Better Late Than Never

by Ghiselle St. James

  She is the one.

  “So, you see, Miss Winters, I’ve missed out on a lot of life with her, I’m not eager to spend the rest of it without her,” I declare boldly.

  Because, truth be told, with or without her help, I’m going to get the girl.

  Marla swipes at her eyes, tears falling regardless. She doesn’t say a word as she tries to gather herself. I offer her facial tissue and she pulls a few from the box wordlessly.

  After a few moments, she says, “So all of this…is for her.” Her voice wobbles as emotion sweeps over her again.

  “I’ve never loved someone so completely in my entire life, Miss Winters,” I reply, my voice strong and feelings sure. “I have given up on every opportunity to be with her, so I’m making an opportunity now. It might be a little underhanded…” Okay, a lot underhanded. “But I’m willing to do whatever it takes to get her attention.”

  “And speaking as the pretend British fiancée, Avon, in this scheme,” Nova speaks up from her post at my door.

  I had seen her come in earlier, but there was no point in stopping the story, she wouldn’t have moved until I continued anyway. Nova’s like a kid who wants to hear the story of how her parents met, over and over again. According to her, she’s as invested in this whole thing as I am. And I don’t think I’ve thanked her properly for that.

  “The man is hopeless,” she says without elaborating further. “What?” she asks when we just stare at her. “Oh, you thought I was gonna finish my statement? Nah, boss, you’re hopeless.”

  I sigh and roll my eyes while Marla tries hard not to let her smile show. She’s failing.

  “Being a hopeless idiot aside,” Nova continues, drawing closer and taking a seat next to Marla. “He loves her, and I’ve never seen a love so pure in a very long time.”

  Silently, I thank my secretary, tipping my head in her direction. She smiles back widely, a smile that tells me that she expects a raise soon. She deserves it.

  “How do you know this’ll work?” she asks in a tearful voice.

  I consider my words as I mull over her question. When I think of the times I’ve been too much of a coward to tell her how I feel; all the time apart; the fear I’ve used to cripple any chances we could have…we probably shouldn’t be together. She should tell me the furthest part of hell to go, with a kick in the balls for good measure.

  “I don’t know that it will work, but I’m hoping it does,” I answer truthfully, before taking a deep breath and revealing a conversation she and I had a year ago after we got our anchor tattoos.

  Kyle – Past

  Two years ago

  “Holy fuck,” I groan as the needle pierces my skin once more, the tattoo artist putting on the finishing touches to the anchor on my index finger.

  Remind me never to get another one.

  “It’s not that bad, you big baby,” Savi baits me with a less than gentle smile.

  “Did I say anything when you cried bloody murder a few minutes ago?” I snap, gritting my teeth as he presses the gun into my skin harder as he shades.

  Is this how labor pain feels? Remind me to never get pregnant. Fuck me in the ass…

  “I thought we were taking that to the grave?” She levels me with a cool stare.

  “So long as you take my pain to the grave, too,” I bargain, swiping sweat from my forehead.

  “Your secret’s safe with me, bestie,” she whispers before kissing my temple.

  Her proximity has me tempted to grab her and kiss her right here. Years later, and she still has me twisted up in knots. We’ve been trying to work on our friendship, so kissing the living daylights out of her might send the wrong message.

  Plus, she is supposedly still “dating” Cam…

  The tattoo artist finally shuts the gun off, the buzzing no longer grating between my ears. He swipes the tat with a solution, and I flinch because that bitch is tender. He rattles off our care instructions before covering my tattoo with some petroleum jelly and a bandage, as he did with Savi.

  We walk to a diner nearby, arm in arm, and are seated by an older-looking waitress wearing a full white knee-length dress under a hot pink apron. Savi and I order from their lunch menu, careful not to use our freshly tattooed fingers for much pointing. Our orders come after a few short minutes and we dig in.

  “What time’s your flight tonight?” I ask, trying to navigate a knife and fork without putting too much pressure on my index finger.

  Savi looks at me, then at the cutlery in her hand. We share a silent decision before throwing down our knives and using just our forks. Thankfully, it was our left fingers that were tattooed.

  “Ugh,” she mutters. “Ten tonight. Need to be there by eight.”

  She hates the commuting, but since her business has really taken off here, she’s been going back and forth trying to run both offices. I don’t know how she does it, but her drive to succeed is probably why she is determined not to fail.

  “I’ll probably be there for a month as I finish up with the Rothman wedding,” she goes on to say.

  At her revelation of being gone for another month, my chest tightens. These times apart usually sets our progress back and we have to creep in order to get back to something that resembles what we had before. Being friends back in the day was so much easier than it is now. What with all the feelings and shit.

  “How’s that coming? It’s finally here, huh?” She’s been planning this wedding for over a year.

  “Don’t even remind me,” she gripes, picking up a drumstick from her plate and biting into it. “I didn’t see a need for this long ass engagement and planning in the first place. Then again, that bride has changed her mind so much, I’m surprised she’s still marrying the same guy.”

  I chuckle at that. I’d met the bride-to-be a few months ago on a rare trip to Miami, and Savi’s not wrong. She’s as finnicky as they come.

  “I’m too impatient for long engagements,” she adds on a dismissing wave before taking a sip of her amaretto sour.

  Somehow, my heart starts pounding at the mention of her and the idea of marriage in the same sentence. I listen intently because I feel that whatever she says next will be important to me somewhere along the line.

  “Like, I get it, some people want to wait and make things perfect,” she continues. “But for me, the day my future husband pops the question better be the day we walk down the aisle…or, at least a week later. Fuck that waiting bullshit. At least, their waiting makes me rich.”

  That last part makes me spit my drink out on a laugh.

  “Jesus,” I cough out. “What am I going to do with you, Crazy Hair?”

  “Pay for lunch and take me to the airport later?” she suggests with a coy smile.

  “You got it, kid.” I wink at her before going back to my meal.

  When we finish, I pay for our lunch and leave the waitress a tip. Walking back to my car, I throw an arm around my best friend’s shoulders. We talk animatedly to each other in the few minutes, laughing and joking as we always do. When we get to my car, there are five red-lipped kisses on my windshield.

  “Jilted lover?” Savi asks with a raised eyebrow. “Or crazy admirer?”

  “At this point…” I hedge, sighing.

  Plucking the note stuck under the wipers, I turn it over to read Meant to be on the back of it. Passing the note to Savannah, I divulge, “Honestly, it can be either one. I’ve been getting notes dropped by my office and shoved under the front door of my apartment for a few months now. I actually responded to one of the notes, telling her to ask me out already. She responded with “soon” and sealed it with a red-lipped kiss.”

  “Ooh, hot stuff,” she teases, waggling her eyebrows and handing the note back to me.

  “Until I go missing,” I snort, making Savi sober up.

  “Hey, don’t joke about that,” she chides, grabbing onto my arm. “If this is something serious, please check it out, okay? I’m not about to slow sing and flower bring any time soon.”


  “Okay, I’m sorry. I promise I’ll get this checked out. No slow singing or flower bringing,” I vow.

  She holds up her index finger and bids me to hold mine up with the same tattoo. “This anchor is symbolic of our friendship over the years. It’s been heavy, it’s been stressful. We’ve been through some tumultuous times, Kyle, but here we are, finding our firm footing again. Promise me that I won’t lose you.”

  “You won’t,” I promise carelessly, but I refuse to give her any other answer but that. I’d give her the world if I could.

  She nods, satisfied, wrapping her finger around mine. We yelp in unison, remembering that the tattoos are still fresh. She then makes me promise that every single time we are apart for long periods, that we ground ourselves by interlocking our anchors.

  That’s an easier promise to make.

  “You know Becky’s going to be pissed about this, right?” Savi notes, amused, referring to our tattoos.

  “I’m not scared of Becky…”

  I totally am.

  Kyle – Present

  I am thrust back into the present, our memories enough to make me drift away to better times. Caressing the picture of us between my fingers, I give Marla the answer she’s been waiting on.

  “She’s always said that she would want to get married as soon as possible because a long engagement is a waste of time,” I explain. “If she accepts the proposal, it means that she knows in her heart of hearts that this person is the one for her. I’m counting on the fact that she still believes that…and that she’s still in love with me.”

  I pray that she still is. She wouldn’t have been this affected by the thought of me marrying someone else if she didn’t love me…right?

  “So, what do you say?” I ask Marla with hope in my voice. “Will you help me?”

  Marla sniffles before taking a deep breath. She’s about to answer me when her phone rings out with kissing a girl and liking it.

  “Shit,” she hisses, digging into her bag. “I’m sorry, that’s my girlfriend.”

  She pulls her cell phone out and purrs her answer, “Hey, baby.”

  Nova and I share a look before she mouths, “I knew it.”

  I shake my head, stifling my smile. My secretary is something else.

  “Okay, babe, I’ll talk to you later. I’m with the client now,” Marla tells her girlfriend. “I love you, Claire.”

  She disconnects the call and apologizes. “Women are clingy creatures,” she says, as if she’s not one of said creatures. “But to answer your question from earlier: I’m in. But only because I know that Savannah is deeply, hopelessly, unequivocally in love with you too.”

  And that’s all I needed to hear.

  I call Grayson again as I navigate through the back roads to get to his office. Traffic at rush hour is no joke so this was my best bet if I wanted to get to him before five thirty, when he usually leaves.

  “It’s Grayson, sorry you missed me. Leave a message.”

  “Hey, cuz, I’m swinging by,” I convey to his voice mailbox. “Savi’s assistant is on board. I know you’re going to give me shit, but I can’t do this without you. Don’t fucking lock me out.”

  Because I know my cousin too damn well.

  I pull into the parking lot of Grayson’s company, noting his jeep is still parked. I walk around to the back entrance, intent on avoiding Karli, the company’s receptionist. I made the mistake of going out with her once two years ago and I have been hiding from her ever since. She gave me weird “I’m going to marry you, even if it’s against your will” vibes.

  Would you look at the pot calling the kettle black…?

  I key in Grayson’s code and slip through the hallway leading to his office undetected.

  “Hey, Kyle, my man,” Eli greets me with a two-finger salute. “Did you take in the game last night?” It comes out sounding like “Ju take in the game last night?” and I smile.

  He’s referring to the Division One baseball game that was held in Greenville.

  “Take in? Brother, I was there!” I exclaim, bumping his fist with mine.

  We shoot the shit for a few minutes, promising to meet up for a game of pool one of these nights, before I make a beeline for Grayson’s office and push through the door without knocking.

  “You don’t answer your phone anymore, asshole?” I growl when I step in…

  Only to see that: asshole. Well, more like my asshole cousin’s ass as he drives into his moaning wife with his face buried in her tits. Not the kind of image I want burned into my retinas.

  “My eyes! It burns!” I yelp, slapping a hand over my eyes and spinning into the door. Why isn’t this thing opening?

  “Fucking knock, Kyle!” Grayson barks at me. “Get out!”

  “Don’t you see me trying?”

  “I’m coming, Gray,” Becky whimpers, and I want to bleach my ears.

  “Fuck, baby,” Grayson groans, followed by a, “Get the fuck out, cuz, or you’ll witness firsthand what pleasing a woman looks like.”

  Kill me, please God!

  I finally wrench the door open, slam it behind me and bolt to safety. Seeing Grayson and Becky go at it is the equivalent of seeing my parents go at it. I’ll have nightmares for days…

  “I hope you got your fill,” Grayson grumbles as he swaggers into the meeting room a few minutes later, looking like a new man.

  I’m sitting with my head in my hands, trying – and failing – to get the image of a moment ago erased from my memory.

  “Ass,” I mumble in a daze. “So much ass…”

  “That’s what you get for not knocking.”

  He slides a bottle of water across the desk to me and I take it appreciatively.

  “So, what’s up assface?” he probes, kicking his ankle-booted feet up.

  After gulping down almost half of the bottle, I answer, “Savi’s assistant is in.”

  “And Savi’s leaving at the end of the week,” he chimes in, giving me a hard stare.

  “I can’t let her.”

  We eyeball each other for seconds, maybe minutes, and in those moments, we share an intense conversation without uttering a single word.

  “I love her, Grayson.”

  “But do you deserve her?”

  “I always did deserve her; it’s just taken me a long ass time to see that.”

  “Don’t hurt her.”

  “I’ve hurt her before, now it’s time to heal her.” It’s important for him to hear these words. I’ve fucked up one too many times to fuck this up, too. I’m going to marry my best friend on the day I propose to her. That’s always been her desire, and I’m more than ready to fulfill it.

  I am under no misconceptions that she’ll say yes. I’m taking a huge risk hoping that I’m right in surmising that she’s in love, been in love, with me too. This can either go horribly wrong or beautifully right.

  We’re all banking on the latter.

  Something passes in Grayson’s eyes, something akin to approval, and he nods imperceptibly. It’s a slight nod that I would have missed had I not been paying attention, but I see it.

  “If you hurt her, Kyle…”

  “Yeah, I know, you’ll kill me.” He says this every day.

  “No, I will kill you,” Becky interjects, closing the door behind her as she steps further into the room.

  She stands next to her husband who pulls her closer to him as if he can’t get enough of her presence, and a pang of jealousy hits me. Not because I want my cousin’s wife – that ship sailed a long, long, long time ago – but because I yearn for a love like theirs with Savannah.

  And I’m going to get it.

  “So, let’s go over the plan again, lover boy,” Becky insists, taking a seat.

  Lord, this has to work. Please let it work.

  Chapter Twenty Seven – Farting is Such Sweet Sorrow

  Savi – Present

  “I CAN’T BELIEVE you’re making Kyle chase you away again,” Becky’s voice strains out as she holds her bre
ath then releases it, smoke billowing from her lips.

  She puffs one last time before she passes to me and I take a toke.

  Yes, we’re on the roof of her split-level home that she and Grayson refurbished after purchasing it…smoking weed like two teenagers. We heard that it would help with her lupus symptoms, so I’m just helping her with research.

  We don’t do this once a month…

  “I wish you’d let me set you up with Gio’s cousin,” Kelly says from the phone, her pretty face in a green mask.

  We’re FaceTiming the gang. Just like old times.

  “Gio’s cousin is a gangster, Kells,” I repeat for the umpteenth time. “He’d want to rinse his blood money in my business and then I’d have to kill him, steal the stash and get a new identity. That’s too much work.”

  “He is not a gangster!” Kelly’s fiancé yells from far away.

  I mean, his cousin could pass for a member of an Italian crime family. Don’t get me wrong, he has devastatingly good looks, with a scar down the side of his face that makes him look almost sinister, but only serves to make him hotter. And with a name like Angelo Vicente, he checks every bad boy mobster checklist I have in my head.

  “Well, he’s the enforcer then!” I shout back, taking another puff and passing the joint back to Becky.

  Lisa and Monica both start to crack up, their wine sloshing in each of their flutes. Lisa and Mon decided to take up job offers way out of state – California and Arizona, respectively. We try to see each other every year. Damage is usually caused, but nothing that can’t be fixed.

  Although, I do have a slight record in Las Vegas, and I’m sort of (very much) banned from a casino in Atlantic City.

  Good times…

  “You watch too many mob movies,” he mumbles, his handsome face now coming into view. “I told you he’s a criminal lawyer.”

  “You say potato,” I murmur, shrugging my shoulders.