by BJ Harvey
Ugh. I even feel torn reading that. I’m hurt that he’s running away—albeit he says he’s coming back. I’m irrationally angry that he wasn’t staking out my house waiting for me to return. I’m hurt he still hasn’t explained anything to me. And I feel betrayed because in our eight months together, even the two weeks we’ve officially been living together, I had no fucking idea he was married, or ever had been in the past.
I feel duped. I feel lied to. I feel like an idiot and finally . . . I feel empty.
I miss him. So fucking much. I want to rewind my life three days and just stay there forever. Things were good, things were right, things were . . . perfect.
Was he ever going to tell me about his past? Would he have if Tate hadn’t forced his hand and aired his dirty laundry out in front of the world?
My phone rings, the sounds of Imagine Dragons “Next to Me” filling the room. “Hey Kenz.”
“He texted you,” she says with relieved sounding sigh. “God. That’s good.”
“When did you see him?”
“He came by the bar just after I spoke to you this morning.”
Knowing it’s Kenzie and that she’d tell me anything I need to know, I keep going, one question on the tip of my tongue, my voice cracking as I whisper my biggest fear. “Is he coming back?”
“He made it absolutely clear that he was,” she says assuredly. “He wanted me to make sure you knew it too.”
The line goes quiet. Over the last two days Kenzie, Millen, Hamish, and James have all been great. They didn’t push or pry; they just made sure I knew I had a big ol’ support team behind me, ready to catch me if I crumbled.
“It seems like déjà vu,” I admit. “When the going gets tough and they get caught out, the men I fall in love with seem to run away.” My voice is resigned and now that I’ve said it out loud, I realize just how true it is.
“I’ve told you before, Gabs, he’s not Luke.”
“Logically, I know that. But why would he keep something this big a secret? We all have pasts. You don’t get to our age without having one, be it good or bad. But you don’t keep secrets when you get down on bended knee and say you want to be with someone forever.”
She’s quiet, her expected defense of Bruno not coming. “You were going to tell him you didn’t want to get married anyway,” she says softly.
“I never said I don’t want to be with him. I just don’t need the ring on my finger and the piece of paper to go with it. Anyway, that conversation seems a bit redundant now, doesn’t it?”
“Babe . . .”
My eyes sting and I quickly blink away the tears. I’m done crying over what I don’t know and what might not even happen. Right now, everything to do with Bruno is so up in the air, it’s like the Hindenburg . . . and that’s saying something.
“Why would he go away without talking to me first?” To be honest, this is not what I was expecting. Bruno does not seem to be the kind of guy that doesn’t face his problems head on. Then again, I had turned my phone off to avoid him and only switched it on again this morning. There were five texts and ten missed calls just from him.
“Honestly? Have you answered any of his texts or calls since Sunday?”
“Well, no . . .”
“Yet you expect him to wait around until you’re ready to hear him out? Gabs, now I see why you used to drop all those truth bombs on me when Millen and I were going through our thing.”
I’m speechless—which is a mean feat in itself—but her words sink in. “Would you have let him explain?” I ask quietly.
“I know that the first time I saw Millen after three months, I slapped him in the face. I know that when I found out about Lana, I ignored his texts and calls too. Maybe Bruno decided he needs to give you some time, and while he drives himself crazy waiting—and believe me, he has been—he’s decided he should try and sort things out back home so that when he comes to you, he can give you all the answers. “
“What does that mean? Did he say something to you?”
“Gaby . . .” she groans and her voice is pained. “Honestly, I don’t know what he’s thinking. He’s acting on impulse like anyone in his position would. If that means going to Indianapolis to figure things out, you’ve gotta respect that.”
I scrub my face with my spare hand and sit up, putting my back against the headboard. “Well, there’s nothing I can do about it now so yes, I’ll come back into work. It’ll at least take my mind off everything. Do you need me tonight?” I look over at my alarm clock. It’s almost lunchtime; I could easily get myself ready in time for a three o’clock start.
“Sadie is covering for tonight, so why don’t you take the day and come in tomorrow?”
“Okay, babe. Thank you. See you then?”
“You bet your ass you will. And Gabs?”
“Yeah?”
“This too shall pass,” she says, making me snort.
“I’m glad you think that. It might take me a while to believe it, though.”
“Have a ‘you’ day, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
We end the call. Dropping my phone into my lap, I stare blankly across the room.
Bruno is gone—at least for the foreseeable future—and I’m left here to do what? Hopefully, work will be able to keep my mind off this situation—and him—until he comes back.
If he comes back, that is. Because my past has proven that just because you love someone, does not always mean they’ll come back to you if you set them free.
Right now, I’m not sure what I want.
I suppose I should work on that.
***
It’s been almost a week and thankfully, I’ve been so busy at work that by the time I crawl into bed every night, I’m too tired to think about how I’m going to bed alone.
Every night. Alone.
I never realized I’d gotten used to having Bruno with me until he was gone.
There have been no texts, no calls, no sign of life at all from him since he left, and the more days that pass, the more my anger at him returns.
On Saturday night, the bar is full of patrons. The last person I’m expecting to see walk through the door is Luke, with a group of his friends.
They all head over to the pool table at the back of the bar with Luke breaking away and moving towards the bar. It’s the first time I’ve seen him since I left him at my parents’ house
“If that was your worst, Bree, you were still nothing short of perfect to me.”
My heart starts to race as he stops in front of me, his broad boy-next-door smile threatening to put me in a daze. Thankfully, I remember just how effective that look can be.
“What’ll you have tonight?” I ask, plastering on a professional, totally fake grin of my own.
“Four Buds and a water.”
I lift a brow at that. “Water? With ice?”
“Yeah, thanks.”
“Coming right up,” I reply, turning away to grab the beer bottles from the fridge, ignoring the way his presence in my bar is making me feel. I’m indifferent, I’m confused, and I’m wondering why—of all the bars in Davis—he chose to come here.
Part of me knows the answer to this, though. Kenzie’s dad has always been close to his family, so it’s not too much of a stretch to believe he’d heard that Kenzie and Millen own the bar now and therefore he could assume that it’s likely I could be here.
Placing the beers on the wooden bar top, I step sideways to grab a tall glass, scooping some ice up and filling the glass with water. I slide the drink next to the beers and meet his gaze. He holds out a credit card, brushing his fingers against mine as I take it from him. Must not react, I chant to myself in vain.
I know what those hands can do. I know how we may have fumbled our way through intimacy at the start but how we became experts at making each other feel good by the end.
I shake my head, scolding myself for even thinking about it.
“Can you start
a tab? The guys might be in for a big night.”
“And you?” I ask, before I can stop myself.
“I’ve been completely sober since I left rehab. Not even a sip of alcohol,” he says matter-of-factly. “I wanted to do it all or nothing. I’m not a halfway kind of guy.” Well, ain’t that the truth.
“Luke, why are you here?” I ask just as he says “Bree, I wanted to see you. I don’t like how we left things.”
“Do you mean before our wedding, when you disappeared, or at my parents’, when I called you out on your bullshit?” My words are curt, and his wide eyes and jerking head tell me I’ve caught him off guard. I feel guilty but I can’t pinpoint why. This bitter bitch isn’t me. It wasn’t the woman I was raised to be. It’s the woman I’ve let past experience—and men—turn me into.
He doesn’t take long to recover. I would almost say the look in his eyes has now morphed into one of respect. “Do you think we could have a chat sometime? Maybe meet up on your next day off? I’m in town until next weekend.”
I tilt my head and study him. His soft blue eyes watch me. It’s on the tip of my tongue to remind him—again—that I have a boyfriend. Although I’m not sure that title is necessarily correct at the present time.
“Why now, Luke?” I ask.
He reaches over and wraps his hand over mine, and I stifle a gasp at the contact. “Because I’ve waited long enough, and I would like a chance to clear the air between us. You were a huge part of my life, and I feel like it’s not finished. I think it would be the best for both of us to talk everything out.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him I have a fiancé—although, can he even be my fiancé if he’s married?—but I bite my lip to stop myself. Where’s the harm in hearing Luke out? What’s the worst that could happen? My life is already a shit fight; why not add another disaster to the mix? Maybe it’ll give me—give us both—closure and we can move on to whatever life has planned for us.
Not that I have a single clue as to what my future holds right now. The man I saw myself being with is now thousands of miles away doing who knows what.
I pull my hand free and square my shoulders. “Okay. Tomorrow. We’ll grab lunch or something.”
A wide smile covers his face, his eyes sparkling. Damn. The last time I saw that look was the day I said yes to him asking me to marry him on the balcony of our favorite Italian restaurant in Sacramento. The day I thought my life and future happiness were guaranteed with the love of my life at my side.
How wrong I had been.
“Tomorrow. I’ll pick you up around one,” he says, and before I can answer him he has grabbed the drinks off the bar and disappeared into the crowd.
It’s not until later that I realize I haven’t told him where I live.
When he knocks on my door at one p.m. on the dot the next afternoon, I figure he obviously didn’t need to ask. It’s another question I plan on getting an answer to before the day is out.
Chapter 21
I endured a few choice words about Luke and ‘Why the hell would you put yourself in that position?’ rants from Kenzie after closing. In fact, it’s a miracle I’m actually at my apartment at one o’clock Sunday, pacing back and forth in my living room, waiting for his knock on the door. Not once did he have a drink, though. His friends put back a few and a few hours after arriving, he ushered them out the door with a meaningful look my way as he left.
I tossed and turned most of the night once I got home, warring between yes, this is a good idea, and hell no, are you crazy?
What would Bruno think? Would he care? Of course he would care. He has very strong opinions about Luke and what he’s done to me. But for a man like Bruno, someone who loves fiercely without hiding it, a man who makes sure you know how he feels at any given time on any given day, not hearing from him in almost a week hurts.
A loud knock stops me mid-pace. I quickly look myself over in the mirror by the front door. Not too dressed up, not too homeless chic. No low-cut cleavage giving him ideas he shouldn’t be having about me but will probably have regardless if he’s anything like the man I used to know. Jeans, not a skirt, so no chance of a mid-thigh ride-up, and nice flats rather than my shoe-of-choice heels.
Luke was there for all of that. Just like I was there for him through every stage of his career, from high school, to college, to being drafted, and the first time he took the field at AT&T Park.
He knocks again and with a deep breath, I open the door to be met by the man himself. He’s wearing a pair of black shorts and a tailored open-collared blue shirt, making his eyes pop more than usual.
“Hey,” he says, looking me up and down. “God, you sure know how to punish a man, don’t you?”
“What?” I reply with a laugh.
“Reminding me what I’m missing out on,” he mutters before looking at the ground, lifting his hand behind his neck.
“Oh,” I say, laughing it off, because what else is there to do? “Shall we go?”
“Sure.”
I grab my purse and step out, shutting the door behind me. I take a deep breath. I’m not sure what Luke hopes to achieve with this lunch but I owe it to myself to find out. Maybe then I can focus on what the future holds for me. And for Bruno, the man who stays at the forefront of my mind the entire drive to the restaurant.
Luke parks his car and switches the engine off, then turns to face me. My eyes are glued on the dark brick building in front of us. My back goes ramrod straight, my entire body tense as my heart threatens to jump out of my chest.
I should’ve known when he said we were going to Sacramento that he might take us somewhere meaningful from our past. However, I never imagined it would be the same Italian restaurant where he proposed to me all those years ago.
“Luke . . .” I rasp out, my throat impossibly tight. I’m surprised I was able to make a sound.
“It’s the first place I thought of. It’s okay, Bree.”
“Don’t call me Bree,” I whisper harshly. “I said I’d do this but you’ve gotta meet me halfway, Luke.” I swallow hard. “It still hurts when you call me that.”
His lips thin, his expression falling. “Okay. Hurting you is the last thing I’d ever want to do again.” He reaches over and gives my arm a gentle squeeze. “Let’s go inside.”
We walk in the restaurant side by side, but I don’t miss his hand resting at the small of my back as we are led to our table outside. He’s the perfect gentleman, and it’s like glancing into a crystal ball and seeing what my future could have been like with him.
It’s both sad, but not.
If Luke hadn’t done what he did, I would never have achieved what I have. A home that’s all my own. A life that—up until Sunday—was full of happiness, good friends, and fantastic sex with the man I love.
That’s not to say I wouldn’t have had the chance of all of those things had I married Luke. It’s just that I may not have had the motivation to try and get them myself, and nothing worth having is given to you on a silver platter. Nothing worth having comes without blood, sweat, tears, and heartache.
We order a soft drink each and wait for our meals to arrive. To fill the silence, I engage him in idle chitchat. Even once our food comes, the conversation doesn’t wane. He talks about his recovery and what he’s been doing since, about the coaching opportunities he’s been looking into both here in Sacramento and also in San Francisco. We talk about our parents and siblings, catching up on the six years we’ve been apart, avoiding anything to do with the actual break-up. I wait for Luke to start talking, for him to lead the conversation how he wants.
Whatever happens, this is Luke—my Luke—the guy who ditched school with me so I could see Pearl Jam in concert senior year. The boy who stole my first kiss, who gave me my first hickey, who held my hand at my grandfather’s funeral sophomore year in college. He was my first love, my first lover, and my first fiancé. We grew up together, and seeing him now—how far he’s come in hi
s recovery—I’m actually proud of him. He turned his life around, and although it’ll always be an ongoing struggle, everything I’m seeing makes me confident he’ll succeed in whatever he sets his mind to. Look at me being all grown up and stuff.
We’re just so different now, and I honestly think we would’ve drifted apart had we gotten married.
“I never imagined I’d get the chance to come back here with you,” he says once we’ve finished eating. I look over to where he’s sitting beside me, arm resting on the table, his head in his hands, his eyes locked on me.
I smile, biting my lip to stifle a laugh. “I didn’t imagine a situation where I’d see you again without slapping you, to be honest.”
That earns a chuckle. “We were so young. So innocent and hopeful.”
I tilt my head and grin. “Are you saying we’re old and jaded now?”
“Maybe a little.” He reaches over the table and covers my hand with his. I freeze and am about to pull away when his touch is gone. “I missed this most of all.”
“What?”
“This,” he says, waving between us. “I could always talk to you. It never mattered what I was doing or what I had to act like out there. I could always be myself with you. I never had to be anything else.”
“I liked that.”
“I know. So when I realized I had a problem, I didn’t want what we had to change. I knew if I’d come home that day, told you I was addicted to steroids and had to go straight to rehab or be cut from the team, you would never see me the same way again.”
“Luke, but—”
“I know I hurt you, but I was a coward and didn’t want to see the look of disappointment on your face. So I took the easy way out. I sent my parents over to tell you the bad news.”
“A reporter beat them to it.”
“I’m so sorry for that. You deserved so much better, and I’ve spent so long working on myself to make sure I was a better man—a man worthy of you—in case you were ever to give me the time of day again. That’s why I cut all contact. I had to make a clean break from everything in my old life for a chance at a new one.”
