by Lindy Zart
“I know it was years ago and everyone's moved on, but still,” he says, directing his attention back to me. “I should have asked you first if it was okay that he was here. But I mean, he punched me in the face and I'm okay with him here, so I kind of figured you'd be.”
Really? Apparently my brother views a scarring breakup as being right up there with a punch in the face. My lips tighten and I take a drink from the wine glass I am gripping between my fingers like it is my brother's neck. I loosen my stiff fingers, afraid the stem may break if I continue to squeeze it as hard as I am.
“Would it have mattered?” I ask after swallowing.
“No, but I could have at least asked.” He laughs like he just told a really great joke. “Sorry. That was mean. Of course it would have mattered. You're my sister.”
“But you didn't ask, so no, it doesn't matter,” I say, knowing the tone of my voice is completely lost on him right now.
He is my brother and yet my feelings still didn't matter enough for him to ask. Or is that selfish of me to think that way? I don't know. I only know I do not want to be having this conversation, especially when my brother is drinking. He is naturally obtuse, but when alcohol is involved, which fortunately isn't that often, he is just plain dumb.
“Scott, I think we should let everyone know to take their seats. The meal is ready,” Cindy says, giving me an apologetic look.
I nod my thanks to her, leaving the pair before I really get upset and punch him. Then he can talk about how he got over it and let me attend the wedding or something equally stupid. The table my parents are at is filled up, so I go to one with only one other person at it so far. The seat next to me immediately slides out and I am wrapped in awareness before I even look up, but I don't need to. I already know who it is.
“Having fun?”
I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. I don't want to look at him too long because I know if I do, I won't be able to look away. Not that I have to to know what he is wearing or how he has his hair styled or any other microscopic detail no one but me would note. I already memorized all those details as soon as I saw him.
I know he is wearing his glasses and I know that the barbell keeps winking when the light hits it just right; like it is flirting with me, or taunting me even. It is sexy incarnate and it is just a small piece of metal. A gray designer tee shirt molds to his upper half like it was specifically made for his body and dark blue jeans hug his hips like I want my legs to be hugging his hips. I flinch at my wanton thoughts and my leg jerks, my high heel kicking Grayson in the shin.
“Ouch! It was just a question. You don't have to try to permanently scar me. My legs are my best feature.”
“Sorry.” I stare at the empty wine glass, knowing my thoughts and emotions where he is concerned are forever erratic and up and down, but I really need to get a grip on my hormones. I want to say it is from the glass of wine I ingested, but honestly I don't think it matters whether I am drinking or not. I want him—not just in the romantic sense, but in every sense.
“What's wrong?”
“It's empty.”
Laughing, he pushes the wine glass out of my reach. “You don't need that.”
“I sort of feel like I do,” I mumble.
“Why?” he asks abruptly.
I finally look at him, noticing how his eyes darken as they focus on my lips. Is he thinking of kissing me? I have a flashback of those lips on my body in the most intimate of ways; the way they worshiped and tormented and gave me supreme bliss all at once. How is it these memories have not faded with time?
“Cat got your tongue?”
My mouth opens and I cannot think of a single comeback. I can only stare. Say something. Say something that isn't really lame. Nothing but a hole of black enters my mind. Grayson has always been sexy, but this side of him is beyond that. His words, his tone of voice, the look in his eyes as he watches me—it all has a provocative element.
“Cat got your tongue?” That was pathetic. Really, really pathetic.
“That wasn't redundant at all.”
“I'm a redundant kind of girl.” Only minutely better than the previous retort.
His chuckle is low and grating against my sensitive flesh in a totally euphoric way. What is wrong with me tonight? I need to leave before I embarrass myself. I grip the table to push the chair away when Scott and Cindy stand up. Great. I let my hands drop to my lap, trying to pretend like everything I crave is not sitting directly beside me. I think it is all turning into too much. My nerves are worn.
“We want to thank everyone for coming. It means a lot to us that you'll be sharing our special day with us,” Cindy announces in her high voice.
Scott smiles beside her, slightly swaying. “We love you all!” He raises his bottle of beer in a salute.
“Is your brother drunk?” Humor laces Grayson's words.
“Yeah. Idiot.”
“I don't think I've ever seen him drunk before.”
“Lucky for you. It doesn't happen that often.”
“I can see why,” he murmurs when Scott tries to sit down and almost lands on the floor.
“He's probably only had two,” I say, half-exasperated, half-amused.
“At least he has a designated driver.”
“Yeah.”
The waitstaff bring dishes of mashed potatoes, corn, gravy, rolls, and fried chicken to the tables along with side salads. The scents collide and make my mouth water. The crispy brown chicken is looking especially good.
“They must have run out of asparagus,” he says with a dejected expression.
I laugh. “How sad.”
“It is. I love asparagus.”
“I remember. And brussel sprouts.” My nose wrinkles up.
“You don't know what you're missing. Still on your no vegetable kick, huh?”
“I will never be getting off of the no vegetable kick.”
He raises a slotted metal serving spoon full of corn. “How about some corn?” Before I can answer in the negative, he plops it on my plate.
“Grayson—” I warn.
“Mashed potatoes?” Another plop. “Salad?”
He brings a small bowl toward me and my hand wraps around his wrist. “No.” I glare at him.
His eyes are laughing. “For some reason, I get the feeling you're really upset about this.”
Not this—him. I want to have this easy camaraderie between him, but I know it won't last. I can't enjoy any of him because I know it is temporary.
“Just stop it.” My voice sounds pleading to me and I hope he doesn't pick up on it.
His expression turns serious, telling me he notices my discomfort. “Come on, Lily, lighten up. It's okay.”
“Don't tell me to lighten up.”
“What's your problem? I'm just trying to talk to you. I'm trying to not be an old man slash pompous ass.”
“Well, don't.” I was wrong to try to draw him out of his shell. Because all I did was show myself what I want and cannot have.
“I get it.” Anger flashes in his eyes. “You don't need me, right? You have Garrett and whoever else around now. I don't mean anything to you anymore. You were just humoring me, right? Trying to be nice while I'm here so you don't feel bad. You didn't mean any of it, though, did you?”
“That's not true,” I say softly.
“Whatever. It isn't like it matters. I'll be leaving soon again anyway. Then you can go back to your happy life that doesn't include me.”
I try to hold a gasp in at the pain the truth of his inevitable departure and the cruelness of his words causes me, but it escapes anyway. I stand up; my appetite gone, and storm for the door. I know he is following me; I can feel him behind me.
“Go away, Grayson.”
He verbally fillets me as soon as I leave the restaurant, tugging me around to face him and immediately releasing my arm. “No. I won't. I told myself I wasn't going to bring it up and I've tried really hard not to, but really? Why him? Why did you have to replac
e me with him of all people?”
The sticky heat of outside is nothing compared to the heat flooding through me. I look at the man I love and I hate him a little bit too. He is so clueless in some ways and so jealous in others. We are not even together anymore and he acts like he owns me. I loathe that at the same time it sends a thrill through me. Everything about us is a contradiction.
“Who?” I demand, swiping hair behind my ears.
“You and Garrett!” he explodes.
“This is about Garrett? Really? First of all, why do you care? Second of all, there is nothing going on between us!” I shout, all of my frustration blasting forth.
“It really looks like there's nothing going on between you two. Does his fiancée know how close you are?”
“You're jealous,” I say softly, the anger fading almost as quickly as it came. “That's why you're saying such stupid things. You know it's not true. You know there's nothing going on with Garrett and me.”
His mouth opens and closes, a sound of frustration leaving him. “You're right, okay? You're right. This isn't about him! This is about...this is about the fact that he is something to you and I am nothing. This is about the girl I loved not loving me anymore. This is about me not being able to let you go.” His voice cracks on that last word.
I want to go to him. I even take a step toward him, but his posture and eyes tell me to stay away. “None of that is true,” I tell him. “You've always meant so much to me.”
For one brief moment I see vulnerability in his face and then it is gone. “I don't believe you.”
I want to scream at him, my fingers clenching with the need to lash out at the wrongness of his words. “Fine,” I finally say. “Don't.”
“I hate him. Garrett. It's nothing personal. I hate anyone that matters more to you than I do. I always have. It's crazy how much some things have changed and then others haven't changed at all.” He leans the back of his head against the wall of the building and stares at me. “I don't understand it. Why do I care? Even now, after everything. Why?”
I don't know how to answer that.
His next question stuns me. “How many guys have you slept with since me?”
“That is none of your business!”
“Answer me, Lily.” I would say his words are a demand, but there is a helpless, pleading note to them that tugs at me.
“No. I would never ask you such a thing.”
“Haven't I confessed to you over and over?”
I wordlessly shake my head, not even really understanding the purpose of this conversation. Is it solely to hurt one another?
“Please. I have to know.”
“Why? What does it matter? Does it change anything?”
“I have to know,” he insists.
“Fine. I have had a total of one boyfriend since you. And he's the only person I've slept with other than you.”
“Did you love him?” The hollowness of his voice says so much. I tell myself not to answer; that he doesn't deserve an answer when he is being so ridiculous, but the inexplicable hold he has on me is too great.
“No,” I answer honestly. “I cared for him. I never loved him.”
His eyes are locked on me as he wordlessly studies me. I wonder what he sees in my expression. I think he must see something he doesn't want to, because his grimace deepens and he closes his eyes against the sight of me. “Was it Sam?”
I open my mouth to tell him I'm not answering that, but the raw expression on his face harpoons me into admitting, “Yes.”
He takes a shuddering breath, his eyes slowly opening. “God, I hate that guy. I hate all of them. I know I'm messed up.”
I stare at him.
Grayson laughs and it has a bitter cast to it. “I know I am. If you only knew...” he trails off.
“Knew what?” I get out around a dry throat.
His smile is dark. “If you only knew the power you have over me.”
“I don't want that.”
“Doesn't really matter, does it? You have it.” He inhales slowly and his lips twist into a frown. “It’s never really felt like you were gone from my life. No matter what I do or say or think, I just…I just keep thinking of you as mine. I don’t know how to stop. I wish I could stop. You don’t know how many ways I’ve tried to change it.”
“I can imagine,” I say harshly. In my head I picture him trying to get over me and all the ways I am imagining make my stomach muscles clench—Megan being the most predominant.
“Since we're getting it all out in the open, I want to know something. Why did you show up at my concert?” he demands, straightening.
“I don’t know,” I whisper.
Grayson closes the distance between us, looming over me so I have to crane my neck back to meet his gaze. “Yes. You do. Why did you show up at my concert?” His voice is rough.
“Because—” I break off, swallowing thickly.
“Because…why?” His voice, his posture even, is unbending as he moves forward, purposely bumping into me until I step back. I hit the wall with my backside and he places a palm against the wall on either side of my head, making it impossible for me to escape.
I can’t lie. I don’t want to. But I don’t know what the truth is, not completely. Why did I go there—to say goodbye, to see him, to quench a longing inside me, to tell myself I could never see him again? None of it makes sense when I try to put what I feel into words, not where Grayson is concerned. I feel too much with him.
“I went after you. I left my own concert to try to find you. I deserve to know why you were there.”
I open my mouth and words fall from my lips, shaky and faltering. “I just…I wanted to see you…I missed you…I…it was supposed to be goodbye,” I tell him quietly.
Tears collect at the corners of my eyes and Grayson’s attention is turned to them, his head tilted as he studies my sorrow. “But it wasn’t?” he asks, never taking his eyes from the tears as they slide down my cheeks. I wordlessly shake my head, feeling my face crumple from holding a sob in. Finally, his gaze touches mine. His eyes are tormented, the blue orbs dark with pain. “What was it then?” he continues, staring at my trembling mouth, his eyes shaded from me when his eyelids partially lower.
“It—was—agony,” I admit roughly, our gazes clashing. His face is unrelenting, unapologetically grim. I let anger take over helplessness, focusing on that so I don’t break from the anguish I am trying not to let incinerate me.
I raise my arms and jab at his chest with my hands. Grayson falls back, his hands dropping from the wall. “Every day since you left has been agony. Is that what you wanted to hear? Do you feel better now? Does it ease the hurt inside you to know I have been hurting as well?”
I don't want the love we used to have transformed into something we regret; I don't want us to have been a mistake. I search his eyes for the Grayson I used to know, desperately wanting to see even a shadow of him.
“No,” he says shortly. “It doesn’t. And I’m sure you’ve been real twisted up inside about it all. You seem to be handling your life without me in it pretty well. You got your friends, your easy job you don't really want—it isn't like you want or need me. It isn't like you have to push yourself or challenge yourself in any way. Everything's packaged up real nice for you now, isn't it? Easy.”
I fist my hands, hurt and furious and so, so confused. Only we can unravel what has been stitched up to make us what we now are. “Two years. Two years you’ve acted like I don’t exist. Then you show up here out of nowhere and destroy the normalcy I have been fighting so hard to keep. There were days when I thought I was going insane from the pain of missing you, of wondering what you were doing, the fear I couldn’t get rid of, thinking of all the women you were trying to replace me with. You never called, you never visited. Nothing. You never came back,” I choke out, hating the tremble in my voice and the tears burning my eyes.
Grayson’s jaw clenches. “As I recall, you told me to go. There was no long-distance relat
ionship discussed. There was no maybe someday we can be together discussion. Nothing. You told me we were done, you told me to leave, and you never once asked me to come back. So I don’t really understand how you can stand there and act all hurt that I did exactly what you told me to do.”
The barrier keeping me intact breaks and I confess brokenly, “I didn’t want you to go. I didn’t want to tell you to. I felt like I had no choice. I hoped, all the time, that you would come back for me. I even wanted to go after you and beg you to come home. But I didn’t feel like it was my place. I figured you would reject me.
“I didn’t think I deserved to ask you to come back when I was the one that told you to go. I didn't want what we had to become something that used to be and would never be again. Seeing you would have made it real. It has made it real. I was scared. I was torn. I was wrong.”
“I came back.”
I flinch. “What?”
His gaze directed downward, Grayson says, “I came back.” He looks up, his expressive eyes trapping me. I can’t look away. I don’t want to look away.
“But…” I trail off. My brain refuses to accept his words, and yet my heart wants to. I stare at him in confusion. This declaration changes nothing and yet it changes everything.
“Thirteen months after I left. I came back.”
“I didn’t…” I swallow. “I didn’t know.”
He laughs abruptly. “I didn’t want you to know, not after I saw you. I didn’t want anyone to know.”
“After you saw me,” I repeat slowly.
“Yeah.” Grayson rubs his forehead, uprooting his glasses. He straightens them and sighs. “It was an impulsive decision. I wasn’t liking California, I was tired of pushing myself so hard and feeling like I wasn’t getting anywhere. I just wanted my music and instead I was tossed into this mass of hungry, struggling artists. I didn’t like it. I was sick of it all. Things were just getting big with Thrush and already I wanted it over with. I missed you. I don’t know what I planned to do once I saw you. I hadn’t thought that far ahead. I just wanted to see you. That was it. I was going to tell you I went after my dream like you wanted, like I needed to, and that I realized it wasn’t for me. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that we wouldn’t be back together.
