Back to You

by Claudia Burgoa

  “Is he friendly?” We both ask at the same time staring at each other’s dogs.

  “Obviously. You’re sitting on his porch and he’s not attacking you. He swears you’re here to visit him,” I answer first, holding back a chuckle.

  Chester is the most laidback dog. He only protects me from the nightmares. When he’s faced with a stranger, he begs for affection, as if I don’t love him enough.

  “Oakley does well with other dogs, but you’ll have to rub her belly if you want to be friends with her.” Wes squats, looking Chester in the eye and offering his hand in a loose fist.

  Chester smells him, then licks him, and Wes scratches him under his chin. “Good boy,” he praises him and reaches for a treat.

  Oh boy, if Wes doesn’t watch out, Chester is going to play him like a violin. My dog is loving but needy.

  I look at Oakley, his dog, who has the most beautiful green eyes I’ve ever seen. Her gaze moves from Wes to Chester and me. I can’t tell if she’s amused or ready to attack anyone who gets too close to her.

  “Why are you here, and so early?”

  “We went out for a run. On our way back I decided to pay you a visit before heading home.” He stands up, giving a treat to his dog. “Stay.”

  “Where’s home?” I ask curiously because it sounds like he’s taking a long trip.

  “It all depends on where I have to be. I travel between San Jose, Tahoe, and Denver.” He grins. “Mostly, in Tahoe.”

  I chuckle. How ironic. He lives where I suggested we move. I envy him for just a bit because I miss Tahoe. The house there is my favorite place in the entire world.

  “Well, I hope you guys have a safe trip. I need to get ready to start my day,” I announce walking toward the door.

  “We could share breakfast; I’ll cook while you get ready.”

  I close my eyes for a couple of beats, praying for strength. “Wes, I really can’t afford to entertain you.”

  “You know what they say about missed opportunities,” he says.

  “Who are they and what are you talking about?”

  “Missed opportunities are what break your heart the most.”

  “What am I missing here?” I turn around and cross my arms.

  “You’re missing the opportunity to spend the next six hours with me.”

  “Aren’t you cocky?” I glare at him.

  “No, I’m leaving in six hours. It’ll break my heart if I miss the chance to hang out with you,” he explains.

  “I have a lot to do: like receiving a few new pieces at the gallery, opening up for the cleaning crew, organizing the deliveries from last night’s sales. I have an appointment in Evergreen. Honestly, you’ll just be taking up my precious time.”

  Instead of listening to his comeback, I walk toward the door, but Oakley is blocking the stairs.

  “Hey, sweetheart, can you move, please?”

  “Stay,” Wes orders. “Sorry, she only obeys me.”

  I glare at him then at her. She stares at me but doesn’t move. She should teach a thing or two to Chester who can only follow three commands: eat, walk, and stop.

  “Did she train with the Queen’s guards?” I joke, walking around her.

  “Oak, get the door,” Wes commands.

  She moves right in front of the door.

  “She’s not going to move until you acknowledge her and give her a good belly rub. Oak, down,” Wes orders.

  Oakley does as he says and gives me a puppy pout that shatters my heart. She’s just like her owner, trying to steal my heart.

  “You’re not going to leave her hanging, are you?”

  “This is beneath you, Ahern, using a puppy.” I bend over and scratch her ears and rub her belly. Then look back over at Wes whose midnight blue eyes stare at me intensely.

  It annoys me that I can’t read his mind. I used to be able to know what he was thinking and feeling and now … I sigh as nostalgia fills the air around us. He said there was a pull, but there’s just a big wall between us.

  “How often do you use this trick?”

  “She’s pretty obedient if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “No, use her to help you score.”

  “Ah, this is a first. I doubt she’d do it with anyone but you. Oakley knows you pretty well. We talk about you all the time.”

  Chester glares at me because I’m petting Oakley, but since Wes is giving him treats, he chooses not to act jealous.

  “Breakfast,” Wes suggests, well aware that he’s cracked my armor and now he’s trying to climb into my heart.

  “Then you’ll be gone?” I weigh my options. Having him here seems like a good idea and yet, also the worst idea ever.

  “Because you have things to do and I have to head back home.”

  “What is it that you do in Tahoe?”

  “I run a Bed and Breakfast,” he says casually.

  “What?” I frown.

  He laughs shaking his head. “Kidding. You should’ve seen your face. It’s a long story, but to shorten it—there was good acreage on sale—and I decided to buy it. I’m building a resort.”

  “What happened to you that was so bad Sterling had to step in?” I’m dying to know what happened to him. Is it this resort?

  Wes narrows his gaze, smirking at me. I hold my breath, trying to fight my reaction to that charming, handsome face of his.

  “I was in a bad place, so Sterling fired me, and he hired people to take care of Ahern Inc. Once I was back on my feet, I started my own software company and started doing what I like. I travel around, checking in on each site to make sure the companies work properly.”

  It all makes sense except for the resort. I can’t imagine him managing one, but it sounds like fun. “That’s a lot of spoons to handle. Are you following your dreams?”

  “Mostly,” he answers a little lost in thought.

  “Well, if you ever need an activities coordinator, I have some experience,” I offer remembering the summer I worked in Tahoe.

  It was special. He’d come every weekend to be with me. If only we could go back to that summer. Not that I regret my current life. I prefer to be myself and not hide from everyone, including Wes.

  “You’ll be at the top of my list when we start hiring. Sterling might not like it since you have the gallery and all that.”

  The mention of his brother reminds me of last night’s text.

  “Why did Sterling say I’m like scotch or whiskey to you?”

  “He said that?” he snorts. “That’s a conversation for later.”

  “This might be the only one we have, Weston,” I say heading toward the stairs.

  As an afterthought, I turn to check on Chester who’s in the mudroom, drinking water. Right next to him is Oakley. I guess taking him to the dog park for some social classes paid off.

  “You can let the dogs out in the backyard. It’s big and fenced.” I point toward the hallway. “The kitchen is down the hall, and you’ll catch on to the set-up right away.”

  “How are your drawers, Lyons?” He smirks and winks. I feel like I’m melting and it’s not the heat.

  “Still the same, Ahern. Some things never change.”

  Fifteen

  Wes

  Abby’s house is kitschy and quaint. The windows aren’t the huge ones that are so fashionable now, but more the size I see in old country cottages, and like them, they’re mullioned. The place has an old-world charm to it. Last night I didn’t notice the path that starts from the sidewalk. It’s made out of stamped concrete which gives a little character to the house and differentiates it from the others on the block.

  Once I cross the threshold, I’m impressed with both the technology and modern design. A smart doorbell and security cameras are among other electronics that I want to check out and play with. The place is tidy with dark hardwood floors and furniture in modern Scandinavian designs. Most likely self-assembled and all in pragmatically dark colors. The couches are dark chocolate: a spill-hiding color, child,
and animal proof leather with scattered cushions all around. I walk to the neatly organized bookshelves where Abby has more books than I can count and rivaled only by framed pictures. The only compromise is the carpet on the floor, so clean it’s hard to believe anyone ever stepped foot on it.

  I glide down the dark hardwood floors like a slinking panther discovering its new surroundings. The dogs walk right behind me. Chester stops by a glass door. His tail wags, his tongue hangs, and he smiles widely at me. I unlock the door and slide it open. He doesn’t wait for me to signal that he’s free to go outside. He just walks out without a backward glance.

  “Go out, girl,” I tell Oakley who gives me an impassive look.

  She’s not sure what’s going on or if she wants to be outside, but she’s so loyal that she never disobeys my commands. I follow her with my gaze and study the large outdoor space. Ivy cascades over the brick walls, sprouting tendrils in every direction. There’s a circular lawn with a path around it and a central bed of shrubs. On the perimeter of the lawn are four rose bush beds to fill up the square area.

  The patio has an eclectic beauty, much so like the rest of the garden. The stones make a mosaic of sorts. There’s an artistry to it too, a fluidity I appreciate. It’s peaceful, and the hammock hanging from the old trees invites me to stick around and enjoy a summer afternoon with a glass of iced tea and a good book.

  At the border, there’s a caged area covered in vines and red fruits with a few wildflowers growing around it. Birds play in the trees while butterflies visit the blooms. It’s like a temple where only goodness, happiness, and sunshine are allowed. I close the door, feeling like an intruder who wasn’t invited into paradise—at least not yet.

  Making my way toward the kitchen, I’m impressed by its sleek, professionally designed granite counters and stainless-steel appliances. It’s spotless, scrubbed, and well equipped with shining copper pots hanging from the ceiling. There’s a modern coffee maker on the table. Next, to it, a stand with matching cups. It’s uncluttered. A set of clean folded tea towels sit on top of the kitchen island.

  The double-doored refrigerator is a few sizes bigger than the average appliance. Its hum is pretty faint. Dried flowers sit in a couple of ceramic vases. Everything looks homey; nothing is superfluous. It’s uncluttered, and it feels like Abby.

  I march toward the pantry which is well stocked, labeled, and alphabetized. The pots and pans are in drawers. Surprisingly all of them are in order, and the surface is covered with paper towels. I get bacon, eggs, and butter out of the fridge. Maple syrup and a gluten-free mix for pancakes. The bowls are under the sink, and when I open the drawers, I let out a chuckle. They are a fucking mess.

  In one of them though, I find office supplies including a notepad with my name at the top of the first page. I hold my breath, because it looks so much like one of the letters that Abby used to write to me. Without thinking twice, I start reading the first page.

  — — —

  Wes,

  It’s been a few months since we stopped writing to each other. This, like all the other letters since, is just for me. But I wish I could send it to you, just like the last kiss I wish I could have given you before we parted ways. That Monday evening when you came into my office and said you were leaving, I was relieved. If I knew it was the last time I’d see you, I’d have said something different.

  I love you.

  Or at least I would have kissed you one last time.

  Now that it’s all over, I hope you remember me curled up against your body at night, listening to the sound of your heartbeat and counting along with you. Or remember me laughing at every silly joke you ever made because when I laughed, your face brightened. Or remember me scared but trusting that you would make everything better because you were right by my side.

  Or remember the times I was happy because they were real. You made me so happy. Don’t forget my flaws, because even when they drove you insane, they’re a part of who I was, who I am. Please, remember our first kiss and the first time I came undone at your hands. I gave you a little piece of myself, and it will forever belong to you.

  Stay true to your dreams and your future. That’s what I’m holding onto right now. Remembering the beginning, our first meeting, and every trip we took thereafter because those were the best moments of my life. Just don’t remember the ending. It’s scary and painful. Every night I rub oils on the scars hoping that they’ll fade.

  But those oils I apply every night will never fade the scars I carry in my heart. It scares me that no one will ever accept me the way I am—that you never did either. Nightly, I pray that I’ll find someone who’ll love me—scars, nightmares, and all of it. I pray that you find someone too. Be happy, you deserve it.

  Love,

  Abby

  — — —

  My heart beats fast as I read the letter, and I wish I had time to read the others. I’m curious to find out when she stopped writing or if she still writes to me. I continue doing it, almost nightly. Mostly when I’m missing her. They’re just for me. I don’t plan on sending any of them. I’ve saved all of them throughout the years. Most of the old ones don’t even make sense, and my handwriting is shitty

  Doubt cripples me as I realize what I just did by reading something she safeguarded.

  Was it wrong to read it even though it was addressed to me?

  I wouldn’t mind if she read what I wrote. It would be hard for her to understand them; God knows I can barely make sense out of them. Without overthinking it, I set the pad back in the drawer and start cooking. I hurry to prepare some eggs and pour orange juice while I make another pot of coffee.

  “Everything alright?”

  “I started drinking a lot after what happened to you,” I confess without any prompting. “After you went to rehab, I never had a sober day if I could help it. I did everything drunk. Except for driving. Aaron, my driver, was there all the time. I never had less than two full bottles of scotch. I never described myself as an alcoholic. I swore I could quit anytime if I wanted to.”

  Those were dark times. I went days without knowing how I’d arrived at my office or gotten home and sat days on my couch drinking bottles of scotch.

  “It’s easier to numb the memories,” I continue. “I have a hard time remembering what happened back then. The alcohol shut down the voices and alleviated the pain. It was easier than confronting what I was going through.”

  This confession is harder than I thought it’d be, but precisely what I’ve been needing. “It might not seem like it affected me, but fuck if it didn’t hurt to learn what they’d done to you and I couldn’t do anything to save you. You’re precious to me, and the thought of anyone hurting you drove me crazy. Then, under my own nose, Shaun took you and hurt you, again. You weren’t here to …”

  “Fix?” she prompts as I trail my gaze.

  “Yeah, I needed to put you back together because if not, I’d have to admit that I was falling apart. Most days I pretended that I was fine. People either believed me or decided to ignore me.”

  I chuckle. “It’s when you’re crumbling to your very core that you see people for who they really are. The only person who gave a shit was my little brother. Sterling kicked me out of my own company. I was a fucking mess. We don’t discuss you because he thinks I might fall off the wagon. It took me a long time to get my shit together and even longer to get over you.”

  “Wes,” she mumbles, her eyes connecting with mine.

  “I missed you every night,” I continue before I lose the courage. “Some days though, I couldn’t sleep for thinking about you while others I woke up because of a nightmare. I tossed and turned in bed, picking up the phone and dialing your number just to listen to your voicemail. I prayed that you were doing alright. That there was someone by your side consoling you while you were having nightmares.

  “The regret and guilt ate me alive for a long time. I wished I hadn’t let you go so easily. I held onto you for a long time. Sometimes I wondered if
getting in touch would be wise while others I just hoped you had found someone.”

  My heart stutters as I confess what I lived through while we were apart. There’s this falling-spiraling-down-losing-control feeling flowing through my veins. I don’t let it stop me though.

  “I missed you with every fiber of my being. There’s a part of my heart that’s incomplete. You have it. I pretended we were together for such a long time until I moved on because we both deserve so much more than being stuck in the past.”

  Taking a full sip of air to fill my lungs, I finish. “I stopped chasing the past, and your ghost.”

  “Okay.” She says when I pause.

  “Now that I found you, I don’t want to lose you.” I pray that she doesn’t misunderstand the purpose of this long speech. “In fact, I’m hoping that we can go forward, together.”

  “Forward?”

  “I want to get to know the person you became. I don’t care about your hands, if you have nightmares, or if you need to count to a billion to take your next breath. Because I’ll happily count with you every single night if you’re by my side.”

  “There’s a lot more to it than that, Wes.” Her voice is flat, monotone. Her chin trembles. “You just told me that you don’t live here. You have a life; you’ve found your passion. My journey just started. We’re definitely not the same people anymore, and we’re in different dimensions.”

  A wave of pain suffuses my senses, but I shake it off and take a good look at my Abby. She’s trembling, holding her breath, waiting. I bet she wants me to give up. It’s going to take a long time to show her that I didn’t give up on her, but I wasn’t strong enough to be her rock. She may have changed, but her soul remains the same. The essence of the Abby I fell in love with remains intact. Although, I can’t wait to discover her new dreams.

  “Well, tell me everything. That’s what I’m here for,” I request eagerly. “I can’t wait to get to know you because as I once said: we belong together.”

  She offers a fake smile while shaking her head. As if saying, poor man, he couldn’t be more wrong. Abby unbuttons her shirt to open it, as I stare into her beautiful brown eyes. I see her soul shuddering. I want to grab her and cocoon her in my arms until she calms down.