Guy Hater

by Ethan Asher

  “How long has she been maintaining it?”

  “Since you left Whispering Pine.”

  “Really?”

  Deanna nods. “She makes sure it has fresh flowers each month and repaints it almost yearly.”

  “Why?”

  Deanna looks at me as though I should know the answer. "Because she loves you, Guy."

  “She had a weird way of showing it when I came back here.”

  “Charleigh has her own way of doing things. She might have a tough exterior, but deep down she feels everything.”

  I sit there, mulling it over for a while. Eventually, Deanna speaks, but this time Charleigh's not the topic. She starts talking about the man I pulled over tonight. The whole reason why we're sitting at the kitchen table at nearly 2 a.m. She's telling me his story. The story he alluded to.

  “Monty’s parents divorced shortly after the accident. His father left town and never returned. His mother was so torn up about the whole incident that she turned to drugs. He never really had a normal childhood after that.

  "But you had a support network. Monty was left to fend for himself because his mother retreated into her own world. There was a time where it seemed like he'd make it through the other end somewhat normal. He started working on his grades. He started playing sports. He did all the things his father didn't do. He didn't want to become him.

  “He went to college. The first person in his family to do so. But with him gone, his mother started drinking, and every time he came back during breaks she was a little more gone. It wore him down, and soon enough, he started drinking too. Partying. That led to harsher drugs. More alcohol. He stopped taking responsibility for his life. And eventually fell into all the same traps his father did.”

  There’s a long pause. I’d only ever considered how that night affected me and no one else. It never crossed my mind that the man who killed my parents had a son, a wife, a family. How he’d affected their lives that night and every night leading up to it.

  “It’s a sad story,” Deanna says. “It’s what happens when you live your life based on the past. If you can’t let go, it will take control and you’ll never be able to move on. Progress, Guy. That’s what this whole thing’s about. Keep moving forward.”

  She doesn’t say anything else after that. It’s late. Or early, depending on how you look at it. She gets up, wraps her robe tightly around her, gives me a kiss on the head, and then heads upstairs.

  I sit in the same spot long after Deanna leaves, thinking about Monty and what Deanna said. I can’t help but feel like I’m doing the same thing in some way. A part of me is holding on to the past. It’s holding on to my parents and that night. And if I let it, that part of me will lead me down the same road as him.

  Progress, Guy. That’s what this whole thing’s about.

  I need to move forward.

  37

  Charleigh

  We finished the renovation a week ago. It’s done. I never thought I’d say those words, but it’s finally here. I should be happy about it, but I’m not. All I can think about is what else is done and over with.

  I don’t care about losing out on my dream job. I don’t care about the prospect of working for Andrea. None of that matters. I could get all of that back in time. The only thing I can’t get back is the only thing that’s important to me: Guy.

  I glance at the old photograph of us. It hasn't left my pocket since I found it in my old things, except, of course, when taking it out to glance at it. I've glanced at it approximately a thousand times in the last few days, and it still has the same effect: a jolt through my core, goosebumps, an intense high followed by an extreme low.

  I slide the picture back in my pocket and then try to turn my attention to my inbox. There’s a slew of emails from Christiana asking me to do the same tasks I had to work through before my project: boring, mind-numbing administrative tasks that she doesn’t want to do.

  I’m done with it. I’m tired of being dragged around by other people. I’m tired of running when things get tough. I’ve made some terrible decisions lately, but no more. I look once more at the picture in my pocket before I head to Christiana’s office.

  She’s in the middle of a meeting with someone, but I don’t care. I open the door without knocking. Instantly I feel two pairs of eyes on me. An uncomfortable feeling rises in my gut, but I push it right back down.

  “Charleigh, what are—”

  “I want to be considered for Lana’s job again. I know I can do it, and I know I’m the best candidate for the job.”

  The woman seated in front of Christiana’s desk mumbles something incoherent, and it’s clear that she’s interviewing for the same position.

  “I know this is abrupt, but I wanted to let you know.”

  “Oh—okay.”

  I’ve never seen Christiana so flustered, and it feels good. I turn to leave, but just before I do, I look back at Christiana. “Also I slept with Guy—Mr. Finch. I hope that doesn’t change my standing, but I wanted to be transparent.”

  So, fuuuuuuuuck you Andrea.

  Christiana and the interviewee both flush bright red, and without another word from either of them, I leave the office. I run into Andrea on my way back, arms folded across her chest.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Exactly what I should’ve done. You’re a horrible person, Andrea, and I’m not going to give in to you. Show Christiana the video. I don’t care.”

  There are a few whispers around us, but I ignore them and head to my desk to grab my purse. I’m in my car and heading to my mom’s house in a few minutes. I’m not running anymore. I’m taking everything head-on. I might be jobless by the end of the day, but I don’t care. Everything will be okay if I have Guy. But I have no idea if he’ll take me back after how I treated him.

  I take the steps to my mother’s house two at a time. I don’t bother knocking, I just push through the door with so much force that I’m surprised it doesn’t fly off the hinges.

  “Guy!” I scream as I survey the entryway. I head upstairs and rush down the hallway, but when I reach my bedroom the wind gets knocked out of me. Guy’s stuff is gone. Guy’s gone.

  I nearly slip and fall on my ass as I rush back downstairs, and when I get to the kitchen, my mother looks at me with the expression that I remember seeing often growing up. What. Are. You. Doing?

  “Sorry,” I say, pausing for a few seconds to catch my breath.

  “No need to be sorry. I’m just glad it’s you and not the herd of hippos I’d envisioned rampaging through my house.”

  “Where’s Guy?” I ask, ignoring the light dig.

  “He moved out a few days ago. Back at his house. I thought he’d have told you.”

  “It’s complicated.”

  She gives me another familiar look. “Probably less so than you believe.”

  I turn around and head back to the front of the house. “And Charleigh,” my mom adds. I pause at the doorway. “He’s had a difficult week. Take it easy on him.”

  I'm not sure what to make of her comment, but I don't have time to think about it. I leave the house, hop into Franny, and head straight to Guy's.

  I pull into the driveway just as Jamie and Marissa are pulling out. I stop in the driveway and roll down my window. “What are you guys doing here?”

  “Dropping off some wedding stuff,” Marissa yells over Jamie. “What about you? Shouldn’t you be at work?”

  “Long story. Is Guy in there?”

  Marissa tries to hide a smile but does a poor job of it. “Yes. He’s upstairs in his old room.”

  “Really?”

  She nods.

  “Sorry to break this up, but we have more wedding appointments to get to,” Jamie says.

  We say our goodbyes, I roll up my window, and then park right next to Guy's truck. I almost break into a sprint, but I'm stopped by nerves. I don't have the same urgency I had at my mother's because my brain is catching up with my heart.


  I’ve never done anything like what I’m about to do, and it’s nerve-racking.

  The nerves swirl in my gut like a hurricane, increasing with intensity the closer I get to Guy. Eventually, I make it to his room. The door’s open and I can hear him moving inside, but I’m frozen in place, trying my best to breathe. Every muscle in my body is clenched tight, as though I’ve been swaddled like a baby. You could push me and I’d tip over and hit the floor without any resistance or ability to stop myself.

  “Are you going to hang out there like a weirdo or come inside?”

  Gulp. Everything tingles. "Oh, um." I pop into the doorway and get my first look at Guy in weeks, gulping yet again. Dear lord, this man gets even more handsome by the day. "Yeah, I was just inspecting the work Ryder did on the wall out here." I drag my finger along the edge of the doorway as though I'm pointing something out.

  I can feel Guy’s eyes on me the entire time, and when I finally look back at him, I’m right. He’s staring directly at me. “What’s going on in here?” I ask, glancing at all the open boxes on the ground.

  Guy maintains his gaze on me for a few more seconds that seem to stretch out for far too long. “Something that should’ve happened a long time ago. I’m packing up all my old stuff. Donating it all. I’ve held on to it long enough. It’s time to move on.”

  I walk over to Guy and sit down next to him on the bed.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to keep anything?”

  He shakes his head. “I’ve got it all in here,” he says, tapping his temple and then his heart. “It’s safer in here than out there.”

  After a few moments of silence, I say, “I’m sorry for everything I did. I should’ve taken your advice. I should’ve taken Andrea head-on and gone straight to Christiana.”

  My eyes water as my lips tremble. The lump in my throat is growing, and I know it will be difficult to swallow in a few seconds. “I didn’t listen to you. I shut you out. I don’t know why. It’s just what I do. I know I do it and I hate that I put you through it.” I look at Guy, my vision blurred from tears. “You don’t deserve it.”

  Guy looks at me but doesn’t speak. I can’t read his expression, but it doesn’t matter. I need to get this out. I pull out the picture from my pocket and hand it to him.

  He takes it in his hand and looks at it with the same expression. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to do. And the seconds seem to turn into minutes as Guy stares at the photo without saying a word, his expression unchanging. My throat feels like it’s about to close in on itself as tears begin to well in my eyes.

  “Where did you find this?” Guy finally asks, a smile beginning to form on his lips.

  “I found it when I was unpacking.” I sniffle a few times and then clear my throat. “You were always the one to fix things between us. I always stewed. I always ran. And I’m not going to do that anymore. I told Christiana about us. I have no idea what’s going to happen. I might be out a job, but I don’t care. The only thing I care about is you. If I lose—”

  I close my eyes, feeling the tears roll down my cheeks and my neck. A few seconds later I feel Guy’s hand on my knee. The warmth from his touch radiates through me, and I feel the strength to keep going.

  "I know I haven't made it easy on you, but I want to make things work between us. I want to be friends again. I want to talk and joke and—”

  “Sleep?” Guy asks.

  “Yes. And sleep together. I want to do everything with you.”

  I choke out a choppy laugh as I finally force myself to look at Guy through watery eyes. And as soon as I see that smile, those eyes—the Guy I’ve come to know so well—I feel every warm and beautiful feeling bubble up inside of me.

  He drags his fingertips softly down my cheek, pressing his thumb against my lips. He wraps his warm palm around the base of my skull and pulls my face close to his.

  “I want to do everything with you too, Charleigh. I always have. I always will.”

  My body feels electric, pulsing with so much energy, it’s almost too much. I’ve never felt so happy before. I never felt anything like this before, and the only possible thing I can think of doing is lunging at him and holding on to him with all my might.We topple backward and Guy groans and moans, but I don't care. I'm not letting go of him again.

  “Can’t. Breathe.”

  Okay. Maybe just this once.

  I let him up and he takes a huge breath of air. “I forgot how powerful your hugs are.”

  I'm smiling so hard that my cheeks hurt. "I have one more thing. I was going to give it to you once the house was finished. It sort of got lost in everything that's happened. I'll be right back."

  Guy looks at me suspiciously but only says, “Okay…”

  I grab the present from the car and then rush back upstairs to hand it to him.

  “So what is it?” he asks, bringing it to his ear and shaking it.

  “That won’t tell you anything. You’ll have to open it.”

  When he finally rips the paper off the present, he sits there, staring at it for what seems like hours without saying a word. Finally, I ask him if he likes it.

  Guy looks at me, tears beginning to well in his eyes. “I love it, Charleigh.”

  He reaches over and hugs me and then kisses me. I suck in my lower lip, relishing his taste when he finally lets go.

  “Where’d you find it?”

  “Ryder found it during the demo, and then I put it in a case with the only photo I could find of you and your parents together.”

  “You kept it a secret this entire time?”

  I nod. “Are you mad?”

  “Mad?” Guy asks. He laughs. “I’m not mad at all. I love it. Now we have to find a place to hang it.”

  “There’s a spot right next to the door that I thought would be perfect.”

  “You think of everything, don’t you?”

  “Sometimes.”

  I move to stand, but before I can get to my feet, Guy grabs me. “You’re not going anywhere,” he growls.

  "Is that so?" I say, making a faux struggle to get off the bed.

  Guy pulls back, a half smile on his lips. “Unless, of course, you don't want me to make good on my promise."

  I raise an eyebrow, thoroughly confused. “And what promise is that?”

  “To christen every room in this house with you,” he rasps.

  The effect is instant—tingles everywhere as his gruff voice rolls over me.

  “You remember what happened the last time you said that,” I say, trying to pretend as though I don’t mind if he doesn’t make good on that promise but failing horribly.

  “I don’t give a damn,” he says just before he kisses me.

  And neither do I.

  38

  Guy

  I should be paying attention to my best friend getting married five feet away from me, but it’s impossible when Charleigh’s sitting in the front row. She’s teasing me with that dress she’s wearing, hugging her in all the right places, the hem pulling higher on her thigh as she crosses her legs.

  Even though both of our professional lives are a mess—I’m still on leave, and Christiana hired someone else for Lana’s position—things have been amazing between us. Whenever Charleigh isn’t working, we’re joined together at the hip. And lips. And other places. There’s no one else in this world that gets me the way that Charleigh does.

  There’s a sharp jab in my sternum. I rub my chest and look up and find Jamie’s death stare leveled directly at me. “The. Ring,” he whispers out of the corner of his mouth.

  Oh. Right.

  I glance at Charleigh one more time as she tries her best not to laugh. Her cheeks are bright red as a playful smile spreads across her lips.

  I pat my pockets, coming up empty. I can feel myself beginning to sweat as the realization hits me—where the fuck is this ring?!

  My eyes bulge as I look at Jamie and then Marissa, who looks like she’s about ready to kill me. I continue digging throu
gh my pockets as whispers spread throughout the crowd.

  Psst! “Guy…”

  I recognize Charleigh’s voice and glance at her. She pats her left boob, and I shake my head, not understanding. She makes a gesture, pulling something out and then placing it on her finger.

  Oh, right.

  I check my front pocket and sure enough, there’s the ring. I hand it to Jamie, who snatches it out of my hand. I mouth a thank you back at Charleigh and she shakes her head.

  I turn my attention back to the ceremony. I’ve never seen Jamie and Marissa so happy. It’s so radiant that it’s contagious. When I glance back at Charleigh, I can see she’s affected just as much—eyes watering, smile as big as I’ve seen on her. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so in love like this before. It’s overwhelming and all-consuming, and when Charleigh looks at me through teary eyes, it feels as though I might explode.

  I drag my attention back to Jamie and Marissa just in time for their vows, but if I’m being honest, they hardly register. Most of the ceremony doesn’t register. The only thing I remember about the wedding is my time with Charleigh. I remember feeding her mini cupcakes. I remember dancing with her and drinking with her and sneaking off to my old bedroom for a quick makeout session.

  In other words, the wedding was amazing, even though I don’t remember much except for Charleigh. Or to put it another way, the wedding was amazing because of Charleigh.

  “And there’s another one!” Charleigh says, holding her phone out to me.

  I laugh. “I told you everyone would love your design.”

  Earlier in the week, the social media manager for Florence + Foxe posted photos of my house on Instagram, and almost immediately, Charleigh began getting emails from across the state and even country requesting her expertise in various projects. She’d forwarded the requests on to Christiana, but once they found out that Charleigh wouldn’t be working on their projects, they bolted.

  “I’m telling you, I think you should branch out. Open up your own firm.”

  “I don’t know. It’s a lot of work. A lot of money. It’s a lot.”