Breathe Again

by Bonnie R. Paulson

  “Ryan, I think I need a break from kicking your butt. Maggie, would you like to see the koi?” Brodan stood and walked around the table.

  “Koi? In Montana? Sure.” I looked at Ryan, who looked more fatigued than he had before I left. He nodded and excused me. I followed Brodan’s broad back down the steps onto the plush green lawn.

  Around the house corner a landscaped area sheltered a pond beneath three aspen trees. Boulders protected the water from any possible wind. An unexpected bench snuggled between the rocks. The setting surprised me. The sentimentality of the scene didn’t quite fit the man I’d come with.

  Brodan sat down on one side of the bench, leaving plenty of room for me to join him.

  I remembered my promise to stay away. Kneeling beside the pool spotted with lily pads, I pressed my fingers into the soft ground beside the mirror surface. Numerous large fish colored with brilliant orange, white and black highlights shimmered under the water. Lazy swimmers, the beautiful creatures hid in the shadows of the random leaves, the sparkling afternoon light finding their gliding bodies in the dark.

  Watching the fish, I avoided being the first to speak. Why waste my time getting familiar when I planned to distance myself the first chance I got? I bit back a laugh. Not that I’d get the opportunity while I joined him on walks to sweet settings.

  My hair escaped again from the ponytail and fell past my shoulder. I pushed the mass behind my back.

  “You’re part Irish, right?” Brodan’s deep voice fit in with the outdoor surroundings, rumbly and rugged.

  “Yep. How’d you guess?” I smiled, lightening the sting my words could bring.

  “Your mom or dad?” He stretched his legs out, crossing them at the ankles and relaxing his arm along the backrest.

  “Dad.” I stood, feeling mulish for not sitting beside him. Wandering around the water, I asked, “Brodan sounds Irish. Can you claim the luck?”

  “Not a lot. Dad drank Guinness, does that count?”

  Humor between us, how odd. A few steps and I was beside him, attempting nonchalance.

  We sat together, studying the man-made scenery, the silence long yet somewhat comfortable. A fish surfaced, poking its mouth into the air only to disappear into the shadows once more.

  “I don’t want to like you, you know?” His quiet voice shattered the calm with more impact than a scream.

  Bristling, I strove to keep my calm, matching his tone. To my ears, I succeeded in sounding like a first grader at best. “Well, I decided not to like you first.” All I needed was a pouting bottom lip.

  Oh, wait, there it was.

  He leaned toward me. “Then why’d you come with me? Why’d you tell me you’re attracted to me?”

  “I never—I thought—what—you—” It’d be nice, just once, if I could pull off levelheaded and cool, instead of bumbling and idiotic.

  I stood, desperate to reach the safety in my van and eventually home.

  Brodan’s hand grabbed my own, holding me from escape. “Running away again?”

  I yanked free, glaring at him for his indecent reminder of the night before. “I don’t know who you think you are, but we don’t have to be friends. In fact, we don’t have to have anything to do with each other.” I clenched my fingers in a tight fist. “Let’s keep it polite and brief—” I glanced at his hand resting in his lap, “—and not touch each other. Yeah?”

  Satisfied I’d spoken my mind with enough sufficiency to hold my head up, I walked across the yard toward the house.

  How did he get under my skin so easily? He didn’t want to like me? How dare he? The arrogance! My face flushed, competing with the warm day.

  Ryan glanced my way, double-taking at my tight-lipped expression. “Are you okay?” He glanced behind me, his gaze returning to my face. “Where’s Brodan?”

  “He’s still with the koi.” I bit my lip, fighting the tears the blatant rejection had caused. “Ryan, I don’t feel very well. I think I need to go home.”

  He half stood and tried to argue my departure.

  I cut off his refusal, thanking him for the invite. Ryan focused beyond me.

  I glanced over my shoulder, spying Brodan walking our way. “Thank you again.” I sped past the tables and chairs, through the house to the haven of my van.

  Two minutes filled with numb driving gave way to a brimming cup at its max.

  “Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn!” My hand struck the wheel in rhythm to my words. The tears, nudged with my acknowledgment, came forth, disabling my vision between each fill-up. I blinked to clear them away, making space for the next batch.

  Only when he rejects me does he tear down the last of my defenses. Polite and hospitable, almost welcoming, and then bam Brodan had shut down the illusions I’d been denying with one simple sentence.

  The change puzzled me. He’d been one way at the hospital—angry, belligerent, almost blaming me for his reasons for being there. Outside the hospital, he’d warmed by degrees, thawing enough to tell me he didn’t want to like me. Giving him the benefit of the doubt, I recognized he’d at least tried to tell me how he felt.

  It’s not fair! More tears spilled over. I didn’t want to like him or be attracted to him. I hated how every time we were around each other I became an electron drawn to his steely frame and electrical pulse. I despised wishing for opportunities to see him, his face, hands…But most of all, I loathed his differences to Dean, my only armor against the attraction. The differences enhanced how dissimilar he was to my dead husband. Each one chinked through my protective shell.

  Unfortunately for Brodan, my foundling vulnerability only angered me more toward Dean—or him—I didn’t care. Brodan was there and Dean wasn’t.

  The worst part? He’d slammed that door before I’d even knocked.

  “Fine. Don’t like me. Ryan and I can be friends without you, Brodan.” I spoke into the solitude of my van. But…I’d run again. Ryan probably wouldn’t want to hang out with me anymore. I hit my abused steering wheel once more for good measure. “Damn!”

  Pulling into the driveway, I parked and turned the engine off. My head thudded when I dropped it against the headrest. I closed my swollen eyes.

  Every holiday since Dean died, I’d spent alone—by choice. Pity came from family as well as from friends. This time would be no different.

  I lifted my head, studying the house I’d bought before my marriage, the garage doors I hadn’t opened since that day, the yard I mowed when the grass brushed my calves, and the paint chipping on the siding and trim.

  Who was I kidding? Dean never left me alone. The house contained me, constricting around me if I tried to change, suffocating me with memories. How could I move on?

  Heaving a sigh, I pushed the door open and climbed down from the seat. Keys jingled in my hand.

  A loud rumble echoed through the quiet neighborhood, declaring its presence as it rolled closer. The diesel pulling in behind my Volkswagen.

  Crap! There I was, my skin puffy and swollen from crying, and the one person I didn’t want to see blocked my escape.

  He stepped from his silenced truck. Did he plan on staying awhile? A part of me wanted him to leave the truck running and go home!

  I stood, planted to the cement, arms crossed over my stomach. Wary, I watched him stride toward me, his face shadowed by the brim of his cowboy hat.

  I’d never had much consideration for the Western style, but Brodan wore it well enough to force me to reevaluate my tastes. There would be no surprises if he slung a gun, confidence strong in his stride. At least that was the impression I had until he stood closer, worry in the downturned sides of his lips and the crease in his brows. He clenched his hands and released them in a repetitive dance I didn’t quite understand but which endeared me to him.

  My mouth watered. The pull of the cowboy hit me in places I’d thought would never be teased again. I swallowed, chocking the pangs up to hunger. His fault, of course.

  He stopped two feet from me, his bold gaze meeting my more
hesitant one, my cheeks flushing further under his perusal. I tilted my chin up, my pride making me unable to duck from sight. Yet a small victory spread through me to see his concern.

  “You left.” He hooked his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans.

  I couldn’t respond. He’d stated the obvious, why should I?

  He stepped toward me, closing the distance by half. His voice dropped to a near whisper. “Why?”

  I met his gaze, belligerence rearing its ugly head. “Really? You don’t know?”

  He shifted closer. Heat rose in my body. I couldn’t blame the fever on the sun, no matter how much I wanted to.

  “I think I know. I’m sure I did it. Again.” He unhooked his fingers and pulled his dark brown hat off. Thick hair, mussed from the brim, enhanced the luscious taper of his jawline and angle of his neck. Contrition lowered his lids. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you, make you leave. Ryan is really upset.”

  “Are you here because he sent you?” More humiliation stacked on the previous, just short of unbearable. Of course, why would he be here for anything else? He already told me he didn’t want anything to do with me. We’d been fighting since we met.

  “No. I followed you. Ryan yelled at me the best he could while I walked past him to the garage.” A wry grin lifted the side of his full lips, fading when he realized I wasn’t smiling with him.

  I didn’t see much to smile at.

  He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. Glancing at my feet, he hit the side of his thigh with the hat’s base. Brodan looked so uncomfortable, I took pity on him. “Come inside, out of the heat. My neighbors don’t need more to gossip about.” I turned to walk toward the house. I didn’t care one way or the other, if he came or not. Anger from my earlier fixation on the house mixed with confusion regarding Brodan disoriented me. I almost missed the front step.

  In silence, I unlocked the front door. A scrape on the cement gave away his presence. I swung the panel open, stepping aside to let him pass. One last longing glance toward my van, and I entered my prison with the man I couldn’t get from my head.

  He paused inside the door, far enough in that I was able to close the door with ease but not so far in to be ill-mannered. My darkened house wrapped cool air around us. The drapes hadn’t been opened since the day after Dean’s death. I tried to steer Brodan into the kitchen but, distracted, he walked into the living room.

  I stopped at the threshold, the vision more than I could bear. My body urged forward but my head and heart fought—unable to go farther.

  Brodan stood beside Dean’s chair. In the shadows, his face indefinable, his strong frame deceiving me. For the briefest second, he could have been Dean standing there in the dark.

  I had walked in that night, certain Dean and I could talk out our problems, and found him where he’d fallen. Why hadn’t I come home sooner? There would never be a suitable answer to the question. He had known when I was coming home. He’d planned it.

  I stepped toward Dean, holding out my hand to stop him. But in the dim lighting, eyes that weren’t brown met mine. Brodan. Retreating, I murmured, “Sorry.” I couldn’t change the events then. I couldn’t go back.

  I wished I could pinch my nose against the assaulting smell. I cleaned in here! I did! Burned gunpowder filled the room with its aroma. The coppery taste from the blood on the walls followed close behind. I gagged and fled the room.

  Tomorrow would be spent bleaching. Again.

  Shaking hands struggled with a glass and the water faucet. A strong grip on my shoulders, and Brodan used his other hand to remove the cup from my tremulous grasp.

  “Here.” He filled it just over halfway, turned off the water and propelled me to a chair at the table.

  Seated, I accepted the cool offering, swallowing past the lump stuck in my throat.

  He needed, no, deserved an explanation. Part of the catalyst for the turmoil, he should at least be made aware it had nothing to do with him, or his arms. However, I’d keep the latter to myself.

  “I’m sorry. You’re so much like him.” I avoided his gaze. “I’d known Dean since junior high. We grew up dating each other. He joined the service and I went to college. Each time he came home, we talked about getting married, but he’d be called for active duty again, so we’d wait.”

  “That must have been hard for you.” He leaned back in his chair.

  “It was our life.” I shrugged. Matter-of-fact about something so long ago. “Then, he got injured on his last tour and came home. We decided to get married.” I rushed on, unable to stop my flood of words. “He was different from the man I’d grown up with, though.”

  Brodan hesitated, his lips moved like he meant to speak.

  I jumped in, guessing what he might say. “I don’t know why he did it. I was working. We’d talked about having a baby. He just stopped living.”

  “A baby? That’s a serious step. It didn’t take?” He shifted in his chair. I wanted to attribute it to discomfort, but the man dripped self-confidence. An ice-cream cone distributing comfort, lickable yet oh so sturdy. A girl could lean on those shoulders. I mean, if she wanted to.

  Out of character, I couldn’t help but laugh. “Most definitely it didn’t take. I stopped drinking alcohol altogether, stopped the pill and took prenatal vitamins. When it didn’t ‘take,’ as you put it, the first four months, a friend of mine at the hospital tested my fertility. I’m healthy as a horse, just unable to conceive with my own husband.” Growing desperation for something to be solid in my life took control. “I told him and he barely acknowledged me. No—” I shook my head, “—he shrugged and looked out the window into the night.” I stared at the slider, too embarrassed to even watch his fingers, attractive as they were.

  He cleared his throat. “Do you think it was his fault you didn’t conceive?”

  “I don’t know. No. I think it’s my fault, but I can’t be sure. He didn’t care enough to talk much with me. He parked his butt in front of the TV and didn’t move more than his thumbs to play the video games I bought him.” Ridiculous. I sat there talking about me, my problems. My dead husband and the dreams I buried with him. Why? Why couldn’t I have talked to the psychologists I had been referred to? Why didn’t I have the guts to take time off from work to deal with the crap Dean had dished out to me over and over until the final act of dismissal? I might have been past this need to rewind over the pain.

  Why wasn’t I good enough for a baby, good enough for a family that stayed together? Why was I only good at performing X-rays at midnight and instigating arguments with the first hot man I came across? Why couldn’t I make friends with Ryan and Brodan without succumbing to drama—no, creating drama—from every sensitive statement? Why did I have to be attracted to the one man who resembled my late husband, the one who didn’t want me?

  Brodan moved to the chair closest to my right. We sat together in silence. The quiet absence of judgment was more balming than anything he might have said.

  I dragged my gaze to his face. Compassion softened the sharp angles of his brow and the lower curve of his lips. Our gazes locked and something in me stilled.

  The heat from his hand wrapped around mine, thawing the fright and introducing excitement and longing, emotions I had long since figured had gone by the wayside. What a strange combination—fear, from the potential intimacy, trickling away to leave behind hope at the possibility of intimacy.

  He traced my face with longing. The hooded expression denied the words he had struck me with a short time ago. Maybe he wanted to be my friend, or more than my friend.

  I lost focus. His fingers massaged mine. His lips were closer than I could comprehend, yet not quite close enough. I longed for him to make a move, do something.

  He pulled away. The warmth of his hand disappeared, leaving behind a sad coldness, which crept up my arm into the lower base of my neck. What had I done? I must have done something to make him retreat.

  “I’m sorry?” I hated the games, the inability to read
people’s mind. I had forgotten how repulsive men found me. Hell, my husband killed himself to get away from me. I shoved my hands in my lap and looked toward the closed blinds covering the sliding doors.

  “Can I tell you something without you running away? The total truth?”

  I nodded, averting my face to hide the moisture and disappointment. “Where would I go? This is my house and you’re blocking my van.”

  He waited a few moments, an eternity, probably for me to look in his direction. He should’ve saved his time. If I looked at him, I would’ve cried for sure. There was no way I could handle the humiliation of rejection followed closely by total honesty.

  Brodan started out slow, his husky voice handling each word with care. “When I said I didn’t want to like you, I should’ve told you what I meant.”

  I swiveled my head to face him. “I know what you meant. Your words said it plain enough, Brodan.” His name tangled on my tongue.

  “That’s the first time you’ve said my name to me.” He smiled, his mood lightening. “So, you know what I meant, huh? You know that it was harder than anything I’ve ever done to not ask you out the first moment I saw you in Ryan’s room? Something about you made me want to yell at you for making me feel that way. I yelled too, just for a different reason…” Brodan’s smile shifted, taking on a more serious shade. “Do you know that Ryan likes you?”

  Reeling from his honest confession to the fast change in subject, I swallowed hard before answering. “He likes me? Like-likes me?” I belonged in third grade—like-likes me, come on.

  A grin lined his lips with soft amusement. “No, not like-likes you.”

  A small part of me wondered why that mattered enough to warrant a part of the discussion.

  “Well, okay, and?” Mirth traced my words and I glanced down at my hands twisting together in my lap before looking at his face and attempting to make light of the subject. He didn’t need to know I couldn’t help but hate hearing how no one liked me, him especially.