by K. L. Kreig
The edges of MaryLou’s mouth fall into a sad smile. “Like Monday?”
“Yeah, like Monday.” This past Monday was Killian’s thirty-first birthday. I didn’t call. Didn’t text. Didn’t even send an impersonal Facebook post. I pretended it was a regular ol’ day in Dusty Falls. I patted myself on the back, but stewed in that decision all night, wondering if I’d hurt his feelings. Would he think I was acting childish? Did I care if he did? I hated that the answer was yes.
“There will be days like those, I guess.”
“I suppose. But I can honestly say I feel I’m finally taking baby steps forward instead of standing still. So there’s that, at least. It feels good.”
“An inch is an inch, Maverick. As long as it’s forward it’s movement in the right direction.”
“I feel like this lifelong shell Killian has around me is finally cracking. And the more cracks I get, the more room for Kael I seem to have. He’s seeping in, little by little.” In the way a husband already should have, I don’t add.
I look over to catch Kael watching me. He’s intense. Almost as if he knows what we’re talking about. I want to reach up and rub the ache in my chest. I don’t, though. I let my lips turn up reassuringly. Kael does the same.
“I’m glad,” MaryLou says.
“Me, too,” I mumble to her, meaning it with every fiber in me.
Our conversation shifts to the bakery menu as the guys return with a drink in each hand. They set them down and I notice that MaryLou’s looks clear. And not bubbly like a 7 and 7 would. Then I notice she’s found something extremely fascinating with the tabletop.
“Hey,” I prod as Kael slides into the booth beside me and throws an arm around my shoulder. I lean into the possessive kiss he plants on my cheek. “Hey,” I say again, a little louder this time. MaryLou doesn’t look up so I kick her under the table.
“Ouch.” She reaches down to rub her shin. Angry eyes find mine. Good. At least I have her attention.
“What’s that?” I point to her glass.
“What’s what?”
I reach for it, but she’s faster. She grabs the cup and yanks her arm back, spilling liquid in the process. She thinks she has the upper hand on me now. I see it in her smug grin. She should know me better.
I dip my finger through the liquid now on the table and stick it in my mouth. It’s gross. I know. I’m not sure how well these tables are cleaned and there’s some unsavory stuff that can happen in this more secluded corner of the bar. But hey…I’ve had worse things in my mouth.
“You’re sick,” she chastises. “Do you have any idea whose ass germs you may have just shoved into your mouth? I heard Andrew Bolger was banging Holly Brummer on this exact table last weekend. She came all over it and everything.”
Both Kael and Larry chuckle. I ignore her diversion. If that were true, she would have picked another spot. Still, I plan to use the complimentary mouthwash in the bathroom in a minute.
“And you’re drinking water. Why?”
It’s not that I care she’s drinking water. I’m not about to get rip-roaring drunk tonight, even if a two-day hangover would be a good excuse to get out Sunday’s family brunch. So I don’t need a drinking buddy. But MaryLou can drink any man here under the table. And the girl like’s her Seagram’s, so the fact she’s drinking water is highly suspicious.
“Are you pregnant?” I ask. I’m dumbfounded. That’s the only reason she would be drinking water. Why would she not tell me she’s pregnant? I notice Larry glance away. That stabs me.
“No,” she responds fast. “But we’re trying again.” Reaching across the table she links our fingers. I let her, even if I do want to pull away just to hurt her the way I’m now hurting. That my best friend kept something this big from me stings more than I can articulate.
Wow.
First Jilly. Now MaryLou.
I’ve felt as if I’ve been left behind my entire life. With men. With love. Now with babies. Everyone’s happiness crowds around me until I feel smothered.
Kael squeezes my shoulder. He knows I’m upset. “Hey, Larry, how about a round of darts?” Larry, the clueless fuck, says no. Kael slips out, scoops up Larry’s drink, and takes off. He knows Larry will follow like a bloodhound when alcohol is involved.
When they’re gone, I ask, “Why didn’t you tell me?” I can’t keep hurt from double coating my words. I try. Really I do.
She just stares at me until my dense brain works through it.
Ah.
I get it.
“You could have told me,” I tell her firmly. “We share everything.” And I mean everything. From learning to use tampons together to practicing French kissing on each other when we were ten to crushing on the same boy. There’s not a female in all of Adel County who hasn’t crushed on Killian Shepard.
“I’m sorry. I should have. You’ve just been going through a lot. I didn’t want to add to it.”
“You could have added to it. You should have, MaryLou. We’re best friends. I don’t want you to feel you don’t think I can be happy for you just because I’m going through my own shit. I am. Happy for you, I mean.”
“I know.” She’s contrite. “But the bigger part of me is just scared. It’s like if I start telling people, it becomes this real pressure and…”
She doesn’t need to say any more. MaryLou was pregnant when she got married. At five months she lost the baby. They were both devastated. I was devastated for them. But they tried again. Twice more. Unsuccessful, they gave up. My heart has bled over and over for her.
“Hey,” I say. I see her glassy blues peak through her lashes. “I guess you’ll get good use of that sex swing then.” When she laughs a tiny tear rolls down her cheek. “And then when you’re done, he can just tip you upside down and let you ferment a while.”
She fake slaps me. “You’re terrible.”
“Yeah. But I can tell by the sparkle in your eye you think it’s a good idea.”
She fights a smile for all of five seconds before whispering conspiratorially, “I never thought about that.”
“Well, see…that’s what best friends are for.”
“Thanks, Mavricky.” Her relief is palpable. The weight of secrets is a heaviness MaryLou can’t handle. I wish I was like that.
“No problem, babe.”
Our attention turns briefly to our men. Kael looks smug and cocky. Larry a bit more pissy. Guess we know who’s winning.
“Hey, karaoke’s going to start in a few. Let’s hit the bathroom before we miss Paulie singing ‘Walk Like an Egyptian.’”
Paulie, our forty-five-year-old town pharmacist, not only sings a good rendition of The Bangles’ most famous song, he’s choreographed a pretty fancy little routine. He even brings his own tambourine and does that side eye roll better than Susanna Hoffs. And since he hasn’t lost his eighties mullet yet, he’s very entertaining to watch. He usually gets the first spot to start karaoke night off with a bang, pun intended.
“Good idea,” I say.
I follow her into the ladies’ room. We chat through the stall walls as we always do. After we wash our hands and I’ve sufficiently rinsed my mouth with the generic version of Scope, I watch MaryLou primp her hair, vowing to be a better friend. I want to be there for her as she is for me. I can understand why she didn’t tell me. I’ve been pretty self-absorbed lately.
“We good?” she asks, eyeing me behind her.
“Of course. Why wouldn’t we be?”
She launches herself into my arms and hugs me tight as a boa constrictor. She takes a breath and I know she’s going to apologize again. I cut her off. “Don’t. It’s okay. I’m not mad.”
She breaks away. Plants a sticky kiss on my lips. “I have all the feels for you, you know that right?”
“Right back at ya.”
When we walk out of the bathroom, my head is tweaked to the back. I’m hysterical as MaryLou hops on one foot, trying to pull off a long string of toilet paper that’s stuck to the bot
tom of the other. I’m so focused on her I’m almost knocked backward when I run smack into a solid, massive wall. Warm hands grip my waist to prevent my ass from meeting the gummy floor.
“I’m sor—” I start. But when I crane my neck forward and up, my apology drops off a cliff of confusion. I find it’s not a wall at all I ran into.
It’s Killian.
The scent of Burberry Brit mixed with expensive leather blitzes through me two seconds too late. It makes my knees weak. It makes my heart race. It makes me want things I know I shouldn’t.
Fuck.
Damn him. I was doing so well, too.
Mostly.
“What are you doing here?” I demand. I’m angry he’s here. Furious, actually.
One of the unspoken reasons Kael and I come here together is that Jillian refuses to lower herself to Peppy’s. And because Jillian refuses to come, Killian’s not allowed to either. If he were with me, I would never control him like that. He knows it.
“It’s a public place, Small Fry.”
And why doesn’t he look surprised to see me in the least? Asshole knew we were here. “Don’t call me that,” I spit.
I realize that MaryLou is quietly observing behind me, the bathroom door now blocked by the three of us. Then she moves into action faster than the dazzle of a lightning bug.
“Come on, Maverick.” Swooping past me, she snakes her arm through mine. She has me halfway down the hall when Killian grabs the hand swinging behind me. His hold is firm. Unyielding. It burns in the most hatefully delicious of ways. A memory flashes of that palm curved perfectly around my ass as he drove into me from below. By the hungry look drawn over his face, he’s remembering the same thing.
Shit. I need to get the hell out of Dodge. Pedal to the metal.
Except Killian has no intention of letting me.
He tugs one way, MaryLou the other. They’re both pulling so hard, I feel like Gumby.
“Killian, please,” I beg. We simply can’t be caught in the darkened hallway alone. Especially by Kael. I can’t believe he would have missed Killian walking in.
“Two minutes. That’s all I ask. Please, Maverick.”
My gaze cascades between MaryLou and Killian. The looks on both their faces are the same, yet so different. He’s begging me to sin. She’s begging me to choose salvation. “Two minutes,” I tell him. “Starting now.”
A sinner I am, then. Put it on my tab.
MaryLou sighs audibly but drops my hand. I can tell the second she’s gone because the energy left in this small, enclosed space just charged up a thousand kilowatts. My armpits start to sweat.
“One minute fifty seconds,” I announce, crossing my arms, hoping to keep Killian from seeing how he’s affecting me. Damn him to hell. Five beats in his presence and all the progress I’ve made is evaporating like dew. How can one person have this much power, this much control over me?
“I must have missed your call on Monday.” He says it with a quirk to his mouth, only his nonchalance is meant to hide the hurt. It’s plain as day in his dark eyes. And just like that, I feel contrite and small. I hate that he can make me feel that way with a simple statement or a look. I hate that he still has this effect on me. I hate that Killian is my puppeteer, holding strings to parts of me I can’t figure out how to slash…no matter how hard I try.
“My phone’s broke.” His quirk falters. My repentance deepens. “Is that all you wanted? A little ego boost?” My question is full of vinegar. It’s pungent on my taste buds.
He ignores it. And with the next intentional stab of his words, makes me feel even worse than I already do. As if that’s possible. “I was looking forward to my chocolate. I think this is the first year I’ve gone without one of your infamous concoctions.”
My heavy head drops. I breathe deeply. Run my tongue over my teeth while taking in the dark, spongy speckled floor.
Even when we were away from each other, I made Killian something for his birthday every year. I never failed. It started out as a runny mud pie when I was four. And by mud, I don’t mean fancy chocolate pudding with crumbled cookies on top.
I remember the light in his eyes and his throaty laugh as he pretended to eat it. Pretty soon, it was gone and he’d convinced me he’d swallowed every bite, but he managed to drop them all on the ground behind him. He may have just been placating a four-year-old, but I did the same thing the following year. And then each year after until I learned how to bake. Then I made him real treats. They were always chocolate. His favorite.
Last year, I spent hours perfecting a molten chocolate cake dusted in a mixture of powdered sugar, cinnamon, and fresh nutmeg shavings. I delivered it to his office myself. I knew it was wrong then. He was married. No longer available. No longer mine. I should have stopped a tradition that had become just ours because it wasn’t just us anymore. There was no “us” anymore, period.
That’s why I knew I couldn’t do it again this year.
Cutting the cord sucks ass.
“Mavs, please. I—” His head falls to the wall with a dull thud. His gaze floats to the ceiling then back to me. He looks as sad and lost as I feel most days. “I miss you. So much.”
I feel so confused. I’ve replayed every moment, wondering where we went wrong. What did I do? What didn’t I do? Why wasn’t I enough? I gave him everything and he gave me away.
Be strong, Mavs. Be brave. Be anything but putty in his oh-so-skillful hands. I think of Kael. If he’s wondering where I am. If he knows I’m back here—alone—with his brother.
“You’re down to less than a minute now.” I have to get the fuck out of here before I let us do something we shouldn’t. My lips haven’t been on Killian’s in over two and a half years. Since he announced his engagement. I physically ache for him right now. More than I ever have.
He straightens tall and takes a step toward me. I take one back, shaking my head. Inhaling deeply, he asks, “Can we find some time to get together? Just the two of us? I’d like to talk.”
Since he married Jillian, I try to limit my time with him alone. Especially alone. Neither of us seems to be able to keep our wants or thoughts from straying. I think we both know if we’re confined in any space by ourselves for any length of time, we will become adulterers on top of everything else. And that’s one hard line I just won’t cross.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why?” He edges toward me. I stay still this time. I loathe me right now.
“You know why, Killian.”
“You still love me,” he whispers. It’s hoarse and warm and inviting. And so fucking true. “I see it every time you look into my soul. No one has ever looked at me the way you do, Maverick.”
His eyes skate between mine and my lips, which I’ve now just wet. I feel a hand graze my hip and know it’s not a passerby. This hallway seems to be deserted at the worst possible time.
Then he bends down and runs his mouth over my jaw. It’s light. Barely a touch…the skip of a rock on top of the water. When I hear him inhale and moan, I almost turn my head and place my mouth on his, ending the torture we’ve both been living through. Jumping over a line I just said I refused to.
I swallow. Hard. It hurts forcing saliva past the twisted, confused ball of emotion sitting in the middle of my throat.
Lord, if you’re listening…please give me strength. I need Your help.
“I belong to Kael now,” I manage to push out on a rush of nearly nonexistent air.
He leans back. Too far, yet not far enough. I still don’t move when the heat of his anger drizzles over my forehead and down my cheeks. “You belong to me. You’ve always belonged to me.”
Then why did you marry someone else? I want to scream. Why did you treat me like I didn’t even matter? Why did you break every single promise you ever made? Why won’t you just tell me why the fuck you did it?
How can you love someone so much yet hate them with equal passion at the same time? He is such an insensitive, conceited, hypocr
itical bastard. He can’t have me but no one else can either? Well, fuck that. Fuck him.
“This says different,” I smart back, shoving the finger between us that holds my vow of monogamy and forever to his brother. I grab his hand and point to the titanium band circling his fourth finger. “And so does this.”
“This doesn’t lie,” he retorts hotly, flattening his other palm between my breasts. Right over my heart, which thumps erratically beneath the warmth of his hand.
What kind of twisted fucking head games is he playing? Has been playing for years now? I’m sick of it. I’m sick of him. It’s like he makes a sport of keeping me tied to him. How long can I dangle her before she breaks? Little does he know his selfish actions are helping him to eradicate himself from my heart. I hope the door bruises his ass on the way out.
I bring my arm up from beneath us in one swift move and knock his away. “Time’s up.” I spin, practically sprint away, mentally trying to saw through that knot he has embedded deep within me. I wonder when it will get easier. If ever.
I don’t head back to the booth. I keep my eyes focused ahead, not even glancing in that direction, afraid my flushed face will give me away.
Peppy’s is now packed. Anticipation for the night ahead hums in the air. I weave and shoulder through the crowd. Apologize as I knock people out of the way, heading straight for the bar. I realize as I wait to be noticed that Paulie has started his set. Damn. That means Kael and Larry will be back at the booth, waiting for me.
My ribs heave. My mind spins. My heart is thumping against my breastbone so damn hard I think I may have internal bruising. I wish I had a switch so I could flip it all off. Every hurt. Every want. Every thing. I’m so lost in what just happened…what almost happened that I nearly don’t hear Cathy calling my name, asking what I need.
“Jose silver and Sprite. Make it a double. Short glass,” I bark over the commotion. Her brows pinch. She knows my usual order. This isn’t it. But, like a dutiful bartender, she goes off and does as I ask, no questions asked. A minute later, I have a cold glass enclosed in my hand and half the contents down my throat. I signal for another, wishing my buzz would be instant instead of twenty minutes from now.
