The Difference Between Somebody and Someone (The Difference Trilogy Book 1)

by Aly Martinez

  Well, that and Mark’s eternal bachelor status, Aaron’s fear of commitment, and my inability to meet a man who even remotely piqued my interest.

  Okay, maybe comfortable and sad was a better description of our living arrangement. It worked for us though.

  Most of the time.

  I snatched the bowl from Mark and carried it to the drawer where I dug out a spoon. Leaning against the counter, I gave him a pointed smile before shoveling a huge bite into my mouth.

  Crossing his arms over his chest, he sank back into his chair and shot me a glare that held no heat. “Savage.”

  I shrugged, chewing as loud as I could—all too aware of how much it annoyed him.

  Bite after bite, our stare off continued until Aaron suddenly ruined breakfast for both of us.

  “Remi!”

  I jumped, sloshing all but a few bites of the Frosted Flakes onto the floor.

  Mark let out a loud laugh.

  I leveled my glare on Aaron. “What the hell? Why are you yelling?”

  He put his hand in the air and mimicked strangling me, his navy blazer opening to reveal a tailored vest beneath it. “Better question: What the hell are you still doing in a towel?”

  I looked at the mess on the floor. “Well, I was eating. Now, it looks like I’m cleaning.”

  “We don’t have time for this.” He marched over, carefully avoiding the milk puddle that would have made Tony the Tiger cry. After snagging the bowl from my hands, he unceremoniously dropped it into the sink. “We have to leave in five minutes, and you aren’t even dressed yet. We can’t be late today, Remi.” He let out a huff and started to brush his blond hair off his forehead before remembering that his unruly locks were already sealed in place with a rather obnoxious amount of gel. Instead, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “We just…can’t.”

  Mark and I exchanged knowing glances.

  Six months earlier, Aaron and I had been on a flight home from Colorado when, due to improper balance and faulty landing gear that never should have been approved for takeoff, our plane broke apart upon landing. Twenty-seven people survived, but even without physical scars, no one was immune to the catastrophic trauma of a disaster like the one we’d experienced.

  Aaron was no longer the soft-spoken kid who had been bullied in high school. He was over six feet tall, and four mornings a week, he could be found at the gym with Mark. Women stopped dead in their tracks on the sidewalk when he passed, and there wasn’t a woman at his office who didn’t openly gape at him. He was one of the strongest men I’d ever met, but since the accident, he’d been struggling.

  He had nightmares—a lot.

  Anxiety that crept up on him from out of nowhere.

  And sometimes, he just got overwhelmed with life in general.

  I shifted my gaze to Mark and all humor over our breakfast exchange vanished.

  Standing from his chair, he locked his gaze on our best friend. “You hanging in there, man?”

  Aaron rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “We don’t have time for this. You know how I hate being late.”

  I frowned. The man did have a thing for punctuality, but it wasn’t why he was toeing the line of a panic attack.

  My stomach became tight as I watched him chew on his bottom lip. There was nothing I wouldn’t have done to take that away from him. But no two people on the plane had had the same experience. The minute those wheels hit the ground, our lives were ripped apart. We came home to the same house. Slept in rooms that were across the hall. Quietly ate breakfast at the same table each morning. But just like the cabin of that plane, something had been broken.

  God bless Mark. I had no idea what the two of us would have done without him. As much as Aaron and I tried to be there for each other, broken couldn’t fix broken.

  Mark never knew the right thing to say or do, but he tried. If I woke up confused or afraid, he was the first one in my bedroom, arms open wide. And when it was Aaron’s turn to lose it, Mark would sit for hours at the foot of his bed, talking him down.

  It was memories like those that made me feel guilty for not letting him eat my Frosted Flakes. He deserved the whole damn cereal aisle.

  Mark loomed over us, flicking his gaze between Aaron and me. “You want me to go with you guys? I can have Eric meet the beer distributer at the bar. It won’t take me but a minute to get dressed.”

  “No,” Aaron returned immediately. “It’s fine. I’m fine. We’re all just fucking fine.”

  I gave his arm a squeeze, letting it linger. “I’ll be ready in five. I promise.”

  His face softened and his shoulders rolled forward. “I’m sorry. I…”

  I shook my head. “Hey, you don’t have to explain anything. Let me go get dressed. You drive, and I’ll do my makeup on the way. Okay?”

  He nodded and offered me a tight smile. “Okay.”

  On my way out of the kitchen, I bumped my shoulder with Mark’s. At five-two, I barely came up to his chest, so realistically, it was more like bumping my shoulder with his elbow.

  He shot me a wink and slanted his head toward my room. Go. I got this, he silently replied.

  My chest warmed. Comfortable and sad aside, this was why we were all twenty-nine, successful, and still living together.

  Just before I got to my room, I barked a laugh when I heard Mark start in on Aaron.

  Remember the aforementioned part about him never knowing what to say or do? Proof: “So, Mr. Three-Piece Suit, did you prepare a speech to accept your Oscar or are you just going to wing it?”

  “Shut the fuck up,” Aaron bit back, but there was no mistaking the humor in his tone.

  Remi

  I should have known better than to wear that damn black maxi dress. I didn’t personally believe in witches or magic, but it was cursed. There was no other explanation for it. I’d survived two of the worst dates of my life in that dress and broken a heel while on my way to show a million-dollar home in that dress. It was also what I’d been wearing the day I found out a buyer had been arrested on embezzlement charges an hour before the biggest closing of my life.

  So when I said the dress contained some seriously bad vibes, I was not exaggerating.

  I had no idea why I hadn’t burned the damn thing yet, but after I’d promised Aaron I’d be ready in five minutes, it turned out to be my saving grace. Banished to the dark depths of my closet, it was in the bag from the dry cleaners when I found it. Since it was the only article of clothing I owned that didn’t need to be ironed, I took a chance.

  Now, I was paying the price.

  On the car ride over, I twisted my unruly blond hair into a loose braid that hung over one shoulder, and despite the potholes, which I swear Aaron hit on purpose, my makeup was almost perfect. For as much as I’d been dreading the day, I felt pretty good when we walked up to the courthouse. There was a line down the front steps to get through security, so Aaron and I made small talk while we waited. The usual stuff: work, the bills, the brunette in front of us who was one hair flip away from breaking her neck to catch his attention.

  And that was when the black maxi dress from hell got its ultimate revenge for being awakened from its peaceful, plastic-wrapped slumber.

  I thought nothing of the little string when I saw it flapping in the breeze. At first glance, it didn’t look like it was attached to the dress at all. More like a loose fiber that had landed there by chance.

  Oh, how wrong I was.

  That bastard string slid out without so much as an argument. And with it, the whole left side of my top fell open like Janet Jackson at the Super Bowl halftime show.

  Aaron scrambled, trying to block me from view, but there were a solid ten people who got up close and personal with my bra.

  Fortunately, I had a wonky-looking safety pin at the bottom of my purse that Aaron and I managed to rig the traitorous dress back into place with just before we reached the metal detector.

  Unfortunately, I’d forgotten to take the pepper spray out of my purse
, so we were turned away, but being that he was my best friend and possibly still scarred for life after being so close to my boob, Aaron agreed to run my accidental contraband back to the car so I didn’t have to throw it away. Then, because the black maxi dress from hell wasn’t done with its reign of terror yet, he’d barely disappeared around the corner when the safety pin gave up on life and popped off my dress.

  Ten more scandalized people and a seventy-something security guard who shot me a wink later, there I was—on my knees, holding my dress to my chest with one hand and using two twigs I’d broken off a shrub to dig the pin out of a crack in the steps like a game of Operation. It was a worthless effort. The damn pin might as well have entered the witness protection program, never to see the light of day again.

  Okay. Plan B. When Aaron got back, I’d ask him for his suit coat. I’d have to button it closed and I’d look absolutely ridiculous, but at least we wouldn’t be late.

  Careful not to give the dwindling line of spectators another show, I crisscrossed my arms over my chest and stood to my full height. My one remaining strap slipped off my shoulder and I swung my elbow up to keep it from falling down my arm.

  Business as usual in the cursed dress from hell.

  Except for the fact that pain exploded in my elbow.

  “Ow!” I exclaimed at the same time I heard someone rumble, “Shit.”

  Grabbing my elbow, I spun and found a man on the stair below me using both hands to cover his nose. And because I needed to seriously work on respecting personal boundaries, I lurched toward him, stacking a hand over his as if three hands covering his injury were the medically recommended amount.

  “Oh, God, I’m so sorry.”

  “Son of a…” he trailed off when he opened his eyes.

  Holy shit. The most gorgeous golden-brown eyes I’d ever seen collided with mine. And I don’t mean that our eyes simply met. I mean, they met and locked and I somehow ended up pregnant in the span of one blink.

  Fantastic. He was gorgeous, and I’d potentially broken his nose, wrecking a perfect profile.

  “Are you okay?” I asked. He was tall, but I was on the step above him, so we were almost level and only inches apart—the perfect missionary position for a mutual eye-fuck. Except, based on his furrowed brows, this was a solo act.

  “Shit,” he repeated, clearing his throat and backing down a step, out of my reach. As he lowered his hands, my breath caught. He had full lips, and even hidden beneath a closely trimmed beard, I could make out a sharp jawline. His nose though…

  “You’re bleeding.”

  “What?” He immediately rubbed above his upper lip, effectively spreading the small drop of crimson across his cheek.

  I squeaked and bit my bottom lip. “You, uh, smeared it. Hold on. I think I have a tissue—” The words died on my tongue when Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome reached into his front breast pocket and pulled out a handkerchief.

  No, really. A handkerchief.

  He dabbed at his nose, cursing when he saw the bright red on the clean white linen.

  Unsure what the proper protocol was after accidentally assaulting a man, I opted for a round of apologies. “I’m so sorry. Are you headed inside? Maybe I can find you some ice?” I twisted my lips and glanced around, wondering if my security guard admirer had access to a break room.

  “I’m fine,” he grumbled. “Jesus.” He diverted his gaze over my shoulder. “Your dress…broke.”

  I grabbed the forgotten strap and did the best I could to cover my chest. “For the record, you should know that this dress is haunted. You may have inadvertently touched it when I hit you, so my recommendation would be to use a generous amount of hand sanitizer and potentially a sage aura cleansing at your earliest convenience.”

  For several beats, he blinked at nothingness behind me, his long, dark lashes brushing his cheeks. Just when I started to worry that I might have given him a concussion, he muttered, “Sage. Right.” He roughly shoved the bloodied handkerchief into his pocket before retrieving his wallet. Using one long finger, he dug around in a small pocket in the front of his brown leather bifold then extended a silver safety pin toward me. The good, sturdy kind—not like the cowardly one hiding in the cracks at our feet.

  I grinned. “Well, aren’t you prepared for everything. First a handkerchief, now a secret safety pin? What else are you hiding in that suit?”

  Yes. I was flirting. He might have been dry, stoic, and probably completely uninterested. But he was gorgeous, appeared to be around thirty, and wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. That was the trifecta of my type.

  His brows drew together, but his gaze never came back to mine.

  Not as he jerked his chin in a silent goodbye.

  Not as he turned on a toe and took the rest of the stairs two at a time.

  Not even as I yelled at his back, “Thank you! Sorry again about your nose!”

  And it was a real shame because his backside was just as gorgeous as his front.

  “Holy shit,” I mumbled.

  The sentiment was spoken simultaneously with Aaron’s whispered, “Oh, fucking fuck.”

  The courtroom was packed. People crammed, shoulder to shoulder, on the long wooden benches. Huddles had formed in the aisle, and quiet conversations hummed as though we were at a library.

  “Breathe,” I quietly reminded him, hooking my arm through his, pressing myself into his side. I told myself I was comforting him, but uninvited nerves fluttered in my stomach as we made our way through the crowd.

  “Why are there so many people here?” he asked.

  “Right? Is there an open bar no one told us about?”

  “Good idea. Let’s go get drunk and then come back.”

  “Oh, no you don’t.” I gave his arm a tug. “We can have drinks tonight when this is over. Hopefully by then, you can buy a whole bottle of tequila on Sky High’s dime.”

  His face got hard. “I don’t want their money, Remi. And you shouldn’t, either.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “I don’t, but there’s nothing wrong with celebrating the fact that they no longer have it.”

  He blew out a ragged breath. “Why do we have to be here?”

  I opened my mouth, hoping a grand pep talk would vocalize out of thin air, but I was interrupted before I had the chance to find out.

  “Remi!”

  I plastered on a smile before I turned to see a beautiful woman with a sophisticated black bob rolling our way.

  Katherine Gates.

  Everyone processes tragedy in a different way.

  Some shut down and get lost in the emotion, spending their days fighting demons and trying to forget.

  Some get angry, rage at the world, and try to find someone to blame in the hopes that it will release them from the suffocating weight of their guilt.

  Some turn inward, trying to figure out why they were one of the few chosen to survive, and then they dedicate their lives to repaying Karma for sparing their life.

  And some, like Katherine, create an email distro for all the survivors to share essential oil concoctions, cat memes, and plan monthly get-togethers no one attended.

  “Hey, Katherine,” I greeted, releasing Aaron’s arm to bend down and give her a hug. “You look gorgeous today.”

  She beamed up at me with a bright smile. “Thanks. You too.”

  “Aaron, this is Katherine Gates. Katherine, this is—”

  “Aaron Lanier.” She extended her hand. “So nice to finally meet you. You’re number twenty-six for me. Only one more and I’ll have met all the survivors. What’s your number?”

  Shaking her hand, he chuckled uncomfortably. “Including you? Two.”

  “Oh, honey. Don’t forget to count yourself. You’re a survivor too.”

  He chuffed. “I don’t know about all that. I’m surviving. I’m not sure I’m to the survivor part yet.”

  She cradled their joined hands and tugged him down. “You’ll get there. We’ll all get there. We just have to stick together.”
>
  “Sure,” he whispered, gently freeing his hand from her grip. Lately, optimism was not Aaron’s strong suit.

  With narrowed eyes, she watched him for several beats, and just before the shroud of awkwardness suffocated us all, she looked at me. “How are your arms?”

  She didn’t mean anything by it, but guilt still slashed through me. I’d been luckier than most.

  Katherine hadn’t been in a wheelchair the day she’d boarded flight 672. I’d never been brave enough to ask for the specifics of her injuries, but they were extensive. In the early days of her emails, she’d updated us all from a hospital bed. Then a rehabilitation center. Recently, she’d sent photos of home renovations to accommodate her wheelchair. Her communications were always upbeat and filled with positivity, but it was times like that when I couldn’t imagine how she hadn’t become an erupting volcano of bitterness.

  I smiled tightly. “Good as new.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” And she was. Genuinely. The world needed more people like Katherine Gates.

  Her husband suddenly sidled up beside her, resting his hand between her shoulder blades. “Remi, it’s so good to see you again.”

  Aaron’s body jerked before he swung an accusing glare my way. “Again?”

  Shit.

  Yeah, okay, fine. I’d attended a few of Katherine’s get-togethers. I felt bad that no one ever went. I hadn’t mentioned it to Aaron because he would have rather been shot out of a cannon into a pool of hungry sharks than attend a “survivor’s mixer.” But at the same time, he would have gone just so I didn’t have to go alone. We had this really fun relationship where we took turns emotionally drowning for each other. It was super healthy.

  I ignored his reaction. “You too, Tim. You still treating our Katie here to your culinary genius every night?”