The Choices We Make

by Barbara C. Doyle

  Suddenly, I’m being pulled away from the couch by Kennedy, who is also dragging Ian and Ben along with her. “You two, help him become presentable. I’m not being seen with him looking like this.”

  Ben drags his feet into the carpet. “What the hell do you want me to do? Hold his hand while he showers?”

  Ian snorts. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately, but don’t stop. You’re more vocal, snappier, and I like it.”

  I eye Ben suspiciously. He’s been around more, but I can’t tell if it’s because of us or Will’s little brother. I want to ask, but not if it means outing him before he’s ready.

  Kennedy shoves Ben’s back. “I don’t care what you have to do, just get him smelling like anything other than moldy cheese and pity.”

  I roll my eyes at her dramatics but let her tug me toward the bathroom. She pushes me in, closing the door behind me.

  “You’ve got five minutes!” she informs.

  I hear her command the guys to get me fresh clothes and to guard the bathroom door, like I’ll make a break for it or something. This is my house, where the hell else would I go?

  I take thirteen minutes, which leaves Kennedy beating down the door. “You better be shaving the bush off your face!”

  “When the hell did you become so bossy?” I counter, putting down my razor, and running a hand across my now smooth jaw.

  Her reply is instant. “When you became a walking natural disaster.”

  I open the door with a towel draped low on my hips. No one brought me any clean clothes, so I haven’t changed yet.

  At first, I’m staring into Kennedy’s murderous eyes, but slowly I watch her will fade as she struggles to keep her hazel eyes above my waist.

  She finally loses her will and her eyes trail down my chest and stomach, landing on the towel that ends at my hips. I notice the way her breath hitches, and she draws her bottom lip into her mouth with her two front teeth.

  This isn’t the first time Kennedy’s looked at me like this, but it’s the first time I feel something because of it—my chest restricts as her eyes, now a darker shade of green, burn their way back up my naked body.

  Her attention sears me, and I don’t know how to take the way my body reacts. My nostrils flare as I watch her eyes drift down, like she’s seeing all the ways I’ve changed, grown. The last time she saw me shirtless was when we all went to the lake before I left with the guys for tour. I was lean, but not as trimmed as I am now, and I definitely did not have the muscles that sculpt my chest, abs, and biceps.

  She’s changed, too. The tight clothes she wears emphasizes the shape of her waist, how it curves and flares at her hips. She’s got an hourglass figure and a full chest. Guys in high school always paid extra attention to her because of how she filled out, but now she really showed it off, not caring if people stared. Her low-cut blue V-neck showed the peak of her breasts, and I’m sure Dylan caught a few glances when he could. He may be taken but he wasn’t blind. God, those tight, dark wash skinny jeans show off her toned legs that go on for miles, especially with the heeled knee-high boots she’s wearing. I couldn’t keep my eyes off her pert ass.

  I need to remind myself it’s been years since I’ve felt the touch of another woman, it’s been years since I could lose myself in the heat of passion. My reaction was normal for someone in my state, my stature. I need to start thinking of Kennedy as my friend again. I clear my throat to bring the conversation back on topic. “A natural disaster, huh?” I muse dryly. “Am I a hurricane? Wild fire? Earthquake?”

  “More like a tornado,” she informs me, voice hoarse until she clears it, forcing herself to meet my eyes again.

  I wonder what she’s thinking, but I make myself brush off the curiosity, unsure if it’s smart to want to know the thoughts racing through my best friend’s mind.

  Whatever this is, the longing looks, the hungry gazes, it’s not meant to be anything more than my body trying to connect with someone else. After holding out hope for so long, it must be my way of trying to feel something, anything again.

  … right?

  I tilt my head. “And what does that make you? A storm chaser? Why would you risk getting caught up in the eye of the storm, Kennedy? It only gets worse, more dangerous, from here.”

  She swallows, her lips twitching. “I guess I’m crazy. But mostly because I care, Bash. I don’t want to watch you self-destruct.”

  Her voice is unusually soft, and I find comfort in it. But solitude is what I deserve after everything that’s unraveled over the past three and half months.

  “What if I already have?” I whisper.

  She shakes her head. “You haven’t. I don’t know what happened between you and Opal, and God knows I’ve tried twisting it out of her. She’s … she’s a mess, too, I’ll admit that much to you. She went from having Noah and you in her life, to just Addy. I don’t even think she knows what to do. I think, eventually, you two can deal with it together. Who better to understand your problems than the person who went through the same thing?”

  I grip the doorjamb so tight my fingers turn white. “She loves him, Kennedy. That’s the problem.”

  Her eyes darken as she frowns. “That’s not the problem, Bash. Opal loves Noah, so what? Don’t you think you deserve to find that kind of love, too?”

  She’s always been blunt, and there were times when it irritated me. But now she’s saying exactly what I need to hear.

  Opal’s happy. She’s in love, and as much as I hate it, I’m glad she found somebody who cares about her—who will take care of her and Addison for the rest of their lives.

  “I wanted to believe she was the only one for me,” I murmur, shaking my head. “Guess that was pretty foolish?”

  She sighs. “It was romantic. Stupidly romantic, and I hope one day you’re able to shower someone else the same way.”

  Jaw ticking, I ask, “Is she with him?”

  She hesitates, licking her lips. “They’re not together. She hasn’t talked to him yet, but he’s it for her, Bash. Everyone knows it, she just needs to be the one to go to him once and for all.”

  And then it’ll be final.

  The white knight will finally get the girl, and the prince will be left with his bleeding heart in his hands.

  I can’t help but wonder, “He was there for her the whole time, wasn’t he? After I left?”

  She nods. “Opal shut down for months after you left. She hid at your mom’s and only came out when she needed to. Then Noah came back into town. At first, she dragged her feet. Especially when she started showing. Noah didn’t care, and he made sure that no one person said anything to her when they went out to eat or to the grocery store. He got her a job with Roy, helped her get the apartment. He was the friend she needed, giving her life when she’d given up. We owe him everything for showing her she was stronger because of everything that happened.”

  I couldn’t resent him for that. Opal never should have stopped living, never should have felt defeated or alone. But I can’t change my actions now, I can only appreciate that he was there for her when I should have been.

  Kennedy brushes her hand against my arm, causing me to glance at the soft touch. “Please don’t be that person, Bash. Don’t be the man that becomes addicted to their self-destruction. No matter who Addy is with, you’ll both always have her love. You have a relationship with her, and someday you’ll have what Noah and Opal do.”

  True love.

  True love doesn’t mean that two people have to be inseparable; it means that nothing changes when they’re separated. With us, everything changed. We became our own worst enemies, holding on by threads that were bound to snap.

  “True love, huh?” I find myself breathing out.

  She gives a loose shrug. “I’m a little bit of a sap on the topic. Want to know what I think? I think true love doesn’t have a happily ever after, because it doesn’t really end. That type of love is eternal, you know? With the right person, that is. And, who knows …” Her
voice lowers, like she’s shy. “Maybe you’ve already met her.”

  Ian comes into view, brow quirked up when he sees that I’m still in a towel, his eyes trailing to where Kennedy’s hand is resting on my arm. He grabs a pile of clothes from the table in the hall and tosses them at me.

  “Go cover your shit up and stop flirting.”

  Kennedy’s cheeks turn to flames as she steps back from me quickly. Like she was caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

  I clear my throat. “Shut up, man.”

  Ian chuckles as I close the door to get dressed. I hear them whispering outside of the door but can’t hear what’s being said as their voices fade away.

  Sliding on my jeans, I wonder if she’s right. That I’ve already met my true love.

  Ian barges in. “Ready to go or what?”

  I blow out a breath. “Do I have another choice?”

  He grins. “With Kennedy involved? Not a chance.” He gives me a narrow stare, like he’s calculating something. His lips twitch into a knowing smile. “I honestly can’t wait to see how this all unravels.”

  My brows pinch. “What?”

  He shakes his head. “Nothing, man. Let’s go before Dylan starts whining about how hungry he is like a toddler.”

  “I heard that, dickhole,” Dylan calls from the living room.

  Ian chuckles when he puts his arm around my shoulder as we walk to join the others in the living room. “It’s like having a foul-mouthed teenager. God help, Ashton. She’ll be raising two kids between him and the newborn.”

  Dylan grumbles about going to the bar so he can get away from us. Ian nudges him as they walk out together, Kennedy close behind.

  Ben trails behind with me. “You okay, man?” he asks.

  I inhale slowly, thinking about my answer. “I think so. Can’t say I like being rejected, but it’s for the better.”

  His lips twitch. “I understand.”

  His blank expression, lips drawn down, makes me think something happened with Ryder Harding. But I don’t press him, figuring he’ll tell me if he wants to.

  We make our way to Marty’s in a comfortable silence, nothing but Ian and Dylan’s banter mixed with Kennedy’s heels clicking against the pavement filling the lack of conversation between us.

  And with Ben and I, in our sullen moods, it works perfectly.

  ***

  By eleven, Dylan is trashed and singing an off-key karaoke version of a Shania Twain song that I hope never leaks for her sake. Usually Dylan isn’t a half bad singer—he and Ashton recorded a duet for our last album that topped the charts—but drunk Dylan has absolutely no talent. Although, it’s entertaining as hell to watch.

  Even Ian, who is going back to Vermont early tomorrow afternoon, is on the verge of tipsy as he laughs his ass off over Dylan’s performance, which only fuels Dylan to add more theatrics.

  “Stop encouraging him,” I tell him, laughing along with him. Ben sits next to me, second beer in hand, shaking his head at the show.

  I nudge him. “You should go up there. Show him how it’s done.”

  Ben’s brow arches. “I will when you do.”

  He knows I don’t sing. “Touché.”

  He smirks.

  Kennedy turns to us. “Having fun yet?” she asks. Knowing I don’t drink, she got me a soda that I’d been nursing since we arrived. It’s grown warm now, but I didn’t mind.

  “Loads,” I answer sarcastically.

  She rolls her eyes. “It would be easier if you drank. At least then you wouldn’t be such a killjoy.”

  “For all you know, I’m a mean drunk.”

  She snorts, taking a sip of her margarita. “I don’t think there’s a mean bone in your body, Everly. That’s part of your problem.”

  “Being nice is a bad thing?”

  She nods once. “People walk all over you that way,” she slurs. “Like me. You’re practically my bitch boy, you know.”

  Now I laugh. “Your bitch boy?”

  Ben clinks his glass to mine. “She’s not wrong, dude.”

  Unfortunately, I know that.

  “I’m just teasing,” Kennedy giggles. “But are you at least having a little fun? You don’t look like somebody just pissed in your Fruit Loops, so something must be working.”

  “It’s Cheerios,” I inform her.

  “Well Cheerios are boring and bland, just like you have been for the last couple of hours,” she counters automatically.

  Ben snorts, sliding out of the booth. “I’ll leave you two to this fascinating banter. As much as I love talking about cereal while listening to my friend butcher a good song, I’m calling it a night.”

  Everyone says good-bye to him before he heads out.

  “I am having a little fun,” I finally admit, watching Dylan finish his song.

  “Good, I’m glad.”

  I swirl my soda, studying the bubbles that form around the edges of the glass. “The past week has sucked. I didn’t know what to do after getting my hopes up, you know?”

  “I get it,” she tells me quietly. “Just because I dragged you out doesn’t mean I’m not sympathetic. We all gave you time to sulk, but it’s time, Bash. Time to be happy and move on.”

  “Moving on means giving up the memories.”

  “Nah,” she disagrees, taking another sip. “People don’t stay, but memories do. Plus, you never forget the people who gave you so much to remember in the first place.”

  I grip the glass in my hand, considering her words. My gaze drifts around the room, watching as everyone drinks and laughs and shares stories with one another.

  That’s when it hits me—while I’m watching Kennedy giggle into her drink, Dylan on stage making an ass of himself, and Ian clapping along to his antics, the truth finally hits me. I’d stayed in love with the memory of Opal, not her.

  “Let me ask you this,” Kennedy bargains, taking a break from the show. “If you could go back and do it all again, would you? Even if it’d always end like this, with you and her going your separate ways?”

  I blink, thrown by her question.

  If I could experience the type of love I’d had with Opal, I’d do it over again in an instant. That love had given us a beautiful daughter, and I’d never wish her away. Not in a heartbeat.

  But would I do that to Opal? Make her feel broken all over again? Watch her fall apart all because of me?

  No.

  Kennedy nods once. “That’s what I thought,” she whispers.

  The realization written on my face must be clear as day, because she understands. I press my lips together, surprised I’d come that conclusion in the first place. But Kennedy doesn’t seem shocked at all.

  She’s always been perceptive.

  I blow out a heavy breath. “I keep making fucked up choices, Ken. How am I supposed to come back from that?”

  “Sometimes the wrong choices lead to the right places when they’re meant to,” is all she answers.

  My eyes finally go back to her. “You think?”

  “Can I …” She presses her lips together. “I’ll tell you a story that might help this make more sense. It’s about a naïve girl who went to New York City and thought she could make it with nothing but hope and a prayer.”

  It’s obvious she’s talking about herself, but I don’t cut her off.

  “This girl had a really great internship that ended after three months, and she wanted nothing more than to stay in the city where she had opportunities lining up, one after the other,” she begins, staring into her fruity drink like it holds all the answers. “She had a part-time job at a photography studio, assisting the owner, who she eventually got involved with. The owner, he used her, let her believe that she was going to become something big. The next Annie Leibovitz. And the girl, stupid as she was, believed him. When really, he just wanted a piece of ass and would have said anything to get it.

  “Eventually, the girl saw it for what it was. She tried getting out of the relationship and ended up losing her job. Sh
e’d been staying with a friend who couldn’t let her keep her room without paying her rent, so the girl had to go back to the middle of nowhere and start over, with nothing to offer for her time in the City of Lights. But that girl … she realized that the small town was where she was meant to be all along, with her friends. Friends who needed her, and eventually, maybe something more.”

  She downs the rest of her drink in one swallow, sliding the glass away from her.

  I reach out and brush her hand, getting her attention. Her eyes are bright apple green from the tears glazing the surface.

  “You’re not naïve or stupid,” I tell her.

  “I slept with my boss.”

  “People do silly things all the time, doesn’t mean they’re stupid. It means that they made a mistake,” I argue in confidence. “It sounds like you wound up exactly where you’re supposed to be, and I’m assuming that’s the point you’re trying to prove.”

  A small smile tips her lips. “It is. You and Opal may not be a couple anymore, but you’re meant to be here. You’ve got Addy, and you’ll always have a piece of Opal’s heart. And me …” Color forms on her cheeks, and I study it as she averts her eyes. “You’ve always had me, Bash.”

  Her voice drops as she says the words, and they linger in the air between us. My mind wraps around them, draws them in, soaks in their warmth.

  “I know that,” I answer after we stare at each other for a long moment. “The pictures at Sal’s? They made me realize how amazing you’ve always been to me, Kenny. You went to my shows, supported me, and it’s refreshing.”

  She flips her hand, so our palms are flat against each other. Slowly, she traces her fingers against mine, and the sensation causes my heart to beat a little faster than normal.

  The pad of my index finger mimics her movements, tracing the length of her fingers, lingering against the smoothness of her skin.

  “Kennedy …”

  “It was you,” she says quietly, hooking her finger around mine. “The day at the diner, when I told you that I might have felt a connection with somebody before, I was talking about you. I know that it’s stupid, because you were with Opal, but …” I hold my breath as she collects her thoughts, letting her yellow-painted nails to continue their torture on my hand. “You can’t help who you fall in love with, even if it’s wrong.”