For Keeps. For Always.

by Haley Jenner

  What she doesn’t know is that everything Henley and I do is stepping over the line. We’re torn between friendship and emotions we can’t settle on at the same time. Our love for one another isn’t unrequited. It’s forever mistimed.

  “Maybe,” I murmur.

  “I should go before I spend my entire wedding budget on a phone call to your best-friend-thieving ass,” Addy teases.

  “I’m happy for you, Addy,” I tell her. “Really happy.”

  “Thanks.” She smiles, the gesture forcing its way down the phone line.

  “Brooks, you come home with us.” Koko brushes her hand along my arm as she whispers her broken English into my ear.

  Throwing a shot of tequila down my throat, I squeeze her hand. “Maybe another time.”

  Koko and her friend pout at me purposely.

  “You make me look beautiful in my photos. We want to say thank you.”

  I laugh lightly, standing and retrieving my jacket. “I did nothing, Koko. You’re beautiful all on your own.” I blow them a kiss, my cock protesting like a motherfucker as I move away from the Chinese beauties offering me one helluva good time.

  Stumbling through the door of the bar, I tap my hands at my jacket pocket in search of my cigarettes. Stick held between my lips, I light it and begin the walk back to my hotel.

  My conversation with Addy has been at the forefront of my mind all day.

  She’s single. You’re single.

  I never imagined a moment in my life when fear would leave me questioning myself. Rejection is a fickle bitch, though. I fucked up in Glasgow when I pushed Henley the way I did. What kind of fucking asshole demands that their best friend ends their relationship for their own gain?

  It only took one sleepless night to realize I was a cunt. Fourteen more to work up the courage to apologize. There was no reason to have been such a little bitch about it. But she never answered my call, and that was a reality I never imagined.

  Henley blocking me out.

  Again.

  Groaning awake, I push the heel of my palms into my eyes, rubbing the sleep from them. I blink up at the ceiling, ignoring the way it wavers. My temples throb so thickly, I touch my fingers to them, feeling my hangover thick and steady.

  The alarm clock beside my bed is blank, its cord yanked from the wall. I vaguely remember doing that at some ungodly hour this morning, the bright red figures burning my retinas through my lids.

  Sitting up groggily, I pat around the hotel bed in search of my phone.

  The thousand thread-count sheet drops to my waist, and I scratch at my bare chest, yawning.

  My cell is dead, so I throw it back down among the sheets. Grabbing the hotel phone, I hit the number for room service, holding the receiver between my ear and shoulder.

  “What time is it?” I ask rudely when a soft, feminine voice answers.

  “One o’clock in the afternoon, sir.”

  Fuck.

  “Can you send up a cheeseburger and fries? A coffee and two cans of Coke, please?”

  She recites my order back, and I grunt an affirmation into the line before hanging up.

  Plugging my laptop and phone in to charge before I shower, I ignore the spilled-out minibar. Tiny alcohol bottles empty and scattered across the carpet in remnants of a sorrowful evening.

  I vomit in the shower. Both ashamed and relieved as the contents of my stomach wash away with the rain of water.

  After using the hotel towel to dry my cock and balls, I discard it on the floor and move toward my suitcase to pull on a pair of sweats just in time for a knock on my door.

  Swallowing a half can of Coke in one go, I shake my head as the fizz hits my nose and eyes. It wakes me up, and I blink widely. The smell of the cheeseburger turns my stomach, so I pick at the fries as my laptop turns on.

  I flick through emails, ignoring most, pausing when one burns my eyes.

  Henley Wright accepted your friend request.

  “What the fuck?” I murmur, throwing my half-eaten french fry onto the plate as it all comes crashing back.

  Me deciding Addy was right. That my generic emails were piss-poor and forced as fuck. I came to the drunken conclusion that social media would alleviate my guilted obligation.

  Brooks, you fucking idiot.

  Exhaling loud enough to make me cough, I hover the mouse over the search bar before tapping my index finger. I open the web page and log in without issue.

  A small red box appears in the top right of my screen, and I can’t click on it fast enough.

  The picture on her profile is taken of her back. Her (bare) feet planted firmly on a grassy hill, a white lighthouse artfully framing the right side of the photo. Henley’s arms are stretched outward, her head tipped back, facing the bright blue sky. She’s dressed simply in a pair of cutoffs, a white shirt, and a black wide-brimmed hat, her hair flying in the direction of the wind. She looks perfect.

  I click on the picture.

  “Byron Bay, New South Wales, Australia,” I read aloud.

  The top of her profile has a box that reads “Message.” I click on it.

  Brooks: Australia, hey?

  She responds immediately.

  Henley: It’s beautiful. Have you been?

  Brooks: No.

  I start typing an apology but delete the words, knowing nothing I can say will fix what I did.

  Henley: I’ve missed you.

  I sigh in relief. She said it first. My heart regulates, slowing from the racing gallop it was caught in only moments ago.

  Brooks: I’ve missed you, too. I’m so fucking sorry for Glasgow.

  There. I said it. I brought up the moment that I thought had shattered our friendship forever.

  Henley: It’s in the past, Brooks. Please, let’s just forget it. Did you speak to Addy?

  Forget it?

  Forget the overwhelming need I felt to claim her, to kiss her, to own her?

  Forget the obvious way in which she clearly wanted it too?

  I’d happily forget her rejection, but forget what passed between us? Never.

  Brooks: Engaged!!!

  I ignore my own psychotic thoughts.

  Henley: Crazy. Good crazy.

  Brooks: Definitely good crazy.

  Henley: Where are you?

  Brooks: China.

  Henley: I was there a few months back.

  Brooks: Addy mentioned.

  Brooks: How long will you be in Australia?

  Henley: Forever?

  Henley: Joking. Or not.

  Henley: It’s BEAUTIFUL, Brooks.

  Henley: You HAVE to visit.

  I want to hop on a plane yesterday and meet her in the future.

  Brooks: I’ll add it to my bucket list.

  Henley: Do. Promise me.

  Brooks: For always.

  A pause.

  I’ve scared her.

  Shit.

  Henley: For keeps.

  Henley: I really do miss you. I wanted to carve our names into the Great Wall, but I couldn’t bring myself to maim it.

  Brooks: Me too.

  Henley: I miss our rock.

  Brooks: What’s your #?

  She sends it without delay, and I grab my cell, texting the photo that sits as my wallpaper, and wait.

  Henley: You have a photo of it!!

  Brooks: It's my phone background.

  My phone rings a second later, and I answer faster than humanly possible.

  “Why did we let ourselves get here?”

  Her voice sounds so sad. So broken. So much like how I remember it from all those years ago. And all I want to do is crawl through the phone and hug her, reassure her as I used to.

  “I don’t know,” I answer honestly.

  “Are you happy?” she asks quietly.

  “I love my job. I love the places it takes me.”

  “That’s not what I asked you,” she pushes.

  I sigh. It’s a poignant question. One with an answer I’ve never been game enough to admit,
even to myself. “No. I don’t think so.”

  “Me either. Being lonely when surrounded by people feels silly, but it’s the only way to describe how I feel.”

  I close my eyes.

  I feel that each and every day.

  “It’s the worst kind of loneliness, Brooks.”

  “I know,” I whisper.

  19

  HENLEY

  My heart beats faster than it should.

  Excitement, nerves, anticipation maybe?

  I’ve missed Brooks. Terribly.

  I hated the way we left things after Glasgow. I blamed him, but in truth, it was me. All of it.

  I made the decision to keep Aaron a secret until the very last minute.

  I acted like I wanted him to kiss me. I pushed the limits of our friendship to the very edge because I wanted his lips on mine.

  I lied by omission to Aaron.

  Every fractured feeling was my doing.

  And I deserved the aftermath.

  I told Aaron about Brooks the moment I walked back into his apartment. Guilt having claimed me completely.

  He was pissed, understandably, ranting about trust and honest lines of communication. He told me he forgave me, that he understood temptation and appreciated that I stopped it before it went too far.

  The truth is, it went further than he thought. His mind was focused on the physical when my heart was detaching itself from Aaron the moment I ran into Brooks on that darkened Glasgow street.

  We may not have actually kissed, but the fact that I was a breath away from begging him to was warning enough. A warning I refused to heed. I needed him to want me the way only Brooks can. Openly and absolute.

  There is no maybe with Brooks Riley. Not with me. When I’m with him, his longing is palpable. I can taste it, brushing along my lips, infiltrating my mouth, and slowly sliding down my body to wrap itself around my heart.

  But I should’ve known better than to accept Aaron’s forgiveness so easily. I knew the strength of his pride. In hindsight, maybe I believed him because I didn’t really care.

  I’m a terrible person. Just add it to my never-ending list of flaws.

  Aaron fucked a co-worker that same night in retaliation, and my life in Glasgow went from contented to nonexistent. I left the following week and let myself get lost in the world again for months before settling.

  Brooks reached out—of course, he did—but I wasn’t ready to apologize, my embarrassment and self-loathing too great to ignore. By the time I’d worked up the courage to call him, he shunned me, and our friendship as I knew it was over.

  Until a few weeks ago when he friended me on social media.

  Settling on my bed, I refresh my Wi-Fi, waiting impatiently for it to connect. I’ve been counting down the hours until I could call him. Time dragged, and I was now overeager to talk to him, which meant I’d no doubt embarrass myself and regret this whole arrangement come morning.

  We made the promise that we’d speak more often, and his voice has been the highlight of my weeks.

  My laptop connects, the dial tone of Skype intrusive in the otherwise quiet room. It rings for longer than usual, my pulse quickening in panic at the thought he may not answer. But as quick as my hysteria builds, it’s extinguished just as fast. The sound of the dial tone cuts out, the grainy touch of his screen connecting.

  “Hey.” He leans down, the wet droplets of his hair falling down his naked chest.

  “Hey.”

  “I for sure thought I was gonna miss you. I almost fell on my ass in the shower.” He smiles, and I can't help but do the same.

  “Are you naked?”

  He dips his screen, showing me the towel wrapped around his waist.

  “Oh.”

  “Do you want me to be?” he tests.

  “What?” I balk, heat crawling up my neck. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “I’m just fuckin’ with you, Squirrel.” He laughs, and I attempt to regulate my breathing.

  Dropping to his bed, he rests his laptop on his towel-clad thighs, the wide expanse of his chest on show.

  He’s filled out a lot over the past few years. The tan of his skin stretched comfortably over the easy muscle his body has built through years of trekking through terrain to find his perfect shot. Small but defined pectoral muscles move out of sight when he tips the screen to show his face, and I shouldn’t mourn the loss of the view, but I do. His nipples are dark, a modest scattering of hair resting between them. The strong line of his neck carves into his shoulders, thick veins pulsating heavily as he swallows.

  “What time is it there?”

  “Midnight.” I stifle a yawn.

  “Henley, we could’ve spoken in the morning.”

  “I’m not tired,” I lie. “Plus, I wanted to talk to you.” The words whispered in a way I didn’t mean for them to be.

  “Everything okay?”

  I nod.

  “Sure?”

  “Promise.”

  He raises a thick eyebrow. “What have I told you about promises?”

  I roll my eyes, unable to hide the smile that grows on my face.

  He’s making me giddy, and I equal parts love and hate the schoolgirl crush I develop the moment I see or speak to him.

  We’ve been speaking every few days. It was like the breaking of a dam wall. Nothing stood between us anymore. Aside from the crippling distance, of course. It’s like it has always felt between us. Easy, real. And I can’t get enough. I’d speak to him every day if I wouldn’t come across like a psychotic stalker, and we could manage our schedules better.

  “Arrive in the Whitsundays?”

  I nod. “Yeah, yesterday. It’s beautiful.”

  “You’re sunburned,” he comments.

  I touch my cheeks. “I spent the day swimming at a place called Whitehaven Beach. It was like nothing I’ve ever seen. The sand is basically white, and the water is crystal-clear.”

  “The rest of you doesn’t look burned, just your face.”

  I glance down at my shoulders. “I had to wear a full swimsuit, one that covered my arms and legs… my whole body.”

  His head tilts to the side, his lips pursing in question.

  “They have jellyfish that can kill you.” I laugh.

  “What the fuck?” He snorts. “Why are you laughing about that?”

  “They’re called Irukandji. Hectic, hey?”

  “Appreciate you never swimming there ever again.”

  I grin. “Worried about me?”

  “Always, Henley.”

  His voice drops lower than I’m used to. The meaning in his words deeper than I expected.

  Silence falls between us, our eyes refusing to blink as too much and not enough passes between us in a silent conversation we’re nowhere near ready to decipher.

  “I miss you,” I whisper. The heaviness in my words weighs just as burdensome in my heart.

  His eyes close. “You seem so close, yet it kills me that you’re so far away.”

  I long to reach out and touch him. To touch his cheek and feel the strong line of his jaw. I settle for the screen, tracing a single finger across the picture of his face, trailing off when I reach his chin.

  “Probably for the best,” he murmurs. “I’d try to kiss you with you looking at me like that.”

  My stomach knots. I don’t blink, afraid I’ll lose the promise in his eyes if I were to do so.

  “I’d let you,” I admit.

  His nostrils flare. “Henley.”

  “Where are you?”

  “The Philippines.”

  “Only a day,” I murmur to myself.

  “Hm?” he asks.

  “Nothing.” I shake my head.

  “Talk to me about the Philippines,” I tell him, blinking slowly.

  “You’re tired,” he hums.

  “Mm,” I agree. “But I haven’t gone to sleep next to you in too long.”

  “Okay.” He readjusts himself, lying down before launching into his travels, lulli
ng me into a peaceful sleep. I don’t know how long he talks before I fall asleep, but the call has ended when I wake up, and I feel emptier than I care for.

  Grabbing my cell, I inhale sharply.

  Brooks: I’d kiss you slowly, taking my time. The uncertainty of when I’d be able to do it again would be too much for me to bear, so I’d savor every taste of your mouth.

  I release a long-drawn-out breath. Every nerve in my body is tensed, pushed to the limits of excitement I haven’t felt in too long.

  I’d kiss you slowly.

  I remember vividly how delicate his lips felt. Like cotton candy, soft enough to mold with mine.

  I’d savor every taste of your mouth.

  It’s been so long since I’ve felt the love of someone’s mouth on mine. I miss the intoxicating intimacy of kissing. The simple pleasure of sliding your eager tongue against another’s.

  A good kiss can turn you on, claim your heart, and break it all at once.

  I think about how I’d react at being given the opportunity to taste Brooks again. Would I do as he said and savor him? Would I go slow, afraid if I rushed it that it’d be over too quickly and I’d be without him once again?

  No.

  Henley: My kiss would be hurried. It’d be frantic. The uncertainty of when I’d be able to do it again would be too much for me to bear, so I’d make sure I tasted you as much as possible.

  Brooks: Fuck, Squirrel.

  I smirk to myself.

  Brooks: Don’t you DARE give that kiss to anyone else, Henley. I want it. It’s mine.

  I want it.

  It’s mine.

  My kiss. My lips. My desperation.

  Deep down, he knows he didn’t need to demand that. He knows me. Knows that I couldn’t think of anything worse than sharing what I need from him with anyone else. Still, his brusquely text command has only heightened the way I needed him.

  Henley: It’s yours.

  Brooks: For. Fucking. Always.

  Brooks: Don’t forget that, Henley. Our names are carved together on a rock for a reason.

  20

  BROOKS

  My dick is hard.

  I readjust it in my boxers, breathing through my nostrils, but it's no use.