Not Broken Anymore

by Tawdra Kandle

  “No.” Tate was firm. “You’re not. You’re human, like all the rest of us. Sometimes embracing the small steps is the biggest victory there is. Let’s just appreciate the moment.”

  “I’m appreciating.” And I was. I was sitting here in the front seat of Tate’s car, on a sunny afternoon of an early spring day, with beautiful flowers in the yard nodding in the gentle breeze, with the anticipation of ice cream and more time with Pops ahead of us . . . and suddenly I was filled with an unfamiliar sense of gratitude. “Thank you, Tate. Thanks for reminding me that I’m still alive—and that it’s all right to go on living.”

  He clasped my hand again, and like everything else that afternoon, it felt right and perfect.

  Now

  “You’re late.”

  The door swung open, and I stepped through, pausing next to Gia, who stood with her arms crossed over her chest, her pretty face turned up to me. The temptation to kiss her was almost unbearable. It was getting harder every time we were together, but just now, with her eyes bright and her lips so delectably pursed . . . I had to grit my teeth to keep from leaning over to touch my mouth to hers. And if I did that, it wouldn’t stop at a kiss. That was one thing I was sure about.

  “I know, I know. I’m sorry. Traffic was a bear.” I shut the door behind me. “I didn’t think it was going to take me so long to get over the bridge.” I contented myself with tapping Gia on her pert little nose. “But it’s okay, right? Do you have the last season of Veronica all set up for us? We don’t need to head over to Amico’s until four or so.”

  Since that very first time I’d dragged Gia out to dinner, we’d spent most of our weekends in her apartment, only venturing out to the grocery store, the Italian Market or to see Pops. It had become one of our unspoken, subtle rules: we only saw each other on Saturdays and Sundays, we rarely communicated between weekends, and we stayed in. But I’d persuaded her that tonight, we should go back to Amico’s, since this was the last weekend before the organized team activities and off-season workout began for me.

  True, she’d laid down a couple of conditions, among them that we go to the restaurant early, so that we didn’t have to contend with crowds. That wasn’t a big deal, since usually we spent the entire day together, starting with breakfast. But Pops had asked me to go with him to the Kiwanis monthly breakfast today, so I’d just now made it over to the city.

  “Of course, I have it ready, but that’s not what you’re late for.” She nibbled on her bottom lip, one of her nervous tells. “I made lunch for us.”

  “No way.” I dropped my keys on the counter as I always did and glanced into the kitchen area, sniffing appreciatively. “What did you make? It smells good.”

  “I looked up a recipe for meatballs, and I thought at first I’d make those, because, you know, I figured with all this Italian blood, those would probably give me my best shot at actually doing it right. But then I remembered that we’re going to Amico’s tonight, and that might be too much Italian in one day.” She was speaking rapidly and not quite meeting my eyes. “So then I wondered what might be easiest, that wasn’t Italian. And I thought, well, didn’t Marco Polo bring noodles to Italy from China?”

  “I think there’s a legend about that. Not sure how accurate it is.” I rested one hip against the counter top.

  “For today, we’re buying it completely, because what I decided to make was stir fry over noodles. That’s why I’m worried about you being late. It’s not supposed to sit, or it could get gluey.” She wrinkled her nose. “Not sure what that means, exactly, but it can’t be good, right?”

  “I’m sure it’s going to be perfect.” I pulled my chair from beneath the table, which Gia had set carefully. I noticed that there were even wooden chopsticks next to my plate. “And I’m starving. They serve a hearty breakfast at the Kiwanis, but Pops kept me so busy talking to people that I barely got a chance to eat.”

  Gia lifted the lid from a wide pan and reached for a spoon. “Let’s be real. Even if you’d talked to no one and eaten for two hours solid, you’d still be starving. That’s just part of the Tate package.”

  “Hey, I think it’s a pretty great package, myself.” I winked at her as she began to plate the food. “What made you decide to cook today? Are you tired of my recipes?”

  “Nope.” Gia slid one plate in front of me and then placed her own across the table. “I just . . . I wanted to do something special.” She sat down and met my eyes. “You’re always doing wonderful things for me, treating me well and making me feel like I matter. I wanted to do something, too.”

  “Honey pot, you don’t have to do anything—you make me happy just by being you and letting me hang out here.” I picked up the chopsticks and grinned at her. “Though making me food is always appreciated.”

  “Honey pot—that’s one you haven’t broken out in a while.” She shook her head at me. “Go ahead—try it. And if it sucks, don’t be afraid to tell me. We can throw it away and get takeout from the place down the street.”

  I twirled a bunch of noodles around the end of my chopsticks and scooped up some vegetables, too, before I lifted the whole thing to my mouth. The texture was perfect, and the taste was just about there, too.

  “Well?” Gia’s face was anxious as she watched me closely. Briefly, I toyed with the idea of clutching my throat and pretending to be poisoned, but I knew that her cooking ego was new and fragile. Instead, I nodded slowly.

  “Excellent.” I swallowed. “It’s not too salty, but it’s got good flavor, and it’s not at all gluey. This is pretty amazing, Gia.”

  The smile that spread over her face was one I’d have given just about anything to see again. “Is it really? You’re not just saying that?”

  “Hey, what’s my rule? You know I don’t lie, not even to save feelings. If it wasn’t good, I’d be nice, but I’d give it to you straight. This is delicious—and especially considering it’s your first attempt. I’m impressed.”

  “Thank you.” She tried some herself. “This really is pretty good. I didn’t screw it up, did I?”

  “You totally didn’t, baby.” I used the endearment without any thought. Although I always teased Gia by calling her sweetheart, sugar or honey—and variations thereof—I avoided anything that might denote real intimacy—the kind of relationship that we still danced around. But I knew it was getting harder and harder to do that.

  Gia glanced up at me, her face inscrutable, but she didn’t say anything. She didn’t call me on my slip, and I decided that was a good sign, since she never hesitated to say what was on her mind.

  “I can’t believe we’re on the second half of the final Veronica season.” She picked up a floret of broccoli and stuck it into her mouth.

  “Yeah. I can’t believe they cancelled it after only three seasons.” I was surprised at how much I enjoyed this show. Gia and I had been pacing ourselves, watching a few other series between our Veronica binges. I liked the characters, the quirky mysteries and the relationships, even if the exclusive California community was pretty foreign to a kid who’d grown up in a small South Jersey town.

  “I know.” Gia made a face. “But I’ve been saving some good news for you. There’s actually a movie that was made after the series ended. It takes place after Veronica graduated from college. So if you want, we can watch it next week, assuming we get through the last season today.”

  “You’ve been holding out on me!” I mock-glared at her. “We’re totally finishing it today. So why can’t we watch the movie tomorrow?”

  Gia sighed. “That’s the bad news. My dad called this morning. He’s going to be in town tomorrow, and he’s requesting a command performance for lunch. With him, that means I won’t be free until nearly dinner time, and by the time he leaves, I’ll be too exhausted to do anything but crawl into bed.”

  Disappointment filled me, but I tried to cover it up. I could already see how much she was dreading spending the day with her father; making her feel worse wouldn’t be helpful. “I’m so
rry, sweet pea. But I understand. You don’t get to see your dad often. But if you want to call me afterward and vent, I’ll be around.”

  “Thanks.” She stood up, carrying her plate, but I took it from her.

  “No way. You know the rules, miss. I cook, you clean. You cook, I clean. Sit that sweet ass back down.”

  Gia did as I’d said, dropping into her chair again, but the look on her face was anything but obedient. “Sweet ass? Seriously?”

  “Yup.” I turned on the water and began rinsing the dishes. “And that’s not me pushing you or trying to start something you’re not ready for. It’s just a statement of fact.”

  She lifted one eyebrow and narrowed her eyes, her expression clearly skeptical, but she didn’t say anything else while I washed the plates and silverware quickly. I whistled softly to myself as I worked, keeping my own counsel. I didn’t want to jump to conclusions or indulge the hopes I’d been cherishing for so long, but it felt as though something had changed today. There’d been a shift over the past couple of weeks, I knew; when Gia had agreed to meet Pops, after my weekend with Leo, I’d begun to think that maybe we had a chance.

  But today, I couldn’t ignore the difference between us. There was both a new ease and a heightened sense of . . . something. Something new, and something more. Some of the changes had been gradual; Gia was more open now, more likely to talk to me about things that really mattered. She’d begun asking me questions about my life, too, curious about my friends and the football team. When she’d mentioned wanting to come to my games, keeping my amazed elation in check hadn’t been easy. I’d wanted to pump my fist, scoop Gia up in a huge bear-hug and shout, but instead, I’d played it cool. At least I’d thought I had.

  “Okay, these are done.” I drained the water from the sink and dried my hands. “Let’s get our binge on, woman, so we can make it to dinner early, per your orders.”

  “I didn’t order you to do anything,” Gia retorted, standing up to get the TV remote. “I just said it would be nicer to go early, because any restaurant in the city on a Saturday night is crazy busy.”

  “Not arguing, sweetness.” I reached for a couple of the pillows on the bed so that I could make my usual spot on the floor more comfortable. When I bent over, a muscle in my back twinged, and I winced a little, gritting my teeth.

  “What’s wrong?” I’d hoped that Gia hadn’t noticed, but apparently, I’d underestimated her attention.

  “Nothing.” I massaged the spot a little, arching backward to find relief. “Skeeter and I did a pretty intense work-out yesterday, since we’re both trying to go into pre-season training ahead of the game. I pulled a lat, I guess.”

  “A lat?” Her forehead wrinkled.

  “Yeah, latissimus dorsi.” I rotated the arm experimentally. “It’s a muscle in the back, but the pain radiates to my shoulder and arm. It’s not that bad.”

  “Why do I get the feeling that ‘not that bad’ for you translates to pain that would cripple a normal person?” Gia shook her head at me before she climbed onto the side of the bed and patted the space next to her. “You can’t sit on the floor with a bad back. Come on, there’s room for you here.”

  I hesitated. “Are you sure? I can drag a chair over from the kitchen.”

  “Tate, for the love of God, just get over here and lay on the bed. How many weekends have we been binge-watching and hanging out? You haven’t attacked me yet. I think I’m probably safe.”

  “You’ve always been safe.” Gingerly, I sat on the edge of the mattress. “There is no possible scenario where I would ever push myself on you, unless you specifically invited me. I like you, Gia. I hope I’ve made that clear. But I’m capable of self-control.”

  She sat on the bed, staring up at me with wide eyes. “I believe you. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be this comfortable around you. So sit your sweet ass down and let’s watch Veronica.” She smirked, amused at herself for tossing my own words right back at me.

  I loved sassy Gia. Well, let’s be honest: I was pretty hung up on every version of this woman. But when she was spunky, I saw the old Gia, the same girl I’d met that night at the bar back in college.

  Easing myself over onto the bed, I managed to toe off my shoes and stretched my legs out as Gia hit the play button. I was hyper-aware of her, of her small body curled inches from mine, of the way her chest rose and fell and of the musky-sweet scent of her hair that drifted over to me. I tried hard to focus on the show; it should have been easy, since this was a particularly good episode. Veronica was trying to clear the basketball coach’s son after his father’s murder, and Logan was struggling to recover from his Veronica-induced broken heart. As much as I’d scoffed at Logan earlier in the series, I had to admit that I had a grudging respect for him now.

  “I’m still not sure Logan and Veronica belong together,” I mused aloud. “I don’t hate him, but maybe he’s not good for her.”

  Gia didn’t look away from the TV screen. “But he loves her. I mean, look at him. He’s in agony here. Logan isn’t a saint, I know, but he really does love Veronica—she’s everything to him.”

  “He has a funny way of showing it sometimes.” I couldn’t help the skepticism that crept into my voice.

  “Oh, really?” Gia hit pause as one episode ended. “So, let’s talk hypotheticals here. If you were into a girl, how would you show it? What would you do to prove it?”

  I turned my head a little to see her better, sensing that there was more than teasing behind her question. I needed to get this right . . . and if I said what was fairly bursting out of my heart just now, I might have a shot to convince Gia once and for all what kind of man I was.

  “I would live every day of my life proving how I felt. I wouldn’t just say the words; I’d make her see and feel how much she meant to me with every action. All of my decisions would center on her and on building our life together. I’d make sure that every day, I reminded her how much I loved her. Any time that I wasn’t working to secure our future, I’d spend with her, and even when we couldn’t be together, she’d be on my mind. And I’d do everything in my power to make sure she never doubted for a minute who was the top priority in my life.”

  Gia was so still that if her eyes hadn’t been wide open, I’d have thought she was asleep. Her face was a study of wonder and something else I wasn’t sure I could name . . . although I hoped it was yearning. As I watched, the very tip of her tongue slid out between her lips and swiped across them. My heart pounded in my ears; I didn’t know whether to speak again, to try to lighten the moment or to bide my time and see if she gave me some kind of sign.

  As I debated, Gia took the choice out of my hands. She pushed herself up so that she was half-sitting, leaning on one arm as she shifted closer to me. She was moving slowly, and I sensed that she was still making up her mind, looking for the courage to do what she wanted. I didn’t move, not wanting to spook her or make her second-guess this moment.

  Her warm breath brushed over my cheek as she drew closer, her face nearly even with mine now. She paused again, and her eyes raised to meet mine, holding steady, letting me read both her trust and her uncertainty, before her gaze dropped to my mouth.

  I wanted to touch her cheek, slide my fingers into her hair and bridge those last few inches, but I knew this had to be wholly her choice. And so I remained motionless until she lowered her lips to mine.

  I’d fantasized for a long time about what it would be like to kiss Gia. I’d stared at her lips when I was pretty sure she wasn’t paying attention, and I’d imagined them to be soft and pliant, her face smooth against my rougher skin. I’d wondered how she’d taste. Minty? Or like strawberries, maybe, since I often picked up a hint of that after she’d put on lip balm.

  But nothing in my mind had prepared me for the reality of kissing Gia. She was soft, yes, and smooth, too, but her lips were firm as well—she wasn’t passive at all. At first, she was a little tentative, as though this was a test. When I answered her, silently, moving my head j
ust enough to make us fit together perfectly, the way we were made to be, she hummed a little, the sound coming from deep in her throat.

  Using one hand to keep her balance on the mattress, she rested the other on my chest, gravity deepening our connection for us. I was dying for her to open up to me, to let me in, but I didn’t push. I stayed in the moment, wondering if she could feel the way my heart was galloping against my rib cage, centimeters from where her fingers curled into my shirt.

  When her lips parted, I let my tongue wander forward a little bit, skimming over the inside of her mouth, testing and tasting. She was sweeter than any berry I could imagine, with the merest suggestion of mint and something else, some elusive flavor that made my blood burn. Gia responded by sliding her tongue over mine, and I couldn’t hold back the groan of want and need that had been building within me.

  For a half-second, I worried that I’d ruined the moment and that she would pull back. But she didn’t. Instead, she lowered her body so that she rested on me, her soft boobs squished against me. With a burst of eagerness, I lifted one arm to wrap around her back, rubbing between her shoulder blades. It was probably a move that most guys would consider the least sexy, one boys perfected back in middle school, but for me, the freedom to touch Gia at all was heady. I’d have been content to keep brushing my fingers over her back, through her cotton shirt, for the rest of my life.

  She brought her hand up to my face, cupping my cheek, lifting her mouth a little to nibble on my lower lip. My eyelids slid open just enough to appreciate the view at close range. Gia’s face was relaxed, and a few strands of her dark hair fell onto her pale skin. I ventured one finger up to brush them away. The corners of her lips curled up, and she opened her eyes, raising up so that she could see me better.