For Keeps. For Always.

by Haley Jenner

  Silence snags between us, our feet moving closer but pausing, uncertainty splitting through the grass like a gulf we can’t step over.

  So much passes between us in the briefest blink of time. Apologies and forgiveness. Feelings neither of us are old enough to even consider understanding. Emotions that are too deep for my underdeveloped heart to interpret.

  “You,” I answer honestly. “Only you.”

  I shouldn’t have told him that.

  Aaron tells me I’m cute. Cute. Like the way you describe your grandmother or a puppy you meet at the park.

  Never beautiful.

  Brooks is different. He’s deeper. He’s not just telling me that he likes the way I look. He’s telling me he likes the shine of my soul and the way my eyes speak to him.

  It consumes me. More often than not, I despise myself. I hate my flaws. They’re defects I wouldn’t accept on another, yet they’re fundamentals of who I am.

  Brooks thinks I’m beautiful despite those blemishes on my soul, undeterred by the failings in my person.

  “More people should tell you that.” He turns away, toeing off his boots in the freezing temperature to feel the piercing cold grass against his feet.

  His eyes tighten in discomfort, lips thinning out at the sharp pain. I watch him in amusement.

  “But I’m glad they haven’t,” he continues. “Does that make me an asshole?” He glances at me over his shoulder, his eyes dropping to my feet in expectation.

  “It’s thirty-nine out,” I groan. “My feet will freeze.”

  His eyes narrow. “Who are you, and what have you done with my Henley?”

  My Henley.

  “She’s here,” I tell him. “She’s just interested in keeping all of her toes.”

  Letting his camera hang from his neck loosely, he tucks his hands under his armpits. Clucking slowly, he moves closer.

  “Stop it.” I cross my arms.

  His clucking gets faster. And louder, gathering the attention of passersby.

  “You’re acting like a child.”

  He moves around me, a soft cluck ticking the line of my ear as he steps uncomfortably close.

  I step forward. “Brooks.”

  I whirl around.

  He raises an eyebrow, letting his arms fall to his side only to lift them again, stretching them outward. “Where’s my gypsy? The girl who was going to travel the world and feel the earth between her toes.”

  My teeth massage the inside of my cheek before I sigh in defeat.

  Bending at the waist, I work the laces of my boots silently. Shoe and sock removed, I drop my foot to the grass. “Holy fucking shit.”

  “Cold, hey?”

  “Words like arctic or polar would be more apt,” I breathe out slowly, my foot going numb.

  He laughs at me, lifting his camera to take a photo of his bare feet.

  I remove my other boot, stuffing my sock inside the leather. Eyes shut tight, I drop it to the grass, inhaling sharply at the pinch of pain caused by the cold.

  I breathe in purposely through my nose, exhaling forcefully through my mouth.

  Click.

  I open an eye.

  Click.

  “You’re an asshole.”

  “You’re perfect,” he rebuts.

  “I’m cold.”

  “Perfect and cold,” he agrees. “How does it feel?”

  I let my feet settle into the icy cold grass, feeling like pins pushed deep into the balls of my heels. Something deep inside me settles. My lungs expand more freely, and my heart flutters in peace.

  “Home.” I smile to myself. “It feels like home.”

  His heat hits me before I feel his touch. The soft brush of his thumb against the freckles on my cheeks. “I couldn’t agree more.”

  Even with my eyes closed, sight shut off to the intention in his gaze, I know he’s going to kiss me. I can sense it. I can feel it. The warmth of his body engulfing mine. The heat of his breath skating across my face.

  I’m too scared to open my eyes.

  I’m scared to know I’m right.

  Or to maybe find I’m wrong.

  Both realities paralyze me with fear.

  A thread of space sits between our lips, and I know in my heart, I want him to kiss me. I crave the touch of his wanting, his lips against mine. I want his mouth to close over mine, and I lust for his tongue to push inside.

  I want to feel Brooks love me, and the knot in my stomach tightens with the knowledge that I can’t let him. I hate myself but wish I did it a little bit harder. I wish I loathed myself enough to let it happen.

  His lips touch mine, finally, the briefest of tastes before I find it deep within me to shove him back.

  “I’m seeing someone.”

  He looks murderous, his eyes darkened with betrayal.

  “Here in Glasgow,” I add uselessly.

  “What?” he pants.

  I stay silent, knowing he heard me just fine.

  “How long?”

  “A month,” I answer defensively, avoiding the contempt in his stare.

  “Call him,” he demands. “End it.”

  “What?” I splutter.

  “End it. You wouldn’t be here with me if you were serious about him, so end it.” There’s a desperation in his tone. A plea spiked with unwarranted power.

  “I’m not going to end my relationship because you demand I do so.”

  He stifles a growl of annoyance that simmers in this throat, begging to be let free, the sound vibrating heavily and making it ten times more intimidating.

  “Why are you here?” he challenges. “With me.”

  “To catch up with a friend,” I offer pitifully.

  “A friend.” His head nods up and down in disbelief.

  I lean down, picking up my boots, my moment of freedom lost.

  “Does he know you’re here?” he accuses, the bite of his tone cutting through the still air.

  I swallow. “He knows I’m catching up with a friend.”

  Snatching his own boots up, he shakes his head. “Friend. Un-fucking-believable,” he mumbles to himself.

  He steps backward, forcing distance between us.

  “Why didn’t you tell him you were meeting me?”

  My body is shaking, visible tremors wracking through my entire being. My head feels ready to explode. “I . . . I don’t know.”

  “Say again?”

  “I don’t know!” I yell despairingly.

  “Do you love him?” he questions, and I hate the way my throat closes in panic.

  “That’s not fair.” I turn away, moving a few steps to the closest seat, sitting down to pull my socks on. “You can’t ask me that.”

  “Why?” he pushes, moving up beside me to mirror my actions.

  “We haven’t been together long enough,” I argue weakly, shoving my foot into my boot messily. “We haven’t told one another that. How could I confess that to someone else first?”

  “That’s not what I’m asking, Henley.” He squeezes my shoulder, and I look up at him. “I’m asking if you feel as strongly for him as you do for me.”

  I close my eyes, working to ignore the way he consumes me. I need him to stop touching me. The weight of his hand blurs my moral compass, confusing me further.

  “Brooks.” I sigh.

  “Don’t bullshit me.” He grabs both my shoulders, physically turning me to face him and keeping hold to stop me from moving away.

  Brushing my hand down the line of his jacket, I gnaw at my bottom lip. “You and I were best friends,” I tell him. “And then we weren’t. I don’t know what we are anymore. I don’t know what I feel.”

  It’s a half-truth, but the only one I’m certain of.

  I can’t tell him that he’s consumed every thought from the moment I saw him last night. That I couldn’t stomach the idea of touching Aaron or having Aaron touch me when my mind was consumed by him.

  “Not true,” he combats confidently. “We’ve always been best friends. W
e just stepped into something more.”

  “You and I have history.” I need him to listen. I need him to understand that I’m confused. “Of course, there are feelings there. But look at us.”

  He stares at me blankly.

  I gesture around us. To no one. To everyone. “Look at how we discard others so easily when we’re around one another. It’s not healthy.”

  “Are you blind?” He drops his hands away from my shoulders, pushing his feet into his boots. “We discard others because there’s something important between us.”

  I nod, not willing to deny that certainty. “Maybe. But I also have feelings for Aaron, which means I can’t be certain of what I really feel. Maybe you’re my safe choice.”

  I regret the words as soon as I’ve said them. He stands up in shock before I can take them back, and I feel cold.

  I stand too, stepping toward him.

  “Safe choice? What the fuck?”

  “I’m used to you protecting me, Brooks,” I backtrack. “What if that’s what I’m hanging onto?”

  He moves away from me again, rubbing his forehead in frustration. “You think you only want me because I’m what, like the dad you never had?”

  I massage my hands. “No! You’re twisting my words.” I exhale heavily. “God, I’m mixing my words. It’s about me, Brooks.”

  “I’m listening,” he implores. “Make me understand, Henley, because I’m standing here right now trying to make sense of what you’re saying.”

  I’m certain that nothing I say at this point will make him understand. Hell, I don’t even understand what I’m trying to get across. “I’ve spent so long being stuffed into someone else’s pocket. Mom and Dad. Then you. Then just Mom. I feel like a broken bird afraid to fly. I had these illustrious dreams of traveling the world and finding somewhere to belong,” I explain. “But when crunch time came, Brooks, I came apart.”

  “That’s understandable.”

  The weather is frigid, but my body is covered in a sheen of sweat. Cold dampness coats my skin under the layers of clothing. His understanding is superfluous. He should be mad at me and call me out for being a despicable person.

  Why does he do this? Why does he work to see me as a better person than I actually am?

  “I’m not saying it’s silly or wrong,” I assure him. “But I want to be confident in myself. By myself.”

  If I’d grown two heads, he’d likely look at me the way he is right now.

  “You’re with what’s-his-name.”

  “Aaron,” I whisper, feeling awful at even saying his name aloud at this point.

  For him.

  For Brooks.

  “Aaron,” he echoes callously.

  “He’s someone new,” I admit shamefully. “He’s not a security blanket. He’s a part of a journey of me finding myself.”

  The upper line of his lip curls upward, the lust held in his eyes only minutes ago, gone, erased like it never existed, replaced with a void that frightens me. “Doing that through cock now, hey? I thought it was all about this.” He stretches his arms out. “Fresh air, the grass between your toes, and adventure.”

  The stab of his words breaks at the way my heart beats, forcing it to stumble in my chest. “That was uncalled for.”

  Stepping into me, he leans down, bringing us nose to nose. “I don’t understand who you are right now.”

  I can feel my tears as they slide down my cheeks. “That’s what I’m trying to say,” I cry. “Neither do I.”

  Lifting his camera, he takes a photo of me.

  “Stop it,” I sob, turning my face away before he can take another photo.

  “Am I just supposed to wait for you?” he all but spits. “Hang around while you fuck other men so you can find yourself?”

  “You’re being horrible.”

  He shrugs. “It seems promises don’t even need to be vocalized. You told me you loved me once upon a time, and I stupidly believed you.” He barks out a sinister laugh. “Told you it’d only break my heart.”

  18

  BROOKS

  AGE 22 (THREE YEARS LATER)

  “What are you working on at the moment?”

  Handing over the change for my coffee, I smile my thanks.

  “A shoot for a lingerie campaign.”

  Addy’s amused laughter sings through the line. “Oh, poor Brooks. Sounds like a hardship.”

  “I know.” I sigh jovially. “It’s a tough gig, but someone’s gotta do it.”

  “I’m sure they had to twist your arm.”

  “Something like that,” I murmur.

  “Where are you anyway?” she asks. “Your reception is terrible.”

  “Shenzen,” I tell her. “China,” I add in case her geography still sucks.

  I can hear the smile in her voice when she speaks. “You and Henley, working to carve your name across the globe.”

  “Henley is here?” I hate the hopelessness in my tone. The neediness in the way her name clings to my tongue.

  “Was,” she clarifies, unperturbed by my longing.

  Disappointment filters through my veins. My hope like a balloon with reality hitting it like the sharp point of a pin, bursting it with a bang loud enough to make me blink.

  “When?”

  “About three months ago.”

  She was here. Just twelve weeks ago, she stood in the same place I did, studying the names of strangers who had carved their names into The Great Wall.

  Nostalgia hit me like a freight train. Feeling the letters and symbols etched into the stone made me miss Lake Geneva and my childhood more than I should. I couldn’t bring myself to partake in the touristic tradition, the monument itself too consuming and potent for me to want to mark it in any way.

  “Do you speak to her often?” I aim for nonchalance but fail. Miserably.

  “Once a month,” she says distractedly. “You guys still don’t speak?”

  I blow out a heavy breath. “Not since Glasgow. I called her a few weeks after to apologize for my tantrum, but she didn’t answer my call. Not that I blame her.”

  I deserved her silence. I was a prick.

  “I find it strange she hasn’t tried to contact you.” Subtlety isn’t Addy’s strong suit. Her eagerness for information as clear as crystal. I can’t hold it against her. She’s caught in the middle of a friendship that somehow went AWOL. It’s awkward for her. The third-wheel now is a central cog, keeping us connected whether we wanted it or not.

  “She called me about six months after our blowup,” I volunteer easily. “But I was seeing someone at the time. After everything that went down, I didn’t think it was appropriate to take the call.”

  It didn’t mean I didn’t want to. Shit, it was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. Seeing her name flash across my screen and watch it for a torturous number of seconds before it rang out. Before the screen once again fell blank, and she was once again out of reach.

  “Sounds serious,” Addy fishes.

  “It’s over.” I laugh. “But I did think I was in love for a minute.”

  “You weren’t?”

  “Caught in a cloud of lust too dense to escape. I was nursing a broken heart after Henley rejected me.”

  Addy goes quiet on the end of the line. Likely an uncertainty of what to say, of how to respond to the melancholy dripping seven thousand miles across the ocean.

  “So, not the best segue,” Addy starts. “But there was a reason for my call.”

  “Oh?” I stand comfortably to the side of the path, enjoying my coffee as commuters brush and push past me, their heads focused downward on their feet.

  “Andrew asked me to marry him.”

  Choking on my coffee, I cough. “Jesus, Addy. Congratulations. Why the hell were you letting me make small talk?”

  She laughs.

  “You said yes, right?”

  “Of course, I said yes!” she yells at me.

  “Engaged at twenty-two.”

  There’s no judgment or s
hock in my tone. A simple statement.

  “When you know, you know,” she murmurs.

  Henley’s face blurs my vision.

  Of course, there are feelings there. But look at us.

  “Obviously, we’re in no immediate rush to get married,” Addy continues, oblivious to the dilemma of my heart. “But when we settle on a date, do you think you could trek back to our neck of the woods to help us celebrate?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it, babe.”

  My coffee tastes like lead, the bitter taste of regret and resentment settling in my stomach like an anchor, pulling me further into the abyss with every second.

  I throw the cup into the first trash can I see, watching the milky liquid spray along the sides in its own frustration.

  “I feel like I know nothing about what you’re doing, where you are, or what you’re up to.” Addy easily moves into different conversations without prelude, expecting me to follow without confusion. In person, I can see the change in her demeanor. It’s harder to do over the phone; it’s as though I’m aimlessly grabbing puzzle pieces, praying they fit.

  “I send emails.” I don’t let myself feel guilt at the accusation in her tone.

  “A generic email three times a year is not keeping me updated on your life. You need to join the world of social media. You’re a little late to the party.”

  “No.”

  I can feel her roll her eyes down the line. “It’s a way we can stay in contact while you’re conquering the world. You can post pictures and see ours.”

  I remain silent.

  “Henley joined.”

  Sneaky little shit.

  “I can’t believe I never picked up that you two would develop romantic feelings. Still psychs me out. You’re not supposed to fall in love with your best friend, Brooks.”

  “We were young, and those feelings were a long time ago now,” I lie.

  “Serves you right for stealing my best friend.”

  I can’t stop the bark of laughter that creeps up on me. “You should really get over that. It was years ago. And the way I see it, you won out anyway. She talks to you.”

  “You should call her. You’re single. She’s single. No one is going to get hurt feelings. For once, you won’t be crossing any lines.”