Practice to Deceive

by Olivia Evans

  “C’mere,” he whispered, pulling me out the front door. “Listen, I want you to know this weekend was amazing. I also understand what you’re saying, about needing to get to a point where you stop doubting everything and can allow yourself to trust again.”

  He cupped my face and moved until our bodies were flush. “I won’t push you. I want to talk to you every day while I’m gone, and I want to do all I can to prove myself to you, but I need you to be sure. Because when I’m done, I want to know if we have a future. But right now… Right now, all I can think about is the fact that I’m going to kiss you.”

  He leaned forward and touched his lips to mine, tentatively at first, his teeth biting into the flesh of my bottom lip and tugging slightly. I lost it. I let out a harsh exhale, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him closer. He swept his tongue across my lip before covering my mouth with his.

  It was like kissing him for the first time all over again, and it set my body on fire. The push and pull completely in sync as our tongues moved together, exploring, caressing. When we finally pulled apart, we were both panting, our eyes heavy and full of fucking need.

  He dug his fingers into my skin. “I’m going to miss you so fucking much.”

  “I’m going to miss you too,” I whispered, gripping the back of his neck. “But I’ll talk to you soon.”

  “Yeah. Soon.”

  Watching him leave hurt just as much as it had the first time. The only difference was the absence of my anger. The knot remained in my chest, though, a reminder to keep my head intact. After promising Rachel I’d see her soon and finally relenting to Drew’s sad puppy face that he could hang out with us, I drove home. I kicked my shoes off in my living room and fell into my chair, my purse falling to the floor. It landed with a thud before tipping over.

  “What the hell?” I reached inside and grabbed a shirt wrapped around something. Where the hell had this come from? I unwrapped the shirt, letting the book fall into my lap. It was a black shirt with FBI in yellow letters across the front. I pressed it to my face and inhaled, Brennan’s scent filling my body. My eyes fell shut, and I leaned back in my chair before picking up the book. Only it wasn’t a book at all. My breath caught as memories of finding a similar journal had flipped my world upside down. With shaking hands, I opened it.

  Skylar,

  I debated giving you this, unsure if it would do more harm than good. But you deserve to know, to see how important you are to me, how much I think about you every single day.

  You’re it for me, Skylar. My belief in that is overwhelming at times, because I know, without you, I lose a part of me. And not a small, insignificant part, but the biggest part, the best part. A part I didn’t even know existed until you came into my life, but now, the thought of living without it is crushing.

  I thought I’d lost you for good, but you’re giving me a second chance. A chance to prove to you I can be the man you deserve. I’ll never do anything to jeopardize losing you twice. Trust that.

  I love you always,

  Brennan

  I flipped to the next page, then the next. Not a single day was unaccounted for, each page a journal entry of his thoughts, followed by a love letter to me. Every single day that we’d been apart.

  Oh my God.

  Patience and perseverance have a magical effect before which difficulties disappear and obstacles vanish. ~John Quincy Adams

  October 2016

  “Why aren’t you dressed?” Grace asked, her eyes focused on my shirt. “Please tell me you’ve washed that thing.”

  I laughed and stepped aside so she could follow me to the living room, tugging on my shirt. Well, Brennan’s. I’d taken to sleeping in the FBI shirt he’d left, while Grace not so silently judged me for it. The memory of one of our first conversations after he’d gone back to Virginia flashed through my mind.

  “I have a shirt. You left me a shirt.” I giggled into the phone.

  He laughed. “Are you drunk-dialing me again? I’m really going to have to stop leaving you things if it causes you to drink. I’d hate to have to send you to rehab.”

  “Oh hush. This is a good drunk-dial. Actually, it’s not really a drunk-dial at all. I only had a little rum. I’m high on life.”

  “Drugs too, Skylar? What am I going to do with you? And Martin―he’s going to be so disappointed. I can see the headlines now, ‘DEA agent’s daughter arrested after drunken drug deal goes bad.’”

  “Is that it?” Grace asked, yanking me from my memories. I blinked and followed her gaze to the journal on my coffee table.

  “Yeah.”

  “You’re going to take him back, aren’t you?”

  “I am.” I looked directly into her eyes so she understood this wasn’t up for debate.

  “I always knew you would. I gave you a hard time because I wanted you to think about it. Let your head have a fair fight with your heart.”

  “I’m not sure what to say to that. I thought you hated him.”

  Grace laughed. “Oh, I do. I hate him for what he did to you, how he made you doubt yourself. You might be ready to forgive him, but I’m going to hold off until I’ve seen this sparkly new version of him for myself.” She sat on the couch and crossed her legs. “Can I ask you something? What did he do to make you forgive him? The letters? Seeing him? What finally did it?”

  I sat next to her and let out a heavy sigh. “Honestly? He didn’t do anything.”

  Grace blinked. “I’m going to need you to dive a little deeper with that explanation.”

  “The thing is, there was nothing in this world he could have done to make me forgive him. All the letters, seeing him, reading his journal, none of it really mattered in the end. Not in the grand scheme of things. Did those things help? Yeah, sure. I guess. But my forgiveness had to come from me. I had to figure out what version of my life I wanted to live. One with him or one without him. And even with all the horrible shit he did to me, I couldn’t imagine a life without him in it. I think a part of me wanted to forgive him from the very beginning. I just had to see if I could.”

  “You wanted to give your head a fair fight against your heart,” she repeated.

  “I guess I did,” I said with a small laugh. “Can you do me a favor?”

  She eyed me for a moment. “It depends on what you’re going to ask. Uncle Martin has tricked me into cleaning fish far too many times by agreeing to something without knowing the favor.”

  “Smart move,” I joked, before straightening my shoulders. “Can you try to forgive him? The longer your feelings linger, the longer the memory of what happened will too. I want to move forward with my life, and I can’t do that if I’m reminded of the bad every time he comes up.”

  Grace sighed and nodded. “I’ll try. I promise.”

  “Thank you.”

  “So, now what? Have you told him?”

  “No. I’m going to wait until he’s done with training. Not to mess with his head or anything. I just don’t want to distract him.”

  “And then what?”

  I shrugged, and my stomach did a somersault. “I have no idea, but whatever it is will be with him.”

  That night, after being dragged all over Seattle, shopping with Grace, I crawled into bed with Brennan’s journal. I ran my hand over the cover and allowed myself to think about how we’d started, the ups and downs along the way, and where things stood with us now. He’d exposed himself in so many ways, both good and bad, but there was no denying I knew him in a way I’d never known anyone before. It hit me that he couldn’t say the same. An idea struck me, and I pulled out a notebook and flipped open to a blank page. He wasn’t the only one who could write letters.

  Brennan,

  I’m sorry this is the first time I’ve brought up the journal you left behind for me. It took me this long to even gather the courage to attempt to respond to the words you’ve written, to not feel inferior to the way you make every word hold so much meaning, it feels like an overinflated balloon that could bu
rst at any second.

  You broke my heart. I’m not telling you that to make you feel guilty or to earn your pity―you know me better than that. I’m telling you as a testament to the power your words have had on me. You are like no one I’ve ever met. I thought I had you pegged from the moment I laid eyes on you, but you have proven me wrong at every turn. Some good, some not so good.

  I want to pull out all of the parts of your journal that slowly peeled the blinders away from my eyes, the parts that made me remember our time together over the spring, when you were so sweet, so loving, and absolutely perfect to me. But then, I’d have to copy every word you’d written.

  I’m so terrified of you. I have never felt for anyone the way I feel about you. I try to block out the words I read back in April, the terrible way it made me feel to know the man I loved, the man I was ready to give everything to, used me.

  Then I read the entries in your new journal, the ones where you tried so desperately to recreate memories that nearly gutted me. But it was the ones you wrote while reflecting on your time in Virginia―while we were apart and you were so unsure, so vulnerable, that completely melted the edges of the icy walls I’d worked so hard to build.

  Like this:

  “I couldn’t sleep last night. My nightmares startled me awake in a sheen of sweat and gasping for breath. They were always the same. I was there, and so was she, Skylar. But it wasn’t me she laughed with. It wasn’t me she touched gently on the arm as she rocked up on her toes and planted her soft lips against.

  It was someone else. Some faceless guy who didn’t hurt her, who didn’t treat her like she was a lesser person, who recognized she was fucking perfect in every way possible. Someone she deserved, but who would never, ever, fucking love her as fiercely as I did. I ache for her touch, and I would give anything to have a moment where she looked at me again like she did before.

  Before I fucked everything up. Before I broke us both. I wanted it back. I wanted her back. Without her, I’m nothing.”

  Brennan—I can’t tell you what reading your most intimate thoughts has done to repair the damage you caused. I know to some I may seem like I’m dragging my feet, like I’m making you suffer unnecessarily, but I know you understand. I know you get how badly I was burned by Jeremy, the guy I thought really liked me, then Matt, the guy I considered one of my closest friends, then you, the guy I thought could be my everything.

  When you feel frustrated, when you feel like I’m being unreasonable, please remember that in less than a year, I have been burned by three different guys in three different ways. The only one I give a shit about working things out with is you. Please remember that and be patient with me just a little longer.

  -Skylar

  I fell asleep that night with a smile on my face, my dreams filled with the different possibilities of our future together.

  November 2016

  “Are you nervous?” I asked, already knowing the answer. He was straight up freaking out. His final exam was only a few days away, and it was all he could talk about.

  “A little. What if I fuck it all up? What if I can’t remember any of the answers, what if—”

  “Brennan,” I scolded like I was talking to one of the kids at the aquarium who wouldn’t stop banging on the glass tanks. He was being a total drama queen.

  He sighed, and it made me laugh. “You’re going to do fine. It’s almost over, and then you’ll graduate and come home, and we’ll laugh about all the times you called freaking out, thinking you were going to forget everything.” I exaggerated the last word, completely mocking his earlier comment. Then I thought about what I’d said, and warmth spread through me.

  Home.

  One more week and then, barring he actually didn’t forget everything and bomb the testing portion, he’d be done. Graduated and on his way back to Seattle, to me. He hadn’t gone a day without talking to me, and he continued to write letters and emails and texts, anything to show me he was ready to be the guy I deserved. His words.

  “Fine.” He huffed, pulling me away from my thoughts and focusing on the moment, on the sound of his voice and the way I could hear his slow intakes of air when we were both silent.

  “You’re too stubborn not to pass. I can see you staring at the questions and demanding the answer to come to you. And if it refuses…” I trailed off, unable to stop myself from giggling when I pictured his face. “You can always woo it with your words.” I couldn’t help it, I laughed.

  “You love my words, don’t lie.”

  “I do.”

  “Or is it that you just like my mouth?” He lowered his voice, his tone still playful, but also making it known he wasn’t talking about using his mouth for talking. It made my skin tingle.

  “I like your mouth just fine,” I shot back. “But that really doesn’t account for the words you put on paper, now does it?”

  “No, I suppose you’re right,” he conceded. I felt a little smug that I’d outsmarted him for once. The feeling didn’t last long.

  “Those words are passed along to you by my hands, my fingers wrapped around a pen, gripping it tightly as I slide my hand across the sheet of paper, fast and slow, depending on how hard the words are fighting to fly onto the paper.”

  “Oh my God,” I exhaled. “You can make anything dirty.”

  “It’s a gift,” he laughed.

  “Yes, well, there is no arguing that you are quite gifted.” My tone was suggestive; I might have even said the words a little breathlessly. He groaned. I smiled.

  “You win.”

  “Giving in so soon?” Not that I wasn’t thankful. We were about two seconds away from full-blown phone sex.

  “I’ll always give in to you, Skylar.”

  “I’m beginning to believe that more and more every day.”

  “Good.”

  “You’ve got this, Brennan. You won’t let us down.”

  I spent the next week far more nervous than I’d let on. I wanted him to succeed so badly. He called after the test and told me he felt good about it, but it wasn’t until he called to tell me the good news that I was finally able to relax. I let him know how proud I was of him before breaking the news I wouldn’t be able to make it for graduation. His reaction was almost enough for me to come clean. Almost. I’d already booked my flight. He wasn’t the only one who could appear out of thin air. Rachel and the rest of his family flew out a few days before me, but work was tricky and I had been lucky to get the days off I had.

  I fidgeted and checked my hair and makeup a million times on the car ride to his graduation. I’d talked to him earlier, ducking into an airport bathroom so he wouldn’t hear the intercom system and ruin everything. I texted Rachel when I got out of the car, and after a few minutes, she came into view.

  “Does he suspect anything?” I asked, my heart thrumming in my chest as sweat beaded along my hairline. “Jesus, I’m sweating, and it’s freaking freezing.”

  Rachel laughed and nodded. “Yeah, this weather is bullshit. And no, he doesn’t suspect anything. You should see his sad, mopey face. It’s glorious.”

  “You’re so mean,” I giggled, following behind her to the ceremony. It only took a moment to spot him, and it made my breath catch. A second later, his name floated through the air.

  “Brennan Dixon,” the announcer called over the microphone.

  He rose to his feet and made his way to the podium, his eyes drifting over the crowd and landing on Drew as he cheered and whistled, a huge smile on his face. However, it was when Brennan saw me that he stumbled and nearly fell flat on his face in front of everyone. He froze and blinked a couple times, causing a huge smile to spread over my lips as I waved and mouthed “Surprise.” He waved back, a beautiful smile breaking across his face.

  “Brennan Dixon,” the announcer called again, causing a few people to chuckle.

  He shook his head, his smile never leaving his face as he walked across the stage. He sat through the rest of the ceremony with his leg bouncing and his eye
s locked with mine. It was so intense, I thought I might come out of my skin.

  When all of the names were called and the final parting words given, he was out of his seat and pushing through the crowd before most people had even uncrossed their legs. When he came into view, he slowed to a stop in front of me, his gaze moving over my face like he was searing my image into his brain.

  “What are you doing here?” he whispered.

  “You’re not the only one who can make surprise cross-country visits.”

  “Apparently not,” he agreed, pulling me against him and engulfing me in a hug. I was home. “You look beautiful, by the way.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re really here,” he said like he needed to say it out loud to make sure it was real. That I was real.

  “I’m really here.”

  He pulled away slightly, raising his hands to cup my face. “I really need to kiss you.”

  I covered his hands with mine and fought to keep my emotions in check. “You don’t ever need to ask me that again.”

  His brows furrowed, and I could tell he was processing my words. I smiled, rising up on the balls of my feet and pressing my lips against his, only pulling away enough to speak.

  “When I say I’m here, what I mean is, I’m here. With you. No more indecision, no more second-guessing. I’m all in. Where you go, I go.” I slid my arms over his shoulders and around his neck, tears gathering in the corners of my eyes.

  “And,” I sniffed before pulling in a deep breath, “I love you.”

  “Fuck,” he choked before crushing me to his chest and kissing me with the gentleness of a Mack truck driving full speed into a wall. “I love you too, so fucking much,” he mumbled against my lips, unwilling to pull away more than absolutely necessary, not wanting to break contact.