Be My Reason

by Samantha Christy

  After I clean up, I come out of our bathroom to see Nate kneeling beside my dresser holding up some jewelry that had fallen out of my jewelry box when I sent it flying to the floor. He is trying to clean it up, but he doesn’t have a clue about what goes where. He seems to be studying my bracelets. Then his breath hitches and he reaches out to grab something. I pad over to him and see him holding the engagement ring that Michael gave me.

  “Is this . . . ?” He doesn’t look up at me.

  “Yes.” And for the first time, I find myself looking at Michael’s ring without being overwhelmed with sadness. The thought brings a smile to my lips.

  He examines the ring, first holding it between his fingers, then laying it in the palm of his hand. He closes his eyes and runs his hand through his hair. It is the same pose I see when he sits at his drafting table. He closes his hand around the ring and looks over at me. “Can I have it?” he asks. “I mean . . . would you trust me with it?”

  My brows furrow as I try to absorb the question he is asking me. Why on Earth would he want this ring? Oh, no. Surely not. My mind goes crazy with all kinds of off-the-wall thoughts.

  Nate startles me back to reality when he touches my arm. He must see the confused expression on my face. He shakes his head and says, “Brooklyn, when I ask you to marry me, it sure as hell won’t be with another man’s ring.”

  Oh, thank God. I let out a long breath and my goddess within wipes her forehead. Wait, what? I think he just said when. Oh, God, he just said when. Am I ready to be someone’s fiancée again? It didn’t turn out so well last time. We are still in the bubble. The perfect boyfriend/girlfriend bubble. Everything is going so well. I want things to stay exactly as they are. Not rock the boat. Not tempt fate. Not piss off Karma.

  Hot breath washes over my ear. “Hey, are you okay?”

  “Huh?” I startle.

  “You kind of zoned out for a minute. I was asking about the ring. Would you trust me with it?” He is begging me with his eyes. He is looking at me with nothing but love and caring. How could I not trust him with the ring when I would trust him with my life? Of course I’m going to say yes.

  “Yes,” I breathe. I turn to go take a shower. I want to wash away my fears, my doubts about our future . . . my worries from the past.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  I’m filling up the display cases with the morning pastries and I think about the ring. It’s been over a week and I haven’t asked him why he wanted it. I wonder if he thinks I still pull it out and look at it and dream of Michael. I don’t. Not anymore. Not since I knew I was in love with Nate. Michael will always have a special place in my heart, but Nate is the man I have always wanted, even when I couldn’t admit it to myself.

  I frown when I look at the calendar on the wall behind the counter. I’ve started the countdown to Nate’s departure. Two weeks. He will be gone in fourteen days and neither of us has uttered a single word about what will happen then. It’s the bubble. We’re still in it and neither of us wants it to pop.

  Also on the calendar, circled in red marker, is an important meeting Ryan and I have been preparing for. If we can land this client, it will mean big business for Brooklyn’s.

  Ryan walks in from the back of the shop, looking like hell. He spends the next ten minutes telling me about his breakup with Laura. When he goes to leave I walk him through the kitchen to the back door. I give him a hug. “It will all work out in the end, you’ll see.” I hold him tight and hope that my words are true, for him and for me.

  “Want to get your hands off my girlfriend, man?”

  Ryan releases me and puts his hands up in surrender. I spin around to see Nate glaring at us from the bottom step. I roll my eyes at him and say goodbye to Ryan. As he is walking through the back door, I remember our big meeting today. “Ryan, you look terrible, do you want me to reschedule our two o’clock?”

  “No way, Lyn. I’ll go get some sleep and be back later.” He shuts the door after him.

  “Well, isn’t that cozy?” Nate narrows his eyes at me. “Did you enjoy your hug?”

  I can’t tell if he is joking or just being an ass so I try to ignore the attitude. “Laura broke up with him and he is having a hard time.”

  “How convenient that he is suddenly single right before I have to move back to Raleigh.” His words bite me. Now I know he’s being an ass. I can’t believe that he picks now, right now, to talk about leaving. And why does he have to make it about Ryan? I start seething and I am about to lay into him when I realize that he is probably having a hard time dealing with the fact that he is leaving and so he is deflecting his emotions onto Ryan.

  I reach out to Nate and pull him to me. I put my hands on his face and bring his lips down to meet mine. He is all fresh and minty and I kiss him softly with the hope that he understands that I am his. But like most men, they simply don’t get it unless it is right in front of them, emblazoned on a flashing neon sign. I break the kiss and look him dead in the eye. “I’m yours, Nate. It doesn’t matter where you live.”

  He lets out a breath and kisses my forehead. “I’m sorry, Brooklyn. I don’t mean to be a dick. I don’t trust him.”

  “But you should trust me, Nate.” I sigh into his shoulder. “And if you won’t take my word for it, go ask him yourself.”

  “I did,” he says.

  “You did?” This surprises me and I pull back from him to get a good look at his face. “When?”

  “The other day, when you and Emma were out for your chicks’ day.”

  I think back. That was right after our couple’s date when he got all worked up because Ryan had seen my boobs courtesy of the bikini malfunction. “So then you should know that he isn’t a threat to you.”

  “The hell he isn’t.” He possessively runs his hands up and down my arms. “In fact, I have more of a reason to hate the guy after what I found out. But I haven’t had time to figure out what to do about it yet.”

  “Nate, you’ve lost me. Just spit it out.”

  “The bastard is going to franchise the bakery, Brooklyn.” He shakes his head and his lips purse in anger.

  “What?” I pull my arms from his. “That is crazy. I have no idea where you came up with that, but he knew good and well when I brought him on that I wanted to keep it small. He knows I would never franchise, that’s not was Brooklyn’s is all about.”

  “Well, you might want to remind him of that, based on the plans I saw on his kitchen table the other day.”

  “I don’t need to ask him anything, because I know for sure that is not what the plan is. You didn’t see what you think you saw. He has a lot of other business investments that he deals with, some that really are franchises. Those are what you saw.” I go over to get him a cup of coffee to go. “I wish you would stop making Ryan the bad guy.”

  “I’m not making him anything, Brooklyn. He is the bad guy. He’s going to take your business and do the very thing that you swore you’d never do.”

  I hand him his cup of coffee—my signal that I want to end this conversation. “Nate, you have asked me, on more than one occasion, to trust you. So, now, I’m asking you to trust me.”

  He groans in frustration and I can tell that he is trying to hold back so that he doesn’t upset me by continuing the argument. I’m relieved when good wins out over evil in his mental battle and he kisses me goodbye. But while I’m watching him walk out the back door, I have to wonder if he is even capable of trusting a woman—of trusting me.

  ~ ~ ~

  Nate decided to take me out in celebration of the big catering job we landed earlier today. If all goes as planned, the job will lead to more business in the near future. This is the kind of client I’ve been hoping for since I brought Ryan in. It will require a lot of work and planning but with Ryan on task, we will be able to handle it.

  “To you, baby.” Nate raises his glass of champagne.

  “To Brooklyn’s.” I clink my glass to his and can’t help the huge smile on my face.

  W
e eat what is arguably the best lobster dinner that I’ve ever had. He has taken me to The Olde Pink House. I grew up always hearing about this place, but of course I could never afford to dine here. I still can’t, but Nate wouldn’t let me put up much of a fight. When the man sets his mind to something, he usually gets what he wants.

  “I want to take you everywhere, experience everything with you,” he tells me, while shoveling a forkful of decadent chocolate cake into my mouth. I roll my eyes and moan at the onslaught of chocolate flavors exploding on my taste buds and I wonder if they would give me the recipe.

  “I don’t need anything else as long as I have you.” I look long and hard into his eyes and hope that he understands how much I mean the words. He stares back at me as desire blooms within me. I reach up and run my fingers along his unshaven jaw. He grabs my hand and lowers it to his lap where his arousal is evident, igniting the fire within me yet again.

  “Oh, you have me. You definitely have me,” he says. I give him a little squeeze down there. “By the balls, apparently,” he adds, making me giggle.

  He waives his hand at the waiter and quickly gives him his credit card. He nuzzles into my neck, then his lips linger to suck gently on my ear. “Mmmm . . . chocolate mixed with vanilla. Can it get any better than this?”

  We practically run out the front door of the restaurant, tugging on each other to hurry. It’s no wonder that we barely leave home, it’s much easier there to throw down and have at it whenever the mood strikes us.

  Suddenly, I’m jolted to a stop. Nate has stopped walking. I turn around to see why and find he has turned into a statue of a man. His face fallen, his expression blank, his mouth slightly open and his eyes wide. I look behind me to see what he is staring at. I see a thin, beautiful and incredibly stylish woman walking towards us. She looks to be in her forties, maybe fifty.

  “Nathan, my sweet boy!” she cries out with a French accent as she nears us.

  I feel all the blood drain from my face when I make the connection. I see all the blood drain from Nate’s.

  “No!” I hear him yell from behind me. He pulls me back to him and points a finger at the woman to keep her distance.

  “Nathan. Please talk to me.” Tears are falling down her face. “Please, will you just give me a minute?”

  A distinguished looking man in a three-piece suit comes up beside her. “Sophia, honey, are you okay?” he asks with concern. Then he turns to Nate and spits out, “What have you done to upset my wife?”

  I hear a strangled cry from deep in Nate’s throat. He is squeezing my hand so hard I think my fingers have lost circulation. “Wife,” he says with a crackle in his voice. He clears his throat and continues, “Wife?” He looks at the man. “Did you know that your wife is a two-bit whore, putting her tits on display and sucking off any man with fifty bucks?”

  The man looks like he might storm forward and plow down Nate. But then he looks at his wife and back at Nate and he must realize what the rest of us already know, the woman is Nate’s mother. “Nathan Riley?” he asks, looking over at us. All of the anger is gone and there is only compassion in his voice.

  I look over at Nate and what I see is a broken seventeen-year-old boy. There is so much hurt in his eyes; so much rage. I see him struggle with his emotions. How confusing it must be to see your own mother after ten long years. He idolized her. She was June-freaking-Cleaver. Right up until she became the slut who ran the whorehouse out of her spa.

  Without saying a word, Nate turns with me and walks us out to his car. His mom doesn’t follow us but she calls out to him the whole time. Once we are inside the car he lets out a breath but he still doesn’t look at me. I don’t know what to say to this beautiful man who was trampled on by the actions of his mother. I reach over and put my hand on his leg.

  “Don’t,” he says, closing his eyes. “Just don’t.”

  “Nate, I—”

  “Goddammit, Brooklyn, I don’t need you telling me that I should talk to that woman. She is dead to me. She died the same night that I hurt you. She is the reason my life is so screwed up.” He sits in silence for a minute before continuing. “If it weren’t for her, I never would have left you, I never would have met Claudia and I sure as hell never would have lost baseball.”

  I look at his face and see the glistening of tears in the moonlight. “Nate, that’s not what I—”

  “Can we not talk about this?” he pleads. “Can you please shut the hell up about it?” He starts the car and peels out of the parking lot. Thank goodness we are only a few miles from home or I would genuinely worry about our safety with the way he is driving. I want to tell him I understand his reaction. That it is okay for him to feel this way. That I won’t push him to do anything he doesn’t want to do. But I don’t think he would hear any of it so I remain quiet.

  He pulls up to the curb and reaches across my lap to open my door. I look over at him with unspoken questions.

  “Out,” he says.

  “But Nate—”

  “Give me some goddamn space, Brooklyn.” He doesn’t look me in the eye.

  I’m scared for him. Hell, right now I’m a little scared of him. So I do the only thing I can do, I get out of the car. “I love you!” I cry, as he pulls the door shut and squeals away.

  What if he does something crazy? Is he leaving me? Oh, God, what if he gets into a car accident? I start to hyperventilate right here on the sidewalk when I hear, “What the hell happened, Lyn? I was going over this proposal when I heard a car peel out.” Ryan is standing over me.

  He takes me back into the office and quickly puts some papers away in his desk. After I explain it to him, he tells me that he thinks I’m overreacting because of what happened to Michael. He says that Nate needs space to process seeing his mom and her new husband. And that I should give it to him but let him know that I’m here if he needs me.

  All very good advice but it doesn’t keep me from thinking the worst. The bubble—it’s been popped. It’s had a razor blade jammed into its freaking heart. I feel so helpless. I wish he could talk to me instead of running away.

  Running away. Just like I did. And Karma raises her ugly head once again.

  Back in my apartment, I will my phone to ring with our song. I do this for hours until my eyes grow weary with sleep. When I can’t take it anymore, I send him a text.

  Me: Nate. I’m here for you. I love you. B.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  When I open my bedroom door, I can smell him—feel him even—before I see him. I walk right past where he is sitting on the couch without even a look in his direction. I get my cup of coffee and then I slam the door shut to my—our—room and then, because I’m so pissed at him, I lock it. I take longer than usual in the shower just to let him stew.

  When I emerge from our room, Nate is sitting in exactly the same position as when I passed him almost an hour ago. I sit on the opposite end of the couch. When neither of us has spoken for what must be minutes, I finally say, “Is this how it’s going to be? You shutting me out when things get tough?”

  His eyes close and he blows out a breath in frustration. “I couldn’t have you see me like that, Brooklyn.”

  “Like what? Pissed, sad, emotional?” I turn to him and add, “You need to let me know where we stand, Nate, because I was under the assumption that we were in a relationship.”

  “Oh, you mean like in a relationship where you believe your boyfriend when he tells you your business partner is going behind your back?”

  I roll my eyes. “Nate, I’m so sick of talking about this. How did a situation with your mom turn into another argument about Ryan? If you aren’t going to trust me then I don’t know why we are even doing this.”

  “What does trusting you have anything to do with the fact that he wants to sell you out, Brooklyn? And it certainly has nothing to do with the fact that he wants to sleep with you.”

  “Oh yeah? Is that what he told you when you went to see him, that he wants to sleep with me?”
>
  “He didn’t have to tell me. A guy knows when another guy wants his girl.”

  “I’m not going to stand here and defend myself, defend my friend and partner to you.” I get up to leave for work.

  “Don’t walk away, Brooklyn!” he shouts after me.

  “I’m not walking away, Nate. You are pushing me away with all of your false accusations.”

  “False accusations?” He stands up and runs his hand through his hair. “Now who needs to go talk to Ryan?”

  I throw up my hands in frustration. “I’m late for work,” I say, as I walk toward the door.

  “Yeah, you wouldn’t want to be late and disappoint him would you?” he spits out.

  I turn abruptly back to him. “You know what? Fuck you, Nate!” I spew at him.

  Oh God, that felt so good, like I let the steam out of a pressure cooker. So I decide not to stop there. “I’m tired of you treating him like he is always doing something wrong. I’m tired of walking on eggshells around you because I’m afraid of injuring your fragile ego. And I’m tired of feeling guilty every time I talk to another guy just because you had a cheating, bitch of a wife!”

  I stomp down the hall, leaving him before he can respond. Leaving him in what I can only imagine is a state of shock because his normally quiet and obedient girlfriend dished him up a dose of reality.

  I find it hard to concentrate on work not knowing what I will find when I get back upstairs. Will he be there? Maybe after seeing his mom and then hearing my diatribe, he will decide Savannah is too much for him. Maybe his going back to Raleigh in ten days is a good thing. I love him, but it is becoming increasingly difficult to live with the constant accusations. His jealousy was one thing, understandable even, given his past, but this thing with Ryan and my business—he is going too far.

  By the time I leave work, I’ve decided to give myself some space. Space to think about our relationship. Time to figure out what I want and need in the long run. Distance away from the man I will cave to if he simply touches me.