by Olivia Dade
He glared at the phone. “So you were setting us u—”
“But it turns out you’re just a bastard the whole way through.” Her voice turned even harder, if possible. “How’d it feel, Chris? Did it feel good to fuck a vulnerable woman and leave her with a one-line fucking note? Did that somehow make all your hurt disappear?”
Wes had told him that beneath Helen’s usual sweetness, she had one hell of a temper. Honestly, Chris hadn’t truly believed it. Every time he’d ever seen the woman, she’d seemed like one of the most patient people on the face of the Earth.
He believed it now. But he didn’t understand where the hell all that rage was coming from, and he wasn’t going to be yelled at for something that wasn’t his fault.
With an effort, he kept his voice at a reasonable volume. “You need to slow the fuck down, Helen. I don’t know what Sarah told you, but I didn’t—”
“She cried when I talked to her just now. Cried.” Helen sounded on the verge of tears herself, her words shaking with more than rage. “I’ve never heard Sarah cry before. Not when she fell on some ice a couple of winters ago and broke her arm in three places. Not when she scrubbed her face with fucking poison ivy. Not when an asshole she’d dated for over a month dumped her via a text, saying no man would ever put up with her for longer than he had.”
Even through his anger and confusion, he couldn’t help but cringe. The thought of Sarah in tears . . . God, it ripped at him, twisting his guts into a knot. And he couldn’t even imagine how betrayed and hurt she’d felt at such cruelty from a man she’d trusted enough to date for a month.
Helen’s voice lowered to a ragged whisper. “She never cried. Not once in all the years I’ve known her. But she did tonight. I can’t believe I’m the one who put her in the position to be hurt. I can’t believe I was so wrong about you, Chris.”
And then she hung up on him.
Chris stared at the silent phone on his counter, completely shell-shocked. She thought Sarah had cried over him? After Sarah had essentially told him he was a one-time fuck, a temporary amusement until she pursued a real relationship with Ulysses?
He shook his head. No way. Helen must have gotten confused. And he was going to clear the whole thing up for her right fucking now.
She didn’t answer when he called her back. So he called Wes instead, hoping his friend might be able to explain the situation to Helen.
Wes didn’t sound particularly welcoming on the phone, either. “This better be good, dude. Because I’ve got an angry, crying girlfriend here who’s about one strawberry daiquiri away from driving to your house and setting it on fire. And I consider Sarah my friend too, so I’m not exactly thrilled that you pulled a fuck-and-run with her.”
“That’s just it, man. I didn’t.” Chris ran a hand through his hair, gripping the ends so hard he almost ripped out a chunk. “Well, I guess I did. Technically. But only because Sarah wanted me gone. Right before she fell asleep, she told me so.”
“Hold on.” A minute of silence before Wes came back on the line. “Don’t lie to me, Dean. Helen called Sarah at Battlefield and threatened to camp on her doorstep until she explained what had happened, so Sarah told her everything. And there was absolutely nothing in there about rejecting you. Precisely the opposite, as a matter of fact.”
What did that mean? The opposite of rejection?
Either Sarah was lying to her friends, or she and Chris had done a piss-poor job communicating with one another. And Sarah wasn’t a liar.
Closing his eyes, Chris took a deep breath. “Okay. Let me explain to you what I think happened last night, and then you can tell me what Sarah said.”
“I’m putting you on speaker so Helen can listen,” Wes said.
“Let’s hear it.” Helen still sounded mightily pissed off.
“I liked Sarah right away. Thought she was funny and hot. Kind, too.” His hands braced on the counter, he stared out into the empty parking lot. “But I told myself not to get too involved with her. Because you’re right. I’m still damaged from what happened in Rockville. Which means the last thing I need is a woman who wants another man. But after spending time with her, I . . .”
His chest heaved in a deep sigh. “I was hoping maybe she’d change her mind about the fucking gym teacher. So we”—he paused—“were together. But right before we went to sleep, she started talking. I’d asked her a couple of days ago why she considered that guy her only real possibility for a long-term relationship. She answered the question last night. Told me the reasons she thought he was a good match for her. Then she went to sleep.”
Silence on the other end of the line.
Then Helen spoke, her voice tentative. “Um, Chris, I think—”
But by then he was getting a little angry again. “So don’t you yell at me for leaving, Helen. She made it clear that it was a one-time thing between the two of us, and that she was still going after goddamn Ulysses. What the hell else was I supposed to do?”
“Dude.” Wes sounded much more sympathetic this time, which made his next words all the more surprising. “You’re a fucking moron.”
“I’ve got this now, sweetheart,” Helen said. “Listen, Chris. Sarah just told me the same exact story, with one crucial difference. That conversation wasn’t about telling you why she was still pursuing Ulysses. She was trying to tell you what she needed in a potential boyfriend. Trying to share her vulnerabilities with you so you could decide whether you could handle them. Handle her. In a relationship. A relationship with you, you dense mutant-man.”
“Thus the whole ‘you’re a fucking moron’ thing,” Wes added. “You interpreted what she said the worst possible way, and didn’t even bother asking her to explain herself. You just left.”
Chris’s head dropped to his chest. Oh, God. Now that he thought back on that conversation, she hadn’t actually mentioned Ulysses at all, had she?
No. She’d shared what she wanted in a man, and then said, “I thought you should know.”
You. Meaning him. Because she was trying to ask him whether he thought he would be interested in a relationship with her. And his response had been to walk out on her in the middle of the night, leaving behind only a brusque, one-line note.
Yes, she could have stated her intentions more clearly. But, hell, she’d been injured and exhausted. She’d probably been unsure what he really wanted from her, given the mixed signals he’d been sending her way for the past two days. And she’d probably wanted to give herself some emotional protection if he wasn’t interested after all.
So he’d hurt her. Inadvertently, but he’d done it.
And he had no idea what to do next.
“Chris?” Helen’s voice had warmed considerably. “This sounds like a misunderstanding. I think you can fix it.”
“Maybe.” He looked down at the counter, flicking a piece of dust to the side. “I’m just not sure I should.”
“What do you mean?” Wes sounded befuddled.
“Maybe I’m just too fucked up for a relationship right now. I mean, look at what just happened. I took the first excuse I found to cut and run, without even giving her a chance to explain. She deserves better than that.” Raising a hand, he gripped the back of his neck. “I don’t want to hurt her again. It kills me that I made her cry. That I made her feel rejected.”
Another long silence. He could hear Helen and Wes whispering to one another.
Finally, Helen spoke again. “People screw up, Chris. God knows Wes did the first time he took me home.”
“No fucking joke,” Wes said with feeling.
“You can’t guarantee not to hurt her again. All you can do is try to make it up to her, work on getting past your issues, and deal with her more carefully in the future.” She paused. “What you have to decide is whether you think a possible future with her would be worth that effort. Whether you think Sarah is worth that effort. And that’s not a question Wes or I can answer for you.”
Shortly afterward, the three of them sai
d good-bye. Chris found himself alone again in his depressing front room. And he still didn’t know what the hell to do.
Not because he was questioning whether Sarah deserved everything he had to give. Without a doubt, she did. She deserved all the effort he could possibly pour into her and into their potential relationship.
But she also deserved a man who trusted her. Who treated her with understanding and respect, and who’d always give her the benefit of the doubt. Who’d lavish her with all the affection and love in the world. Without reservation. Without suspicion.
And he just didn’t know whether he was too fucked up to be that man.
10
As Sarah pulled into a parking space near the C & O Canal, she tried to convince herself that attending the bike retreat was still a good idea, even after everything that had happened with Chris.
Forget him, she told herself. Today is for you. A celebration of all you can accomplish when you set your mind to it and an exploration of what could happen between you and Ulysses. Use the prospect of imminent death on the bike to distract yourself from thoughts of... that other man.
There was no way that was happening. She was doomed. She already knew it.
She got out of her car and braced herself for a rendezvous with Ulysses, Mother Nature, and her bike. Her odds of survival: marginal. Her odds of finding true love with Ulysses: vanishingly small. Her odds of successfully distracting herself from thoughts of Chris: zero.
But she had to try. For her pride, if nothing else. And really, how bad could it be?
As it turned out: really fucking bad. After two hours in the saddle, she was kind of hoping her bike really would explode. Or devour her. Or steer itself into a tree. Anything to put an end to the Longest Goddamn Bike Ride Ever Recorded.
To be fair, other people had probably biked longer physical distances at some point in world history. But they certainly hadn’t taken a ride that felt so fucking long. If she had to admire another fucking tree, marvel at another fucking vista, or coo over another fucking bird, she was going to lose it. Big-time. Her patience was gone, as were her remaining electrolytes. Her body hurt. Her heart hurt. Her vocabulary had shrunk to grunts, one-syllable words, and various obscenities. Mostly fuck, in all its useful forms.
Nature sucked. Sweating sucked. The bruises from her fall sucked. The lingering tenderness between her thighs . . . well, she kind of liked that. But on a bike ride? It sucked. And finally getting Ulysses’s undivided attention . . .
Yeah. That sucked too. Because Ulysses was boring as hell.
“I can identify over fifty species of birds by their calls alone.” He smiled at her. “By sight, I can identify over two hundred. And trees .. . don’t get me started on those. I’ve made a lengthy study of all the local flora, and I’ve found—”
“Wow,” she panted. “Fascinating.”
Keeping up with the group biking along the C & O Canal had proven challenging for a cycling beginner and exercise avoider. So far, though, she hadn’t fallen. Not even when a squirrel darted right in her path. Sure, she’d shrieked and wobbled a bit, but that was to be expected. So were a few unflattering words for the squirrel. She hadn’t appreciated the dirty looks from her colleagues after she’d called it the Devil’s Rat-Faced Minion.
“I was surprised to see you here this morning,” Ulysses said. His breathing was slow and steady. He hadn’t even broken a sweat. The bastard. “You don’t seem like the . . . um, outdoorsy type. But I’m glad you came.”
He smiled at her, his white teeth gleaming in his attractive face.
Ulysses Bollinger, it seemed, was a diamond of many facets. He loved fitness. He loved nature. He loved reading about fitness and nature. He loved watching television programs about fitness and nature. He loved going to movies about fitness and nature. He loved talking about fitness and nature. He was friendly. Handsome. At long last, he even seemed interested in her.
Too bad, then, that she didn’t want him anymore. At all. For possibly the first time in her life, she wasn’t willing to settle. She knew exactly what she wanted, and she wasn’t going to accept less.
She wanted a man who caused that elusive zing of electricity when she saw him.
She wanted a man who would push her to take chances, but one who also understood her. One who wouldn’t try to change her fundamental character.
She wanted a man who was gentle and protective.
She wanted a man who, despite that gentle protectiveness, would still throw her down on a bed and fuck her senseless.
She wanted a man who was intelligent, funny, and sexy.
She’d met a man like that three days ago. Chris embodied everything she wanted. Everything . . . except the last item on her list. The most important item of all.
She wanted a man who wanted her in return, enough to fight for her.
No reservations. No mixed messages. No running away when things got tough. Because they would. She knew exactly who she was and who she wasn’t, and she could guarantee some rough seas ahead for any man ballsy enough to claim her as his own.
But she deserved a little effort. Hell, she deserved a lot of effort. From now on, she was going to demand it. She was going to demand everything she wanted. If Chris thought so little of her that he would hand her off to another man, she could do better. If Ulysses bored the yoga pants off of her, she could do better. And if neither Chris nor Ulysses could give her everything she wanted, screw them both. She’d do just fine on her own until the right man came along, if he ever did.
So why was she still biking along the damn canal? She hated nature, at least when it got up close and personal. Looking down from the heights of her bike made her woozy. Her body still ached from the fall and . . . other assorted activities.
Fuck this. She was going home. The next time the bike path neared a road, she was stopping and calling for a cab on her cell phone. The driver could put her bike in the back seat and take her to retrieve her car from the canal parking lot easily enough.
“Ulysses,” she said, “you’re right. I’m not outdoorsy. In fact, I hate nature. And since I see a few cars through the trees over there”—she nodded to their right—“I’ll be heading out now. Thanks for keeping me company today. See you in a couple of months at school.”
She pedaled backward, just as Chris had shown her. Her bike slowed to a smooth stop. She put her feet back on the ground. And as Ulysses looked back at her, his mouth open, she gave him a little wave good-bye.
So long, sucker, she thought. Enjoy the mosquitos and sunburn. I’ll be enjoying a cool shower, a soft bed, and a couple of enormous muffins. I might be alone, but at least I’ll be alone with my self-respect.
* * *
Someone had apparently delivered a package to her at some point during the morning. A big one. And she had no idea what it contained.
Sarah unloaded her bike from her SUV and cautiously approached the enormous box on her front porch. No shipping label or return address. Someone had delivered this package by hand. Or by dolly. As far as she could tell, it wasn’t ticking. So what in the world was inside the box, and why had someone left it outside her door?
She supposed there was only one way to find out.
The box weighed too much for her to lift it inside, so she brought a pair of scissors out to the front porch and sat down. Seam by seam, she opened the huge package. Only to find . . . something.
Honestly, she wasn’t quite sure what it was. But it was bright yellow. It had three wheels, one in front and two in back. It sat low to the ground. The large seat looked cushiony. Comfortable. It had pedals and what she assumed was a handbrake. Was this a bike? Because if so, it resembled no bike she’d ever seen before. If she’d seen a model like this in the store, she’d have chosen it for the stupid bike retreat today. It seemed less likely to fling her to the ground than the one she’d bought for herself.
She looked more closely at the wide-set handlebars. Someone had glued streamers to them. Purple, sparkly ones. That’s
when she realized: Her dad must have done this. Only he would know that Sarah was learning to ride a bike and that she loved streamers. Dad had probably gone out and bought the contraption out of concern for his daughter’s cycling safety and in congratulations for learning how to ride a bike at thirty-two years of age.
She smiled at the sweet gesture and began to dig her cell phone out of her pocket. Her dad deserved a thank-you call for this gift. But her smile faded when she noticed a note stuck between the spokes of the front wheel. The handwriting on it didn’t look like her father’s. It looked like . . .
It looked like the handwriting she’d first seen yesterday morning.
She unfolded the paper with trembling fingers.
Dear Sarah,
This is a recumbent bike, which I think you’ll like more than the one that nearly killed you in the library parking lot. True, it’s a bike for kids, but so was your other one. I installed some streamers, and I can probably figure out a way to put a basket on there too. You know. For baguettes.
If you’d like a lesson on how to ride this bike, come see me at my shop. I’ll be there waiting for you. Please let me apologize and explain myself in person. Please take pity on a lonely man who screwed up, and who didn’t realize he was ready for a relationship. One with you. Only you.
Yours,
Chris
P.S. I’ll let you decorate the front of my shop if you give me another chance.
She dropped the note on the porch. The recumbent bike sitting next to her looked sturdy, and she rested her cheek on its padded seat for a moment. It didn’t budge. Chris had done this for her. Chris. The man who’d said he wasn’t even ready to date. The man who’d been unwilling to talk about his past, except in the most general terms. The man who’d left her bed yesterday morning with only a brief note to say good-bye. The man who’d basically flung her into the arms of another man.
