Get a Life, Chloe Brown

by Talia Hibbert

  Not just with Chloe. With everything.

  Every morning he woke up, checked his window, and found her curtains shut tight. He let himself sit with sick, acidic fear for a few moments, breathing deep, wanting her, missing her. And then he got his shit together. He planned for next month, when he’d be leaving this building behind and plunging headfirst into the unknown again. He studied his savings in spreadsheets that would give Chloe a hard-on, checking and double-checking that he could afford the risk. He researched his business, reached out to old friends, and figured out his new website by reading Chloe’s instructions, even if hearing her voice through the words twisted his heart.

  He was going to be okay. He knew that. But he’d be so much better with Chloe. Only, the days passed, and her curtains remained closed, and each morning he lost a little bit of hope.

  Or maybe a lot of hope. So much that when she did open the curtains—when he caught that flutter of movement and spill of light from the corner of his eye—he thought for a moment he was imagining things.

  But then he turned, and he saw her, and he knew that not even his desperate memories could recreate that heavy, midnight gaze.

  Red stared and stared and stared. Drank her in. Started to worry about his Grand Prix–worthy pulse and his painfully pounding heart. He might be dying of fucking euphoria at the sight of her. That might just be okay.

  Then she was gone in a flash of turquoise glasses and a swirl of her pink-and-white skirt. He felt like he’d been knocked over the head. Stood there, transfixed, with his paintbrush in his hand, blue acrylic threatening to drip onto the floor, and thought, Chloe, Chloe, Chloe like a broken record . . . until a knock came at the door.

  He’d heard that knock once in his entire life, but he knew exactly who it belonged to. He dropped the paintbrush. Ran through the flat. Yanked the door open and there she was.

  Chloe Brown. Beautiful with her hard stare and her hair contained by the polka-dot hair tie he’d bought her, and yes, he was looking that hard, and no, he would not stop. She sailed past him into the flat, and he forced his hands behind his back because dragging her into his arms and kissing the living daylights out of her would be bad, it would be very bloody bad—

  “Here,” she said, holding something out to him. Her voice was husky fucking music. He wanted to eat it. He could put his mouth over hers and—wait, no, that was just kissing. No kissing. Not when she might be here to give him a chance.

  He took the thing she held—a notebook—his palms sweating and hope swelling. “Chloe.”

  “Red,” she said softly. “Read that for me.”

  Heart in his mouth, he obeyed. He already knew what he’d find: Chloe’s list. The real one, full and uncensored. He took a breath and finally read the goals that had started all this.

  The list was so neat and orderly and utterly her. Every goal was printed carefully in black ink, painstakingly perfect. Some of the entries he recognized, others he didn’t. Some were ticked off, some crossed out and replaced, all with so much care. His heart twisted. Why had he ever assumed that a spot on this list meant the worst? He should’ve known—he had known—that this was her path to the person she wanted to be.

  Except he’d never really accepted that fact, because to him, she was already perfect.

  He had the strongest fucking urge to throw this book across the room before he could find his own entry, except that would be a mistake, and he’d made enough of those already. He forced himself to look for his own name. Found it.

  Keep Red.

  He put the book down and looked at her. He wanted to say something. The right thing. He’d never managed it before, so he doubted he would now—but he tried. “I was wrong. I know I was wrong. I—”

  “I read your letter,” she interrupted.

  She’d only just read it? Was that good or bad? She seemed edgy, nervous, her soft lips pressed tight, those hypnotic eyes avoiding his. Suddenly the room seemed darker and the moment took on all the dread and finality of a grave. She didn’t want him. He’d failed. He’d lost her, really lost her.

  But then she said, in a tone he couldn’t decipher, “I liked my presents.”

  He laughed brokenly and ran a hand through his hair. Tried to make his fear a joke, because she wouldn’t appreciate him scattering the pieces of his broken heart over her like confetti. “Chloe. Baby. Just—put me out of my misery.”

  She looked at him, finally, and he sucked in a breath. Couldn’t help it. God, she was so beautiful. God, she made his head spin. She frowned slightly, shook her head, rolled her eyes. Then she said, “All right.”

  And kissed him.

  He stumbled back into the wall, and she followed. Her hands slid into his hair and her body pressed tight against his, but her lips were petal soft. Searching. Tentative. As if she wasn’t sure how he’d react.

  As it happened, he reacted like a starving animal.

  He couldn’t silence the groan her touch teased from him, couldn’t stop himself from shaking, not when his blood surged with the knowledge that this was actually happening. His lips parted hers hungrily, and when she glided her tongue over his he gave a wounded, desperate growl that must’ve told her everything she could think to ask. I need you. I’m desperate for you. I’m something without you, and I’ll survive without you, but I don’t fucking want to, so Jesus, please don’t make me.

  He dropped the notebook. His hands went to her waist, then her hips, then the row of buttons sewn down the front of her jumper. Her hair next, smoothed-out ripples under his fingers, then the gentle curve of her throat, and then her face. Everywhere, he was everywhere. Wasn’t enough.

  She pulled back and panted, “I’m sorry.”

  Carefully, he took off her glasses. Now she was young and vulnerable, giving him that soft focus. “For what, love?”

  “For letting you go, and for how long it took me to come here. I should’ve been braver. Like you.”

  “No,” he said firmly, fiercely. “You’re exactly as brave as you need to be. You’re the one who makes me better. You’re the bravest person I know.”

  She grabbed the front of his T-shirt, dragged him close, kissed him again.

  It was slower, this time, not as urgent. Talking touches. The sweet pressure of her mouth on his: I want you. The way she smoothed her hands over his chest: I missed you. And when he laced their fingers together? Puzzle pieces slotted into place. I’m yours. His world was marshmallow pink, electric white, chocolate and earth and tropical ocean. His world was good.

  She pulled back again, and everything seemed slightly paler. “We should talk properly.”

  Oh, yeah. Like rational, adult human beings. “Or we could kiss until we run out of oxygen.”

  She smiled and his heart broke and fixed itself.

  “I mean it,” he said. “If I die, I die.”

  She laughed and the air tasted different. Clean.

  “Come on,” she said, marching toward his studio, but she didn’t let go of his hand. Not until she sat down, leaning against a rare part of the wall that didn’t have supplies stacked against it.

  Red sat opposite her and tried not to melt over the prim way she crossed her legs and arranged her skirt over her knees. But then his smile faded. “Chloe, I’m sorry. I freaked out, I took my own shit out on you, and I just—I shouldn’t have. But you read the list, and you know I’m working on it, and I hope . . . Well, I hope that’s enough.”

  Softly, she told him, “It is. Red—”

  “Oh, wait. I forgot something.” He found her hand again, held on tight. “I love you.”

  The corners of those lush lips tilted ever so slightly before she got them under control. He wondered how he’d ever thought of her as reserved—or, you know, up her own arse—when he could see every single emotion she tried to hide under that mask if he just looked hard enough. And right now, he realized with a grin, happiness was shining right through her severe facade. She might as well have shoved the sun under a pillow. He could see ever
y last golden ray burning through.

  But what she said was “We’ll address that in a minute.”

  Red told himself this was too serious a moment to risk laughing.

  “Right now,” she said, “I need to apologize to you, too. I’m so fucking sorry, Red. I know everything about that situation triggered you. I knew it at the time. But I didn’t know the right way to react, and I should’ve.”

  “No, Chlo,” he said softly. “That’s not on you.”

  “No, it’s not,” she agreed. “But remember what you told me once? About filling in people’s gaps? You do things for me when I can’t do them for myself. I want to support you in the same way. Can we work on that? Together?”

  She was so fucking lovely. So lovely, and she wanted him. He closed his eyes and nodded slowly. His voice came out like gravel. “Yeah, love. We can do that.”

  “Good. Because you mean the world to me and I don’t ever want you to struggle alone.” Her words were a balm to everything in him that ached or stung or bled. Their fingers laced together so tightly he hoped they’d never come undone.

  “You,” he told her quietly, “are everything.”

  Dry as a bone, she murmured, “Flatterer.”

  He smiled and felt it down to his soul.

  “That day,” she said softly, and his smile faded. “That day, neither of us gave the other a chance. You reacted badly to an admittedly confusing situation, and then I reacted badly to you reacting badly. I wish I’d been more understanding. But I was trying to protect myself—trying to avoid taking a risk, because the truth is, you scare me. You’re monumental. Avoiding everything between us seemed easier than facing pain. But I refuse to be afraid anymore, Red. You’re more important than that.”

  Hope and relief and this impossible, incandescent happiness swirled in his chest, as if his emotions were mixing to create the perfect color for this moment. Something beautiful and brilliant and Chloe, like those cute blue glasses or warm brown eyes. “Maybe we should solemnly swear that in the future we’ll both keep our heads out of our arses.”

  “Maybe we should,” she said with a slow smile.

  “All right. I swear.”

  “I swear.”

  She held out her little finger, and he grinned. “What am I supposed to do with that?”

  “Give me yours,” she said sternly. He did, and she hooked hers around his and said, “Now it’s official. We pinkie-swore.”

  He snorted. Pulled her closer because he couldn’t resist. Her breath hitched as she leaned forward, her cheek brushing his. Just that slight contact sent a shower of almost-unbearable pleasure through him. He whispered in her ear, “We okay?”

  “We are,” she said softly.

  Something jagged and broken inside him smoothed out, slotting back into place so firmly that he felt like he should’ve heard the click. This was where and who and how he should be: with Chloe.

  He stood, pulling her up with him. And then, because he was in that kind of mood, he picked her up. She gave a little squeak of surprise as he cradled her against his chest, squeezing her to him, breathing in flowers and vanilla. Everything wrong with his world righted itself. “Just so you know, you aren’t ever getting rid of me. You’re it, and I’m fucked. I’m completely fucked.”

  She laughed, running a hand through his hair. The action was unthinkingly possessive. He closed his eyes for a moment on a wave of satisfaction.

  “That’s good to know,” she said. “Where are we going, by the way?”

  “My room. Since we’re officially okay, there’s no reason why you can’t sit somewhere comfortable instead of the floor.”

  “Fair enough. We’ll just sit, though. That’s all.”

  “Oh, yeah. That’s all.”

  It was, too, at first. She asked him a thousand questions about his plans, and nodded approvingly at his answers. He showed her the social media accounts he’d set up, and she told him why all his captions sucked and how to find decent hashtags.

  And that was absolutely all.

  But then Chloe got tired, so they lay down. And then she kissed him, and his brain malfunctioned, and the next thing he knew he was on top of her, holding her hands and licking into her mouth while she moaned.

  And then, in the middle of it all, she gasped, “Oh, I almost forgot! Our shelved topic.”

  “What?” he growled, dragging his lips down her throat.

  “The fact that you love me.”

  He stilled.

  “It’s very sweet, of course,” she said, in a voice so innocent he just knew.

  “Chloe.”

  “And highly flattering, particularly coming from someone as wonderful as you—”

  “Chloe.”

  “What? It’s rude to interrupt, you know.”

  He grinned down at her. “Stop torturing me. Just say it.”

  “Say what?”

  “Woman—”

  “I love you, Red. I love you, I love you, I—mmpf!” She broke off with a squeak when he kissed her, hard.

  Those three little words sounded so fucking good, but they tasted even better on her lips.

  Epilogue

  One Year Later

  “Chloe, you awful cow, it’s about time you—oh, hello there, Red.” Eve, as always, was on her best behavior the moment she saw Red’s face on her phone screen.

  Chloe didn’t bother to hide her eye roll. “Yes, hello, dearest sister. I thought I’d check in before we got on with our day.”

  “That’s not true,” Red said helpfully, raising his voice over the sounds of traffic and the clatter of hundreds of footsteps that were part and parcel of a busy New York street. “I made her do it.”

  Chloe trod on his foot. He gave her an unapologetic grin.

  “Honestly, Red, thank God you’re with her,” Eve tutted. “I bet you’ve already called your mum today. Like a good child.” She glared pointedly at Chloe, then turned away from the camera and hollered, “EVERYONE! CHLOE’S ON THE PHONE!”

  And, wouldn’t you know it, the entire family happened to be at home. Just Chloe’s luck. Dani appeared first—shouldn’t she be in a library somewhere, starving in the name of academia?—followed by Dad, who was still wearing his coat as always, like he might fly off somewhere any minute. Then came Mum—oh, no, that was Aunt Mary without makeup. Mum was next, her smile uncharacteristically broad. She liked Red, thought he was a lovely boy, which was code for “strong enough to protect my darling daughter if she insists on gallivanting about the world.”

  Chloe did indeed insist.

  And then, finally, Gigi appeared, shoving everyone else out of the way until her face took up almost the entire screen. Gigi still hadn’t quite grasped the finer points of a video call, so she liked to make absolutely certain that her brilliance could be seen. She beamed and held up a wriggling, protesting Smudge.

  Yes, they had Smudge. When Chloe and Red moved into a flat that allowed pets, Annie had provided a most welcome housewarming gift.

  “Darling,” Gigi purred, “are you having the absolute time of your life?”

  “Perhaps,” Chloe said with a private smile.

  Down where her family couldn’t see, Red’s gloved hand squeezed hers.

  “Smudge misses you awfully. Don’t you, Smudge?”

  Smudge looked, at best, apathetic.

  “I miss him, too,” Chloe said.

  New York in winter was absolutely freezing. For that reason, despite missing her family a little bit, Chloe hurried through the call. She’d text them all later, she assured them, and yes, she was feeling fine, and New York was indeed exciting, but no, she wouldn’t compare it to Kenya or Belgium or Cuba because they were all just so different and all equally amazing.

  Which was a lie, of course. Cuba had been her favorite. But she and Red weren’t done jet-setting.

  Then, finally, the last of her relatives said good-bye, and she put the phone down and turned to Red. “Sorry. I should’ve known that would take forever.”


  “It’s fine, Chlo.”

  “It’s not. I was practically teasing you.” She glanced at the glass entrance behind them to the Museum of Modern Art, then back at Red. He was almost bursting with excitement. The cold had turned the tip of his nose and his high cheekbones pale pink. His green eyes were bright, like a spark of midsummer in the middle of winter. He was so, so divine. She didn’t know how he could be real. “I know you’re dying to go in. Shall we?”

  “Oh, yeah. But first . . .” He brought his hand to her cheek, and she didn’t even mind that his glove was cold and a little wet from the softly falling snow. “Let me see if I can find anything to kiss under all these layers.”

  Maybe she’d gone slightly overboard with the scarves—two—and the hats—again, two—but it was cold.

  “You want to kiss me now?” she squawked as he nudged aside the wool protecting her skin from the harsh wind. “At this very minute?”

  “I want to kiss you every minute of the day,” he murmured, his eyes suddenly serious. “And I want to kiss you in every city on earth.” Then, as her heart overflowed with sickening amounts of love, his lips brushed hers. Quick, light, and still so wonderful that her knees felt the tiniest bit weak.

  He pulled back and took his time nudging her scarves in place, even though they wouldn’t be out here for much longer. Biting back a smile, she said, “Now, shall we go in?”

  “Are you feeling okay? You’re not tired from the walk, are you?”

  “Not yet.” Well, only a little bit.

  He was practically vibrating with his eagerness to go inside, but still, he held off to check on her. “Buprenorphine still going strong?”

  “I am high as a kite, my love.” She tried not to use her opioid patches all the time, but a trip to New York definitely required them.

  “Good,” he said, clearly pleased to know his girlfriend was appropriately drugged. And then, after a long exhale, he grinned. “In we go, then.”

  “Full speed ahead. Try not to wet yourself with excitement, you big nerd.”