If This Is Our Last Night

by Alexandra Page

  Brad repaid her by doing some of the harder chores around the place, like mowing the yard or cutting firewood. Being a city kid he didn’t know a whole lot about manual labor, but he did his best and learned quickly from Michael how to do things. When we weren’t eating, or doing chores we played video games on the consoles he brought with him. He kept them at my house for safekeeping. Rob destroyed his favorite one after coming home drunk at two in the morning and finding Brad still awake playing it.

  He became my best friend, my only friend really, and I was his. We soon knew each other’s every hope and dream and darkest secrets too. We were inseparable.

  After being too shy to admit it for nearly two years, Brad finally told me he loved me on my eighteenth birthday. It was the best birthday I had ever had. The tension between us had been growing by the day. We had both wanted more but were too afraid to let the other know, fearing we would ruin our friendship.

  Brad broke first. He had packed up a picnic basket full of my favorite foods and a small cake he had made for me with Gran’s help. He rolled up one of her old quilts and off we went into the woods behind my house. He had stopped us by the pond and spread the quilt out onto the mossy ground under a huge live oak. He was as nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs while we ate. I decided to have mercy on him.

  “I’ve had a great birthday, Brad. All of this was really sweet. Thank you,” I had whispered and reached out to squeeze his hand. I was just about to confess my love, when he latched onto me and pulled me close.

  “I love you, Jenna,” he blurted out in a rush of air.

  “That’s good, cause I love you too,” I smiled, then admitted I had been in love with him from day one.

  We laughed at how silly we had been to wait so long and then he kissed me and I realized I had only thought I loved him before, because when his lips touched mine everything I felt for him doubled and tripled in size.

  We kissed for over an hour. Day slowly turned to night as we pushed the boundaries of our innocence. The world around us fell away and there was nothing but the two of us and the feelings we created in each other. Our clothes never came off, but we kissed, touched, and rubbed every inch of each other that we could until we both orgasmed, straining against our confining clothes. Afterwards, once we could breathe again, we laughed with the pure, sweet love that only teenagers can feel.

  We never questioned what we had done. Nothing had ever felt more right and we loved each other, that was all we cared about. And from then on it continued to be our only goal, just making each other happy.

  Two weeks later we made love under that tree for real, both of us naked as the day we were born. It was perfect, nothing like the horrible first times I had heard whispered about in the girl’s bathroom. It was gentle and sweet, pure and intense, all at once. Thank God, he hadn’t asked Michael for advice and decided to do what felt natural instead. He was a dream come true for me in every way.

  By the end of our senior year, we were the town’s favorite sweethearts. Everyone loved Brad and his easy, happy-go-lucky personality and he had helped me come out of my shell enough that I was no longer seen as ‘weird, trashy Jenna’ anymore. We had both been working for a while to save up money—him at the hardware store and me at the diner. I bought a clunker, Brad’s mostly went into a savings account for art school. Once we graduated he was free of Rob and thankfully that asshole hadn’t been able to blow all the money his parents had left him. He moved in with us and bought a nice car soon after.

  It was a hard decision, I didn’t want to leave Gran, but we moved into an apartment down in Dallas that Fall so we’d be close to our colleges. She grumbled a bit since we weren’t married, Michael did too, but they both agreed we would be safer in a strange city if we lived together and we were practically married already since we had been together for so long.

  I found a job pretty quick working for Lizzy’s Dad, Raymond, as a secretary and took business classes at night while Brad poured all of his time into school. He didn’t really want me to work, told me he was fine supporting us both with his trust fund, but I was stubborn and determined to take care of myself. We were happy as clams for six and a half years, then Brad got the offer of a lifetime—an almost six-figure, full benefits job working for a design firm in Oslo, Norway.

  He laughed at first, saying no way in hell was he leaving me to live in a country that was like the Arctic for seven months out of the year. He loved me and the sun too much, Norway wasn’t for him.

  That didn’t last long. Within a few days his whole outlook had changed and he was ready to move us to that cold, foreign country.

  I felt like I was being torn in half.

  I wanted to go with him, but I couldn’t leave. Gran was getting older and her heart wasn’t in good shape. Michael still lived close by, but he was always too busy to really keep an eye on her. She needed me. I couldn’t move halfway around the world from her. Plus, I had my job. I had worked my way up through the ranks and was the top junior financial officer for the Midwest Division. I was set to be CFO within a few years. The youngest one ever.

  I couldn’t leave. But it was Brad’s dream job. What he had always wanted. What he had worked his ass off for. How could I be so selfish to keep him from it?

  I was so stressed, I had a raging ulcer within two weeks of his offer. He kept bringing it up, jokingly at first, but then he was much more serious about it. He kept trying to come up with ways to make it work—hunting for a job for me in Norway, or urging Gran to move with us. He wanted it. He wanted it bad and he wanted me to be right there with him.

  I wanted to. I really did, but I just couldn’t bring myself to agree. I loved him more than life, but for some reason I couldn’t do it. I started to doubt myself and what we had and that was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

  While I was doing okay for myself, I was still the poor girl, the one whose parents didn’t love her enough to stick around. Brad’s family had loved him so much they left him rolling in money, but he still wanted more. I didn’t need more. I was perfectly happy with what I had. It was a simple life, but it was enough. I began to question if I was enough for him though. There had to be a reason he hadn’t asked me to marry him before then. On and on it went inside my head. I was afraid—afraid he would choose a new life over me or he would find someone more worthy and I’d be left all alone. My parents left me, why wouldn’t he?

  Soon I had convinced myself he was better off without me. He needed a different life, a different woman, a better one who wanted the same things he did. He was meant to live the high life he’d been born into. I’d been born in the swamp. I didn’t deserve him.

  The fighting started then, and we had never been a couple that fought. I found myself at work later and later, avoiding going home. Avoiding him. He started drinking more and more and became clingy to the point of madness. He even begged me to marry him one night, drunk on bended knee. Tears were streaming down his face while he wore nothing but a pair of boxers and he smelled like three days of sweat and stale beer, his hair sticking up all over his head.

  Something inside of me snapped and I was instantly furious at him for asking me that way. I had wanted to marry him from the time we were sixteen and he had ruined every puffed-up idea I had of how he was supposed to do it.

  Nearly nine years of love collapsed that night in a fight of screaming, begging, and hot tears.

  Six years later and I can still feel my heart shattering the way it did as I drove away from him, convinced I was doing the right thing. Not one night has passed since then that I haven’t doubted that choice. I had several chances to fix it before he left for good. I turned my back on him every time he showed up at work, or Liz’s, too stubborn and full of pride to do anything else. I held onto both of those emotions for several years afterwards, but—with lots of therapy—figured out they were pointless. I forgave him for choosing to follow his dreams and myself for pushing him away. We were both better off.

  That
does little to comfort me these days. I’m thirty years old, tired from a job I hate, and all alone.

  “Jenna.” A deep, gravely voice breaks me out of my misery.

  Big, brawny, and dark is trying to get my attention. Brad has disappeared from my line of sight again, so I turn to my intruder.

  “Hi, Ryan. How are you tonight?” I ask, minding my manners.

  Ryan is a good guy. He works two floors down from me in development. He’s tried for two years to make us a thing. It’s never gonna happen. I went as far as letting him take me out a couple of times, but when he tried to kiss me goodnight after the second date, he knew I wasn’t feeling what he was. We’ve managed to stay very casual friends since then.

  “I’m as good as I can be stuck in this monkey suit. Wanna take a spin on the floor? You’re too beautiful tonight to just be sitting at the bar.”

  I shouldn’t, Brad’s out there somewhere, but I find my hand taking his offered one anyway.

  I try to focus on what Ryan is saying once we start dancing, but I honestly don’t hear a word of it. My heart’s pounding, making my blood rush like a freight train through my ears as my eyes frantically search the dance floor. It doesn’t take long before a pair of beautiful blue-green eyes find mine, then it stops altogether, lodging in my throat before dropping to the pit of my stomach, pounding faster than ever.

  I don’t even realize we aren’t dancing anymore until Ryan’s voice rumbles over the roaring. “So that’s him, huh?”

  “Who?” I whisper, never taking my eyes off my heart’s only love, who’s still staring at me from across the room.

  He steps towards me, falters, then moves our way with purpose. I think I’ve quit breathing.

  “He’s the one. The one you’ve never stopped loving, and from the look on his face, I’d say he never stopped loving you either,” Ryan says, stepping away just before Brad reaches us.

  I’m frozen, overwhelmed with every emotion imaginable as I stare up at him. Even if I was blind, I would know he was here in front of me. My ears recognize the way the air is leaving his lungs and my skin is prickling from sensing his nearness. It only takes seconds for his scent to engulf me and sink into my bones, causing me to sway on unsteady feet. His ocean eyes are sad and stormy as they stare into mine. I feel raw and bare under their intense gaze.

  “Hello, Jenna.”

  His soft, velvet voice flows into my ears like a sweet song and goes straight to my heart, nearly making my knees buckle. All I can do is will the tears to stay in my eyes with every ounce of strength I have left.

  “Hello, Brad.”

  Pain flashes across his beautiful face, then his gaze snaps to Ryan, who I’d honestly forgotten was even there. “Brad Foster, nice to meet you. I’m an old friend of Jenna’s. You must be her husband.”

  ‘An old friend’

  Those words are like a knife to my gut. Thankfully, my throat closes, keeping the whimper that’s trying to escape held down. To anyone else he probably sounded friendly and at ease, but despite being apart for six endlessly long years, I caught the quivering hidden in his voice. It hurt him as much to say it as it did me to hear it.

  Ryan laughs and reaches for Brad’s hand, shaking it firmly. “Ryan Baxter, and I wish I was, but this lady is as stubborn as they come. She made her choice a long time ago and it wasn’t me.”

  Brad’s eyebrows go up and he looks back down at me, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Is that so? Now that you mention it, seems like I do remember her being a bit stubborn.” He smiles, but there’s no happiness behind it.

  The knife buries itself deep in my heart.

  “Yeah,” Ryan says, “I’ve tried to change her mind, but as they say, the heart wants what the heart wants, and again, that ain’t me. I just work in the same building as her.”

  A lengthy, uncomfortable silence begins to stretch between the three of us. I’m a deer in the headlights, trembling before the disaster that’s barreling down on me. I know I should run, but every muscle in my body is locked down tight with fear.

  “I’ll let you two get reacquainted,” Ryan mumbles, then disappears, leaving Brad and I to stare at one another some more.

  My strength abandons me. I drop my head and stare at the floor, not able to look at him. “I can go if you want,” I whisper.

  The hand I held more times than I can count appears in my vision, reaching out with trembling fingers. “Dance with me?”

  Even though I want to run, my body has a mind of its own and I take a step forward. Then I’m in his arms, home again for the first time in way too long.

  He pulls me to him a little tighter, his breathing as erratic as mine. “God, I’ve missed you, Jenna.”

  I sob then. There’s no way to stop it.

  He wastes no time digging out his handkerchief, handing it to me as he ushers me through the crowd to the lobby elevators. We’re silent except for my sniffling as we ride up several floors. His arms never unwrap themselves from around me.

  A few minutes later I’m sitting on a stiff hotel sofa, wiping away my running mascara as he hands me a glass of water.

  “Thank you.” I take a few small sips, hoping to calm myself. No such luck. I can’t do anything but stare at nothing and wring his handkerchief in my hands.

  “Are you okay?”

  I shake my head and swallow down the lump in my throat. “I’m sorry. I’ve imagined this happening a thousand times in my head, but I still wasn’t ready.”

  “I can go, Jen, if it’s too much.”

  Panic grips me and I grab his hand. “No! Please don’t leave!”

  His other one comes up to cup my face, his thumb wiping away a tear. “Will you stop crying if I promise to stay? I still can’t stand your tears.”

  He always hated to see me cry.

  “I’ll try, but I can’t promise,” I whisper, my eyes closing at his touch. When I open them again he’s staring at me in wonder.

  His fingers ghost over my cheek and across my jaw. “How is it possible for you to be even more beautiful than you were?”

  I choke out a half laugh, half sob. “Probably the same way you are. It hurts to look at you you’re so perfect.”

  “Yeah, I know the feeling.” He lets me go, getting up and pacing the floor for a minute before stopping and crossing his arms over his impressive chest. His brows gather heavy over his eyes, the tip of his thumb going straight to his mouth for his teeth to worry it.

  The sight makes my chest ache even more than it already is. I’ve seen him just like this hundreds of times. He’s hardly changed at all. He’s frustrated and fighting his feelings.

  “Brad? Please say something.”

  He stares at me, then the floor, then back at me. “I don’t know what to say. I thought I was ready. That I could see you again and not feel all of this,” he says, his hand jerking back and forth between us.

  Not what I wanted to hear. I can’t do this again. I won’t.

  “I’m sorry. If I’d known you were coming I would’ve stayed away. I’m sorry I upset you. I’ll go.” Rising on shaky legs, my heart breaking all over again, I run for the door, not daring to look his way.

  I almost have it open when his body presses me against it, trapping me in place as he pries my fingers off the handle, his breathing harsh and hot against my neck. “No. Not again. You are not leaving without listening to me this time.”

  “Please. Please don’t do this. Let me go. I don’t want to hurt you,” I whisper. My emotions won’t let me manage any more. My body is shaking so hard I’m struggling not to collapse at his feet.

  He spins me around, holding me up by my arms. “Hurt me?” he asks, laughing. It’s the most bitter sound I’ve ever heard. Like acid being poured into a wound. “You don’t want to hurt me, huh?”

  Biting my lip, I close my eyes against the pain and anger radiating off him and shake my head.

  I feel him lean in—his large presence, the heat coming from his body—then his nose is brushing against m
y ear. “Too. Fucking. Late.”

  My eyes fly open when he lets me go. He turns around and walks a few steps away, his hands buried in his hair. Then he’s back, arms caging me in with nothing but anguish in his eyes. “Do you know how long it took me to live again, Jenna? How many times I died trying to let you go?” he asks, his voice cracking.

  His words slice right through me. I cover my face, no longer able to hold back the tears. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!”

  “Yeah, well, sorry isn’t fucking good enough.” He grabs my wrists and pulls my hands away, holding them against the door. “Look at me. I think you owe me that much.”

  I can barely breathe and I fear any second I’m going to throw up all over him, but I force my eyes open and meet his. The second I do I’m back in our apartment, six years ago, my soul being ripped in half. My God, what did I do? He was supposed to start a new life. He was supposed to be happy and free, not this broken and bitter man who’s staring at me with tears streaming down his face.

  The weight of my guilt washes over me, becoming more than I can bare and I break down into uncontrollable sobs.

  “It was like living with a ghost,” he whispers. Ignoring my cries he lays his forehead against mine, my wrists still held firm in his hands. “You were buried so fucking deep inside me I couldn’t get away no matter how hard I tried. I would hear your voice coming out of a crowd or smell you on my clothes, no matter how many times I fucking washed them. Nearly everything I owned you had touched and left your essence attached to it. You haunted me constantly. Countless times a day I almost called you to tell you something. I saw you in every blue-eyed blonde girl’s face over there.” He pulls away, letting me go, and I watch as his face goes from a mask of pain to one of fury, then his hand slams into the door beside my head. “Do you know how many fucking blue-eyed blondes there are in fucking Norway, Jenna?”