can say is that I was a young, stupid kid.” He runs his hand through his hair and stands up. “I have to get going
back to Raleigh. But I’m glad we had this talk.” He smiles but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

  I stare at him. He looks conflicted. I want so much for him to tell me what happened back then. I hate that it matters to me. I hate that I think about it all the time and wonder how things might have turned out differently. How maybe I could have been his wife instead of that Claudia. How my life wouldn’t be filled with guilt and shame if things had gone the way they were supposed to all those years ago.

  “Yeah, I’m glad too. I’m sorry I thought so poorly of you and I’m sorry that your . . . wife . . . cheated on you. That must have been terrible.” I almost choke on the word wife. I still can’t believe he was married. It still hurts a little, down deep, knowing that he chose someone else over me. Even though I did the very same thing to him.

  I see a hint of his tattoo as the sleeve of his shirt rides up when he puts on his jacket. The all too familiar jacket from a few years ago. It’s the one he put over our heads in the rain that night. The night of the almost-kiss. I wonder what his lips would feel like on mine after all these years. Does he still taste of mint? Would he trail kisses up to that place behind my ear that drove me crazy at such a young age? Would it still burn like a hot trail of lava?

  He reaches over and pulls my lip out from between my teeth, his eyes trained on my mouth. “Be careful what you wish for, Brooklyn,” he whispers.

  I snap out of it. “Um . . .” I try to recover, rather poorly.

  “Friends?” He holds his hand out to me.

  “I don’t know about that.” I eye his hand. “But we’re getting there.” I smile weakly.

  I place my hand in his and brace for the jolt that runs straight from the point of his touch all the way up my arm and into my chest, like a bullet moving at warp speed. It makes my heart pound and my breath hitch.

  “I’ll see you, Brooklyn,” he says, as he pulls his hand away slowly and turns to walk out the door.

  The door I stare at for minutes after he is gone.

  Chapter Eleven

  I’ll admit, it’s hard without Emma here. She is the one person that keeps me grounded. She calls me on my crap, tells it like it is and has pretty much kept me going through the bad times.

  Although he is no replacement for Emma, Ryan and I have been hanging out. A lot. We get along extremely well, but without the are-we-going-to-hookup pressure. He and I have established somewhat of a sibling relationship. Maybe it stems from the fact that we are both only children. Whatever the reason, he looks out for me and I listen attentively to the stories of his adventures.

  Ryan is an adrenaline junky. He is an entrepreneur by occupation, but a daredevil at heart. He will find a potential money-making opportunity, help it blossom for a year or so and then he will move on to the next venture, while his bank account continues to grow.

  So, it seems I will lose him, too, after a while. In the meantime, he is loads of fun to hang with. He has taken me bungee jumping and surfing already and is talking about us parachuting from a plane. Eeek!

  He is at my apartment this morning, waiting for Emma to tell him what boxes go to Raleigh and which ones stay here for her parents to pick up.

  Emma and Graham got back from Paris two days ago. After sleeping for almost eighteen hours, she and I spent the entire day together yesterday doing our favorite things. We got mani-pedis, went shopping, and ate lunch at our favorite restaurant, one where the tables are little aquariums and they serve the food right on top. I’m sorry, but eating sushi while fish swim underneath your plate—that just never gets old.

  Emma and I are packing her things into boxes and wardrobes. I’m amazed at how much stuff she fit into her room in our small apartment. She is, thankfully, leaving me all of the furniture and most of the housewares since Graham is pretty much fully stocked.

  We are carrying some of her best clothes out to hang them on a rod in the back seat of her car. Because, God forbid, they might wrinkle in the less than four-hour drive.

  I think I’m hallucinating because I could swear I see Nate pull up in a sleek Ford F-150.

  I momentarily lose myself in a daydream about being a seventeen-year-old girl in the front seat of a pickup truck, losing my virginity to the most gorgeous baseball player at school. I squeeze my legs together at the thought of him making me come in my panties simply by putting his hands on me. In me. And that voice, that raspy, sexy voice when he whispered in my ear.

  “Brooklyn . . .”

  Yes, that one.

  Oh! Oh my God. I snap out of it. Said boy is now standing right in front of me. Only he is ten years older. Ten years sexier. Ten years hotter. My heart is pounding and I’m sure he can see it beating through my thin t-shirt. When did I become this gooey ball of emotion when he is around?

  “Um . . . Nate?” I look at Emma in confusion. “What are you doing here?” I’m not sure why I am so excited to see him and I have to bite my lip to suppress the smile that wants to come out.

  “I came to help Graham move Emma out, of course,” he says, staring at my mouth.

  I look over at Emma and she looks up at the sky.

  “Oh. Uh . . . there are a lot of boxes still up in the apartment. You can use the back stairs.” I point at the entrance to the apartment that is separate from the one inside the bakery.

  “Thanks, I’ll just head up then.” He winks at me.

  I give Emma the look. That look that says I know what you are trying to do and you aren’t pulling one over on me. “Okay, okay.” She holds up her hands in surrender. “So I knew he was coming. But I didn’t want you to get mad at me and ruin our last weekend together.”

  I continue to stare her down.

  “But by the look on your face when he pulled up, I’d say you are most definitely not mad at me.” She smiles. “In fact, I think you want to hug me right now for bringing that man-candy to help me move. You know, it’s hot enough that they might have to remove their shirts.” She elbows me.

  I roll my eyes at her. It’s not lost on me that I tend to roll my eyes a lot when around, talking about, or just plain thinking of Nathan Riley. So far so good, because despite my mother’s warning, they have remained properly placed in their sockets.

  Back in the apartment, it becomes clear to me that we have missed something. Nate looks pissed and he is having a stare down with Ryan.

  Crap. I know Ryan doesn’t like Nate. I did try to explain that he wasn’t the bad guy I thought he was. I think Ryan is simply being protective of me again, acting like the older brother I never had.

  I also got the distinct impression from the conversation at our ‘intervention’ that Nate thinks there is something going on between me and Ryan.

  Not that I care.

  Because I don’t.

  Except that I do.

  I guess I don’t want Nate to think that I’m dating Ryan after I told him I wouldn’t date anyone. Even if I did date someone, it wouldn’t be Nate because that would betray Michael. But if I were to date anyone, the only face I can put on ‘anyone’ is Nate’s.

  I’m confusing even myself now. This is why I won’t get involved anymore.

  Too much drama. Too much emotion. Too much loss.

  Ryan easily picks up a box and lifts it to his shoulder. His muscles flex and his long dark hair falls over his eyes and he reaches up to push it out of the way. Nate eyes him like a predator and puffs out his chest.

  “Down, boy,” Emma whispers to Nate. “You know they are just friends, right?”

  “Bullshit,” Nate says, loud enough for everyone to hear. “He wants in her pants.”

  “Dude, if I wanted in her pants, believe me, I’d be in her pants,” Ryan asserts. Ordinarily, I would take offense to a comment like this. But I know Ryan. He is only pushing back. He’s not being cocky. But Nate doesn’t know that.

  Nate’s face gets red and his fists ball up momentarily. Then he leans over and picks up two boxes. Two boxes that I know are really heavy because I had just packed some of Emma’s
design books in them. His muscles are bulging as he is obviously struggling to carry them, being that they are probably heavier than he expected. It is almost comical watching him try to balance them. But he won’t put one down. He nods at Ryan to go down the stairs. Probably so that he can drop a box or two on his head.

  He follows Ryan and yells, “Hey man, don’t put anything in my truck.”

  “What was that?” I question Emma.

  “That was a pissing match.” She laughs.

  “No, not that. Why can’t we put anything in Nate’s truck?”

  Emma’s eyes go wide and she looks over at Graham.

  “Um . . . he is staying back to visit his niece over in Richmond Hill tonight,” Graham tells me. “You remember Candy the porn star, right?” He laughs.

  “Oh.” I blush at the memory of their wedding night and how jealous I was over what turned out to be an adorable little girl. Jealous? I shake my head at the ridiculous thought.

  Emma says, “We want to unpack right away and not have to wait for him to come back. So that’s why we can’t put stuff in his truck. Plus, he is a terrible driver and I don’t want my things spilled all over the Interstate.” She rambles on, “And maybe my insurance wouldn’t cover it if he m—”

  “Emma, I’m sure Lyn doesn’t care about all that,” he interrupts, pulling her into the hallway. Probably to kiss her again. Their PDAs are reaching epic proportions. I grab a lamp and head downstairs so I don’t have to witness it.

  Two hours later we have Graham’s large SUV and Emma’s BMW loaded up with boxes. I walk past Nate’s truck and see some boxes in the back so I guess they did decide to use it after all.

  Graham gets pizza and beer for all of us and these poor guys have to sit around and listen to Emma and me as we laugh and cry at stories we tell about high school.

  “Oh God, remember Homecoming? What was the guy’s name that you went with?” Emma asks.

  “Jeremy Bender,” I say.

  I notice how Nate perks up and leans closer to catch our conversation. I wonder if he knew Jeremy. I try to remember if they were friends.