They're Strictly Friends (Tough Love Spinoff Book 1)

by Chloe Liese

  “And in this case that means what?”

  Nairne eyed me over. “You tell me. You know the answer.”

  I stared at the house, where Elodie was. “The only answer I have thus far is that I need to let her go, that she doesn’t belong in my future and the reality that I have to embrace.”

  Nairne made a wrong-answer buzzer noise. “If you happened to miss it, I’m a woman with a disability married to a man without one. Inter-abled coupledom is completely doable. Try again.”

  I shook my head. “It’s not the same. I’m going to be horrific when this happens. I just know it.”

  Nairne groaned. “Lord, I need that whiskey. And the bloody tea.” On a sigh she sat forward and held me with her vivid green eyes. “Let’s come at this a different way. A question. What would have happened last week if you’d had necessary orientation and mobility training to compensate for the degree of sight you’ve lost thus far?”

  “What, a bloody cane? I can see fine…mostly.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Mostly. Which is a pretty big deal when it comes to how eyes work. And canes aren’t the only option, I bet. What if there are glasses, or tricks for looking about?”

  The puppy squirmed in my lap and barked softly. She gestured to it, as she said, “Even a service dog. None of which you’d even considered.”

  Regret and shame slammed into me. “I…I didn’t think I needed it until I was…”

  Nairne nodded. “Say it, Lucas.”

  “Blind,” I whispered.

  “You didn’t think you needed it until you were blind. Ah, so that’s where our disabilities are different. I walked onto a pitch expecting to do so for many years to come, and left it knowing I never would again. Now you, you have a different task at hand—knowing it’s coming, you must brace for impact. And to do so, there are incremental steps you can take to soften the blow. Surely your ophthalmologist has explained this.”

  Jo might have nagged me to look into it. I might have ignored her.

  “Fuck,” I sighed.

  “Now, listen. This is not to say what happened is your fault.” Nairne patted my hand gently, then scratched behind the puppy’s ears. “You’re making a huge adjustment. It’s a shift in identity, and frankly, I get it. It’s not your fault, you hear?”

  I exhaled shakily, palming my eyes. “Yes, it is. I hurt her with my obstinance.”

  “It’s not your fault, Lucas. But it is your responsibility. Maybe you didn’t really know how limited your peripheral vision was. You’ve dealt with this for years, not knowing what was happening. You’ve adjusted to it already, degree by degree. But, now that you know, you start to do the work, okay?”

  I nodded.

  “Good man,” she said, squeezing my hand, then releasing it. “That’s the cheery news. That you can have a life with Elodie and be an equal and proud partner, just like me. Of course, you’ll have to work hard to be the man you want to be with her, but doesn’t everyone have to put in the work to have a good relationship?”

  “That’s the good news,” I said dryly. “Excellent. Piece of bloody cake.”

  Nairne laughed. “Yes, that is the good news. No one said it’s easy, just that it’s possible. And if you don’t have gratitude for that, you will one day. I promise.

  “The bad news is you’ll have…rough patches. Bad, bad days. You’ll struggle, then plateau, and get really discouraged. Then you’ll grieve your disability afresh in new chapters in life. For example, I had my initial crisis when I was first injured, then I had one when I was getting serious with Zed, then another when I was pregnant with Jamie.”

  She laughed to herself and leaned to catch my eye. “It comes in waves, the challenge to feel adequate and whole, as life goes on, but with good support, commitment to therapy—both emotional and physical—and a loving partner, you’ll be fine. You’re a fine man to her, Lucas, and one day you’ll be a fine father—”

  “No,” I muttered, “that I’ll not be.”

  Nairne frowned and opened her mouth, no doubt to prod me to explain, but mercifully Zed threw open the back door, carrying a tray of tea, whiskey and what looked to be a stiff rum and Coke, Zed’s lowbrow cocktail of choice. Zed turned from closing the door quietly, took one look at us and sighed. “What the fuck did I miss?”

  I glanced uneasily at Nairne. She smiled at Zed and outstretched her hand to him. “Not much, dear.”

  “Goddammit.” Zed stomped over with the drinks, set them down and quickly fixed Nairne’s tea as she liked it before handing it to her. “That’s what you always say when shit’s gone down.”

  When he picked up my cup, I gestured for it, but Zed pulled back suddenly and gave me a once-over. “Uh-uh. Talk first, tea later.”

  “That’s unpatriotic, Zed. One doesn’t withhold tea from an Englishman in crisis.”

  Zed shrugged. “Too bad I’m not English. I’m an Irish-Italian mutt without a soul. Now spill the beans.”

  Nairne knew, which meant Zed, who was my friend first and foremost, needed to know. And I wanted my bloody tea.

  “Right. I’m going blind. I didn’t know until last winter which is when I got all moody and despondent and started talking confirmed bachelordom. I also got my bollocks chopped because it’s hereditary, so I’ve no hope or plans for a family. I pushed Elodie away, because I don’t know how to be blind and feel adequate for her, but I suck at keeping her away, so now we’re living together. I’m definitely in love with her, and rather than deal with my impending sight loss, I’ve been out in the world, acting not blind while I’m clearly limited in my vision, meaning I both risked myself and her. Now I’m completely overwhelmed with how I’m supposed to ever get a handle on this and possibly be a good, serious partner to her.”

  Zed blinked slowly a few times, before glancing over to Nairne. She smiled at me proudly as she sipped her tea.

  “Jesus, Lucas,” he said.

  Popping the lid off a tiny pitcher, Zed added a splash of milk, no sugar, just how I drank it. “You could have just said that months ago, buddy.”

  “Yes, I know. I’m sorry. Now hand me my bloody tea.”

  Zed rewarded me, shoving it in my grasp and patting me on the cheek like a good boy. Then he dragged the other chair closer to Nairne, dumped six sugars in his tea and stirred it rhythmically.

  Nairne and I eyed him with disdain.

  “What?” he asked, raising his shoulders. “Jamie woke up eight times last night. It’s this or cocaine, so back off, judgey pants.”

  We all fell into silence, sipping our tea.

  “So what are you going to do?” Zed asked quietly.

  I set my cup on its saucer and scratched the puppy’s head. “I’m going to try very, very hard to be brave and face this more than I have. To take practical steps that keep us safer while I figure out how to live and be well with her. Elodie deserves that.”

  Nairne smiled over her tea and sniffled. Zed leaned forward and clasped my shoulder. “So do you, Lucas. So do you.”

  Seventeen

  Lucas

  I woke Elodie with a gentle kiss as I slipped Jamie from her arms. She looked stunned and confused. Zed tucked Jamie in his crib for the night, and after a few games of euchre between the four of us, I carried her upstairs to our guest room.

  I’m sorry.

  Forgive me.

  I love you.

  I’m trying.

  I peeled off her clothes, drew a bath, and we sat in the water together, me cradling her inside my arms. I watched warm water dance over her long body, slid my hands between her legs, as I whispered in her ear, as I told her what she meant to me, and promised my plan to take better care.

  She glanced up at me, tears in her eyes. “I believe you.”

  I kissed her, and slipped inside her, as we made waves in the water until we crested together.

  I carried that newfound promise, the openness between us into the following day, the start of our work week, with a resolution to continue the momentum we’d p
icked up last night. As Nairne had aptly noted, too much went unsaid between Elodie and me. And if we were going to promise love to each other, we needed to face love’s rough edges, not just its smooth, delicious contours.

  Our workday was daunting, as we headed into busy season, but tonight, I’d make her a nice dinner, and start the real work that mattered—talking more, opening up. Facing the difficult questions just as head-on as the easy answers.

  I’d begged Elodie to set up a small desk in my office since we collaborated the majority of the day, and the less she moved while her poor ribs slowly healed, the better. It also allowed her to continue mentoring Regina more directly. God bless the woman, Regina was finally beginning to remember some of my protocols. She’d also taken my hint to print in a legible size, and made sure people stopped barging in and interrupting me constantly.

  In short, life felt, tenuously, on the up-and-up. Elodie was healing, work was going smashingly, and I was going to make some adjustments for our safety that didn’t make me feel like I’d dove headlong into the waters of blindness. We wouldn’t run outside for the time being because of her ribs, so that made for an easy fix—I’d simply take to the treadmill. I also decided we’d either leave the office before it was remotely dim out, or let Elodie drive home, which I avoided at all costs, because while controlled, Elodie had a horrible temper behind the wheel. For now, it was a reasonable beginning.

  “One minute at a time,” Nairne had said.

  Elodie sat at her temporary desk, staring off and looking distinctly pale. She glanced over at me as I ravaged my tuna melt, then cleared her throat into a fist before turning abruptly away.

  “All right, love?”

  “Hm?” She stared at her computer. “Yes, just fine.”

  I watched her for a minute, but she kept typing away, seeming otherwise okay if not a little wiped out.

  “Feel ready for this presentation with Gorgon?”

  “Mhmm,” she said, typing nonstop.

  Elodie was affectionate and warm, but not the chattiest woman. When she was quiet, it was nothing personal. I had loads to do, so I took her response as a cue to shut my gab and let her work. So I did. I hummed to myself, flipping over a page of the report she and I had prepared for that afternoon’s big meeting with our latest major client, Gorgon. A young start-up, it was producing some mind-blowing data analysis programs for retailers. When we won the work for them, my goal numbers for us to hit by fourth quarter had been met handily at the start of quarter three. I had lavish bonuses planned for everyone, and major technological updates in place that this work was financing.

  Elodie stood and gripped the table, swaying. I shot up from my seat and was over to her in three seconds flat.

  “Elodie.”

  “I’m all right.” Shaking her head, she smiled at me. “I’m fine. I just stood too quickly.”

  I tipped her chin so her eyes met mine. “Sweetheart, you’re not acting yourself today. You’re worrying me.”

  “I’m okay. I just don’t have much appetite. I’m a little lightheaded. I’ll sneak a biscuit from the breakroom and then we can go to the meeting.”

  I stepped closer to her, ran my hand along her side tenderly.

  “Are you hurting? You want your paracetamol?”

  She bit her lip, and I could have sworn she teared up before she blinked a few times and turned toward her desk.

  “No, thank you. Like I said, just a biscuit is required.” Then she spun back, straightened my tie and kissed me smartly. “Come on, Loulou, let’s go knock it out of the pitch.”

  I didn’t even bother correcting her. I had a running tab of Elodie’s botched idioms, and they were as precious to me as her little piles of books, notes, and makeup she left scattered over all surfaces in the house. It felt so remarkably her, and I treasured them.

  “Okay, darling,” I said as I followed her out, a hand gently on her back. “Let’s.”

  Never again were we coming home late. Elodie’s driving was going to give me an ulcer. I closed the door behind us and enjoyed the spectacular view of Elodie’s arse as she leaned against the wall, bent over her heels while she pulled them off. She’d made it through the day, though I’d been worried she might topple over on me a few times.

  “You were brilliant, sweetheart.”

  “Thank you, Loulou,” she said wearily. “So were you.”

  Elodie had sold Gorgon on her D and I part of the consulting package handily, which was the only bit they weren’t initially interested in. They figured that since they were a “progressive” young company, they wouldn’t need help with diversity and inclusion, but Elodie had very politely shown them just how much shite they were full of, all with a cheery smile. The woman was bloody phenomenal.

  I frowned. “Elodie, I’m concerned you’re ill. You’ve been not yourself all day.”

  She froze, then threw a tired smile over her shoulder at me. “I think I just need to get some rest.”

  Slowly, she walked up the steps, gripping the railing.

  “Should I make you some toast and tea?” I called.

  She paused, turning enough for me to see her exhausted profile. “Yes, Loulou. Thank you.”

  I threw on the lights in the kitchen and putzed about as the kettle came to a boil. While the tea steeped, I made her toast, and when I was midway through pouring her tea, I noticed her standing in the kitchen wearing only one of my old United hoodies.

  I loved when she wore my clothes and privately enjoyed how much this hoodie resembled one of those infernal minidresses she liked to wear when she went out with Nairne. As my eyes trailed up her body, they froze when I saw tears dripping down her cheeks.

  “Elodie?” I dropped everything with a clatter when she hid her face in her hands and her shoulders shook.

  “Darling, talk to me. What’s wrong?”

  When I embraced her carefully, due to her still-tender ribs, she wrapped her arms around my waist in a death grip, squeezing so hard the air rushed out of me. “Hold me, Lucas. Please just hold me.”

  “Okay, love.” I pulled her close and ran my hand steadily between her shoulder blades as I kissed her jasmine-scented curls. “Elodie, I’m sorry if this is selfish to press you, but I can’t stand it. You’ve been miserable all day. I need to know. We need to tell each other what’s going on, love. No holding back.”

  “God, Lucas,” she sobbed.

  This wouldn’t do. I scooped her into my arms, carrying her steadily into the living room. When I’d nestled her on the sofa, I wrapped a blanket around her. “I’ll be right back with your tea and toast, then we’ll talk, okay?”

  She looked up at me and nodded somberly. “O-okay.”

  I returned with our teas, which I set on the coffee table. Then I dropped softly on the sofa, scooting closer so I could pull her legs onto my lap and run my hands along their length.

  I smiled at her gently as I reached for her tea and handed it to her. “Go on, then, darling, let’s have it.”

  She blew out a long breath, taking a hesitant sip of her tea. After another sip, she set it on her lap.

  “Today is always a hard day for me, because there’s someone I haven’t talked to you about. It’s painful, and I don’t like thinking about it, but you should know.” She swallowed and wiped her eyes. “Adrien Olivier Bertrand was my little brother.”

  What?

  “He died…” She paused, exhaled shakily. “This is harder than I thought it would be.”

  I squeezed her knee affectionately. “Take your time.”

  She laid a hand over mine and squeezed it back. “He died sixteen years ago, today. He was five years younger than me, and I treated him more like my baby than my brother. He was six when he was killed. He would be Gina’s age,” she whispered. “I think about that when I’m with her more than I probably should.”

  Christ.

  “Elodie, love. I’m so sorry.”

  She nodded and wiped away her tears. “Maman was inside on a business call, P
apa was in town for a meeting—at this time we lived just outside Paris, because they believed children should have space to run and play, and they felt we were too cooped up in the city. We had a nanny, Marie-Élise, but she was old, and she got tired in the afternoon. Whenever Maman caught her nodding off, she’d reprimand her, but nothing bad had ever come of her little naps, so Maman and Papa didn’t let her go for it. I was eleven, and thought myself very much grown up, and secretly sort of enjoyed when Marie-Élise dozed off, because I told myself I was in charge of Adrien.”

  She sighed as tears slid down her cheeks. “He was so precious, Lucas.” Suddenly she laughed through her tears. “Lanky and energetic…he looked nothing like me. I favor Papa, and Adrien favored Maman—unruly dark hair and these expressive brown eyes. Eyes like the Seine in summer, Papa would say—muddy and full of trouble.”

  I handed her the tissue box and stroked her cheek softly, waiting as she dabbed her eyes. “He was very competitive, always bothering me to race him and challenge him to this or that. He was starting to play football, too, and was very jealous of my skills, how Papa praised me and spent time at my practices and games. So, one afternoon, while Marie-Élise leaned against the front of the house, napping in her chair, Adrien asked me to race him. He kept on talking, describing the course—from the door to the fence at the end of the path, where the main road began at the edge of our property.

  “I told him no,” she continued. “Then I ignored him. I was working on my drills, kicking against the practice board Papa had built me, and he got angry. Fine, he yelled, I’ll race myself and run all the way to Paris. Papa will see what a strong boy I am, and then you’ll be sorry, you chicken shit.”

  She sighed. “I was shocked by his language. Adrien never said bad words—he was such a good little boy. When I looked up from my drills, he was flying down the path, and something didn’t feel right. He was running so hard, glancing back at me, his face angry and stubborn. I grew nervous he’d keep running and go into the main road.”