“I need a minute, Robert.” It’s all I can get out, balling up the napkin, and struggling with my seat belt. He was halfway crouched down to meet me at eye level but my words bring him to a halt. He takes a single step back even though the door is still open and his hand is on top of it.
“Did he hurt you?”
“What?” With the keys still in the ignition, the car scolds me, but yells nearly as loudly as my inner thoughts do to confess to Robert, right now. “Hurt me?” My brow scrunches as I rip the keys out of the ignition and grab my purse off the passenger seat.
Robert takes another half step back so I can get the heck out of the hot car. Deep breaths. “No, he didn’t hurt me.”
I can barely look Robert in the eyes. When I do, there’s confusion, but mostly hurt. He knows darn well I was on a date. He’s never seen me with another man. Not once. The next deep breath is a torturous one as I shut the door to my car and make my way up the stairs. With every click of my heels there’s a clack of his shoes following me across the pavement.
It’s only when I get to my door, the key in the lock ready to turn, that Robert speaks again, “I didn’t know you were interested in seeing someone.”
I’m frozen where I am, my back to him and my eyes closed. I have to lean forward and rest my forehead against the door when he adds, “In fact, you said the opposite.”
It’s not a lie. But it’s not like he was asking me out when I told him that and it was years ago. He was seeing someone. That’s why the conversation came up.
He continues, “You said you didn’t want anyone.”
I said it to make him feel better. I remember the conversation all too well. One more lie to add to my pile. Maybe I’ve always been a liar and I just didn’t see it until now.
“At the time I didn’t,” I say, adding another lie to the pile. What’s one more, at this point? I wanted him. I wanted Robert to choose me to take to whatever event it was. Not some governor’s niece. But between myself and the woman he told me about … there was no chance he would take me. I knew what we were and I came to terms with it.
With his tall frame standing only feet from me, it’s easy to see how his posture deflates. It’s everything about him that tells me his heart is shredded.
Why does it hurt as much as it does? It shouldn’t. But looking at Robert, it kills me to tell him anything I’m feeling inside. It hasn’t felt like this in years. It’s always been easy. Both of us finding comfort in one another.
“I don’t know what I want,” I say, finally speaking some truth.
His voice is drenched with wretched emotion as he says, “I’ve been with you from the very beginning, Mags.”
The way he says my name is pleading.
“I want to take you out.”
“Rob—” He cuts me off as I step forward, feeling the pull of two incompatible wants in my life.
“Just a date,” he assures me, his hands raised in defeat.
“You sure you want to be seen with me?” The joke I’ve made for years makes my voice tight and my eyes prick with tears.
Robert is softer, sweeter when he takes my hands in his. This man and Brody are the only two men I’ve ever been with and I’ve only let myself fall in love with one. Fair enough, though, only one has broken my heart.
It takes everything in me to rip my hands away from his and get the confession out there. The weight of it is destroying me.
“I have to tell you something. Before you tell me you want me. Brody … the guy I was with …” The prick at the back of my eyes burns and I struggle to say anything without fear of losing it.
“Mags,” he says and Robert’s consoling voice is accompanied by his arms wrapping around me. He pulls me into his chest and holds me. He always has. Every time I come so close to breaking, this man has been here for me.
He whispers in my hair, “Whatever it is, you can tell me.” He kisses the top of my head. “I will still love you. You know I’ll always love you.”
First I cry, and I hate myself for it. I don’t even know why I’m crying.
But then I tell him everything. I don’t skip a single detail from four years ago, up till the moment we got here.
Brody
I take a deep breath in as I flip the dark wood coffee table over. It takes a grunt and a heave; the driftwood is heavier than it looks. The breeze blows through the small three-bedroom apartment, carrying the scent of the ocean with it, and I have to wipe my brow as I look down at the last piece of furniture put into place.
“It’s still a man cave.”
“Good, because that’s what I was going for,” I tell Griffin. With my shirt off, a thin sheen of sweat along my shoulders and the drill at my feet, it’s obvious I’ve been working my ass off to get this place together. One thud is followed by another as Griffin plants his feet on the new coffee table, determined to already make an ass groove in the corner of the dark blue sectional I put together yesterday.
I don’t say a damn word. I’ve barely said anything since three days ago when Magnolia said she needed time and then Griffin filled me in on why.
Fuck buddies or old flames, I don’t know which exactly. All I know is that the girl I’m after has something going on with another man. Or did. I saw all the signs; I knew it deep down, and yet …
“No more boxes,” Griffin says absently, his voice just a tad louder than the constant clicking on the laptop balanced on his thighs.
“No more boxes,” I repeat with a long exhale and make my way to the fridge for a beer, only to find it empty.
I check my phone again and stare at the text she sent after our so-called date: Hey, can we talk?
I didn’t respond and I don’t intend to. If she’s going to write me off for some other guy, she can do it to my face. Maybe it’s pride. Maybe I’m just pissed. Either way, I’m not letting her off easy.
“So what are you going to do now?” Griffin asks, not lifting his gaze from the computer screen. He’s working on the website page, the online store and partners for retail. So I can’t blame him for sitting his ass down and not doing a damn thing to help me furnish this place.
There’s no more furniture to put together. No more focusing on working a screwdriver or drill and not thinking about the woman who’s under my skin.
“Shower,” I answer easily enough and then lean against the countertop, taking a look around the place. It’s minimal with dark woods, but light and bright white accents. It’s airy and reminds me of the shore most of all. Which, I remind myself, is the entire reason I’m here.
Not for Rose or Magnolia, or whoever this woman wants to be.
Even if thoughts of her lips keep me up at night. Even if I can’t help but want to rewind every moment we’ve had together so I can say the right things and end each night with a kiss like the one we had on the pier.
“You keep sighing like that and someone’s going think you’re depressed,” Griffin says, mocking me from across the open living space. All I can do is give him a scowl in return but he doesn’t see since he still hasn’t looked up.
I crack my neck to the left and right and make my way around the counter to go shower and get my shit together.