If Only

by A. J. Pine

  The events of last night come back in a wave, everything leading to my idiot move with Daniel and my face plant on the table. But that’s all. Other than a vague recollection of an examining room, that’s where last night ends for me. How the hell did I get here?

  I bite the bullet and sit up. My breath catches, the pain diminished by what I see. In the barely-there space on my floor, still in his clothes from last night, is Noah. He sleeps with a pillow and a blanket I recognize from Elaina’s room. On my desk is a glass of water and a bottle of prescription pills. My eyes focus on the familiar, my name. Next to the bottle is a post-it that says, “Next pill any time after seven a.m.” My phone, miraculously, is plugged in and charging on the desk, so I check the time: seven-seventeen. Guess my head knows what it needs. I open the bottle and pop in what I hope is a monster painkiller, washing it down with the lukewarm water that does nothing but remind me how unquenchable my thirst is going to be for several more hours. And that I have to pee.

  Oh God I have to pee. I don’t think I had to go this badly a few minutes ago, but now that I’ve acknowledge the need, making it from the bed to the loo is a mission I cannot abort. I swing my feet onto the floor and use the desk to support my weight as I stand up. My knees buckle, causing my hand to slip. My phone rockets to the thinly carpeted floor with a clattering thud.

  Noah’s eyes flutter open, and his brow wrinkles with worry. He’s on his feet before I have time to realize that standing is not in my best interest, even if emptying my bladder is. In seconds his arm is around my waist, and I sink into his support.

  “What are you doing?”

  His words drip with exhaustion. There’s no way he slept well on that floor, but he slept there. Why?

  I don’t have time for niceties. “If I don’t make it to the toilet in a matter of seconds, I’m going to pee right here.”

  Unexpectedly, he smiles, the first real smile he’s given me since New Year’s Day. Despite my bladder on the brink, my stomach tightens.

  “Well, then. Let’s get you to a toilet.”

  He pulls me slowly from the desk, and buoying me the whole way, he gets me there, slowly but, thankfully, with seconds still to spare.

  “I’m going in alone,” I warn.

  He nods. “I’ll be right here when you’re ready to head back, but you better call me if you need me.”

  Waving him off, I trade his support for that of the wall. Not as good, but now that I’ve made it this far, my knees have started to behave.

  Peeing was the easy part. Getting back up, not so much. Nothing, though, can prepare me for what I see when I come face to face with the mirror above the sink. Smudged mascara streaks across the already darkened skin under my eyes. Above the right eye a square of gauze takes up nearly half my forehead. Curious, I peel back the tape from the top edge, slowly letting the flap fall down. A gash starts at the center of my brow and then moves diagonally out toward my hairline. It’s small but must have been deep if it requires three stitches to hold it shut.

  I laugh to myself at the irony. My parents are worried about me traveling the continent when I can do as much damage to myself right here in Aberdeen.

  My parents.

  Prescription meds, stitches—there’s no way I could have had any of this done without them knowing. The only thing that steadies my pulse for a few short minutes is seeing my toothbrush and toothpaste on the counter. I must have brushed my teeth six or seven times before heading to work, knowing Noah and I would have to rehearse the kiss. If I’d have known how the rest of the night was going to go, I would have called in sick for everything.

  Toothbrush in hand, I scrub until my gums bleed, wanting so badly to cleanse myself of the night before. The plan was to reinvent myself here, and it looks like I’ve succeeded. I’m a petty, jealous, selfish lush—just what I’ve always wanted.

  I gasp, choking back a sob, ashamed and embarrassed at the person staring back at me. Without warning, Noah is beside me, refastening the gauze that I’ve left hanging over my eye, smoothing my hair out of my face.

  “This isn’t me,” I whisper through tears. “Noah, I swear, this isn’t me.”

  He turns me away from the mirror and into his chest. I wrap my arms around him and squeeze, the past six weeks releasing with quiet sobs into his shirt. His arms stroke lightly up my back, soothing my hitching breaths.

  “I know, Brooks. I know.”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Noah waits in the hall while I change out of the work clothes I slept in, into more appropriate wallow-in-bed-all-day attire—a tank and yoga pants. The painkiller is kicking in, which means opening my eyes won’t kill me quite yet. But the walk to the bathroom has me completely drained, so much so that I crawl back into bed. I prop my pillows against the wall and snugly fit my blanket around my body. A quick swipe of a tissue hopefully removes any eye makeup left over since the torrent of tears began.

  “You can come in now.”

  The door swings open, and Noah walks in with a mug of tea and a plate of dry toast. I smile, swallowing back more tears.

  “Thank you.”

  He places the tea on the desk and the plate of toast in my hands.

  “You’re welcome.”

  I nibble the corner of the toast, but I’m not hungry. I’m curious.

  “So, maybe this is the part where you tell me why you slept on my floor last night?”

  He sits on the opposite end of the bed, against the other wall, so that we are feet-to-feet. Only once before have I woken up with him in my room, but there was no time to note the subtle nuances of morning Noah. The stubble on his jaw, something so simple, so normal, but so new to me. His eyes, still their deep blue, possess a clarity I have not seen before. He’s Noah, the same Noah from last night, but at the same time different.

  “What do you remember about last night?” he asks.

  “Nothing,” I answer. “Nothing beyond hitting my head and spotty conversation with either a Scottish doctor or Duncan in a white lab coat. One can never be too sure.”

  His brows draw together, and his expression is strained. I guess he doesn’t like my humorous deflection.

  “First of all, don’t you ever scare the shit out me like that again.”

  His words are etched with intense worry.

  “Okay.” Though I don’t mean it, the response sounds defensive.

  “Okay,” he repeats. “Second,” he continues, “I’m sorry. I am so fucking sorry. If Lily hadn’t met me at the pub, none of this would have happened.”

  I recoil at the name Lily, and the way he says it with such familiarity.

  “I was an asshole for doing that.”

  Now it’s clear. He feels guilty. The last thing I need is pity.

  “Yes. You were. But it’s fine. I’m fine. All’s forgiven.”

  After last night, I have to be done—done with my anger, done with holding on to my feelings for him—done.

  He cocks his head slightly to the side, a move that is still so undeniably him.

  “I’m fine,” I repeat. “You can go home now.” And then—because how much further can I really slide?—I add, “You can go back to Lily.”

  He tilts his head back onto the wall, eyes closed.

  “Shit. It wasn’t a real date, at least not for me. We had lunch a couple times in the union. When she asked what I was doing for Valentine’s Day, I told her we had rehearsal at the pub. I’m not even sure I officially invited her, but she said she’d meet me there. I could have told her no, but I didn’t.” He opens his eyes to look at me. “I was pissed and confused, so I let a bad situation get worse. I never intended to stay there with her, but Oliver insisted we sit.”

  “Well, if Oliver insisted,” I interrupt.

  This time he bangs his head against the wall, lightly but most likely with enough force to wake Elaina if she’s there.

  “The truth is, I didn’t want to leave.” He pauses for a deep, controlled breath. “I was so fucking pissed at myself a
fter the Beatrice and Benedick kiss, after our kiss, because it was selfish. I wanted you so much in that moment that I didn’t consider what it would do to you if I acted on that need. I didn’t think about Lily showing up. I just wanted to take back a tiny piece of what we found on New Year’s Eve. And once it happened, I couldn’t leave. I had no right or claim to you, but with all that damn mistletoe, I couldn’t stand the thought of you kissing anyone else.”

  I wonder at his confession. Wonder if Daniel will ever forgive me.

  “I’m here, Brooks, because I’m the one who caught you, bleeding, before you hit the floor. I’m the one who rode with you in a cab to the hospital, and I’m the one who, though they said you didn’t have a concussion, was not going to let you sleep alone last night.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah. Oh,” he echoes. “There’s something else.”

  My chest constricts as I allow myself to hope. I look down at my hands as they pick at a snag in the blanket. This is where the other shoe must drop.

  “You were right.”

  Those words again. I close my eyes, bracing for him to explain again that regardless of what we felt, there’s no point to a relationship that’s already going to end.

  “I should never have read your journal,” he says.

  My head tilts back up, slowly. His dark hair hangs wild with the remnants of sleep, the skin below his eyes every bit as dark as mine. If he had not said what he just did, I’d still find him every bit as beautiful as I do right now.

  “That doesn’t change what I read and that I took it the way I did.”

  “I know. I’m…”

  “And that I was jealous of him, always. For almost four months I tried to ignore my feelings for you because I was trying to do the right thing, trying to forgive Hailey and give us a fighting chance. At the time it didn’t seem fair to blow her off for something I knew would end even if I tried to begin it. You planted that idea, and it was easier to try to believe it than fight you on it. That didn’t mean watching you with Griffin wasn’t torture, or that seeing you every day in class only made me want to see you more.”

  My breathing is heavy, and I want to crawl across the distance between us, but I don’t have the answer. He’s right. I was right, even if I didn’t entirely mean what I said. If things had worked out between us, how much more devastating would parting be in May than parting six weeks ago?

  But it’s been a fucking miserable six weeks. And I’m sick of being miserable.

  Maybe it’s the painkillers kicking in, or maybe it’s that I’ve reached my limit of being able to hold back, but without another thought, I throw the blanket off and crawl across the short expanse of mattress and the span of time from January until now. He doesn’t stop me or push me away. And when I climb onto his lap, he brings his hands to my neck, coaxing my head toward his. His lips lightly swipe the bandage above my eye.

  Though grateful for his touch, I can’t help thinking of the mortification of facing everyone who saw me fall.

  “You think anyone will believe me if I claim turbulence?”

  I smile and breathe him in, scooting closer, so my head rests on his shoulder.

  He exhales into my hair. “You remember that?”

  My finger traces a circle on his upturned palm, the one with the scar.

  “I remember everything about the day we met.” I smile at the thought of him stumbling out of the loo, pinning me against the wall. “I remember a kiss from a strange guy that I didn’t want to end, that made me feel like I’d known him all my life.”

  I run my fingers through his hair, waiting for him to protest, but he doesn’t. He closes his eyes and sighs.

  “If it’s going to suck in May,” I continue, “when we have to say good-bye, why does that mean it has to suck every day until then?”

  He laughs, and the sound of it fills me with such a ridiculous lightness. How have I gone so long without hearing it? I sit up, wanting to see his face when he answers. He’s still smiling.

  “I guess I’ve never looked at it through the Jordan Brooks brand of logic before.”

  That’s all it takes for the last of my resistance to evaporate. In a fit of urgency, I kiss him. It is quick but firm, and his lips definitely respond.

  “And then there’s that,” he adds.

  “What?”

  “Your lips.”

  I do it again, pressing myself to him a bit longer, a bit harder.

  “I never meant to judge you for what happened between you and Griffin. You were entitled to your life as much as I was entitled to mine. I have a hard time trusting, but I should have trusted you.”

  “Do you, now?” I ask, needing to obliterate my last sliver of doubt.

  “Yes,” he says, his lips brushing my forehead. “I trust you.”

  “Thank you,” I whisper. “Not that it matters, but I canceled on him for spring break the morning you left my flat. I don’t think either of us ever thought we’d really go through with it, meeting up again, but I had to be sure he knew. I’d rather be alone than with the wrong person.”

  He kisses my forehead, my eyes, my cheeks, and my chin.

  “I never thanked you, you know. Not like I should have.”

  I sigh, not wanting to break the spell. “What do you mean?” I ask.

  He strokes my hair, lulling me to a place I never want to leave.

  “Oliver’s place, that first day of class. I know it wasn’t easy for you to do what you did, to help me like that.”

  He stops and clears his throat. I take a breath to speak, but he continues.

  “I’ve only had a full-blown panic attack two other times since I was a kid, both landing me in the ER.”

  I thread my fingers through his and squeeze. “I’m sorry, so sorry. I didn’t know.”

  He shakes his head, looking away. “I was alone. Those other times, I was alone and so fucking scared. But on the train when we met, in Oliver’s flat—you were there. You could have let me fall apart. I wouldn’t have blamed you.”

  “No.” His face turns to mine with the force of the word. “God, Noah, no. I was pissed at first, yeah, but when I saw you, saw the pain you were in, all I wanted was to take it from you. Regardless of how hard that day was for me, it hurt more to see you like that, to wonder what would have happened if I couldn’t help you.”

  My voice breaks at the thought.

  “But you did help me. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Even when we weren’t together, I wasn’t alone when you were there.”

  He kisses me, wiping away the last tear I plan to shed tonight.

  “One more thing about that morning I left your flat.” He pauses. “Nothing happened with Hailey that day or any day after. I know what it looked like, and I was an asshole, trying to do what was easy. But I don’t want easy.” He kisses me. “I want chaos.” He laughs, and I roll my eyes even though I know he’s right. I’m the most organized person I know, but nothing about me and Noah fits into any sort of neat, little package. Another kiss. “I want you.”

  I breathe out a long sigh.

  “So we’re going to do this? Happiness now, misery later?”

  He answers me by dipping his head to the bottom of my neck, to the place where it meets my shoulder, and I shudder. Pulling my legs up, I move so that I’m straddling him, and my hands tangle in his hair.

  “Brooks.” He sighs, and that’s the last word I let him say before silencing him with my mouth.

  We sleep away most of Sunday, Noah grateful for a mattress compared to the floor, me grateful for his body molded to mine. Sometime in the afternoon I wake to him wrapping my hair around his finger, the warmth of his lips on my neck.

  A quiet moan escapes my parted lips.

  “How is it possible?” I ask.

  “What?” His voice is low.

  The only way to maximize my time with him is to not waste any of it with the bullshit of guarding my feelings.

  “To have missed someone so much after so little tim
e together?”

  His hand moves from my hair to my shoulder, trailing down my arm. Everything in me reacts, contracts, as his hand comes to rest on my stomach, my body confirming the answer to the question. As he inhales, he pulls me closer, tighter, and I tickle the skin of his bare forearm.

  “That depends,” he teases, “on who that someone is.”

  I can tell he’s smiling. My finger traces small circles on the back of his hand, and he lets out a shaky breath onto my shoulder. I pull his hand up to my mouth, pressing my lips to his palm.

  “You.” I kiss it again. “You, Noah Keating.” Once more. “You.”

  He rises up on his elbow, rolling me onto my back. His hand slides down my face, coming to rest at the base of my neck. My breaths are silent, but my chest is heaving.

  “I have to tell you something,” he says, his eyes clear glass under the dark veil of his lashes. He can say anything he wants if he keeps looking at me like that.

  I nod, silently.

  “Remember when I told you on New Year’s Eve that it wasn’t random that I found you?”

  “You did?” I think back to that night, to the kiss. Then it clicks, him admitting it wasn’t random, him telling me that he came here the night I was with Griffin. What else hasn’t Elaina told me?

  “When I told you Hailey and I ended things, that it was mutual, I didn’t tell you the rest of the story. I was so floored that I’d found you, at Prick of all places, I didn’t think anything else mattered.” He pauses.

  My brows knit together, and I’m flooded with inexplicable worry. What hasn’t he told me?

  “Hey,” he says, gentle and reassuring. “It’s not like that.” His head inclines toward the side of my throat where his lips graze my skin. “I wasn’t sure how you’d react.” He pauses again.

  My body responds despite my brain, my back arching slightly so I can answer his touch with my own, press my skin to his lips.

  He pulls back to rest again on his elbow, ignoring my pout.

  “You already know I came to your flat that night.”

  I nod, noting the twinge of pain in his expression.

  “I don’t know what I expected. I didn’t think I had a right to expect anything, but as soon as I knew she and I were through, I found myself walking over here. I don’t think I realized where I was going until I was at your door.”