Harley.
God, I miss her.
I was a terrible friend. I'll never forget the look on her face the night I walked away from her. Her tears and the sound of her voice as she begged me to stay are forever burned into my brain.
But walking away from her that night isn’t my biggest regret. My biggest regret is never making it right. Those first two days after our big fight, my phone was inundated with texts and voicemails from Levi, Quinn, and even Harley’s mom. When Harley started calling, that’s when I turned off my phone and left it off.
At the time, I hadn’t been ready to talk to her, or anyone else for that matter. I was simply trying to absorb what Harley’s confession meant for me...for us...for Brit. My plan had been to make the move to New York, allow things to calm down, and then reach out to Harley. But that never happened.
The day after I walked away from her, Brit and I began packing for New York. Then, before I knew it, it was time to leave. The move and subsequent unpacking kept me busy, and before I knew it, two weeks had passed. When I finally took the time to listen to the voicemails on my phone, I discovered that they were mostly from Levi and Quinn. Harley had only left one. It's still saved in my phone.
“Tyson (sniff, sniff), please talk to me (sniff).” Her voice had been low and gravelly, most likely raw from crying. “Something happened and I—I need you. Please, Ty. I know I messed up. I know I put you in a bad spot and I would give anything—anything—to fix this, but that’s not why I’m calling." She pauses, sobbing into the phone. "Please. I need you to call me, Ty. Please."
I never called her back.
Two weeks had already passed, and I had no clue what to say to Harley. Then, shortly after listening to her voicemail, I got the call about Dallas. That call fucking destroyed me.
Closing my eyes, I reach out with my right hand, allowing my fingers to graze over the lettering on the cool marble.
My vision blurs and I blink rapidly, effectively stopping the tears. Turning away, I tilt my head to the sky.
"God, Dallas, you were my idol. You showed me how to throw that perfect spiral...and remember when I dinged dad’s new car with my bike?” I laugh humorlessly. “You covered for me, just like you always had my back. I miss you so much, big brother."
I lower my head, pressing my fingers against my temples. It's so hard to remember the good times but not the bad. It's hard to forget how quickly things went to hell. The fraternity. Drinking. Drugs. Women. It all got the best of him.
I was so naive, telling myself that he was only doing what every other college kid was doing...experimenting, messing around, having fun. But Dallas was taking it too far. He quit coming home and stopped calling. Mom and Dad were a complete wreck and tried several times to reach out and get Dallas the help he so desperately needed.
One night after a raging party, Dallas called Dad. He was drunk and high, begging my Dad to come get him up.
My parents picked him up, and he spent the next nine months in and out of rehab. But none of that mattered. He relapsed. When Dallas died, the level of alcohol and drugs in his system was astonishing. The perfect amount of drugs...followed by alcohol...followed by more drugs...it was too much for his body to handle. I've often wondered whether or not it was accidental or if he knew the combination would be too much.
Coming home for the funeral was tough. Harley showed up with Levi and Quinn, and I didn’t say a word to any of them. I was trying so desperately to wrap my head around everything that had happened with Dallas that I didn’t want to talk to anyone about anything.
My teeth grind at the thought of the unknown and I stand hastily, shaking myself out of the path my head was going. Picking up my coat, I dust off the leaves that fall has left behind and I lay my hand atop Dallas’ tombstone. “I've got to go. Levi and some of his friends are going out for drinks tonight and he invited me along. I promise I won’t wait another five years. You’ll be seeing a lot more of me." Slowly turning to walk away, my final words are but a whisper, “rest in peace, brother.”
I PULL UP TO Blue, the upscale bar that Levi owns. It's attached to Flame, a restaurant that he owns with his dad. Pushing through the heavy steel door, I take in my surroundings. Fuck, this place is awesome. I make my way to the third level, where Levi said they would be sitting.
A young woman is standing at the top of the stairs, a clipboard in hand. She is gorgeous in her tight, tuxedo-style shirt, black pencil skirt, and red stilettos, but I wouldn’t expect anything less coming from Levi. She reminds me of a librarian, and I instantly picture her with black-rimmed glasses and a wooden stick.
Shit. Now I'm hard.
She smiles. “Your name please."
“Tyson Grawe," I reply, giving her an easy smile.
She glances briefly at her clipboard. “Right this way, Mr. Grawe." Her voice is low and seductive, and when she turns around, I have to adjust myself. "Your party is right over here. Can I start you off with something to drink?”
“Yes, Bud Light bottle." She grins and moves closer.
"Anything for you, Mr. Grawe. Please have a seat and I’ll be right back with your drink."
Reaching out, I grab her hand before she walks away.
“I didn’t catch your name.”
Her eyes shine brightly. “Blaire," she states, giving a quick wink as she turns toward the bar.
Levi, Cooper, and Levi's brother, Mason, are situated around a high-top table."Tyson!" Levi booms, standing to shake my hand. "Goddamn, I missed your ugly face." He snakes his arm around my back and pounds a few times.
I sit down as Blaire returns with my beer.
"I see you met Blaire,” Cooper says, leaning back in his chair to watch her ass as she walks away.
"Coop," Levi scolds, slapping Cooper in the chest. "Leave that poor girl alone."
"Trust me,” Cooper says, leveling Levi with a glare while pointing in the direction of Blaire. "She is not a poor girl. Blaire's mouth—"
"Enough." Levi rolls his eyes and takes a pull from his bottle. "You know I can't sit here and talk about my staff like that. And I certainly don't need to know which of my girls you're luring into your bed," he says, shaking his head. He turns to me as Cooper reaches over to high-five Mason.
Damn, I’ve missed these guys.
"Where are you staying, bro?" Levi asks, tipping his beer at me.
"I'm renting a sweet-ass condo a few blocks from the hospital,” I answer, picking at the label of my beer bottle.
"So you're not too far from here, then? You'll have to swing by sometime for lunch." I nod in agreement but don't get a chance to respond.
"So what the fuck happened with Brit?" Mason asks, leaning his elbows on the table. "Last we heard, the two of you were tying the knot." Before I can say anything, Levi and Cooper pipe in at the same time.
"I never liked her."
"She was a bitch."
I shake my head at the easy banter, amazed that we're all sitting around like no time has passed.
I raise my bottle, signaling for another beer. "Nah, we broke up."
"See," Levi says, "I knew I didn't like her." He lifts his bottle and we all salute. "To dodged bullets!" he says with a grin.
I chug what’s left of my beer and a knot forms in my stomach. I wonder if Harley thinks of me as a ‘dodged bullet.’
"Whatever happened to your parents?" Levi asks.
I sigh heavily. "They moved. Not far, but they were struggling after Dallas died. They needed to get out of town."
Levi nods in understanding and the table goes quiet. I hate this. Everyone does this when they talk to me about Dallas. Time for a subject change.
"This place is amazing," I say, reclining back in the leather chair. I look down and over the edge at the bar, admiring how stunning he made this place is. Stunning isn't even the right word...sexy is more like it. This place is fucking sexy.
"Thanks, man! That means a lot. She's my baby." I can hear the pride in his voice…and he damn well should feel
that way.
"What are those?" I ask, pointing to three steel contraptions hanging from the ceiling.
"Those are God's gift to men," Cooper answers.
"Levi's girls dance in there," Mason says with a playful smile. "It was an ingenious idea. Everyone fucking loves it."
Interesting. "So your bartenders go in there, or patrons?" I ask, wondering briefly if Harley has ever stepped foot in one.
"Mostly the staff, but only if they want to. They get paid extra and then men usually tip really well afterward, so most of them aren't complaining." Levi turns back to the table and when Blaire returns with my beer, he orders a round of shots.
"Quinn gets in there," Cooper states, displaying a wide grin. "That girl is fucking hot." Mason shoots Cooper an irritated glare. "We've been telling Levi that he should hire her to come dance in one of those cages every weekend. The crowd that girl can draw is unbelievable!"
I watch curiously as Mason's jaw noticeably clenches. He opens his mouth to say something, then stops short. Pushing away from the table forcefully, he stalks off toward the bar. Okay, there is definitely a story there. I'll have to remember to ask Levi about that later.
"Knock it off,” Levi says, his tone sharp.
"Oh, come on," Cooper defends. "Like you don't find it fucking hilarious."
"Has Harley been in there?" I interrupt, letting my gaze wander. I'm hoping like hell that question came off as indifferent, but when I glance back at Coop's face, I know I didn't succeed. His smirk is slow and easy, his eyes knowing. But what surprises me is the searing look I get from Levi, pinning me to the chair. I can't help but wonder if I just pissed on someone else's territory.
The sound of hysterical laughter breaks the tension and we turn in our seats, just in time to see a tall, willowy, beautiful woman come stumbling into the room.
Quinn. I smile softly to myself—she's always been a bit of a klutz.
Two seconds later, she is followed by...
Harley.
The sight of her causes my heart to start slamming wildly against my ribcage and my throat grows thick.
Christ, she looks incredible. Who am I kidding? She's always looked amazing, but her body has matured over the past five years in the most mind-blowing—and dick-throbbing—way. Her dark brown hair flows in long, thick waves past her shoulders. A yellow halter dress hugs her curves in all the right places and black stilettos show off her toned, mile-long legs. She looks absolutely perfect.
I keep telling myself to stop staring, but for the life of me I can’t. For the past five years I’ve thought of her, and now here she is. Sliding my chair back, I begin to stand, the need to be closer to her pulling at me like a fucking magnet. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, but I know I’ve got to do something—say something.
Looking up from her phone, Harley spies Levi and her face lights up like a kid on Christmas morning. What the fuck is that about? As her eyes move across the rest of the table, she continues to laugh at something unknown. When her gaze lands on mine, the energy in the room shifts instantly. The air becomes heavy, and for a split second I find it hard to breathe.
Harley’s face falls. The beautiful smile that had formed on her face just seconds before is gone. Her eyes dart frantically to Levi and then back to me. Without a word, she spins on her heel and heads back out the same way she came in.
I need to go after her. There are so many things I need to tell her, starting with 'I'm sorry.' Before I can move, Levi grips my forearm. “I got this." He nods for me to sit and takes off toward the only place I want to be.
Fuck this, I haven't waited five years to just sit here. I push up from my seat and a round of cheers echo from my table. If I'm not mistaken, I hear Quinn mumble ‘it’s about damn time’ as I stride past her.
PISSED...I'M PISSED. NO, I’m beyond pissed. I'm furious. How could Levi do this to me? I trusted him, and he just invited Ty here without even—
Suddenly my arm is locked in a tight grip, another wrapping firmly around my stomach. Yanking at the hold, I attempt to propel myself forward but my body is quickly hauled up against a hard chest. Closing my eyes, I inhale deeply, a feeble attempt at calming myself. I don’t need to turn around to know who my captor is; I would recognize his scent anywhere. He smells of old spice deodorant and peppermint and...Tyson.
He’s panting, obviously having run out here after me, and his breath is hot against my ear, causing me to shiver. Fuck. I hate that he can still do this to me.
"Wha—" My voice comes out strained so I take a few deep breaths, trying to school my thoughts. My hands tremble at the feel of his arms wrapped around me, and my heart is slamming so hard in my chest that I'm slightly terrified it may tumble right out. "What are you doing here?"
To my surprise, he doesn't respond but continues to hold on to me without a word. God, he smells so good. He feels so good. How did I ever think I could get over—?
Nope, not going there.
Twisting from his grasp, I turn, shoving at his chest. He doesn't budge. When did he get so...so...big? My God, this boy is ripped! Pissed that he didn't budge, I shove him again. This time his hands encircle my wrists and he uses his momentum to pull me toward him.
My glare is hard, but I can feel myself melting as I take in the man standing before me. Tyson has always been buff, but now he is downright sculpted. His black Henley stretches across his wide chest, and I swear I can see the definition of his pecs through the material. That can't be right. Tyson doesn't have pecs. His sleeves are bunched around his elbows and when his grip tightens on my wrists, I watch as the muscles in his forearms flex. A surge of unwelcome warmth shoots through my body and I yank at his hold, but it's useless...he's too strong. I puff out a hard breath, blowing a strand of hair out of my eye.
I know for a fact that he's hiding two perfectly placed dimples behind the firm look that he's giving me. I also know that I most likely won't be seeing them anytime soon.
His hair is still the same, only longer. His once carefully manicured locks now fall in light brown waves across his forehead and curl at the tops of his ears. It takes all the strength I have not to reach up and run my fingers through his hair to see if it's as soft as it looks. Not that I could right now even if I tried, since it's obvious he has no intention of letting go of my wrists.
Plus...what the hell is wrong with me?
I don't want to stroke his hair...I want to pull it! And not in the hot, sexy kind of way either.
"I'm sorry." Tyson swallows hard. "I hurt you, Harley, and I'm so sorry." His voice is sincere and his eyes are soft—which only pisses me off even more.
I flinch at his words. "You're sorry?" I ask incredulously, a sarcastic laugh quickly making its way out of my mouth. I repeat myself, only this time it's not a question. "You're sorry. Tell me, Tyson, what exactly are you sorry for?" Wrenching myself free from his grip, I continue with my rant without giving him a chance to reply.
"Are you sorry for showing up tonight? Are you sorry that I’m upset about seeing you? Are you sorry that I'm even here?" Are you sorry that I haven't stopped loving you after all this time? Are you sorry that you broke my fucking heart?
I can feel my body flush in frustration. My jaw clenches and tears burn my eyes, threatening to fall.
He grimaces at my words. A haunted look flashes across his face and he drops his head, staring down at his feet. He tucks his hands in his pockets, and I watch his shoulders rise and fall with a long, slow sigh.
I close my eyes tightly. This has to end. All of this anger and hurt that I've been harboring has got to go. As much as I don't want to do this, I know that I need to. I've waited five years to make peace. If there’s any chance of me getting past this and moving on, then now's the time. I allow my tears to fall silently down my cheeks. There’s no sense in wiping them away—he needs to know how much he hurt me.
"Or are you sorry for how things ended?" I murmur. "Is that it? After five long years, you've finally decided that you need to
apologize for throwing away our friendship like it was nothing?"
His head snaps up, a painful expression marring his beautiful face. "You—"
"I know!" I snap, cutting him off. "I know I fucked up, okay?" My voice trembles and I wipe angrily at my tears. "I tried to apologize but you wouldn't listen to me,” I yell, my voice cracking on the last word.
"I know but—” He tries to explain, but again I don't give him the chance. He didn’t once give me the opportunity to tell him how I felt in the past five years, so there’s no stopping me now.
"No! You don't know, Tyson. You don't know what I went through." Using my fist, I pound against my chest. "You don't know how bad your leaving hurt me. Because it did—it destroyed me. I needed you and you weren't there. I trusted you, Tyson. I trusted you with my friendship and my heart, and you ripped them both to shreds without a second thought." My chest is heaving and Tyson's face contorts as though he's in pain.
We both stand there, staring at each other. Tyson's shoulders droop and his arms hang loose at his sides. My chin quivers and tears continue to stream down my cheeks. Through my watery vision, I can see the pain and sadness in his eyes. I know that I hurt him when I confessed my feelings; I know he felt betrayed. But he's the one that walked away from me and never looked back, so what nerve does he have to stand there and look upset?
When he speaks, his voice is soft and hesitant but firm. "I don't know what you went through. And I know that I wasn't there for you, nor did I give you the chance to explain or apologize, but you don't know what I went through either." When I start to respond, he holds up his hands, urging me to let him continue. I snap my mouth closed, actually wanting to hear what he has to say.
"I'm sorry for everything, Harley. Everything." My heart squeezes at the words that I've waited so long to hear. "I'm sorry for all of it. Please, Harley. Please..." he begs, holding his hands out to me. "I need you to forgive me. I need you to give me another chance." His words sound firmer at the end and he straightens his back, standing tall. "I'm going to redeem myself for how I've acted the past five years. I want to know you again, Harley. I want our friendship back."
Where We Belong Page 4
