Step Summer

by Gallagher, Tanya

  Her affection lifts the weight off my chest, and I can’t help a tiny giggle. “And how do we do that?”

  Brooke’s eyes sparkle. “I was starting to tell you earlier. There’s a party at the Kappa Sigma house tonight that’s got our names written all over it.”

  I groan and shake my head. “You know parties aren’t really my thing.”

  She purses her lips. “No, I know drinking isn’t really your thing. But no one’s saying you need to let any alcohol pass your lips. Being around a bunch of people who are all having a good time could help.” She smiles. “And, once again, you have a reason to celebrate, you legit boss lady.”

  “Are you buying?”

  “Hell, no, sweet pea. You’ve got plenty of free drinks coming your way from all the hot guys who want to get into your pants.”

  I don’t want any hot guys other than the man I can’t have, but Brooke’s joke still makes me crack a smile.

  My best friend claps her hands together like she knows she’s won. “Atta girl. Now, get your ass up and find something cute to wear.”

  * * *

  The Kappa Sigma party’s a thumping affair, a line of kids out the door of the fraternity’s stone house, the smell of beer and body odor and too much perfume. The partygoers aren’t trying to be quiet about things, and even though I’d normally steer clear of an event like this, tonight the energy sweeps me up. I try to fall into that feeling and forget about the photo that Blake hasn’t liked, the way the phone in my pocket feels like it weighs fifteen pounds.

  I do have a reason to celebrate. Maybe not every reason. But I’m celebrating myself and my business and the fact that I’m making things happen, which is good enough for tonight.

  I pull my slouchy cardigan tight over my tank top to keep away the chill as Brooke and I saunter toward the house.

  “Welcome, ladies.” A frat guy with broad shoulders and a cute smile appraises me and Brooke from the front porch. Longish bronze hair flops into his eyes as he taps his chest with the hand not holding his red Solo cup of beer. “I’m Chuck. Leader of these fine festivities. Drinks are in the kitchen, activities throughout the house. If the Kappa Sigma hospitality doesn’t meet your standards tonight, you come find me.”

  Brooke giggles, and when he reaches out his hand, I shake it. Why the hell not play?

  “Nice to meet you, Chuck.”

  “Likewise.”

  His fingers are warm in mine, but I drop them quickly. Tonight’s not about meeting anyone. It’s about celebrating myself.

  Brooke and I slip through the front door, and noise from the party crushes in on us like a wave.

  “Kitchen first?” Brooke has to lean close to my ear and shout the words.

  I nod. Not only does it make good sense to keep control over your drink, when you’re the one fixing it, no one has to know that you’re pouring yourself straight juice instead of beer.

  We make our way toward the back of the house, and as I survey the living room, my eye catches on a flash of tattoos and muscles. I stop short to look closer, but it’s just another guy who’s not Blake, and my heart can’t fucking handle this right now.

  Brooke turns back when she realizes I’m not with her. “You okay, Kenn?”

  I swallow a lump of tears. “I’m coming.” I don’t tell her I’m okay because I’m not.

  I make myself follow her to the kitchen, where a sticky layer of grime and spilled drinks coats the floor. Inside the fridge, an abandoned container of cloudy juice hides behind a row of Coronas.

  I scan the label.

  Pineapple.

  I wrinkle my nose and fill a cup with water from the tap instead.

  Brooke stands in front of the open fridge, her hands on her hips as she decides what suits her fancy.

  “You look like you could use a drink.”

  I whirl at the voice.

  Chuck from the front porch slants against the doorframe between the kitchen and the dining room, studying us intently. He’s got a crease pressed between his eyes, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans. His red cup is gone.

  I twist the toe of my Converse into the ground and glance up to meet his eye. “Me or her?”

  “Both of you.”

  “Good man.” Brooke waves a hand at me. “How did you know we’re celebrating?”

  Chuck grins. “Lucky guess. What’s the occasion?” He sweeps his eyes over my body. “Birthday?”

  Brooke shakes her head. “McKenna here is officially a business owner as of today.”

  Chuck removes a hand from his pocket to rub his jaw. “Is that so?”

  I blush. “That’s so.”

  “Damn, girl. Good for you. In that case, you definitely need a drink.”

  I lift my cup at him. “I’m good.”

  He nods and reaches past me to snag two beers out of the fridge. He hands one to Brooke and keeps one for himself. His eyes stay on mine even as he pops the lid off his bottle. “A lady of her own mind. Cheers to that.”

  That night we jumped into the ocean, Blake told me not to worry about improbable things, and him coming back to me is improbable. But I can control what I do with my life. I can choose to act happy, time and time again, until I finally feel it.

  I lift my cup at Chuck. He’s not going to be my everything, but maybe Brooke’s right. It can’t hurt me to bust out of my rut and have some fun.

  “Cheers,” I say, and I drink.

  30

  Blake

  September

  I’m not quite sure how he manages it, but the second I shuffle from my dad’s guest bedroom into the kitchen, he lifts a single eye from his phone screen to assess me. It’s a handy trick—you don’t get all of my attention unless I decide I like what I see—and it makes my hands flex by my sides. His disappointment smells like shitty air freshener—last season’s scent—failure and missed obligations and eroded trust.

  Jodi, at least, does more than grunt at me over her bowl of oatmeal.

  “You want coffee, Blake?” From her chair at the kitchen table, she waves at the pot on the counter. “I made plenty.”

  It hurts to look at her, with her face so much like McKenna’s that it’s a bad dream, but her kindness warrants eye contact so I nod at her and force a smile.

  “That would be great, thanks.”

  I grab a mug from the cabinet and fill it, sloshing black coffee onto the counter when I lift it to my lips too fast.

  I never thought I’d miss the stupid mugs from the shore, but the ones in my parents’ kitchen are small in size and personality. Where’s a good Seas the day mug when you need it? Hell, where’s the woman who stole my heart?

  Jodi and my dad don’t talk about what McKenna’s doing, and I don’t have the balls to ask. Earlier this month, I cut myself off from looking at her social media posts, and now I feel blind and removed. Stopping, though, came down to self-preservation. There was a fine line between checking on McKenna and torturing myself, and now I don’t know how she spends her time. If she’s happy or thriving or missing me. But every damn day, I wonder.

  “What are you up to today?” Jodi asks. She moves with endless energy, straightening a pile of napkins, tapping her fingers on the lip of her mug.

  “I’ve got a few training sessions this afternoon.” I shrug. “Nothing crazy, but the mom I’ve been working with said she’ll give me a testimonial for my website.”

  Jodi nods. “Getting that certification was a good move, Blake. It’s going to pay off.”

  The tips of my ears burn. “Thanks.”

  Moving back in with your parents is shit, but it’s not rock bottom. Rock bottom was when I didn’t have respect for myself. When I drank everything away. I take a gulp of my coffee and remind myself that this is just a temporary low.

  My dad stands up and dumps his coffee and his dirty plate in the sink, then heads out to work. Then it’s just me and Jodi and the weight of everything unspoken between us.

  I don’t know how to act around her.
/>   I don’t know exactly what she knows.

  I walk to the sink and rinse my dad’s dishes so I have something to do with my hands.

  “You don’t have to do that, Blake,” Jodi says. “I appreciate you pitching in on the chores, but this is your place too.”

  I stiffen without meaning to. It’s not my place. I don’t know what is, yet, but I know I’m not supposed to be here.

  “It’s the least I can do,” I grind out. “The new owners close on my house next week. Once that payment comes through, I’ll get out of your hair.”

  Letting go of the house was harder than I thought it would be, given that I hadn’t been more than a ghost in it since I left for rehab. In a way, it was like letting go of the path I thought I would take. Accepting the new one, even though it sucked.

  Hailey hated me selling the house, too—the literal and figurative door closing on whatever we were. But even with all the pain of it, I felt a little lighter, too.

  Jodi shakes her head at me now, snapping me back. “You’re not imposing, if that’s what you’re trying to say.”

  I huff out a laugh. “I am, but I appreciate you saying so.”

  She crosses the room and pauses beside me with her empty bowl clutched to her chest.

  I hold out a hand for it, and she places it in my palm.

  “You know…” Jodi’s voice is low and sympathetic, and I brace myself for whatever’s coming next. “I don’t exactly know what happened between you and McKenna, but ever since this summer, you’ve both been miserable.”

  My heart does a solid kick in my chest—bang—and I freeze.

  “Yeah?” My voice comes out so thick that I cringe. McKenna’s miserable, and I can’t tell if I feel better or worse knowing that. “I caught a post online a few months ago, and she looked alright.”

  It’s as close as I’ll get to admitting the way her pictures were the first thing I looked at every morning, my fingers scrolling to her profile like a compulsion. A daily fix of the sweetest drug.

  Jodi nods and leans her back against the kitchen counter. Sticks one foot on the inside of her knee, the way McKenna does. “We both know how easy it is to make things look perfect when they’re anything but.”

  I squeeze my eyes hard and blink them open, staring into the sink where coffee grounds and thick spoonfuls of oatmeal swirl down the drain. The air smells pungent and sour.

  “Do you remember when your dad and I got together?” Jodi asks. Where is she going with this? I don’t answer, but she continues on with a shrug. “At the time, we got a lot of attention for it. Between our age difference and the fact that we worked together, everyone had opinions, you know?”

  I realize she’s waiting for an answer and grunt a “yeah.”

  “When it’s right, it’s right, no matter what anyone else says. And you and McKenna both deserve to be happy. But whatever happens, Blake, you need to be strong enough to accept the blowback. You’ve got to want it twice as much because it’s never going to be easy.”

  My heart does this thing where it folds in on itself, the way I imagine stars collapse when they die. But instead of a black hole, a tiny fire kicks up in its center like a molten core sparking to life.

  I want McKenna, and I don’t care if it’s hard.

  I want McKenna, and part of me’s been waiting to be the person I know I can be before I see her again. But my business is coming together and my armor’s thicker than ever, and I don’t want to wait anymore.

  I shut off the water in the sink, and the room plunges into silence.

  “Do you know where she is?” My question hangs in the air between us like a confession.

  Jodi hesitates for a fraction of a second. I know she still feels guilty for letting Hailey in on my whereabouts because she apologizes to me at least once a week, and now I’m asking her to do the same thing to McKenna.

  “Do you love her?” Jodi’s question catches me entirely off guard.

  I clutch the edge of the kitchen sink to steady myself, then give her the answer that burns through my body in the purest kind of truth. “Yeah. I do.”

  “Does she know that?”

  “Not yet.”

  She finally lets out a tiny sigh. “Then, yes, Blake, I can help you find her. The rest is up to you.”

  31

  McKenna

  October

  I blink at my Econ textbook with blurry eyes, clutching a highlighter in one hand and a mug of coffee in the other. I have a paper on creating profit and loss statements due in three days, and the idea makes my brain hurt. Accounting’s the less fun part of business, though arguably one of the most important.

  The doorbell rings, shattering my concentration.

  “Brooke?”

  Water gurgles in the pipes in response, and my friend belts out a saccharine pop anthem over the running shower.

  Fine. I’ll get it.

  I sigh and set my highlighter between the pages like a bookmark, then stretch out my stiff limbs. Brooke’s lyrics about true love serenade me as I pad through the living room to the front door. The peephole is a good six inches above my eye level, so I swing the door open without looking.

  “Hey there, Flower Girl.”

  The room swirls and settles down on Blake’s perfect face, haunted and uncertain, outside my apartment door.

  Holy shit.

  He’s here.

  He’s here and he’s looking at me like he’s finally found home.

  He’s here and he’s looking at me like he’s never going to let me go.

  I remember the very first time we met, when Blake opened the door to me at our parents’ wedding. The way my stomach had fluttered and swooped at the sight of his square jaw and his warm, hazel eyes. My stomach feels like that now, only a layer of anticipation underlies my excitement.

  “Blake.” The word puffs out of me, and I feel like I could puke. His gray Henley shirt hugs his ripped arms, concealing the tattoos I see behind my eyelids every time I try to sleep. The shirt looks so damn soft, and I want to touch it, but what if I’m wrong about why he’s here?

  What if this is all a mistake?

  My eyes drop to the bouquet of flowers in Blake’s hands, and the grip of tension eases a tiny bit.

  “Do you…?” I ask. I wave my hand toward the open door. Why are words so hard? I’m dimly aware of the water turning off, of Brooke’s wobbly soprano fading away. “Do you want to come in?”

  The relief on Blake’s face is plain. “That would be great.”

  I let him step into the house in front of me, then watch him take in the life I’ve built for myself—the plants lined up in the windowsill, the early Halloween decorations on the bookshelf, the Christmas lights glowing on both our faces.

  “Oh, shit.” A towel-wrapped Brooke gapes at the two of us from the bathroom doorway.

  Oh, shit is right.

  “I’m just gonna…” She waves an awkward hand at me and Blake and bolts into her bedroom.

  I hold my breath. Release it.

  I haven’t looked at Blake in so long that I’m greedy now, and when he turns back to face me, I’m not quick enough to look away. He catches me staring, and his eyes glimmer with tears.

  “I just need to know one thing.” Blake’s voice is wired tight as a trap, spring-loaded like if I give the wrong answer he’ll snap his mouth shut and keep all the rest of his words inside. “Did you mean it?”

  My heart clenches like a fist. “Mean what?”

  “When you walked away, did you mean it?” He prizes the words loose and places them carefully between us. “Did you stop caring about me? About us?”

  Tears prick my eyes. “No,” I whisper. “Never. I thought I was doing the right thing.”

  He nods, once, and a muscle ticks in his jaw. “It wasn’t the right thing, McKenna.”

  “I know.” My heart is cracking open. “Everything I do is wrong because you’re not in my life right now.”

  His hands fist around the flowers, crumpling the b
rown paper wrapping their stems. “I’d like to be.”

  My breath catches. Did I hear him right?

  “You would?” My skin vibrates and my hands shake, and I force myself not to react.

  Blake’s smile is a flag waving. “Of course I would. I mean, I brought you flowers and everything. And they’re all out of season, so damn if they weren’t hard to find.” He hands me the bouquet, its pretty scent perfuming the air, and I look close enough to discover the same flowers that I wear on my skin.

  “Sweet peas for pleasure,” he says. “Gladiolus for remembrance. And peonies for a happy life.” He’s breathing hard, his voice thick. “Sometimes you think the world isn’t listening to you and what you want. But I’m listening, Kenn. It just took me a while to understand what you were trying to say.”

  And then I’m nodding and trying to blink away the tears that keep falling down my face.

  “Don’t cry, Flower Girl.” Blake takes a step forward, his face uncertain. Then whatever barrier’s holding him back breaks, and he reaches for me with both hands, wiping away my tears and resting his forehead against mine.

  The flowers crush between us as I wrap my arms around his waist and hold on tight, breathing in his familiar scent, reveling in his warmth. I don’t know what’s supposed to come next. All I know is I’ve missed him like a lung, and now that he’s here I can finally breathe.

  “I want to be the guy who jumps into every ocean with you, Kenn. I want to be the guy who cheers you on and helps you however I can. Your partner.”

  “Fifty-fifty?”

  He nods. “Fifty-fifty.” He moves back an inch to look me in the eye. “You know the reason I didn’t come find you sooner?”

  “Because you wanted to torture me?”

  He grins and wipes a fresh tear from my cheek. “Because I wasn’t in a position to give you everything you deserve.”