Can't Have You: A Stand-Alone Brother's Best Friend Romance

by Lilian Monroe

  “Look.” Finn turns to face forward, and I follow his gaze. From the top of the hill, through a gap in the trees, I can see the forest extending out before us. Beyond, on the horizon, mountains poke through the clouds in the distance. It feels like the whole world is at our feet. Like we’re in the middle of the most beautiful place on earth.

  Together.

  He smiles at me. “Ready to keep going? There’s a better lookout just ahead. The one I’ve been talking about.”

  “With a bigger hill to climb to get there?”

  “All the best things in life require a bit of work.”

  I nod, handing him the bottle of water. He slides it into the holder on his bike and gives me an irresistible grin. How could I say no to him?

  He winks, turning to look forward. The trail follows the curve of the hill, all the way back down the other side. I watch him race down as my heart starts to thump. This is a bigger hill than any of the others. Glancing behind me, I realize it’s even steeper going back the way we came.

  I could get off and walk down. But when I see Finn biking through the trees and around a bend, I shake my head.

  Gone are the days of me being afraid. I’m sick of being left behind and hiding in my mother’s skirts. I’m going to bike down this hill and prove to myself that I can do it. Prove to Finn that I can do it. Show him that he’s not wrong about being with me. We’re suited for each other. We can have a good, fun-filled life together, and he doesn’t have to give up any of his favorite activities for my sake.

  It won’t be boring. I won’t hold him back.

  We’re made for each other—and it’s time I acted like it.

  Gathering all the scraps of courage I have left, I push down on the pedals and take off. The bike rattles underneath me. My arms buzz with every bump and jostle as I struggle to maintain control on the handlebars.

  I pick up speed. It’s fun, at first. Air whips around my face as my senses sharpen. I can almost taste the freshness of the forest.

  But the hill is longer than I anticipated, and I start picking up more and more speed. Too much speed.

  Fear ices my veins. I’m just barely keeping control of this bike, and I haven’t even reached the bottom of the hill. I keep my eyes on the trail ahead as my heart hammers against my ribcage.

  Boom-boom-boom.

  Its warning bangs against my bones. This is too fast. The freshness of the air turns sour, and I taste coppery blood in my mouth. The handlebars rattle, and I can’t grip them any tighter.

  A tree root rises up from the earth below, and I jerk the handlebars to avoid it.

  It’s an instinct. It happens automatically.

  It’s also a mistake.

  The thick tires could have easily rolled over the tree root, but when I jerk them to the side, the edge of my front tire catches. The handlebars rip out of my hands as they twist, caught on the tree root below. My bike stops abruptly, tipping over beneath me.

  My body keeps going.

  Flying over the handlebars, everything goes still. My heart stops. My fear cackles. My vision zeroes in on the thick tree trunk that I’m about to hit.

  28

  Finn

  I hear a scream and slam the brakes. My tires skid on the path, lifting up a cloud of brown dirt behind me. My chest heaves. Blood pumps through my body, and once the scream stops, I can only hear the roar of my heartbeat in my ears.

  Dropping my bike on the ground, I sprint around the bend. Esme’s bike is on the path, twisted into a heap in the middle of the trail. Panic wells inside me, bright and hot and blinding.

  I shouldn’t have brought her here. It was a mistake. It’s an easy trail, but she’s a novice. She didn’t even want to come. I was so stupid. What the fuck was I thinking?

  I scan the forest until I see her, crumpled at the base of a tree.

  My vision blurs. My blood screams. I think I yell her name. I don’t know. All I know is my feet thump on the ground as I sprint toward her.

  I did this. This is my fault. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  “Esme,” I whisper as I drop to my knees, my breath short. Her eyes are closed. “Esme.” It’s a wish. A prayer that she’s okay.

  Cradling her head, I lean down and feel the whisper of her breath on my cheek. Relief floods through me. She’s alive.

  Tears sting my eyes and I almost miss the fluttering of her eyelids. Brushing my hot tears away, I try to keep my face steady. I can’t stop my lip from trembling, so I bite down on it hard.

  Esme opens her eyes, but all I see is confusion in them. She opens her mouth and closes it again.

  “Shh,” I say. “You’re okay. You had a fall.”

  “What… Where am I?” She squeezes her eyes shut and tries to sit up, but cries out in pain. She cradles her arm to her chest, and my heart jumps in my throat.

  “You’re in the forest, Es. You’re with me. We went mountain biking.”

  She stares at me, not understanding. I’ve seen that hazy look before.

  I stroke her cheek. “You might have a concussion.”

  Esme winces again, and guilt washes over me like a tidal wave.

  How could I be so dumb? So reckless? What the hell was I thinking?

  Sweeney told me to take care of her. He told me to keep an eye on her while he was away. And what do I do? I sleep with her, then I push her to do something she didn’t want to do—only to have her wrap herself around a tree, get a concussion, and probably break her arm.

  Sucking in a breath, I wrap my arms around Esme and cradle her against my chest. She sighs, closing her eyes again. I jostle her until she groans.

  “Try to stay awake, Esme,” I say. “We need to get your head checked out.”

  “But I’m so sleepy,” she whines.

  “I know. Just…tell me about drawing. What have you been sketching lately?”

  “Mostly just you,” she says. Esme sighs as I trudge up the hill, carrying her slight body in my arms. Her breath is labored, and she holds her injured arm to her chest.

  But she doesn’t close her eyes. She forces herself to mumble things about her art. I encourage her, trying to keep her from falling asleep as I walk the whole way back to the car.

  “What about the bikes?” Esme asks, staring up at my face.

  I shake my head, trying to keep my footing steady. Every time I step too hard and jostle her, she winces. “Don’t worry about the bikes. I’ll come back for them.”

  By the time we make it to the car, my arms and legs are burning. Setting her down as gently as possible, I hold her as she wavers on her feet.

  “I can’t…” She inhales, holding herself against the hood of the car. “It’s so hard to stand.”

  “I know. Here.” I open the door and help her in.

  My heart is in my throat. My vision is blurry with tears, and I’m trying my best to keep the panic at bay. She’s talking—that’s good. Her arm doesn’t look too bad. There’s no blood or bone sticking out. She could have a concussion, but she’s able to form sentences.

  She’ll be okay.

  The rational, logical part of my brain tries to talk me down from the edge.

  The emotional, panicking side of me is louder.

  She’s hurt, and it’s my fault.

  I click her seatbelt in place and make sure she’s comfortable before jogging to the driver’s side. My hands grip the steering wheel so tightly I lose the feeling in my fingers, but I can’t relax. Not until we’re at the hospital.

  When we get there, everything becomes a blur. Head injuries are serious, and she’s seen to almost immediately. She stumbles on her feet, so the nurses bring her a wheelchair.

  “You’re her boyfriend?” one nurse asks, staring at her paperwork.

  “Yes,” I answer, my voice strangled.

  Esme smiles. “Yes,” she repeats.

  The nurse shoves a clipboard at me. “Fill this out.”

  “Is she going to be okay?”

  “She probably has a concussion. We need
to run some tests. Excuse me.”

  I watch them wheel her away and turn my eyes back to the clipboard. My hands are shaking. I can’t make the pen work. I shake, unable to write anything down.

  This is my fault. I took her out there on a trail that was way too difficult for her, riding a bike that just barely fit her tiny body. I pushed her to do something unsafe. I took her out of her comfort zone and I caused this to happen.

  My fault.

  The self-loathing welling up inside me is almost too much to bear. I put the clipboard on the chair next to mine and drop my head in my hands.

  I have to call Sweeney to tell him. I have to call her mother. I have to go get the bikes…but all I can do is sit here and ache.

  She’s too fragile for me. I’ll just hurt her and ruin this relationship, because that’s what I always do. Sucking in a trembling breath, I wince at the tightness in my chest. Pain and worry twist through me until my eyes mist, and a tear slides down my cheek.

  Even when I’m trying my best, it’s not good enough. Train wreck is more accurate than I realized. Didn’t I always say I’d hurt her?

  I don’t know how long I sit there. Hours, probably.

  The hospital must have gotten hold of Esme’s medical files, because a woman rushes through the door. She stomps up to the triage desk, and I hear her say Esme’s name. The nurse gestures to me, and the woman turns to face me.

  Her fury makes me sit up. Her eyes blaze, and she lifts a trembling hand to point a finger at me.

  “You.” She takes a step toward me. “You did this to my daughter. You could have killed her! What were you thinking? Why would you take her out mountain biking? Six months ago, she was doing her last round of chemotherapy! She needs to be taken care of, not taken out and flung off a bike. And where’s Kit?”

  She stands before me, with all the righteous anger of a protective mother. She trembles from head to toe, her eyes drilling into mine as she dumps her anger and fear and worry onto me.

  I drop my head to my chest in shame. The weight of her fury burrows into me, making me wish the ground would open up and let me fall into a fiery pit. I deserve it.

  “Get out,” she spits. “Esme doesn’t want to see you.”

  “But—”

  “Out.”

  Esme’s mother stares me down as I lift myself off the chair. I open my mouth to say something to her—an apology, an explanation, anything—but nothing comes out. I just shrink back into my guilt and shame. I feel her eyes on my back until I walk out through the sliding glass doors, trudging back to the van.

  Driving back to the trail, I find the two bikes leaning against the trailhead marker. Someone else must have found them and brought them back out, knowing that an accident had happened.

  I sigh, leaning against the steering wheel and letting my tears flow once more. I’m not someone who cries. I haven’t felt tears on my face in years, but now, I can’t stop them. They come from somewhere deep inside me. Some place in my heart that I’ve kept locked away for years. A secret corner that I hadn’t explored since college.

  Well, I’m feeling it now.

  Feeling like shit. Like the terrible, reckless person that I’ve always been. Destined for disaster. Probably going to kill myself in an adrenaline-induced accident.

  Do I really want to drag Esme into the whirlwind of my life? Doesn’t she deserve better?

  Snorting, I wipe my eyes with the heel of my hand and open the van door. I load the bikes into the back of the vehicle, secure them down and make my way back into town.

  When I get there, I consider going back to the hospital. I consider staying by Esme’s side, because that’s the only place I want to be.

  But how can I go there? How can I face her mother again? How can I explain how I feel about Esme, how sorry I am, when no one knows that I’m head over heels in love with her?

  I’m the idiot who took her mountain biking. The reckless fool who caused this to happen.

  I can’t go to the hospital. I can’t face her mother.

  Instead, I go up to my apartment, grab a six pack of beer from the fridge, slump down on the sofa, and suffer.

  29

  Esme

  I’ve spent a lot of time in hospitals over the years. It never gets any easier.

  I think it’s the smell that gets me. As soon as I walk into a hospital—wherever it happens to be—it always smells like antiseptic and stress.

  A nurse wheels me to a room where a handful of other patients wait. I sit there as the kind-faced nurse asks me a million questions. Some of them don’t make sense. She asks me to repeat a list of numbers, but I can only remember the last two. I have to follow her finger with my eyes.

  My head pounds. I want Finn to be here. I grip the edges of my wheelchair, trying not to let a wave of nausea keel me over.

  The nurse jots down a few things on her chart, and the scent of hospital floods my nostrils. I squeeze my eyes shut until she asks me something else. I try to focus.

  Everything is so hard.

  Another woman in scrubs walks up in front of me, and the nurse tells her a thousand and one things. The new woman has sharper features and pursed lips. She nods and takes the chart from the nurse.

  “Hi Esme. I’m Doctor March.” She runs me through some of the same tests that the nurse just did, and I wonder why they have to do everything all over again. I try to focus on what the doctor is saying, but it’s hard. Everything is hard. Where’s Finn?

  After what seems like an eternity, the doctor gives me a curt nod. “All right, Esme. We’ll have to get a CT scan for your head and an X-ray for your arm,” she tells me. “We’d like you to stay overnight for observation, until we know how serious your injuries are. Is there someone we can call?”

  “My mom,” I answer instinctively.

  She’s the one who’s always been there when I’m in a hospital. I’ve been laid up in hospital beds or sitting in a ward, hooked up to chemo drips for a long time, and my mother is always there.

  She’ll come this time, too.

  Being here, around the sounds and smells that have been my reality for the past six years, I want something familiar. The safety of my mother’s arms. The knowledge that she’ll advocate for me. She’ll be in my corner.

  Familiar, insidious fear creeps into my heart. It crawls inside my brain, spreading its arms wide as it makes itself at home once more. It burrows into my thoughts, rattling all my old thoughts awake again.

  I shouldn’t have gone mountain biking. I shouldn’t have slept with Finn. I shouldn’t have come to Woodvale.

  I should have stayed home, safe and protected.

  After exhausting, confusing tests, my arm is put in a cast and I’m put in a hospital bed. I drift in and out of sleep, wishing the weight of Finn’s body was beside me in bed. His presence is calming, and I need something familiar right now.

  When I wake up some time later, it’s not Finn’s eyes that stare back at me. My mother’s worried face is pinched, lined with deep concern. She reaches over to put her hand over mine.

  “Esme.”

  “Hey, Mom,” I croak.

  “I knew I shouldn’t let you out of my sight.”

  I wince. Fear smiles, agreeing with my mother.

  “That idiot friend of your brother shouldn’t have taken you mountain biking. Doesn’t he know that you’re not strong enough for that kind of thing? Where’s Kit, anyway? Why isn’t he here?”

  “He’s in California,” I answer, closing my eyes. My whole body feels numb.

  My mother’s outrage ripples across the space between us, passing straight through me. I’m too exhausted to care. She squeezes my hand, and I hear her sniffle.

  “Oh, Esme,” she sighs.

  “I’m fine, Mom.” I reach up to scratch my head, and realize a beanie is back on. My mother must have put one there to keep me warm. It’s comforting, so I leave it.

  “You’re not fine. You wouldn’t be lying in a hospital bed if you were fine.” She adju
sts the blankets around me, slipping my cast underneath the sheets and tucking the edges beneath me.

  “As soon as you’re discharged, I’m taking you back home.”

  Home for her means Seattle. She doesn’t realize that home might mean something different for me. I settle into the flat, uncomfortable pillows and drift into a hazy sleep.

  When I wake up again, Kit is sitting on the other side of me. His face is lined. I smile, rubbing my eyes. The cast on my other arm is itchy.

  “You’re here,” I say, yawning.

  “Flew back as soon as I heard. How are you feeling?”

  “I’m okay,” I lie. The truth is, I feel like I got run over by an eighteen-wheeler.

  “I’m going to kill him.” Kit’s eyes are dark. His mouth is pinched into a thin line, and I hear my mother agree from the other side of my bed.

  I shake my head. “Don’t. He was just trying to get me out of my shell. It was fun until I fell.”

  Smiling is hard, and I’m pretty sure all I manage is a tired grimace. Kit doesn’t smile back. I open my mouth, wanting to tell him a lot more.

  I want to say that I love Finn with all my heart. That he opened something inside me that I didn’t know existed. That, yes, I fell off a mountain bike, broke my arm and got a concussion—but isn’t that better than living my life cocooned in bubble wrap?

  Even though I feel like garbage right now, I still can’t bring myself to regret it.

  But Kit stares at me, and nothing comes out.

  Something holds me back. Maybe it’s my mother’s presence, or the smell of the hospital. Maybe it’s the beeping of the machine behind my bed, or the familiarity of having the two of them sitting on either side of me like this.

  My fears are like rats, chewing through the fabric of my mind. They feed on my insecurities, growing stronger with every second that passes.

  What if Kit and my mother are right? What if Finn was out of line by taking me mountain biking? What if Mom is right to take me back to Seattle?

  That’s where our house is. Where the doctors are. Where most of my things stayed behind. It’s where I thought I’d go to college once I was recovered from the lymphoma. It’s where things are safe.