by Gem Frost
Dumping him seemed like the easiest and most sensible way to deal with the problem at the time. But I’ve spent the last three years regretting it.
Even so, I never regretted it as much as I do now, holding this little package in my hand.
“Open it,” he says brusquely, and this time his voice is tinged with bitterness. “That way you can see what a fool I was.”
My hands are shaking, but I manage to unwrap the package, shredding the brightly colored Christmas paper in the process. I drop the paper to the floor, revealing a small black velvet jewelry case.
My heart starts to pound heavily in my chest. I flip the case open, revealing a square-cut diamond, sparkling against the black velvet backdrop. It’s set in a broad, masculine, rose-gold band, but even so, there’s no doubting what it is.
It’s an engagement ring.
“Oh, Nick,” I whisper. I can hear the anguish in my own voice.
He lifts his chin and glares at me. “I know you thought I wasn’t capable of commitment, Syd, but I was, damn it. I wanted to spend my life with you.”
Regret overwhelms me, drowning me in shame and sorrow. Three years, gone. Three years lost, when the two of us could have been…
But no. He can’t really want me that way. Not someone like me. I’m not good enough for him. Not handsome, not talented, not interesting enough. It’s just not possible. Numbly, I say, “I thought—”
“I know what you thought,” he says, his voice harsh with anger. “You spelled it out for me in that text. I was immature, incapable of settling down, and we were obviously looking for different things in a relationship. I remember everything you texted to me, Syd. And none of it was true. I wanted to commit to you, so I bought this ring—a whole week before you broke up with me. I planned to get married to you, and live happily ever after with you, for the rest of our lives.”
The naked pain in his voice cuts into me like a whip. I know all at once that I haven’t been truly honest with him or myself, that the problem wasn’t so much that he wasn’t capable of commitment, but that I thought he couldn’t be capable of commitment to me. But I can’t tell him that. I do my best to gather my scattered defenses.
“I don’t believe you,” I say, hearing my own voice quaver. “You never said you loved me. You never talked about me moving in permanently. And you told me you didn’t think Obergefell was that big a deal, because you were never getting married anyway. Just a few days before Christmas. I remember.”
I see the regret in his deep brown eyes. “I was messing with your mind when I said that, Syd. I wanted to surprise you. I guess in retrospect that was kind of stupid.” He shakes his head. “More than kind of stupid. I’m a moron. Look, the truth is I’m not great at talking about my emotions, okay? The L word is a little hard for me to get out, thanks to the lessons I learned at my father’s knee, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t want you with me. For always.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I tried. You wouldn’t listen.”
That, at least, is true. When he called me that Christmas, I didn’t pick up. When he left voicemails, I deleted them unread. And when he sent too many frantic texts, I blocked him. The available evidence suggests that I’m the idiot here, but I try to defend myself and my decision from another angle.
“But Madison says you’ve dated a different person practically every week since she moved to town.”
He shakes his head, so that his wet ebony hair falls into his eyes. “I haven’t been out with a single person since you, Syd.”
“Then why on earth—”
“Look, I told you my dad was a homophobic asshole, right?” He brushes the hair out of his eyes impatiently. “Dad’s been dead for a long while, and Mom is—well, we get along okay, but I still can’t totally forgive her for not supporting me against Dad when I was a teenager. She let him kick me out, and she never gave me a dime to help me through college. Yeah, these days she calls me every now and again, even comes to visit occasionally, but I still have a chip on my shoulder where she’s concerned, a big one. So I made damn sure that I was still rubbing my bisexuality in her face, every chance I got. Even though I was too busy setting up my landscape company to have much of a social life, I made up a seriously impressive fictional cadre of lovers. I told Madison all those stories because I know she relays them to Mom.” He scowled. “If I’d known she was friends with you, I never would have done it, Syd. But I had no way of knowing.”
I draw a long, shuddering breath. “So you haven’t really been—”
“Sleeping around? Hell, no. Before last night, I hadn’t had sex in three years, Syd.”
“Neither had I,” I admit in a whisper.
His eyes narrow suspiciously. “But you had condoms on you.”
“I bought them for this, idiot. For you. In the hopes that you and I might…” I swallow. “There hasn’t been anyone else, Nick. I swear.”
I see the flare of relief in his eyes, followed almost instantly by a flash of cold that would make a Minnesota winter seem balmy by comparison. “Like I give a good goddamn. Your life is your business, Syd. You made that pretty damn clear.”
Tears spill over onto my cheeks, tears of regret for what could have been. What should have been. I heartlessly, callously dumped a man who loved me—well, who admitted to “the L word,” anyway—and never once gave him a chance to explain his emotions. God, I’ve been a jerk, more of a jerk than Nick’s ever been in his lifetime.
But I still find it hard to believe someone like him ever really, truly wanted me. More tears fall down my cheeks. I hardly ever cry, but I’m close to bawling like a baby.
He takes a step toward me, and some of the coldness melts away from his features at the sight of my tears. “Look, Syd,” he says softly, “part of what happened was my fault. I admit it. I didn’t tell you what I was feeling or what you meant to me. I joked around so much that I guess I gave you the impression that our relationship was all about sex. I was an ass. But I was an ass who…” He swallows audibly, as if the word is still difficult for him to say. “An ass who loved you.”
An ass who loved me. Past tense. I clench my jaw against the pain of knowing that I threw everything I ever wanted away in a childish fit of insecurity.
“It wasn’t your fault,” I say. My voice trembles, but I force myself to go on. “It was—I never told you this, but I never really believed you could love someone like me.”
He blinks at me. “Is this a bi thing? You thought I really wanted to be with a woman, is that it?”
“No. It’s just that you’re so…” I wave at him. “You’re incredible. You’re handsome and smart and tall, and I’m just… me.”
He scowls. “I don’t understand.”
I hesitate, then blurt out, “Remember the Christmas party we threw?”
“Sure, I remember. It was a blast.”
Well, of course he thought so. I hadn’t found it nearly so much fun. It had been his idea to get all our friends and co-workers together, so we could meet each other’s social circles, and he’d been so enthused about the idea I hadn’t wanted to say no. But I’m more the introverted type, and I’ve never cared much for parties. A week before Christmas, we’d held the party at his house, which was a lot bigger than my condo, and when everyone arrived, I hadn’t quite known what to do with myself in the crush of people. I’d felt awkward and out of place, whereas he…
“Everyone likes you, so much,” I say softly. “That night, you were the life of the party. Laughing, telling stories, singing carols. And I was just a guy in the corner, staring into his beer. You were having a great time, flirting with everyone, and I was just—”
“I wasn’t flirting,” he interrupts, a defensive note in his voice.
“Not on purpose, maybe. I think you just exude sex appeal the way other people sweat, honestly.”
“Um… thanks?” He looks mildly disgusted by the comparison. “Look, if you left me because you thought I wasn’t paying enough atte
ntion to you at the party, or that I was picking out potential lovers—”
“No, no. That’s not it. It’s not that I really thought you were a player, Nick. At least not while we were dating. It’s just that you had all those people eating out of your hand. It was so vividly clear that you could have anyone you wanted, anyone at all. It made me feel inadequate, I guess. Let’s be honest— I’m just an ordinary, everyday guy. I mean, look at me, okay? I’m short and skinny, blind as a bat without my glasses, and my hair is a weird color. Anyway, I’m frankly not all that interesting. Orthodontics isn’t exactly a sexy profession, you know? I’m a boring nerd that people don’t look twice at, whereas you look like a guy on the cover of GQ, and people find you incredibly fascinating besides.”
Nick studies me for a long moment, an unfathomable expression in his dark eyes. At last he says, more gently, “Look, Syd, I didn’t know that was what was worrying you. But to me, you were never ordinary. I need you to believe that, even if you don’t believe anything else. To me, you’re beautiful. You always were.”
“You’ve said that before.” My voice quivers. “But I never really believed it. I still don’t. You could have someone so much better...”
“I didn’t want someone else. I wanted you.”
I notice he’s still speaking in the past tense, and my heart sinks. I want to say something else, but no words seem able to force their way out of my mouth. He just stands there and looks at me, his face impassive, like it’s carved out of marble. I wait for him to say something else, but he doesn’t. I guess he’s already said all he has to say.
Maybe he’s waiting for me to say something in return.
I realize the box is still clutched tightly in my hand. I remember last night, and I know that I want to share those feelings, those sensations, with him forever. But I simply don’t have the right to ask him to go out on a limb for me again. He was the one who risked his heart three years ago. He’d been ready to commit to me for the rest of his life, and I just dumped him. I didn’t even bother to talk to him face to face, like a decent, mature human being would have. I’d just ditched him by text. I can hardly imagine how that must have hurt.
God, I’m pond scum. But somehow, some way, I have to set this right. And if anyone’s going out on a limb this time, it has to be me.
I take a deep breath, steadying my voice. “I thought I had gotten over you,” I tell him. “But then I started working with Madison, and the more I heard about you, the more I knew I wasn’t over you. That I might never be over you.”
He doesn’t say anything, but his dark eyes watch me alertly.
“Like I said, I convinced Madison to have me over last night because I wanted to see you again. So, I could find out if there was anything still between us.”
“There’s quite a lot still between us.”
“Yes, but more than just the physical.” I suck in another deep breath and spit out the stark truth in a rush. “I know it sounds crazy, Nick, but I loved you three years ago, and I think I’m still in love with you.”
Chapter 8
Syd
Nick’s harsh features don’t soften, and I can’t really blame him for being mad. He glares at me for a long moment, then at the velvet box I’m still clutching in my hand. I see a hint of vulnerability appear in the cocoa depths of his eyes.
“Maybe you believe that,” he says, “but I can’t, somehow. I don’t think you ever loved me at all, or you wouldn’t have assumed the worst about me, and ditched me the way you did.”
“Fair point,” I admit. “But I did love you. I guess I was just carrying around more pain and insecurity than I ever realized. I was stupid and immature, Nick, but I hope I’ve grown a little since then.”
I watch as the hurt and vulnerability in his eyes fade, masked by his most sardonic smile.
“Too bad I haven’t,” he answers. “You’re the one who said I hadn’t changed, that I was irresponsible and a perpetual teenager. Maybe you were right.”
“No. I was wrong. I don’t think I ever really knew you at all.”
“Then how can you say you ever loved me?”
Well, that’s a sensible question. I struggle to answer it honestly. “I think deep down I always realized there was something special about you, something solid and steadfast and loyal. But you have a way of hiding that part of you, and I wasn’t certain, so I, well, I freaked out. Anyway, I think the issues I had with our relationship were more about me than they were about you, to be totally honest with you. Like I said, I knew on some level you weren’t a player. Just because you could have anyone in the world doesn’t mean you would. I should have trusted you, but something inside me wanted to think the worst of you. Something that wanted to defend my heart. Something that was terrified I’d get hurt by you.”
“I never wanted to hurt you, Syd.”
“I know that now,” I tell him. “I know you now, better than I ever did.”
“After one night of hot sex?” he scoffs. “Come on, Syd, be honest with yourself. You don’t love me. You don’t even like me much. You just liked having sex with me.”
“Maybe you should try being honest with yourself, too. It was a lot more than just sex.”
“No” His voice is hard-edged. “It was sex, pure and simple. It didn’t mean a thing to me, and if you’re honest with yourself, you’ll admit it didn’t mean anything to you either.”
The painfully sharp words slice into my heart. It didn’t mean a thing to me.
But no, I don’t believe that. I refuse to believe it. Not after the way we made love last night—no, this morning. Christmas morning.
“It meant everything to me,” I answer, softly but sincerely.
He snorts, turning and stalking toward his closet. His voice is dismissive, cold. “Give me a minute to get dressed, and I’ll take you home.”
“No.” I reach out and try to catch his arm. “Please, don’t make me leave, Nick. I don’t want to leave you.”
He yanks his arm away like I’m burning him. “You need to go home, Syd. Christmas Eve is over. It’s time to get back to reality.”
He stalks away and disappears into his huge closet, leaving me standing there. I hesitate a moment, then turned and flee for the door, dropping the velvet box on the dresser. Leaving it behind…the way I’m leaving Nick behind.
✽✽✽
Nick
I stay in the closet longer than I really need to, trying to get my ragged emotions under control. Damn it, why do I always have to act like such a jerk around Syd? I mean, yeah, it turns out he dumped me for no good goddamned reason except raging insecurity, and that’s infuriating. But I’m probably at fault too. I know I make light of everything, make too many jokes about serious subjects, laugh when I want to cry. I obviously gave him the impression that our relationship back then didn’t matter to me. That I didn’t love him with all my heart and soul.
Okay, so we both screwed up. Even so, it’s been three years. I really need to get a grip on myself and get the fuck over it.
And yet somehow, I can’t seem to get over it. The past, and all its associated pain, sits there in my mind, a roadblock I can’t manage to navigate around, no matter how I try.
I think about that while yanking a charcoal gray sweater over my head. I remember the words I said to Syd.
It was sex, pure and simple. It didn’t mean a thing to me.
Obviously, I was lying through my teeth when I said that. What I feel for Syd is far more than sexual attraction, or I wouldn’t have spent the past three years fantasizing about him, thinking about him, wondering how he was and what he was doing. If all I wanted was sex, I could’ve found a hundred willing partners by now. I don’t enjoy celibacy by any stretch of the imagination, but I haven’t craved sex over the past three years nearly as much as I’ve simply craved Syd.
If I’m honest with myself, last night meant a whole hell of a lot to me. While I stood in the comforting warmth of the shower, I’d been thinking about coming clean (
so to speak) and telling him so. But then I’d stepped out into my bedroom and found Syd staring at the pitiful little package I’d wrapped so carefully three years before—the package I hadn’t even been able to bring myself to unwrap and return to the jewelry store—and all my old rage and pain had surfaced. For a moment, I wanted to hurt Syd as much as he’d hurt me.
I have the uncomfortable feeling I’ve succeeded.
I sigh. Three years ago, Syd made a mistake. A big mistake. An asshole mistake, even. But the truth is, I made mistakes, too. I could have let some of my feelings show through, so he knew how I felt. And after he dumped me in that terse text, I could’ve come over to his condo and demanded we talk it out. I could have stood there outside his door and yelled. Hell, I could have made a fucking scene about it in his office, if I had to.
But I hadn’t. My own stubborn pride had kept me away, had prevented me from trying to fix things between us.
Pride is still standing in my way, I realize. I’m hurt and angry and defensive, and that makes me want to keep him at arm’s length. But holy shit, it’s been three years. Three years. Maybe it’s finally time for me to put all this crap in the goddamned past.
Everything except Syd, that is. I’m starting to realize that Syd doesn’t belong in my past. He belongs in my present.
And my future.
My phone buzzes, and I pull it out. It’s a text from Madison: Where the hell are you? I’ve been calling and calling. The kids want to say Merry Christmas.
Uh, I reply. We’ve been a little busy.
We? Is Syd still over there?
Yeah, but I think he’s on his way out the door.
There’s a long pause.
