by Lindy Zart
Lightning streaks the world beyond the house. “That's probably a good assumption.”
“Do you remember—”
“Remember when—”
We both pause, laughing.
“What were you going to say?”
I tear a paper towel from the roll and set my muffin on it. “I was just going to ask if you remember how we used to play in the rain.”
“And watch the rain from our porches and find shapes in the clouds. And every time it lightninged, we counted until we saw thunder.”
“Yeah.” A wistful feeling wraps around me.
“I remember.”
When I look at him, I see nostalgia has captured Grayson as well. The past is a powerful thing; strong enough to keep people from moving forward—almighty enough to take over everything if one lets it. I stare at the man who used to be my best friend when he was a boy. There was such innocence in our friendship when it first began. We were two kids who found home in one another. Then we grew up.
My mom and dad come into the kitchen. “It's cold and rainy out there. We decided to finish our coffee inside,” she announces, eyeing us. “Wasn't there a show you wanted to see today, Henry? Something about cars? We'll be in the living room.” My mom grabs my dad's arm and propels him from the room before he has a chance to answer.
I turn to Grayson. “Really obvious.”
He smiles faintly. “Want to watch the rain together?” I blink, surprised by the invitation. When I don't immediately respond, he adds, “We can do it for your mom's benefit.”
“Is that the only reason we'd be doing it?” My gaze lifts to his and holds, my breath catching as I wait.
“Of course not.” He sips from a cup of coffee with eyes as mysterious and dark as the sea trained on me. “We'll do it to find shapes in the clouds and to count the moments between lightning and thunder.” We'll do it for a childhood friendship, are the unspoken words.
As we sit on the porch sipping our coffee, the sky cries. I watch the rain fall, listening to it contact with the roof and the street, wondering if they are happy tears, or ones of sorrow. I decide they are ones of relief, if anything. They are for second chances. They are for us.
Grayson quietly sits beside me, his gaze forward, his hand dangling off the armrest of the chair. Inches separate us, and I close my eyes, letting the nearness of him calm me, as I do the scent and sound of raindrops. In this moment, it really does feel like finite space is all that separates us. I hear him shift and open my eyes.
“See that one?” He leans toward me, pointing upward.
I incline my head and follow the direction of his finger. “What one?”
“That one.” He sets his mug down on the stand and his cool fingers graze my neck as he gently tips my head, causing all kinds of chaos inside me. “It's the shape of an 'L',” he murmurs next to my ear.
Finding the wispy tendril of cloud he means, I smile. “That is a very sad-looking 'L'.”
I wonder if I imagine his touch against the back of my neck as he says, “I agree. It is.” When I turn my face to meet his gaze, the seriousness of his expression freezes me in place. “Don't be sad anymore, Lily.”
I need to look away from the midnight blue of his eyes, but I cannot. I see too many things in his features. I look at my old friend and I ache for him. I see everything I ever wanted and had; I see it all gone, and I see something I shouldn't see in the eyes of a man who does not belong to me. And then I think, Doesn't he? Doesn't he still belong to me? It feels like he does.
The yearning to confess all my secrets—all my wants, all my regrets—is heavy and I bite my lip to keep them inside. I break the precarious connection we have, tearing my gaze from his and instead watching his house across the street. The tension is thick, full of our past, and something needs to lighten it. I decide I can do that.
Inhaling deeply, I ask, “Do you want to know what makes me sad?”
Shadows dissipate from his features as he watches me. He realizes we were heading for dicey territory. “Not having chocolate?”
“There is that, yes, but...” I impulsively jump to my feet, daring him with my eyes. “You know what really makes me sad?”
Weariness creeps into his face and posture. “Not having chocolate for two days?”
Grinning, I hop from the porch and run for the nearest water puddle, charging into it. Rainwater splashes up my legs and shorts. I drop my head back and raise my arms, laughing as rain pelts me. It is refreshing, exhilarating. Thunder rumbles in the distance, adding a dangerous element to the fun.
“Come on, Grayson!” I taunt.
“You're crazy!” he calls from the porch, but he is laughing. “It's lightning!”
“And you're chicken!” I run for another puddle, losing a flip-flop in the process. I leap into it, not caring that I am completely soaked and a little chilled. I watch my sandal float down the side of the road, having no desire to chase after it. I take the other shoe off and whip it into the yard, staring challengingly at him.
Indecision flickers over his features and then Grayson bounds over the railing, kicking off his shoes and striding for me. My pulse speeds up in response. He looks determined, sexy, and uncompromising; his mouth pulled down in a grim slant. The look fits him.
When he is but an inch from me; water dripping down his face, he states, “You know you're insane, right?”
“I don't care,” I tell him with feeling, and I don't. I fist the front of his sweatshirt in my hands, ignoring his furrowed brows and the need to pull him to me, and instead shove him back as hard as I can.
Grayson stumbles back in surprise, catching himself just before he lands in a particularly massive body of water. “What was that for?”
I shrug and do it again. This time he lands in the water, though he does remain on his feet. He might as well sit in it with as wet as he is. I could say frustration and a feeling of helplessness in an impossible situation urged me to act in such a way, and I think that is partly true, but I also want him to have fun, to forget for a while. I want him free.
“Stop doing that,” he snaps. His shirt clings to the defined muscles of his chest and torso. My stomach clenches in longing.
“Why are you letting me do it?” I stomp through water to get closer to him and kick some at him.
Annoyance narrows his eyes. “Lily, I'm serious. Stop it.”
“Why? You're already wet. What does it matter if I get you wetter?”
He closes the distance between us, staring down at me under a film of rain. His eyes seem brighter with the darkened world around us. “Why are you acting so immature?”
“Why are you acting like an old man?”
Pressing his lips into a thin line, he growls, “I'm not a kid anymore.”
My heart hurts. “I know. And that's what makes me saddest of all. At least then you could have fun. Now you're just a pompous ass.”
He blinks and then his mouth curves up on one side. “You think I'm a pompous ass?”
“The most pompous of asses.”
A flicker of something in his eyes is all the warning I get before he hooks his leg around mine and the ground comes rushing up—only it doesn't. Strong and steady arms hold me as I dip back. The boy who always saw so much of me; the boy I always saw, stares back at me.
“Would a pompous ass do that?”
“Really not impressed, Grayson.” I school my expression into one of utmost boredom, though my pulse is racing and I feel my heart pounding against my chest.
I feel the coldness of his hair brush against my skin as he lowers his head to the crook of my neck. I hold myself perfectly still. His arms tighten around me until he is no longer holding me up, but holding me to him. I slowly lift my arms and hug him back, keeping my eyes closed to make this moment all I know for as long as I am allowed. I have missed this so much. Sensations wrap around me—the coolness of the air, the dampness of raindrops, the warmth of his face against my collarbone, the scent of thunderstorms, and the per
fectness of being so close to Grayson.
He carefully rights us. I open my eyes, not wanting the moment to end, but knowing it has to. A barrage of emotions filter across his face. I swallow, my fingers folding in to keep from tracing the frown from his mouth. As I watch, a devilish grin takes over his mouth and then I am somehow sitting in a large mass of water and he is looking down at me, laughing. It happened so fast I am not even entirely sure what happened.
“How's that for a pompous ass?”
SINCE MY APARTMENT WAS BARE of anything I deemed edible and I went a whole workday without coffee, I decided to go grocery shopping. I loathe grocery shopping. When I am at the store, I get the minimal necessities, which usually means I missed something, which also means return trips throughout the week. Even when I make a list, I forget something. So here I am, checking my grocery list as I push the cart through the aisles of food stuffs. I grab two bags of chocolate chips and toss them in the cart. Like I said: necessities.
“Did you remember the coffee?”
I glance up just before I hit Grayson with my cart. Humor is shining in his eyes as he holds out a hand to stop it. My stomach dips as I take him in. Stubble rests on his lean jaw, adding a sexy dishevelment to him that makes me breathless. There is a small tear in his green shirt and his jeans are faded from wear, and all that does is make him look even better.
“Yes. I did.”
He peruses the inside of the shopping cart. “Is chocolate all you eat?”
“What? There's bananas in there too.”
“And chocolate milk. Chocolate ice cream. And, oh look—it's chocolate chip granola bars.”
“See? Milk, ice cream, and granola. Not just chocolate.”
“Just chocolate-themed.”
“It isn't chocolate-flavored coffee,” I feel the need to point out. “What are you here for?”
“Aidan wants me to make pancakes for supper tonight. There's no pancake mix or syrup in the house.”
“Really? Pancakes for supper?”
“Could be worse. Could be cookies.” He laughs at the look I give him. “I don't know how to make pancakes.” His lips go into a pout and I want to bite his jutting lower lip. “Maybe you could come over and help? I'll even let you put chocolate chips in them. Please?”
I should say no. I should keep my distance from Grayson. When I am around him, I forget about how we cannot go back to what we once were, how we are not together, how he will be leaving again soon. I forget he has a girlfriend. I forget it all. I forget everything but him.
I say yes.
His face lights up with a smile and he takes over pushing the cart. “This is going to be the coolest Monday night ever, you know that, right? I mean, it doesn't get any hipper than this.”
I laugh. “Right. I'm sure that's what Aidan will be thinking.”
“He really will.”
We're at the check-out when Grayson touches my pink scrub top sleeve and says, “I know it's none of my business, but what are you doing at the dental office your mom works at?”
“What do you mean?” I know exactly what he means. “I work there.”
“I realize that, but why? You wanted to be a guidance counselor. What changed?” He begins to stack my groceries and his together.
“I'm getting mine.”
He shakes his head, stopping me when I go to take my groceries back. “Let me. You're cooking for us tonight. I can buy you some food.”
“It's not really cooking. Pancakes are easy,” I mutter, looking away from the cashier's curious gaze.
“I realize that,” he says close to my ear. “Just let me. Please.”
I nod. “All right. Fine. You can look like you have the chocolate problem instead of me.”
He laughs as he pays for the food. “Thank you.”
“Thank you,” I reply as we step outside into the sunshine and heat.
“Did you drive?”
“Of course I did. I don't want my chocolate chips to melt.”
“That would be horrible,” he agrees as we cross the parking lot. “You didn't answer me about why you're working there.”
“It's not a big deal. I just decided to do this instead.” I quicken my pace, as though I can escape the truth he is tossing in my face. I don't want to have this conversation, not with him.
“So you're going to work in an office, on the computer or phone all day, and not use any of your talents?”
“I don't have any talents,” I snap, my face flaming. I am getting angry and it's because what he is saying is right. I've had the same thoughts myself.
No one else has brought this up to me before. No one else has cared whether I went to school for what I originally meant to or not. No one else has asked me if I'm really doing what I want to be doing. Only now he is. Why does he have to be the one to care? Yes, he is the man I love. Yes, he still apparently knows me better than anyone else. And yes, he will be leaving soon and out of my life once again. My chest clenches in denial.
“I wish you could see yourself how I see you.” Grayson moves closer to me as we reach my car, his expression earnest. “You get people. You pay attention to what they’re really telling you, even when they aren’t speaking. You care about them and you want to help them. And you don’t judge. You accept.
“You think you’re plain and untalented. You think you have nothing to offer and you are not extraordinary, but every day you do something extraordinary, even if it’s just by being there for someone and listening to them. Being something important isn’t always about what you publicly accomplish. You do so much just by being there for people. Trust me, the backstage stuff is way more essential to having a successful show than the onstage stuff.”
Slowly raising my head, I stare at him with a frown on my face. My insides are warm, my heart is full, and my head is conflicted. He thinks this about me? I struggle with the notion that Grayson has seen me in such a way, though I know he has said similar things in the past, when we were friends. I didn't know he still thought them. I didn't know he believed them.
“Why are you telling me this?”
His hand reaches out to me, grazing my cheek so softly I can almost convince myself it didn't happen, and yet at the same time my skin feels forever branded by his rough fingertips. Like my heart; forever marked as his.
“I want you to know you're special too. I want you to know you matter. I want you to know you make the world so much better just by being you. This isn't what you should be doing and you know it. Maybe you just needed someone to tell you.”
I take a deep breath; his words hitting me harder than I can take right now.
He opens the car door and sets the grocery bags on the passenger seat, shutting the door before turning to me. “I'll see you in a few?”
Wordlessly nodding, I move for the driver's side door, but he pulls me around before I reach it. Grayson immediately releases me, but his gaze holds me like no physical touch can. We don't speak; we study. He tilts his head as his eyes trail over my face. Then, the smallest of smiles shines on me like a light in the dark. His palms cup my cheeks and he leans toward me, pressing his lips against my forehead.
“I like your shoes,” he says as he walks away.
Stunned and flustered, I blink at my black flip-flops with red ladybugs on them. I forgot I changed out of my tennis shoes after work. I get in my car in a confused haze, feeling like I am falling in love with him all over again. I don't know how that is possible when I never stopped loving him in the first place.
THE INSTANT I ENTER THE Lee house, 'Day-O' by Harry Belafonte blasts from the living room speakers. Startled, I take a moment to calm my racing pulse before walking toward the room that has always been a favorite of mine with its brick-framed fireplace, dark wood floors, and black leather furniture. Once I enter the room, all I can do is stare. Grayson and Aidan have bananas for microphones and are doing the dance shown in 'Beetlejuice'. I watch them with a smile on my lips and feel my love for both men overflow.
; They haven't noticed me yet, so I can observe them without them knowing. I laugh when they shake their lean hips left and right. It's obvious by how smooth their movements are that they've done this before. If only I had a video camera right now. 'Die Young' by Kesha comes on just as Grayson notices me. A gleam darkens his eyes and then he's coming for me.
He wordlessly holds out a hand to me. His chest is rising and lowering from jumping around and heat emanates from him as he holds my gaze. As I fit my hand in his, the song changes to 'Everything Changes' by Staind. The scent of home wraps around me as he pulls me into his strong arms. His palms span the width of my back as though each finger of his has to be in contact with me.
I vaguely hear Aidan say something about pancakes and then he leaves the room with a grin on his face. My attention is immediately back on Grayson. He sings to me, bringing me tighter into his arms, his mouth close to my temple. Pinpricks of awareness trail up and down my back and arms. I close my eyes, clutching him to me with the front of my body pressed to his. It isn't enough. Overwhelming emotion slides over me like the hands of regret.
“Can I tell you something?” he whispers as the song ends.
I whisper back, “Do I want you to tell me something?”
His lips smile against my forehead. “Does that ever matter?”
Pulling back, I look into eyes that have loved me and haunted me. “Not usually.” I smile.
Grayson brings his mouth close to mine, never releasing my gaze, and tells me, “You weren't my first love.” He pauses and my heart cracks at his declaration. “You were my only love.” And it is repaired and whole just as quickly.
A shout from the kitchen breaks us apart and we're sprinting toward unknown doom—or more specifically Aidan with pancake batter on his face and shirt. I start laughing and can't seem to stop—partly because of the horrified look of disbelief on his face and partly because I feel sort of crazy from what Grayson just told me.
“The pancake batter goes in the bowl,” Grayson tells his brother.
Aidan grabs paper towels and rubs his face. “I didn't have the mixer all the way down.”
“Told you we don't know what we're doing,” Grayson says to me.
