Slow Burn

by K. Bromberg

  I exhale a shaky breath, her words like a vice squeezing my heart and an exorcist relieving the acrid fear tearing apart my soul. She has no clue how dead-on she is, how she is speaking to the parts of me drowning in fear right now—and I love her for it, but I also want to forget about it if I can. Not think about any of this for the day. Shove it away and feel normal again.

  “Shit, I have passion.” The comment is a knee-jerk reflex on my part, my habit of defensive deflection. I realize my mistake the minute it’s out of my mouth, but she continues before I can correct myself.

  “A one-night stand is not passion. It’s a quick fix.”

  I laugh nervously, not liking the magnifying glass turned on me. “Well, see, I’m already showing growth because at least Becks wasn’t just a one-night stand. He was a twofer.”

  She smiles and just shakes her head. “I’m feeling a nostalgic déjà vu but with roles reversed here,” she says, making me laugh sincerely as I think back to a day when we discussed her and Colton’s one-night stand. The one-night stand that I joked was going to be a thirty-night-stand but that never ended after all.

  “God, Ry … I like Becks.” It’s not much but it’s a start.

  “He’s a hard guy not to like, but he’s hardly your type….”

  “No,” I tell her, not sure if she understands what I’m saying, “I like Becks.” I emphasize the word again in a way that causes her eyes to widen and her mouth to form the shape of an O momentarily before a satisfied smirk ghosts her lips.

  And I don’t quite know why I’m telling her this since I’m not going to allow anything further to happen between us. Maybe I’m giving her something since I feel so guilty about neglecting to tell her about the biopsy.

  “Okay …” She draws the word out, prompting me to continue.

  I struggle to put my thoughts into words. “He really is a great guy,” I try to explain. “I mean, my head’s messed-up, and I can’t tell you how many times I’ve cried or yelled at him, and he just … he just stays there so I know he’s there, but not in that ‘he’s a pushover’ kind of way.” Tears well in my eyes, and I hate the blatant tell of what my heart feels. “But right now … it just might be the ‘right person but at the wrong time’ kind of thing.”

  She takes a sip of her wine and then looks at the liquid in the glass before meeting my eyes, her mouth turned down at the edges. “Humans are drawn to each other’s rough edges. Look at Colton and me.” The look in her eyes reinforces the words she speaks.

  “Well, screw the rough. I’m more jagged as of late.” I try to defuse things with humor. Broken shards of slicing glass is more like it. Come too close and you’ll get hurt by association alone.

  “And yet he still called.” She’s relentless now.

  “And I still ran.” I hang my head in shame.

  “Haddie, look at me.” She waits patiently until I lift my eyes to meet hers. “I love you both. You’re both a huge part of my life, so, of course, it would be awesome if something worked out here … but you have to do what’s best for you. I just know that Becks is the type of guy who’s patient enough to help you face your fears if you let him….”

  “Yeah,” I say, but right now she has no clue how close I’m coming to seeing my worst fears realized. She sits patiently, expression impassive as I think, collect myself to keep from blurting everything out, knowing she’s right but not ready to admit it yet. “I just can’t yet. It’s wrong to walk into something knowing your head is not in the right place. That’s just not fair to him.”

  “I kind of think that’s for him to decide,” she says, chewing on the side of her cheek momentarily before she rises from her chair and heads to the pantry. She returns with a bag of Hershey’s Kisses and throws them on the counter in front of me. “Eat some. They help.”

  “That’s the fix for all of this? Eat Kisses?” I laugh, wishing life were just that easy: all things fixable with chocolate.

  “Fix? No, but it helps … and I think I’m going to quote a very dear friend of mine,” she says with a smirk on her face, and I know my own words are headed back at me. “Life begins at the end of your comfort zone, Had. I know you’re scared, but push through it. You just might miss the opportunity to live again.”

  I glare at her momentarily and curse myself for giving her the ammunition to fire that comment back at me. Her grin just grows wider, and I know what will knock that sarcastic smile right off her face.

  Ready.

  Aim.

  Fire.

  “I retook the test yesterday.” And a biopsy. The words are on the tip of my tongue, but I bite them back. I can’t ruin her first day back and posthoneymoon bliss with something that might be a nothing.

  The chocolate she’s just unwrapped drops to the counter as her eyes widen and her mouth falls lax.

  “You did?” Her eyes meet mine, and I can tell that with my admission she realizes just how much Becks has the potential to mean to me.

  “I did.” My voice is barely a whisper. She’s on her feet in a beat and has her arms wrapped around me, squeezing me tight, no words needed. We stand like this for a few seconds.

  “Well, hell, if you guys are going to finally get into the girl-on-girl thing, I get first dibs on watching, being the husband and all.” The voice at the doorway behind my back has both Rylee and me laughing through the emotion clogging our throats.

  “Nah,” Rylee says as she releases me, a smirk on her face and love in her eyes as she looks at her husband. “I’ve kinda got a thing for baseball players. They’ve got big, hard sticks,” she teases, eliciting a deep laugh from him over some inside joke I obviously don’t get.

  “Oh really? We’re back to that now? Just remember it’s not the size of the stick, sweetheart, but how you use it.” His smile grows wider as he saunters into the kitchen, the epitome of how arrogance can be sexy, and he owns her attention even before he kisses her softly on the lips.

  “Size matters, Donavan,” I tell him, earning a scoff and a raise of his eyebrows in argument. “If it didn’t, they’d be selling four-inch dildos, now, wouldn’t they?”

  He throws his head back in laughter as he closes the distance and kisses me on the top of my head. “Point made. Good to see you, Had.”

  I look up at the devastatingly handsome husband of my best friend—the ever true bad boy who’s been claimed and is completely smitten with her. His board shorts ride low on his tanned, toned torso, but it’s the way he’s looking at his wife that is the most attractive thing about him. “Hey, Colton. Marriage looks good on you.”

  He smirks, his lone dimple flashing and his eyes sparkling with mirth. “My wife on me would look better, but I’ve gotta take what I can get, right?”

  The laughter comes easier this time, the emotional burden of the moment lightened by this man, who’s such a mixture of contradictions and turned out to be so much more than what I ever expected him to be for Rylee. And it was exactly what she needed.

  “Should I leave?” I ask, feigning like I’m going to get up from my chair as Colton skirts around the island and grabs a beer from the refrigerator. “I know you newlyweds need your privacy and all.”

  A blind man couldn’t miss the quick look between them, which has Rylee’s cheeks flushing and my mind whirling about what they got up to somewhere without privacy on their honeymoon. And my heart swells with love for the two of them. After everything they went through, they deserve all of the happiness in the world.

  The distinct sound of Colton popping off the top of his bottle interrupts the momentary awkwardness of the moment, and he flashes me another of his megawatt smiles. “I’m sure you’ll get the blow-by-blow, pun intended,” he teases, “when I leave.” He laughs as he grabs a carrot from the cutting board and just shakes his head as he walks toward the patio door.

  I glance over at Rylee with my eyebrows raised, silently telling her I want details when she just blushes and tries to deflect my thinking.

  “What time are the guys gettin
g here?” she calls to Colton.

  He glances over to the clock on the wall. “Like, thirty minutes. Throw a couple extra in there just in case, okay?”

  “Sure. I’ll have the burgers ready by then.”

  “No worries. Thanks, hon,” he says, starting to walk away as we both stare in admiration of his absolute male perfection.

  The question is on my lips when I look over at Rylee, but she answers it before I can get it out. “Nope,” she smirks, “it never gets old looking at him.” We both laugh for a moment before the solemn silence falls over us once again. I know Ry’s not going to let this go easily.

  And all of a sudden, the idea strikes me that this is all a setup. That Rylee and Colton have arranged this barbecue to fix this once and for all, even though she told me Becks had other obligations today. I start to panic momentarily about being forced to see him when I realize that it can’t be a setup because she didn’t know about Becks until a few moments ago.

  Well, unless Becks said something to Colton. I stare at her and decide, Fuck it. “Is this all a setup?”

  “What?” Rylee’s head whips up, confusion on her face until it dawns on her what I’m asking. Then she starts laughing out loud. “You’re really that paranoid about seeing him that you think I’m planning a fake barbecue to set the two of you up when I didn’t even know there was a two of you? Um, he is getting to you, isn’t he?”

  Crap. Did I really just give her an in to delve further? For fuck’s sake. I sigh and glance outside to where I hear Colton whistling to Baxter, his dog, while I wait for her to continue.

  “So, what now, Haddie? What’s your plan? You like him, rage on him, but sneak out after sex? I mean, I don’t know why the hell he’s calling you because most guys would tell you to take a long walk off a short pier”—she keeps her head down, focused on the cutting board so that I can stick my tongue out at her and roll my eyes—“and your silence speaks for itself.”

  “It’s not fair to get involved with someone when tomorrow could change everything.” My thoughts flash to Danny and Maddie, then to my own unanswered biopsy results, and I just can’t fathom doing that to someone else.

  “Don’t you think that’s his decision to make? Why do you get to hold all the cards?” She finally looks up and raises her eyebrows at me.

  I think of how I’d never been around someone dying before my sister. How I would’ve never expected there to be so much pressure on Lex to try to soothe the aftermath before the inevitable happened. And I think of how I hope for her sake she had no clue how devastated we all were when she was gone. How heartbroken we still are. My tumbling thoughts reinforce my resolve.

  “I hold the cards because it’s on me, Ry. How selfish does that make me to let us have a chance at more? Love me, and oh, by the way, I’m so fucked in the head right now it took me three months to take the test that’s going to tell me whether or not I’m gonna get breast cancer and die in the next five years?” I stand up abruptly and walk toward the window, my restless thoughts affecting my nerves. I know she thinks I’m being melodramatic. Hell, I know I’m being over-the-top, but my undecided fate is feeding my angst. I focus on the beach for a moment, the crash of the waves a calming sight before I finish my thoughts aloud. “I mean, that’s just bullshit on my part. Selfish.”

  I hear the clatter of the knife on the granite behind me and then the thump of the towel as she throws it down. “Cut the crap, Montgomery. If I hear you say that you’re going to die again, I’m going to strangle you and make it happen myself.” I remain looking at the view and ignore her. “I’ve stood by for six months, watching you grieve, but you know what? I’m not going to stand by for another six months while you piss away a chance at living because you’re so focused on the off chance of dying. You’re being ridiculous.”

  “Ridiculous?” I’m so primed right now for a fight. After talking to Rylee, all of the guilt I’ve felt over ditching Becks without so much as a good-bye or a thank-you has been exacerbated by hearing her agree with my conscience, which I’ve been shoving down and ignoring. I turn around to face her.

  “Yeah, Haddie, ridiculous, stupid, stubborn—you pick the adjective. You took the test, you’ll get the results, and they’ll be negative.”

  “And if they’re not?” My voice sounds so shaky compared to the implacability in her tone because the results she’s talking about and the ones I’m referring to are two different ones.

  “If they’re not, then we deal with it! Lexi lost the fight, but hell, Haddie, you’re just being disrespectful if you ignore the thousands of others who didn’t. You could step off the curb tomorrow and get hit by a Mack Truck. Should that stop you from living today?”

  “It’s not quite the same thing.” I refute her just because I don’t want to agree with her logic. Yeah, I know it makes me a bitch, but I hate how everything inside me right now feels like a washing machine on the spin cycle. I’m just worried that when the spinning stops, there won’t be much left of anything to make sense of.

  “Isn’t it, though?” She just continues to stare me down, our eyes locked, her need to nurture and comfort in full force until I avert my gaze back to the patio, where Baxter is thumping his tail.

  “I can’t ask someone to stand by me if I know in the long run the pain it will bring them.” My voice is barely a whisper as I say the one thing I haven’t ever spoken aloud. “I mean, mastectomies and chemo and … it’s just a horrible process….” The words choke in my throat as she places her arms around my shoulders and hugs me from behind.

  Her touch makes me want to break down and confess it all. Use her strength to be the foundation for mine, but I can’t worry her unnecessarily when there is nothing to worry about yet except for my own voices in my head being pessimistic.

  “I know it is. You took the test. That’s a big step for you. We’ll wait to see what the results say and go from there. In the meantime, you have to figure out what to do or say to Becks because he doesn’t deserve to be left hanging. If you like him and he likes you, I don’t see what the problem is.”

  “I know … but I just can’t commit to anything right now, and while using him for sex again is an incredibly appealing option, that’s not fair to him either.”

  “Not fair to him or not fair to you?” she asks over her shoulder as she releases me and heads back to the island. “Huh?”

  “Well, it seems to me the problem is about being fair to you. You like him and you are afraid to feel more. Becks is persistent, Had…. How are you going to keep him at bay until you figure your shit out?”

  I know she’s right, know all of her points are more than valid but don’t really want to admit that to her because then she’ll start in on how I should just let things play out when I can’t break promises I’ve made to myself.

  I’m so sick of thinking about everything. How did this easy conversation get so heavy when all I want to do is relax with my friend and not think?

  “Fuck a duck.” I sigh, slinking down into my chair and lifting my face up to stare at the ceiling for a moment of clarity that doesn’t seem to want to come to me.

  “Speaking of fucking …” She draws out the last word, my head snapping up as she folds her arms across her chest and leans her hips back against the counter with a knowing smile. “We need to address that department.”

  The combination of wine and Rylee randomly switching topics has jostled my thoughts as I try to keep up with her thought process. When my mind finally catches up, my mouth falls lax momentarily and then spreads into a cat-ate-the-canary grin, a little shocked at the role reversal between us still and a whole lot relieved at the levity that I so desperately need.

  “So … how is he?” She flashes her eyebrows up, and her eyes dance with suggestion.

  Incredible. Incomparable.

  They are the first words to flicker through my mind when I understand what she’s asking but I’m able to stop the reflex reaction before the words slip off of my tongue. Thoughts and memories f
licker through my mind at a rapid pace, my core reacting with that sweet ache between my thighs.

  I close my eyes for a second to reminisce and feel the soft glow of wine and good friendship, the buzz easing my momentary emotional discord so that I can do what I always do best. Something I’ve been missing about myself. My ability to have a little fun and give Rylee a good run for her money.

  “Well,” I begin, fighting my own libidinous smirk, “he’s definitely triple-A material.”

  “Oh really?”

  “Mm-hmm,” I hum appreciatively, “anyplace, anytime, anywhere. Hell, life’s all about the amount of laughs and orgasms you can have, and damn if that man didn’t up the ante.” The grin feels good as it spreads on my lips.

  Rylee throws her head back and laughs before shaking it at me. “There’s my girl! You’re lucky I didn’t ask you if he fucks like he drives,” she says, repeating the question I asked her after she slept with Colton for the first time. Her smile is smug as she lifts her glass to finish off her wine.

  “Ha. I believe your husband is the one who drives.” I relax for the first time since we started this conversation, knowing that it wasn’t just Rylee’s curiosity that made her change the subject. She’s made her points; she isn’t going to push them any harder now that she knows I actually heard them. Now she’s leaving it up to me to mull them over and figure out what to do with Becks in the meantime.

  And the answer is nothing until I get results. I know I’m stubborn, but I just can’t bring myself to cross the imaginary line I’ve drawn in the sand.