by S. E. Hall
“Dude, enough already! You knew her for less than a week, and this is a big game tonight, so get your panties un-the-fuck-stuck from between your pussy lips and gear up to lead your goddamn team, Captain!”
I’ve heard just about enough of Lance’s mouth, on my feet and ready to punch him in it, when I get blindsided with another shot…
“Miss, you can’t be-”
“What the hell did you say to my best friend, asshole?” Nikki screams, having somehow gotten past security and standing in the locker room, looking, and sounding, ready to kill me.
“What the fuck. Nikki?” Lance rushes to intervene, but she dodges him, in my face and poking at my chest in a blink.
“You better tell me what you did to her right now, or so help me God, I will tear off your dick and strangle you with it, Brewer Hayes!”
“Nikki-” I start…
“I know my name, jackass; now tell me something I don’t, like what you did to Gracie!”
“Anddd, we’re leaving, let’s go.” Lance picks her up and tosses her over his shoulder. “You too, Hayes; we’re moving this shitshow someplace private.”
For the first time I can ever remember, I agree with Lance and follow behind them; down a couple hallways and through a few doors, into a room I’ve never seen before and I don’t even want to know how Lance knows exists, my mind reeling the entire trip. I do, however, want to know what’s got Nikki raging mad, and why she seems certain it was me who ‘did something’ to Gracelyn — who hasn’t answered my calls or texts since she left, weeks ago.
Nothing. Not a peep.
The entire thing, our “connection,” all in my head I guess.
But most importantly, I need to find out what’s going on, or wrong, with Gracelyn, that set off Nikki’s alarms.
“All right.” Lance shuts and locks the door behind us, then sets Nikki to her feet. “Let’s try this again, Darlin’; in a calm, rational voice. And any actual information, to go on would be super helpful.”
Damn, I’m impressed, Lance is making all kinds of sense tonight.
Nikki takes several deep breaths, her anger morphing into tears, before she sobs out, “Gracie’s been my best friend, very best friend, since, ever, but lately she’s ‘busy,’ or has to call me back,’ but never does. Any clue as to why that is, Brewer?”
“No. Not a one.” I shove a hand through my hair, the weeks-old ache I’ve been carrying in my gut now a stabbing pain from this ominous news and all the possible reasons, none of which are good, whirling around in my head. “I haven’t heard a word from her since she left, and it’s not from lack of trying.”
“You two haven’t talked at all, since, since she left?” Nikki’s voice trembles, but her expression, it shifts… to what, I can’t quite tell, but I can tell I don’t like it.
“No, and I have no idea why. We, we had something… or so I thought,” I bitterly scoff. “I wish I had an answer for you, for me, but I’m just as in the dark as you are.”
Lance wraps an arm around her. “He’s telling the truth, Nik. He’s been a mopey, miserable pile of shit for weeks, I swear. He hasn’t talked, or done a damn thing, to your friend.”
“Well great, now I really don’t get it. You never talked? She didn’t at least text, leave you a voicemail? Are you sure? And why’s she avoiding me?” Nikki shakes her head, the tears coming faster, but the words, the words are gushing out, as if by themselves. “She knows I believe her, would stake my soul on it that she’d never trick you on purpose, and that I’ll support her and her decision one-hundred percent, no matter what. And if you didn’t even know, why-”
Gushing, way more information spewed than meant… and… I finally catch up. And catch on.
“Wait, what?” I seethe, stepping toward her, Lance immediately blocking me by placing himself between us.
“Oh, shit! Shit, shit, shittttt.” Nikki slaps a hand over her eyes and wails; and I do mean wails, as if in excruciating pain, then makes a mad dash for the door, which I take a turn to block. “Now she’ll actually have a reason to hate me.”
“Hey.” I use as soothing a tone as I can muster, taking her by the shoulders. “Nikki, nobody hates you, nobody’s gonna hate you, but I need you to focus and look at me. Please. Look at me, and tell me again, exactly what you just tried not to say.”
Of course I already know the answer, but I have to hear it, actually hear it point-blank, and figure out how I feel about it. My heart is pounding, its rapid beat booming in my ears, but I think both are the direct result of the purest form of sheer happiness possible.
I’m almost positive.
No, I am positive.
And I didn’t imagine anything — our connection was, is, real — and, turns out, even stronger than I thought.
“You know what, Nik, forget I asked. You’re an amazing friend, and as far as I’m concerned, I never saw you tonight. You never said a word. Except… where am I flying? City, state, area code… give me something. Anything. Just one thing, that’s all I need.”
“Flying?” Lance asks me, her, both? Not sure, his head’s snapping back and forth so fast I can’t tell. “You sprout wings? No. So what the hell are-, surely you don’t mean a plane, or now, on game night! Buddy, bro, pal, listen-”
“I’m sorry, Brewer, but I can’t betray Gracie.” Nikki produces a sigh, looking around at nothing, and then… Nikki’s a beautiful woman, that’s a given, but she is absolutely fucking stunning when she smirks, and mumbles, pretending it’s to herself and completely innocent, “huh, that’s so weird… totally random thought, out of nowhere, but… at least it’s a wise one. But, in case I forget it later, will one of you please be sure to remind me, if I ever decide to go into hiding, that I should probably take my location, my current location, off my Facebook profile?”
Nikki’s a keeper.
I have no idea what Lance yells after that, after me — I’m already long gone — sprinting, away from them, away from here… toward her.
“Bye, Miss. Bolton, see you tomorrow!” Timothy, cute as a button, thirsty for knowledge well beyond his years, and always my last student out the door, calls over his shoulder.
“Not if I see you first.” I laugh my line of our script, picturing the smile it brought him, then head back into my classroom to clean up before I go home for the day. I’m on my hands and knees, stretching for one last, runaway crayon under the craft table when a strange shift stills the air around me and I freeze, leery and assessing.
“Third grade, right?” His voice, as smooth and sultry as I remember, every single day, sneaks up behind me to solve the mystery.
In staggering ungracefulness, I crawl out from under the table, hitting my head on the way of course, and rise to turn toward him. “What?” I garble past the thick tongue in my instantly parched mouth. God, he’s a gorgeous man. With his arms and ankles both crossed, he leans casually against the door jamb, making for one very suave, sexy, heart-stopping sight.
“The grade you teach; it is third, right?” he repeats, his grin growing coy.
“Yes. I can’t believe you remembered that, but yes. Why?”
“Just double-checking.” He laughs, stepping out the space between us. “If your male students were any older, I was gonna advise against the crawling around on your hands and knees thing; especially in that skirt.”
“I, uh, I couldn’t reach a crayon.” Needless to say, I was not expecting him, and I’m doing a fabulous job of acting otherwise.
“Hmm,” he rubs a slow hand over his stubbled jaw, “must be going around, ‘cause I haven’t been able to reach you either.”
I tuck my chin to my chest and shift from foot to foot. “Yeah, about that…” And then I finally wake up, realizing the gravity of the present situation — he’s here. Not there. My head snaps up, my eyes wide. “What are you doing here, Brewer? How’d you, why, what about your games? Team?”
I have a few more, but they go unasked as he moves in closer and cups my cheek. “You know my
favorite thing about you? Well, one of my favorite things? You don’t play games. Bullshit. You say what you mean, what you think, openly, honestly, uncensored, and right when it hits you. Don’t stop now. Tell me, Gracelyn, and tell me like I just described, in true Gracelyn-speak; why have you been ignoring me?”
“Why’s it matter?” I quip in shield.
“Don’t do that either. Just answer me, please.”
My mistake before — now I finally wake up — the unmistakable pitch of pity in his voice and the almost imperceptible twinge in his left eyelid like cold water to the face, cocking every piston in my brain to fire.
He knows.
And that’s why he’s here.
Nikki and her big freaking mouth.
“Don’t worry, I started my period last night; just haven’t had a chance to call in the update to Nikki yet. Could’ve saved you a trip, depending on when it is she blabbed that is, so, sorry about that,” I bluntly ramble, but can’t contain, or ignore, the underlying disappointment in my voice, that I still don’t fully understand, and pull away from him. “Anyway, you can go now, all clear.”
“I’m sorry, baby.” He snatches me up, hauling me flush against him to hug me tight. “Why didn’t you tell me, Gracelyn?” he whispers in my hair.
“What would you have said?” I scoff, if it’s even possible for one to scoff and want to cry at the same time. “I told you I was covered, and I was, I am! I don’t know why I was late, I’m never late, but… I didn’t want you to think I tricked you, or tried to trap you.”
“Neither would’ve ever entered my mind. Hey, look at me.” He leans back and slides a finger under my chin to tilt my head up. “I knew you better than that, incapable of anything even remotely like that, in the first five minutes I spent with you. And baby, you need to know, need to believe me… that’s not the only reason I’m here. I would’ve come anyway, eventually, as soon as I could. I’ve been fucking miserable without you.”
“That’s sweet of you to say, really, but you don’t have to. And I’m sorry, for being kind of bitchy, snarky, you know… about this. And I’m very sorry I didn’t tell you. I should’ve; the second I thought there was even maybe something to tell.”
“Yeah, you should have,” he smiles, “but I forgive you. And I meant what I said; wasn’t just giving you lip service. I would’ve come anyway.”
“Why? I mean, seriously, Brewer… why?” I sound every bit as desperate as I feel, but I just can’t find it in me to care, since I’ve been absolutely miserable without him too.
“Because, Gracelyn Amanda Bolton, you’re supposed to be mine.”
“Supposed to be?”
“Yes, supposed to be. We’re supposed to do this. Date, fall in love, get married, have babies. It’s the plan, bigger than either of us, or both of us put together, and out of our control to deny. Or try to defy.”
“You know,” I exhale weeks of wishes ungranted, making room for new ones, that just might stand a chance, “I think you may be right.”
Six months later
“Just fucking pick one already! It’s a cat, not a goddamn spaceship!” Lance, and his ever-enjoyable attention span of a toddler who missed his nap, bellows… as though we aren’t in the middle of a pet store… in public
Gracelyn moved north, and in with me, four months ago, so she’s settled in, comfortable, found her groove with her new class, and on amicable terms with our Alexa stream, so I figure it’s about time for her next, new favorite little kitty buddy.
“Why the hell would I need a spaceship? Nope, never mind, don’t answer that.” I shake my head at myself, knowing better than to encourage him. “I’m ready, go get the sales lady.”
“Yeah, right,” he scoffs. “What do I look like, your man-servant? You go fucking get her.”
“And have someone else slide in and grab my kitten? I don’t think so. Just go get her.”
“You poor, poor, pussy-whipped bastard; it’s hard to watch, pains me. I’ve gotta get new friends,” Lance mumbles as he walks away.
Not that he’s wrong; I am pretty pathetic. Ass-over-end, crazy-in-love, pathetic. And I couldn’t be happier about it. I’ll fucking sing this kitten a lullaby every damn night if my Gracelyn asks me to.
Yep, that pathetic.
“Do you like her? I can go back if you-”
“Babe,” Gracelyn smiles at me over the top of the kitten’s head, tucked snug under her chin, “she’s perfect. I love her, and I love you. Almost as much,” she snickers. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, anything for you.” I kiss her, too quickly, the kitten mewling and maneuvering, not ready to share. “So, what are you gonna name her?”
“Well,” my love drawls, mischief in her voice and a dance of delight in her eyes, “I think we should name her… Sister.”
“Sister?”
“Mhmmm.”
It’s a bit odd, but whatever she…
“Sister?” I’d like to think my shriek’s manly. “Baby, Gracelyn, what, do you, do you mean…”
She nods, beautiful auburn locks bouncing on her shoulders as my favorite-to-date of all her smiles grabs me by the pounding heart. “Yes, Daddy, this kitty is going be a sister.”
Scoop, shot, goal — game over… or just begun, really — Gracelyn, my game-changer, my whole life, is giving me a life. A child. A family. I drop to my knees and gently place both my shaking hands on either side of her sweet little stomach, then look up at her. “You’re marrying me, Gracelyn.”
“Okay,” she giggles.
“Today.”
“No, not okay.” She laughs harder as I cover her tummy in kisses, all over my child. My child.
“Tomorrow then.”
“Brewer…”
“No? Still not okay? That’s fine,” I whisper to my baby that I’ll be right back and stand, getting a good head start down the hallway before adding over my shoulder, “I’ll just call and see what your mother thinks!”
“Mom, can you get the door?” I call out from the spare bedroom when I hear someone knocking. We’ve been working on getting the room put together, and still have a good way to go before it’s all completed.
“Sure thing, Sweetie,” she replies from the kitchen where she was making us a late lunch while I tidy up. I continue to pick up the empty plastic bags and wrappers off the floor from the dresser we just put together, humming quietly to myself. A cool fall breeze blows through the open windows, rustling the light blue and white polka dotted curtains, creating shadows that appear to dance in the light cast onto the plush beige carpet. The room was going to be just perfect once we finished with it. Everything felt just right.
“Adelei,” Mom calls out, interrupting my happy musings of the coordinating blankets and pillows I bought for the room. “It’s someone for you.” She sounds kind of strange, her voice cracking toward the end.
“Coming,” I yell back in response, struggling to haul myself from the comfortable spot I have on the floor. Tossing the wrappers in the trash can on my way out of the room, I wonder who could have been stopping by. It was early afternoon - in the middle of the week, no less - and everyone I knew was at work.
Reaching the living room, Mom stands in the doorway prohibiting me from seeing who has chosen to pay me a visit. “Who is it, Mom?” Stepping up behind her, I start to peer over her shoulder, just as she turns to face me. The devastating look she is wearing knocks the breath out of me. That’s when I realize whom it is that’s standing on my front porch; the moment my world crashes all around me.
Eight months later
“Come on, Adelei,” Laura whines, “You haven’t been out with us for girls night since...It’s been too many months to count. You have to come out with us tonight.” This is the tenth call this week I’ve had from my friends. “Stop making excuses.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” I argue, looking down at my wedding ring. I hate having this conversation with them time after time.
“We’re pickin
g you up at seven. That gives you ample time to get your shit sorted and be ready. I’ll see you tonight,” and with that, she hangs up on me before I can say a word. That wench! Why do I always let them do that to me?
Placing the phone on the table, I settle my head on my crossed arms resting beside it. Can’t they just let me be? I have a routine; a structure for my life I need to keep things manageable. Rearranging everything just for a frivolous night out is selfish and unnecessary. I don’t need anything more than I have right now. I’m perfectly fine with how things are, aren’t I? Twirling the wedding ring on my finger, I reluctantly make the decision to take it off for good. Maybe it’s time to accept he isn’t coming back.
Unsure how long I’ve moped on the kitchen table, I notice it’s almost time for lunch, so I rush about getting the food ready and make a call to my mother. I know she won’t mind taking care of things and staying at the house while I’m gone, but I hate having to ask her.
“Oh, Sweetie! I’m so glad you’re finally getting out of the house for something other than work or grocery shopping. Of course, I’ll be glad to help out. Your daddy will love the excuse to come over, too.” Her excitement over my out-of-the-blue outing is a little too enthusiastic for my taste. It’s not like they aren’t over here often enough already. Is everyone committed to conspiring against me?
“I get out of the house more than that, Mom, and you know it. Stop being so melodramatic. You’d have people thinking I lock all the doors and windows, never emerging for months on end.” She really needs to stop worrying about my social life so much, and focus more on my brother, Jason. He’s the youngest and most likely to get in trouble, which is what happened a lot when he was in high school. College is proving to be just as challenging for him.
“Daddy and I just want what’s best for you. Besides, we’re your parents and it’s our prerogative to worry if we so choose to do so. Deal with it.” Her played-up gruffness makes me laugh. She’s never been one to be firm with either of us kids, Dad always filling that role tenfold.
