All I could do was exhale in frustration and set the phone down.
She didn’t care about my problems, because me telling her anything, confiding in her, would only ruin her day. In fact, it had when I explained my job loss, the fact that I couldn’t afford my apartment. She’d asked me what I had done wrong to be fired.
She’d actually asked me that.
I ran a hand over my face, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, and slid my fingers through my hair, trying to detangle the strands. I stood and walked over to my bag, grabbing my makeup bag and a change of clothes, and then just stood there and stared at the door.
I didn’t hear anything.
“Stop being a baby. You’re twenty-two years old, a grown-ass woman. Just get it done and over with. Don’t let him know you’re still hurting or that you love him, and you’ll be fine.” I pulled my shoulders back and held my head high, feeling a little bit of resolve fill me. “Wear that fucking armor like you own it,” I whispered to myself, even if I felt like it was a lie right now.
After changing my clothes, I opened the bedroom door, stood there, and just listened. The only thing I could hear was a clock ticking in the distance. All the lights were off, the morning sun illuminating what I could see in the living room, as well as a little bit of the hallway. I stepped out and my bare toes kicked something on the ground. I looked down and saw my favorite candy bar sitting there.
I nearly cried.
He’d gotten it for me when he’d gone to the store.
I bent down, picked it up, and saw some writing on the white package.
These always made you feel better, and I think right now you could really use some cheering up.
Beckham had written that? He felt that way? It seemed like the old him, the man I’d grown up with, the man I fell in love with. But it didn’t seem like the man from six months ago.
I didn’t want to think too deeply on any of that.
I set the chocolate bar on the nightstand and headed to the bathroom, putting on a little makeup before storing my stuff and going into the kitchen. What I wanted was a big cup of coffee to help me wake up and get my day started, to help me get the motivation to start looking for work. As I saw the coffee machine, I told myself, fuck it, and went over to it to start making a pot.
As the coffee brewed, I leaned against the counter and stared out the window. The kitchen and dining room were all one large area, with a decent-sized picture window right in front of the table. The blinds were open slightly, and I could see the neighborhood through them, a woman walking her dog, two elderly ladies speed-walking in nearly identical track suits.
It didn’t take much time for the scent of coffee to fill the kitchen, and I grabbed a mug and poured myself some, filling it to the brim. I opened up the fridge, hoping he had half-and-half or at least milk. The latter was all I found, so I opened it and put a little splash in, found the sugar and added a couple spoonsful, then leaned against the counter again and took that first heavenly drink.
I went back to staring out the window. In this moment, where it was just me, the silence stretching out, I felt peaceful, almost at rest. But that was short-lived when I heard a rustling from down the hallway, then a door opening, then heavy footsteps coming closer.
Instinctually, my body straightened, tightened. I cupped the coffee mug in both hands, felt the warmth through the ceramic, the heat coming through. And then I saw Beckham walk around the corner, his focus on the ground as he ran his hand over the back of his head, slightly messing up the short dark strands.
My heart jumped into my throat at the fact that he only wore a pair of gray sweats and nothing else.
His chest was on full display, toned and defined, hairless and so masculine.
And then my gaze dipped down to his crotch before I could stop myself. I could see the very defined outline of what he sported behind that cotton, and even though he wasn’t aroused, his dick was incredibly impressive.
Oh, God.
I felt my entire body heat, flushing. I looked away, because I knew my face had to be red. My heart was racing, my palms starting to sweat, which had nothing to do with the fact that I held a hot cup of coffee.
He glanced up, and I could see he was startled by my presence. He stopped, both of us just staring at the other, that thickness I felt yesterday increasing.
“Hey,” he said in a deep voice.
I forced myself not to keep checking him out. It was the last thing I needed on my mind. “Good morning,” I said softly, maybe too softly to sound normal. I cleared my throat and gestured to the coffee machine. “I hope it’s okay. I made a pot.”
He gave me a crooked smile, and I felt my heart jump to my throat. “Lenora, you’re welcome to use anything here. You’re staying in the house, so what’s mine is yours, okay?” He smiled again. “You’re hungry—grab whatever you want. You’re thirsty—drink the last beer in the fridge. Hell, you want to bake a cake at midnight, have at it.”
I actually felt myself chuckle at the last part. “Bake a cake? When have you ever known me to not burn something?”
He started laughing and lifted his hand again to rub the back of his head, giving me a half shrug. “True, but I guess my point is, you’re staying here, so this is your home now too.”
I didn’t know how I felt or how I was supposed to feel at hearing him say that, but the truth was it had electricity moving through my body. In this one moment, it felt like how we used to be.
It made me feel good hearing him say those things. It made me feel like maybe he didn’t hate me. Although I know that was probably not the case, it was a nice passing thought.
Because going down that rabbit hole had my thoughts going darker, that hurt starting to try to creep forward. But I pushed that bitch down. There was no place for that here. Not now. Not ever again.
He came into the kitchen, and I stepped aside so he could grab some coffee. The awkwardness was heavy, so I moved to the dining room table and sat down, staring out the window. I felt Beckham watching me then and glanced over at him.
“You know we need to talk,” he finally said, and I exhaled.
“I know.” I brought the mug to my mouth and took a long drink. “Just not now,” I murmured.
He nodded. “Okay.” He sat down across from me, and as we drank our coffee in silence, as I thought about everything that would have to be said, have to be done, this little sliver of hope surfaced in me.
I loved this man. I loved him so much my heart broke in two at the thought of never having him in my life. My heart fucking cracked at knowing what had been lost.
And I felt my world shift in the worst possible way at knowing he’d probably never feel the same way for me as I did for him.
And because of that, I wanted to repair what had been damaged. Because having him in my life, even as just a friend, was better than not having him at all.
I just didn’t know if that was possible.
Chapter Five
Beckham
Several days later
She’d been avoiding me like the fucking plague. And I’d let her. I’d given her space.
But the time for us to talk, to hash things out, lay everything bare, was here.
So I rented us a movie, one we’d seen years ago, a cheesy comedy, but it brought back a lot of good memories. I bought a six-pack of the beer I knew she liked, this peach-flavored one I was never fond of, but because Lenora enjoyed it, I got it. I also ordered us two pizzas, one of them having sausage, ham, and black olives with thin crust just like she liked.