Complete (Incomplete)

by Lindy Zart

  Like Sam said, Stone is extremely forward. He's cute, seems nice—definitely quirky—but there was no instant attraction between us. His words, his voice, his personality; it is as simple as he isn't the right guy. I resign myself to having fun with a guy I know will be a friend and nothing else. Honestly, I feel relieved by this.

  Just have fun. Don't think about anything and have fun.

  I am blasted by the scent of fried food and boisterous voices as we enter the bowling alley. Smoking is no longer allowed in the building, but it is still faintly noticeable, melded into the framework. Pins are repeatedly knocked down, the sound loud and sudden each time it occurs. The lanes are to the right of us; a doorway to the left leading into the bar and eating area. The decorating is minimal with white walls and dark carpet. Music plays from a jukebox and I recognize Kenny Chesney as the artist crooning.

  “I feel like such a loser.”

  I glance at Stone. “Why is that?”

  “Because I'm hanging out with my sister and her boyfriend on a Friday night and because they had to find someone to keep me company. It's sad.” He is grinning as he says this. “If I get your bowling shoes, is it considered a date?”

  “Uh...I'm getting mine,” I hurry to tell him.

  He gets a thoughtful look on his face, thumbing his lower lip. “So it does.”

  “Listen, Stone—”

  “Race ya.”

  “What?”

  His gray eyes shine with mischief. “I'll race you. If I get to the counter first and pay for your shoes, it's a date. If you get there first, you pay for them yourself, and it isn't a date.” A calloused hand with cracked skin around the knuckles is in front of my face. “Deal?”

  “I don't think you want to take that bet, Stone,” Sam says, stopping beside us.

  “Oh yeah?” He eyes me. “Why is that?”

  “Because I'll win,” I tell him and sprint for the counter. Luckily, the silver sandals and pink sundress I have on don't hamper me too much.

  “Hey! No fair!”

  I laugh because running exhilarates me, I laugh because I surprised Stone, and I laugh because the guy behind the counter gets a panicked look on his face as I charge toward him. Now I understand why Stone did what he did at my apartment—because it is unexpected and fun. Sliding to a stop, I slap my hands on the counter so I don't collide with it, my hands tightly gripping the edge.

  I steady my breathing and grin at the guy staring at me. “Hi.”

  “Hello,” he greets cautiously, looking behind me. He isn't much taller than me and his frame is stocky; his hair blond and curly. The white shirt he's wearing has what looks like a ketchup stain on it.

  “You cheated,” Stone accuses, standing beside me.

  I shrug.

  “Loser gets a sympathy date.”

  “You're kidding.”

  “No. You have to go see my grandpa with me tomorrow. And bring cookies,” he adds.

  I want to say no to anything that may resemble a date, but I really do want to see George and I like Stone's company. I decide to be upfront about the situation. My mouth opens.

  “I know you're not interested,” Stone says before I have a chance to say the same thing but with different words.

  “Oh,” comes out on an exhalation.

  He bumps his arm against mine. “I won't turn down the chance at a possible friend, hot girl or not.”

  I feel my face burn up. I laugh, not knowing what to say to that. I am not sexy in any way and Stone saying I am flusters me.

  We're walking toward the lane designated to us when he says, “I also don't give up so easily.” His lips lift and lower. “Just thought I should let you know.”

  I stop walking, the calm I was feeling snatched away by his proclamation.

  “Hey. It's all good.” He raises his hands. “No pressure. We'll be friends. But if you happen to fall madly in love with me at any point during our friendship, don't be surprised. I am pretty hot.”

  I laugh, shaking my head. I have a feeling I will be constantly entertained for the remainder of the night, which is kind of what I need. I give Sam a smile of gratitude as I pull on socks and red and blue bowling shoes. He nods in acknowledgment before turning his attention back to Angela.

  At the end of the non-date, a smile is plastered to my lips. They drop me off at my apartment building, Stone yelling out the window, “See you tomorrow at ten! Wear something sexy for Grandpa! Cookies! Don't forget the cookies!”

  I grin and wave as the car pulls away from the curb. I am too energized to go to bed even though it is close to ten and my bedtime. A restlessness pulls me away from my home and I let it. My mind is bombarded by Stone comments as I walk in the direction of my parents' house.

  “So you dated the stiff, huh?”

  “Why is it called a bowling ball?”

  “I could go for some nachos.”

  “I wanted to be a doctor, but blood scares me, so I decided to be a carpenter instead so I could see my own blood every time I injure myself, which is so much better...and often.”

  “Cyndi Lauper is my favorite singer. 'Girls Just Wanna Have Fun' really does sum it up.”

  “How long do you bake your cookies for? And at what temperature?”

  “Does it gross you out flossing other people's teeth?”

  “Stop staring at my butt. You're making me nervous.”

  I can say, without a doubt, that I have never met anyone like Stone Pratt before. I am still laughing as my mom and dad's house comes into view. I needed tonight. I needed to forget the angst that has been following me around since Grayson reappeared in my life.

  My footsteps slow as I stare at the house I grew up in; a cool breeze catching my ponytail and swinging it back and forth to sweep across my shoulders. There are certain destinations my subconscious always leads me to when I begin to aimlessly walk—the park, my house, and by proximity alone, Grayson's house. I think, though, that even if his house were on the other side of town, I would still find myself heading in that direction.

  These places are part of me and interwoven into my memories, my heart, my being.

  The lights are off at the Jacobs' residence. I tell my parents goodnight in my head, my gaze sliding to the similarly unlit house across the street. At first I don't see him, the darkness masking his figure. Something moves in the night and an unknown shape transforms into a lanky form. He is sitting on the porch with his head down, his hands dangling between his knees. The set of his shoulders shows weariness and resig-

  nation.

  He is hurting and I forget everything that's happened between us. Already I am moving toward him, not aware of it until I am almost to him. My steps falter when I get to the sidewalk. I know exactly when he sees me; his gaze burning me up with its smoldering blue fire.

  “Are you okay?” I softly ask, taking hesitant steps closer.

  He wordlessly moves over, allowing room for me to sit. I do, the wood cold beneath me. Both of us face forward, my house in perfect view. My eyes raise to the room I used to sleep in. I focus on that, willing the thundering beat of my heart to ease.

  “Cute dress.”

  “Oh.” I glance down at the pink material of my dress. “Thank you.” I search my brain for something to say. I don't have to think too long about it before Grayson is talking.

  Rubbing his forehead, he says, “I thought it would be easy seeing you. I thought, with all the time that has gone by and with everything that has happened; everything that's changed, I wouldn't feel anything when I saw you. Or at least that is what I'd hoped anyway.” He laughs shortly. “Desperately.”

  My throat goes dry. I want to ask what exactly he feels for me, but am too scared to.

  “And my mom and dad...it's so strange with them not together, but acting more like a family now than they ever did when I was home. I'm glad they're getting along so well and I'm glad Aidan is happy, but, I don't know, why couldn't they have been like that before I left? I mean, did it take my leaving for the
m to get better? That kind of makes me feel crappy, like I was the one making everyone miserable.”

  “You know that's not true. And you're right; you leaving is the reason they straightened out, but not how you think. That's what it took for them to realize what they were doing to their family. It wasn't your fault. None of it was ever your fault, Grayson.”

  He snorts derisively. “It felt like it was, every day. Every time she raised that glass to her lips, it felt like she was doing it to try to erase my existence from her mind, like the only way she could deal with having a kid she'd never wanted was to make herself so drunk she could forget for a while. Every day my dad pretended it wasn't going on was a day I felt like he didn't care enough to do something. You have no idea what it was like, Lily.”

  My eyes prick with tears at the raw sound of his voice. “Yes. I do. I was there. Remember? I saw how it affected you. Every time you hurt I hurt right along with you.”

  “Seeing it is different from living it.”

  “You're right. It is.” I swallow, facing the man who used to be my best friend, and then my lover, and who is now neither. “But you don't live it anymore.”

  Grayson's eyes narrow as they meet mine. He quietly studies me. I do not know what he is searching for or if he finds it. He looks away, toward my house. “It was crazy how often I used to watch your window at night, picturing you asleep—obsessive even. I would close my eyes and pretend I heard your soft breathing. I would try to imagine what you dreamed about at night; I would wonder if it was ever me.”

  I glance at Grayson, surprised he would admit such a thing, especially now.

  He turns to face me once again, the lenses of his glasses unable to obscure the intensity of his gaze. His warmth seeps into me, flushing my skin. “I don't think I've really been okay since we broke up.”

  Unable to look away, I stare at him, his voice and words touching me like no other's can. Though what he is saying is painful to hear and I am sure just as painful for him to say, there is rightness here—with us—and I long for it not to go away. He needs me. He needs me to sit here and listen to him. Me. No one else. I can do this. I will be his friend in this moment.

  His voice is a whisper as he says, “I always thought it would be us. When I thought of the future, it was always you and me. Nothing else was clear to me, but that was.”

  I close my eyes against the ache that sentence causes.

  “How did it all get so messed up, Lily?”

  “You don't have to talk about this. You don't have to say anything. I understand, Grayson. I understand all of it.” I find his hand and thread our fingers together. The pressure in my chest is heavy as I tighten my grip, willing my strength into him through the linking of our fingers.

  His head drops forward and I rest my forehead against his soft hair. In the past we never needed words to communicate and I am relieved to know this hasn't changed. We still have this. In fact, we seem to understand one another better without speaking.

  “Megan went back to California today,” he says after a long moment, lifting his head, this time keeping his eyes from mine.

  I stiffen, but do not remove my hand from his. Be his friend right now. I take a deep breath. “And how do you feel about that?”

  He chuckles dryly. “I'm not really sure.” He takes his hand away to rub his forehead. “I mean, I should miss her. I guess I kind of do. But—” He turns to face me once again, his body angled toward mine. “I'm okay with her being gone. And I'm even a little relieved that she left. That's pretty shitty of me, isn't it?”

  “Yeah. It is.”

  His laughter is real this time. “I miss that.”

  “What?”

  “Your bluntness.”

  “Well, it's true. No one deserves that,” I say, feeling injustice for all the wronged women and men of the world who aren't treated right by the people they care about, even if one of them is dating the man I love.

  “That too.”

  I frown, his words not making sense to me.

  “I miss that too. How you stick up for people, no matter what your personal feelings are. You could hate Megan on principle alone and you don't. You don't even try to. Me— I'm jealous and spiteful and selfish. I pretty much hate any guy who even glances at you and I can't seem to stop. I should probably work on that.”

  “You do?” I wasn't expecting him to say something like that—to think something like that.

  He grins, but there is an edge to it. “You know how some things change? Well, some things don't.”

  Lifting my eyes to his, I say, “I suppose I should confess too. I've tried to hate her. I can't.”

  “See?”

  “It would be nice to be able to hate someone, just once,” I say, only half-joking.

  His teeth flash white in the blue-black night. “Trust me, it's not that fun.”

  “Do you two live together?” I have to know how much of Grayson belongs to Megan.

  “No.” He shakes his head. “Living together is permanent. However much Megan wishes it were so, we aren't there and I don't know if we ever will be. I kind of think we won't.”

  The relief I feel is astronomical and my shoulders slump in response. “Then why be with her?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If you don't think it's going to be forever, why are you with her?”

  “Did you think you and Sam were going to be permanent? Why were you with him?” he shoots back.

  Because I was lonely and hurt, is what I am thinking, but I don't say it. I don't say anything.

  The silence draws out.

  Grayson sighs and begins falteringly, “I feel like I need to tell you something, but I don't know how you'll react or if you'll even care, and honestly, I'm not even sure why I feel the need to tell you so much. It's just—I don't know—we were best friends once and I've always been able to tell you things I couldn't anyone else.” He takes a deep breath. “I haven't had sex with Megan since we came here.”

  My face burns and I look down, conflicted by his admission. Did he really just tell me that? What am I supposed to do with that information? I feel like screaming, What do you want from me?

  I digest his words. Part of me is relieved and the other part of me hates the thought of them having sex—ever. It still feels like he is mine and I think it always will. Finally deciding on the easiest response to signify my emotions on the subject, I say, “I really wish you hadn't told me that.”

  “It doesn't feel right.”

  “I know, which is why I wish you hadn't told me.”

  “No—” he starts and stops, rubbing the back of his neck and chuckling in a self-conscious kind of way. “It doesn't—didn't—feel right to do that with her, not anymore. It felt wrong.”

  “I don't really know how to respond to that, Grayson, or what you expect me to say,” I admit after a moment.

  “I don't know either. I guess I just had to tell you, for whatever reason.”

  I tap my foot on the step as I glance around, suddenly fidgety. We need to talk about something else—fast. “What are you doing out here anyway?”

  “Getting some air.”

  “You're not going back to the hotel?”

  “Nah. Dad and Aidan want me to stay here until I go back to California. I got the hotel room for Megan more than anything.”

  “She didn't want to stay here?” My tone implies she thought she was too good to stay at the Lee house.

  “She didn't want to imposition my dad and brother.”

  Of course. Because she's nice. You said so yourself.

  “You're wrong.”

  His lips turn down. “About what?”

  I get to my feet. “I am jealous and spiteful. Sometimes I'm even selfish.”

  The wind picks up, loosening strands of hair from my ponytail to frame my face. It swirls the bottom of my dress around my legs and causes goosebumps to form on my arms. Grayson stands up; much too close to me, and I back up, bumping into the wood porch railing.
He keeps coming until our bodies share the same heat, staring down at me.

  A hand lifts to my hair, gently tucking it behind my ear. I shiver, wanting more and knowing it is wrong to. “You've changed—not in a bad way. We all change,” he quickly adds when my back goes stiff. “There are the physical changes, not obvious except to someone who has your features memorized, but there are also the ones you can't see. Your hair is a little shorter, styled differently.”

  “Those are called layers.”

  He grins. “Your eyes seem darker, all the time. The shade used to change, depending on your mood. Now whenever I see you, they are a dark blue-gray. They never change.”

  “Maybe it's you.”

  “Maybe. Your cheekbones are more prominent. You look older, more mature.” Rough fingertips stroke the side of my face.

  “I am older.” My voice is faint, trembling. I want him to keep touching me. I want his lips on mine, his body wrapped around me.

  “There is solemnity to you that wasn't there before,” he continues softly, his face close to mine. “I wonder if I put it there. I don't want it to be true, but I think it is. And I wish I could take it away.”

  Our lips are only inches away. My eyes drop to his mouth, the longing inside me pushing me to close the distance between us. The part of me I usually listen to tells me this is wrong, that I need to move away. I cannot. That part of me is weaker than the need to have something, anything, of Grayson.

  “But I can't.” Grayson pulls back, breaking the threadbare connection we held.

  I would have kissed him. I would have let him kiss me, not caring about the consequences until afterward.

  Inhaling sharply, I rush to the sidewalk, away from him, away from the temptation he embodies, but this is as far as I get. I am unable to take the steps to remove him from my sight. I don't want to. It's bad enough being unable to touch him like I want to, but to not even be able to look at him would hurt too much. This love I have for Grayson is a two-edged blade.

  “What are we doing, Lily?” he asks in a tired voice.

  “I don't know.”

  “It would be smartest to stay away from one another while I'm back.”

  “Yes.”