“Come on, you two,” he calls into the backseat before slamming the door shut.
“We had to help them out of the bar,” I remind him, meeting his gaze over the top of the car. “Maybe bringing them here wasn’t the best choice.”
“They could use a little food and time to sober up. Otherwise they’ll feel like hell tomorrow. Besides, this is the one place I know won’t kick us out.”
“Well, at least there’s that,” I agree, watching him cross around the car toward me right as Aaron and Henna stumble out of the same door.
“You know Claudia and Jack’s rule. If you’re too drunk to walk through the front door then you’re too drunk to be here. Think you can manage to get inside without falling on your face?” he asks Aaron.
“Fuck you, man. I’ve got this.”
“Okay.” Abel chuckles, extending his arm to me. “Shall we?”
“I’m not that drunk. I can walk inside on my own.”
“And?” he questions, arm still extended.
I open my mouth to argue but realize that I don’t want to and quickly snap it closed. Linking my arm through Abel’s, I allow him to walk me to the front door. After guiding me inside, he waits at the door, holding it open for Aaron and Henna who somehow manage to walk inside without any assistance.
“You two sit here.” Abel barely touches Aaron’s shoulder and he falls into the booth, causing all of us to laugh.
“Where are you sitting?” Henna gives Abel a curious look as she takes the seat across from Aaron.
“Peyton and I will be in the next booth over.”
I don’t miss the way her eyes narrow in on my face or the knowing smile that lights up on her own.
“It’s not like that. We just don’t want to deal with you two.” I gesture between her and Aaron.
“Sure it’s not.” She gives me a disbelieving look.
“You are quite possibly the worst friend ever,” I tell her, wagging my finger in her direction.
“Ouch,” she says as I follow Abel to the next booth over.
“I’m so sorry about her,” I say, sliding into the booth.
“I’m sorry about him.” He hitches his thumb backward in the direction of his brother as he takes the seat across from me.
“They really are a match made in heaven, aren’t they?” I laugh, reaching for a menu tucked behind the napkin holder.
“That they are. Good thing they’re not like this all the time.”
“Oh lord, I don’t think I could be her friend if that’s how she acted all the time. Don’t get me wrong, drunk Henna is fun but as you have witnessed tonight, she’s also a master of embarrassing her friends.”
“Ah, she wasn’t that bad.” He grabs himself a menu.
“Wasn’t that bad? She pretty much told you I want to jump your bones in five different ways.”
“Yeah, but if it’s true who really cares?”
I blanch, not sure what the hell to say to that.
“Relax, Peyton.” He smiles, dimple and all. “I’m just messing with you.”
“Ha. Ha,” I deadpan. “So funny.” I flip open my menu, not able to make out a single word on it right away. I have to give my vision a second to adjust to the tiny letters before I can read it.
Guess I’m a little more intoxicated than I thought.
“So, what’s good here?” I ask, keeping my gaze on the menu.
“Everything.”
“You have to say that; your family owns the place,” I tell him, looking up to see him watching me. “What are you getting?”
“What I always get.” He shrugs. “A burger and fries.”
“Perfect,” I say, shutting the menu. “That’s what I’ll have too.”
Chapter Thirteen
Abel
“This is so good.” Peyton moans around a mouthful of food.
“I told you.”
“Yeah, but a lot of people say stuff like that. Best place ever, yada yada.” She swirls her hand in the air. “Very rarely is it actually the case.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear that this was not one of those cases.”
“Me too.” She grins before taking another bite of her burger. She waits until she’s chewed and swallowed before continuing, “So, your aunt and uncle own this place?”
“Yep. Have since I was a kid.”
“That’s awesome. I’ve always thought it would be cool to own my own business.”
“Then why not do it?”
“Me?” She snorts. “I’m not cut out to be a business owner. I like being able to shut off my brain at five o’clock and not think about work again until I’m back in the office the next morning.”
“If you did open your own business, hypothetically speaking of course, what would you do?”
“Hmm, I don’t know. I’ve never really given it that much thought. I think maybe a clothing boutique, seeing as I have a slight obsession with clothes and shoes. Or maybe a bookstore.”
The mention of a bookstore brings Finley to the forefront of my thoughts. I’ve never met someone who loves books the way she did.
“Why a bookstore?” I push past the sudden tightness in my chest.
“Because I love bookstores.”
“I take it you’re a big reader?”
“I wouldn’t say that. I do enjoy a good murder mystery every now and again, but I wouldn’t say I’m a big reader. I just really love bookstores.”
“Any specific reason why?”
“My mom.” She turns her eyes downward for a long moment before her gaze comes back up to mine. “She loved to read. When I was little, we used to stop by the little bookstore in town every time we’d be out running errands. She’d spend hours browsing the shelfs and would usually walk out with several new books each time we went. My dad used to joke that he needed a second job to support her reading habit.” She smiles at the memory.
“I used to know someone who loved to read like that.”
“Oh yeah?” She pops a fry into her mouth.
“Yeah.” I clear my throat.
“Was it your wife?” She hits me with a sympathetic look, only further confirming my suspicions that Aaron must have told her. Her eyes flash to my wedding ring and then come back up to mine, her features softening.
“It was,” I confirm after several moments of silence have passed between us.
“Did she like to read anything in particular?”
“She loved everything, but mostly romance. It would fascinate me, watching her read. I could tell what was happening based on her expression. She felt every character and story so deeply while she was reading it was almost like they were a part of her.”
“Sounds like my mom.” She gives me a sad smile. “Tell me more about her.”
I don’t have to ask to know who she’s talking about, but for some reason I do anyway. “Who?” My voice comes out thick.
“Your wife.”
“Finley,” I say her name aloud to someone other than Claire for the first time in a very long time.
“Finley.” She nods. “What was she like?”
“Unlike anyone I had ever known before or since.” I let out a slow sigh, sitting back in the booth. “She was fearless, strong, stubborn as all hell.” I pause, having to physically push past the knot in my throat. “She was beautiful, full of life, and had more courage in her little toe than most people have in their entire bodies.”
“You really loved her.”
“Still do.” I shrug.
“And you always will. We don’t stop loving people just because they are no longer here. If anything, we love them more once they’re gone.”
“Yeah,” I agree, nodding slowly.
“I’m sorry. We don’t have to talk about this.” She must read something on my face that gives her the impression I’m not enjoying this conversation.
“No, it’s okay. I need to learn how to talk about her,” I say, surprising even myself.
Isn’t this what I’ve been trying to accomplish
for the last three years? Being able to talk about her without feeling like I’m dying. And while yes, it’s not an easy conversation to have, something about having it with Peyton makes it a little easier. Maybe because she’s so easy to talk to, or maybe because she knows what it feels like to lose someone the way I lost Finley.
“Will you tell me about how you met.”
“Well, we actually met at a bar. I was there meeting my brothers for drinks. She was sitting at the bar drinking water. We locked eyes and the rest was kind of history. I knew right there, in that moment, that I had to know her. So, after my brothers left, I sat down next to her. It was the start of the best night of my life. Then she ghosted me the next morning and I spent the next few weeks trying to track her down like a crazy stalker.”
“Wait, what do you mean she ghosted you?” She laughs.
“I mean, she snuck out sometime after I had fallen asleep. I didn’t know her last name, something she had purposely kept from me I later found out. We didn’t exchange numbers and I had failed to learn where she worked or lived over the course of our night together. I woke up the next day and she was gone.”
“Oh my god. So then how did you two end up together?” She leans forward, placing her elbows on the table.
“I had a private investigator buddy of mine track her down.”
“You didn’t?” Her eyes go wide, and I can tell she’s fighting off a smile.
“Oh, I did.” I laugh at the memory.
“So, what happened?”
“He finally located an address where she lived with her sister, Claire.”
“Claire,” she repeats, seeming to piece together the dots.
“Claire is Finley’s sister,” I confirm. “So anyway, I showed up at their apartment and Claire answered the door. She said Finley was out of town but agreed to give her my number. A few days later she finally text me.”
“Did she say where she’d been? Why she’d left?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I could tell she was keeping something from me, but I was so happy to be talking to her again that I didn’t really push it. It wasn’t until I accompanied my mom to chemotherapy one day that it all came together.”
“Wait, your mom has cancer?” Concern wrinkles her forehead.
“Had. She’s been in remission for nearly three years.”
She flattens her palm against her chest and lets out a slow breath, the situation obviously hitting a little too close to home.
“So Finley was at the hospital?” she prompts me to continue with my story.
“She was coming out of chemo as we were going in. Imagine my shock to see her sitting in that wheelchair. I didn’t even know she was sick.”
“Wait, so she was sick when you guys met?”
“She was, but I didn’t know that at the time. Not that it would have changed how I felt about her. Nothing would have changed how I felt. But I understand her reasoning for not telling me.” I pause, taking a long drink of water. “I found out later that she found out about her brain tumor the day we met. When she left me the next morning, she did so under the impression that she wouldn’t be alive long enough for it to matter. She thought she was sparing me.”
“But she did live.”
“She did.” I nod. “She survived the surgery and was on the mend. That’s when our relationship really took flight. The few weeks that followed were the happiest of my entire life. But then we found out the cancer had spread, and everything changed. We no longer had our whole future ahead of us like we had hoped. Now we were staring at months, possibly weeks, and there wasn’t a thing we could do about it.”
“Did they try chemo again?”
“They said they could, but it wouldn’t cure her. At best it only would’ve bought her a couple of months longer. She opted to live out the remainder of her time on her own terms.”
“I get that.” Peyton sits back, dropping her hands in her lap. “Sometimes it’s better that way. Especially when you know the chemo won’t work. My mom stopped treatments after they were unsuccessful. I was so mad at her at the time. I didn’t understand why she was giving up. Now I realize that she wasn’t giving up. She was accepting that there was nothing she could do and choosing to live for however long she had left.”
“Quality over quantity. That’s how Finley put it. She didn’t want to spend six months so sick she could barely get out of bed if she could have three good ones where she could be herself.”
“When the outcome is the same either way.” Peyton shrugs. “Doesn’t make it any easier for those of us who are on the outside holding onto hope, looking for a miracle.”
“It certainly doesn’t. You know, I don’t think I truly believed that she was dying until those last few days. Even on bad days she was still just Finley. My beautiful wife who always wore a smile and could crack a joke even in the heaviest of situations. I think I had convinced myself that she would eventually get better. Only she never did.”
“I was the same way. I refused to believe that my mom was going to die. Problem with that is I didn’t make peace with it when I should have. I was holding out for that miracle for so long that when I finally realized it wasn’t coming, I was out of time. And then I was just angry. Angry at her. Angry at myself. Angry at the world.”
“Yeah, I know a thing or two about feeling angry.”
“How long were you two married?”
“Not long, though it felt like she’d been my wife forever. We actually eloped in Vegas a couple weeks after she received her terminal diagnosis.”
“I’m so sorry, Abel. I can’t even imagine what that must have been like for you.”
“It’s hard to think about but impossible not to. My best and worst memories are all wrapped up in those few months I got with her. Sometimes, when I open my eyes first thing in the morning, for a brief moment I forget that she’s gone. There’s no pain or loss. No heaviness in my chest. It’s all just... gone.”
“But then it washes over you all at once and you’re forced to relive it over and over again.” She finishes my thought so clearly, it’s as if she can see inside my head.
“Exactly.”
“Oh my god! Aaron!” Henna’s loud cackle pulls our attention to the booth behind us. My gaze slides beyond Peyton right in time to see my brother’s shirt go flying across the room.
“What the fuck,” I mutter, running my hand down my face as I slide out of the booth.
By the time I reach their table, Aaron has his belt off and his pants unbuckled.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I look at him like he’s lost his damn mind, because honestly, I think he has.
“Henna bet me a blow job that I wouldn’t strip right here in this booth.”
“And you thought it would be a good time to prove her wrong?” I glare at him.
“Well, yeah.” He laughs.
“Did you forget that our aunt and uncle own this place?”
“There isn’t anyone here.” He gestures around the empty diner.
“There are two waitresses and the cook, not to mention that more customers could walk in at any moment.”
“You know, for the rebellious sibling you’re kind of a stick in the mud.”
“And for someone who pretends to be so mature, you’re acting like a two-year-old,” I bite back.
“Here.” Peyton appears next to me, Aaron’s shirt dangling from her fingers. “I think that’s our cue to leave,” she tells me, her gaze bouncing between Henna and Aaron. I can’t tell if she’s pissed or amused at their ridiculous behavior.
“Yeah, I think so. Put your shirt back on and let’s go,” I tell Aaron.
“But we’re still eating.” He gestures to his plate that’s practically wiped clean.
“Hate to break it to you, but you’re all out of food.” I point to the dish.
“Fuck.” He groans. “I really wanted another fry.” He laughs when Henna bursts into a fit of giggles across from him.
“You two.” Peyton shakes
her head before leaning down to grab Henna by the wrist. “Up you go.” She tugs.
“You’re so pretty.” Henna grabs Peyton’s face the moment she’s upright.
“And you’re still way too drunk.” Peyton smiles at her friend, and for the first time I really allow myself to see how beautiful she is.
I mean, I’ve known it all along. But right now, I don’t know, it’s like I’m seeing her for the very first time and my god is she breathtaking.
“I love you.” Henna leans in, so close to Peyton a mere inch separates their faces.
“I love you too, but so help me, Henna, if you try to kiss me again, I’m going to let your ass fall,” she warns, wrapping an arm around her friend’s shoulder.
“Wait, what do you mean if she tries to kiss you again?” Aaron perks up, sliding his shirt over his head before pushing his way out of the booth.
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Peyton teases, turning her attention to me. “I left some cash on the table to take care of our checks,” she tells me.
“No, I’ve got it covered.” I shake my head. “You take her out to the car, and I’ll settle up.” I place my keys in her hand.
“I already left money.”
“And I said I’ve got it covered,” I repeat.
“Look at you pretending to be a gentleman.” Aaron punches me in the shoulder and I’m tempted to knock him on his ass.
“Why don’t you shut up and go with them, yeah?” I gesture toward the girls right as Peyton begins to turn, her arm looped around Henna’s waist.
“I like you better when you drink,” he tells me.
“I like you better when you don’t,” I fire back.
“Dick,” he mutters, quickly spinning around and following the girls out of the diner moments later.
I grab Peyton’s money off the booth and replace it with my own, waving at Bernie as I make my way to the door.
By the time I make it outside, Peyton has managed to get everyone in the car and is standing next to the passenger door when I approach.
“Here.” I hand her the money back.
“You know, I’m capable of paying for my own meal.” She stuffs the cash in the front pocket of her jeans.
What Comes After Page 10
