Now I knew I was never coming back.
Sure, I’d be back in this room, in this bed, but not like this. Not with him here, not recreating our semi-relationship from Indianapolis. No matter how easily we’d fallen into the old routine, it couldn’t continue. He wouldn’t let it. I just had to accept that and move on.
I hovered in the doorway of the master bedroom, staring at him and thinking maybe it was worth the price of a totaled Ford Taurus to write this epilogue to our story. Let Lauren and Blake have the happily ever after; I would take the happy for a few hours I’d been lucky enough to get.
My laptop was housed in the second bedroom, but since I wanted to call Blake while I messed around on the internet, I unplugged it and carted it out to the kitchen table. I didn’t have the heart to accidentally wake Will, not when I figured he’d only been asleep for an hour or two at most.
Of course, given all that had gone on last night, I’d completely forgotten about the gun that took up residence on my table. Its mere presence unnerved me, and I fished a ball point pen out of my purse, used it as a tool, and pushed the offending firearm gingerly away. The handcuffs didn’t bother me in the least, and I purposefully sat in the chair that he’d draped his shirt over.
I fired up the computer and dialed Blake’s number on my cell.
She answered on the first ring. “Hey, lady, you should be in bed.”
“I went to bed at six last night. I can only sleep so much.”
“So you’re doing okay?”
“Yeah, I suppose. A little sore. It feels like a whole lot bruised, but I haven’t looked at myself yet, so that’s just a guess.”
“I wanted to call you last night, but I didn’t want to bother you. Chris insisted you would be fine.”
“I was. And Lauren called and read me the riot act after she talked to you, anyway. I probably wouldn’t have been much of a conversationalist after that. I kind of felt like she was going to ground me or something.”
“She was just worried about you, you know.”
“I know. And Lord knows I’ve worried about her before, so I guess she was just giving me a taste of my own medicine. But that doesn’t mean that I had to like it.”
“So how did it go?”
“How did what go?”
“You. Will. I know he stayed with you last night. You still holding firm to the idea that he hates you?”
I recognized the glimmer of hope in her voice. The one that hinted that she hadn’t yet given up on the two of us becoming an item. And I knew now that she was convinced I was physically fine, she didn’t want to talk about the car accident. She’d much rather focus on my love life.
“Blake,” I sighed, “he did what he had to do. It means nothing.”
“Or it means everything. Is he still there?”
“Yes. He’s asleep.”
I was certain that she pictured him sprawled out on my couch or passed out in the spare bedroom. Most definitely not in my bed, as comfortable there as he would be in his own. But that reality was emblazoned in my mind, and I knew it would be for the rest of my life.
“Did you keep him up?” she joked.
If only she knew.
“More like he kept himself up. It took a lot of convincing that he didn’t have to do anything to keep me among the living.”
“See? That’s so sweet. A guy that would do that for you can’t possibly hate you.”
“Whatever. He’d do the same for you if you needed him to. For Lauren, too.”
Granted, he wouldn’t have needed condoms to take care of either one of them, but still.
“You know as well as I do that he wouldn’t have to. I’d have Chris and Lauren would have Matthew. Hell, I’d have Matthew, too, if I needed him.”
“So Will stayed with me because he felt sorry for me. I have no one, after all. I’m a pity companion, then.”
“That’s not what I said. And you know that Chris would sit with you all night if you asked him to. So don’t get all defensive. You’d never be alone.”
I considered the truth in those words. Going back yet again to that moment in the living room when Chris had taken me into his arms and promised to look out for me, I knew she was right. I was an idiot for doubting her, his own wife. If he hadn’t had to finish his shift on the ambulance, he would have carted me home himself. Like he’d told me, he’d let me have the next best thing, Will. Or so he’d thought.
“You’re right,” I conceded. “It’s just been a rough twenty-four hours and I’m getting mopey. I didn’t mean that.”
“I know. You’re allowed. Hey, Chris told me he’d stop by later and check in on you anyway.”
“It’s not necessary. I was thinking about asking Will to drop me off at the shop once he gets up. That way you can see for yourself that I’m perfectly fine.”
“No way, no how. You’re taking the rest of the week off to recover.”
“Blake, it’s only Wednesday. I can’t take three days off just like that. We’re way too busy for me to act like I’m fragile.”
“Girlfriend, how many times do I have to remind you that I’m an expert at the one woman show?”
“It doesn’t make me feel any better that I’m utterly expendable.”
“And you know I don’t mean that, either. It’s just I’d rather you get all your loose ends tied up with the car and the insurance so you don’t have to worry about it later. And you’ll have some time to heal and relax.”
Typically, I’d jump at the chance for a sanctioned extremely long weekend, but now wasn’t that time. Not when there was so much that I needed to prove to her already. Nothing like slacking off right from the start.
But again she was the voice of reason, and most of what she said made sense. It had been years since I’d had to file an auto insurance claim, and even then, my mother had handled things for me. It would be infinitely helpful if I didn’t have to worry about time constraints while trying to figure this all out on my own.
“Okay, you win.”
“Good. Chris gets off before I will tonight, so I’ll probably just swing by on my way home and meet up with him there.”
I tried not to read between the lines. Even though she didn’t mean it as a guilt trip, I knew that her extended working hours were directly related to my absence. She didn’t have my help - limited as it was - and it would delay things for her. Blake could play it off as the slightest inconvenience, but the fact was that this stupid accident had created disruptions for so many people beyond myself.
“I’m sorry,” I apologized before I could stop myself.
“For what?”
I sighed, knowing she wasn’t being difficult. She genuinely didn’t realize what I meant. “For all this.”
“Don’t worry about it. We’re all pains in each other’s asses at some point. Welcome to the family.”
“Thanks. I think.”
We hung up, her vowing that she’d assess the damage and we’d tackle it with some cosmetics later. For if I was to sell people on the fact that I was capable of delivering beauty, I couldn’t look like the face of a drunken bar brawl gone wrong. Shallow, I know, but coming from someone who did full hair and makeup to run down to the mailbox, I completely understood.
Besides, her comments about the physical appearance side of things paled in comparison to what really filled me with warmth: the fact that I was now officially a part of this unconventional extended family that she held dear. I’d made it into the inner circle somewhere along the line. No longer was I just Lauren’s crazy best friend from two hours away, I had become relevant. And it felt good to belong.
Calling my insurance agent was next on my mounting to do list, especially now that Blake had given me the green light to take a few days to get myself back to some semblance of normal. But since it wasn’t a task that I really looked forward to carrying out, I searched instead for reasons to put it off.
Reason number one was the dryer. Since Will and I had quarreled before the spin cycle ha
d finished and I’d retreated to the solitude of the master bedroom in frustration, I could only imagine what would greet me in the washing machine this morning. I prepared myself for a wad of damp, on the verge of mildewed clothing, but found absolutely nothing inside. He’d dutifully transferred everything over to the dryer, turning it on before coming to find me. The gesture was sweet, but my next fear was pulling out my brand new shirt with a series of bloodstains permanently emblazoned upon it courtesy of the highest heat setting possible.
Instead, I plucked out said item of clothing and inspected it carefully. Not a trace of the previous day’s mess remained. It was totally, miraculously, good as new.
I bit my lip as I thought about Will, still fuming from our spat, taking my clothing from the washer, making sure the damn stain had come out, then throwing it into the dryer for good measure. That’s likely why it had taken half an hour for him to come after me. He hadn’t been contemplating what to say or allowing me to cool off. He’d been focused on doing the first task I entrusted him with and doing it well. A peace offering, perhaps?
And then with what had happened afterward, a surefire context clue that he didn’t hate me and he never would, no matter what.
Blake had gotten the apology when it really belonged to Will. Little did she know that she acted as a surrogate, but it was beginning to make sense to me. If things were simpler between us, I wouldn’t have to swallow down the things I really wanted to tell him. There were so many of them, and he had quite possibly scratched the surface of his personal bucket list when he’d admitted what he had last night.
I’d already told him I needed him. Flat out, though the meaning could have been open to interpretation, but still. And he in turn had admitted the same thing. Maybe not in the romantic sense, or even the erotic kind, but a general sort of need that echoed what Blake had just said. I was part of their family now, and Will was like a distant cousin several hundred times removed. We were permanently linked, however loosely. And he had proclaimed an overwhelming sense of concern that that bond hadn’t been enough to keep me here and it had scared the ever loving crap out of him. Because when it came right down to it, he needed me too.
It was up for debate what either one of us would do with that information.
I, for one, wasn’t intent on baring any more of my soul without a guarantee it wouldn’t humiliate me later. And it didn’t appear that he was big on showing his hand, either. Why else would he wait to whisper something like that until he’d assumed I was asleep instead of telling me right to my face? It made no sense why he’d mentioned it at all, unless it had been building inside him for so long it had finally boiled over. Better to let it out than to spontaneously combust.
Now we were both done releasing pressure. Funny how on my end it didn’t dissipate the tension. Will was an enigma by design, so whatever he felt would be news to me. For all I knew, he could be planning on sleeping the day away, his conscience finally clear.
Reason number two was decidedly more fun. If there was a silver lining to wrecking a vehicle, it was the resulting need for a new car. And with a apprentice interior designer’s salary as opposed to a full time teller’s, I didn’t have to look for the most affordable one I could find. A new ride had been on the horizon anyway if I was being honest; the fact that I desperately needed it now pushed my hand a bit.
So that was why I’d really brought my laptop out to the kitchen. I was so caught up in sifting through photos and specs, virtually building my dream car that I didn’t even notice I had company.
“A Lexus?” Will asked from parts beyond my shoulder, causing me to jump and simultaneously slam the lid of my computer shut.
“So?” I snapped, “You got a problem with that?”
“No, but Blake must be paying you well if something like that is truthfully in your budget.”
As much as we’d shared with each other - our bodies, temporary living quarters, a random insight into each other’s psyche - we’d never discussed anything practical like salaries. For whatever reason, money was a taboo subject, right up there with ex-spouses and daughters. Because if we started sharing material trivia with one another, we’d find it way too easy to delve into relationship status. Fuck buddies didn’t discuss financial planning at the dinner table.
“Well, maybe it would be a stretch to buy that particular model, but I do okay,” I hedged.
Fuck buddy or not, I wasn’t about to have him think I was stupid enough to drop every last dime on a status symbol car. And that was exactly what my happy fingers had built at the keyboard: the most expensive, top of the line performance car that they made. The result cost as much as the house we were currently occupying. No way in hell would that thing ever be gracing my garage, but a girl could dream.
He smiled at my admission, but the amusement didn’t reach his eyes. I knew that look; the one that was shared between people the morning after they’d experienced a moment. The awkward glances that ensued once you’d exposed a little too much of yourself. The silent understanding that the things said would remain forever unspoken, not anywhere worth bringing up again.
“Your house looks nice,” he said finally.
I stared at him for a moment, completely dumbfounded. Really? Just hours ago, he had intimated that he couldn’t imagine life without me and now the best he could come up with was that my house was tastefully decorated?
He took my silence for confusion, but not of the correct kind. So he continued painfully on. “I like the color.”
“Thanks,” I said, hoping that I could stop the word vomit that he was spilling.
No dice.
“So the thing that was in your car. Does that go in there?”
“If by ‘thing’, you really mean wall hanging or something similar, then your answer is yes.”
“I could hang it for you if you tell me where you want it.”
I drew the line at friends with benefits hanging iron sculptures upon my wall. Dinner and laundry was one thing, but a hammer and a nail was another. I was the only thing I wanted him to nail, and I had the distinct feeling that that ship had already sailed.
“I’ll manage,” I said firmly.
Damn it if he didn’t look hurt by that. A major part of me wanted to spring up from my seat and hug him. He moved closer to me, hovering inches from my back and I thought for a split second that he was thinking the same thing. I was much better at concealing my disappointment when I realized he was only reaching for his shirt.
He pulled the missing part of his uniform on, though he left it hanging unbuttoned.
“Do you want to stay for some coffee?” I offered.
He didn’t pause as he returned his gun to its rightful place on his belt, then did the same with the handcuffs. “I really should get back home.”
I winced, though he couldn’t see it. “Yeah, I guess you should.”
“Unless you want to come back to my place?” he asked. I jumped to attention, only to return crashing to the earth when he clarified. “You can come get the Jeep and use it until you get something else.”
No. No way, no how, was I driving around in his freaking SUV. If that wouldn’t raise a million eyebrows, I didn’t know what would. Cars were like trophies; they signified conquests. Men used them as a way to stake their claim and Will had made it crystalline that I wasn’t his. I couldn’t take this as the friendly gesture he meant it to be. This wouldn’t be borrowing a car from someone who felt like my brother, not when he had been inside me hours ago.
“It’s nice of you to offer, but I’m good. Insurance will pay for a rental, or I can hit up Blake or Lauren.”
My intent had been to let him down gently, but it looked like an epic fail. Why was he so bothered by the thought of someone else helping me out? I’d made certain that I hadn’t mentioned Chris, since that provoked rage for unknown reasons. But to name two women and draw the same reaction? Unreal.
“Okay then. I guess I’m dismissed.”
Dismissed. The word h
ung between us, deliberately chosen. What was he wanting me to do with that? Toss my chair to the side and grab onto him for dear life? Beg him to stay with me? I wondered if either option would be fruitful, but remained where I was.
He also stood firmly rooted to the ground. If I hadn’t been so attuned to his presence, I might have figured he’d slipped away and left me alone.
“Will?” I asked, just to make sure.
“Gracie?”
My name floated through the air like a promise. He was so close he didn’t need to say it loudly, but it sounded the same as if he’d screamed it in my ear.
So close, but so far.
“Thank you for last night.” My voice broke on the sentiment, and though he chose to ignore that, I knew he heard.
His hands went to my shoulders, his head bent into my hair, and his voice was equally rough when he spoke. “You’re welcome. Take care of yourself, darling.”
Because I couldn’t say anything, I simply nodded. He held me just a second longer, then his warmth was removed. I didn’t turn to watch him go; I didn’t want to see it. My front door latched behind him, alerting me that he was really gone.
My head in my hands, I stayed at the kitchen table for an indefinite amount of time. It could have been minutes, but it was likely closer to hours with the way that my arms shook when I finally moved.
Unseeing, I moved zombie-like through the hallway to my bedroom, deciding to heed Blake’s advice and lie down and relax. I was so numb, useless, that there was no point in me trying to accomplish anything substantial.
Grieving really should be easier the second time around. But it hurt even worse than before.
His memory assaulted me the moment I pushed open the door to the master. For this was the last place that we had been - would ever be - together. I would forever see him here, a screenplay set on a constant loop in my mind, would forever hear him address me, his words an infinite soundtrack to my pain.
“You’re being ridiculous,” I berated myself aloud, “a room is just stuff.”
Ironic to tell that to an aspiring interior designer.
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