by Sara Hubbard
They laughed at you.
I knew Brad was lying when he said it was the one time. I wanted to believe him because it hurt less to think it was only a mistake and not a habit. Now I have to face the fact he likely never loved me at all. You don’t laugh at someone you love. Or get off on the thrill of cheating while she’s unconscious beside you. What’s wrong with him? How did I not see it?
“Em?” Footsteps sound in the hall after I hear Charlie’s voice. She knocks gently on the door. “You okay? Ozzie texted me and told me you were here.”
“You didn’t have to come home early.” When I scoot up in the tub, the faucet drips warm water on the tips of my toes. The sensation causes a shiver to crawl up the length of my body.
“Of course, I did.” She’s quiet for a moment, but I know she’s still there. I see the shadow of her feet under the door. “You did the right thing,” she says.
Did I? I’m not so sure about that. I want and appreciate the truth too, but now Brad and I are broken up, details about how he cheated, when and with whom, are no longer necessary. I’ve already left him.
“I’ll be in the living room when you get out.” The floor creaks by the door. “Take your time.”
“Thanks.” I suds up and rinse off. I don’t bother washing my hair. Charlie is on this sulfate-free, no paraben, all-natural-shampoo-but-not-shampoo kick, and her shampoo tangles my hair worse than letting it go unwashed for a full week.
After I get out, I tie my hair into a messy bun and get dressed in some clothes I borrowed from her closet. Mine are still damp, and I intend to throw them in the dryer.
Charlie is where she said she would be when I leave the bathroom. She’s sitting on the couch, her feet tucked underneath her, a textbook on her lap, and new reading glasses low on her perky nose. She’s mad-clicking the end of her mechanical pencil like she always does when she’s upset. I think it’s because she’s worried about me, or maybe Michael, but something tells me it’s more than that. She looks straight ahead with a faraway gaze in her eyes.
“Oh, God. What happened now?”
“Nothing.” Her phone is in her lap, lit up from a text. “I’m sure it’s fine. What happened with Michael?”
“The Goon reared his stupid, ugly head and slapped me in the face with a puck.”
“We knew he wouldn’t take it well.”
“Yeah, well…” I take a seat beside her and drum my fingers on the couch. “He was hurt and that’s understandable, but he decided he didn’t want to hurt alone and threw some stuff at me I had no idea about.”
“Like what?” She stops clicking her pen for a moment and sits up straighter.
I relay what he told me about Valentine’s Day. Fucking Valentine’s Day. It takes a special kind of asshole to do something like that on the sacred day of love.
“While you were passed out beside him?” she says, incredulous.
I shrug. I almost didn’t want to tell her. People already think I’m pathetic, and I don’t want to add her to the list.
“Oh, Em!” She leans forward to hug me. I don’t hug her back, but I don’t pull away. I tip my head to rest on her shoulder and sigh. I’m such an idiot. I spent almost a year with him, a year I’ll never get back.
“How did we not see this! How could I let someone like him date my best friend?”
I break away and look directly into her sad eyes. “This isn’t your fault. It’s mine. I looked back for signs and, at first, I didn’t think they were there. But they were. Little ones, but enough I should have noticed after what happened to my mother.”
“He fooled us both. Don’t you dare blame yourself.”
“Michael saw Brad do this to you and never said anything?” She frowns at me. “I don’t think I like him anymore.”
“It wasn’t his place. I mean, what guy would go tell some other guy’s girlfriend he’s cheating on her? Guys have this bro code that extends even to strangers. I fucking hate all of them.”
“This doesn’t sound like you at all. My best friend who believes love can conquer all? Don’t give up on love. Just maybe next time don’t let yourself get so wrapped in a guy you forget who you are when he’s no longer in the picture.” She gives me a weak smile.
“I did that, didn’t I?” I know it. My self-esteem takes another hit. They just keep on coming. I’m glad she’s telling me, though. That’s what best friends are for. To be brutally honest when no one else is. I feel bad I’m the reason we didn’t spend much time together since I started dating Brad. And it explains why I didn’t know she was friends with Michael.
She hitches a shoulder. “Kind of. You’re a passionate person. I get that, and I love that about you.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine. Gosh, like I said, I love that about you. It just makes me worry for you when things don’t work out the way you hope they will.”
“It definitely didn’t this time, but you don’t have to worry. I’m over Brad. I’m not wasting any more of my time thinking about him. He’s dead to me.” But I’m not over him. You can’t just hate someone you loved. It doesn’t work like that. They own a piece of you forever, no matter what. Because the reasons you loved them will always be there, and you’ll remember them and miss them, or you wouldn’t have fallen in the first place. Even if those things you loved were a lie. I mourn those sweet moments now like I’ve lost a loved one.
“Can we please not ever talk about Brad again?” I ask.
“Sure.”
And I’m also done talking about me. “Are you okay? You looked upset when I came out here.”
“It’s Ozzie.” Click, click, click goes the end of her pen.
I wait for her to answer. Click, click, click. Jesus. I grab her pen. “Just tell me.”
“Ozzie’s pissed at me for not telling him about Michael. He wants to wring Brad’s neck, but he’ll have to take a number now because when Ozzie called Michael to check on him, Michael had already found Brad.”
“He went after him?” I don’t know why this is such a surprise. I guess I figured he’d find Chloe first to have her confirm it.
“Michael hadn’t done anything at that point, but he was about to. Then Ozzie skipped practice and raced over to the baseball diamond where Brad was practicing—he’s going to be in so much trouble for skipping practice! Michael was going to go after him while he was with his whole team. Now I’m afraid Ozzie and Michael are gonna get hurt.”
“Shit, come on.” I start to get up, but she pulls me back down. “We gotta stop them!”
“Ozzie’s not answering, and that was twenty minutes ago. By the time we get there, it’ll be too late, and he told me to stay away.”
“I’m sorry, Charlie. I didn’t mean to involve Ozzie. I swear I didn’t. I only told Ozzie so he could look out for Michael.”
“I know you didn’t. It’s going to be fine. We just have to wait and hope they don’t get into any trouble they can’t get themselves out of.”
We sit up together until well after two o’clock in the morning. When Charlie finally falls asleep, I encourage her to go to bed, and she does—with her phone clutched to her chest. Ozzie hasn’t called or texted, and that can’t be a good thing. I wanted to go looking for them, but she insisted we stay here in case they come back.
After she’s in bed, I perch in the bumped-out window. I stare down at the parking lot waiting for Ozzie, just so I know he’s safe. I don’t like to admit I care about him, but I do. He makes my best friend happy. I spy Charlie’s keys and almost debate going out myself, but then I don’t want to leave her alone. After three, I finally decide to go to bed myself. I just hope he’s okay. And Michael, too. I’m not as angry with him as I was.
I don’t sleep long before I hear a thud and my bed lightly shakes. Hushed whispers sound from nearby. It takes me a moment to register that I’m in Charlie’s spare bedroom, on sheets much cleaner and softer than my own. The digital clock on the nightstand reads four-thirty.
Thud.
/>
I throw the covers off and get out of bed. Since I’m only in a T-shirt and underwear, I grab some pajama pants that Charlie lent me and pull them on.
Chuckling bleeds through the walls and muffled voices come off like the monotonous, unrecognizable words from Charlie Brown. I open the door slowly to help soften the sounds of its creaking hinges and venture into the hall, following the soft light coming from the living room.
Ozzie stands tall with his hands on his hips, staring down at another guy lying on the couch. His tall muscular frame blocks the guy’s head, but I know it’s Michael. His legs are so long they dangle over the edge of the couch from the knees.
Ozzie shakes his head as he stares down at his friend.
I take another footstep, and when the floorboards creak, he turns his head and frowns at me. “Sorry, Emily. We tried to be quiet.” He takes a step away from the guy and, like I thought, it’s Michael. But he’s not passed out, he’s smiling at me, wearing nothing but tight red briefs with a Santa Claus’ face on the front.
I open my mouth but find I’m at a loss for words, so I snap it shut. Michael waves in a large arcing, exaggerated motion. I don’t respond. I’m not really sure how to respond. One of his eyes is swollen and painted red and blue. His lips are cut, and there are scratches on his arms and his hairless, sculpted chest.
“Well, at least you’re not in jail,” I say, deadpan.
Ozzie gives me a look. He doesn’t always appreciate my humor. Or maybe he’s just had a long night. I narrow my eyes as I study Ozzie’s matching shiner and the marks on his neck. Charlie’s going to be pissed in the morning.
“What happened to you guys?” I ask, although I can probably guess.
“Michael bit off more than he could chew.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning he waited for Brad at the baseball diamond, and after practice was over, he tried to fight him, but when some of Brad’s team members stepped in to break it up, he ended up fighting them, too. When I got there, it was three on one.”
“Shit.”
“I got sucker punched pulling some guys off of him, but once I started swinging they backed off and we just let them go at it,” Ozzie adds.
I fold my arms over my chest and want to be flippant but toss out, “Are you okay?” to Michael.
He slurs his words just enough to hint at how much alcohol he’s consumed. “Hey, Gretzky.”
Ozzie raises an eyebrow at me.
“Long story.” Not really. I’m still annoyed at Michael, but right now I have more compassion than I did earlier because behind that smile is a guy that just had his heart shattered. And it fucking sucks.
“Sorry again about waking you,” Ozzie says.
“Don’t worry about it.”
“You’re on your own, man,” Ozzie says to Michael. “I gotta get some sleep.”
Michael’s face drops. “Thanks. You’re the fucking man, Oz.”
“Mm-hmm. Tell that to my girlfriend in the morning.”
“At least you have one.”
“She wasn’t worth it. No girl worth it would ever put you in this situation.”
He has a point, and it sobers Michael. The color drains from his face, and he looks to the floor. As his Adam’s Apple bobs, I feel the same choking sensation as if Brad’s betrayal happened yesterday. We relate to one another in a way no one can understand. Not only were we cheated on, but our exes were together. It connects us.
Michael huffs and rolls onto his side, facing us. I can’t help but notice his semi…or is it? If not, that’s one hell of a large penis. Quickly, I avert my eyes up to his face. Though, in my defense, it’s kind of hard not to notice his cock when Santa is smiling at me.
Michael holds up his hand, and Ozzie slaps it before turning away.
Ozzie holds onto his jaw, wiggling it from side to side as if it might be out of place, as he passes by me.
“Don’t bug, Emily,” he warns Michael. “She’s been through enough.”
“He’s fine,” I say. And I mean it. My anger is pretty much gone now, though I still expect an apology when he’s sober enough to mean it.
After Ozzie’s bedroom door clicks shut and the rest of the apartment is quiet, Michael and I are still looking at each other. He’s going to feel awful in the morning. And foolish. Or maybe not. Maybe he’ll be glad he did what he did, but it won’t make him feel better about Chloe. There isn’t a whole hell of a lot that will.
I heave a sigh and turn my back to him. In the bathroom, I open the medicine cabinet and fish out some Ibuprofen. I grab a few extra-strength and then grab a big glass from one of the cupboards in the kitchen. After I fill it with cold water from the tap, I pad into the living room and lower myself onto the coffee table.
He’s nodded off but as if sensing me near, he flutters one eyelid open. The other one is out of commission. He winks at me. “Hey, you.” His smile is dopey and somehow angelic, even with the busted-up face.
“Here,” I say, holding out the glass and pills.
“Nah, I’m good.”
“You’ll thank me in the morning.” I nudge his arm, and he wraps his massive hand around the glass. He pops the pills in and chases them with water. As his eye starts to close again, I get up and grab him an ice pack. He’s full on snoring when I return, though not like a bear. It’s more like heavy breathing. Gently, I place the ice pack over his eye and grab the afghan Charlie’s grandma made and pull it over his body. It’s long enough for me, but it only reaches his nipples.
I watch him for a moment, appreciating the vulnerability in this sleeping giant with the flawless tan body and beat-up face. I don’t want or need a guy in my life, especially after my earlier conversation with Charlie, but I feel a connection to this one. If only because we’re going through the same thing. And maybe, just maybe, we can help each other get past it.
Chapter 8
I hear a door slam and shouting in the morning. When I go out to see what’s going on—like I don’t already know—Charlie glances in my direction, a scowl firmly set on her usually sweet face. She’s facing her boyfriend, and his size dwarfs hers. Ozzie runs a hand through his hair and squares his shoulders. I can just imagine the fight they’ve already had this morning.
“Can you believe these two?” She looks at me, pointing toward them.
Michael holds the ice pack against his cheek, but from the lumps in the fabric, it looks like someone refilled it. Probably Charlie. His face looks worse than last night. At least last night most of his face looked normal. Today it’s a rainbow of black, blues, and greens.
“You might have a fracture,” I say to Michael.
He merely shrugs.
“I hope it was worth it,” Charlie says as Ozzie’s muscular arms wrap around her. He pulls her in tight and lifts hers so her bare feet dangle from the ground. She tries her hardest to stay mad with a pouty lip that might hang lower than her toes, but once he nuzzles her neck and kisses her with a loud smacking noise, she wriggles and starts to smile.
“It’s not okay,” she says, hitting his shoulder. But he’s already forgiven, and everyone in this room knows it.
“You’re lucky you didn’t get arrested,” she says, and I notice her gaze drifts to me.
He puts her down and leans down to slap her ass. “It’s over now, right?” he says to Michael and waits for him to confirm it.
Michael offers a noncommittal shrug.
“Michael, I’m serious. If you wanna get angry and get in fights, then don’t bring Ozzie into it. There are better ways to deal with it,” Charlie says.
“I’m all ears.” His functioning eye turns icy.
Charlie lets out a sigh and walks over to where Michael sits. She plops down beside him and gently wraps an arm around him. “She doesn’t deserve you.” He doesn’t shy away from her. It surprises me to watch him lean against her. The pain on his face, and not from the bruises, radiates from him and chokes me up.
If he wasn’t already forgiven, he is now.
She pats his head before leaning away. “Why don’t you make breakfast?”
Did she just ask him to make breakfast? I’m not sure if he can see out of his left eye. “Um, Charlie…”
“Yeah, get your ass up,” Ozzie says. “You owe me.”
He nods and pushes off the couch. I’m not the only one in the room who focusses on the Santa briefs.
“And put on some pants,” Ozzie adds, clucking his tongue at him.
“What the hell happened to my clothes?” he says, as if noticing for the very first time what he’s wearing.
“Are they your underwear?” I ask.
“Yeah. They’re awesome.”
“If you say so.”
“Whatever, Ruff Stuff.”
“Those are my favorite socks.”
Ozzie lets out a chuckle. “He took all his clothes off at Smiley’s Bar. No one complained so I just went with it. At the end of the night, I’m not sure where his clothes went. It sure made for a chilly walk home.”
Michael grabs himself and adjusts. His morning semi is almost as big as my forearm. My head tips to the right without warning to take a better look.
“Fuck, put that away,” Ozzie says. He covers Charlie’s eyes with his hands.
I toss him a pair of warm-up pants from the laundry basket full of clean laundry sitting on the chair. He catches them and pulls them on, but I can still see the tent in his pants, and it’s still rather impressive.
Charlie shakes her head. “On that note...”
While Charlie gets ready for school and Ozzie has a quick shower, I grab the milk in the fridge and brew a really strong coffee—and that means strong even by my standards. When Michael joins me in the kitchen, he’s still shirtless but his erection his gone down. He reaches up for a mug and pours himself a cup. His muscles tighten and relax with his movements and give way to lines of definition I haven’t seen on any man other than in health magazines. With zero fat and lean muscle, his body is a work of art. Ozzie is a little thicker in the middle and his pants hang low on Michael, revealing those lines on his pelvis that slant into a V toward his groin.
