Where We Belong

by K. L. Grayson

  “I didn’t,” he says gently, patting Max’s arm. “I thought you would want to tell her.”

  “I do!” Max responds, jumping over to me. “Mom, do you want to hear what we did today?” My head nods on its own accord and my distant eyes find my mom.

  Are you okay? she mouths, looking back and forth between Ty and me. I nod feebly and she pushes past us to take Max into the house. “Let your mom and Tyson finish up, and then you can tell her all about it.”

  “I’ll see you soon,” Ty declares and Max turns around, offering up his pinky.

  “Pinky swear?”

  The quiver in Tyson’s chin is small, but I see it. “Pinky swear.” His voice cracks as he locks pinkies with the tiny person he now knows is his nephew. Max smiles, and after he walks away, Tyson turns toward me and marches right into my personal space. His eyes lock with mine, full of determination, and when he speaks, his voice is low and unwavering.

  “I’m going to leave because we both need to calm down, but this is not over.” My watery eyes meet his, and I watch a tear streak down the side of his face. He cups his hand behind my neck and lowers his mouth to mine, and I wonder briefly if he can feel my resolve slipping…if he can feel my heart thundering in my chest at his close proximity.

  His mouth descends but pulling away isn’t an option, because I know that this is the last time I’ll ever kiss Ty. He is so very wrong if thinks that this isn’t over. Little does he know that this is something I cannot—and will not—budge on. My eyelids drift shut, pushing out a few more tears, when his soft lips find mine. He kisses me once, twice, and a third time before he whispers, ‘I love you’ and walks out the door.

  SEVEN DAYS.

  It’s been seven long days since I’ve talked to Tyson, but it hasn’t been for a lack of trying on his part. I plop down on the coach, pull an afghan over my legs, and flip on the TV as I shove a bite of ice cream in my mouth. This is what I’ve done every single night since he walked out my front door.

  That same night, he sent me a text that read, I’ll call you tomorrow. I ignored it, along with his call the next day. He left two voicemails, both of them pleading for me to ‘please call me back,’ which of course, I didn’t.

  Tossing my head back on the couch, I growl, wondering if I’m making a terrible mistake—quite possibly the biggest mistake of my life. No, I tell myself, shoving another heap of ice cream in my mouth. I mean what the fuck did he think I was going to say when he practically called me a liar and whore all in one breath?

  “He was confused,” Quinn answers, causing me to sputter at the realization that I said all of that out loud.

  “He was a dick,” I retort, a little taken aback that she defended him. She shrugs once and tosses a piece of popcorn in her mouth.

  “Can you blame him?” My head rears back and my hand freezes in the air, halfway to my mouth.

  “Yes!” I scoff, letting the spoon clatter when I drop it in the bowl. “Yes, I can blame him. Jesus Christ, Quinn, whose side are you on?” Suddenly, I’m feeling overheated underneath the fuzzy blanket. Tossing it to the side, I take off for the kitchen, not sparing a glance in Quinn’s direction. The soft shuffle of her feet tells me she’s following me, but I don’t turn around. Opening up the cabinet, I grab a wine glass and slam the door a little too hard, causing the glasses on the shelf to clatter. I pour myself a glass of wine and chug half of it in the first sip, because Lord knows if I have to battle Quinn on this, I’m going to need some alcohol in my system. In fact, this wine may not be strong enough.

  “Can I have a glass?” she asks softly, and I hand her one without making eye contact. She reaches for the bottle, filling the goblet half-full, then pulls out a chair and sits down at the table.

  I can feel her eyes burning through me like a hot poker, but I refuse to turn around. I keep my eyes trained on the window as I peer into a dark canvas of emptiness. My eyes gravitate to the tent that is still pitched in the backyard from the campout, and my gut twists in a tight knot.

  I miss him.

  And worse than that…Max misses him. I’m definitely not winning any mother-of-the-year awards right now. Over the last five days I’ve come up with every reason in the book as to why Tyson hasn’t come over and why Max can’t call him. Last night he cried when I tucked him into bed, wanting to know if Tyson still loved him. His words shot straight through my heart, and that was the first time I truly believed that I was making a mistake. Before it had just been a fleeting thought that I was able to justify in my head as being false. But as Max sobbed over missing Ty, my heart cracked and something inside me changed.

  “Are you done being an idiot yet? Because that’s how you’re acting…you do know that, right?” My head swivels in Quinn’s direction and she meets my gaze head-on.

  “Fine. You want to take his side? Go on, convince me that I’m wrong.” Her eyes soften at my false bravado and she kicks a chair out, motioning for me to sit down. I fall into it with a huff and she laughs, scooting closer to me.

  “Why did you get so mad at Ty?” she asks without missing a beat.

  I tip my glass, draining it, and she pushes hers across the table to me.

  “We’ve gone over this, Quinn.”

  “Humor me.”

  “Ugh. Fine,” I huff, crossing my arms over my chest, simply because it makes me feel less vulnerable. Knowing I’m about to rip open some wounds that haven’t seen the light of day in quite some time, I need all the help I can get. “Once Dallas,” I cringe at the mention of his name, “was brought into the picture, Tyson lost all faith in me. In the blink of an eye, everything I told him became a lie. He couldn’t believe that Dallas was capable of doing something so heinous, and he said so himself.”

  Quinn nods. “And when he second-guessed you like that, how did that make you feel?”

  “What are you, a goddamn psychiatrist?” I ask, receiving only a pointed look in response. “Fine,” I sigh. “It made me feel terrible. That was the worst night of my life and to this day, every time I close my eyes I can still—” My voice cracks and tears start dripping from my eyes before I even have the chance to stop them. “I can still smell him. I can still feel his weight against my back. His breath still fans across my face like it did when he—”

  “Stop,” Quinn whispers, snatching up my hand to cradle it in hers. My watery eyes blink several times and I furrow my brows in confusion. Isn’t this what she wanted?

  “I don’t want you to relive that night, Harley. You’ve lived it once and somehow, by the grace of God, you were able to come out on the other side, and I don’t ever want you relive that moment again.” I take a deep breath and squeeze her hand tightly like the lifeline that it is.

  “Let me rephrase my question, so I can get you to see what I see.” I nod, knowing I don’t really have a say in the matter. This is Quinn we’re talking about, and if she wants to have this conversation, then—like it or not—we’re having this conversation.

  “Why do you think Ty instantly thought Dallas was innocent?”

  I laugh mirthlessly, but her cool demeanor doesn’t budge. “Because he has Dallas on a pedestal. He’s idolized him for as long as I can remember.”

  “Okay, what if Levi walked up to you right now and told you that I killed someone?”

  “This is ridiculous, Quinn.” Pushing up from the table, I grab my bowl of ice cream, which is now a heap of melted cream.

  “Why is it ridiculous?”

  “Because you wouldn’t do that,” I answer, hating that I’m finally seeing where she is going with this.

  “But how do you know I wouldn’t do it?”

  “Because I know you, Quinn. I know the kind of person you are. I know that even though you’re crazy and reckless, you don’t have that in you.”

  “Don’t you think that that’s how Tyson feels about his brother? That the brother that he thought he knew wouldn’t have that in him?” My hands fly to my mouth and my swollen eyes widen as realization slams into me. A h
eavy sob slithers up my throat and busts free. “You didn’t give him a chance to accept what you were telling him,” she finishes.

  “I get it, Quinn.” I hate that she’s right, and more than that, I hate that I was wrong…but I was. My body, weak with exhaustion, flops down into the chair that I had just vacated, and I drop my head onto the table as my body rids itself of seven days worth of anguish.

  “He needed time to process this, Harley. Trust me, that boy believes in you and he trusts you, and he knows that you wouldn’t lie about something like that. But you should have given him the opportunity to talk through it and accept the fact that the brother he thought he knew was not who he thought he was.”

  “I said I get it!” I yell.

  “Do you?” she questions skeptically. “Because I don’t think you do.” I bury my face in my hands, resigned to take the beating that she’s about to give. “He is destroyed right now, Harley.” I flinch at her words, but she pushes on. “That man has bent over backward, trying to get you to talk to him. He’s left you message after message and text after text. Hell, he even wrote you something.” My head twists to face her and I wipe my eyes as hope slowly starts to bloom in my stomach.

  “That’s right,” she nods at my questioning look. “And I’m going to give it to you, but not for your sake…for his. I know he has screwed up before, and I know that he didn’t handle it well when he found out about Dallas, but right now you’re in the wrong. Right now, you need to swallow your pride and fight for the love that that man is trying so desperately to give you.” Quinn pushes away from the table and walks into the living room. When she comes back into the kitchen, I see a bright red piece of paper clutched in her hand. She stops in front of me and smiles.

  “I love you, Harley, and as much as I want to see you and Tyson end up together, I don’t want that if it isn’t going to make you happy.” She drops the piece of paper on the table in front of me. I inhale sharply when my gaze lands on one of the coupons I gave Tyson for his birthday. My chest physically hurts as though a bullet was shot straight through it.

  Never in my life did I think I would cry at the sight of a piece of construction paper, but as my shaky hand reaches for it, my eyes flood with tears. A hard lump has taken up permanent residence in my throat, and I struggle to swallow past it as a million emotions rush through my body. Closing my eyes, I flip the paper over in my hand. I take a deep cleansing breath and peel my lids open, instantly honing in on the scribbled writing on the coupon.

  Two words.

  It takes two little words from our past for me to see what’s been staring me right in the face for the past seven days. Tyson and I are meant to be together. We have come so far. We have fought, and we have won…at least we had almost won until I decided to screw things up. My head drops in shame at how I’ve handled things this past week. I am a horrible excuse for a girlfriend, and the fact that I completely shut him down without giving him any chance whatsoever to come to grips with what actually happened just proves what type of person I am.

  My shoulders lurch with a deep sob and I bury my face in my hands. Quinn’s arms wrap around me and she holds me as I expel all of the hurt and anger that I’ve been carrying around for the past seven days. When I finally start to calm down, she slides a piece of neon-pink construction paper in front of me and I instantly let go of another round of tears. I watch the piece of paper absorb the wetness that falls from my face as I read his final note.

  I’m an idiot. Running my arm across my puffy eyes, I wipe away the moisture. “Can you watch Max?” I ask hurriedly, because suddenly I need to talk to Ty. I need to see him, and it can’t wait one more minute.

  An I-told-you-so-grin is plastered on Quinn’s face. “Go get your man.” She raises her hand and I slap it before grabbing my jacket and bolting out the door, all the while hoping and praying that the damage I’ve caused isn’t irreversible.

  I’m sure I break every law imaginable on my drive to Tyson’s, but I don’t care. My car skids to a stop in front of his house, and I send a silent prayer to the man upstairs that I picked the right one. I know he has the day off tomorrow, and usually when he’s off, he stays at the rental house here in town.

  Looking at the clock, I notice that it’s eight fifty-five and I fist pump the air, thankful that I made it on time. Every night for the past week at exactly nine o’clock, Ty has sent me a text...and tonight I’m going to reply back. I turn on the radio and Christina Perri’s A Thousand Years starts playing. My eyes drift shut as I drink in the lyrics that so perfectly resemble my love for Tyson. When my phone beeps, I sit up frantically, and waves of relief crash against my body when I see his name on my screen. This is it…time to fight for my man.

  Tyson: I miss you

  I smile at the simplicity of his text.

  Me: I miss you too

  My phone beeps almost instantly and I laugh, picturing him startled at the sight of my name on his phone.

  Tyson: Harley?

  Me: Yes…

  Tyson: I miss you, Harley. I love you.

  Hope blooms in my chest and my heart swells with love. My hands are shaking with anticipation, but I manage to reply before stepping out of the car.

  HOLY SHIT! SHE’S TALKING to me! Jumping off the couch, I sprint into the kitchen and throw on my shoes, fumbling when I try to tie them. I can’t help it…I’m fucking excited and I need to be ready. I need to see her like I need my next breath. Reaching for my phone, I see her reply ‘Yes…’ and my fingers scurry across my phone.

  Me: I miss you, Harley. I love you.

  When it comes to Harley, I’ve done nothing but fuck up. I made a mistake when I walked away from her five years ago and I made another mistake last week when I ruthlessly confronted her about Dallas. But you can bet your ass that I’m done screwing up from here on out. This girl means the world to me and she needs to know that there is nothing—absolutely nothing—that I wouldn’t do for her.

  Not that it’s even remotely an excuse, but I can’t begin to describe how overwhelmed I felt after I heard Max talk about Dallas. It’s like my brain had gone foggy and all I could focus on was finding out the truth. Unfortunately, I went about it the wrong fucking way.

  At first, I didn’t think it was possible for Dallas to do something like that, but the more and more I thought about it, I started to change my mind. When I looked back, I realized that toward the end of his life, I didn’t really even know who Dallas was. The drugs and alcohol had changed him so much that I’m sure that he was capable of anything at that point, no matter how horrific it was.

  As much as I hate my brother for what he did to Harley, I’m still thankful that she has Max. It’s going to be hard to look at that little boy and know that Dallas is his biological father, but it’s comforting to know that Max truly is a part of me—that my blood runs through his veins. That alone makes this just a little bit better, because I love him like he is my own, and if given the chance, I will spend every day for the rest of my life showing him what it’s like to have a real dad.

  I’m not naive; I know that things aren’t going to be easy. The guilt alone will probably eat at my soul…guilt for walking away from her in the first place and guilt for not going back to check on her that fateful night. Guilt for what my brother—my own flesh and blood—did to my best friend, the woman that I love.

  My eyes snap to my phone when it beeps and my heart starts thrashing around in my chest. Hope that I had temporarily lost comes back to life in full force, and I punch my fist in the air when I read her words.

  Harley: Can we talk?

  Responding isn’t an option, because right now I just need to see her. Running for the door, I fling it open, and come face-to-face with Harley. My beautiful Harley. She’s standing before me, her once vibrant green eyes now dull and puffy, her cheeks shimmering with tears. My hands itch to reach for her, but I can’t—not yet.

  My phone pings again, but I hesitate to check it, afraid that if I look away she might disap
pear. Is it possible that I’ve thought about her and wished for her so many times that somehow my mind was able to conjure her up?

  “You’ve got a text,” she says with a small grin, pointing to my phone.

  “Is it from you?” I ask cautiously, afraid to get my hopes up. Her small grin turns into a shy smile and she nods.

  “What does it say?”

  “It says, ‘I love you too,’” she whispers.

  Relief floods my body, and this time I don’t think twice about yanking her into my arms and smashing her to my chest. She half laughs, half cries when she buries her face in my shoulder. “I’m so sorry,” she hiccups, sniffing her nose.

  I pull back a fraction and look down into the face of my forever. “Did you just snot me?” She snorts with laughter, tightening her grip around my waist. Sliding my hands up the length of her delicate back, I cup her face between my hands.

  “Do you forgive me?” she asks.

  Tilting my head forward, I brush my lips across hers and she whimpers. “There’s nothing to forgive.” She tries to protest, but I seal my mouth over her lips, drinking in her words. Her tongue tangles with mine, and with each glide she manages to soothe my aching soul. I pull my mouth from hers just enough to see her eyes, which are now shining with love. “I think the more important question is, do you forgive me?” She opens her mouth to respond, but I lay my finger against her lips. “I’m so sorry, Harley. I know I fucked up—again—the other night. I should have never accused you of the things I accused you of.” Tears start running down her flushed cheeks and I wipe them away with my thumbs. “I believe you. Of course I believe you. I just wasn’t ready to accept it. I was upset and angry and I took it out on you, and I’m so very sorry for that.”