Beautiful Sacrifice

by Jamie McGuire

  Just as I began to relax, someone pounded on the door. I jumped up and yanked the door open.

  Gunnar stood in the hall, his face red and blotchy, his eyes glistening in the dim light.

  My mouth fell open. "Whoa. Are you all right? Where's Kirby? How did you get in?"

  "Kirby showed me where they keep the spare key. She won't talk to me, Falyn. I really messed up this time."

  "What?"

  I watched him as he passed by me and sat in the chair. He put his head in his hands, resting his elbows on his knees.

  I closed the door behind me. "What happened?"

  He shook his head. "She thinks I'm cheating on her. I tried to explain, but she won't listen to me."

  I walked across the room, my arms crossed over my middle.

  He looked up at me, desperate. "Will you talk to her for me?"

  "Sure--as soon as you tell me what's going on."

  His eyes fell to the floor. "I lied to her."

  "About what?"

  "Why I'm always late. It's not because of traffic. I'm only taking ten hours, and I've been working evenings at the school for extra cash."

  I shrugged, eyeing him. "Why didn't you just tell her?"

  "She wouldn't like it."

  "What's the job?"

  "It's cash under the table. I'm helping a guy with maintenance on a building just off-campus--trash, lawn, paint, fixing things."

  "Okay. Why did you keep that from Kirby?"

  He swallowed. "Because it's for the Delta Gamma sorority house."

  Unable to keep the laughter from barreling out of my mouth, I pinched my lips together with my fingers.

  "I've dug a deep hole here, Falyn. I need your help."

  "How am I going to help you? And since when does the UCCS sororities have houses?"

  "It's in Boulder," he said, looking exhausted.

  "You're driving an hour and a half to Boulder every day for work? Why?"

  "Because it's half an hour from Denver, and I wanted to get a closer job for when we move. The opportunity came up, and I took it."

  I chuckled. "I bet you did."

  Kirby and I were close, but nothing I said would make her ignore the facts.

  "It's not funny, Falyn. It's good money, but she's not going to believe me. Please tell her. You know I love her. You know I wouldn't cheat on her. She knows it, too. She's just mad."

  "She also knows you lied."

  His shoulders sagged. "She's going to dump me over something stupid." He looked up at me with the most pitiful expression. "Please?"

  "I'll talk to her, but I'm not going to promise you anything."

  Gunnar nodded and stood before trudging to the door. He twisted the knob, opening the door just a few inches, before he turned to me. "I would never cheat on her, Falyn. She's the only girl I've ever loved."

  "Now that, I believe."

  He opened the door the rest of the way, revealing a wet-faced Kirby standing in the hall, holding a bottle of wine.

  Gunnar's breath caught.

  Kirby's bottom lip quivered.

  "I just ... I didn't know what else to do," he said.

  Kirby threw her arms around him, still holding the bottle. Gunnar lifted her off the floor to keep from bending so far down. He tightly held her, and she buried her face into the crook of his neck.

  "You're so dumb!"

  "I know," he said.

  She leaned back to look him in the eyes and sniffed. "Don't ever lie to me again."

  He shook his head. "I won't. This scared me straight."

  She kissed his lips, holding the bottle out to me. "I brought this to share."

  I grabbed it from her. "You're not old enough to drink."

  "I was upset. I snuck it from my mom's cabinet."

  She looked at Gunnar, and they practically mauled each other again.

  "Take it somewhere else." I pushed Gunnar far enough into the hall, so I could shut the door.

  I leaned against the side of the refrigerator and chuckled, looking down at the wine bottle in my hand. Even when they were annoying and dramatic, they were cute.

  "Well," I said to no one, "at least I'll sleep well tonight." I was alone. It was safe to enjoy a glass or two.

  I screwed off the lid and poured the white moscato into a glass, bringing the bottle with me to bed. It tasted exactly like a twelve-dollar bottle of wine should, too warm and too sweet, but it would do.

  I finished off the glass within five minutes and poured another, filling it to the top this time.

  Ten minutes later, that was gone, too, and I was pouring another.

  So much for only two glasses.

  I plugged the phone into the wall and set it on my nightstand, and then I stripped down to nothing before crawling into bed. One of the many good points about living alone was sleeping naked without a second thought.

  The sheets brushed against my skin as I spread out beneath them and relaxed onto my down pillow.

  The phone buzzed on the surface of the nightstand, and I found myself scrambling to pick it up, giggling.

  Can't sleep. Wishing I were still in the Springs.

  I fought the urge to hold the phone to my chest. Watching Gunnar and Kirby's lovers' spat, followed by three glasses of wine in less than twenty minutes, made me feel oddly sentimental.

  I can't either. Gunnar just left.

  And Kirby?

  Yes. They had a fight.

  Young love.

  I guess.

  Don't be such a hard-ass. It happens.

  To whom?

  My brother Travis. He fell pretty hard last year. Now he's married before he's legal to drink.

  How old is he?

  Twenty.

  So he was married at nineteen? Weird.

  Not really. They're good together.

  Oh, so you approve?

  If they love each other, sure.

  How do you know you love someone at nineteen?

  You'll meet them next week. You'll see.

  It's a date.

  ;)

  I put away the phone and finished off my glass, feeling everything slowing down. Even my eyes were blinking slower. I stretched out my legs, letting the sheets glide over the tender parts of my skin. I glanced at the phone, grinned, and reached over. I tapped it a few times and held it away from me, waiting until a long tone filled the room.

  "You're still up?" Taylor asked, his voice sounding tired but not sleepy.

  "This phone buzzes every time you text me, and I'm lying here, naked, in bed," I said, hearing my words slur. "I have this urge to put it between my legs and hope you text me again." I knew how completely inappropriate I sounded, but I didn't give a single fuck.

  For a full ten seconds ... there was silence.

  "You don't think it'll work?" I asked, impatient for a response.

  "Are you drunk?"

  I pressed my lips together, attempting but failing to stifle a laugh. "Kirby might have brought a bottle of wine."

  "I thought you didn't drink."

  "I don't, but I'm alone, so why not?"

  "Oh, so you don't drink in public."

  "Or in private--if anyone is around."

  "I'm conflicted," he said matter-of-factly. "It's tempting to let this play out. Then again, I know you'll hate yourself--and quite possibly me--tomorrow."

  "I miss you already," I said, the smile vanishing from my face. "I tried not to like you."

  "I knew it," he said, amused. He sighed. "I was a goner on day one. You're fucking mean, and it makes me absolutely crazy. But in a good way."

  "I'm mean?" I asked, feeling tears burning my eyes.

  "Yes, but ... shit. You're a sad drunk, aren't you? You shouldn't drink alone."

  "I'm missing it, all of it," I said softly, touching my fingers to my mouth.

  "Missing what?" he asked. "You know, my dad was messed up for a lot of years. He's made up for it. Sometimes, you have to forgive your parents. They don't have it figured out all the time either."


  I shook my head, unable to answer.

  "Falyn, go to sleep, babe. It's only going to get worse."

  "How do you know?"

  "My dad was a sad drunk, too."

  I nodded even though he couldn't see me.

  "Keep the phone to your ear. Lie down, and close your eyes. I'll stay with you until you fall asleep."

  "Okay," I said, obeying.

  He didn't speak again, but I could hear him breathing. I struggled to hang on to consciousness, if only to know how long he would stay, but it didn't take long for the heavy fuzzy feeling to pull me beneath the surface.

  A terrible hangover, Don's funeral, and the countdown to Eakins made the week one of the worst I'd had in a while. Taylor's intermittent texts were always a welcome highlight and helped me pass the time until the night before our flight, but the time in between was agony. He hadn't even mentioned my totally inappropriate late-night conversation, which I appreciated.

  The night before our flight to Chicago, I found myself full of nervous energy. Taylor would be picking me up at five thirty a.m. to take me to the airport for our eight o'clock flight.

  For the first time in five years, I wished my closet had more of a variety of clothes to choose from. I folded my favorite jeans and set them atop the rest of my things. As a freshman in college, even a weekend trip had called for at least a large rolling suitcase and a carry-on. Now, my things barely filled the rolling carry-on duffel I'd borrowed from Chuck.

  Standing over the packed bag, I wrung my hands together, wondering how on earth I was going to fall asleep. It was already eleven o'clock. If I didn't go to sleep right then, I might as well just stay up.

  I frowned. Exhaustion did not fit into my fantasy of how the weekend would go.

  Someone knocked on the door, and I jumped.

  "It's me," a deep voice said from the hall.

  I rushed to the door and jerked it open.

  Taylor was standing there with a wide grin on his face and a full backpack hanging from his shoulders. "I just figured I'd crash here. Is that all right?"

  I threw my arms around him. Time reversed to the last moment we had been together, almost directly below where we now stood. Standing on my tiptoes and squeezing him a bit too tightly made everything a thousand times better. It was as if the last wretched week hadn't happened.

  When we parted, he scanned me from head to toe. "I didn't anticipate you wearing that."

  I looked down at the thin white tank top I was wearing, barely long enough to cover my navy panties. I tugged it down. "I was just getting ready to go to bed."

  "Awesome. I'm bushed," he said, tossing his backpack to the floor. He closed the door behind him.

  "I can't believe you're doing this for me. You don't know what this means."

  "You've said that a lot this week, but you've yet to tell me why," he said, slipping his arms out from his jacket. He took off his ball cap and tossed it onto the counter.

  "I'm working it out in my head. I'm not really sure how I'm going to pull it off."

  "I'm not going to ask, but I have no idea how to prepare."

  "You don't have to."

  He cocked his head. "Whatever it is, Falyn, I want to be with you."

  "You will be."

  "If you say so," he said, sounding frustrated.

  I couldn't blame him for being unhappy. He was doing me a huge favor while being left in the dark about what exactly it was. I hadn't said it out loud for more than five years, and being this close, I was afraid that if I did, I would jinx it.

  We both looked around, a sudden awkwardness invading the room.

  "Do you ... want some sheets for the couch?" I asked.

  "I have a choice? Then you take the couch."

  I smacked him on the arm and then shifted nervously. "It's got that, um"--I pointed, my finger making small circles--"that broken bar thing. It's a bitch to sleep on."

  He raised an eyebrow, three lines deepening across his forehead. "I remember. So, I guess this means we're having a slumber party." He began walking toward my bedroom.

  "Taylor?"

  "Seriously, Ivy League, just tell me where to go. I'm fucking tired, and we've got a long day tomorrow."

  I held out my hands and then let them fall back to my thighs. "Okay then. The bed. But that's not an invitation for anything else."

  Passing him, I switched off the light and pulled back the covers. I crawled into bed, watching his bulky frame fill the doorway. He eyed me as I settled against the mattress, and then he crossed the room, standing next to the bed while he kicked off his Nikes and pulled his T-shirt over his head. His muscles stretched and strained while he unbuckled his brown leather belt and unbuttoned his jeans, and then he pushed them down over his backside and thighs, letting them drop to the floor.

  As hard as I tried to seem unimpressed, Taylor was fully aware of the masterpiece that was his body. After all, he was the one who would spend hours in the gym each week to perfect it. Regardless, I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of staring. My facial expressions, my breathing, and my every movement were all at the forefront of my mind. I was wary of the rising level of lust I felt for the mostly naked man in front of me.

  The tattoos on his arms extended over the hard slopes of his pec muscles, displaying thick black tribal art, flames, and a skull, all amazingly detailed with beautiful shading.

  Not that I was looking.

  Stop staring, Falyn.

  Down to his gray boxer briefs, Taylor crawled into bed next to me. I turned away from him, feeling my cheeks heat to a bright pink. Without apology, he wrapped me in his arms and pulled me closer to him, my back warming instantly against his skin.

  "I wish I could have gone with you to Don's funeral. I know it sucked."

  "It was awful," I whispered. "I haven't cried that hard in a long time. I can't imagine how his family must have felt."

  "You were family, too. You were the highlight of his day. You seem to be that for a lot of people."

  "I'm glad you weren't there. I went through at least one box of tissues. It wasn't pretty."

  He hugged me to him. "It gets easier, but it never goes away. It changes you forever."

  "You've lost someone?" I asked.

  "Let's go to sleep. I don't want to get into it tonight." He relaxed his grip, bent his arm under his head for extra support, and kept his other arm draped over my middle.

  I rested my arm on his, lacing my fingers between his. He squeezed and then took a deep breath.

  "Falyn?" he whispered.

  "Yeah?"

  "I know this weekend is important for you. But when we get back, I just want you to know that I don't want to be friends anymore."

  My muscles tensed. "Like, you don't ever want to see me again? Or you want to be more than friends?"

  "Considering I nearly went crazy from being away from you for less than a week ... I think you know what I mean."

  Relief washed over me. For the tiny moment that losing him was a possibility, my world had stopped for the second time in my life. Well-thought-out steps had been taken to keep myself from feeling that way, yet there I was, vulnerable.

  "You did?" I asked.

  "It was ridiculous."

  "Is that a condition?"

  "No. It's a non-promise." He leaned up, kissed my bare shoulder, and then lay down, melting into the mattress.

  I had never slept in the same bed with someone before, not even as a child with my parents. Somehow, lying next to Taylor was the most normal thing in the world, as if it had always been and always would be.

  "Good night," I whispered.

  But he was already asleep.

  "I got it," Taylor said, pulling my carry-on off the conveyor belt.

  We had overslept and were running a little late, trying to get through security before they began boarding our flight.

  I hopped on one foot to slip on a sandal and then dropped my other shoe on the floor, sliding the strap between my first and second toe an
d then pulling the back over my heel. Shoes and clothes from the thrift store were always wonderfully worn in. It wasn't the first time I appreciated not having to use the buckle on my three-seasons-old, half-size-too-big Steve Madden sandals.

  Even though Taylor was in a rush to get to the gate, he watched me, a patient smile on his face.

  "Ready?" he asked, holding out his hand.

  I grabbed it. "Yes and no and yes. Stop asking me that. I'm trying to stay calm."

  "Haven't you flown before?" he asked as we walked.

  I shot him a look. "I've flown all over the world. My parents loved to travel."

  "Oh, yeah? Like where?"

  "Not Eakins."

  He grimaced. "I'm trying to respect your privacy, but I'm getting more and more nervous about walking into this blind."

  "For someone so nervous, you sure fell asleep fast."

  He squeezed my hand. "You're comfortable."

  "Sleeping with you wasn't as bad as I'd thought it would be."

  He made a face. "Can't say I've ever heard that from a woman before."

  I looked up at the four large screens secured to the ceiling. The flights were listed by city, alphabetically, with the corresponding gate number.

  I pointed to the first screen. "Gate six. They're boarding now."

  "Shit! Let's go!"

  Taylor and I ran, heaving by the time we reached our gate. There was still a long line, but we were both so happy to have made it that we didn't care.

  "Damn," Taylor said. "I'm glad this is a small airport. If we were in Denver, we would have been screwed."

  After making it down the jetway and all the way back to row twenty, Taylor shoved our carry-ons into the overhead bin and collapsed next to me.

  "Fucking hell, Ivy League," he said. "You stress me out."

  "Which one of us overslept?"

  "That would be me."

  "Okay then." I let my head relax back and closed my eyes.

  A warm hand slid under mine, and our fingers interlaced.

  "Falyn?" Taylor whispered.

  "Not yet," I said, looking over at him.

  He was leaning his head back, too, his face turned toward me. "You had another nightmare last night."

  "I did? Is that why you overslept?"

  "What happened to you ... was it bad?"

  "It was."

  He grimaced. "Is going back going to hurt you?"

  "Yes."

  He breathed out a puff of air and looked forward. "Then why are we going?"

  "Because it has to hurt before it can get better."

  He looked back at me, his eyes falling to my lips. "I don't want you to hurt."

  "I know," I said, squeezing his hand. "But you'll be with me, right?"

  "For as long as you'll let me."