Manhattan: A Small Town Friends-to-Lovers Romance (Becker Brothers Book 3)

by Kandi Steiner

  She wouldn’t talk to me.

  She wouldn’t see me.

  And I couldn’t blame her.

  I had no other choice but to let her go, to accept what I’d done and move forward. On. To New York. To a new job, a new home, a new life — just like I’d planned.

  That dream felt less like a fresh start and more like a prison sentence as I parked my car at the diner and got out, making my way toward the familiar red and white building. But all thoughts were erased completely when I looked through the window at the booth I’d sat in most of my high school years and saw Bailey there.

  She smiled tentatively, waving at me through the glass. My feet stopped moving, stopped carrying me toward the door, and I stood in the parking lot and looked at her as if she were a ghost.

  She might as well have been.

  Her hair was different. Gone was the long, natural blonde hair she used to braid over one shoulder, replaced with a short, edgy haircut and locks dyed a bright, platinum blonde that was almost white. She wore so much makeup, I almost didn’t recognize her, and even from the distance, I could see that she’d lost weight, that her arms were more toned, her skin darker, like she’d been spending all her days in the sun instead of on the stage.

  But her eyes were the same — the almost-translucent, moss green — and they watched me with a familiar warmth that had my stomach turning.

  I stuffed my hands in my pockets, crossing the rest of the parking lot and pushing through the diner doors. I smiled at the hostess, pointing back to where Bailey was sitting — to where nearly everyone in that diner was staring. She was a celebrity now, though she seemed oblivious to that fact as she stood and waited for me next to the booth.

  “Hey, you,” she said, as if we were best friends, as if we’d just seen each other a week ago. She opened her arms and stepped into me before I could object. Her nose nuzzled into my neck as she hugged me, and I held her, too — a sickening wave of nausea making me see stars at the scent of her familiar perfume.

  “Hey.”

  “I’m so glad you came,” she said when we pulled back, and she gestured to the booth. “I got us our old spot, can you believe it? And a milkshake to share, just like old times.”

  I managed something close to a smile as I took a seat, staring at the strawberry milkshake with whipped cream and a cherry on it. Bailey slid back into the bench seat across from me, her eyes shining in the slanted rays of sun coming in through the windows.

  “You look so good,” she said, smiling as her eyes roamed over me. Then, she reached across the table, running her fingers over my chin and jaw like it was completely normal and natural. “I really like this. Scruff looks good on you.”

  Someone at the bar had their phone trained on us, and when they realized I was staring at them, their eyes widened and they turned quickly, shoving their phone away.

  I peeled Bailey’s hand from my face, ignoring how much her fingers still felt like they belonged in mine as I let them go. Something cold was settling in, invading my veins, my bones. I suddenly didn’t feel right being there, being around her. It was like a stomach virus had swept up on me, without warning, and now I couldn’t think about anything but getting away from the source. “Why did you ask me to come here?”

  She frowned. “I wanted to see you.”

  “Right. But why?” I shook my head. “You left almost a year ago and you haven’t so much as texted or called. You haven’t wanted to see me. Until now.” I blinked. “Why?”

  Her frown deepened, her eyes falling to her hands as she picked at her nail polish. I noted the rings that lined each finger — rings I’d never seen her wear. It was the same with the tight dress she wore, the boots, the choker around her neck. She was the same girl I’d loved and yet someone I didn’t know at all — all at once.

  “I did want to see you,” she argued softly. “But, everyone told me I needed to leave you alone. To let you go, let you heal. And after that night you got drunk and you were texting me all that stuff… I knew they were right. I mean, it was my choice to leave early, to change the plan we’d had together, to…” She swallowed, and I noted the way her eyes glossed over. “To end it all.”

  I shifted uncomfortably in the booth, my chest on fire like it was warning me of an incoming mortar. Run, it urged. You’re in danger.

  “But… I can’t do that anymore. I can’t leave you alone, not with how I’m feeling… with how I’ve been feeling.” Bailey lifted her eyes to mine again, rubbing her bow-like lips together. “Michael, I want you to come to Nashville.”

  My eyebrows shot into my hairline, heart stopping altogether before it kicked back into gear and tripled its pace.

  “I know I don’t deserve it,” she said hurriedly. “But, I’m asking you for a second chance.”

  She reached across the table and took my hands in hers, and I was too numb to pull away, too shocked to do anything but stare at where she folded her fingers over mine.

  “I was stupid to think I needed time and space to focus on my music, to think that I needed to do this without you for some reason. Heck, you are the music in my life. I mean, have you heard my single on the radio?” She squeezed my hands until I looked at her. “I know you have,” she said with a smile. “And I know you know it’s about you. You helped me write it. And that’s the thing, Michael. You are my inspiration.” She swallowed. “You’re my everything.”

  I just blinked, unsure if I was going to throw up, or pass out, or both.

  “I know it’s a lot to consider,” she continued. “But, I figured… you’ve graduated now. And we had this plan anyway, and I know saying I’m sorry doesn’t fix everything that happened between us, but… we can work on it, right?” She smoothed her thumbs over my hands. “I mean… I know that I still love you. And I’d wager you haven’t lost all your feelings for me, either.”

  My heart kicked painfully in my chest again at her words, and it wasn’t from finally hearing what I thought I’d wanted to hear all this time. No, it was a wicked, gut-wrenching stop and thud that told me I didn’t like hearing those words from her mouth.

  Because what she didn’t realize was that I’d since heard them from Kylie’s.

  And she was the only one I wanted to hear them from now.

  My chest ached with the realization that I’d never hear them again, that I’d fucked it all up and, for what? To come to this diner and sit across from this girl and hear this?

  Of course, she missed me. Of course, she wanted me back. I could hear everything she was saying and everything she wasn’t.

  She was dried up. Void of inspiration. Not a single lyric left in her, now that she didn’t have me.

  And here she was, looking for me to save the day, to take her back, to uproot my life and give it all up for her just like I’d agreed to do when I was in love with her.

  But I wasn’t under her spell anymore.

  I pulled my hands from Bailey’s, sitting back in my booth as the realization hit me. Bailey kept talking, like I was listening to her and digesting what she was offering, but the truth was that all my thoughts were on the girl I loved.

  The girl I’d hurt.

  The girl I’d lost.

  And it wasn’t the one I was sitting with now.

  “I even talked to my agent, and we have a job for you,” Bailey said excitedly. “You’ll be my tour manager. I know you love music, and you know more about concerts than anyone I trust. You can do this.” She leaned across the table. “We can do this.” A laugh bubbled out of her. “I thought we could even make a big deal of it, sing a song together at the Single Barrel Soirée, announce that we’re back together and that you’re moving to Nashville. I mean, our family and friends would love it, the town would love it, the press,” she added, shaking her head. “God, they’d have a field day. My PR team wants to film it, put it on the documentary we’re working on detailing my rise to fame.” She chuckled. “Isn’t that crazy?”

  I covered my mouth with one hand, shaking my head
at my stupidity and effectively ignoring everything Bailey was saying, though she continued on. My only focus was on the cold shower of reality I was sitting in.

  I didn’t need closure from Bailey.

  I didn’t need to see her or talk to her or give her any part of me ever again.

  What I needed was Kylie.

  She’d brought me back to life that summer, and what I hadn’t realized until that very moment in that very booth was that she’d always been the one to bring me to life. She was my first friend after my dad died. She was the first person I told all my deepest fears and biggest dreams to. She was the one my heart was drawn to, magnetically, like there was no other option — even if it’d taken me too long to realize it.

  And I’d made her feel less than. I’d put talking to an ex above her feelings because of some selfish, pointless desire I’d had to hear all the things Bailey was saying now.

  That she was wrong.

  That she was sorry.

  That she wanted me back.

  But none of it mattered, because Kylie was the only thing I wanted. And in true Michael Becker - Fuck Up Extraordinaire fashion, I’d lost her.

  I scrubbed my face down over my mouth, my jaw, shaking my head and cursing myself for always being the guy to learn my lessons too late.

  “… And I’m so excited to get writing with you again. I mean, just think of the angst, the torturous yet pure gold breakup and get back together songs we can write.” Bailey paused, smile slipping. “Michael, baby,” she said, her voice soft as she reached for me. “Did you hear what I said? I want you back. I want us back.”

  I looked at her, at the melted milkshake between us, and then back at her once more. I wondered how to tell her, how to explain that I was in love with Kylie, that I had waited and longed for Bailey for so long but that over time, I’d let her go. Over time, I’d lost myself. And over time, I’d found myself again… with the girl I’d somehow always known was the one for me.

  Then, I decided I didn’t owe her a damn thing, least of all an explanation.

  So without another word, I stood, and to the tune of her calling out my name and asking me to wait, I walked away from the girl who’d broken my heart and ran to the girl who’d pieced it back together.

  Kylie

  “Not that I don’t love your company, but maybe you should go home,” Betty suggested Thursday evening. “Get some real rest.”

  She was rocking in her chair, reading a gossip magazine, and I was sitting on her bed, laptop open and notebook in my lap as I mapped out my road trip. It was my sole focus over the last four days. I was far too busy planning my gap year and volunteering at the nursing home to be sad or heartbroken.

  That was what I convinced myself.

  “I’m getting fine rest here,” I said absentmindedly, clicking through the campsites on my route in Virginia to find the best one in my budget.

  “On the cot in the janitor’s closet?” Betty challenged.

  “It’s more comfortable than you think.”

  “I’m sure,” she mumbled. “But, you need a shower. And what about your dad? I’m sure he misses you.”

  My stomach tightened at that, because I hadn’t been home in two nights, and I knew my dad did miss me. I missed him, too. But, when I was at home, I couldn’t busy myself with other people and their needs, as opposed to thinking about my own mess of a life.

  Dad wanted to talk. And when I talked, I cried. And when I cried, I got angry, because I promised myself I was through crying over Michael Becker.

  So, I stayed at the nursing home to avoid the vicious cycle, and to ignore the aching in my heart for as long as I could.

  “Maybe I’ll go home for dinner,” I conceded.

  “No, you’ll go home for the night,” Betty corrected me, closing her magazine and resting it in her lap. “Baby girl, I know you’re heartbroken right now, and I know it feels better to ignore that pain and throw yourself into whatever and whoever else to avoid it. Trust me, I used to handle my problems much the same way. But the truth of the matter is, you aren’t going to move on if you don’t first acknowledge that there’s something to move on from.”

  I sighed, closing my laptop with a snick before I leaned back against her headboard. I didn’t have anything to say to her very valid point, so I just looked at her, instead.

  “Have you talked to him?” she asked.

  “No,” I answered quickly. “Not for his lack of trying. But there’s nothing more to say.”

  “So, you’re completely done, then?” she probed. “There’s nothing he could do or say to make amends?”

  I sighed, gathering my laptop and notebook and pen and stuffing them all into my messenger bag. “Betty, we’ve talked about this so much that I’m pretty sure you could recite what I’m about to say yourself. He doesn’t love me. And no matter what he says, his actions proved that. If he loved me, he—”

  “Would have chosen you,” she finished for me on a huff. “I get that, I really do. And trust me, I’m so mad at that boy for what he did to you that I could wring his neck like a rubber chicken,” she added. “I guess I just really liked you two together, and it’s hard for me to imagine you giving up on someone so fast when you’re always the last one standing in the corner, cheering and holding up the number one foam finger.”

  “That’s just it,” I said, standing and tossing my bag over my shoulder as I faced her. “I’ve always been there for him. Always. No matter what he did, it was never wrong enough for me to leave him. But I don’t want to be that fool anymore. I don’t want to be the one standing there waiting for him when it should be him in my corner, too.” I shrugged. “So, I’m just going to focus on my gap year, on what comes next, and let him go. If he wouldn’t choose me, then I have no other choice but to do it myself.”

  Betty’s mouth pulled to the side, but before she could respond to my argument, there was a knock at her door. It was already cracked, and after the knock, it swung open slowly, and Michael stood on the other side.

  Seeing him standing there knocked my next breath out of my chest like a hammer, and suddenly the air in the room felt cold and stiff, like I knew my next inhale would be painful before I even took it. So, I held my breath, instead, staring at him. Waiting.

  He was still in his work uniform, his eyes tired and worn, the scruff lining his jaw more unruly than I’d ever seen it. He attempted a smile, but it fell flat. “Hi.”

  I didn’t respond.

  “Betty,” he said next, turning to her. “It’s nice to see you. I’m sorry I’m here so late, I was just…” He turned back to me. “I was hoping we could talk.”

  I crossed my arms, again — waiting.

  “Maybe you two should take a walk,” Betty suggested.

  “Whatever he needs to say, he can say it here.” The words were clipped, and I almost didn’t recognize my own voice as I said them.

  Michael swallowed, stepping a little more into the room, but I took an equal-distance step back. He paused at that, brows bending together before he shoved his hands in his pockets.

  “I met with Bailey today,” he said. “Just now, actually.”

  That next inhale burned like I knew it would, and I looked at the tile floor between us with my heart ringing in my ears.

  “She said she wants me back. She wants me to move to Nashville.”

  My nose stung, the threat of tears building against my urgent plea with my body to not let them happen. I crossed my arms tighter, mustering as much apathy as I could. “Congratulations?”

  “No, no,” he said, moving toward me. “That’s not what I…”

  I stepped away from him, the backs of my knees hitting Betty’s bed before he stopped.

  He held his hands out, like I was going to dart around him at any moment and run out the door. And honestly, I was thinking about it. “What I mean is that she wants me back, but I don’t want her,” he said softly. “I want you.”

  My heart squeezed, and I hated the mix of hope and rel
ief that washed over me before pain and anger seeped back in. It was almost enough to make me want to cross the room and melt into him.

  But my pride stopped me, and I’d never been more thankful in my life.

  “I want you,” he repeated, taking a tentative step toward me. “Don’t you understand? I don’t care about Bailey, or Nashville, or any of it. I care about you.”

  I closed my eyes, shaking my head before I finally looked up at him. “But you still had to go to her to see it. You still chose her over me. Don’t you see that?” I mimicked.

  He gaped at me, speechless for the first time since he’d walked through the door, and a quiet part of me cried out in victory.

  I sighed, adjusting my bag on my shoulder. “Look, maybe we were just better off friends. Maybe what I thought we could have was all just… just…”

  I waved my hands in the air, searching for the right word, but Mikey cut me off, rushing toward me before I could back away. His hands reached for me, grasping me at the elbows, his eyes wild as he watched me.

  “No, no, it wasn’t just anything, Kylie. It isn’t just anything.” His tired eyes searched mine. “I love you.”

  I winced. “Please, stop saying that.”

  “But it’s true. I—”

  “If it was true, you wouldn’t have gone to Bailey when I begged you not to!” The words came out rushed and pitched and urgent, my heart racing wildly and betraying the calm demeanor I was aiming for. “You would have picked me,” I said, the word breaking along with my heart.

  “Kylie…”

  “You say you don’t want her, but why should I believe you? You went running to her as soon as she called you, completely disregarding everything between us,” I reminded him, gesturing to the space between us. “You chose her. Why wouldn’t you do the exact same thing the next time she calls you up and crooks her finger and says jump?”

  “If you give me the chance—”

  “I did,” I said, bottom lip quivering hard. “I did give you the chance. But I won’t be second place. I don’t deserve to be.”