“I’m at Kellin’s,” I explain. “He and his roommate have an extra room. They offered it to me so I didn’t need to live in Hope’s living room.” I pause, inhaling deeply. “You can pick me up here.”
I give him the address and get off the phone so he can throw a bag together and get on the road. He didn’t sound very happy when we said goodbye, but in all honesty, neither was I.
28
Kellin
Some things are easy to fake.
Like interest in a friend’s vacation photos even though you’ve actually zoned out, planning your weekend while they drone on and on about how much fun they had on the bunny hill.
Or insisting your girlfriend does not, in fact, look pudgy in her new jeans, although she clearly bought them a size too small and is now sporting a muffin top and camel toe.
Or choking down your mom’s onion soup with a smile on your face when she clearly burnt it based on the smell alone, and also somehow forgot you hate onions with a passion.
We pick up on faking polite behavior at a pretty young age and it becomes second nature. However, some things are impossible to pretend, no matter how good an actor you may be.
Like the male orgasm.
Or soberness.
Or liking the boyfriend/fiancé of the woman you’re in love with.
I try. I really do. But Luke received his first strike the moment I found out about his existence. His second strike when he pulled up in front of my house in the douche-mobile—or as he referred to it when Roh asked, “a Ferrari.”
His third strike came when he stepped out of the car and I actually laid eyes on him. My competition looks like he should be on a GQ cover.
The fucker is rich, good looking, and he’s dating Misty.
I hate him.
So when it came time to put on a polite smile, welcome him into my home, and shake his hand as expected, I couldn’t do it.
Roh answered the door while I sat back in the chair, strumming my guitar strings. When Misty made introductions, I offered a bland nod.
Now we’re all sitting around my living room, making small talk. Well, I’m not. I haven’t said a single word since I found out he was coming.
I can’t help it. I’m pissed. This was supposed to be my time. My two months. Not his. He gets the rest of their lives.
“I don’t come to Chicago often,” Luke says. “What’s fun to do?”
“There’s a lot of touristy stuff,” Roh replies, clicking his tongue ring against his teeth. He’s been awfully damn chummy with the guy since he spotted his car.
Traitorous asshole.
Luke glances at his watch. “It’s kind of late to do the tourist thing. Are there any good clubs?”
“Yeah, we have clubs.”
Luke places his hand on Misty’s knee, giving it a squeeze. My jaw clenches. I have no legitimate reason to dislike this dude. I know that. But if I have to keep watching him touch her, I’m afraid I might punch him.
What makes the situation worse is how goddamn nice he’s being to me.
“You guys up for it?” Luke asks. His eyes move from person to person, and he offers each of us an excited smile.
“It’s Sunday,” Misty reminds him. “Why don’t we all go to dinner, though?”
“I can always eat,” Roh adds, flashing a discreet smirk my way. The dickhead lives for my torture.
I need a new friend.
“I’ll pass,” I mutter.
Roh stands up, placing his hands on his hips, and grins at me. “Oh, come on Kellin, I don’t want to be the third wheel.”
I narrow my eyes, promising him a beat down with one look. “And I don’t want to be the fourth,” I say through gritted teeth. I lean my guitar against the chair and stalk out of the room. It takes all my self-control to shut the door like a normal person and not slam it like I really want to.
I drop back on my bed, propping my head on my arm.
A few minutes pass. The muffled conversation falls silent. And then I hear the front door close.
It’s just for the night.
Come tomorrow, he’ll go back to Ohio and everything will go back to the way it was.
But I don’t want it to go back. I want it to change. I want Luke to disappear from existence, and I want Misty to give me a chance.
I feel like I’m going crazy.
The shit running through my head isn’t normal. I know it’s not. Misty and I have a history. An off and on again relationship that spans eight years. But she and Luke have the last ten months. He asked her to marry him. This isn’t some middle school crush they’ll outgrow.
I have to make a decision. Either I man up, let her go and try to be happy for her.
Or I go balls to the wall and start fighting with everything God gave me.
29
Misty
Luke’s hands slide around my waist the moment the hotel room door shuts behind us. His lips skim my jaw and he pulls me closer.
“Have I told you how much I missed you?” His breath caresses my ear with each word.
“You’ve mentioned it,” I reply as I pull away. I kick my shoes off and head for the bathroom. There’s an overpowering urge to put some space between us that I can’t seem to shake. His hand wraps around my elbow, tugging me back. He smiles mischievously, leaning in to me. I turn my head when he makes an attempt to kiss me.
And I have no idea why I do it.
There’s a flash of hurt in his eyes. His hands slip from my arms and he pivots on his heel, taking the couple of steps to the bed. I watch him sit heavily, resting his elbows on his knees. His head is down as if he’s unable to look at me.
“I thought I could do this, but it’s harder than I thought.” He speaks so quietly I can barely hear him. I inch forward, not sure I understood him correctly.
“What do you mean?”
“I need to know.” He tips his head back, his soft blue eyes meeting mine. “I need to know that at the end of the summer, you’re going to come back to me. That you’re going to marry me.”
I release a slow breath, my chest shuddering, and I lower myself beside him. “If you weren’t okay with me coming here, then why did you tell me to come?”
His shoulders lift in a shrug. “I’m okay with you being here. I’m just not okay with this changing your mind. Tell me you’re going to marry me. Tell me, in the end, you’re still mine.”
My eyebrows pucker as everything he’s saying—and everything he isn’t saying—penetrates my skin, sinking deep into my bones. He can handle me fucking every guy I meet, as long as he knows I’ll slip his ring on my finger in two months.
The only thing different in this speech is the guarantee he’s asking for, but somehow, this time, it makes my stomach churn.
“That wasn’t our deal,” I choke. “You said I could give you my answer at the end of the summer.”
He holds my gaze a second more before looking past me, staring hard at the wall. “I think I’m being pretty accommodating about this, Misty. I understand you’re young, you’re beautiful, and you need to get some things out of your system. I get it. All I’m asking for is a little assurance.”
I bite down on my lip, staring at the floor. “What about you? I have no idea what you’re doing back home. What assurance do I get from you?”
He blows out a quick breath, his hand folding around mine. “I’m not doing anything back home but working. I don’t need to date other people or release my wild side. I’ve already been there, done that. I know I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I wouldn’t have proposed if I didn’t.”
The pressure of his hand increases and his thumb moves back and forth over my skin. “You’ve become distant since you left. I can feel it when you text, hear it when we talk.”
I feel the surprise register on my face. I hadn’t thought I was being distant. I didn’t mean to be.
“Before you left… You said there was a man you still had feelings for…you couldn’t marry me until you knew there wa
s no future with him—he’s real, isn’t he? You were being truthful.”
I nod.
“Is he here in Chicago?”
I swallow tightly as the conversation replays in my head. And I know, no matter what I’ve been trying to make myself believe, I came here for one reason. Because I’ve never stopped loving Kellin. Because I knew promising to love, honor, and cherish only Luke until the day I die would be a lie.
But it never meant I didn’t love Luke. I just love both men differently.
I nod again, one quick jerk of my head.
“Then I need your answer now, Misty. Tell me you’ll marry me.”
“I can’t,” I say and I don’t know if I mean I can’t marry him or I can’t give him my answer right now.
“It’s Kellin, isn’t it? I see the way you look at him. The way he looks at you. Is it him?”
I don’t answer, but I don’t think I really need to.
“I don’t know how to deal with this. I need you to come home with me.”
~*~
I use the key Kel gave me and let myself in when I get back to the apartment the following day. Kellin and Roh are both gone and it feels weird coming into their home without them here—and also very empty. Both guys have such big personalities. When they’re not around to fill the silence, it’s extremely noticeable.
I run my stuff upstairs and then come back down to grab a quick sandwich. When I’m finished, I duck into the bathroom and run a hot bath. I haven’t soaked in a tub for weeks. I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror and cringe. My eyes are red and puffy, evidence of the night I had.
Stripping off my clothes, I step into the steaming water, and submerge myself. The heat feels good on my muscles and I sigh. I make quick work of shampooing my hair and getting cleaned up so I have time to lie back and relax.
I may never want to get out.
Luke and I didn’t get much sleep last night. I’m exhausted. Physically and emotionally drained. The liquid warmth isn’t helping matters. I ring out my rag and drape it over my swollen eyes.
“Holy shit. I’m sorry.”
I startle, ripping the now cold rag from my face just in time to see Kellin pivot on his heel.
I pulled the shower curtain over enough when I got in that I’m pretty sure he couldn’t see anything major. Still, this isn’t the best position to be in.
“I knocked,” he says tugging the door open.
“I must have fallen asleep.” And apparently for a while. There’s a noticeable difference in the temperature of my bath water.
“I didn’t see anything,” he proclaims, which, despite my mood, makes me smile. He steps out into the hallway, shutting the door behind him and I decide it’s time to get out. I have no idea what time it is and I have to work tonight.
I dry off and dress quickly, taking a glance in the mirror. Though my eyes aren’t quite as bad as they were earlier, they’re still noticeably pink. Kellin’s waiting in the hallway, back pressed against the wall and arms crossed over his chest, when I emerge. His eyes skim down my body before returning to my face.
“It’s all yours,” I say as I move past him, finger combing my hair.
“You okay?” he asks and I pause.
“I’m fine. Just tired. I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.” I don’t think about how that sounds until it’s already out.
“You’re lucky it was me and not Roh,” Kellin says, his voice a little rougher. It takes me a second to follow the subject change.
I peer at him over my shoulder. “Why’s that?” I ask.
“He would have looked.”
“So you’re a gentleman?” I clarify through a weak smile.
Kellin pushes off the wall and takes a single step toward me. His eyes are bright, pinning me in place with their intensity. “No, not a gentleman. I wanted to look. But not while you’re unconscious.”
“I think that’s what makes you a gentleman,” I rasp.
He chuckles quietly, the sound causing my core to tighten. “If you say so. Just…don’t make a habit of napping naked. My self-restraint is already at the breaking point.”
With that, he turns around and closes himself in the bathroom.
I stand in the hall, frozen, as I listen to the pounding of my heart. I close my eyes and suck in a deep breath. And I wonder how much longer until I find my own breaking point.
30
Kellin
A thirteen-year-old Misty stood on her front porch, her long blonde hair pulled up in a messy ponytail. Wisps of stray hairs framed her face, some sticking to the tears on her cheeks. I stared at her, memorizing every feature. I didn’t want to forget her. My best friend. My favorite person.
At twelve, everything’s different. You’re old enough to know Santa Claus isn’t real and the Tooth Fairy isn’t the one leaving quarters under your pillow. But you’re still just naïve enough to believe in miracles. My whole life was being flipped upside down for the countless time in six years and it was more than I could handle, but I truly felt our paths would lead us back to one another again.
I looked into her eyes and I told her the only truth that mattered to me at the time.
“I’ll think about you every day.”
I wish I would have had the courage to kiss her goodbye. I wanted to, but my brother was watching us from the truck, waiting to take me to Illinois.
Misty repeated my words back to me, her lips quivering over each syllable. And then she stepped forward, wrapping her arms around my neck. My fingers curled around her back, anchoring her to me for a second more.
“Me too. Always,” she whispered.
I offered her a weak smile, my hands sliding away. “Forever.”
One of her hot teardrops hit my chin as I backed away, afraid to turn around. I wanted her in my line of sight as long as possible.
One step after another took me farther and farther from her. I waved one last time from the large U-Haul truck. I don’t know if she saw or not because I finally turned my head, purposely avoiding her gaze when moisture began to pool in my eyes. If I was going to cry, I sure as hell wasn’t going to let her witness it.
As I lie here in bed, eight years later, the moonlight casting a pale blue glow to my room, I replay that day over and over—that first time Misty and I were torn apart. And I think I might have loved her even then.
I just didn’t know it. I didn’t recognize it. Because when you’re a kid, you kind of love everyone.
It’s been nearly a week since we came home from the camping trip and each day gets more and more difficult. I don’t know how much longer I can do this. My feelings sit on the tip of my tongue every single day, desperately wanting to leap from my lips.
Time has become my nemesis. My enemy. Too soon to tell her how I feel. Yet the days keep dwindling away like grains of sand in an hourglass.
~*~
I take Misty over to my brother’s with me for our Friday night ritual. I’m going to cook for her and hopefully earn a few points. It’s not exactly the romantic meal I’d like to share with her, but we have to start somewhere.
She joins us in the kitchen, perching on the stepladder in the corner. I’m not used to this because Hope usually stays clear of the kitchen during the preparation and cooking time so she doesn’t have to participate.
“Do you want to help?” I ask. The kitchen isn’t very big, but I’m more than happy to squeeze in next to her while I chop veggies.
“No, that’s okay. I’ll just watch.” She beams at me, unabashed.
Mason nods at the iPod docking station. “Then you can deejay. We can’t work in silence.”
“Yeah, because then we might have to talk to each other,” I deadpan.
Mason’s face distorts in disgust and he feigns a shiver.
I shake my head, rolling my eyes. “Don’t make me call Mom.”
“You should call Mom,” he replies, turning thoughtful. “When’s the last time you talked to her? Have you even met that jackass she’s dat
ing?”
I sigh. Because I was so young when my dad died, there is little I can remember without the help of pictures, or Mom and Mason recalling it for me. But Mason was older. He had more time and made more memories. They were close, as most fathers and sons are. So for my brother, nobody has ever lived up to Dad’s memory, which is understandable. But he finds something wrong with every single boyfriend my mom has ever had—which really hasn’t been many. I think it’s easier for her to be alone than to deal with Mason’s bullshit.
“I met him,” I say. “He seems like a nice guy. Mom’s happy.”
“Mom’s lonely. Because we don’t spend enough time with her so she settles for these douchebags to pass the time.” In his anger, he puts too much pressure on the tomato he’s slicing, squishing it to the cutting board. He sweeps it into the sink and grabs a new one.
“Dad would hate seeing her with another man.”
I shake my head. “No, Dad would hate seeing her unhappy. This guy could be really good for her. You don’t know him—you need to stop hating him just because you want to.”
Even before it finishes leaving my mouth, I see the parallel to my own situation and the way I feel about Misty’s boyfriend. Different circumstances, same general idea.
Damn. We Patel brothers are judgmental bastards.
I start trying to justify myself inside my head. Like for one, I’m not dead. Just stupid. If I hadn’t made the mistakes I did, Misty and I could still be together and she wouldn’t even know Luke.
Mason clicks his tongue, shooting me a sideways glance. “It’s not that I want to. It just feels wrong. I don’t believe anybody else can love Mom the way Dad did.”
I peer over my shoulder at Misty scrolling through music as she pretends like we aren’t having an uncomfortable conversation in front of her.
“Maybe,” I agree. “Or maybe this guy could love her better for who she is now. You never know.”