Table of Contents Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five Chapter Twenty-Six Chapter Twenty-Seven Chapter Twenty-Eight Chapter Twenty-Nine EPILOGUE
Table of Contents The Other Brother Copyright Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three Chapter Twenty-Four Chapter Twenty-Five Chapter Twenty-Six Chapter Twenty-Seven Chapter Twenty-Eight Chapter Twenty-Nine Epilogue
Published by Hot-Lanta Publishing Copyright 2017 Cover design by Meghan Quinn Photo credit: James Seneviratne Model: David Harris Formatting by CP Smith This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, please contact the author at
[email protected] This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. All characters in this book are fiction and figments of the author’s imagination. www.authormeghanquinn.com Copyright © 2017 Meghan Quinn All rights reserved.
Prologue AARON
Eighteen years ago . . . “Room two seventeen.” “Thank you,” I say, feeling shy. I wish Dad came with me instead of getting me through the doors and then leaving. I wish he was holding my hand, telling me everything was going to be okay. I know I’ve done this before, I’ve been in this position once already, but I still feel nervous, kind of sick to my stomach. With my hands stuffed in my front pockets and my head turned down, lifted only enough to read the numbers on the doors, I make my way through the sterile hallway. Last time I was here, the hallways were busier, full of people working, making their way in and out of the rooms, but this time, it’s quiet, almost as if I’m the only one visiting. Two fifteen. Two sixteen. Two seventeen. Standing outside the room, I take a deep breath
and stare at the number in front of me. Last time she was in room two twelve. I wonder if this one will look the same, have the same setup. I hope there is a couch in it like last time. Gripping the inside of my pockets, I take another deep breath and push the door open. The air is still, the smell is almost warm, and the only light coming into the room is from the halfopened blinds. Sitting on the bed, with her legs crossed and a baby in her arms, is my mom. Her dark brown hair is pulled back and the belly she once had is much smaller. She looks happy as she stares down at my brother, happier than I’ve seen her in a while. Taking a step forward, I nervously say, “Hi, Mom.” When she looks up at me, she smiles brightly. “Aaron, come here. Come meet your brother.” Brother. Another one. I wonder if he will look like me, if he will have my eyes, my hair, my nose. “Do I need to take off my shoes or anything?” I ask, nervous I’m going to get the room dirty. Mom chuckles. “No, baby. You can leave your shoes on.” “It’s just last time, I had to.” I walk toward her, hands still in my pockets as I approach. Mom tilts the baby in my direction. The first thing that comes to mind is, he’s so small . . . and he
looks nothing like me. “He’s all red and puffy.” “It’s because he’s still brand new. His color will change and his swelling will go down.” She pats the bed. “Would you like to hold him?” I nod, even though I feel a little shaky in my arms. Mom scoots over on the bed, making room for me. I keep one leg on the floor to the side for balance and tuck my other leg under me as I sit. Mom’s flowery perfume hits me, sending a wave of ease through my bones. Home. That smell. It reminds me of my mom. It reminds me of the good days. Of the early days. Of the days when I was loved . . . “Put your arms out.” I do as I’m told and she places my brother in my arms. “He’s not heavy at all, is he?” “No. He’s so little.” “He’s the smallest out of you three. I was surprised actually when the nurse called out his measurements. I guess that would make him the runt.” “Maybe that’s what I’ll call him.” I smile at my mom. She presses her hand against my cheek lovingly. “You can call him whatever you would like, baby.” She looks behind her at the door that leads to the
hallway, and her leg starts to bounce. “Are you okay with him? Can I go to the bathroom, take a shower maybe?” “Uh, yeah. I can hold him.” I look at the little bundle in my arms and then back at my mom. “Does he need to be fed or anything?” She shakes her head. “No, he should be good. Just hold him and talk to him, let him hear your voice.” “Okay.” I nod. Mom gathers some things into her arms and heads into the attached bathroom, leaving me alone with my brother. This is weird. Talk to a baby? What do I say? I take him in. His eyes are closed so he can’t see me. His lips are barely parted, which is kind of cute, and his fingers are really long for such a little guy. I was hoping I’d be able to tell if he looks like me but right now, there is no telling. I clear my throat and lean back on the proppedup bed. “Hi, Runt. I’m Aaron, your big brother.” I move the blanket he’s wrapped in lower so I can see his face better. “I’m actually twelve years older than you. So I guess that makes me your really big brother.” His head moves to the side and his lips parts, forming an O that makes me laugh. “For having a squish face, you’re still cute.” The shower in the bathroom turns on. “I’m not your
only brother. You have another one. I call him Tyke. He doesn’t look anything like me. And I can’t tell if you look like either of us because your face is all scrunched up.” Leaning forward, I say, “I kind of hope you look like me more than him. Even though I’m older than you, it would be cool if you were a mini-me. When we’re older, we can trick people. That would be awesome.” I slip my finger into his little grasp and let him squeeze my finger tightly. “Wow, that’s a good grip for a runt.” I laugh to myself. And then I smell a familiar scent. My head snaps up to the bathroom. I would know that smell anywhere. She promised she would stop. She always promises . . . But never keeps them. A light sweat starts to coat my forehead. Can anyone else smell it? I don’t know if smoking is allowed in hospitals. Will she get us thrown out? It’s not like it would be the first place we’ve been thrown out of because of something she’s done or said. I just don’t want to be thrown out of here. I don’t want to have to leave too early. There is a knock at the door and panic starts to fill me, flipping my stomach upside down. I hold Runt closer to my body, protecting him as I call out.
“Yes?” “Hi, it’s Diane and Trevor, can we come in?” My heart sputters in my chest making me feel very anxious and uncomfortable. “Uh yeah. Come in,” I call out, knowing I can’t push them away. Quietly they walk in, bags of food in their hands, smiles on their faces, and decked out in some of the nicest clothes I’ve ever seen. It puts the polo shirt I got at a garage sale for today to shame. “Aaron, it’s so great to see you,” Diane says as she sets the food she brought down on the table next to the bed. “Hi,” I say sheepishly, pulling Runt even closer. “Hey, big guy, how’s it hanging?” Trevor asks while he wraps an arm around Diane. It’s the type of affection I see on TV or in movies—a husband with his arm wrapped around his wife—but I’ve never seen it in person. Maybe it’s because Mom and Dad aren’t married. Does being married make you more affectionate? “Where’s your mom?” Diane looks around and spots the closed bathroom door. I see her sniff the air, which causes me to panic even more. Can she smell it? Does she know Mom’s smoking? Is she going to report us? “Taking a shower,” I answer shyly. Either Diane doesn’t smell it or she chooses not to say anything, because she nods and then looks at Runt. “You’re getting to meet your brother. What
do you think?” “He’s small.” Trevor and Diane laugh and hold each other tightly as they look at my brother and me, love in their eyes. But I know that love isn’t for me; it’s for Runt, because after today, he won’t be a part of my family, he will be a part of Trevor and Diane’s. But I had to see him at least once. Just like Tyke, he will have a different life than me, different parents, different school . . . different clothes. Runt won’t have to shop at garage sales, or help his mom when she’s passed out on the couch, or smell smoke through his door at night. He will have Trevor and Diane. Tyke has Sue and Bob. Like Tyke, I’ll hear from him once a year, I’ll see pictures of him when Mom chooses to show me, and I’ll hear about all the amazing places he’s gone with his parents. I will be the brother he’ll truly never know. And not by my choosing, but by my mom’s. Just like Tyke, Runt won’t be a part of my life. Just like Tyke, Runt will be given up for adoption. And just like Tyke, Runt will have so much more than I have. But I’m not mad about it; at least that’s what I tell myself. I’m not mad, because when Mom is high, or drunk, or not feeling well like normal, I’m the one she loves, the one she had to keep because
I’m her boy, her man. I’m the one she couldn’t give up. Only, I kind of wish she did . . .
Chapter One AARON
“Dude, check it out, shovel cock.” Turning from my bent-over position, I look at one of my best friends, Racer, making an ass of himself in my front yard. Between his legs, he’s placed his garden shovel at crotch level and is making circles with it. “Clever.” I shake my head at him. Racer is a hard-as-hell worker, but has a penchant for getting off track when he’s been working for too many hours without a break. I can’t blame him. I sit back on my heels and wipe my forehead. It’s abnormally warm for October in Upstate New York. The sun has been relentless this afternoon, beating down on our backs, and the humidity has caused me to soak through my shirt, hence it’s on the ground next to me. “We’re almost done,” I say, taking in my front yard, appreciating the hard work we’ve put in. Racer lies on the grass with his arms and legs spread, his eyes closed, and looking massively pathetic. “This is taking forever! Why do you have so much vegetation?”
“Makes the place look nice.” Racer sits up on his elbows. “Smalls, you have an old-lady garden.” Smalls, what my friends call me, despite my towering height and broad shoulders. “I don’t have an old-lady garden.” Racer points toward my front door. “What’s that?” Turning my head, I spot what he’s pointing at. “That’s a welcome flag.” “It has a watering can on it,” he deadpans. “It was on sale at A.C. Moore.” I also liked the colors and thought it would match perfectly with the color of my flowers, but no need to divulge that. “And what about that?” Racer points to my right. I don’t even have to look to know what he’s pointing at. “That’s Herald. He protects the lower garden.” “He’s a garden gnome texting on a fake toilet.” I thought it was funny. Gnome texting on the toilet, come on! I clear my throat and take off my gardening gloves. “You know when I invited you over to help me, I didn’t invite you to harass me.” Racer, who looks like he rolled around in soil for a good ten minutes, smiles at me. “Well, I didn’t know when I came over for some free pizza, that I
was going to be harassed at how to properly turn soil.” “You can’t just flip it . . .” I let out a frustrated breath and drag my hand down my face. I should have asked Tucker to come and help. Out of my two best friends, he would have been the one to ensure we had this done within two hours. “There is a process, Racer.” “I can see that by the way you’re getting into a tizzy about it.” One thing to know about Racer, he likes to push buttons. He has a heart of gold, but if he has the chance to irritate the fuck out of you, he will. I put my shovel to the side and sit on the grass. I bring my knees to my chest and hook my arms around my knees. “I like having a nice-looking front yard,” I say solemnly. And it’s true. It’s nice to not have overgrown weeds, or dead grass, or old furniture, or . . . cigarette butts or fucking bongs everywhere. It’s nice to be able to walk outside of your house and take pride in what it looks like, rather than be ashamed that you’re the only rundown one-story house in the neighborhood. There is a reason I take pride in the way my house looks, a very good reason. Possibly in hearing the tone in my voice, Racer drops his teasing and sits up straighter. Growing serious, he says, “It does look really good, man. I
haven’t been over here a lot with all the jobs I was taking on, but now that I’m here, seeing everything you’ve changed, you’ve really done an awesome job. You should be proud of yourself.” See? Heart of gold. No doubt in my mind, though, in minutes he will switch back to dickhead. It’s who he is. Only two people know the real me: Tucker and Racer. We have a bond that goes deeper than being friends, or working together, or even owning a construction company together. We’re brothers. And the past few years have really tested that bond with Tucker and the hurdles he had to overcome when it came to his past, and with Racer, who just recently started to level out his financial problems. We’re not ashamed to tell each other anything, because we know when things get tough, we’ll be there for each other. Although, with Racer and Tucker both falling in love recently, my time with them has been shortened. I get it, though, new love and all that. Still, I sometimes miss our late nights hanging out on the back of Tucker’s truck, taking down an entire box of Little Debbie snacks while drinking Mountain Dew and sharing the latest gossip. You read that right, gossip. Fuck, I miss the drama Racer would bombard us with. You would think there isn’t any drama on a construction site since it’s a bunch of
guys, but oh no, there is some soap-opera level stories coming from the wooden frames of the worksite. And I miss those stories. I miss my guys. “I’m pretty much done with the house and all the renovations,” I say, trying to sidestep Racer’s compliment. It was nice of him, but it still makes me feel awkward. “Even the master bathroom?” Racer falls in line with the conversation without blinking an eye. “Yeah, laid the last tile last weekend. It looks good up there.” Racer claps louder than he needs to. “Now when you jack off, clean up isn’t so far away anymore.” See? Dickhead. “Can you keep your fucking voice down?” I scan my neighborhood. I live on a street surrounded by retirees. If I didn’t know better, I would assume I accidentally purchased a house in a senior living community. They all eat dinner around four, spend their time out on the porch—spying on each other —and asking me when I’ll be settling down with a nice “lady friend.” Mrs. Wickham is the biggest culprit of sticking her nose into my business. “You know I live near a bunch of old people, so I don’t need you shouting to them about me jacking off.” “I wasn’t shouting to them, I was shouting to you.” He smiles . . . like an asshat.
“Want me to shout to them about how you once chafed your dick because you were jacking off too much?” It’s the first incriminating story that comes to mind to teach Racer a lesson. Racer leans forward and points his finger at me. “I was twelve and didn’t understand the importance of lube.” Growing quieter, he adds, “And I told you that in confidence, man.” I roll my eyes and turn back toward the garden where I only have a little section left to turn over the soil. We’ve pruned, weeded, and picked up all the leaves already. Even though Racer has been whiney, it’s been a productive day. “While you’re sulking back there, can you make yourself useful and start bagging up the piles of dead shrubbery?” Racer huffs behind me but starts to work. “Do I at least get to take some pizza home for leftovers?” “What do you need leftovers for when you have Georgie cooking dinner for you every night?” Racer finally asked Georgie, his girlfriend, to move in with him. They’ve been in roomie bliss for the past month. He should have asked her to move in with her the moment they got back together, but he waited it out, wanting to make sure his financial burden wasn’t going to be hers. “Dude, don’t ever fall in love with a girl who grew up rich. She has no idea how to cook.” He stuffs a bag with leaves and weeds. “She made pea
soup the other night and added a pound of salt. She said the cap fell off but didn’t think much of it.” A laugh busts out of me from the image of Racer trying to down “salt” soup. “Laugh it up, man, but you almost lost me there. I thought I was going to die from too much sodium.” “What do you mean?” I turn toward him, both my hands still on the ground. “Did you eat your whole bowl?” “Of course I ate it. I wasn’t going to tell her it was gross.” “Why not?” “It’s called sex, man. Try it, you’ll find you do some pretty weird shit if sex is guaranteed.” “So you ate salty soup for sex?” “Yup.” Racer nods, no shame in his admission. “I would pretty much eat anything if it meant being able to be with Georgie. I fucking love that woman.” Which is funny because they started off hating each other. “When are you going to propose?” I stick my shovel back in the dirt and keep turning it over. I know there is an easier way to do this than by hand, but I like tilling my soil manually. “Starting to save up for a ring now.” Racer beams. “It’s going to be a little while before I can afford the ring she deserves.” “You know you don’t have to get her anything
extravagant, right?” That’s not who Georgie is. She might have grown up on the fancier side of life, but she’s really down-to-earth and hard-working. “I know.” Racer sighs. “I still want to get her something nice.” He pauses and then asks, “So have you found out who’s moving next to you yet?” I shake my head. Mr. and Mrs. Ferguson recently moved into an apartment complex for seniors and chose to rent out their house to supplement their income. Smart move. Even smarter move, they’re paying me to be their property manager. I didn’t even blink an eye when I said yes. “They haven’t given me much information. All I know is that they move in tomorrow. Coming up from the city.” “Maybe they will be young enough you can BBQ together without having to worry about them passing out on the table at five.” “One can only hope.” I till the last section and then sit back on my heels again. “Done,” I huff out. “That took a little longer than expected.” “Yeah, tell me about it,” Racer huffs. He might put on a show, but I know he really doesn’t mind being here. Racer finishes picking up the clippings and ties the bag off just as Georgie pulls up. Racer looks over his shoulder and brightens immediately when he spots her, and for a moment, I take in the pure happiness I see in his eyes as he sees his girl. I’ve
known Racer for a long time, and he’s a happy guy for the most part, a prankster more often than not, but I’ve never seen him happier than when he’s with Georgie. When she gets out of the car, Racer calls out, “George! You’re here to rescue me.” He captures her in a hug and then dips her, rubbing his sweaty face all over her neck. “Ew, you’re all wet.” “You’re wet all the time with me, and you don’t hear me complaining.” Fucking animal. “Racer.” Georgie swats him in the chest. “Can you control yourself for a second?” “Nope.” He nuzzles her neck, and I roll my eyes. Yup, both of my friends are in love. Good for them. Gives me more time to . . . hmm, to garden? To sit around and stare at my walls? To wind up playing gin rummy with my seventyyear-old neighbors on a Friday night? Pretty much. I need a hobby. When Georgie pries herself away, she turns to me while Racer wraps his arms around her shoulders and holds her close to his chest. “How are you, Aaron?” “Good. How’s the shop?” A few months ago, Georgie opened a bridal boutique here in Binghamton, and it’s been bustling ever since the
grand opening. It’s how they met actually. He was the one who helped her renovate the entire space. “It’s doing great. We’re all booked for appointments for the next few months.” “That’s awesome.” I nod at Racer. “You here to pick up this fool?” “Yeah, he owes me a date night, but from the smell of him, it looks like we’ll be going home first.” “Nothing wrong with that.” He kisses the side of her head. “You can help me wash my taint.” “God.” Georgie pushes off him. “Why is that even something you would suggest?” Laughing to himself, he shrugs with a smile. “It’s Racer,” I say. “You shouldn’t be surprised by now, Georgie.” “I really shouldn’t.” Pulling him by the shirt, she says, “Let’s go. You owe me a romantic dinner.” “Thanks for the help, man,” I call out as Georgie shoves him into her little car. Once they’re gone, I pack up the rest of the clippings we pulled around the house, put them in the trashcan, and pack away my tools. Fall cleanup is all done, now I just have to maintain the leaves. Next weekend I’ll decorate the front with corn husks, wrapping them around the pillars, then have pumpkins filling my yard. Yeah, I’m that guy. I decorate the outside of my house for every season. Every day when I walked
home from school, I would pass this one house on the corner of my street. It was a white Victorian house. In my young eyes, it looked like a mansion, a perfectly manicured and put-together mansion. Every holiday the house was decked out in decorations. Whether it was bunting for the Fourth of July or wreaths for Christmas, the owners always made the house look welcoming and festive. Whenever I walked by that old house, I told myself that one day I’d own my own house and it would be decorated just like that. Instead of an old sofa stained in cat piss sitting in the front yard, I have a single black light post. Instead of brown weeds suffocating the yard, I have beautiful green grass, trimmed and edged. And instead of a dilapidated porch littered with ashtrays, I have a wraparound porch with a simple porch swing I’ve spent many nights swinging on. I snag my shirt from the grass and head inside just in time to hear my phone ringing. I jog to my kitchen where it’s charging and answer. “Hello?” “Aaron, dear? It’s Mrs. Ferguson.” “Mrs. Ferguson, how are you?” I lean against the counter and rest my head against the cabinet behind me. “Fine, dear, fine. I wanted to call you to let you know our new tenant will be moving in on Monday.”
“Monday, okay. Do you know what time?” “I told her you won’t get out of work to meet with her for key exchange until after five thirty, so she’s aware of your work schedule.” “Thank you, Mrs. Ferguson, I appreciate that.” “Oh, you sweet boy. No need to thank me, you’re doing us a favor. She already sent in her security deposit and the first month’s rent.” “Okay, so I only have to give her a key then?” “Yes, but can you do something else, Aaron?” “Sure.” I push off the counter and fill a cup of water from the faucet. Mrs. Ferguson has always been so kind to me, so of course I’ll help in any way I can. “You’re so sweet.” She clears her throat. “The young lady moving in is actually retuning home to watch over her father, who has dementia. He’s living in the Susquehanna Nursing Home. She dropped everything when she found out he had a bad fall. She’s a school counselor and doesn’t know many people in town, as apparently all her friends she grew up with moved away. Do you think you could help her move in? I’m worried she’ll be too shy to ask.” “Yeah, not a problem at all. Does she have furniture? I can get my buddies to help.” “No, she’s using the furniture we left in the house.” I take a big gulp of water and nod, even though
she can’t see me. “Okay, not a problem.” “Thank you. I figured a big, strong boy like yourself would be able to lend a helping hand.” I’m the muscle in the neighborhood, well, around the worksite as well, but especially in the neighborhood full of old bones. Whenever anyone needs help lifting something, they come to me. I chuckle. “You’ve got that right.” We exchange a few pleasantries and with a thankful goodbye, we hang up the phone. A new neighbor who doesn’t sound like she’s seventy. That might be nice. Who knows, we might become good friends.
Chapter Two AMELIA
“Is that the last box?” “Yeah, I believe so.” Trey stands before me, head cast down, hands stuffed in his front pockets, his T-shirt tight across his chest. When he looks at me, his eyes speak the words he can’t seem to get out. “I don’t want to leave, Trey.” “I know.” He nods and pulls me into a hug. “This doesn’t change anything. You’re still my girl; there’s just a little distance between us for now.” I snuggle into his comforting chest and take a deep breath, trying to memorize the feel of his body pressed against mine. “Thank you for understanding.” He tilts my chin up so we’re looking into each other’s eyes. “Amelia, no need to thank me. You have to take care of your dad. I get that. I would never stand in the way.” A stray tear falls down my cheek. “I’m scared.” His face softens as he pulls me into another hug. With his chin resting on my head, he asks, “Why are you nervous?”
“Because. I’ve never had a long-distance relationship before. Everyone I’ve talked to says they never last.” “We’ll last, sweetheart. We’re different, okay? We already have a schedule for when I’m coming to visit and when you’re coming to the city. I’m going to look for jobs in Binghamton, and the minute I find one, I’ll be packing my bags and heading to you. Okay?” I nod against his chest, more tears falling down my face. “We’re going to FaceTime every night, right?” “Yeah.” He squeezes me. “And you better show up naked.” “Where’s the fun in taking my clothes off for someone then?” He raises his eyebrows in surprise. “Temptress.” “I can be.” I stand on my toes and kiss his jaw. Letting out a sigh, I wrap my arms around his waist and hold him tight. “Tell me it’s all going to be okay.” “It’s all going to be okay, sweetheart. This is just a small roadblock on our journey. And look at it this way. You’re getting some much-needed experience under your belt. You’re finally going to be a school counselor, not an intern.” “It isn’t a permanent job.” “Doesn’t matter.” Trey pushes me against my car and rests his hands on my hips while he looks at me. “Take advantage of your predecessor going on
maternity leave. And like she told you, she wasn’t sure if she would come back to work. So make the most of that. Be immersed in that school so they have no other option but to hire you when that lady decides not to come back.” I bite on my lip and ask, “And you’re okay with moving to Binghamton? Your line of work is really down here.” Trey doesn’t answer the question, instead he grips my shoulders and kisses my forehead. “I can find a job anywhere. Don’t worry about me. Be with your dad and get that job experience, okay?” I nod, hating every minute of this. When the nursing home called to tell me my dad had a terrible fall, I made one of the hardest decisions of my life. I decided to pack up my city life and head three hours north, back to my hometown. How could I not? My dad has been everything to me, so I need to trust that we’re going to be okay. I’ve taken a temporary job in the town I grew up in, and even though I hate leaving Trey, I know going to look after my dad isn’t a decision I’ll regret. Trey has been more than understanding. He’s the one who actually found me a place to rent, but even with his support, I still feel wary, as if this isn’t the right decision. Trey and I have been dating for eighteen months. We met through a mutual friend, and I can’t see my
future without him. Leaving him now feels like we’re breaking up. Trey isn’t the type of guy you meet every day. He’s sweet, smart, handsome, and caring: a lethal combination that swept me into his little web. We’ve been sharing an apartment in Astoria for a year, and it’s been wonderful. Deep inside my heart I know we’ll be fine. Trey tilts my chin and places a soft kiss on my lips. “I love you, Amelia.” He glances at his watch. “You should get going. You have a three-hour drive, and I don’t want you caught in bad traffic.” I know he’s right, but my feet aren’t making the move to put distance between us. We’ve become best friends. I love hearing him walk through the door when he gets home from work, where we discuss our days with each other. He’s an excellent sounding board, but he also values my opinions on things. I’ll miss having him to cuddle at night— especially during thunderstorms—and our lazy walks on weekends. I squeeze him a little tighter. “I’m going to miss you, T.” “I’m going to miss you, too. But it won’t be bad, I promise. Before you know it, I’ll have a job up there, and we’ll be back to normal, okay?” I nod again and let him guide me to the driver’s side of the car where he opens the door for me. With a light kiss on my cheek, he pushes my hair
behind my ear and says, “I love you. Now get out of here and go get settled.” “I love you, too.” I smile sadly and take a deep breath as I get in my car. He closes the door for me and hops back on the curb where he puts his hands in his pockets and waits for me to drive away. Tears cascade down my cheeks, and I quickly wipe them away. Gripping the steering wheel, I turn on the car just as Trey taps on the passenger side window. I slide it down, and he leans his head in. “I put a new playlist on Spotify and downloaded it for you. Listen to it on your drive.” He winks, taps the window, and steps back from the car. Of course he made me a playlist, because he’s thoughtful like that. I switch my audio to Bluetooth, and my phone picks up Spotify immediately. I search through the playlists and see his right away: Road Trip for my Girl. Wiping more tears, I press play, take another deep breath, and drive toward a new chapter in my life. I’m looking forward to seeing my dad as well as breathing the fresher air away from the city. Binghamton, here I come. *** “Looks the same,” I say as I exit off I-81. Thankfully my phone is hooked up to my car through wireless Bluetooth so for the last hour, I’ve
been able to talk to my best friend, Amanda. The playlist Trey made kept me distracted for two hours. I laughed, cried, and sang my heart out to every song. Some songs had meaning behind them, some were just silly, and some I completely hated but I listened to them anyway because Trey picked them for a reason. “Have you passed Nirchi’s yet? Did you roll down the windows and take a deep sniff?” I chuckle. “No, no Nirchi’s Pizza spotted yet.” “Damn, when you do see one, can you please take a picture of you eating a bacon, chicken, ranch slice and send it to me? I want to live vicariously through you.” “You know I don’t like that. How about the Buffalo chicken? Will that do?” She huffs on the other end of the phone. “I guess so.” Amanda and I grew up together in Binghamton, graduated together, and then fled to the city for college because we couldn’t wait to get out of Binghamton. There are aspects of the town we miss, but we wanted more opportunity and to part from our past. Now Amanda works in Albany for the governor as his personal assistant. Fancy, I know. So this move has actually brought us a little closer. Thirty minutes closer to be exact, not much, but hey, we’re counting it. I take in the old houses, rundown businesses, and
weeds growing out of the sidewalks. The town might not be the prettiest at times, but it’s still home, and there’s beauty in that. “Where are you staying again?” “Hillcrest. Right off I-81 actually so it will be an easy on and off when you come to visit.” “And what about you visiting me?” I make a right like the GPS tells me to and answer, “I have Nirchi’s.” “Devil, you’re right. When I go down there, I’m going to buy four pies and freeze them, live off pizza for a few weeks.” “Your trainer will love that, I’m sure.” “Ugh, he’s such a tool.” Not the first time I’ve heard her say that. “Yesterday, he pulled his tank top to the side and started flexing his pec in the mirror, talking to himself while I was sweating like a pig on the treadmill at a preposterous speed.” “Legs almost fly off?” The visual of Amanda on the treadmill, legs flying about makes me chuckle. “That and my boobs. Damn things were bouncing right off my chest.” “Amanda . . .” “What?” There is humor in her voice. “You and I both know you barely fill your Bcup. There is no way your boobs were about to bounce off your chest.” “Don’t you dare discredit small breasts; they bounce and fly about just as much as your Salma
Hayek tits.” “You can wear an Ace bandage around your chest and get away with not wearing a bra.” Amanda pauses for a second and then says, “And you were wanting me to visit when?” Laughing, I turn onto Franklin Ave and slow down as I start counting the houses, looking for mine. “I’m sorry, you have the biggest boobs ever.” “Now you’re lying, that won’t get you anywhere.” Thirty-five. Thirty-seven. Thirty-nine. “I’m here,” I announce, pulling into the driveway. “What does it look like? Are there murderers around you? Any psychopaths?” “No.” I laugh, putting the car in park. “It’s a quaint little neighborhood actually, full of Cape Cod houses. Looks like my street is a dead end so that’s nice, no unnecessary traffic coming down here.” I take in the small two-story house in front of me. White with green trim, a cobblestone walkway to the front door, and thankfully a detached garage. Hopefully there is room to park my car because brushing off snow in winter is not my favorite thing to do. The house and surrounding houses look well kept. “It’s very nice actually.” “Good. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there to help you
unpack.” I sit in my car in the driveway, taking everything in. “It’s no big deal. I only have clothes and random things, no big furniture pieces. Thankfully the house comes furnished. I think I’ll go to Target later to pick up some necessities, but I should be good.” Trey insisted on coming to help me, but since I drove up during a workday, I told him not to worry about it. My refusal didn’t sit well with his wellmannered self. “Well, that makes me feel better.” She’s silent for a second before asking, “When are you going to visit your dad?” “First thing tomorrow morning. I plan on taking him some doughnuts and coffee from Dunkin’. Hopefully that will brighten his day.” “Call me after your visit, and let me know how he’s doing. And tell him I said hi.” “I will.” Hopefully he remembers who Amanda is. Hell, hopefully he remembers who I am if we’re hoping for things. “Okay, I’m going so I can unpack, run by Price Chopper for some food, and get settled.” “Smart idea.” I gather my purse from the passenger side and look at the piece of paper with all the rental information on it. The neighbor to the right will deliver the key. To the right, is that the right when I’m looking at
the house, or the right when I’m looking at the street? A house number would have been nice. “You still there?” Amanda asks. “Yeah, sorry. I’m trying to figure out which neighbor has the key.” “That might be helpful.” From the corner of my eye, to my right, I see a flash of someone walking toward my car. That must be the neighbor. Wanting to make sure, not that I really know what they look like, I bend my head down and look out the passenger window. The air around me stills and my body goes ramrod straight when I connect with a pair of intense eyes I haven’t seen in three years. “Oh my God,” I say in nervous awe. “What?” Amanda squawks. “Is it a psychopath? Lock your doors. Does the neighbor have a gun? Is he wearing hunting camo? Tell him it never looks good, even if you’re in the woods.” “Amanda, I have to go.” “What? No way. What’s going on?” I only have to say two words, two words that hold the weight of a thousand heartbreaks. Almost on a whisper, I breathe out, “Aaron Walters.” “Oh shit,” Amanda responds. Oh shit is exactly right.
Chapter Three AMELIA
Five years ago . . . “What the hell are you doing? Come on. All the Buffalo chicken is going to be taken.” “My lips are dry. I need to put on my chappy. There are two cars in the parking lot; you’re good.” I scan the parking lot, my foot bouncing impatiently up and down. “There are five and look, that guy is getting in ahead of us.” Amanda caps off her ChapStick and rolls hers eyes at me. “You don’t have to wait for me; you can go in ahead.” “Not when you said you were buying. Knowing you, you’ll take forever in here, and I’ll end up paying.” She chuckles and puts her phone and keys in her purse. “God, you know me too well.” “Exactly, so let’s go.” I push her toward her car door, and she grumbles while exiting the vehicle. Thank God. “Come on.” I bounce happily toward the door and before I enter, I make sure Amanda is right behind me, which she
is, dragging her feet. I know the only reason she’s not excited about getting Nirchi’s pizza right now is because she lost a bet and has to pay with the money she was saving up to get her hair done again. I don’t feel bad for her or her dark roots— not that Nirchi’s is expensive at all but as a college student, every dollar counts—if she knew she wasn’t one-hundred percent sure she was going to win, she shouldn’t have bet. “I’m never playing you at beer pong again,” she mumbles as she walks up behind me. “Wise decision. You know you will lose every time. Hmm . . .” I study the menu as the tall man in front of us orders. “I think I’m going to get the three-slice special.” “Of course you are, but guess what? Joke’s on you.” Amanda whips out a piece of paper from her purse and says, “Mama has a coupon.” She holds the piece of paper up into the air as if it’s gold. “BOGO, baby.” “What? Where did you find that? I want a buyone-get-one coupon.” She strokes the coupon in her palm and says, “You have to look at the mail instead of just recycling it. There are valuable things in the so called ‘junk,’ like Nirchi’s coupons.” “I don’t think you should be able to use that today; that’s cheating.” She wiggles her finger at me. “Uh-uh, that wasn’t
part of the deal. I had to buy you Nirchi’s and that’s what I’m doing. I’m just getting mine for free.” Skeptical, I eye her. “I still think it’s cheating.” “Believe what you want.” She nods at the counter. “You’re up.” I whip around and now that the guy in front has moved out of the way, I can see all the pies spread over the counter. My eyes run rapidly over the different flavors as a slight panic starts to take over. Looking up at the young girl behind the counter, I ask, “Do you not have any Buffalo chicken?” She shakes her head and motions to with her thumb to the man who was in front of us. “He just took the last three pieces.” “What? That’s greedy,” I snap before I can stop myself. Nirchi’s is a special kind of pizza place. Their pizza comes in rectangles, so you get square pieces rather than triangles and you can choose if you want crust or not. I’m a crust girl, Amanda is not, which is why we can share a pie so easily. And the great thing about Nirchi’s is not just that their pizza is good, but they have multiple flavors ready to eat, so the wait isn’t long, just a quick warm up in the oven. BUT . . . When they’re out of a flavor, they’re out until they make a new one. “Uh, well he got here first,” the employee
answers awkwardly unsure of my unique reaction. I rest my hands and head against the glass in front of me. “But it was all I wanted. It was all I ever wanted in my life.” Dramatic I know, but if you had their Buffalo chicken pizza as well, you would understand. And cravings are cravings; you can’t kick them until you get what you want. Am I right, ladies? “Just pick something else.” Amanda nudges me. “There is a line starting to form.” “I told you to get out of the car, but noooo,” I flail my arms about, looking insane, “you just had to—” “I don’t mind sharing.” I still as I’m interrupted mid temper-tantrum. Every nerve in my body tickles from the deep, velvety voice coming from the man now leaning in my direction. Slowly, I look up to spot the brightest, clearest pair of blue eyes I’ve ever seen looking at me. His skin is tan, golden almost, emphasizing how bright his eyes are. His chiseled face is paired with heart-shaped lips, light scruff, and a devastating smirk that makes my legs quiver with yearning. “Eh, what?” I ask, looking at the very tall man, hoping and praying I’m not forming some gross double chin from the backed-away angle I’m at. “Pizza.” He nods toward the oven where his slices are warming up. “I was eying the veggie pizza, so you can have one of my slices if that will
make your day.” “You want to give me one of your pizza slices?” I ask, still caught off guard by the beauty of this man. “Well, in exchange for one of yours. Grab a veggie for me, and we’ll trade once they’re warmed up. Deal?” Amanda leans over into my ear and whispers. “Take it, take it right now and while you’re at it, ask if you can taste his pepperoni.” “Amanda,” I scold, hoping the stranger didn’t hear her. From the mirth in his eyes, I’m guessing he did. “Um, are you sure?” “Yeah, not a problem. I’ll grab a table so we can properly make the trade. I don’t want any of this in-the-air stuff because if you drop my slice on the floor I’m going to be pissed.” With a quick wink, he turns toward the cash register to pay for his pizza. “Oh my God, he is fucking gorgeous.” Amanda is now holding my hand, pulling on it. “You owe me big time now for putting on ChapStick. Don’t you just want to lick his face? I want to lick his face, is that weird?” “Extremely.” I yank my hand away. “Stop being obnoxious and act like an adult.” Amanda stares me up and down. “This coming from the girl who was about to throw a hissy fit over Buffalo chicken pizza.” “It was all I wanted . . .” I take a deep breath
and turn away from Amanda; I’m not dealing with her right now. The worker behind the counter looks like she’s about to lose her patience. So does the grumbling crowd behind me so I quickly make my picks. “Three veggies please, all crust.” It doesn’t take long before we’re paid for and carrying our drinks and plates over to the gorgeous man in the corner at a four-person table. When we get closer, he pushes out both of the chairs across from him. He nods at them and says, “Take a seat.” I raise an eyebrow at him. “Am I going to have to woo you before I get my slice?” He smiles over the pizza that he’s about to bite into. “Yeah, I do believe you’re going to have to.” With zero self-respect, Amanda takes a seat and says, “That’s no problem with me.” Honestly. Does she not know how to avoid showing all her cards at once? When I take a seat, he holds out his hand. “I’m Aaron.” I take his hand and notice how rough it is. It’s a working hand, one that experiences strenuous hours on the jobsite, day in, day out. “Amelia, and this is my friend, Amanda.” Aaron nods at Amanda. “Nice to meet you.” “Pleasure is mine and just so you know, Amelia is single and definitely on the market. Want me to give you her number?” “Amanda, what the hell are you—?”
“I would love it,” Aaron says, leaning back in his chair while sipping his drink. Slowly turning toward him, a little stunned, I ask, “You would?” He nods with all the confidence in the world. “I would.” “But you don’t know me. I could be a shovelwielding rabbit killer.” He leans forward, his chest flexing under his shirt with the movement. “I’ll take my chances.” Now feeling a little skeptical, I fold my arms over my chest and ask, “Why do you want it?” He bites down on his straw and studies me for a second before saying, “Can’t let a girl walk out the door without getting her number who’s that passionate about Buffalo chicken pizza. It’s just not physically possible.” “Aw, he likes you for your crazy; he’s a keeper,” Amanda chimes in with her mouth full of pizza. “It’s 607—” “Amanda, just be quiet for a second.” Looking at Aaron, I say, “Three Buffalo chicken pizza slices in exchange for three veggie and my phone number.” “No way.” He shakes his head. “You can’t take all my Buffalo.” “But I thought you wanted my number.” “I do.” He leans forward some more, his fresh scent hitting me hard in the chest. “But we both know if I give you three slices, you will have zero
respect for me because no man in his right mind would give up three Buffalo slices. No matter how hot the chick is.” Eeep, he thinks I’m hot. “But I will counter you with one and a half slices and a number.” I sit back now, watching how his smile starts to spread. God, he’s just so . . . yum. He looks like he’s quite a few years older than me. Not just because of his face, but there is something in his eyes that makes him seem older. He’s definitely not in his second year of college like me. Not wanting to fold so quickly, I counter. “Two slices, my number, and a guaranteed date this Friday.” He sits back, his eyes widen, and that smile gets even bigger. “Fucking deal.” He holds his hand out and we shake. For some reason, I feel like I might have just bartered for a little more than I can handle, because a mere smile from this man has me weak in the knees. What effect will time alone with him have on me? I’m guessing so much more than I can imagine. I’m also guessing something so amazing I’ll never forget.
Chapter Four AARON
Present day . . . Right on time, I’m impressed. She doesn’t get out of her car right away, so I give her a second but then realize maybe she’s not exiting the vehicle because I have the key to the house and she has nowhere to go. Wanting to make a good impression and seem approachable since I’m the property manager, I run my hand through my hair and adjust my jeans. I’m not wearing any fancy shit, but at least I don’t have holes in or paint stains on my clothes. I hop off my front porch and make my way toward her car, slowly, not wanting to scare her. There is muffling coming from her car, voices I can’t quite hear, but I get the idea she’s finishing up a conversation, so I slow my pace drastically. That’s when I see her tilt her head down and look at me. From the reflection of the light off her windows, I can’t make out her features. I can only see a silhouette. I lift a friendly hand in her direction to let her
know I come in peace and make my way to her driveway. There is no wave back, but I do hear the telltale sound of her opening her car door. She steps out and when I round the vehicle, I catch the sun off her driver’s side window, temporarily blinding me. Blinking my eyes a few times to calm my retinas, I bring her into focus. “Aaron . . .” Every hair on my body sticks straight up and my body goes still from that voice, that unmistakably sultry voice. When she finally comes into view, I am met with a pair of hazel eyes I haven’t been able to get out of my head since the day she left town for bigger and better things. “Amelia.” I clear my throat and take a step forward. “Wow, I uh . . .” Tongue-tied, that’s exactly what I am right now. “Didn’t expect to see you get out of that car.” I laugh nervously while I pull on the back of my neck, trying to comprehend what’s going on. I point with my thumb toward the house and ask, “You’re the new tenant?” She nods and looks me over, taking her time with her perusal, her eyes burning a hole right through my clothes like they used to. When her eyes meet mine again, she asks, “You’re the property manager?” I nod and swallow hard. “And neighbor.”
She presses her lips together, thinning them out. “What are the chances?” She laughs nervously. “Yeah, especially since I thought your life was in the city.” I didn’t mean for that to come out rude, but it did. Gentling my voice, I ask, “What brings you back home?” Staring at the ground, clutching her purse to her side, she says, “My dad. He’s, uh, not doing well.” Duh, Mrs. Ferguson mentioned something like that. I’m so damn overwhelmed and shocked right now though, that entire conversation I had with Mrs. Ferguson is not registering in my mind. “Oh no.” My brow pinches together in concern. “What happened?” She waves me off. “Nothing you need to worry about.” And just like that she shuts me down. Honestly, I’m surprised she said that much to me after how we ended things between us. Yes, there was an us, a perfectly beautiful, lovefilled us. Amelia Santos was the best thing to ever happen to me, and yet, she was also the worst. During a time when my heart broke from every uncaring glance from my mom, Amelia resurrected me from the ashes I would have otherwise drowned in. She was my rock, the one solid feature in my life. She was also my downfall. She was going places, and I wasn’t. She had opportunity, and I had none. She wanted me to
move with her, and I couldn’t, but no way in hell would I hold her back. I barely made it out of my mom’s house. There were many days when I tried hard to earn a buck so I could find a place to live other than the homeless shelter where I spent many lonely nights. Amelia deserved better than that, so I pushed her away to achieve her dreams. Little did I know, breaking up with her would send me in the biggest downward spiral of my life. The only reason I’m the man I am today is because after hitting rock bottom, I knew things needed to change, and it was up to me to make something of myself. So I worked my ass off. And now at thirty, I can say proudly that I’m a co-owner of an up-and-coming construction company as well as the proud owner of a house in the heart of Hillcrest, a beautiful twostory house. I’m doing well for myself . . . at least that’s what I thought until Amelia stepped out of her car. Now I’m questioning every little thing about my life leading to this point. Clearing my throat, I say, “I won’t keep you long. I’m sure you’ve had a long drive and want to get settled.” I hold out my hand. “Here is a key to the house as well as the garage door opener.” I hand her the Ziploc bag Mrs. Ferguson put everything in. She takes it but steps back immediately, as if being too close to me might burn her. “Trash day is Tuesdays. If you want, I can
move your trash can forward for you so you don’t have to bother.” “I can handle it,” she says quickly. I nod. “Uh, the place is fully furnished, cleaned, and ready for you to move in. If you see anything abnormal, just let me know, and I’ll bring it to Mrs. Ferguson’s attention. I did a walk-through this morning, and it all looked good. If you encounter any issues at all, please feel free to contact me. I left my card with my number in the bag in case anything goes wrong. That’s my cell number so you can text or call, either works.” She nods, avoiding all eye contact with me. “Unless you have any questions, I can help you unload.” “That’s not necessary. I don’t have a lot.” I check out the back of her car. She really doesn’t, but I’m still not going to make her do it by herself. “I promised Mrs. Ferguson I would help. We are surrounded by her old cronies.” I motion toward the neighborhood. “No doubt they’re staring at us now so if I don’t help, I know Mrs. Ferguson will give me grief. I’d rather avoid that if I could.” She nibbles on her lip, worry in her eyes. Is she nervous around me? Worried I could hurt her? Might try to pick up where we left off before I broke both our hearts? “Well, I don’t want to upset Mrs. Ferguson, as she is my landlord and all.”
“And a tough old bird. She might sound sweet, but you don’t want to cross her,” I gently tease. “Noted.” Amelia looks up at me and lightly smiles, and just like that, my heart starts pumping blood through my veins feverously. That smile, fuck, it has the same effect on me as it did five years ago since we first met. I start toward the back of her car, wanting to break the tension rolling through my body. “Why don’t you go open up the house and look around while I start unpacking. Anything fragile I need to be careful with?” Turning toward me, she gives me a look, a look that says I already broke the one thing that mattered the most . . . Her phone rings and she answers immediately with a smile on her face. “Hey, honey. Yeah, I made it just fine.” And from the sound of it, someone else swooped in and picked up the pieces of her heart I shattered so terribly. She’s with someone else now. She giggles and walks toward the house, her soft voice that used to caress my ears now reserved for another man, a different man. Why did I think otherwise? Only an absolute idiot would let someone like Amelia Santos go. An absolute idiot, or an undeserving man who knew she deserved the world.
Wanting to get this over with, I open the trunk of her SUV and I’m immediately smacked in the face by her perfume. Dolce & Gabbana, Light Blue. I would know that scent anywhere. It was the scent sprayed on my pillow to ease the ache in my chest when I wasn’t with her, and it was the smell I would breathe in when my girl was wrapped in my arms. It’s the smell that has haunted me. It’s the smell I’ve craved for years. My body aches, my stomach rolling on itself from being reminded of a past I tried so desperately to bury, tried to get over, but with Amelia here, memories float in and out of my head. The good times we had together come to the forefront of my mind, making it impossible to deny wanting her. “Fuck,” I mutter while trying to take a deep breath and get my head on straight. There’s a reason why you broke up with her . . . And yet, all those reasons don’t exist anymore. I’m a different person than the boy she knew when she was in college. I’m a man with a future, with a promise to support and love her and yet, I’m too late. Her laugh echoes through the house, traveling out to the driveway where I stand, mourning what I used to have. What I threw away. Gave away. Whoever she’s talking to is one lucky bastard, that’s for damn sure.
*** I set down the last box and take a look around Amelia’s new space. It actually fits her. At least it fits the girl I used to know. “I believe that’s it. Do you need help with anything else?” “I’m good.” She shakes her head, not making eye contact with me. To say the last twenty minutes has been awkward is an understatement. We didn’t really speak to each other besides the occasional “Where would you like this box?” From the hurt in her eyes when she looks at me, Amelia is still affected by our breakup. It guts me. “Okay, well I’m right next door. You have my number. If anything goes wrong with the house, let me know and I’ll come over and fix it. The grass shouldn’t need another mow, but if it does, I’ll be sure to take care of that. Snow removal is on me as well.” “Okay,” she answers, her head turned down. With my lips pressed together, I nod and walk toward the front door, itching to say something. I want to clear the air. I want to let her know I’m sorry, that what I did was for her. I have my hand on the knob to the front door when I turn toward her. “I’m sorry, Amelia.” She shakes her head. “Don’t.” “Amelia—”
Her eyes snap up to me, fury filling them up. “I said don’t, Aaron. What happened is over with, it was three years ago, and I’ve chosen to forget about it . . . forget about you.” She swallows hard as silence stretches between us. Never once did I forget about her; there was no way I could, not when she’s the one who still owns my heart. Clearing her throat, she says, “This just happens to be an inconvenient coincidence and that’s it. I’m not looking to reconnect or hash out the past.” She pauses and takes a deep breath. “It would be too painful.” Fuck. A monstrous ache clenches my chest, seizing the breath from my lungs. I so desperately want to tell her how sorry I am, how much I still think about her, but taking her in right now, I know it would be selfish. She’s moved on, she’s doing well for herself, so I need to stay out of her way and let her live her life. I sigh deeply, defeat in my shoulders. “I understand. I’m sorry if I crossed a line. Let me know if you need anything.” With one last goodbye, I say, “Pizza around the corner is good, but I know you’re a Nirchi’s nut, so the one on Front Street is the closest. Price Chopper is just up the road along with a gas station and Dunkin’. There is a park down the road with some good running paths, not sure if you still like to run.”
“I do,” she answers softly. “It’s safe down there, and it’s about a mile from here so you can get in a good run. And Halloween is in a few weeks. We have lots of trick-or-treaters, so stock up.” I open the door. “I think that’s it. Welcome to the neighborhood.” I make my way back to my house and pull out my phone. I text both my boys at the same time. Aaron: Alcohol, now. Reardon’s in ten. I press send and go into my house for my car keys. Someone will be driving me home tonight, that’s for damn sure. *** I’ve downed two shots and a tumbler of whiskey by the time Racer and Tucker show up. The House of Reardon, our go-to bar, isn’t very far from where we all live, kind of in the middle, but given my race to get some alcohol into my system, I’m a few drinks in already. “I brought reinforcements,” Racer says as he tosses a box of Swiss Rolls in front of me. I can always count on Racer to bring Little Debbie snacks, our sacred lover. “Your text made it seem like you needed to suckle at Debbie’s teet tonight.” “I do.” I rip open the box, tear open a wrapper, and pop an entire roll in my mouth in seconds. “I guess so,” Racer says, a little astonished.
“Tucker close?” “Right here,” Tucker says, pulling up a chair next to me at the bar. He pats my shoulder and tosses a box of Zebra Cakes in front of me. My boys know me well. “Zebra Cakes? Dude, I brought Swiss Rolls. Zebra Cakes are piss when it comes to times like this.” “It’s all I had left. Emma’s been eating all my Nutty Bars.” “Why even buy Zebra Cakes? You know that frosting turns into a paste.” From the corner of my eye, I see Tucker run his hand over his face. “Emma got them. When she shops, she literally doesn’t consider which ones she buys; it’s just a sweep of her arm over the shelf. Can’t complain about that.” “I guess you can’t.” Racer becomes less defensive. “I have to sneak my Debbies past Georgie. She says they’re making her fat, which is not even close to true. When she sees a box or even a wrapper in the house, she yells at me . . . and then asks for one.” Tucker and Racer laugh together as I grow more and more irritated. “Can we not talk about Emma and Georgie right now?” I grit out, my hands holding my face in frustration. Tucker and Racer quiet and I feel their gazes on me. It’s very out of character for me to act like a
dick, especially when it comes to their girls, but hearing about their love lives isn’t sitting well in my stomach right now. Racer calls to the bartender. “Three glasses of whiskey please.” He turns on his stool to face me and asks, “What’s going on, man?” Releasing my face, I play with my empty glass and say, “I met my new neighbor today.” “From the sound of your voice and the need to imbibe alcohol, I’m going to assume you know this person,” Tucker says, facing me as well. I nod. “It’s Amelia.” Racer and Tucker didn’t know me when Amelia and I were together, but they’ve heard about her on many drunken nights. Just like I knew about Tucker’s ex, Sadie, and Racer’s debts. We’ve shared everything with each other over bottles of booze and Little Debbie snacks. Tonight is no exception. “You’re fucking kidding me,” Racer says, astonished. Believe me, so am I. “The Amelia, the girl you let go?” I nod, plopping the other Swiss Roll from the package in my mouth, only to follow up with opening the Zebra Cakes. I don’t care about the film. I’ll eat them all. “Shit,” Tucker mutters. “Did she recognize you?” I sarcastically laugh. “The second she saw me. I
haven’t changed much from when I last saw her, just probably added fifty pounds of muscle.” “What did you say?” “Nothing really. I kept it cordial. Told her about the house, neighborhood, and helped her move boxes into the house.” “Fuck, that sounds awkward,” Racer says. “Yeah, that’s an understatement.” I lean back in my chair just as the bartender hands us our drinks. Without even a second thought, I down the entire thing and place the glass back on the bar. “She looked so damn good.” My voice cracks from the confession. She did. She looked just like the girl I fell in love with so many years ago, but this time, she had a sense of maturity wrapped around her. Her caramel hair was longer and in waves, her olive skin just as smooth as I remembered, and those hazel eyes of hers once again split me in half. And fuck, her curves, from her ample breasts, to her curvy ass, I wanted nothing but to feel them, to memorize her body all over again. “Shit, I’m sorry man.” Tucker calls over the bartender. “Three shots . . . and keep them coming.” “I tried to tell her I was sorry.” I shake my head from the idiotic attempt. “Tried?” Racer asks as he opens all the little Debbie snacks and piles them on top of the Zebra
Cake box. We start to take down the pyramid of confectionary sugar, one mouthful at a time. “She shut me down before I could even explain. Told me to drop it. Told me she was over me and didn’t want to hash out the past.” Our past. I run my hand through my hair. “Pretty much told me she’s forgotten about me.” Racer and Tucker exchange glances and at the same time, hold up a Little Debbie snack to me. I don’t have to acknowledge them. I take both snacks and plop them in my mouth. After that, we don’t talk, instead we get hammered. Shot after shot we down, chasing each one with a Little Debbie snack. Before we know it, we’re hanging on to the bar counter floating around in a sugar and alcohol coma, just the way I like it. “There’s my girl,” Racer shouts as he topples off his stool and onto the floor, laughing hysterically. Georgie stops in her tracks and looks over at Emma, who’s standing next to her, both holding two boxes of Little Debbie snacks each. “Emmmmmmmma,” Tucker drags out, waving his glass in the air. “You brought the snacks.” “Oh, Jesus,” Emma mutters as she approaches us. I point to my mouth and say, “Feed me. Daddy needs sugar.” Racer is beside me, tangled in the pegs of his bar stool, still laughing. “Did you bring Oatmeal Pies,
George? Please tell me you have the pies.” “Uh, I think you’ve had enough for tonight,” she says, looking down at her boyfriend. “Never!” Racer struggles to get up and finally knocks the chair over to free himself. “Fucking bitch chair, digging into me with its claws.” Talking to the stool directly he says, “I’m taken, warm someone else’s ass.” “He’s going to propose, chair, leave him alone,” Tucker announces, causing me to cringe. “Dude, don’t say it out loud.” I punch Tucker in the shoulder. “Georgie is right there.” All three of us turn to Georgie, who’s shaking her head in humor. Hopefully. “I’ll take Aaron,” Emma tells Georgie. “Seems like Racer is more of a handful.” “Hell yeah, I am.” Racer stumbles while cupping his crotch. “A giant handful.” Georgie rolls her eyes. “And that’s our cue to leave.” “But we didn’t eat our snacks.” “Seems like you had enough.” Georgie grabs Racer by the hand. “Come on.” As they walk away, Racer asks, “Want to have sex in the car?” “Not even a little.” “Here, you two, you can have your boxes of snacks.” Emma hands Tucker and me both a box of Oatmeal Pies that we clutch to our chests.
“You’re the best,” I admit. “She is, isn’t she?” Tucker says. “I love her so fucking hard. Best wife ever.” She pulls on both of our hands to get us moving. “She wins wife of the year award,” I announce. “Best wife goes to Emma. Can we get a round of applause?” Tucker breaks open his Oatmeal Pies and starts spraying them like confetti. “Emma. Emma. Emma.” He chants, getting the three other patrons in the bar to join in. I pump my fist as well, forgetting everything from earlier. I knew I could count on my guys. “Emma. Emma. Emma . . .” And then, everything fades to black. Emotions and feelings are non-existent as I pass out, just the way I like it. Just the way I need it.
Chapter Five AMELIA
“Hello, I’m here to see Marvin Santos. I’m his daughter, Amelia.” “Amelia.” The receptionist at the nursing home brightens. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I’m Darra; we’ve shared many conversations on the phone.” “Darra, it’s nice to finally put a face to the name. Thank you so much for all the help over the last few months. I really appreciate it.” She waves me off. “Oh, anytime. Your father is such a dear. The entire staff was so upset when he had his fall.” Somberly she adds, “He just hasn’t been the same since.” That’s what I was afraid of. “But now that you’re here, maybe he’ll brighten up again.” She picks up her phone and says, “Let me call Heather. She can give you a mini tour then take you to see your dad.” “Sounds great, thank you.” I take a seat in the reception area and place the little bag of Dunkin’ Donuts for my father on the chair next to me. I pull out my phone and instantly feel disappointed when I don’t see a text from Trey.
I told him last night about seeing my father today, so I was hoping he would text me some support. I know he’s busy, so I can’t hold it against him. I send him a quick text. Amelia: About to see my dad. I’m a little nervous. Wish me luck. I tuck my phone back in my purse and bring my cup of coffee to my mouth, reveling in the heat emitting from the little hole at the top. I need this coffee more than ever today, not just because of seeing my dad, but because I feel emotionally drained. Aaron Walters. Why? Why does he have to magically appear in my life? Moving back to Binghamton, I thought about the possibility of maybe running into him, but I thought it unlikely, something that would never really happen. Boy, was I wrong. What a sick joke life is playing on me. Aaron Walters, the boy who broke me into pieces is my neighbor. I can’t fathom the impact I feel already. Seeing him in hip-hugging jeans and a tight, plain shirt did a number on me. It kept me up all night as memories of what we used to have flooded my mind. His voice. His stature.
The way he used to kiss my neck. The way I felt so protected in his arms. Too bad his arms couldn’t protect me from his devastating, heart-breaking self. And hell, he looked good. Too good. He’s always been tall with handsome features and a chiseled jaw, but now he’s bulked up to the point that I could see his abs flexing under his shirt, the same shirt that stretched over his biceps. But it wasn’t his muscles or handsome features that once again made my heart ache, it was those eyes. So bright, so blue, so kind, but still so sad. It reminded me of the first day I met him, of the day he stole my heart from every other man on the market. Broken, unsure, yet yearning for love. It was all there, and like experiencing a moment of déjà vu, I was transported back into a time when I felt invincible, like I could conquer anything with him at my side. Once again, I was wrong. “Amelia?” a voice asks. I look up to find a petite, kind-looking woman approach me, wearing mauve scrubs and white nurse shoes. “Heather?” I ask as I stand, snagging my belongings. “Yes. It’s nice to meet you.” She extends her hand to me. “Your father is a favorite around here.” “That’s great to hear. He’s a favorite in my book
as well.” For the next few minutes, Heather takes me around the nursing home, introducing me to some of the other nurses as well as residents. Unfortunately, when my father switched nursing homes, I wasn’t here to help him. My sister aided in his transfer, so this is the first time I’m seeing it. The guilt I’ve been harboring eases slightly knowing he’s staying in such a lovely place. My parents had my sister, Beth, at a very young age, so she’s actually twenty years older than I am. I was an oopsie in their late forties, an oopsie that rocked their world, but needless to say, they raised me as if they were in their twenties, never once skipping out on anything in my childhood. My mom passed away six years ago from breast cancer, and my dad hasn’t been the same since. “Your father is on the third floor and has a great view of the river. He spends many hours looking out his window.” “Does he interact with any of the other residents?” I ask, feeling a little nervous. “Not really.” Heather gives me a solemn look. “I think he avoids being with the rest of the residents because he gets confused very easily. We find he’s happiest when he’s in his own environment.” And that breaks me. He’s so alone. The outgoing man I used to know doesn’t exist anymore; it’s almost as if his body is living but his affectionate
and easygoing soul is not. She knocks on the door and enters, talking loudly and clear. “Mr. Santos. We have a special visitor for you today.” With a heavy heart I step into my father’s room, and I’m immediately transported to my childhood home. Pictures of my sister and me hang on his wall as well as pictures of my mother. He has a small flower patch and his trusty gardening tools by the window. On his bed, draped lengthwise, is the same exact afghan he would curl up under and watch movies when I was growing up, the maroon color now faded. And off to the side, his Crosley record player looks just as fine as it did back in the day. Same man, but oh so different. My dad doesn’t turn around so I pat Heather on the arm and say, “I can take it from here. Thank you for the tour.” She gives me a sad smile and shuts the door behind me. I take off my jacket and purse and rest them on his bed. With donuts in hand, I say, “Dad, it’s Amelia.” As I walk toward him, he turns in his chair and looks me up and down. His eyes are weathered, his skin pale, and the laugh lines I’ve always loved, look more like frown lines now. Taking me in, he shifts in his chair and faces the window again, making my heart drop to the floor. He doesn’t recognize me.
My throat closes in on me and I try not to cry when his raspy voice breaks through the silence. “Got a strawberry-frosted donut with rainbow sprinkles in there for me, Bedelia?” Bedelia, my nickname. He does remember. I can’t help it, tears fill my eyes as I laugh-cry and walk over to him. “Of course, Daddy.” He holds out his hand, and as he takes mine, he squeezes me tightly. Still looking out the window, he says, “What took you so long?” “I had some things to work out, but I’m here now.” “For how long?” “I moved back home, Daddy.” Now he turns toward me, tears in his eyes. “My Bedelia is back?” I nod, my lips sealed together, trying to hold back the tears pressing to fall. Hearing my dad call me Bedelia makes me believe that he’s not completely lost . . . yet. “Yes. I’m renting a place not too far away. I can visit you much more often.” “Do you have a job?” I chuckle and nod. He’s always been concerned about our stability. “I have a job at Hillcrest High School as a counselor. I start tomorrow.” He smiles and looks back out the window. “That’s cause for celebration, shall we have a donut?”
“I think we shall.” I pull the donuts out of the bag and hand him one, but before he takes a bite, I lean over and kiss him gently on his bald head. How have I gone a year since seeing this man? He’s always been such an amazing dad, and yet somehow, when he needed me, I haven’t been here. This was the right decision to make, to move back. He is the right reason. “I love you, Dad.” “I love you, too, Amelia Bedelia.” *** I open the trunk to my SUV and sigh. I might have gone overboard. Mrs. Ferguson’s furniture is very nice, solid actually, but it needs a bit of updating, so I spent the last few hours shopping around town, making sure to stop in Target, Pier One, Kohl’s, and Bed, Bath, and Beyond. I bought throw pillows, blankets, bedding, kitchen accessories, dish towels, bathroom accessories, rugs, curtains, and lamps. Before I went to see my dad this morning, I assessed everything I wanted to get and made a list. I then packed up Mrs. Ferguson’s things and took them to the basement, so I can start fresh when I’m home. And now I’m looking at all the bags in my SUV, thinking I may have spent a little too much. Looks
like Nirchi’s Pizza is going to have to take a backseat for the next few weeks. “Only one way to get all these bags into the house.” I start to unpack, being careful to not spill any breakable items. I put my first haul on the couch and head back outside just in time to see a giant black pickup pull into the shared driveway connecting with mine. Aaron. I try to avoid looking at him, but curiosity wins out. His truck matches his size—large and powerful. His Yankees hat matches his eyes—blue and mysterious. And the rectangular pizza box he’s carrying in his arms matches . . . Wait, that doesn’t match anything. Scratch that, it matches the growling noises in my stomach. I know that box from anywhere. It’s Nirchi’s pizza. Damn him. Damn him! “Hey Amelia,” he calls out, holding the box to his side. Is he going to eat all of that? Most likely, he’s a giant. That entire box is probably just an appetizer. “Amelia?” he asks, scrunching down to catch my eyes. I shake off my pizza trance and awkwardly wave while saying, “Have a nice day.” Eck, I didn’t mean to brush him off so brusquely, but he makes me nervous . . . and angry, and
nervous. “Oh, uh, okay. You too,” he says as I round my SUV and sit in the back of it, trying to catch my breath. Have a nice day? Not even a hello? Come on, it’s bad enough I have to see him, do I have to be incredibly awkward as well? “I blame the pizza,” I say to myself, staring at my shoes and trying to control myself. Seeing your ex-love is never easy. “What are you blaming the pizza for?” Aaron startles me off the edge of my car, causing me to fall ass first onto the pavement of the driveway with a thump. “Shit,” Aaron murmurs as he attempts to help me back up. His attempt falls short as he manhandles me with his strong hands and arms by awkwardly grabbing the collar of my jacket and lifting me up. It’s not the most graceful “rescue” and it only makes things that much more uncomfortable. “Uh, sorry about that.” He cringes, trying to pat my jacket down at the shoulders. “I didn’t mean to help you up like that.” He laughs nervously. “That was kind of awkward.” I straighten my jacket and brush off my butt while stepping away. I need space from him . . . at all times. “Just a little.” I eye him and ask, “Is there something I can help you with?” Sheepishly, he nods at the trunk of my car. “I was actually going to ask you if you needed help; seems like you did a little shopping.”
“Just needed a few things.” Do not look him in the eyes. Don’t even think about looking at him. End this conversation immediately because it can only end up hurting you. “I’m good. You can go eat your pizza, I don’t want it to get cold.” “Are you sure? There’s a lot in here. I don’t mind, Amelia.” “Well, I mind,” I snap, causing him to take a step back, a pained look spreading on his face. I let out a long, frustrated breath. “Stop being nice to me, okay? I can’t take it.” He nods and pulls on the back of his neck. “Okay, so be a dick.” “Yes, be a dick.” I roll my eyes, needing him to take his large, muscular body and panty-melting cologne somewhere else. From the corner of my eye, I see him nod. “I can do that.” Looking at my trunk, he reaches in and pulls a bag out only to toss it on the ground. “Teal is a shit color, you should have gone with green.” A little shocked, I look at him trying to see humor in his eyes, but there’s none. Instead, his jaw looks tense, rigid, his eyes dark and narrowed, and his brows are pinched together. Reaching in again, he finds a box of mini muffins. Opening the box, he snags a pack and tears it open. With one large swoop, he shoves a few in his mouth and then tosses the wrapper back in my trunk. What the hell? That’s so rude.
“Hey!” He cuts off my protest when he spits out halfchewed up mini-muffin in the grass . . . spits MY mini muffin on the ground and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Those are trash muffins.” His voice is gruff, curt, so not the Aaron I once knew so well. “I don’t think—” Reaching in again, he buries his body in my trunk and starts rifling through my bags. He pulls out a box of tampons and tosses it to me as my face flushes. “Not interested in those . . . ah, but this toaster is nice.” He stands from his position and tucks my new red toaster under his arm. With a nod, he turns and walks toward his house where he picks his pizza up from the hood of his truck and heads for his front door. What the hell? “Hey!” I chase after him and poke his back when I catch up. “You can’t just take my toaster.” “Watch me.” He doesn’t bother to turn around to face me. Furious, I grab his arm, my hands wrapping around his amazingly thick bicep, and pull. He barely budges. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Give me my toaster.” “What am I doing?” He spins on his heel. “Being a dick. You don’t want me to be nice to you so I’m doing the opposite. It’s what you asked for.”
I roll my eyes and cross my arms over my chest. “I didn’t mean it literally.” Aaron hands me my toaster and sighs, conceding in our little battle. “Listen up, Amelia. I get it, okay? I broke your heart. I know you’re angry, and I’m the last person you want to see living next to you, but that’s the card you’ve drawn. And I understand your need to distance yourself. Does it hurt? Yeah, but I get it. I won’t harass you, or ask you to come over, or even hang out because I know I’m the last person you want to spend a Friday night with. But if for one second you think I’m going to stop being nice to you, stop being the gentleman I’ve always been around you, you’re sorely mistaken.” He steps closer, and my breath catches in my chest from his presence. It’s all too familiar, those eyes, his scent, the way his mouth curves when he smirks. In a matter of seconds, my body heats. It doesn’t help that memories of those lips pressed against every part of my body assault me too. He takes another step forward. “No matter what you think, I care about you, and if I see that you need help, I’m going to offer it.” He pauses and then says seriously, “And I sure as hell hope you can set your pride aside to let me.” I twist my lips and think about what he’s asking me. From the moment I met Aaron, when we were young and naïve, he was always the first person to lend a hand. He would run ahead to open doors for
people, spend his weekends helping his neighbors, or offer a hand whenever my dad needed help around the yard. This isn’t something he can just switch off, no matter how much I don’t want him to. He’s right. I have to accept that he’s living next to me now and his helping hand isn’t going to stop because we have a history I don’t want to relive. “I’m sorry,” I say softly. “I know you’re just trying to help.” Wanting to give him a little bit of truth, I say, “It’s hard for me. I haven’t forgotten about you. Getting over you was hard, Aaron, and I need to keep my distance.” “I understand. Maybe”—he bites his bottom lip —“we can be cordial to each other. You know, neighbors that wave hi when we pass each other in our cars. We don’t have to be the borrow-an-egg neighbor, but we can at least acknowledge each other.” “That’s fair.” I run the tip of my foot over a rock on the ground. “We can be cordial.” “Good.” He shifts and clears his throat. “I know we aren’t borrowing-egg neighbors, but I’m feeling pretty shitty about spitting one of your muffins out, especially since it was fucking good. Think I can offer you a few slices of my pizza for your muffin loss?” Well, I mean . . . how can I deny Nirchi’s? “If you must,” I say exasperated. “Only crust pieces.” I point my finger at him, causing him to
laugh. And fuck me, that deep, rumbly sound surges through my veins; my toes tingle and my body ignites. That’s all it took back then, and that’s all it takes now. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Why don’t I help you with your bags, and you can grab a plate so I can plop two slices on it for you.” “Three, I counter.” Smirking, he says, “It was one mini-muffin.” “And it was traumatic for me to see such waste. You have to pony up for emotional damages as well.” He shakes his head with a smile on his face as he walks toward my car. “Deal. Always such a schemer.” When it comes to Nirchi’s pizza, I’ll do just about anything for a slice . . . or three.
Chapter Six AARON
“Put those in the back of my truck. Thanks, man.” Making the best of what I have on hand, I take a wet towel and wipe my arms and face down, trying to remove as much sawdust as possible. “Want me to hose you off in the back?” Racer calls out after he puts my toolbox in my truck. “Last time you did that, you thought it was funny to spray the water between my ass cheeks.” Racer laughs—a little too hard—because the man always loves his own ludicrous antics. “You were the one who took your panties off.” Idiot. I tip my head forward and brush through my hair to get as much sawdust out as possible. “I don’t wear panties, jackass, and I took off my boxer briefs because you thought it would be funny to pour sawdust down my pants.” “It was funny.” He smirks at me. “That shit is going to catch up to you, you know.” He leans against my truck, arms crossed. “Already has. Georgie is giving me a run for my
money. I don’t let her know it though, or else she’d get a big head.” “Good to know you’re getting what’s deserved.” I take my shirt off and hang it on the side of my truck. Grabbing the towel, I give myself one more wipe, hoping I’m not too disgusting. I don’t have time to make the trip back to my house from the job site to take a shower so this will have to do. I lean into my truck, grab my change of shirt and deodorant, giving myself a few extra swipes. “This hobo bath you’re giving yourself is impressive. Where are you off to?” I slip my clean T-shirt over my head, appreciating that it smells like fresh laundry. I pull on a baseball hat and adjust it on my head. “Going to help Mr. Buster. It’s mid-October, you know what that means.” “Still volunteering?” “Yeah.” I let out a long breath and take a quick gulp of the Mountain Dew Tucker brought me earlier. It’s a little hot and a little flat, but I still guzzle it down. “It’s hard to say no to Barney Buster. He corners you and twitches his eye at you until you agree to help him out.” As much as I’m happy for my friends finding their women, I miss their availability. We used to shoot the shit about everything because we were always together. Now? Not so much. Wouldn’t say anything to them, but I miss my friends, despite having to put up with their
shit each day at work. I cap my drink and look Racer in the eye. “Plus, it keeps me busy. Now that you and Tucker are living in relationship bliss, I’ve tried to occupy my freed-up time with little projects and hobbies.” “Hobbies?” Racer pushes off my truck and raises an eyebrow at me. “Did you start up a knitting club with your geriatric neighbors?” “No,” I scoff. He doesn’t need to know about the night I spent at Mrs. Wickham’s house with her “cronies” teaching me how to knit. That little factoid will be buried with me . . . along with my attempt at knitting myself a sock. “Why do I feel like you’re lying?” he presses with a giant grin on his face. “Because you would want nothing more than for me to be a knitting old fart who stays home on Friday nights, bitching about the street youth.” “Pretty much.” He laughs. It’s sad that I feel two knitting needles away from becoming that man. I pat him on the shoulder. “Sorry to disappoint, but I haven’t taken up knitting.” Eh, not lately. “I need to get out of here or else I’m going to be late. Say hi to Georgie for me. See you tomorrow, man.” I hop in my truck, start her up, and pull out of the housing development we’ve been working at. It’s our first project as JMW Builders and even though it’s stressful, I couldn’t be prouder of our
work. Starting the business a few months ago was a risk, but with the financial backing of the biggest lumber and concrete yard owners in the area, it has been a huge blessing. Materials are cheap, our reputation for hard work helps us win contracts, and our attention to detail is starting to give us a great name. Tucker, Racer, and I always daydreamed of being our own bosses but it always felt like a pipe dream, and yet, it’s so fucking real. I’m not too far from my destination, so I don’t bother turning up the radio or trying to find a song to listen to; it’s probably because I need time to think. It’s been a week since Amelia moved in next door and besides some awkward waves and helping her unload her car, we haven’t interacted much. And I know I told her I would leave her alone, but it’s almost impossible not to yearn to be near her when I know she’s only twenty feet away in another house. It’s actually torture, knowing the girl who still owns my heart is so close, and yet miles upon miles away from me. I want to give her space, especially since she’s in a relationship with another man, but I also want to at least talk to her, clear the air. I don’t want her to hate me, and I want her to know my decision to break us up was selfless. But would she believe me at this point? Would she forgive me? I rub my temple while I wait at a stoplight, trying
to ward off a threatening headache. A buzzing in my pocket pulls me from my thoughts. My phone. Still waiting to drive, I look at the caller ID right before I answer. “Hi, Mom.” “Sweetheart.” She coughs into the phone a few times. “How are you?” “Good.” Thankfully my phone is attached through the Bluetooth in my truck so I can drive and talk without getting a ticket. New York State police officers are ruthless, but that’s a good thing. “Headed to help Mr. Buster.” “He’s still alive?” she asks, sounding tired. “Yes. He’s only in his fifties. He’s not that old.” “Maybe it’s because he’s bald him seems older.” I fail to mention that he looks younger than my mom because that would only hurt her feelings, especially since she still tries to dress like today’s teenagers. “Might be.” I make a right turn and don’t beat around the bush. “What’s going on, Mom?” “It’s October seventeenth.” Then it’s no longer fatigue I hear in her voice but sadness. October seventeenth, the day Runt’s adoption went through. The date didn’t even cross my mind, which is weird because I’ve never forgotten it before. I blame the blast from the past who’s now living next to me.
“Shit, I’m sorry. I forgot. How are you doing?” She calls, I comfort, it’s how it’s always been, and I don’t ever see it changing. “Okay.” She sniffs into the phone. “It’s always a struggle to think about the boys I gave away.” I can’t even imagine the inner turmoil that must be rocketing through her. Giving a baby up for adoption is one of the most selfless acts a human can perform. “And every year, I tell myself it was for the best. I wasn’t able to give him kisses every night, but I was able to give him the gift of a better life.” And it’s the same sentence she says to me every October seventeenth and every June twelfth, the days my brothers were officially given to another family. It’s the same few words that hold such precious meaning to show how selfless she was. But they are also the same words that slay me every single time . . . right to my fucking core. She gave them the gift of a better life. But what about me? What did she give me? I swallow hard, trying not to go down the dark path I seem to take twice a year when my mom calls to talk about the opportunity she gave my brothers. I clear my throat, the lump in it feeling like the size of an apple. “Yeah, they’re doing well.” “They are.” She coughs some more, causing my back to tense. Fucking cigarettes. She always
promises to quit, but never does, probably never will. “Runt started his freshman year at Princeton. Gah, Princeton, can you believe it?” “Yeah, Runt’s a smart kid, at least from what his adoptive parents have said.” I only know about my brothers through pictures and emails. I had one inperson visit with Tyke when he was in middle school and I was in high school. I stayed with him and his family for a week. Worst fucking week of my entire life. Fuck . . . don’t think about it. My hands tighten on my steering wheel as I turn down the road leading to my destination. “And last I heard Tyke was doing very well.” Tyke is always doing well. “Yeah, they’re both doing great.” I park my truck and lower my forehead to the steering wheel, trying to calm myself, letting out my frustration one breath at a time. “Couldn’t be prouder. Ugh, I made the right decision. But hey, I have to go, sweetheart. Your dad is coming over to paint one of my walls teal and I want to make sure I’m shaved and ready for him.” I can’t handle . . . not even a little. “Yup, okay.” “Love you, sweetheart. More than anything. You’re my boy.” I press my lips together, tamping down the urge
to yell at her. Why did you keep me? Why wasn’t I given the same chance to have everything? To have a chance at Princeton? Why do you mourn them when you kept me? Of course, that’s not what I say. It’s what I never say. “Love you, too, Mom.” I hang up quickly and try to gather myself as numbness falls over my entire body. I can feel autopilot starting to take over, and I know within a few minutes, I’ll become the irritable bastard I despise. No one deserves or wants him around. For a brief second I consider putting my car back in drive and heading straight to Reardon only to once again drown in my sorrows, just like Mommy dearest taught me, but when I reach for the gear shift, I see Mr. Buster waving frantically at me with a giant smile on his face. There’s no turning back now. “Damn,” I breathe out heavily. Instead of retreating to the bottle, I reach into my lunch cooler, pull out a Little Debbie Cosmic Brownie, and quickly plop it in my mouth—the entire thing—letting the sugar fall pleasantly on my taste buds. It’s the jolt I need to get through tonight. As I finish chewing and swallow, Mr. Buster opens my truck door. “Aaron! I was getting nervous you weren’t going to show.”
I take a quick sip of my stale Mountain Dew and shake my head. “Never. Just a late night at work. You don’t have to worry about me not showing up, I’ll be here.” “Thank goodness, because we’re really going to need your muscles.” Hopping out of my truck, I right my jeans, and then reach into the back of my truck for my tools. “Are Mr. Bennett and his son helping this year?” “No, they didn’t think they could commit. But I do have Gary Wellsby on board. He’s about sixty and useless, but at least it’s another human to hold up boards while you nail them together.” “I guess that’ll work.” I chuckle. “Sixty and useless is always appealing in a construction partner.” We walk toward the building as Mr. Buster looks over his clipboard. “Well, he actually might not be the best of help because he wrote on his volunteer sheet he requires to sit with whatever he’s doing and refuses to lift anything over five pounds.” Mr. Buster shakes his head. “Why help at all?” “Probably why all the other older volunteers help out; it gives them something to do and someone to talk to.” “I’m not running social hour here. I’m trying to put together the premier holiday show for the area.” He’s starting to get in a tizzy, a side of Barney Buster you never want to see.
“Don’t worry, you have me and your husband, right? I’ll be seeing David around?” Mr. Buster’s face turns soft from the mention of his husband’s name. After thirty years of being together, they were able to finally get married a few years ago when New York State legalized gay marriage. I made the arch they got married under, the same arch that takes center stage in the flower garden in their backyard. I couldn’t have been more honored. “David will be around, but he’s made it quite clear he’s taking over costume design after the atrocious candy-cane socks Margie made the kids wear last year. He swore on his mother’s grave that would never happen again.” “The white and red striped socks?” Mr. Buster nods his head in confirmation. “I liked those socks. I thought they were fun.” Stopping us in our pursuit to the building, Mr. Buster places his hand on my chest and looks me square in the eyes. “If you want to stay on David’s good side, be sure to NEVER say that to him. And I mean never. I like you, Aaron, and I want you to stick around. Don’t mention the socks.” The vein above his right eye is twitching, and I know he’s serious and to not cross him. “Don’t mention socks, got it.” “Good.” He presses a hand against his chest and takes a deep breath. “I’m glad we talked about that
before we went in there and you started shouting about wanting to see those socks again.” “Yes, because that was the first thing I was going to say when I saw everyone. God, those socks, real winners.” “Don’t tease me.” Mr. Buster holds on to my arm as we walk through the doors. “You’re going to give me agita.” “And no one needs to be around you when you have that. You spit fire.” “Damn right I do.” He chuckles, and we walk to the auditorium where volunteers are already milling about, working on this year’s holiday spectacular. Mr. Buster points to my usual corner and says, “Blueprints and materials are in your special corner. You know the drill, put those man muscles to work.” “Got it.” I part from Mr. Buster and set my tools on the table provided while I look over the blueprints. This will be my fourth year assisting at the holiday play put on by all the elementary schools in the district. It’s a way to bring all the children in the area together. Every year it gets better and better, and from the plans I’m looking at right now, more diverse. One of the plans is for a seven-foot wooden Christmas tree decorated in Star of David ornaments and topped with a kinara—a special
candleholder used during Kwanzaa. “That’s interesting.” I chuckle while flipping through the rest of the blueprints, which consist of the usual town buildings, trees, giant presents, and . . . huh, that’s new. An entire beach scene is planned out on paper, and the only conclusion I have relates to Mr. Buster’s efforts to have the kids practicing Mele Kalikimaka. I wouldn’t put it past him. Either that or he’s lost his damn mind. “Right over there, he’s in the corner. Aaron raise your hand for me,” Mr. Buster calls out. “I’m sending a volunteer over to be your helper.” I raise my hand and look up just in time to see a very flustered Amelia walking my way, or rather being pushed in my direction by Mr. Buster. “Don’t be nervous, sweetie. He’s a bull on the outside but a cuddly bear on the inside.” “I, uh, I’m not good with tools,” she says, her heels digging into the ground, as if I’m surrounded by lava, and she’s being pushed in. “Well then, it’s a great time to learn. Aaron owns his own construction company, so he’s the best person to teach you. You’re going to be building dining room sets by the time you’re done working on this project. Thanks for joining us, Miss Santos.” Mr. Buster gives her one more nudge in my direction before he claps his hands and calls out to “playwrights” to gather for their first meeting, leaving me alone with a very uncomfortable
Amelia. “Not good with tools? I beg to differ. You built some pretty badass birdhouses back in the day.” She hides the smirk I know wants to peek out. “This is different.” She used to build some of the prettiest birdhouses I’d ever seen and paint them bright colors that would pop off the trees. It was one of the ways she made extra money while in college. Not going to lie, I was fucking impressed with her skills, to the point that I tried to best her with my own birdhouse-making skills. I failed. Big time. My big hands weren’t dexterous enough to work in fine detail. She slayed me, and fuck if I didn’t love her for it. “Still using tools.” I clasp my hands together and glance at my workspace. “So, do you want to get started? We have a lot we have to finish in the next month and a half.” “Yeah, I think I’m going to ask Mr. Buster for reassignment. I really won’t be any help to you.” “You won’t be any help, or you just don’t want to be around me?” I ask the question before I can stop myself. She bites the side of her mouth like she used to when she would think about something. Toeing the ground, she says, “Both.” I guess I can’t be mad about her honesty. I don’t know why I expected any other answer. A part of
me wishes she would accept the past and try to at least rebuild a friendship with me. Don’t get me wrong. Do I wish I had another chance with her? Hell yeah. I would snatch that chance up so damn fast, but from her need to flee anytime she’s around me and the easy smile on her face I saw when she was talking to her boyfriend on the phone, I assume my second chance is non-existent. I press my lips together and try to think about what to say. I don’t want to insult her, but I also want to tell her to grow up. Asshole, I know, but hell, I just want her to hang out with me for a bit. “I don’t think you’re going to get another assignment from Mr. Buster, but I can ask him for you if you want. We’re good friends. What assignment are you looking for?” “You would do that?” she asks, a lift of surprise in her brow. I nod. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. What assignment would you prefer?” “Costumes. I think I can handle that.” “Okay. Give me a second.” I tap the table next to me and walk past her, catching a whiff of Light Blue. Fuck, she smells good. Smells have always been triggers for me, and Amelia’s scent was associated with love. And then later . . . heartache. God, I’ve fucking missed her. Call me a dickhead, but I don’t want her to change assignments. I don’t want her working with
someone else. I want her to have to volunteer with me, to have to work with me every Thursday for the next six weeks. I can’t force her to consider a friendship with me, but I can at least try to keep her on my volunteer assignment. “Mr. Buster, can I borrow you for a second?” I cut in, thankful he hasn’t started his meeting yet. “Of course.” He steps to the side with me, garnering us a little bit of privacy. “Is everything okay?” I take a deep breath and hope my friend is going to help me out here. “You know Miss Santos?” “Yes, she just transferred from the city. She’s volunteering to get to know more people and to fulfill an assignment her predecessor signed up for.” “So it’s mandatory for her to be here?” “Yes.” I clasp my hands together and level with Mr. Buster. “I’m going to be honest with you. That’s my ex-girlfriend from a while back, kind of the girl I thought I would end up with.” “Ohhh.” Mr. Buster pats my arm. “Say no more, let me see where else I can put her.” “No.” I place my hand over his clipboard, blocking Amelia’s view so she doesn’t get any ideas that I’m about to sabotage her request. “I, uh, I was kind of hoping you could make sure you keep her with me.” Mr. Buster’s face morphs into a sinister smile as
he pokes my chest with his pen. “You old dog.” Oh, Jesus. My face flames hot from the knowing jab Mr. Buster is giving me. I should have known he wouldn’t have made this easy on me. But I’ll take his teasing, because from as far back as I can remember, I’ve always been the other. The other friend, the other employee . . . the other brother. For once in my life I want to be the only. I don’t care if this is wrong, if she’s already with a guy. I want some time with her, just a little one-on-one interaction that doesn’t involve an awkward wave and a sprint to her house to avoid me. Maybe during our Thursdays together, she’ll see the real me again, the boy she once loved. The man who still so desperately loves her. Smirking, I lean into Mr. Buster. “Can you help a guy out here?” “Anything for you.” He pats me on the shoulder and walks over to Amelia, clipboard at his side. Shit. I didn’t mean for him to go talk to her. “Miss Santos. Aaron told me about your concerns of working with wood and not wanting to get splinters, but I assure you, there aren’t many splinter injuries in set building. The wood isn’t scraggely.” I run my hand over my face. Christ. First, wood isn’t scraggely, and second, where the hell did that come from? I never once muttered splinters. “I wish there was another department I could
work you in with, but we are full to capacity. Maybe I can get you gloves for your splinter concerns.” Amelia glances at me and I’m tempted to jump to the side from the daggers she’s shooting my way. Before she can answer, I step up and grip Mr. Buster’s shoulder . . . tightly. “I can get her some gloves, not to worry. She’ll be fine.” “Okay.” Mr. Buster taps his clipboard and says, “You’re with a good one, Miss Santos. Aaron is the kindest, sweetest, most caring man I know. Every year he gives his time and money for this production, staying later than anyone else and often the first to lend a hand when needed, even in the sewing department.” Okay, now he’s getting a little loose on the lips. “He’s also such a good friend, a good-looking man, and successful. So successful.” “Cool it, cool it.” I mutter under my breath while toeing the ground, appreciating his compliments but trying to avoid him overdoing it. “And what a cook. He made a casserole once for my husband and me for our anniversary, so sweet. And delicious. The best casserole I’ve ever had.” Okay, now he’s just lying. I gave them a gift card. “He also looks fabulous with his shirt off . . .” “Okay,” I shout and step forward, blocking Mr. Buster. “We have to start working, and there are people waiting for you, Mr. Buster. Best you move
along.” “Okay, okay.” He steps toward a very skeptical Amelia and pats her shoulder. “Hard not to love this guy.” He looks between us, winks at me— Christ—and says, “Have fun, you two.” He skips away, clearly on cloud nine about his praise, leaving me with a not so happy looking Amelia. That didn’t go as planned. “Splinters?” she asks, arms crossed over her chest, a jut to her hip, and if I looked down I’m pretty sure I would see her toe tapping. I grip the back of my neck and sheepishly smile. “I thought it would be a good excuse?” I say in question form, trying to pass it off as cute. From the stern set in her brow, I’m going to assume she does not find me endearing at all. Not to worry, just one more hurdle to have to jump over. “Uh, should we get started?” “He probably thinks I’m some prima donna who doesn’t like to get her hands dirty.” Or we can continue to talk about this . . . “He doesn’t think that. He offered you gloves. He likes you.” I try to cheer her up but the scowl continues. Yikes. “He doesn’t like me.” She walks over to the plans and starts looking them over. “That last thing
I need is for Mr. Buster, the head of the special activities department for the ENTIRE district, to hate me. He has some serious in with the principal at my school. I’m only temporary and I need . . .” She trails off and takes a deep breath. “Forget it. Let’s get to work.” She thumbs through the designs and pulls out the Christmas tree that’s going to be rather interesting to build. “Let’s get going. The quicker we can build these, the better. Fetch the wood. I’ll grab a pencil to start tracing.” Without another word, she starts digging in my toolbox, looking for a pencil. I stay still, watching how angry she is, how frustrated she is. Why did she trail off? She needs what? Her job? Does this have to do with her father? I wish she would talk to me. “Amelia,” I say softly as I walk up next to her. “He doesn’t hate you.” “We’re not talking about this anymore. Let’s just get to work.” She was never like this before, so harsh, so . . . uptight. When I knew her, she was free-spirited, wild almost, and hadn’t cared what people thought of her. She broke the rules just to enjoy life. She’s different now, calculated, and rough around the edges. Did I do this to her? Did I destroy her spirit? If I did, I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself. And if I’m the one responsible, I’m going to be the
one responsible for bringing her spirit back.
Chapter Seven AMELIA
“I think I want to have sex.” I hold back the cringe that threatens to pass over my features. This is the third “I want to have sex” conversation I’ve had with one of my students since I arrived, and I’ve been here for a week and a half. I know I’m a school counselor, and I’ve been trained for situations like this, but it never ceases to disturb me how young kids want to get started so early on being adults. News flash, kids: hold off. You have all the time in the world to adult, enjoy being a kid for as long as you can because before you know it, you’re going to be living next to your ex-boyfriend who destroyed your heart, trying to keep a long-distance relationship fresh over FaceTime, and helping your deteriorating father fade comfortably. Stay young for as long as you can. Keeping a straight face and my pen poised at my notepad, I ask, “And why do you think that, Carissa?” Sitting awkwardly, she twists her hands together on her lap and carefully looks at me. “Is this going
to get back to my parents?” “Only if your life is being threatened. Everything else is confidential between us.” She nods and bites on her lip. “I think I’m in love.” “Okay,” I say gently. “That’s wonderful. Love is such a powerful feeling to have for another person. It can be very consuming, can’t it?” Carissa, my student, shyly nods. “Very consuming.” “Who’s the lucky one to hold your heart?” I tread carefully with my words because in an age where love is love, I don’t want to assume any sexual orientation of my students. “Danny Baxter.” I make a mental note to look him up later as I casually write down his name. I want to be as familiar with my students as possible. “Is he nice to you?” “He is.” She nods. “He buys me lunch every day, and we eat together at a table in the cafeteria. We like to talk about Harry Potter and The Legend of Zelda. We’re both on the same level, and when I get stuck, he always helps me. He doesn’t ever move forward unless I’m on the same level as him.” Oh God, my heart. Danny Baxter sounds like a total sweetheart. High school love, it’s so easy. “Wow, that’s really sweet of him. You’re a lucky girl.”
“I am.” Looking at her hands, she twines them together, clearly nervous about the conversation we’re having. “I have a little concern though. You said you think you’re in love with him. Why do you think you’re in love?” She shrugs. “I don’t know. I mean, I like him a lot. I think about him all the time and when we kiss, I get really excited.” Hormones be raging in this one. “Have you told him how you feel?” “What?” Her eyes widen, pure fear in her face as it goes white. “No way. Why would I do that?” Carissa, you’re so not ready for sex. No high schooler is for that matter. I don’t want to sound condescending or like I’m her parent, so I choose my words wisely. “I was in love once with a boy who consumed my every thought.” Why did I say in love once? I’m in love now. I shake the mistake and continue. “He was everything to me. We talked about Nirchi’s pizza, and played cards ”—and fucked like bunnies, but I leave that out—“and spent every spare hour we had with each other.” “That’s like Danny and me.” “I figured.” I wink. “But do you know what I feel is different between our two relationships?” “What?” She’s sitting on the edge of her seat now, listening intently.
I’ve captured her; I have her full attention, and that’s something to be proud of when dealing with kids this age. “When I was with him, all I wanted to do was tell him how much I loved him.” “Really?” I nod. “All the time. It was something I couldn’t stop myself from saying. From what you’re telling me, I can see you’re not quite ready to start sharing your feelings.” “Yeah, that’s too scary.” She scrunches her nose and shakes her head. See? She’s not ready for sex. “Totally understandable, but I have to tell you, Carissa, if you think that’s scary, having sex for the first time is an entirely different world of scary.” She shrinks in her chair. “I want you to have the best experience when that time comes, and I want it to be with a man like the one I used to love, someone who you can’t help but express your feelings toward. Does that make sense?” “It does. I have to truly, really, completely be in love with Danny before we have sex.” “Exactly.” Oh please, let this conversation have some influence on her decision. “But I still want to make out with him,” she adds, looking shy from her confession. I pat my desk as I smile at her. “Make out all you want, but before you take the next step, be absolutely sure that you love him, okay?” She nods and stands from her chair. “Thank you,
Miss Santos.” “You’re welcome, sweetie. If you want to have this conversation again before you decide to move forward with Danny, please know my door is always open.” “Thanks.” Swinging her backpack over her shoulder, Carissa walks out of my office, hopefully with a new perspective in her mind. There is only so much I can do for these kids, which is scary. It’s up to them to take or not take my advice. I’m hoping I have enough impact on their lives that they make the right decisions. Between sessions, I check my phone for messages. Nothing. Putting my phone back into my desk, I drum my fingers for a second before checking my emails. I don’t get many emails, usually stuff from the administration about what’s going on in the school, so when I see an email from Mr. Buster I quickly open it. The subject is volunteering and in the body of the email is a picture of Aaron and me cutting out the large Christmas tree together. We’re wearing goggles, and we’re both concentrating on the piece of wood beneath us, but what I didn’t realize at the time was how incredibly close we were. So close that his large body is almost pressed against my petite one. Maybe because it felt natural to have
him near me, to have him flush against my skin. Maybe it’s because for some odd reason, I consider him the only man I’ve loved. What was that about? It was a slip-up for sure. It’s just because he’s fresh in my mind. I stare at the picture again, thinking about being that close to him. A warm sensation floats through me from the memories flooding my mind, the memories of having Aaron’s arms wrapped around me, his mouth against mine, his body driving in and out of mine. Hell . . . Shaking my thoughts, I look at Mr. Buster’s comment at the bottom. “You two work well together. Glad to have you on board.” Mr. Buster. I like the guy, but he also seems to have ulterior motives. I wonder if in his spare time he likes to play matchmaker. I’m going to have to let him know I’m in a relationship next time I see him because these little emails—if he sends them every week—are going to bother me. And that’s not a lie. Being so close to Aaron again, having to work with him, it’s messing with my mind. For the longest time, I thought he was the one. I thought we’d marry, have two children, and live on the hill that overlooks Binghamton. We were happy, content, ready to start our lives together, and then out of nowhere, like a freight train coming in with
no brakes, he broke up with me. Just ended it. After two years, he called it quits. I’ve never felt so much pain before in my entire life, so much heartbreak. He was my rock, my protector, my soul mate. He made me laugh, made me cry, made me feel. We fought, but we always made up. He was my partner in crime; he let me fly freely, arms spread and the wind bristling past me while he held me, grounded me when I needed it. He was the one who encouraged me to chase my dreams, to go to graduate school, to follow the voice calling to me and when I did, when I took a chance to make something of myself, to earn a master’s degree I so desperately wanted, he broke up with me. And his reason . . . He couldn’t do it anymore. He couldn’t be with me. I asked several times if there was another woman, if I wasn’t good enough for him, and all he did was shake his head. He gave me no reason, no explanation, just a box of my things and a brief glance as he drove away. I tried calling him. I tried visiting him. I tried everything to get him to talk to me, but he wouldn’t. He cut all ties with me. It was over. He was done. He was done with me. There was nothing left for me to do other than to pick up and leave, to move to the city and chase
after the education I wanted. I packed my things, took my acceptance letter to Columbia, moved into cheap dorms, and tried to forget the man who crushed my heart. But damn if it didn’t hurt that entire first year, wondering what I did wrong. But with time, memories of him faded. Soon they were replaced by a new love, a new man. A man who loves me, cares for me, and would never break my heart the way Aaron did. Trey is safe, sweet, and caring. He’s willing to move to Binghamton . . . He’s willing to move. He has his career, but that won’t stop him from coming to be with me. That’s the big difference between Aaron and Trey. Trey is willing to be with me, despite the miles between us. Aaron never was, which is still a tough pill to swallow, because no matter how many times I tell myself differently, I was never good enough for him. I was never important enough. Yes, I was able to pursue my dreams, as he obviously did his. But at what cost? Could we not have done that together? He seems happy for me now, almost as if he is sorry he let me go. But surely he’s not sorry . . . I take a long, deep breath and shut my eyes as I lean my head against the back of my chair. He hurt me. He broke me. He cracked my soul.
And yet, I still want him wrapped around me. I push my hair out of my face, warding off the emotion that’s trying to pull me down when there’s a knock on the door. I look up to find our secretary with a huge smile on her face. “Someone’s here to see you.” She wiggles her eyebrows at me suggestively. There is only one man in Binghamton who causes that kind of reaction in a woman. Oh shit. Why is he here at my work? Does he even know where I work? How did he find out? A million questions float through my mind as I motion for my visitor to come back. I quickly pull a mirror from my top desk drawer, check my teeth for lipstick, fluff my hair, and then stick the mirror away. A million butterflies float around in my stomach from the prospect of Aaron coming to visit me at work. I shouldn’t feel like this, I shouldn’t be excited to see another man, but, hell, he’s been consuming my thoughts lately, maybe a little visit won’t hurt too much, right? I take a deep breath when I hear his footsteps near my door. Standing, I push down the skirt of my dress and put on a big smile. When the door opens, a pair of vivid blue eyes I’ve come to love so dearly greet me. “Trey?” I ask, surprised. He’s carrying a giant bouquet of roses in one hand and a brown bag in
the other. “Hey sweetheart.” He drops his items on my desk, steps around it, and pulls me into his chest where he wraps his arms around my waist and kisses me passionately. All thoughts of Aaron are washed away the minute Trey’s lips meet mine. My hands run up his chest where I grip the lapels of his suit jacket and pull him closer. God, I’ve missed this man. His tongue slips into my mouth and I open for him, clawing his jacket, never wanting this kiss to end. When he growls, every nerve in my body sparks with awareness, and I’m immediately reminded I’m in my new office, at my new job, ready to dry-hump my boyfriend. I pull away, a little out of breath, needing some distance before I do something completely indecent. “Fuck, I needed that.” He keeps me close despite my attempt to put some distance between us. “I’ve missed you so fucking much.” “I’ve missed you.” I search his eyes, still in disbelief that he’s here. “What are you doing here?” A large smile spreads over his face. “I have an interview in an hour.” “Are you serious?” When he nods, I can’t contain my excitement. I hop into his arms and wrap my legs around his waist. I capture his face in
my hands and stare at him as his hands cup my ass. “Oh my God! You have an interview.” “I have an interview,” he repeats, his words like music to my ears. “Ahh! This is so exciting.” I press my lips briefly against his. “How long will you be here?” His face falls. “I have to drive back tonight for work tomorrow morning.” My elation is quickly squandered and I drop to my feet. “Really?” “I’m sorry, sweetheart.” He cups my face. “But my interview won’t take very long. I’ll be done when you get out for the day so I plan on spending every minute with you until I have to leave.” “Every minute?” He smirks and runs his hand up the back of my dress until he finds my thong-covered ass. He quietly moans as he bites on his bottom lip. “Fuck, every damn minute.” He lowers his lips to mine where he lightly kisses me, his hands gripping my ass, and his erection pressing against my stomach. Pretty sure he shouldn’t have an erection on school campus, but hell, I shouldn’t be rubbing myself up against him either. We spend the next few minutes talking about his interview, holding hands, and smiling like fools at each other. This is exactly what I needed, a recharge, a reminder of where my heart belongs.
*** Five years ago . . . “Where is he?” I try to stand on the toes of my platform heels but can’t see over the crowd. “He said he would be here.” “He will be, relax and try to have some fun. It’s your birthday, after all.” “I know, but I didn’t want to come out. We should have stayed home, because he would have been more comfortable hanging out.” Amanda places her hand on my shoulder. “Relax, he’ll be here. He wouldn’t miss your birthday.” I press my lips together, wishing we did something else for my birthday. Staying home, playing games, and eating cake would have been just fine with me but Amanda insisted on dressing up and going out like we used to. Aaron wasn’t the kind of guy who went to clubs to dance, and now that he’s half an hour late, I’m nervous he’s not going to show up. Amanda is distracted by some of our friends, so I take a quick peek at my phone to see if I missed any message. Hmm, nothing. Where could he be? I adjust the short, skin-tight dress Amanda insisted I wear and make sure I’m not showing nipples. It has a keyhole front that looks amazing on Amanda but since my boobs are twice the size of hers, I’m about
to pop out of this dress. “Want another drink?” Amanda asks while leaning over to me. “I’m going to the bar.” I glance down at my melted, watered-down vodka cranberry. “I’m good for now.” Amanda sighs and lifts my chin. “Try to have some fun, sweetie.” It’s hard when the one person I want here is nowhere to be found. Amanda retreats for the bar as I sit back in my seat and cross my arms over my chest. This is stupid. I don’t even want to be here. I should leave. I purse my lips and on a whim, decide to leave. It’s my birthday, I can do what I want. I grab my purse and start to stand from the booth we secured in the back of the club when a tall shadow blocks me from the bright, strobing lights of the dance floor. “Leaving so soon?” I would know that voice anywhere, because it’s the voice both that puts me to sleep and wakes me in the morning. Extreme joy wraps around me as I look up only to have my breath catch in my throat. Aaron is standing before me wearing a pair of dark jeans that hug his long legs, a navy-blue button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the top two buttons undone, showing off his bronze,
corded chest. His hair is messy and to the side, and his beautiful eyes sparkle as he holds one single daisy out to me. Swallowing hard, I take the daisy as he slips into the booth next to me, placing his arm around my back and taking me in. His eyes hungrily roam my body, spending a lot of time at the keyhole of my dress. When his eyes meet mine, he says, “Fuck, baby. You look so goddamn good.” I set the daisy on the table in front of us and place my hands on his chest, my fingers trailing along his exposed skin. “You’re here,” I say quietly. “Of course I am.” One of his hands plays with my hair as he speaks softly to me, so we can barely hear each other over the music. “I wouldn’t miss your birthday.” “But you’re late.” He nods. “I know, I’m sorry. I had something I had to take care of with my mom.” He cringes. “I’m so sorry, baby.” “Is everything okay?” He smiles lazily, scanning me up and down again. “Everything is perfect.” He turns to the dance floor and takes my hand. “Want to dance, beautiful?” Shocked, actually ashamed I had Aaron pegged wrong, I nod. He guides me to the dance floor, his hand wrapped tightly around mine, and when we reach the bumpers and grinders who are already feeling
the beat of the music, Aaron spins me toward him so my back is pressed against his chest and his arms are wrapped under my breasts. He leans over and whispers into my ear as he starts to move his body with mine. Oh God, he’s a good dancer. “That dress is dangerous, Amelia.” “Amanda made me wear it,” I say as he starts to kiss my neck. My pulse skyrockets, and in a matter of seconds, my nipples press against the thin fabric of the dress. “Remind me to write Amanda a thank you note.” As we dance together, rocking, bumping, grinding, we become lost in the feel of each other’s bodies. Without caring who’s watching, he roams his hands all over me, over my hips, my stomach, my breasts . . . He touches me as if we’re the only ones on the dance floor, and it’s intoxicating. I grip the back of his neck, never wanting to let go as he squeezes one of my breasts, his fingers barely pinching my nipple. I moan and grind against his crotch, feeling his erection. “Fuck, baby.” Needing his lips on mine, I turn in his grip and bring his head to my mouth where he captures my lips, not holding back. Twisting, thrusting, lapping, our tongues race against each other, our lips molding, our bodies on fire as Aaron walks us to
the back of the dance floor until I feel the wall against me. With one easy swoop, Aaron lifts me so I’m straddling his waist and my back is against the wall. I grip around him with my legs, making sure I have a firm grasp just as my heated center connects with his enticingly hard cock. “Yes,” I moan, as he starts to kiss up and down my neck, pulsing his hips against mine with the music, igniting every nerve in my body. Not caring where we are, I pull on the small strands of his hair, egging him on, knowing he will break just like me. Pulsating a little harder, hitting me right where I need him, I moan even louder. “God, that’s sexy,” he mutters, moving his mouth to my ear. “This Amelia, this is where you belong, in my arms. You belong wrapped around me.” “Only you,” I say, knowing how true it is. I’ve had a few boyfriends, but I’ve never felt the level of honesty and intimacy I do with Aaron. Perhaps it’s because he’s a few years older than me. Perhaps it’s because when I talk to him, I know I have his full attention, something I never knew in my teenage boyfriends. Perhaps it’s because I trust him so implicitly. He looks at me like my dad looked at my mom. He wants me to achieve all my dreams. He’s the only man I ever want to be wrapped up in, because even though we’ve been together for a short period of time, I know he’s mine . . . mine forever.
*** Present day . . . The street I live on is an interesting one. The houses are very well kept, a little out of date, but still nicely put together with their turf-covered porches, white awnings, and perfectly bricked walkways. The houses all look the same, but they are each unique too. It’s weird and charming. Bringing my speed down to fifteen—I’ve been told to slow down before—I casually wave at my neighbors, surprised to see they’re out and about today. I occasionally see a few, but nothing like this. What’s going on? I pull into my driveway and park my car, and relax. What a tiring day. When I was studying to become a counselor, we were taught to understand how draining some days would be, and my professors were right. It’s beyond draining. We were also taught how important it was to have strategies in place for self-care. When you’re giving all day, you need tactics to relax and decompress. I haven’t worked out exactly what I need yet, not in Binghamton, but decorating my little house has created a good place of solace and joy. That and I keep thining back to the small moment I had with Trey when he was up here for his interview a few days ago. That’s keeping me strong right now. From the passenger seat, I collect my items and
turn to reach for the door handle when I see my neighbors converging on me, like a pack of curly, white-haired zombies. For a brief moment, I feel nervous until I realize the percentage of them have canes. I can easily outrun them, or use their canes to trip them into a hip-breaking fall. I emerge from my car just as they hit my driveway. “Miss Santos,” one of them calls out, holding up her liver-spotted hand. “May we have a word?” “Oh, yes, of course.” I close my door and set my bags on the hood of my car. “Is everything okay?” The rest of the herd catches up, their bodies heaving slightly from the little jaunt they took down Franklin Street. “Are you aware of the week?” the pack leader asks. Uh . . . the week? All I know is it has been two weeks since I’ve seen Trey. It feels like a month. Confused, I say, “I’m sorry. I guess I’m not.” The zombie pack mutter under their breaths and shake their heads. “We figured,” the leader says, a huff in her voice. “Have you not read your mail? We left a flyer in your mailbox.” I inwardly cringe. To me, flyers are a waste of paper. I don’t bother looking at them. I put them straight into recycling. “Uh, I’m afraid I didn’t get to read it.”
“Of course she didn’t,” a bald old man says with a lift of his cane. “Marv, settle down. Your blood pressure,” the leader says. “She’s making us all look bad.” “Yeah!” everyone chimes in, lifting their arms slightly with a mob mentality in their eyes. Okay, I’m a little frightened. They do have numbers over my agility and youth. Trying to calm down the group, I say, “I’m sorry. I would never intend to make you look bad. I get a little recycle happy when it comes to flyers—” “She recycled the flyer,” Marv gruffs out. “Unbelievable.” “Why do you think fridges were invented?” another lady chimes in, this one looking more sprite than the others. “To hang flyers.” Technically, fridges were invented to keep food cold, but I choose not to point that out. “I really do apologize. I wasn’t aware the neighborhood put out flyers.” “Figures,” the leader says, crossing her arms. “Mrs. Ferguson was always a lazy neighbor, and it looks like she transferred it into a lazy landlord as well.” Man, these people are ruthless. And to think I wave at them. If I knew their intent to make me feel bad about a flyer, I would have held back my wave, although . . . seems like that would have
made things worse. “Is there a problem over here?” Aaron’s voice comes from behind, startling me. I don’t dare turn around, instead I keep my eyes fixed on the angry —old—mob in front of me, and right before my eyes, they all soften when Aaron steps up, as if he’s their hero, ready to save the world. “Aaron, thank God you’re here. Miss Santos is the problem. She recycled the flyer without even looking at it.” “I see.” Aaron steps up next to me and drapes his arm over my shoulder. I’m about to shrug him off but think better of it for one reason: the band of dentures might think more poorly of me if I distance myself from their hero. So instead, I step a little closer to him. Feeling me lightly snuggle against him, he raises a quick eyebrow and smirks at me. It shouldn’t feel right being held by him, especially with Trey in the back of my mind. But somehow, this feels right, too. Still looking at me, he asks the crowd, “Doesn’t she at least get points for recycling?” The mob is quiet for a second, mulling over his statement. I should get points for recycling. Keep it clean, keep it green. That’s my motto. The leader nods but then turns angry again. “She is the only house without decorations and trick-ortreaters are going to be here tomorrow. Children flock to our street because of our traditional décor.
We are going to look like we’re losing our marbles with her negligence.” Decorations? Trick-or-treaters? Is it really Halloween already? Aaron scans my house and nods. “I see what you’re saying. The house looks like a sore thumb. I guess there isn’t much for us to do but tie her to a pole and throw eggs at her.” “Yeah!” Marv reacts, shoving his cane in the air, murder in his eyes. That wrinkle sack is totally scary. He’s someone who “knows” people. I can feel it in the way he stares me down. Clapping his hands together, mischief in his eyes, Aaron says, “I’ll get the rope. Mrs. Wickham, you grab the eggs. Meet back in ten minutes. We’ll teach her a lesson.” “Sounds good.” Mrs. Wickham turns to the crowd. “We reconvene in ten minutes, take your pills, we have an egg throwing to take part in.” “What?” I ask, looking around. They can’t possibly be serious. But before I can ask what the hell is going on, they slowly walk away, their canes padding across the asphalt. When I turn to look for Aaron, he’s gone as well. There is no way he’s going to get rope . . . is he? No. No, there is no way, and yet a little part of me fears that this really might be a thing. “Pssst . . .”
Off to the side, Aaron stands beside his truck, motioning for me to come to him. Caught off guard, slightly frightened and mostly confused, I tiptoe over to him and lean to where he’s squatting. “What the hell is going on? Are they really getting eggs?” “They are.” He nods and looks over his hood. “Why the hell would you suggest that if you knew they were going to get eggs?” I push his shoulder, causing him to laugh. “What is wrong with you?” “It was the only way to get them out of here. They were closing in on you, Amelia. You didn’t have much time left before they started poking you with their canes. They take Halloween seriously.” “Seems like it.” I scratch my head “Note to self, look at all flyers.” “Might be a good idea.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his keys. “Come on, let’s go.” “Go where?” “Uh, to get you decorations. You really don’t get it, do you? They will harass you until you move out of that house if you don’t decorate. They can be ruthless. I know because I’ve seen them do it before. We’re the holiday street; we decorate almost every month for every occasion.” “You have to be kidding me.” “Nope.” He shakes his head. “Now get in the truck. I’ll take you to a good friend’s place. He’ll
give us some decorations wholesale to get you started.” I stand, still unable to believe all of this. “You’re serious.” “Dead serious.” He nods at his truck. “Now get in before they come back with the eggs.” I eye my purse that’s resting on his truck and bite my lip. Aaron laughs and pats me on the shoulder. “I’ll get your things, you get in the truck. You’ll be safe in there.” He takes off to grab my things as I launch myself into his giant truck. I know I might be safe from the neighbors, but I almost feel worse once I’m sitting in his truck. Just like he always used to do, he reached out and rescued me. Brought me under his wing. I might add, never from geriatrics. And yet, here I am. I feel safe. And God, he smells so damn good. Surely other men use the same cologne as Aaron, but being surrounded by his delicious scent brings back memory after memory. Vividly. Being held close in his arms. Kisses goodnight. Kisses hello. Just kissing. And he was so good to kiss . . . My stomach feels weird all of a sudden. And then I realize the problem. No matter how much I want to deny what I might be feeling, deep down, I still have feelings for Aaron. I never got over him. I don’t think I ever will.
Chapter Eight AARON
“Grab the machete from the back of my truck.” “Excuse me?” Amelia asks, stopping her exit from my truck. She looks around and says, “You take me to an empty cornfield and ask me to grab the machete from your truck with only darkness surrounding us? Do you realize it looks like you’re about to decapitate me and feed my brains to your old person zombie crew back home?” Old person zombie crew? Oh Fuck. I laugh . . . hard, my hand gripping my steering wheel. “It’s not funny.” She smacks my arm. “I don’t know you anymore, and for all I know, you could be plotting out my death.” I shake my head, still chuckling. “Amelia, if I were plotting your death, why the hell would I ask you to get the machete? Wouldn’t I grab it myself?” She pauses for a second. “Huh, I guess that’s a good point.” She hops out of the truck and says, “I’m getting out now so you can’t switch things up and try to murder me instead of whatever else you had planned.” “Jesus,” I mutter, still chuckling. I flip my
headlights onto high, lighting the entire dried-out field of corn my friend hasn’t chopped down yet. We spent the last hour sifting through the slim pickings of Halloween decorations my friend had left, trying to come up with some sort of game plan for decorating the house. We settled for a Spider’s Kingdom feel—idea courtesy of yours truly—and bought all the spiders and fake webbing we could grab. Honestly, I’m kind of excited about it, because her house is going to look pretty badass. When I hop out of my truck, I see Amelia hanging over the side of the bed, digging around, her feet dangling and a soft mumbling coming from under her breath. “Need help?” She lifts up. “Oh no, I’m faring well over here in the dark, hanging over your monstrous truck looking for a damn machete.” “Okay, I’ll grab the twine then.” She hops down and stops me with a hand to my chest. The minute she makes the connection, even though it’s dark, I can see the surprise in her eyes. I’m a much bigger man, a different man than she once knew, and she’s feeling it right about now. Yup, that’s what a few years of self-hatred will do to you—nothing better to do than work out. She quickly steps away and clears her throat. “You can grab the machete. I’ll just wait here, keep a look out, you know for any egg throwers who
might have followed us.” “They’re tucked in bed right now, one of the reasons I got us the hell out of there when I did. I knew their bedtime was looming.” I wink and reach into the back of my truck, making sure to grab the machete on the correct end. The twine was a little harder to find in the dark, but once I located it, I nodded for Amelia to follow me. “Can you explain what we’re doing here? I’m getting a little nervous.” “I’d never let anything happen to you, you should know that by now.” Not physically anyway. I take a deep breath. I want to move on. Trying to put her at ease, I continue, “We’re getting some dried-up corn husks for you. Your house has some great pillars and spots for corn husks. We can even wrap some around the oak tree in the front yard.” Studying me for a second, a tilt to her head, an interesting look in her eyes, she says, “You’ve thought about this.” I shrug my shoulders, feeling a little embarrassed. “I like decorating for the holidays.” “Why?” Funny thing about my two-year relationship with Amelia, I never really went into detail about my family life. She met my mom a few times, but it was always in public places. Holidays were spent with Amelia’s family because I was too nervous she’d learn things I didn’t want her to know if she spent
too much time with my mom. How can I possibly explain my childhood? I’ve gained strength to love my mom, but I’m not sure it ever eclipsed the desire to lead a different life, a life like my brothers. A life traveling around the world, experiencing new foods, new places, being able to fly on an airplane, being able to rely on my parents rather than wishing they were someone else. And maybe, just maybe I would be less bitter, have less yearning for a different life if I wasn’t drowning in the dreadful question of why she kept me. Every few months I’m reminded what my brothers have—their amazing life and future opportunities—and I feel like the poor cousin. I bet they’ve never wished they were me, even if I am their older brother. They’ve probably felt embarrassed . . . “Uh,” I clear my throat, trying to rid the thoughts of my mom’s choices from my mind. “It’s fun.” Lame response, but how can I tell her the truth? That I’m making up for a part of my childhood I always wished I had, just like stairs . . . I can remember the conversation so vividly as if it was yesterday. I was talking on the phone with Tyke’s adoptive parents, when he’d just turned one. They were telling me what he likes to do, how he loves running around the house with his walker and pulling
magnets off the fridge. I was laughing, thinking how fun it would be to chase him around the house. And then I asked what his favorite thing to do was and without even skipping a beat, Sue, his adoptive mom, told me that he loved climbing the stairs. I can feel the sink of my stomach I experienced that day. Stairs. Such a simple thing, something many people don’t even consider a privilege, but it’s all I’d ever wanted in our house. Stairs. Just like the grand house I walked by every day coming home from school, I wanted stairs. I wanted to slide down a banister, to watch a slinky glide down them with ease, to be able to race up and down them, not letting the “goblins” get me. I remember the exact words that came out of my mouth: “Wow, you guys have stairs? I’ve always wanted stairs.” Sue was silent on the other end of the phone. After that, I was quickly ushered off the phone, but that conversation stuck with me. Tyke had stairs . . . “Are you okay?” Amelia asks, poking me in the arm. “You’ve gone silent on me.” “Yeah, sorry. Just thought of something I have to do at work tomorrow.” I lie. “Okay”—I snap out of my thoughts—“let’s get to work. Do you want to do the chopping, or do you want me to?” Eyeing the long machete, she bites the side of
her mouth and says, “You do the chopping. I’ll just stand back.” With a heavy heart, trying to ward off the stagnant feelings in my chest, I say, “What happened to the wild one I used to know? The girl who threw caution to the wind? Where is she?” “Grown up.” It’s a simple answer that causes complicated emotions to blossom inside me. She’s grown up, without me, because of me. I nod and then hold out the machete. “Never hurts to let the grown-up play like a child from time to time.” She eyes the machete and slowly, oh so fucking perfectly, she starts to grin, and there she is. The bold, fearless Amelia I used to know. “Just whack the corn?” I chuckle. “Yeah, aim for the bottom though, we want tall husks.” I hand her the machete and add, “And it helps if you make karate sounds.” “It does not.” I shrug. “Try it your way, but I promise you will get more of a swing if you karate it up.” “You’re ridiculous.” She shakes her head and gets in position near some husks. Squatting a little and cocking her arm back, she holds the machete out and gives me a glance. I nod for her to continue, trying not to laugh at her stance. With one giant swing, the machete flies into the corn husks, whacking off the tops and landing
somewhere in the middle of the cornfield. Christ. With her hands to her mouth, she turns to me, a little laugh shaking her shoulders. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry.” Even though she’s apologizing, she’s still laughing. “I kind of threw it.” Kind of? I cross my arms over my chest and stare her down. “Kind of threw it? You chucked the damn thing like a discus.” “It was slippery.” “It has a special grip on the handle.” She cringes. “It was heavy, top-loaded.” “Not accurate.” She capitulates. “I don’t know what happened. Maybe we can find it.” I gesture toward the dark cornfield. “Please, have at it. I’ll just wait here while you dig around.” She bites her lip now, turning toward the field. “It’s awfully dark out there.” I roll my eyes and chuckle. “Yeah, and you tossed the thing about fifty yards, so we’re not getting it back.” I walk past her toward the corn husks she was trying to cut down and start ripping them out of the ground. Nothing like a little brute force to get the job done. I toss them to the side and say, “Knock as much dirt off the roots as you can and tie them up.” Quietly she does as I ask. We start to work in
harmony but it only takes a few seconds before I can hear her chuckling to the side of me. I scan back to look at her and see her shoulders shaking while she wipes under her eyes. “You think it’s funny throwing people’s prized tools in dark cornfields?” She wipes some more under her eyes and laughs out loud now. “I’m sorry, it’s just . . . it flew so far, I almost expected it to come back like a boomerang to slash your tires.” “That would be my luck, especially when hanging out with you.” “Hey, what is that supposed to mean?” I stand straight and put my hands on my hips while facing her. “What is that supposed to mean? You’re kidding, right? Do you not remember the amount of high jinks you got me into when we were together? I swear it was like dating Lucille Ball.” “Not true,” she huffs. “Yeah, want to explain how I got my foot stuck in a toilet?” “Not my fault you have terrible balance.” She smirks. “Or how about the time I wound up being pantsed in front of the entire Black Friday crowd that one year?” She points a finger at me. “I told you to wear jeans and not sweatpants.” “You fell and grabbed onto my pants, ripping
them down for my Johnson to be exposed.” “Taught you to wear underwear.” She chuckles to herself, probably remembering the less-than humorous escort I had from the staff at Target, telling me nudity wasn’t part of the Christmas spirit. “And what about the time I threw up at Buffalo Wild Wings because you thought I would like the hottest sauce they have?” She laughs even harder. “Okay, that was my fault, and I apologized to you profusely that night, so you can’t bring that up again.” “I threw up in front of the Syracuse football team. I have all the right to still be mad at you.” Now she’s facing me, a fire in her eyes, the same fire she carried so many years ago. “They were calling you a sissy since you chose the honey barbeque sauce. I had to prove them wrong.” “I like honey barbeque sauce; be happy I didn’t get sweet and sour.” “Ugh.” She rolls her eyes and turns back to twining the husks. “God, you and your sweet and sour sauce.” She mumbles something under her breath, and I can’t help but smile as I get back to work, pulling husks out of the ground. This feels good. It feels like old times. I haven’t dated over the last three years, and even if I had wanted to, trying to open myself up to someone new hasn’t really interested
me. I never wanted to lose Amelia. Her bright. Her crazy. Her sweet. And now? I’m slowly becoming addicted to the feeling of having Amelia back in my life. And tonight is how it always was. Fun. Easy. It’s dangerous, but hell, I like walking on the dangerous side of life on occasion. *** “I think we should husk first then web second. What do you think?” I ask as we pull into the our shared driveway. “You really don’t have to help me. I think I can take it from here.” I put the truck in park and turn toward her. “Are you really going to deprive me of decorating? That’s the best part.” She gives me a once-over. “What’s your obsession with decorating houses?” I casually grab the back of my neck and stare at my legs, not wanting her to see the pain in my eyes. “Never got to as a kid, so I guess I’m making up for lost time.” I don’t bother looking at Amelia or catching the way she reacts, as I’m sure it will hurt me even more. “You grab the bags, I’ll pull out the husks.” Before she can respond, I hop out of the truck and quickly start tossing the husks into the yard. “Aaron . . .” She comes up next to me, trying to
start a conversation I don’t want to have. “It’s getting late, and we have a lot of work to do. Unless you want to be egged tomorrow, we better get moving.” “But . . .” Sighing, I glance at her only to catch regret written all over her face. “Nothing to worry about, okay? We’re cool. Now get your ass moving.” I dismiss her, and luckily she goes with it, never pushing too hard. That’s exactly what I was hoping she’d do. Together we unload the truck, separating the decorations into sections of how we would put them up. This will be easy. Forty-five minutes tops, and yet I wish it will take us longer. Maybe I’ll dawdle, just to be able to spend more time with her. “Oh my God,” she shouts as she’s on her way to grab some pushpins. “What?” I call out, starting to pick out what husks to put where, grouping the taller ones together to put around the tree. “Aaron, you have to come see this.” Glancing up from my squatted position, I see her bent over on the porch, looking at something. A little worried, I jog up to her where she’s hovering over something on her welcome mat. “What is it?” Standing, she holds out a carton of eggs and a note. “It’s from the golden-age gang.” “What?” I chuckle, snagging the note from her
and reading it out loud. “Best you watch yourself, missy. We’re onto you. And don’t corrupt our wonderful Aaron.” I laugh even harder; oh hell. “It’s not funny.” She taps my stomach. “They’re going to superglue me to my lawn with their denture cream. I just know it.” “You might possibly be right. Better watch your back, babe.” The term of endearment slips past my lips before I can stop it, but she must not notice or care because she doesn’t skip a beat when she holds the eggs close to her chest. “Little do they know, I’ll be making breakfast with these tomorrow. Shows them.” Awkwardly I laugh, still feeling weird about my slip-up. “Yeah, that will get them.” “And you know what?” She points her finger at me. “I’m going to take a picture of me eating the scrambled eggs and print it on flyers with a note that says thanks for the eggs and stick it in all their mailboxes. Ha, nice try, saggy britches!” “Okay.” I try to tamp her down. “You’re getting a little too excited.” She starts jumping in place, her eyes looking wild. “I’m fired up. I feel like doing flips off the sides of their houses. Hold these.” She hands me the eggs and starts stomping toward the house next to hers. She gets in position, scratches her feet against the ground like a bull ready to charge, and that’s when I hop over her porch fence and grab
her at the waist before she can make a total ass of herself. “Hey, Simone Biles. Let’s simmer down for a second.” “Let me at them, let me at them. I’m going to flip right off their houses.” She snarls and struggles against my grasp. Thankfully I put the eggs down before I hopped her porch so I can wrangle her back. For being a little thing, she sure does have a lot of power. “There will be no flipping off houses. If you can even do that—” “I can!” “Okay, okay. You can flip off houses. I believe you, but we won’t be doing any of that tonight, nor will you be sending out flyers of you eating their eggs. You might think you have more energy than them, but they have numbers over you and will make your life a living hell. I’ve seen it. Don’t let their age fool you. They’re feisty. It’s best you get on their good side. Which you can do by decorating the house, okay?” I have my arms wrapped around her, holding her back from doing anything ridiculous, and I have to admit, it feels fucking good to have her against my body again. I forgot how perfectly she fit, how right she feels. Fuck, I have missed this. Terribly.
I want it back. I want her back. “Fine,” she huffs and puts space between us. She fixes her blouse that rode up slightly and pushes her hair behind her ears. “But you know I can flip off their house anytime I want.” “Yup, got it, no doubt in my mind you would flip the shit off those houses.” “Damn right.” Taking a deep breath, she says, “Let me get those pushpins and change. You get started.” She retreats into the house, leaving me to put up the husks. Luckily, this isn’t my first time and I know exactly how to secure the husks while still making this look nice. By the time Amelia comes back outside, I have the oak tree done and I’m partially done with one of the posts on her porch. “Wow, you’re quick.” “Not my first time. Here, hold this string for me.” I hand her some of the twine while I stack up the husks. Amelia shifts on her feet and says, “Hey, thanks for helping me out tonight. I know you didn’t have to, especially with how I’ve been acting toward you.” “Don’t sweat it,” I answer, even though my heart is beating a mile a minute. “I’m serious, Aaron. I want you to know I appreciate it and I’m sorry I’ve been such a bitch toward you.”
“Bitch, no. Cranky . . . maybe a little.” I chuckle. “It’s your fault.” “Yeah?” I put more stalks around the post and pull tight on the string Amelia is holding. “How do you figure?” “Well, for one, you’re not supposed to live next door to me. For another, you’re not supposed to be all beefy with muscles.” Beefy with muscles? I like that. “No?” I raise my eyebrows at her. “And how am I supposed to look?” “You know.” She motions at my body. “Fat and bald. That’s what every woman wishes for her exboyfriend to become.” I pause and give her a once-over. “Not like you make it easy for me either, Amelia. You’re the one I let get away, and then you come stomping onto my turf, my geriatric neighborhood, looking hot as fuck. Think that’s easy for me, hmm?” I give her a pointed look, which causes her to smile. “You would live with a bunch of seniors.” Choosing to ignore my compliment, fair enough. “Old neighbors who love to bake delicious treats equals free baked goods year around. I’m a genius.” “I guess you are, an annoyingly attractive one.” I laugh, tying off the husks and moving to the next pillar. “Back to how hot I am, huh? Can’t let that go?”
“I can . . . it’s just that”—she pauses and then gestures at me—“you’re so big. You were never that big when we were together.” “I wasn’t a shrimp either,” I state, trying to defend my younger self. “No, you weren’t, but now it’s like . . . do you have any shirts that don’t look like they’re about to pop open with every move you make?” “You know, Amelia, if I didn’t know any better, I would say you’ve been checking me out.” And that makes me feel fucking good. “Oh please,” she huffs. “I have a boyfriend, so I don’t need to check you out.” And there is the confirmation I didn’t want to hear. It’s funny how casually she said it, but how desperately horrible it makes me feel. Seeing her again, spending moments with her, reinforces how much I lost. Now? I wish we could start again. I hated letting her go, but I’m justified, because she achieved her dreams. She wanted to work with kids and she’s there. She wouldn’t have that had she stayed with me. I did the right thing. And now? Now there are a million roadblocks to getting her again. Instead of getting frustrated, I try to breeze past her confession. “Still doesn’t mean you don’t check me out.” I spin toward her real quick where her eyes snap to mine. “See, right there, you were just checking out my ass.”
“What? Was not?” She stands taller. “I saw you.” “No, you didn’t. I wasn’t staring at anything.” “Okay, keep telling yourself that, babe.” I give her a quick wink and turn back to my work. For the rest of the time together, we work in silence, stretching cobwebs all over her front porch, bushes, and oak tree, strategically placing the giant spiders in spots that will startle the trick-or-treaters. It’s perfect. I’m actually pretty jealous of her setup. “Damn, I should have done this for my yard. Its badass.” She glances over at my house that’s lit up by a porch light. I went with the theme, Land of the Pumpkins, which is basically pumpkins everywhere and used in every which way. “Yeah, yours doesn’t have the scare factor.” I place my hands on my hips and assess my yard. “It will have the scare factor when I put a flame thrower on the side of my house so whenever someone rings the bell, a blast of fire shoots near them.” “Good luck getting a flame thrower on such short notice.” “Eh, I know people,” I say nonchalantly. I know no one. She chuckles and yawns while stretching her arms above her head, revealing a small patch of her beautiful olive skin. “I better go to bed. Thanks for
your help tonight. Still seems ridiculous that I had to do this to fit in with the elderly folk, but I guess it does look pretty badass.” “It really does and believe me when I say you’re going to have praises sung about you by the neighbors. You might have the best house on the block.” “Let’s not get carried away. Seriously though, thank you.” “Don’t sweat it.” I walk backward and wink at her. “Night, Amelia.” “Wait,” she calls out. “I have a rent check for you.” Is it bad that for a brief second I thought she was telling me to wait for entirely different reasons? I set my tools on the ground and jog to her house. She holds the door open for me and says, “Come in, I’ll be a second.” I walk into her house and try not to look around too much but curiosity gets the best of me. “You don’t mind taking it to Mrs. Ferguson, do you?” she calls out from the kitchen. “Not at all.” Hands in my pockets, I take in the house, and immediately I’m hit with Amelia. She’s decorated this house to suit her perfectly. Bright colors, flowers, pillows . . . rugs. It’s warm and inviting and so Amelia. I glance around, seeing her knickknacks, pictures, and magazines scattered over the coffee
table. Some things never change. I chuckle to myself and turn toward the fireplace, where there are picture frames propped up on the mantel. Curious, I take a look at them. One with her father from her college graduation. There’s a picture of her with her sister, who I didn’t know well because she lives in Rochester. And then there’s one with a man. That must be him. Looking behind me, I check for Amelia. She’s still working on the check so I step closer, wanting to size up the man she’s dating. I want to know if he’s good enough, if he looks like a douche, or if he has kind features, the type of man I know would take good care of Amelia. My heart skips a beat and my breath catches in my throat. Total numbness encompasses me as my mind starts to swirl around in one giant what-thefuck moment. “No fucking way,” I whisper, snagging the picture from the mantel and bringing it closer to get a better look. Blue eyes stare back at me. The same shade of blue as mine, and the same that belong to my mom. “Holy shit.” I rub the man’s face over the glass, trying to make sure I’m not just seeing things, but I’m not . . . It’s clear as day. Amelia is dating my brother.
Tyke. My fucking brother. Unable to comprehend this is real, I stare at the picture long and hard, taking in their smiling faces, the way his hand is wrapped around her shoulders . . . He’s fucking touching her. Just the thought of his hands on her causes my mind to spiral into a pit of dark thoughts. They’re dating. They’ve kissed. They’ve had sex. My brother has had sex with my Amelia. I pull on the strands of my hair, rage starting to boil deep inside me. “Hey, here you go,” Amelia says, causing me to whip around, still holding the frame in my hand. When she looks at it, her smile fades and a look of guilt crosses her features. She shouldn’t feel guilty, but fuck if I don’t want her to. “Snooping?” I can see she’s trying to break the tension crackling between us. “Uh, just looking around.” Needing confirmation, I ask, “Is this your boyfriend?” Lovingly, she takes the picture from me and holds it against her chest. “Yes, that’s Trey.” Trey. Fucking Trey. With the mention of his name, it’s like the memory floodgates open. Picture after picture flash
in my head. Trey at Disney World. Trey playing baseball. Trey riding his bike. Trey being hugged lovingly by his parents. Trey with a brand new car. Trey graduating college. And now, just to top off that wonderful slideshow? Trey . . . with Amelia. He’s had everything I always wanted, so naturally, he has Amelia too. I nod and try to plaster on a smile. There is no way in hell I’m going to tell her. For one, she doesn’t know I have brothers, and for another, I don’t want her to see how angry this makes me, how I’m about to snap in half right now from the thought of my brother having one more goddamn thing I want. I take the check from Amelia and say, “Thanks, I’ll be sure to give this to Mrs. Ferguson. Have a good night.” I retreat before I do something stupid. The anger inside me is a living thing, and I don’t know if gathering the boys at Reardons would work tonight. I want to yell life fucking sucks but there is no one to yell at. No one gives a flying fuck, especially not my mother. Amelia lived in a city of over seven million people. How is it possible that she not only met my brother, but is in a fucking relationship with him? I want to drag her into my home and claim her as mine. I love her. I never fucking stopped loving her. I gave her to him. I’m not going to accept it. Not
this time. Not for another thing. No, I want her as mine. I take a deep breath to try and calm the anger. The resentment. Tonight showed me how we once were, but it also showed me how we can still be. As I make my way to my house, my mind reeling with a million different emotions, there is one thing I’m certain about. For once in my life, I’m going to have something I deserve, something my brother won’t have. I’m going to win back Amelia.
Chapter Nine AMELIA
“It’s so good to hear your voice,” I say as I turn onto the street of my father’s nursing home. “I’ve missed you.” “I’ve missed you, too.” Trey exhales. “I miss you so damn much, Amelia.” He sighs, frustration clear in his voice. “It’s been busy at work lately. I feel like I’ve been working non-stop.” Things have been a little tense with Trey since he didn’t get the job he interviewed for. He thought it was a sure thing, given his experience and qualifications, but they went with someone inhouse. The night he told me, I cried myself to sleep. I want him here; this time apart is starting to take a toll on me, especially with Aaron next door. He is starting to become more than “cordial.” It’s almost like he’s trying to be friends, and that terrifies me. “Sounds like it. Your job has never been this demanding. I feel like even if I was there with you, I still wouldn’t see you.” He chuckles into the phone as I park my car. “I think you’re right. I’m sorry, Amelia. I don’t mean
to ignore you. I hope my texts here and there have at least been something.” He hasn’t been ignoring me, but it’s just been harder—read, almost impossible—to connect with him at night. “They have.” I decide to stay in the car to talk to Trey for a bit longer since he’s able to carve out some time to talk. Also, I don’t want to take my attention away from my father, and the mac and cheese I made him is in an insulated bag, so I don’t have to worry about the dish getting cold. “I’ve missed seeing your face though. It kills me going to bed without your arms wrapped tightly around me.” “I know, sweetheart. Fuck, I hate this so much. Want me to take a picture when we get off the phone and send it to you? So you can see my face again?” I chuckle. “Is it going to be a nice picture, or like the one you sent me three days ago of you with your tongue hanging out?” He quietly laughs. “I thought you wanted to see your favorite part of me.” “It’s sad that you think your tongue is my favorite part of your body.” “I don’t know.” He pauses. “Almost seems like it was before you left, the way you came all over it. And the way you screamed my name in the back of your car before dinner when I was in Binghamton.” “Trey!” God, do I remember. I don’t think I’ve ever come so hard like that, especially in the
backseat of my car in an Olive Garden parking lot. My face heats up just thinking about that day. His laugh fills my car, making me feel elated but also sad. The emptiness that’s plagued me since I left the city is amplified. I miss that daily interaction. I miss staying up late with him, lying in our bed, and discussing our favorite show, Game of Thrones. I miss cooking dinner for both of us while he dances to eighties music like a goof. I miss our Skeeball league, our Friday movie nights, the cooking classes we took together. I miss him, but on the days when he’s too busy to even send a text, I have felt annoyed too. I think of him every day, and therefore text him every day, so I haven’t been able to get my head around his absence, if I’m truly honest with myself. And I know what he’s like when he’s super stressed. Not that that’s often . . . Still laughing, Trey says, “You set yourself up for that one, so you can’t yell at me.” He pauses for a second and asks, “Are you still coming down for your birthday weekend?” “Of course. I’m counting the days.” “Good.” He sounds relieved. “I was nervous you were having too much fun up there in your old stomping ground.” Fun? If only he knew the kind of “fun” I’ve been having. I wouldn’t call my stint in Binghamton so far fun. More confusing, a little heartbreaking, and
a whole lot of what the hell is happening to my life. “Not so much. I don’t get out much. Just visiting my dad and trying to settle into my new job. My friends don’t live in the area anymore.” Besides one, but we don’t have to get into that. “That’s hard. Soon. I have some résumés in with a few tech companies I feel confident about. The wait will be worth it, Amelia.” “I know. It’s just hard.” And that’s the God’s honest truth. Every night I come home ragged, tired, and mentally exhausted. All I want to do is fall into a pair of supportive arms to help carry my worries. “The best things in life are hard. Hang in there, beautiful.” He clears his throat, regret lacing his words. “But hey, I have to go, I’m meeting up with the guys from work for some basketball, and then I have that stupid Halloween party to go to tonight.” “The one your client is hosting?” He exhales. “The one and only. It’s such trash. No alcohol, no shoptalk, just enjoying some wholesome tofu and making macaroni necklaces with kids. Should be a real treat.” “Mail me what you make and make it spooky.” Chuckling, he says, “I’ll do my best. I love you, Amelia. Talk to you later.” “Okay. Love you.” We hang up and I think about what it would have been like if I were in the city this weekend with
Trey, going to his work party. Even though he told me not to come because it would be boring as hell, it still would have been nice to watch him try to choke down some tofu and make macaroni necklaces at a kiddie table. No. I don’t care about the party. It would just be nice to be with the other half of my heart. However, I will have a nice time with my dad, my famous mac and cheese, and a good game of checkers. When I exit my car, I receive a text from Trey. A picture. I open up the text quickly, and I’m greeted by my handsome man, a smirk gracing his lips, brilliantly blue eyes sparkling, and his hair pushed to the side with his hand. God, he’s so freaking handsome. I sigh and text him back. Amelia: So handsome. I pocket my phone. It’s my dad’s time now, and I won’t begrudge making the choice to come. However, Heather stops me as I make my way to his room. She’s definitely one of my favorite nurses. “Amelia, what a joy to see you today.” She’s wearing your typical cat ears and whiskers with black scrubs for Halloween. I love that her costume won’t interfere with how she takes care of the residents. I point to my head. “Your ears are very fetching.”
She taps them and laughs. “You know, I kind of forgot they were there. Doesn’t seem like the residents care too much about my attempt to dress up for them.” “I’m sure they appreciate it.” I look down the hallway toward Dad’s room. “How’s my dad today? Is he ready for some mac and cheese and checkers?” I hold up my bags indicating the fun activity planned for him. Heather moves her lip to the side in disappointment as she twists her hands together. “He’s not having the best day today, dear. That’s why I came over here to talk to you before you reach his room. He had to be sedated this morning because he was having an episode with the staff, trying to break out of his room, asking for your mother.” It’s like a knife just twisted into my heart, ripping a deep crevice in the middle. He was asking about Mom? Fuck. My throat starts to close in and tears begin to well in my eyes. I miss my mom so much. Being so much older than my friends’ moms, she was almost like the token cool grandma to my friends. They all loved her. She was warm, welcoming, funny, and always had a shoulder to lean on when anyone needed one. So, it hasn’t surprised me that my dad went downhill so quickly after she died. They were married for over forty years. They were true soul mates. In fact, the rich
and solid love I saw in them was what I thought Aaron and I would share. How wrong I was. “What was he asking?” Full of sensitivity, Heather ushers me into a small empty room off the hallway and says, “He was asking about her wedding dress, if she was able to fix the tear. He said he refused to not get married today.” My hand goes to my mouth as tears start to fall. It’s a story I remember my dad vividly telling me every once in a while before I went to bed, about the day he married my mom. She had a tear in her dress, one along the back of the zipper, and it was so embarrassing that she refused to walk down the aisle. My dad caught wind of what happened and broke all the “rules” of the wedding day, went into the bridal suite she was crying in, and wrapped his arms around her only to ask why she was so upset. She showed him the tear and his exact words were, “So what?” Could you imagine your husband saying that to you about your wedding dress on your wedding day? It was a typical Dad response. Being the free spirit my mom was, she took a second to dry her eyes and then agreed with him. “So what?” is what she said back, and from there, they got married, strained zipper and all. Seems like a simple story, but my dad told it to my sister and me many times to remind us never to sweat the small things. If things aren’t quite going
our way, remember life could be worse and live by the term . . . “So what?” I ask myself quietly, trying not to let my dad’s bad day set me back. I came here with the purpose of having some fun with him, and that’s what I plan on doing. Taking a deep breath, tamping down my worry, I say, “Thanks for letting me know, Heather. I really appreciate it.” “Are you sure you’re okay? It might not be a good day to visit.” “Maybe not, but I’d still like to see him. I’m here so I may as well go in.” “Okay.” Heather walks me to my dad’s room. “There is an emergency button in his room if he has another episode. Just hit it and we will be right in, okay?” “Yes, thank you.” Heather retreats as I peek through the little window looking into my dad’s room. He’s sitting in a rocking chair looking out the window, a blanket draped over his shoulders. When did he get so old? He’s always been an older dad, but to see him like this—debilitated both mentally and physically —is heartbreaking. He’s a completely different man. I don’t bother knocking on the door. Instead, I let myself in and quietly shut the door behind me. I place the mac and cheese on the bed as well as my
bag that holds the box of checkers and call out, “Hey Dad.” He doesn’t move, not even a flinch from hearing my voice, so I take a few steps toward him but to the side so he can see me approaching. I don’t want to startle him in case he’s sleeping. “Hey Dad,” I repeat. “Happy Halloween.” He blinks but shows no emotion, only stares out the window, one of his hands gripping the blanket that’s wrapped around his shoulders. I take a few more steps until I’m next to the chair across from his. I sit and study my father. There are bags under his eyes, frown lines framing his mouth, and liver spots on his hands. He’s aged, so weathered, so not the man I grew up with. Leaning forward, I gently place my hand on his knee. “Hi, Dad, pretty day out, huh?” No response. “I brought some mac and cheese for our lunch. Instead of using breadcrumbs on top, I used your favorite, crushed-up Cheetos.” No response. Sighing, I lean back and just start talking. If anything, maybe he’ll enjoy listening. “My new job has been interesting. A lot of troubled teens in these parts. The amount of kids I’ve had to talk to about drug use is startling, especially heroin. It’s an awful drug running rampant in New York right now. Kind of scary
actually.” He blinks. “The teachers are nice. There’s an English teacher who I think I could trick into being my friend. She makes these amazing chocolate chip cookies every Friday and brings them into the faculty lounge. I mean, who doesn’t want to be friends with a chocolate chip cookie master, am I right?” I nudge his knee, but he doesn’t even acknowledge me. “I know what you’re thinking, does she put walnuts in the cookies? Guess what, Dad? She makes two batches. I know. She’s dedicated. I really think she has her eyes on the geometry teacher who loves walnuts in his cookies, just like you. I’ll get a little closer to her and find out the info and report back to you. Who knows, there might be love in the air at school.” I stare out the window for a few seconds. “I was almost egged by a bunch of seventy-year-olds last night. The street where I live is very serious about their holiday decorating, and I wasn’t aware. They harassed me because I hadn’t decorated. But don’t worry, I made everything right by going out and grabbing decorations. I styled up the house, and it looks pretty good. I used a bunch of fake spider webs and corn husks. Kind of spooky.” I fail to mention Aaron’s name because I don’t want to upset my dad. Aaron was the son my dad never had. When they first met, my dad was reticent around him until Aaron started showing up
every Sunday for family dinner. Instead of hanging out with me, he would hang out with my dad, helping him around the house with things that were getting too difficult like yard work, shoveling, and even cleaning. It was one of the reasons I fell so desperately in love with Aaron; he loved my father as if he was his own and cared for him I don’t want to chance making Dad’s day worse by mentioning Aaron. When we broke up, it was horrible for both of us. Not only did I move away shorty after that, but my dad also lost a son. Aaron, obviously, didn’t feel he could still hang with my dad, and I know my dad missed him. Part of me wishes Aaron had kept up with Dad, because I think right now, he could do with another friend making an effort, visiting him. Caring. Resigned that Heather was right, I decide to serve up the mac and cheese and try to enjoy my father’s silent company. I call down for some dishes, which are brought up quickly, and divvy up the mac and cheese, only giving my dad a little because from Heather’s updates, I know he doesn’t each much. Although that’s evident in the weight he’s lost. When I bring the bowl to him, he doesn’t even look at it. I set it down on the side table next to him and take my seat. As he looks out the window, I hold back the threatening tears. It’s funny how some foods become comfort
foods in life. Dad and I used to love having mac and cheese together. It simply became our thing. But as I look at him, see how lost and empty he looks, I wonder if this is it for him? Is he gone forever? My mouthful tastes like plastic, perhaps more from my pain than the ingredients. Is he gone forever? I’m not ready. I’m not ready to say goodbye to my dad, not even close. Please come back to me, Dad. I still need my daddy by my side. Please come back. *** I roll my car into the garage and put it in park just in time to hand out candy. Since I’m late to the game, it was slim pickings at the store, so I ended up getting Tootsie Rolls, bags upon bags upon bags of Tootsie Rolls . . . Halloween’s trash candy. If the golden-age gang don’t egg me, the kids will. I talked to my sister on the way home, letting her know Dad had a bad day. She was short on the phone, not really into the conversation, but this is no surprise to me. She has a hard time dealing with Dad’s degenerating mind and body. It’s too hard for her, which I can understand because it’s just as hard on me. When I get off the phone, I realize how lonely I am. It was right to move back, but I’m out of synch
with my normal routine. I miss the city, which surprises me. I miss my boyfriend. I miss my dad. God, I so miss my dad. He’s always been my anchor, and without that, without Amanda too, it feels like too much. I need someone who loves me to hold me. To tell me it will be okay, even if it’s not true. When Mom died, she left a gaping hole in my heart that I knew only time would heal. I’m not ready for another hole there, though. I need Dad to fight to stay with me. With us. It’s too much. Sighing, I wipe away a stray tear and exit my car. I pop the trunk and take out the bags of trash candy. This freaking street and their holiday spirit. Out of all the streets in Binghamton, this is the one I had to end up on. “Need help with that?” Aaron. Of course he’s here to help. Isn’t he always here to help when I have to empty my car? Wiping away another tear, I swallow and say, “I’ve got it.” “Are those Tootsie Rolls?” Ugh, of course he would notice. “It was all that was left.” I keep my head turned toward the car as my emotions start to get the best of me. Do not cry over Tootsie Rolls. Do. Not. Cry. “Not even Tootsie Pops, you got Tootsie Rolls.”
My throat closes in on me. Oh no, it’s going to happen . . . “You didn’t even get the fruit-flavored ones or the giants ones. You bought regular Tootsie Rolls.” My nose stings, and I can’t form a sentence, my throat is so tight. I try not to blink because the minute I do . . . My eyelids shut and just like that, a flood of tears falls down my face as I hiccup and suck in a deep breath of air. My body shakes and I grip the other bags in my trunk. The dam broke, and even though I’m trying fucking hard to stop it, there is no end in sight. Cue the waterworks. Cue the sniffles. Cue the snot . . . cue all the snot. “Hey.” Aaron’s voice softens as he quickly comes up behind me. He places one of his hands on my shoulder and turns me so he can look me in the eyes. Bending down slightly, he tilts up my chin and when he sees my tears, his jaw goes slack and worry etches across his face. “Amelia, what’s wrong?” “They only had Tootsie Rolls,” I sob. “Okay, not a problem. It’s candy. It’s not like you have tubes of toothpaste or something lame like that.” I know he’s trying to console me, but there is something incredibly awkward about the way he’s doing it, as if he doesn’t quite know if he
should hug me or not. I get it. But right now, all I want is to be held. Hugged. Consoled. Loved. “I didn’t know about the street traditions.” I start chucking Tootsie Roll bags on the driveway, tossing them out of my car until there is nothing left. “Someone should have told me about the stupid traditions. What do you do, hand out full-size candy bars?” My voice is shrill, I’m overreacting big time, and I bet if I looked up I would see that I’ve drawn attention from the neighbors around us. “We hand out regular candy. I was kidding, Amelia. Tootsie Rolls are fine.” “They’re trash,” I say while throwing my arms in the air and stomping toward the back of the garage where I pull down an old-looking lawn chair Mrs. Ferguson left behind. I bring it to the middle of my driveway, stack the Tootsie Roll bags on top of each other, sit down in the chair, and start opening bags. I toss the Tootsie Rolls and wipe at my tears. “Come get your trash candy.” I sprinkle my driveway. I’ve genuinely lost it. I was right. I am drawing attention. All my neighbors are sitting on their porches, staring at me as if I’ve lost my damn mind. Well, guess what? I have. And you know what’s the old kick to the crotch about all of this? Individuals older than my dad, at least by ten years, are highly functioning, functioning enough to chase down a young lady
and threaten her with eggs. It’s a twisted reminder that life isn’t fair. And before you think I’m going down the woeis-me path, let’s just break this down . . . I’ve moved into a crochet-infused house that so happens to be next door to a man I once thought I’d marry. Denture-encrusted oldies surround me, a constant reminder that my dad’s health is declining quickly. The man I love is busy and unavailable when I need him most, and the man who should be an asshole, bald and fat—even if he is only thirty— is hot, thriving, living a great life, and not an asshole. That is what I call NOT FAIR! “Stupid muscles and abs,” I mutter, now trying to toss Tootsie Rolls into a small pothole in the middle of the street. Expecting to feel Aaron right behind me, ready to save the day like he always does, I turn around to see that he actually left. Well, not surprised there either. He’s probably back in his house praising the relationship gods that he dodged a bullet when it came to me. I wouldn’t put it past him to call up Mrs. Ferguson to warn her about her tenant. Or maybe the golden-age gang has already made that call. Feeling worse than before my sobbing fit, I lean forward, head in hands, and cry. Why does my dad have to leave me now? I
already lost my mom, why my dad too? And why so fast? It seemed like it was yesterday he had me to his house for Sunday night dinner. He might have been a little shakey, a little off, but he could still talk to me. Not today. I should have listened to Heather. I should have waited for him to have a good day to visit because now, more than anything, I wish I hadn’t gone. Which makes me feel like the worst daughter on the planet. I wish I hadn’t even come here to begin with. Slouching in my chair, I peel apart a Tootsie Roll and plop it in my mouth, letting the imitation chocolate taste hit my taste buds. Kids are spoiled these days. Tootsie Rolls are gold. Fuck the rest of the candy. Tootsie Rolls are where it’s at.
Chapter Ten AARON
“Hurry the fuck up and don’t forget drinks and LDs.” I hang up my cell phone and look out my front window where Amelia is slouching in a lawn chair probably manufactured before she was born. I used to know what to do when she was sad. I would wrap her up in my arms and hold her tightly. I would make sure she felt protected, loved, as if nothing bad could ever touch her when she was in my arms, but now? Fuck, I have no idea what to do. I don’t feel like I’m allowed to touch her, despite my resolve to make her mine. So when she started throwing Tootsie Rolls and sinking them in a pothole, I knew I needed reinforcements. I can’t do this alone, and I can’t do this the way I used to. Before I called Tucker, I made a quick phone call to Mrs. Wickham to tell her to call off the hounds, that Amelia was having a rough day and to give her a break. Thankfully, I have a good rapport with the head of the neighborhood, and she said she would let everyone know. From the looks of it, word has spread because
everyone is back to their normal business of preparing their porches for trick-or-treaters. Since that’s taken care of, I run around my house grabbing blankets, a portable space heater, camping chairs, and my giant bowl of candy for the kids. I put everything in a wagon that’s in my garage, including a few beers that I had leftover in my fridge, a bag of Cheetos—her favorite—and some cheese and pepperoni because . . . well, protein and all. The street lamps are starting to come on as I walk out into the darkening neighborhood. In the far-off distance you can hear children laughing and screaming as a fall breeze kicks up in the air. Crisp leaves tumble down the street, reminding me that my favorite season is here. Not only my favorite season, though. It used to be Amelia’s as well. Since we share a conjoined driveway, Amelia isn’t far away from where I stand. I take her in, wondering what upset her so terribly. It can’t be the Tootsie Rolls. She’s not the kind of girl who cries over something trivial like that. Maybe she had a fight with Tyke, or maybe they broke up. Fuck, that would be great for me. Sad for her, but honestly, he’s nothing to me. Shit, that’s not true. I once wanted a relationship with him before envy took root, but I’m choosing to ignore the bloodlines we share. I can’t believe he didn’t drive up to make sure
she got here okay. What sort of douche doesn’t do that shit? I’m guessing an entitled, I have it all douche, someone who has never lacked for anything. But knowing my luck, she’s still with the douche —yes, he’s a douche now—because that’s how this kind of stuff works, right? I’m never that lucky. Never have been, never will be. Taking my time, hoping Tucker is close by, I wheel my wagon to Amelia and stop behind her chair. Startled, she turns, tears streaking down her face and takes in my pile of crap. Wanting so desperately to pull her into my arms, I grind my teeth and hold back, reminding myself not to scare her away. Winning her back will take time. “Thought you could use some company.” I pull out my giant torture-for-all-dentists candy and set it in front of us. It’s a two-foot by two-foot bowl —huge, I know—full of Milky Ways, Snickers, 3 Musketeers, Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, Skittles, and Twix Bars. I get the good stuff. “Put your Tootsie Rolls in there and mix it around; the kids can pick from the bowl.” “You don’t have to do that.” Amelia’s voice is shaky as she pulls her sleeves over her hands and wipes away her tears. I set up the camping chairs, one for me, one for Tucker, and one for Emma. “I want to. Now mix up the candy while I get everything ready.”
Seeming a little skittish at first, she moves slowly, but once she sees what I have going on, she starts moving a little faster, making sure to mix all the candy in together. “Ah, I’m missing something.” I snap my finger and jog to my garage where I snag my wireless Bose speaker from my workbench. Using the wagon as a coffee table, I place it between the chairs and angle the bowl of candy in front of it. I turn on the space heater and hand Amelia a blanket. “It’s going to get cold.” Still looking a little caught off guard, she takes the blanket and drapes it over her lap, tucking the sides in, which only makes me smile because it’s a move she did so many years ago. She’s always liked to be wrapped in a cocoon. “All right, we have snacks, drinks, candy of course, and”—I pull up Spotify on my phone and pick a Halloween mix—“now music.” The Bluetooth connects to the speakers and at a screaming pitch, Monster Mash starts playing. Alarmed by the volume level, I jump in place and fumble with my phone until I grab hold of it and turn down the volume. “Christ.” I chuckle, looking sheepishly at Amelia, and say, “That’s embarrassing.” She chuckles herself, a little light coming back in those hazel eyes of hers. “Rocking out last time?” “Apparently.” I allow my racing heart to settle as
I take a seat next to Amelia just as Tucker pulls up in his truck. “I, uh, have some friends coming to hang out. I hope that’s okay.” “What?” She eyes the truck and starts to frantically wipe at her eyes. Leaning over, I grip her hands and rest them on her lap. “You look beautiful, Amelia—” “But I must have makeup smeared all over my face.” “You don’t. Like I said, you look beautiful.” My words slowly settle her. “I know you probably don’t want to talk about what’s really going on, and don’t consider telling me some bullshit lie about only being able to buy Tootsie Rolls, I know you better than that. I’m kind of out of my element here, so I resorted to the one thing that usually makes me feel better. I invited some of my friends to keep us company. To take our minds off everything.” I grip her hand for comfort. “I’ll understand if you want to go into your house; we can hand out your Tootsie Rolls, but if you want to stay, I can guarantee you some embarrassing stories about me and some good laughs.” Staring at my hand that covers hers, she looks me in the eyes and says, “You mean there are more embarrassing stories than the time my dad walked in on you masturbating to a picture of me?” Of course she wouldn’t forget that story. I grip her hand tightly then pull away. “It’s not
like I was jacking off to a picture of you from high school I plucked off your dad’s wall. You’d had boudoir pictures taken for me, I was horny as fuck, and all I wanted was your sweet body against mine. But you had your period and, as you specifically told me, there is a no-fly zone during that time of the month.” “Still,” she giggles, “he caught you with your pants down, dick in hand, humping the hell out of your palm while staring at me in lingerie.” Her laughter fills my head, and my fucking heart bursts. I’ve missed that sound. “Whatever. Your dad was just jealous of my dick size.” “What?” Amelia smacks my arm. “No, he wasn’t.” I snort. “Uh, he so was.” I look to the sky as I recount that night. “I’m pretty sure he said do you stick that giant thing in my daughter?” “He did not.” Amelia chuckles. “Did too, and I told him you liked it in your mouth as well.” “Oh my God!” Her smile stretches across her face, her eyes wide. “Aaron Walters, you did not say that to my dad.” Laughing, I shake my head. “I didn’t. I just said I fucked you with it earlier that week in his bed.” So not true, but it’s fun to see how shocked and surprised she gets.
“You’re such a liar.” Laughter still bubbling out of her, she shakes her head at me just as Tucker and Emma walk up with drinks in hand and a grocery bag full of Little Debbie snacks, meaning a brilliant combination for one hell of a night. “Hey, you guys. This is my neighbor Amelia. Amelia, this is one of my best friends, Tucker, and his wife, Emma.” I lean over to Amelia and wink. “Newlyweds.” Smiling, she stands and takes their hands. “Congratulations. It’s nice to meet you.” I introduce Amelia as my neighbor because I feel it’s the best option to make her feel comfortable and not put her on the spot. Nothing like saying, “Hey this is my ex-girlfriend, Amelia, who I’ve never stopped loving but broke her heart only to push her into my brother’s arms. A brother she doesn’t know exists,” to make the night awkward. Eh, I’ll pass. Tucker, Emma, and Amelia exchange pleasantries before taking their seats. Tucker whips the bag of Little Debbie snacks onto my lap and says, “They didn’t have Cosmic Brownies. Sorry, man.” “Of course they fucking didn’t. The one thing I was craving.” I dig through the bag and start pulling out boxes. From the corner of my eye, I can see Amelia curiously watching me. My Little Debbie obsession started when I met Racer after Amelia
and I broke up. He was the one who got both Tucker and me hooked, but if you ask him about it, he’ll deny it. Probably to his dying day. Not caring what she might think about my urgency to get the snack in my mouth, I tear open the Caramel Cookie Bars and hold out a package to her. “Want one?” She eyes it and then looks at the other boxes. “No, I want a Swiss Roll.” “A woman after my own heart,” Emma says, leaning over and grabbing the box from me. “The Swiss Roll is my favorite. It’s so small and cream filled, just like Tucker’s penis.” “Ha!” I laugh while nudging my friend with my elbow. “She just called your dick small, dude.” Tucker rolls his eyes. “She had a few drinks before coming over. Someone is feeling a little comical tonight. Don’t worry, she’ll be reminded about my dick size when we get home.” “Yeah, I’ll start practicing now.” Emma takes a Swiss Roll and starts thrusting it in and out of her mouth. Okay, maybe bringing them here wasn’t such a good idea. I’m guessing as a married couple, first impressions aren’t their thing. “Although, this is still a little big.” She examines the Swiss Roll, which Tucker snags and plops in his mouth. “Hey!” He shrugs. “Consequences, babe. You have to live up to them.” Emma only pouts for a few seconds before she
realizes she can open another bag. Yup, she’s drunk, because she’s never been this ravenous over Little Debbie Snacks. Leaning toward Amelia, I ask, “Want a drink?” She looks over the different beers and says, “Purely for the name, I’m going to have to take a Raging Bitch.” “Smart choice.” Tucker pulls out a bottle, pops the top off, and hands it to her. “We like a good Raging Bitch over here.” “I need to remember that,” Emma counters as she crosses a leg. I lean over to Tucker and say, “She is feisty tonight.” He leans even closer. “Frankly, I’m happy you called because I was feeling a little terrified. She’s hyped up and mentioned to me on the way over here something about my cock being gobbled up tonight.” “Shit.” I chuckle. “What the hell are you doing here then?” He leans even closer and says, “She made chomping noises, man. I’m giving her a bit to cool down, maybe pass out from a sugar-induced coma.” “Are you talking about me over there?” Emma asks, her mouth full of Swiss Roll. She thumbs in our direction and talks to Amelia. “These two, they gossip like old hens. The amount of times I’ve caught Tucker talking to Smalls on the phone, lying
across our bed with his feet up in the air is ridiculous.” “That never happened.” Tucker leans over to reassure we don’t act like two teenage girls. “Smalls?” Amelia squints. “Is that supposed to be you?” “Yeah.” I take a sip from my Raging Bitch bottle. “Tucker and Racer call me that to make themselves feel less inferior.” “Yup.” Tucker rolls his eyes again and leans back in his chair. “That’s exactly why.” He studies the street and asks, “Where are all the kids? I thought this street would be jam-packed. We get maybe two trick-or-treaters at our house and that’s only because they’re on their way to your street.” I look at my watch. “It’s only a little after five. Just wait, five thirty will roll around and we’ll be swarmed.” “I’m kind of excited to see the hordes of kids you speak of. I grew up here and never knew about such a special street.” “See what happens when you leave? Things change.” Amelia glances at my chest and licks her lips, her eyes burning straight to my core. “They sure do.” Fuck. That little look and comment woke me up. “Why did you come back?” Emma asks, opening another Swiss Roll. If I wasn’t so happy about her question right now, I would be mad about her
commandeering the rolls. I have yet to probe Amelia about her reasons to come back, what she’s doing, and how long she plans on staying. Hell, I’m happy I get to see her more often, so there’s no way I’m about to scare her away with a bunch of nosey questions I’m sure she doesn’t want to answer. Keeping my eyes cast down, seeming casual as possible, I listen intently while busying myself with swirling the candy around again. Don’t seem too eager to hear why, be cool. “My dad is having problems.” I know that, and fuck if I don’t want to know what kind of problems. I connected with Marvin the instant we met. He’s the kind of man I look up to, admire, and it had been like finding a dad I never really had. When I broke up with Amelia, I also felt the acute loss of her dad’s input in my life, and now, knowing he’s not doing well, fuck, my gut churns. Please ask more, Emma, please be drunk enough to not sense Amelia’s tone. “Oh no, that’s terrible. What happened?” I’m buying Emma all the pretty things. I don’t care what Tucker says. From the corner of my eye, I catch Amelia spotting a glance in my direction, but I keep my eyes cast on the candy. Don’t make any sudden moves. “He has dementia. Had a pretty bad fall and is struggling now. He has his good days and bad days.
Today was a bad day.” And there’s my fucking answer about why she was crying earlier. A part of me hopes she is opening up to Emma to indirectly feed me information she wants me to know. High hopes right there, but a guy can dream. And dementia? Shit. Mrs. Ferguson told me that when she told me about Amelia’s arrival. Way to go, Aaron. Marvin struggling with such a disease is mind-boggling to me. He got around slowly when Amelia and I were together, but this is horrible. Hell, I lost the love of my life breaking up with Amelia, but now that I know this, I hate that I wasn’t there for him during this change in his life. It just about kills me. I can’t imagine what Amelia must be feeling, what’s going through her mind. She’s always been so close to her father, so to see him slowly pull away must be killing her. Before Emma can answer, I turn my head and try to convey kindness in my eyes. “I’m sorry to hear that.” She gives me a sad smile and shrugs her shoulder. “Such is life.” “It’s commendable for you to come here. Are you liking your new job? What do you actually do?” God, you would think I gave Emma a list of questions to ask Amelia, but I did no prepping
whatsoever. The shift in conversation from her ailing father to her job brightens her mood. She sits a little taller in her seat. “I’m a counselor at the high school. It’s what I always wanted to do.” That’s a truth I know all too well. She wanted to stay in Binghamton with me, and I wanted her to pursue her master’s degree at Columbia, where she was accepted on partial scholarship. It’s the positive I’m clinging to: I did the right thing; she’s doing what she always wanted to do. Emma leans forward, intrigued. “That must be fun. What kind of stuff do you talk about? Is it petty stuff like Sally stuffs her bra with socks to get all the boys’ attention?” Tucker chuckles to himself while resting back in his chair, clearly enjoying his wife’s prodding. “Sometimes, but a lot of the times it’s serious stuff and I’m glad I can help them.” “Like what?” Emma takes a sip of her soda. Thankfully Tucker has cut her off. “Drug abuse, wanting to have sex, coming out to parents. I have some heavy conversations that amaze me, because when I was young, I don’t think I would have gone to the school counselor for anything.” Me either, even though teachers urged me to many times. But hell, if Amelia had been my school counselor, I would have gone to see her every
damn day. “Wow, that’s crazy. When I was in high school, my biggest worry was cleaning up after my friends.” Tucker leans over and gives Emma a kiss on the temple and holds her hand, lacing their fingers together. What I wouldn’t fucking give to do the same thing to Amelia right now. “That’s because we were causing all the commotion.” “Oh, you knew each other in high school?” Amelia asks, pointing to the two of them. “Ahh, are you high school sweethearts?” Emma and Tucker exchange glances and smile. “Not quite . . .” For the next ten minutes, before the trick-ortreaters arrive, Tucker and Emma—mostly Emma —recount their “love story.” The whole time, Tucker beams at Emma, kisses her hand, and loves every second of the telling. Even though there were some dark parts of the story, in the end it all worked out. “What about you, anyone special in your life?” Emma asks just as trick-or-treaters start to arrive. I already know the answer to this question, so I’d rather not hear it again, but hell, maybe she’ll divulge more information than I already know. Between handing out candy to a lot of mini superheroes, Amelia answers, “Yeah, I have a boyfriend. His name is Trey. He lives in the city
right now, but is hoping to relocate soon.” Wouldn’t that just be special, living next to my brother and my ex-girlfriend, watching them play house being all cute and shit? Fucking. Great. Yeah, I might have to move. “I hope he finds a job soon.” When I’m about to give Emma an evil eye, she shakes her head as if to say she didn’t mean that. She’s in fine form tonight, that’s for sure. Soon, droves of children start to show up, keeping us rather busy. We start tallying up the number of Trolls, Batmans, Lego men, and princesses we see. The most popular costume? Batman and Superwoman with the fabrics and accessories varying from child to child. But my favorite so far is the girl who dressed as Little Debbie, but then again, I may be biased. “I think she might be my new favorite,” Emma says as a little girl dressed as a nurse walks away. “That’s because you’re a nurse, but you can’t play favorites,” I say, reminding Emma of the rules. She levels with me. “This coming from the guy whose favorite child was dressed as Little Debbie.” “Come on.” I lean back in my chair and motion to my head. “She had the rim of blue on her hat. That’s attention to detail.” “And good fucking parenting,” Tucker chimes in, and we clink our beer bottles together. Amelia chuckles next to me as Emma shakes her
head. “Ridiculous. What about you, Amelia? What costume has been your favorite so far?” “Hmm, it’s been a tough competition. There has been some real winning costumes and some absolute piss-poor ones.” She shakes her head. “Just because you put a scarf around your neck and call yourself Jack Frost doesn’t mean you dressed up.” “Ugh, that costume was dumb.” “It shouldn’t be referred to as a costume, but that’s beside the point.” I like how much Amelia is getting into this little pretend competition. She’s a far cry from the girl who first came home earlier. I love that having Tucker and Emma over has given me more time with Amelia, getting to know the woman she is today, but also managed to put that beautiful smile back on her face. “So who takes the cake for you?” I ask, nudging her leg with mine. Smiling up at me, she says, “Hands down it’s the little boy who dressed as Dwight Schrute from The Office. I think I giggled for five minutes straight after he left. That costume was spot on.” “Oh shit, you’re right,” I reply as Emma and Tucker agree with me. “He even had the watch calculator.” “And the small nose Dwight always complains about.” Emma chuckles. “Yeah, he has to be the winner.”
“Now, now, now, let’s not get too hasty. Little Debbie is still in the running,” Tucker points out. Amelia leans forward, seeming incredibly comfortable, and says, “There is no way Little Debbie beats Dwight. Sorry, dude.” The shocked look on Tucker’s face is comical. He’s just been put in his place and the old Amelia has returned. I fucking love it. *** “That’s the last of it. Thanks for helping me bring in everything.” “Well, you’ve helped me anytime I have bags in my trunk, so it’s the least I can do.” I nod, feeling a little unsure of what to do or say. I want to hug her, I want to pull her into my chest and thank her for spending some time with my friends, for opening up, for showing me the lighter side of her again. I want to ask more about her dad, about her job, about my fucking brother . . . sort of. But I don’t do any of those things, instead I nod at her house and say, “I’ll walk you back to your house.” “It’s like two feet away. I think I can make it, Aaron.” “Yeah, and it’s late on Halloween. You never know what kind of creep is lurking around. Just
humor me, all right?” She exhales loudly, putting on a bit of a disgruntled show as she says, “Fine.” “Don’t sound too excited,” I joke. “You’re being ridiculous.” “I’m being cautious.” The walk takes us no more than twenty seconds, but I’m desperate for any extra moments I can steal with her. “See, told you I’d be fine.” She turns toward me and presses her back against her door as she folds her arms over her chest. I stick my hands in my pockets and rock back on my heels. “That’s because I was walking with you. I scared the creeps away with all my muscles.” “Oh yeah, I’m sure that was it,” she says sarcastically and then looks out to the street. A flash of a smile crosses her face. “I had fun tonight; thanks for taking my mind off everything.” “Hey, what are friends for?” I ask with a little shrug. The word friend feels bitter coming off my tongue but friends first. I need to gain her trust, then I can make a move. “Friends, huh?” She gives me a once-over. “Yeah. You can never have too many friends.” “Even if they’re ex-boyfriends?” I chuckle. “Those are the best kind of friends.” “Oh, I’m sure.” She laughs and lightly shakes her head. “Never thought I would be your friend,
Aaron. I always thought there was more to us.” It’s the first time she’s really brought up the past, and I do everything possible to refrain from hopping down memory lane. I want her to have good memories of me, not bad ones. “I’ve always been your friend, Amelia. First and foremost, always a friend.” She doesn’t seem to be happy with that response as she looks away, so I force her to look me in the eye by taking her chin in my hand. I step forward, feeling the heat of us in close proximity. No matter how much time has passed, I think there will always be a spark when it comes to us. It’s undeniable. “I want you to know one thing, okay?” She nods and swallows as I step closer. With my hand still on her chin, I look her square in the eyes. “Despite everything that happened between us, I did and always will do anything for you, and I mean fucking anything. You matter to me, more than you’ll ever understand.” I release her and take a step back. Even in the dark, I notice the heave of her chest and the bewilderment etched in her face. How could she not know that? Why does she doubt me? Maybe because I broke her heart without any explanation. I fucked everything up—understatement—but now I wonder if she’s come back here for a reason? Maybe the chapter of Aaron and Amelia hasn’t quite finished, and what the hell if I’m not going to
take advantage of it. I have to be patient. I will earn her trust in time, but for now, I need to be her friend. Despite how hard that’s going to be for me.
Chapter Eleven AARON
Five years ago . . . “Are you sure I look okay? I really think I should tuck my shirt in.” “You don’t ever tuck your shirt in, why would you now?” “To show respect,” I answer nervously. Fuck, I’m nervous. I’ve had girlfriends before, a few relationships here and there, but no one who mattered to me as much as Amelia does. It’s been a few months since we started going out, and today is just another step toward the future I can see us having together. I’m meeting her dad for the first time, and even though I’ve packed on a shit ton of deodorant, I can feel myself starting to sweat through my undershirt. I’ve never met a girlfriend’s parents before. I don’t know how to act, what to say . . . what not to say. I know the inevitable is going to happen, and he’s going to end up asking me questions I’m not comfortable answering like what do you do for a
living? What is your family like? What do your parents do? What are your plans for the future? The only answer I know is that I’m in love with his daughter and I want to make her happy every chance I get. I will do anything for her . . . literally anything. Cautiously, I walk behind Amelia, following in her footsteps, trying to not look too jittery but failing miserably. When we reach the door I say, “Wait.” She turns to face me and her eyes go soft when she sees the panic in my eyes. Gently, she reaches up and places her hands on my face. “You’re going to be fine. He’s a nice guy and as long as he knows you love me, that’s all that matters.” Not true. Dads are more protective than that. Love isn’t just going to do it. I’m not an idiot. Fathers want to make sure their kids are taken care, at least that’s what I’m assuming fathers do. My father figure was in and out of my life, so I’m only gathering what I know from friends. “I think I’m going to tuck my shirt in,” I answer, still worried about my attire. “Shit.” I chastise myself. “I’m not wearing a belt.” “So.” I run my hand through my styled hair, frustrated at myself. “I can’t tuck my shirt in if I don’t have a belt on, because that’s sloppy.” She chuckles and stands on her toes to kiss me
on my chin. “You’re being ridiculous. Come on.” Amelia walks into her childhood home and pulls me in with her. Feeling unprepared, I put on a smile and try to channel every gesture of good manners I’ve ever learned. “Is that my Bedelia?” a voice calls out right before an older-looking man comes around the corner of the entryway. Marvin Santos is older than I expected him to be, much older. Amelia told me her parents had her later in their lives, but I’m kind of shocked actually. He almost looks like he could be a grandpa. Fuck, don’t think things like that because you might say them out loud. “Daddy, it’s good to see you.” Amelia springs forward, letting go of my hand and wrapping her arms around her dad’s waist. The pure joy they share in seeing each other is something I’ve never experienced. I love my mom, I truly do, but I don’t think I’ve ever been that excited to see her, nor has she been that excited to see me. My gut churns, but this time for a different reason. Shit, focus on impressing the man in front of you. When Mr. Santos lifts from kissing Amelia on the head, he eyes me up and down. “Is this the boy you’ve spoken of?” Amelia turns toward me, one of her arms still wrapped around his waist, as if they’re both sizing
me up. “This is him, Daddy. Meet Aaron Walters.” “Walters, huh?” He scans me again. “Could have at least tucked your shirt in, boy.” Immediately I feel my face turn bright red. Fuck, now I’m sweating more. I’m tongue-tied, unsure of what to say. I fucking knew I should have tucked my shirt in. Noticing my panic, Mr. Santos throws his head back and laughs and then clasps his hand on my shoulder. “I’m joking with you, son. I heard you outside asking about your shirt, thought I would give you some old-fashioned teasing.” “Oh . . . good one, sir.” I stumble over my words. I’m a twenty-five-year-old man and yet, I can’t seem to pull it together to impress someone I need to impress. I’m acting like a fucking teenager. “Sir. Oh, I like the sound of that.” Mr. Santos continues to chuckle as he ushers us into the kitchen where dinner is on the stove and the table is set. “You taught him well, Amelia.” “That was all him,” she replies while giving me a wink and heading to the stove to check out what’s on the menu. While they fight over how much salt to put in whatever is cooking, I observe the house Amelia grew up in. It’s a modest Cape Cod house with an open kitchen and dining space, painted in neutral colors and full of love. Pictures of Amelia and her sister grace the walls, tabletops, and the
refrigerator. Even though the furniture in the house is worn, and the carpet has seen better days, it’s a palace compared to what I grew up in. There are no cracks in the ceiling or on the walls; there are no screaming neighbors, and no piles of trash in the front yard. And to top it all off, there are stairs. I walk over to them and run my hand along the banister, envisioning the pictures Amelia must have taken, the fun she must have had chasing her sister up and down them, the pure joy she must have had while racing down her stairs on Christmas morning to gifts stuffed under the tree. She’s lucky, and for the first time in my life, I’m not jealous. I’m happy for her because my girl deserves the best, and I’m glad she grew up with the best, with parents who care for her deeply. “Did we scare you away already?” Mr. Santos asks, peeking his head into the living room where I stand. I clear my throat and shake my head. “Not at all, sir. Just admiring your home. Amelia is very lucky to have grown up in such a beautiful environment.” It’s a weird thing to say and I can see Mr. Santos processing the way I phrased my praise, but being the good man he is, he doesn’t question me, instead he asks, “Can I get you a drink?” “I would love a water, sir.” “Then come on in the kitchen. Dinner is almost ready.”
I follow him in and see Amelia wearing an apron and pouring what looks like stew into three small bowls. There is cornbread on the table cut into little squares and piled on top of each other. My mouth waters instantly. I can’t remember the last time I had a real home-cooked meal. Probably at one of my friend’s houses. “Smells amazing. Where can I wash up?” I hold my hands out. “Kitchen sink is just fine. Towel is on the stove.” I maneuver around Amelia who lovingly bumps me just before she starts taking bowls to the dining room table. God, she’s so adorable with her beaming smile and bubbly nature, and it’s infectious. I quickly wash and join Mr. Santos and Amelia at the table where they’re waiting for me. Thankfully Amelia has placed my bowl on the place setting next to hers so I don’t have to feel awkward about where to sit. Mr. Santos reaches for a piece of cornbread and starts buttering the top. “So Aaron, my little Bedelia here told me you came to her rescue one day during a Buffalo chicken pizza craving.” Chuckling, I glance at Amelia who’s smiling brightly. “That I did, sir. She was desperate, flailing her body on the ground actually, begging for an IV of the pizza to be hooked up to her.” “I was not.” She nudges me with her elbow.
“Oh sorry, that’s right, you weren’t flailing, you were flailing and crying.” Mr. Santos chuckles and points his spoon at me. “I like this guy already.” And just like that, I feel at ease. We spend the rest of dinner talking about Amelia growing up, the kind of hellion she was, and how she became the woman she is today. Mr. Santos beams as he speaks of his daughters, his wife, the family he was blessed with, and I can’t help but be caught up in the world he lives in. I want this. I want this for my future. With Amelia. Once the table is cleared, the kitchen is cleaned by yours truly—brownie points there—we hang out in the screened-in back porch with only a few lit candles to illuminate the space. I sit down on a love seat first only to have Amelia snuggle up next to me with her head on my chest. A little uncomfortable with public displays of affection, especially in front of her dad, I stiffen, but when Mr. Santos joins us and sees Amelia pressed against me, he warmly smiles and sips his coffee in the chair across from us, which gives me the go-ahead to put my arm around her. I do refrain from running my fingers through her hair like I normally would. “Tell me, Aaron, what do you do? Are you in school?” Fuck, almost got through the entire night without
having to answer this question. Growing up with a mostly absent father and a mom who preferred to get high over helping me with my homework, I didn’t have the best grades, nor the chance to excel in any given subject. I struggled and barely graduated from high school. College wasn’t an option for me because of my grades and finances. I swallow hard and Amelia must sense my tension so she steps in and answers for me. “He works in sanitation, Dad.” “Sanitation?” Mr. Santos lifts an eyebrow at me. Probably not what he wanted to hear, that his daughter is dating someone who works with trash for a living. “Yes, sir.” I nod, trying to hold back the tremor in my voice. I want to impress this man; I want him to know that I deserve to have his daughter wrapped around me, that I deserve her love. “I, uh, work in the plant right now, but it’s not forever.” “No?” He sips from his coffee, the easygoing man gone. Now, he’s a man on a mission. “No, sir. I’m actually in the process of switching careers.” He nods and says, “When people say they’re in the process of switching careers, that usually means they’re unemployed.” “Daddy,” Amelia says as she sits up, “don’t be rude.” “He’s not being rude,” I say, defending Mr.
Santos. “He’s trying to make sure I’m good enough for you. I would expect nothing less from a loving father.” If I’m reading the lip twitch from Mr. Santos correctly, we are in agreement now. And I’ve said the right thing. “So, are you unemployed?” “No, sir. I have a steady job that pays decently. I might not make the kind of money I hope to make, but I know that will come with time and hard work. I truly am in the process of switching careers to construction. I know a new career means starting at the bottom of the ladder again, but I believe this switch will open up a new world of opportunity for me.” He nods and stares me down for a few seconds. “I couldn’t agree more. And if you do end up making the jump over to construction, maybe my little Bedelia can teach you a thing or two.” “Oh Jesus, Dad.” Amelia shakes her head and buries her body deeper into mine. “What? Did you not inform your man of your woodworking skills?” “Not so much.” I look down at her, tipping her chin so she has to look me in the eyes. “You have woodworking skills?” “She won first place for four consecutive years at the state fair for best birdhouse. I have them lined up in the backyard.”
Mind kind of blown. I never would have guessed in a million years that Amelia was good at building things; she just doesn’t seem to have that kind of coordination. It’s kind of hot, knowing she knows how to handle tools. “Well, I have to see these birdhouses now.” “It’s too dark.” “I have a flashlight,” Mr. Santos says, as he stands right before setting his coffee on the table in front of him. “Be right back.” “Dad, that’s not necessary . . .” Amelia trails off as her dad is on the move for a flashlight. Lifting up, she stares me down. “What the hell are you doing?” “Bonding.” I smile and shrug. “And I really want to see your birdhouses.” I tickle her chin only for her to swat my hand away. “My little Bob the Builder.” “I hate you.” “Winner four years in a row. That means this is a hobby. You could have your own woodworking show with those kind of accolades behind you.” Not amused, she sits back on the loveseat, pulling away from me completely. “What got you started? Catch a rerun of Home Improvement and the building bug bit you?” “No, asshole.” “Like the way a tool belt looked on you?”
Sitting up, she looks me dead in the eyes. “Yes, that’s it. I liked the way a tool belt looked on me. That’s why I started building, because I accessorized with objects from the garage one day and said, ‘Hey, this looks good.’” “I thought so.” I touch the tip of her nose. “Nailed it . . . no pun intended.” “You’re absurd.” She’s about to storm off when her dad walks onto the porch, holding three flashlights with a huge smile on his face. “Ready?” I stand and snag Amelia’s hand in mine, twining our fingers together, one of my favorite feelings in the world. “Never been more ready in my life.”
Chapter Twelve AMELIA
Present day . . . “Two weeks and I get to see your pretty face,” Amanda screams into the phone as I walk into the volunteer meetup for the play. “I know, I can’t wait. I wish it was this weekend.” “Me too.” She sighs. “But the governor is being a real prick and is making me work this weekend.” “I think it’s because he wants to stare at your backside some more.” “If he wasn’t such an asshole, I would bend over for him and give him all the staring time he wants. But his assholery has really deterred me from making a move on his fine body.” Governor Paul is the youngest governor we’ve had in New York State and by far the hottest. The kind of hot that puts Mr. Prince Charming, Justin Trudeau, to shame. Definitely the hottie of politics, but according to Amanda, a complete and total dick. Such a waste. “At least you get to slip out next weekend.”
“I know. I can’t wait to eat Nirchi’s while looking out your window at your ex-boyfriend. I have my ogling eyes ready.” “There will be no staring at Aaron,” I whisper into the phone, not wanting anyone to overhear me. “Eff that. There will be lots of staring, and if I bust one of your windows, I’m not going to be mad about it. After the picture you sent me of grown-up Aaron, I’m ready to be reacquainted.” “You know that’s my ex you’re talking about, right? The one who broke my heart?” “He broke your heart, not mine. But I’m more than willing for him to break my vagina if he wants to.” I sigh as volunteers start to trickle in. “Have I ever told you what a great friend you are?” She laughs into the phone, and her humor has done wonders for my mood. “You know I’m kidding. I’ll be prepared to give him the evil eye the minute I see him. Maybe I will throw some middle fingers in his direction. You know, a casual bird out of nowhere here and there. Keep him on his toes. He’s raking leaves and then all of a sudden, middle finger. That will teach him.” “Totally.” I chuckle. “Nothing says lesson learned like a random middle finger coming out of nowhere.” “Exactly, that’s what I’m talking about. He will rue the day he broke your heart. In two weeks, the
middle-finger parade is coming to town and the tour route is headed directly for his house.” “Can’t wait.” Aaron walks through the doors wearing a worn leather jacket that fits him perfectly, giving him almost a bad-boy look. With his toolbox in hand, he goes directly to our workstation. God, wouldn’t Amanda love a photo of him right now? His presence alone makes the room seem small, but when he spots me and smiles, I feel the walls closing in. “Hey, he’s here. I have to go.” “Okay, don’t forget, ask him to spot a nail for you. Miss and hammer the hell out of his hand.” “Yeah, I’ll be sure to do that.” “Emergency room visits are also lessons learned. No one breaks my girl’s heart and gets away with it.” Shaking my head at my ridiculous friend, I say, “Thanks, Amanda. I’ll talk to you later.” As I’m hanging up, she calls out, “Take a picture of his ass for me.” That is so not going to happen. I push myself off the wall I was leaning against and make my way to our little holiday construction zone. Aaron’s already taking off his jacket and looking at the plans we’re working from tonight. Part of me now feels like a horrible friend. Amanda would like this view. I know I do . . . But I’m not going to think about how hot he is. Shit. Stop. Right. There. Amelia. When I walk up, he smiles
brightly and nods with his head. “Hey, Amelia.” The way my name rolls off his tongue, in his deep, gravelly voice, causes my body to start to heat and my nipples start to swell. Just like that. One single greeting and I’m affected by him. I’m going to chalk it up to not seeing Trey for a while or having any physical contact for some time. It’s definitely not from the way his bright blue eyes shine at me when he sees me, or how his entire face lights up when I walk into the room, or how his chest muscles flex with every little movement he makes. That can’t be it at all, right? “Hey Aaron.” I take off my jacket as well and eye the plans. “Working on the bakery today?” “I think so, unless you had another idea?” “No, that works.” We finished the crazy tree last week and shipped it off to the painting crew. Aaron said he normally helps paint as well, but since we have many differently sized sets to build this year, he wants to make sure we get them built first, and then we can help paint if needed in the end. Seamlessly, we work together in silence, only speaking when we need to communicate about a tool or what size to cut a piece of wood. If it didn’t seem so natural, I would feel awkward, but for some reason, it feels right. Within an hour, we have all the pieces cut and sanded. When I say we work well together, I’m not lying.
“That went quicker than expected.” He stands over the pieces ready to be put together, his hands on his narrow hips. “I’m kind of impressed. Looks like those birdhouse building skills aren’t as rusty as I thought they would be.” “Like riding a bike,” I joke. Pulling on the back of his neck, his bicep threatens to snap the sleeve wrapped around his arm as he looks shyly at me. “I still have the one you made me. It’s in my backyard.” “Are you serious?” Why he would keep it? He nods, still pulling on his neck, a nervous tendency I’ve noticed. “Yeah. I coat it every year with a weather-protective sealant to preserve it. The squirrels seem to like it more than the birds, but I’m okay with that. As long as it’s used.” I’m a little dumbfounded. Why would he keep the birdhouse he begged me to make him so long ago? I would have thought he’d dispose of everything that reminded him of me. And yet, he kept the birdhouse. The birdhouse I gave him for our one-year anniversary. It seems strange, but it also makes me feel . . . warm. He kept it. He preserves it. He actually uses it. The wall I’ve erected around my heart when it comes to Aaron cracks, the mortar loosening ever so slightly.
“Wow, I guess I thought you would have gotten rid of it.” “Never,” he answers with conviction. “You made it for me, Amelia. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t stare at it and remember the look on your face when you gave it to me. It’s something I will always cherish.” Funny how he will cherish a birdhouse I made, but not my heart . . . Clearing my throat, I nod. “Well, that’s nice.” I really don’t know how to respond so I try to redirect the conversation. “Does that mean you kept the mug I made you in that pottery class we went together, the one that the handle fell off?” He nods. “Holds my pencils at work.” My jaw goes slack. “And before you start questioning everything you ever gave me when we were together, yes, I still have it.” He leans forward and wiggles his eyebrows at me. “Even the boudoir pictures.” “What?” My eyebrows shoot up and my face heats to dangerous levels. “Oh my God, why do you still have those?” He laughs, his voice booming through the warehouse, drawing the attention of other volunteers. “Stop that.” I swat at his stomach, getting slightly turned on by the way his chest bounces with his laugh and the way his throat muscles
contract with each sound. Throat muscles. That’s what my life has come to, being turned on by throat muscles. “You were supposed to get rid of those,” I whisper-yell at him. “Not keep them.” Chuckling now, he says, “Ex-boyfriend privileges. I get to keep anything I want. Don’t worry; they’re tucked away in a box in my attic. I don’t pull them out like a fucking creep. Jacking off to your ex just screams pathetic loser to me.” “But you still have them. What if something happened to you and you died? That box would be opened by whoever is clearing out your house, and my naked body would be exposed. Those pictures would most likely be sold to some sick porno site for the world to see. Is that what you want, Aaron? For the world to see my naked body?” Still chuckling, he answers, “You’re not naked in the pictures because you were wearing lingerie. The most you can see is side boob.” “That’s still side boob. Everyone loves side boob. Go ahead, take a poll, I bet side boob wins out over nipple.” “Are you kidding me?” he asks incredulously. “There is no way side boob wins over nipple.” “There’s more mystery to side boob than there is to nipple. When you see a nipple, you think, oh there’s a nipple, but side boob its like, that’s a great tit, I wonder what the nipple looks like?”
Aaron sits back on his heels, his eyes studying me. “Are you telling me you’ve spent time observing tits?” I roll my eyes. “No. God, you’re such a man.” He tips my chin with his finger and winks at me. “Glad you noticed.” My stomach bottoms out and my skin crawls with pleasure, wanting more than just that little wink. No, you have a boyfriend, get it together. “But I’m right, and I know I am. Any man would take nipple over side boob.” “I think you’re wrong.” “Is that right?” He looks around the room. “Should I ask all the men in the room?” “What? No.” I step forward. “Are you crazy? These people are here to help children, not to be asked about nipples.” “They might want to be asked about nipples,” he counters, his smirk doing deathly things to my body. “They don’t, and I swear to God, if you ask I’ll murder you.” When Aaron and I were going out, he had no qualms in making a fool out of both of us. He didn’t mind shouting the word penis in public, or acting like a jackass just to embarrass me. It was one of his favorite pastimes and unfortunately, one of the things I loved most about him. He was so carefree, so easygoing, just living life . . . like me. “Fine, I’ll ask the next best thing.” He pulls out his phone from his back pocket and starts typing away. I try to look at what he’s doing but he turns
away from me. “Who are you texting?” “My boys.” He continues to type. I yank on his arm to pull his phone closer but he’s too damn strong and resists my pitiful attempts to look at his phone. “That’s not fair, they’re partial to you.” “I’m keeping it fair. I’m not steering them in any certain direction.” “Let me see what you’re typing then.” He steps back from my grabby hands. “What, you don’t trust me?” “Not even a little. Give me your phone.” With mirth in his eyes and a tick in his lips, he hands over the phone where I read his text out loud. “I’m trying to prove Amelia wrong. Nipples are way better than side boob, right?” I lift my eyes to his where I pin him. “Being neutral, huh?” “What?” He chuckles. “Is that not neutral?” The innocent act does not work on me, but God, is he cute. I motion at him and say, “Don’t try to play coy with me; it still won’t work.” It didn’t work when we were together, anyway. “Fucking brutal.” I ignore him and start typing and saying my text out loud. “Hey dudes, I have a Q for yo—” “I don’t text like that. I would never say hey
dudes, or Q. They’ll know it’s not me.” “We’ll see.” I get back to texting. “Got to know, what has your dick twizzling more—” “Dicks don’t twizzle, Amelia.” I glance at him and see the humor in his features. God, I missed this. “Don’t be so literal.” I finish my text. “Glorious side boob, or plain old nipple.” I press send before he can stop me. Snagging the phone from me, he says, “Hey, that’s not partial at all.” “No?” I shrug and grab the instructions from the table only to flip through them casually. “Seemed pretty neutral to me.” He deadpans, “Plain old nipple is neutral?” “Yeah.” I hide my smirk behind the instructions, but he catches it, pushing the instructions down and looking at me sternly. “This little competition is void. You compromised it with your text. We can’t possibly settle with how they answer.” “You’re just nervous that I’m right and you’re wrong.” “No—” His phone chimes in his hand. I immediately reach for it but he holds the phone in the air, out of my reach. So I jump and use his other arm to propel me up, but it’s still no use. He’s too tall. “Let me see what they said.” “Settle down.” He places his hand on my head
trying to stop me from jumping, and unfortunately it works. “It’s my phone, my friends, so I don’t have to read text messages to you.” I place my hands on my hips. “Stop being defiant and just read the damn messages so I can start gloating.” Succumbing to my little demand, he unlocks his phone and reads the message. A small smile starts to stretch over his face as he turns the phone in my direction so I can read their responses. Tucker: Are you drunk? Don’t fucking say Q, you douche. And nipple for sure, that’s a stupid question. Racer: Agreed, nipple wins any day. P.S. I’m twizzling my dick at Georgie right now. She’s panting with her tongue out. Racer: This is Georgiana. There is no dick twizzling or panting. Racer is actually letting me give him a pedicure right now. Ask to see his feet tomorrow. Even though they chose nipple, I can’t help but laugh . . . or wish I knew this side of Aaron better. He didn’t have many friends years ago, which was odd to me. He said they all left town when they graduated, and that he’d been the only one to stick around. But now, it seems like he has some pretty solid friends. Strangely enough, I’m still happy for him. There was always a dark shadow cast over Aaron when we dated, the kind of inner turmoil he
didn’t share with anyone, not even me. I wonder now if that was one of the reasons he ended things with me. “Looks like nipples won after all,” Aaron says, interrupting my thoughts as he pockets his phone again. “I guess so,” I concede with a smile. And I have to admit this is nice. I had hated Aaron for a while after I left. But with so many fantastic memories of the time we spent together, I couldn’t hold on to the hate. I knew that deep down, he is still a man I can love. A man I can respect. And now I’m thinking he can be a man who can be my friend. Friends with Aaron Walters. As long as I didn’t obsess about his winks, his smile, his amazing body, or his deep, rumbly voice, yeah, I can be friends. I think I’ll be able to do this. *** Aaron’s truck lights blare behind me on the drive home, sending a constant reminder that he’s closer than I want him to be. Needing a little reprieve from the man, I call the one man I miss terribly. “Hey beautiful,” Trey answers, sounding exhausted. “Hey you.” My heart clenches in my chest from the sound of his voice.
He breathes heavily. “I’m sitting here, shirt off, beer in hand, TV on, and I feel so fucking empty.” The image of him lying on the couch we bought together, his beautiful body stretched out across the cushions, makes me ache in places I haven’t ached in a long time. I want him so bad. “I’m missing my girl tucked against my chest.” “I would give anything to be there right now,” I answer honestly. Sighing, he asks, “Remember that piece of spaghetti I threw on the ceiling the night before you left?” “Yeah.” I smile to myself, thinking about that night. Trey insisted upon making spaghetti and meatballs for me. He came home with a grocery bag full of pasta, spaghetti sauce, and pre-made meatballs. When cooking the noodles, he told me an “old wives’ tale.” He said if you throw the noodles to the ceiling and it sticks, then the pasta is done. What he didn’t realize is if that pasta never comes down, you overcooked it. “It fell this morning. Scared the shit out of me. I thought it was a spider trying to bury itself in my hair while I was making eggs.” A laugh bursts out of me as I think about Trey bouncing around the apartment, spaghetti in hair thinking it was a spider. “Oh no. Miss Pasta-relli finally fell?” “She did and that squirrely bitch knew exactly
what she was doing, too. Trying to scare the crap right out of me.” “Seems like she did.” I chuckle. “But I got the last laugh when I turned the trash compactor on. Her little pasta self squiggled down the drain. Revenge never felt so sweet.” Still laughing, I shake my head. “Is this what your life has come to? Fighting with old, overcooked pasta?” “I’m telling you, Amelia, with you gone, I’ve lost my damn mind.” “Sounds like it.” Knowing I’m pressing my luck with his busy schedule, I ask, “Can you make it up before my birthday?” He exhales in frustration. I know I’ve touched a nerve, but he would never take it out on me. “I fucking wish I could, sweetheart, but my boss has me working every fucking weekend. I think he knows about the interviews I’ve been going to and is trying to punish me.” “That’s not fair.” “Tell me about it. We’re in the middle of building this new app, and I’m the forefront of it all. I have half a mind to just pick up and leave. Teach him a lesson.” A part of me wants to encourage him to do so, but I know that would be the irresponsible thing to do. Trey is a hard worker and takes his job seriously, so he would never jeopardize it because
he was unhappy. “Hopefully it won’t be too much longer. Have you heard back from those other companies?” “Not yet. Jake was telling me about some freelance work I might be able to do if I start to get really antsy. I’m still holding out for a solid job offer though. I would love to be up there with you, but I also want to be smart about this move and not jump into freelance where I wouldn’t have insurance or a 401(k).” “Yeah, I can totally understand that. We’ll just have to wait it out some more, that’s all.” “I promise I’ll make it happen, Amelia. Just need more time.” “I know you will.” I pull onto my street and slow down, knowing I’ve already been yelled at for driving too fast. “I’m pulling into my driveway. Can I call you back in a bit once I get settled?” “Yeah. FaceTime, right?” “I would love to. Keep your shirt off.” “Only if you do.” My heart flutters from the way his voice dropped. “You’ve got yourself a deal. “See you in a few.” “Wait,” I call out. “Quick question. What do you prefer more, side boob or nipple?” Chuckling, Trey asks, “What kind of question is that? Nipple, Amelia. Nipple all the way. Honestly, do I ever suck on your side boob? No, I bite and
suck the fuck out of your sweet nipples.” And my stomach just bottomed out. Swallowing hard, I clear my throat and say, “Okay, yup. See you in a bit. Love you.” His laughter carries through the phone as I hang up. Damn him for turning me on. Thoughts of Trey worshipping my body flutter through my mind, causing a light sheen of sweat to coat my skin, but when Aaron’s truck parks next to mine, I’m snapped out of my Trey-induced fog and brought back to reality. Instead of being in Trey’s arms tonight, I’ve been bumping shoulders with Aaron Walters. Tonight has been different, though. Aaron and I joked, we built, and we even worked well together in silence. We didn’t talk about the past or anything worth substance; we kept it breezy, easy, and fun. Mr. Buster was impressed with the amount of work we were able to crank out by the end of the night, calling us the dream team, which only made me chuckle. If only he knew our history, he wouldn’t think dream team. Feeling a little lonely, especially after my conversation with Trey, I hop out of my car, swing my purse over my shoulder, and walk over to Aaron’s side of the conjoined driveway. When he pops out of his truck, I say, “Did you have your high beams on that entire time?” “I thought about it but spared you.” He shuts his
door and locks up. “If I didn’t come straight from work, I would have carpooled with you. Seems silly to both drive.” “Yeah, kind of a waste of gas and pollution.” I should head into my house, but my body won’t move. Instead my mouth starts asking questions. “So you’re in construction now?” He nods and leans against his truck. “I am. My buddies and I have our own business. We’re building one of the new developments in Vestal.” He scratches his chin and chuckles to himself. “Long way from sanitation disposal, huh?” “What you did for a living never bothered me, Aaron.” And that’s the God’s honest truth. I never cared about his occupation. He treated me with love, a kind heart, and was passionate. Until . . . “But I’m happy you’re doing something you seem to love.” “I do. Working with Tucker and Racer has been a dream come true. We always talked about owning our own company, but we never thought it would actually happen. Still can’t believe it.” “Where did you meet them?” Smiling in the moonlit night, Aaron shakes his head in humor. “God, through pure drunken idiocy.” That surprises me. Aaron was never one to get drunk. Did he start drinking after we broke up? I can only remember one time he was completely
wasted, and it wasn’t the fun kind of drunk I was used to with Amanda. It was the kind of drunk that only transpired from trying to hide from some kind of demons. Demons he never shared with me. Aaron pushes off his truck and rounds the back where he puts down the tailgate and sits. He pats next to him, and without even thinking, I sit beside him. “You really want to know the story?” “Should I be scared?” “Maybe a little.” He chuckles. I turn toward him and cross my legs. He turns as well, keeping one leg hanging off the tailgate while the other is bent in front of him. He leans against the side of the truck and drapes one arm back. He seems so casual, so comfortable. “Lay it on me.” He rubs his jaw for a second before saying, “It was right after, uh, we broke up.” Okay, maybe I don’t want to hear. “I wasn’t in a good place, so I went to House of Reardon to get lost in a bottle. When I walked into the bar, it was empty except for two other guys. One of them was at the bar, his head turned down and a tumbler in his hand. The other one was sitting in a booth, nursing a beer with his head leaning against the wall. I sat at the bar, far away from everyone and started drinking, heavily.” My throat tightens from the thought of Aaron drinking alone and heavily. I’ve seen him angry,
upset beyond consoling, so I can only imagine his state of mind at the time. “After about six shots of whiskey, I was having a hard time standing, let alone seeing a few feet in front of me, so being the intelligently intoxicated man, I decided to start playing darts, of course.” “Oh my God. No, you didn’t.” He nods, lips pressed together. “I did. Using my chair as a walker—” “Come on.” I laugh. “This isn’t true.” He leans forward, presses his hand on my knee, warming me instantly. “I fucking wish it wasn’t true, but it is.” Trying to tamp down the butterflies in my stomach, I say, “You used a chair as a walker?” “Mm-hmm. Which of course caught the attention of the two men in the bar.” “Let me guess, they were Tucker and Racer.” “Yup. I made it to the dartboard, but realized there were no darts. When I turned to the bartender to ask for some, he didn’t even let me ask. He cleaned a cup and shook his head saying I was too damn drunk to have access to any darts.” “Smart man.” “Yeah well, Racer didn’t think he was. He stood from the booth and protested, saying something about how I was easily able to use my walker to get to the dartboard without crashing, so clearly I wasn’t that drunk.”
“I can picture him saying that.” I place my hands in my lap, really enjoying this ridiculous story, even though it started out during one of the worst moments of my life. “Racer started chanting ‘Let him dart,’ which makes no sense at all, but before I knew it, Tucker was joining in as well, tapping his glass on the bar.” Aaron looks at the sky, his head tilted back completely. “It was stupid and ridiculous. We ended up racing chairs around the bar until we were kicked out. We exchanged numbers and have been by each other’s sides ever since.” “All because of wanting to play darts completely wasted.” “Told you it was pure drunken idiocy. But it was meant to be because none of us would be where we are today without each other. We all had a hand in pulling each other out of deep funks that we were otherwise consuming.” And he was the one who brought it upon himself. Sitting quietly, letting the sounds of the night fall upon us, I look to the sky as well, marveling at the stars as they shine brightly, so much prettier than in the city. “Did you drink a lot after . . .?” My words trail off, unable to speak of our breakup out loud. It still stings. It’s still something I think about quite often. Something I question. If I didn’t still feel vulnerable, I’d confront Aaron one last time. I would open up that wound, but I can’t. I’m not
ready to be hurt again. I’m not ready to know how I failed him. How he hadn’t wanted me. It shouldn’t be possible that one man can wreak such havoc on someone’s heart. But this is Aaron. Even though we were only together a few years, he’d been my everything. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to reopen that wound. Even though I’m happy with Trey. “I did,” he answers. “I hit rock bottom. I’m not kidding when I say I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for Racer and Tucker.” Then why? The question is on the tip of my tongue. If our breakup was so devastating, so debilitating, why break up? “You’re not a good drinker,” I point out, my memory flashing to that one night, the one that left me exhausted, hurt, and confused. Aaron must be thinking of the same night because he nods. “I know. I never wanted to be a good drinker.” “You weren’t a good talker either.” The words slip past me, and I regret them when Aaron dives deeper. “What do you mean?” He sits up and levels with me. “I was always honest with you, Amelia.” “I’m not talking about honesty. I’m talking about letting me into your world.” Aaron runs his hand through his hair and says with a little bit of anger in his voice, “You were my
world, Amelia. You were everything to me.” I play with my hands on my lap as I whisper, “Then why didn’t you ever tell me about your mom? About your brothers?” Do you know that moment when you realize you’ve said something you probably shouldn’t have? When you think to yourself, if only I had kept that stored away for a lifetime instead of finally laying it out on the table. I’m there right now. From the strong set in Aaron’s jaw, to the way his shoulders have tightened, I know I hit a nerve. I don’t think I’m going to like the outcome of it. “How the fuck do you know that?” He’s seething, vibrating with such a powerful fury that I could very well see him lashing out. Not at me, he would never do that, but on a wall . . . like he did that one night. I can see that. Shaking, I start to stutter, “I, uh, I f-found out the night you got drunk.” “How?” He hops off the truck and grips the side with brute force. Wanting to be on the same ground as him, I get down as well. “When you were passed out, your mom called. I, uh, I answered your phone.” He’s silent for a second. His gaze focuses on the bed of the truck and then his strong arm slams the tailgate shut as he yells, “Fuck.” Oh God, I definitely should not have brought this up.
“Aaron, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—” “Forget it, Amelia.” He walks away, hand in his hair. “Let me know if you need anything.” And just like that, he’s gone. All I can see is his retreating back, which doesn’t settle well with me. It’s oddly and horribly way too familiar. My heart aches, which is stupid really. He doesn’t need to tell me anything now. We’re barely friends. So, why am I close to tears, wishing I could follow him and hold him close? I am not over Aaron Walters. That much is very clear.
Chapter Thirteen AMELIA
Four years ago . . . This doesn’t feel right. The lights are off in his apartment, but his car is parked out front. I haven’t heard from him since I text him about dinner earlier today, and I’m worried. He got off work a few hours ago. Hesitantly, I round my car and go to his front door. I’m about to knock when something crashes against the door, scaring me backward and into one of the front pillars of the apartment complex. “Oh God,” I whisper. What’s happening? Heart racing, hands shaking, my nerves on edge, I take a deep breath and step forward. When I place my hand on the knob of the door, I hear another crash but this one came from the other side of the front room. Despite being frightened, I need to know if Aaron is okay or if I need to call the cops, so I open the door. This is not what I expected. Aaron with a torn shirt hanging off his arms and shoulders, his hair a wreck, and beer
bottles scattered across his destroyed living space. Rage vibrates off him, his shoulders shaking, his head searching for the next piece of furniture I’m assuming he’s going to throw. Wanting him to be aware of my presence without scaring him, I quietly clear my throat and call out to him. “Aaron, are you okay?” From the sound of my voice, he whips around, his chest heaving, his eyes frantic, and his arms poised and ready to continue their destructive path. When he speaks, his voice is unlike anything I’ve heard from him. It’s pained, yet seething. “Leave, Amelia.” His demand washes over me. This is a side of him I’ve never seen and frankly, it’s frightening, but I can’t leave him like this. I can’t leave him here to continue to destroy his quaint apartment or harm himself. So on wobbly legs, I move closer. “I told you to leave,” he snarls before dipping to the ground and picking up a bottle of liquor only to down a large gulp. He’s drinking. He never drinks. What happened to him? What has upset him so much? “Aaron, can you put the bottle down? Maybe we can get you into a cold shower or something.” “I don’t want a cold shower,” he shouts and
throws the bottle against the wall. Amber liquid and glass shatters to the ground. My heart starts pounding rapidly, my body wanting to flee from how out of control he seems. He won’t hurt me. So I take a step closer. “Leave, Amelia,” he repeats and tosses a chair across the room before he stalks to the back of his apartment and slams the door. Pressing my hand against the wall to hold myself up, I take a deep breath and try to steady my nerves. I have no idea how to approach him, how to help him. Aaron has always been happy, smiling, joking. This side, this beastly side, is all new to me, and after a year of dating this man, I’m seriously puzzled. A part of me wants to leave, to nurse my shattered nerves and wait for sunrise to bring another day, but the part of me that loves him, that would do anything for him, is calling for me to follow in his tumultuous footsteps. Once again, gathering my wits, I dodge tossed furniture and make my way to Aaron’s bedroom, where we’ve spent many nights together and many lazy mornings. This room holds precious memories for me, so I hope and pray he isn’t destroying it like his living room. Leaning forward, I put my ear against the door and listen for him. I don’t hear anything so I take my chances and open the door. The lights are off,
but the moonlight pours through his uncovered windows and I see him sitting on the floor in the corner, his head in his hands, his knees bent to his chest. In a matter of seconds, my heart stutters and every bone in my body aches for the man hunched over in the corner. Quietly, I shut the door and start toward him. Sensing my presence, he lifts his head, and I’m met with aged, wary eyes. The brightness I’m accustomed to is nowhere to be found. Who is this man? I don’t say anything this time. Instead, I slowly walk toward him, not wanting to scare him away, and sit down so my body is facing his. I place my hand on his cheek, feeling the scruff of his jaw on my palm and turn his face so he’s forced to look me in the eyes. Hollow, empty, a bland expression. Once again, my heart breaks. “What’s going on?” “Nothing,” he whispers, reeking of booze and trying to pull away, but I don’t allow him. This might not be the best time to talk to him given his alcohol-addled brain, but I can’t continue to let him be destructive. I will never forgive myself if he hurts himself. “Aaron, talk to me. Don’t shut me out. What’s going on?” He lowers his head and dangles his hands between his legs, utter defeat in the slouch of his
shoulders. “You should leave, Amelia. You’re not going to like what you hear next.” “Try me,” I challenge. No matter what he says, I’m not leaving. Lifting his head, he leans it against the wall and stares blankly at me. “You’re going to stay?” He sardonically laughs. “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” “Stop trying to scare me off, Aaron.” “I’m not trying to scare you off, Amelia.” His voice has a slight slur in it but other than that, he’s quite clear. “I’m trying to avoid the inevitable.” “And what would that be?” “Breaking up with you.” The air stands still, stagnant in its musty torment as I try to comprehend what he’s saying. Break up with me? Where did that come from? I think back to everything that’s happened the past few days, I try to pick apart why he would be acting so vile, so unlike the man I love. But nothing is coming to mind. We’ve spent the last few nights at each other’s places. We’ve gone on dates, cooked dinner together, spent every morning wrapped in each other’s arms while he whispered in my ear how much he loves me. To say I’m confused is an understatement. Trying not to turn into an emotional basket case, I take a deep breath and ask, “Why are you
breaking up with me?” “Don’t you see?” he asks, waving around his room that has yet to be destroyed. “You could have so much better, Amelia. You could be with someone in college, someone with a future, someone with a loving family, or at least one parent who cares about him.” He runs a hand down his face and mutters under his breath so I almost don’t hear him, “Someone who can give you stairs.” Stairs? What is he talking about? “I don’t want anything or anyone but you, Aaron.” Where is this coming from? And what about his parents? I’ve met his mom once and she seemed nice, so . . . Standing abruptly, knocking me back, he starts crossing the room, his hands twitching at his sides. When he glances in my direction, all I see is darkness. He’s lost, and I’m not sure I can do anything to aid him. “You don’t want me,” he roars as he shoves his nightstand across the room, shattering his lamp. I tuck myself in the corner with my knees pulled into my chest. “No one fucking wants me, besides the one woman who doesn’t deserve me.” Turning swiftly around, he cocks his arm back and jams it through the wall, leaving a gaping hole before he storms into his living room where I hear him clink some bottles together and then collapse onto the floor.
Muscles frozen in place, despair gnaws at my gut as I wait for more movement in the other room. What woman is he talking about? I try to piece together what he’s said. Parents not caring, no one wants him besides a woman who doesn’t deserve him, a loving family and . . . stairs? I push my hair back and think. Is he talking about his mom? It’s the only thing I come up with, but why would he be so angry about her? Standing on shaky legs, I dodge the broken pieces of his lamp and peek into the living room. Lying on the ground, his large body splayed across the floor, is a mumbling Aaron. His eyes are closed, his hand gripping an empty bottle, and the tension in his body easing with each breath he takes. I stay still, watching him until I’m convinced he’s completely passed out. Able to breathe a little lighter, I start cleaning up, starting with the bottles that have been rolling around his floor. Twelve beers and a bottle of whiskey. I pray the bottle wasn’t full when he started drinking it. Guessing how much he’s really had, this is going to be a very long night. Despite what he said, I’m not leaving him. He wants to break up with me? I don’t buy it. Something hit him hard tonight, and he’s trying to keep me as far away from it as possible, as far away from him. Too bad it’s not that easy to get rid of me.
I take off his work boots and try to make him as comfortable as possible before I head into his room to clean up the mess in there. I have never seen anyone this drunk, and I would be lying if I didn’t say it terrifies me. More so, seeing the man I love so miserable. I’m in his room, trying to make his bed in case I’m somehow able to move him into it, when his phone starts ringing. I search the floor and find it in the corner under one of his shirts. His mom. I shouldn’t answer this. I really shouldn’t, and yet, curiosity wins out. “Hello,” I say quietly. She must not hear me over her crying because she says, “Aaron baby, I’m sorry, please don’t be mad at me.” I really shouldn’t have answered this. Feeling awkward, I say, “Mrs. Walters, it’s Amelia.” Her crying stops and her voice clears. “Amelia? Oh, where’s Aaron?” “Uh, he’s kind of passed out.” “Was he drinking?” The heartache I heard when she answered the phone is no longer there and instead anger ensues. “Yes, ma’am. It seems like he’s had a lot to drink.” I can hear her mutter something on the other end of the phone but can’t make it out. “I told him not
to drink. I told him to not be like his daddy.” Like his daddy? Confused and wanting to get to the bottom of this, I ask, “Mrs. Walters, what happened tonight? I came to Aaron’s apartment and found him very angry and drunk. He was saying things like wanting to break up with me. I’m kind of lost.” I can hear sniffling and once again, Mrs. Walters morphs into the crying mess that she was when I first answered the phone. “Oh Amelia, it’s his brothers. He’s upset because I always talk about their success. He should really be more like them.” He has brothers? What the hell? Why would he not tell me he has brothers? That seems like a basic thing you tell someone when you’re dating. But more importantly, why would a mother compare her children? It must be a cantankerous topic for Aaron given the way he reacted tonight. I always talk about their success . . . A conversation I had with Aaron earlier in the day pops in my head. He was talking about how he wished he could change careers, how he wished he could move into construction, to really do it instead of talk about it. He spoke of wanting to prove to himself that he’s worthy of more. At the time, I thought he was speaking of his career, but from what his mom is telling me, I think this goes deeper.
Anger starts to spiral out of me as I defend Aaron. “With all due respect, Mrs. Walters, Aaron is a fine gentleman, caring, generous, with a beautiful heart. I don’t know what his brothers are doing with their lives, but what I do know is Aaron is thriving. He’s living life, and you should be proud of him for that, not comparing him.” More crying. “Oh, Amelia, do you think he hates me? He’s my everything. I can’t have him mad at me.” This has to be one of the strangest conversations I’ve ever had. I don’t understand any of it. She’s mad at him one minute and then begging for his forgiveness the next. Blowing out a long breath and wanting to hang up, I say, “You’re going to have to ask him that yourself, but I would suggest not calling until maybe Sunday. It seems like he needs to get his head on straight.” “Will you tell him I called?” “Yes, but only if you promise me something.” “Anything,” she answers in desperation. “You can’t tell him we talked. I feel like I walked in on something he’s not ready to talk about. I think this is a conversation we need to have when he’s ready. So promise me you won’t tell him about this conversation. It’s important.” “I promise. Thank you, Amelia. You’re so good for him.” She hangs up, and I wonder if it’s a good
thing or a bad thing she thinks I’m good for him. He has been a great thing for me. His support, his friendship, his love. I feel so whole with him. But why didn’t he tell me he has brothers? Why would he think we should break up? Was that because of something his mother said to him? Something about him? I place his phone on his nightstand, which I put back in its place and stare at Aaron. What are you hiding from me? Why are you hiding things at all? *** In the distance, I can hear a bellowing, but in my half-awake state I can’t quite make it out. I stretch my legs and instantly feel a tweak in my back. Crap. I try to open my eyes, but they’re blurry and burning from the sun beaming through the bare windows. My head pounds and my stomach growls at the same time as another bellowing sound pulls me from the morning fog surrounding my brain. Sitting up—my neck, shoulders, and back screaming at me —I realize the floor I was sleeping on is missing a warm body. Aaron. I hear no sign of him until I hear the toilet flush and water running. Getting up as quickly as my body will allow, I head toward his bathroom where
I see Aaron, sans ripped shirt, his hair askew, brushing his teeth. He’s slouched over the bathroom sink, looking pale and weak. He must have been sick. That’s what happens when you drink twelve beers and whiskey. Normally, I wouldn’t feel bad for someone who had indulged in so much alcohol, but this is different. Aaron was in pain. The floor beneath me creaks, giving away my approach. He sees my reflection in the mirror and his eyes squeeze shut. He spits out his toothpaste, rinses his mouth, and rests his hands on the counter. His back flexes, his muscles contorting, and when I think he’s going to once again tell me to leave, he turns and reaches for me. I allow him to pull me into his chest where he wraps his arms tightly around me, enveloping me into the warmth of his body. This is the man I know, the loving one who wants nothing more than to be holding me close to him. And I needed this. I wasn’t sure what he would remember or say come morning, so this hug is exactly what I hoped for. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice groggy. “I’m so fucking sorry.” “It’s okay.” I run my hands up and down his back, trying to comfort him. “It isn’t, Amelia, so please don’t say it is.” “Okay.” I nuzzle into him closer, worry still prickling the back of my neck. “Can I ask you
something?” “Anything.” He kisses the top of my head. “Last night, when you said you wanted to break up with me. Did you mean it?” His body goes stiff. When he pulls me away, there is panic in his eyes. “I fucking said that?” He searches my eyes, pleading with me to say it’s not true. He doesn’t remember, so he was blackout drunk last night. For some reason, that makes me even more sad. What was so bad that he had to get so drunk to forget? What was so bad that he believed the only way forward was for us to break up? Why us? Why does his mom have such a negative effect on him? Wanting him to know the truth, I nod. “You did. You said it was inevitable.” I bite my bottom lip. “Is that true?” “What? No.” He steps forward and grips my face with his large, shaky hands. “Fuck, that’s not inevitable. God, I hate that I said that. I love you, Amelia, more than anything. That will never change . . . ever.” “Promise?” “Promise.” Thank God. The alternative would have broken me. He places a soft kiss on my lips and pulls me into his chest where he holds me for a long time, as
if he’s scared if he lets me go I’ll be gone forever. I’m not going anywhere. He is it for me, my soul mate, the one man I can never see parting from, despite the hidden demons within. He’ll share those in good time. I just have to be patient.
Chapter Fourteen AARON
Present day . . . “Come on, dude, pick it the fuck up,” I snap at Racer, who is more than sluggish this morning. “We are already behind. We need to finish the drywall today.” “We have employees to do this.” “And since they’re behind, we have to pick up the slack, so get your shit into gear. I can’t do this on my own.” Racer huffs and lifts the drywall over his head and then props it up for me to drill. “What’s your problem today?” “What’s my problem?” I put a drywall screw on the drill and secure part of the sheet of drywall to the ceiling. “What the hell is your problem?” “Isn’t it obvious? I put too much beer down my beer hole last night. Georgie was in rare form last night and decided to challenge me to a drinking contest. For every beer we drank, the other person had to take clothes off. Wanting to stare at her boobs, I chugged. If I knew you were going to be
bossy bitch pants today, I would have just seduced her with my manly ways.” “Don’t fucking say beer hole.” The images for some reason are fucked up in my head and the last thing I need to picture is Racer’s “beer hole.” “Lighten up, man. You’re making this a very hostile working environment. I’m not opposed to taking this to HR.” “Go ahead, tell Lucia about your ‘hostile’ work environment. I’ll be sure to let her know you came in hungover.” Racer studies me. “You know, how about we solve this like the bosses we are, no need to bring our upper management issues to HR.” “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Yes, we own the company but our silent investor is Georgie’s father. That’s right. Racer’s girlfriend’s dad, therefore Racer tries to avoid escalating any issues to him if we can avoid it. He’s still trying to prove his worth to the man, even though he doesn’t need to. Racer tosses a screw at me and asks, “Seriously, what is going on? Why do you look like you’re hauling a bazooka around in your back pocket ready to blow the heads off people who get in your way?” I drill in another screw, my mind racing to the other night. She knows about my brothers, but how much does she know? Will she be able to piece
together my past with Trey’s? Will she be able to figure it out? I never told her. I never came close to mentioning it. When I was younger, I was interested in their lives, what it was like to be in their shoes, but after call upon call from my mom giving me the update on the luxurious and privileged lives they were living, I wanted to forget them, to erase them from my memory. What was the point of talking about them to Amelia? They’d never be a part of my life. Why would I tell Amelia I was the brother deemed unworthy of a good home? “Come on, man, just fucking say it. You know you’ll feel better.” He reaches over to tickle my side like the douche he is, and I swat him away. “Do you want us to get injured on the job? This scaffolding is not going to hold us if you’re acting like a dickhead.” “Then just fucking talk it out. Does it have to do with Amelia?” I put in the last screws then set the drill on the scaffolding. I run my hand through my hair and nod. “We had such a fun night the other night volunteering. It was like old times, and fuck, did it feel good. When we got back to our houses, we sat on my truck and talked for a bit.” “So what’s the problem?” I cringe, thinking about the look on her face, the
one that’s burned in my memory. “I blew up at her.” “Not with your bazooka?” Racer dramatically asks. The urge to punch him square in the eye is real. “Why do I even fucking bother?” I shake my head as Racer stops me from hopping down to the ground, a good distance away. “I’m just trying to lighten the mood. I’m sorry, why did you blow up at her?” Thinking back to that moment, I can’t believe the mention of my brothers slipped out of her mouth. That was the last thing I expected her to say. That drunken night, fuck, it was one of the worst nights of my life, only second to when I actually followed through with breaking up with Amelia. I was so mad, so angry, so defeated. I was striving to be a better man, a more suitable man for Amelia, and then my mom called. She’d received an update on Runt, and on the same day, Tyke happened to email her as well, letting her know how he’d accepted an amazing job offer. Beaming with brilliance about the men she gave birth to, she boasted, only to follow up with a low jab at me about my job, and if I planned on working at the sanitation plant forever. What the fuck did it matter if I did? It’s not like she’d assisted in getting me to where I was; she
should have been happy I wasn’t some lowlife like my father. But reasoning with her was like reasoning with a brick wall, so I flew off the deep end. I decided to drink, and drink I did. I barely remembered Amelia showing up. I sure as shit didn’t remember saying anything to her, and there was no way I could’ve heard her speak to my mom on the phone. Now I wish I had, because I want to know exactly what was said in that conversation. “She kind of dropped a bomb on me last night,” I continue. “We were talking about our relationship and she asked why I didn’t let her into my world. I told her she had been my fucking world.” “Obviously.” Racer knows, he knows all too well what it’s like to be owned mind, body, and soul by a woman. “She then asked why I never told her about my brothers.” Racers props up, his jovial attitude morphing into something of serious concern. “How the hell does she know about your brothers?” I recount the night I got seriously drunk and my alcohol-affected attempt to break up with her. “So she talked to your mom?” “I guess so.” “Knowing what you’ve said about your mom, I’m sure she didn’t have much of a filter during that conversation, especially if she knew she upset
you.” That’s what I’m afraid of. I pull on the back of my neck with both of my hands. “What do I do, man? Do I ignore my blow up and act like everything is okay? Do I just go about my regular business? Or do I bring it up? Do I ask her for details?” Racer shrugs, looking a little perplexed too. “I don’t know. I guess it all depends on what you really want to come out of this situation. Do you want to dive deep into a post-mortem of your past relationship, or do you want to start fresh?” And that’s the million-dollar question. Things could backfire badly if I don’t tell her about Trey. If she finds out I know, or rather knew, she’d been dating my brother—that’s if she breaks up with him —I don’t know if we’d come back from that sort of thing. I don’t think I have as many chances this time around. Fuck. I don’t want to tell Racer and Tucker about that little nugget yet. I’ll have to, but to be honest, I don’t want them to talk me out of pursuing Amelia even though she’s dating my brother. Dive deep or start fresh? “Start fresh, but wouldn’t that require me to be open and honest with her about the past she knows a sliver about?” Racer pats me on the back. “It would.” Once again, that’s what I’m fucking afraid of.
*** Rain and hail pelt my face as I hold up my hand, trying to see where the hell I’m going. It took about ten minutes of frustration and getting soaked, but I finally have my generator up and running after I assisted half the neighborhood. This has to be one of the nastiest storms I’ve experienced, and it isn’t quitting any time soon. A flash of lightning followed by a giant rumble of thunder shakes me from my feet up as I make it back into my house. Soaking wet, I quickly disrobe to nothing and pick my clothes off the floor so I don’t ruin the hardwood. I toss them in my bathroom hamper as I hear a knock at my door. Shit. I don’t want to scare one of my elderly neighbors with my fucking dick hanging out, so I quickly wrap a towel around my waist and jog to the front door. When I open it, I’m startled to see a wet Amelia with her hands in her pockets, hopping from side to side. It’s dark in the entryway, so I flip on a light and when her eyes adjust, she takes in my bare torso, her eyes roaming from my tattooed arms, to the scar on my chest, down my abs, and to just above where my towel drapes around my hips. When her gaze returns to mine, I notice a slight blush in her cheeks.
“Uh, sorry were you in the middle of something?” she asks, looking at the ground. “No, helped out a few neighbors with their generators. I was soaking wet, so I was about to change. What’s up?” This feels awkward and not just because the only thing covering me is a thin terrycloth towel. “The power is out in my house. Mrs. Ferguson doesn’t happen to have a generator as well, does she?” Fuck. “No, she hasn’t put one in yet. She was waiting for next year after she’s saved for it. Shit.” I scratch my jaw. “Umm, I have a guest room you can stay in for the night. The power should be back on by tomorrow.” “Oh, no. That’s okay. I don’t mind the dark, I was just checking to see if there was a generator. If not, no big deal. Thanks though.” She turns away from me but not before I reach out and grab her shoulder. “Amelia, you’re not going to hang out in the dark over there. I have a generator that’s working perfectly fine.” “Aaron . . .” She sighs. “That’s not a good idea. Things between us are strained—” “They’re not,” I rush to say. Pulling on my hair, I watch her eyes scan my bicep. It’s not easy to avoid being distracted by her perusal. By her . . .
hungry eyes. “I’m sorry about the other night. I shouldn’t have gotten mad at you like that. You were right. There were some things I held back from you because I’d tried to forget them. I just”— I sigh, hating that I’m having this conversation in a towel—“can you come in for a second so I can get changed?” A little unsure, she gnaws on her lip and then nods. I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until she starts walking into my house. Her clothes are dripping wet, making her look so small, so ragged. I’d hand her my towel, but that’d leave me in nothing, and I doubt this is the time to reintroduce her to my penis. “Give me a second. I’ll grab a towel.” When I step away, a loud crack of thunder shakes the house, jumpstarting my heart. Hell, that was loud. I race to my bedroom, which is upstairs, and quickly change into a plain T-shirt and grey sweatpants. I towel off my head, snag a pair of flannel pants and an old shirt for Amelia, and head downstairs. She’s standing in the entryway, taking in my house when I reach her. “Uh, I figured you might be a little cold and wet. Bathroom is to the right, past the dining room, and there are clean towels under the sink. Here are some clothes if you want to change.” “Thank you,” she answers quietly before
grabbing them and rushing to the bathroom. With a hand towel from the kitchen, I wipe up the wet floors and start the kettle for tea. I know she’ll want some; she always has tea during thunderstorms. She always had tea during thunderstorms. The kettle starts to whistle when she pops out of the bathroom. “In the kitchen,” I call out, “to the left.” When she finds me, she leans against the doorway and says, “I hope it’s okay that I hung my clothes on the shower rod.” My back is toward her, fixing us both some tea. “That’s perfectly fine.” When I turn around, I’m met with one gorgeous fucking sight in front of me. Amelia, drowning in my clothes, her little body entirely too small for my large clothes, but she makes it work with some folding of the pants and tying of the shirt. Her hair is wet and now draped over her shoulders, letting little pelts of water drip down the shirt she’s wearing and fuck, I’m pretty sure she’s not wearing a bra by the way I can see a slight bump of her nipple. I clear my throat and hand her a mug. “Tea?” “You remembered.” She smiles while taking the mug. “There is very little I’ve forgotten, Amelia.” I cast a serious glance her way. My gaze must be too strong because she turns toward the living room.
Making herself at home, she sits on the couch and tucks her feet under her. How many times have I envisioned this very moment in my head, where Amelia is cuddled up on my couch with a cup of tea in her hand, wearing my clothes? But unlike my dreams, I can’t touch her, I can’t wrap myself around her like I want to because she’s not mine. “Your house is really nice, Aaron.” “Thank you.” I quickly load the fireplace with logs so I can start a fire to light and heat the room. I have a generator but tend to avoid maxing out if I can. Once the fire is well on its way, I grab my cup of tea and sit on the other side of the couch, facing Amelia. “What do you know?” I ask her, hoping she’ll open up. How much did my mom tell her? Does she know Trey is my brother? Has she been with him this entire time, knowing we share the same blood? I’m not sure that’s something I can handle if it’s true. From over her mug, her eyes search mine. “Just that you have brothers. I don’t know how many.” My shoulders ease some of the tension they’ve carried. She sips from her mug and says, “I want you to know that the night I talked to your mom, the minute she said something about your brothers, I knew I was crossing a line. I knew she was telling me information you probably didn’t want me to hear about, but I can’t understand why you didn’t
want me to know.” If I ever want to have a chance at being with her again, I need to open up. “I have two biological brothers.” “Biological? As in same mom and dad?” I nod. “Why didn’t you ever talk about them?” My heart is racing at an impeccable speed, making it difficult to breathe. “I didn’t grow up with them. My mom gave them up for adoption.” “Both of them?” “Yeah. I only know them through letters and pictures from their adoptive parents.” Amelia sits quietly for a second. I can see her mind racing, as if she’s trying to connect the dots. “A loving family,” she whispers. “What?” Her eyes meet mine, and there is a softness to them now, a deep understanding. “That night, you said something that stuck with me. You said I deserved someone with a loving family.” I squeeze my eyes tight. Fuck, why did I have to get blackout drunk? “You also said no one wanted you besides the woman who didn’t deserve you.” She tilts her head to the side. “You were talking about your mom, weren’t you?” Embarrassed, I nod. “Yes.” I place my tea on the coffee table and turn to her. “I had a shitty childhood, Amelia. My mom acted like she loved me, like I was the only thing in her life she cared
about, but she really didn’t.” “Why do you say that?” “Because, if she truly cared about me, she would have given me the same opportunity to thrive like my brothers. There were nights I went to bed without food, because she forgot to go grocery shopping. I’d wanted to play on the football team, but I couldn’t because my mom wasn’t reliable enough to get me to practice. There were mornings I wished I didn’t wake up to my mom hungover from God knows what on the couch, using my fucking homework as her cushion. And when I was the most bitter, the most angry about her not acting like a mom, she would boast about what a great person she was for selflessly giving my brothers a better life. All I could think about was what about me?” Why had I not deserved the better life? Why did she keep me if giving away my brothers gave her the most joy? Why? Me? “Oh Aaron, I had no idea.” “I know. I tried to hide that part of my life. It’s why you never spent too much time with my mom. Why we spent holidays at your house, because I couldn’t bear to have you exposed to that side of me.” It was a truth I’d wanted thrown away forever. “You could have told me. I wouldn’t have looked at you any differently.” “And I should have known that, but I was too
damn ashamed.” “There is no reason for you to be ashamed about something you have no control over. You should be proud.” She scoots closer and puts her hand on my leg. “You have come so far from when I first met you. Look around, Aaron. You own a beautiful house, you have your own construction company, and you have loyal friends. You’ve done so well.” My eyes lift to hers. “But the one thing I really want doesn’t belong to me anymore because like a dumbass, I let her go.” It’s on the tip of my tongue, the biggest confession. You’re dating my biological brother. You’re dating the one person I’ve envied the most. Who’s always had everything I’ve ever wanted, and now most importantly, that includes you. But I can’t. I can’t fucking say it. I can’t risk telling her. What if she sees the difference between us? The same difference my mom sees? What if she realizes she lucked out and picked the right brother? I can’t stomach that. I can’t fathom knowing that, if Amelia had a choice, she would still choose Trey over me. It would fucking destroy me. So I keep my mouth shut. She doesn’t need to know because it won’t matter, not when I win her back.
She searches me, her chest rising and falling faster. I’m tempted to say fuck it, to take what I think is mine, to scoop her up into my arms and show her how much I’ve missed her, how much we truly belong together. How much I need and want her. But I know if I do that, she’ll resent me, because Amelia is loyal. I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize that. I won’t. That doesn’t mean I won’t let her know how I truly feel. I think that’s okay. I can’t act on it, though. Perhaps she’ll think it a cowardice move, telling her how I feel and then leaving the ball in her court. But I lied to her three years ago about my feelings, and I don’t want to lie about them again. “Why?” she asks, her words a small whisper. Her hand still rests on my leg, her body leaning toward mine, the light flicker of the fire bouncing off her smooth skin. Shit, I want her so damn bad. Losing my train of thought, I ask, “Why what?” “Why did you let me go? Why did you turn your back on me?” Not expecting to dive into what we used to have, I shift on the couch, trying to get somewhat comfortable, which causes Amelia to pull her hand back, but it doesn’t make her sit any farther away. “Did you really stop loving me?” Her voice breaks and her face falls flat, sadness consuming her.
I lift her chin and shake my head. “Never, Amelia. I’ve never stopped loving you.” “Then why?” “Because.” I swallow hard. “Because you needed to leave. You needed to take the scholarship at Columbia. I could see it in your eyes; you were ready to give it all up to stay with me.” “I was. I wanted to be with you, Aaron.” “And that’s exactly why I broke us up, because you were going to give up so much for something so small. I couldn’t let you waste your dreams on me.” “You could have moved with me.” “No.” I shake my head. “I couldn’t.” How do I explain this, after everything we just spoke of? It’s going to sound so fucked up in the head . . . maybe because it is. “I couldn’t leave my mom. Despite everything I can’t stand about her and the amount of animosity I hold against her, she’s still my mom. She would have destroyed herself if I left, if she lost me as well.” “I would have waited for you. We could’ve worked it out. But you . . . you didn’t give me a chance.” “Because you deserved better, Amelia,” I say sternly. She sits back on the couch, a little stunned from my tone. “You deserved so much fucking better. You were going places. You had aspirations. I was a trash sorter at the sanitation plant with an
out-of-reach dream for a different future. At the time, I would never have imagined I would be where I am today, and I didn’t want to hold you back.” Amelia purses her lips as her eyes narrow. “That’s the stupidest reason I’ve ever heard.” Setting her tea on the coffee table next to mine, she paces my living room. “You really broke up with me because you didn’t think you were good enough, and you didn’t want to hold me back?” Umm, this wasn’t how I envisioned this conversation going. I knew she would be mad, but angry, pissed off, looking to wring my neck with her own damn hands, yeah, that reaction never crossed my mind. Not even once. “You had so much going for you. I wanted you to go for it.” “Bullshit,” she spits out. She pushes her hair back and stares at me. “You took the coward’s way out.” Okay, now she’s starting to piss me off. If she only fucking knew . . . “Coward?” I stand as well. “How the fuck is that the coward’s way out? I gave up the only thing I loved. I was fucking miserable.” Coming closer, she pokes me in the chest, her fiery spirit kicking in. “We could have worked it out, but you chose to give up instead.” “For you,” I add.
“No, Aaron, what you did had nothing to do with me and everything to do with you. College wasn’t forever, but we were. We were supposed to end up together, but you gave that up because you couldn’t put in the time.” “Don’t fucking say that. I would have done anything for you.” Anger inside me starts to boil over as the storm outside picks up. Rain pelts my windows, thunder rolls constantly over the house, and lightning strikes simultaneously. “You destroyed me,” Amelia states, emphasizing every word. “You made me believe you never truly loved me. You took a piece of me I wanted to hold on to for a lifetime. You were my first and only love, Aaron. You unfairly made a decision for the both of us and took any chance of me being able to rectify what you so wrongfully stole from me.” Hearing the pain in her voice, the way she struggles to get the words out, my heart breaks into a million pieces. Leaning against a wall, I let out a heavy breath. “I thought I was doing the right thing.” I rub my eyes with my palms. “I was so fucked in the head, Amelia. I nosedived after you left. Racer and Tucker are the only reason I’m not living in a gutter somewhere.” Amelia shakes her head, tears spilling from her eyes. “You caused us both so much pain when all you needed to do was talk to me.” It wasn’t that easy. Why can’t she see it wasn’t that simple?
“I was too damn ashamed. I’d rather push you toward your dream than have you push me away.” “I loved you, Aaron. I never would’ve pushed you away. I wanted to make room in my life around you, because you were the center of it.” “Why? Why did you want me?” I ask, needing some kind of reasoning. I’ve never felt like the center of anyone’s life. I revolved around my mom’s moods and selfless achievements. Every time she told me or others how selfless she’d been, I always felt as though I was a thorn in her side. The child she had to keep, had to give a shitty life . . . as if it was all my fault. As if I was the root of selfishness. So although I’d felt touches of importance being loved by Amelia, I never felt I deserved it. That . . . significance. And even though she said I broke her heart, that she would’ve made room for me, I was—again—simply the recipient of generosity. She moved on. Her heart had been broken, but she moved on and now loves someone else. How can she say I was her world if she so easily moved on? So, fucking why? “Why was I so damn important to you?” I sound angry, but I can’t temper the fire inside me. “What could I offer you that no one else could?” The anger igniting her words dissipates as she studies me. Her eyes soften, and her shoulders slump. Confused, she walks toward me until she has me pinned against the wall. With trepidation,
her hand connects with my jaw, her gaze trained on mine. “Did you really think you had nothing to offer?” she asks quietly. “Did you have that much self-doubt that you truly didn’t think you were good enough to be with me?” I nod, my throat too damn tight to answer. A lone tear streaks down her cheek. “That makes me so sad, Aaron, because you gave me the world. You taught me to be carefree, to live freely, to experience everything firsthand. You instilled adventure in my life. You showed me what it felt like to be passionately loved. You were my first, but you showed me that being intimate could be an all-consuming act of being in love with another human. Never once did I care about the material things when it came to our relationship, because what I cared most about what this.” She presses her hand against my heart as her other hand holds my jaw. My breath hitches in my chest as her warm body presses against mine. I can’t help it. I can’t stop my body from reacting to hers. There is no way I can keep my hands off her. I bring my hands to her hips where I grip her tightly, fucking reveling in the feel of her again. Everything about this woman has my body and mind begging for one more chance. “I’m sorry,” I say softly, pulling her closer. Her chest rises and falls against mine, her nipples pebbled and alert as her hand on my chest glides up to my neck where she grips me tightly.
“I’m so fuckin sorry,” I whisper, pressing my forehead against hers. My body tingled with awareness, with how close I am to her. Just inches from taking what I want, what I so desperately need. Her other hand also finds the back of my neck. Her scent fills my senses, eating me whole, making me yearn so fucking bad that I might burst into flames if I don’t get to taste her, just a little, just for a second. I feel myself starting to lose control; my will is slipping. God, I want her. I need her. This consuming feeling of claiming her as mine is taking over. “I’m sorry, too. I wish I’d put up more of a fight. I was so crushed.” Our noses touch, our lips are so close, so tempting. My hands find the hem of her shirt and slip underneath, running up her bare back. Her skin is so soft, just as I remembered. Silky and smooth, my palm presses against her back as it goes higher and higher until it’s between her shoulder blades. No fucking bra. I glance down and spot a small strip of her skin peeking out from where her shirt is lifted. I want to taste that strip of skin, run my tongue along it and then dip lower. Tempting the thin ounce of self-control I have left in me, I move my hands until they’re at her
ribcage. My thumbs rub her skin, so close to her breasts but not close enough. Her breath hitches, and she shifts in my embrace, moving closer as she exhales, the tiniest of moans accompanying it. What would she do if I kissed her, if I moved my hands a few more inches and held her breasts? Would she care? Would she be mad? Or would she lose control like I’m about to? Fuck, I hope she wants this as much as I do. Speaking low, desperation lacing my voice, I say, “I wish you’d put up more of a fight too.” But I’m fairly certain I wouldn’t have conceded. I was blind to the unfairness of life, of my life, and wouldn’t have moved from that point. The bottom line would have been the same, no matter what. She. Deserved. More. I pull her in even closer and lick my lips. She does the same. Her intentions are as clear as mine. I bend to her lips, my heart beating so rapidly I’m afraid I’ll fall over. I move those last inches forward then a loud boom of thunder erupts over the house, shaking the bones of the foundation and scaring us both, putting distance between our intimate embrace and hitting us with a fresh dose of reality. We almost fucking kissed. We almost kissed when Amelia isn’t mine to kiss. When I spot her over on the other side of the living room, her hand is in her hair, her eyes looking
a little wild and her body buzzing. We make eye contact, and I’m tempted to stalk over to her, replicate our hold, and kiss her, kiss her so fucking hard, but I hold back because there is some serious regret hiding behind those expressive eyes of hers, and the last thing I want is for her to regret me, to regret us. “We almost kissed,” she says in disbelief. “God, I almost kissed you.” “I’m sorry—” “What the hell were we thinking?” “Well, I don’t think—” “You had your hand up my shirt.” She points at me with an accusatory finger. Trying to lighten the mood, I say, “Technically it’s my shirt, and it wasn’t like I was grabbing your boob. I was just, uh, making sure your spine was in line.” That comment rewards me with a get real look. “Don’t worry.” I give her a thumbs up. “Your back checked out just fine.” “Aaron.” She stomps the ground in front of her, causing me to smile. “I’m being serious. I’m in a committed relationship, and we almost kissed. I can’t be kissing you, not when I’m with someone else.” “We can fix that easily. Just break up with him. See? Simple.” Although I know it’s anything but simple.
“What? No.” Even though she’s saying no, I see the way she looks at me, the way her body reacts to mine. There is still something resting heavily between us and I’ll be damned if I’m not going to act on it. I walk toward her, my eyes trained on hers. Slightly scared, she backs up until she’s against the wall. I take that as my cue and close in on her, pinning her against the wall with both my hands on either side of her head. I have her just where I want her.
Chapter Fifteen AMELIA
This is not good. This is sooo not good. He’s too close, dangerously close. And I can’t stop staring at him, taking in the way his muscles contract with every movement he makes, the way he sears me with just one look, the way he smells like fresh laundry and pure masculinity. And I also can’t stop licking my damn lips. There is only one reason for my behavior. From the way my body responds to his, I’m so not over this man. Not even close, despite how much I wish I am. Every time he’s near me, my stomach flips, my heart rate picks up, and memories of what used to be immediately replays in my head. He has me locked against the wall right now, and as a woman in a healthy relationship, I should easily be able to push him away from me, and say, “No, no, sir. I’m spoken for.” But instead, the juncture between my thighs aches. No, it burns for him, as my pelvis slowly dry-humps the air in his direction.
Classy, so fucking classy. I’m just horny, that’s all. I haven’t seen Trey in a few weeks, and I haven’t heard from him in a couple days. And when I don’t see or hear from my man in a few days, I get stir-crazy. That’s it. It’s not the six-foot-six, giant muscle of a man hovering over me, piercing me with his seductive eyes, and filling me with an impossible sensory overload that my body’s only response is to casually dry-hump the air. It’s not that at all. “You might be in a relationship, Amelia, but you want me,” he says, his voice rumbling over my body like the thunder outside. “Not true,” I answer meekly, but we both know it’s a lie. My hands reach out to hold on to his waist, but I stop them and tuck them behind my back. There is no touching . . . God, but I want to touch him. Everywhere. Leaning in closer, he runs his cheek against mine and presses his lips against my ear, sending chills down my body. He smells so good, like soap and rain. “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. Until you’re ready to admit it, I will sit idly by, waiting for you.” For some reason, I don’t think sitting idly by is something Aaron can actually do. The scruff on his cheek rubs against my face, his lips a whisper away, his breathing just as heavy as mine. What can one little kiss do? Just a taste? I
mentally shake my head. I know exactly what it would do. This is Aaron. It wouldn’t just be one little kiss. It would turn into something more, something dangerous, something I wouldn’t be able to stop even if I put every ounce of effort I had into doing so. I can’t kiss this man. “I’m with Trey,” I state with panic as my nipples harden when I catch another whiff of him. “And I’m truly happy for the son of a bitch.” There is humor in his voice. He pulls away and tips my chin up, his eyes heavy on mine. “I’ll wait. I’ve waited this long, no point in rushing the inevitable.” “You’re so confident,” I state, trying to calm my racing heart. I want him. I want him. I want him. “I am. For once in my life, I’m sure of one thing. You’re mine, but until that day comes when I can claim you as mine again, I’ll be your friend.” God, that smile. It’s probably one of the first things I noticed about him. It’s smug yet sweet. Dangerous. And seriously unfair when I’m horny. But he’s also stepping back to give me space. He knows I’ll kiss him if he leans in any closer. Yet, he’s gallant. Kind of. He is protecting me, yet again, from hurting myself . . . and Trey inadvertently. “You’re back to that friend thing again?” I ask, swallowing hard, grateful there is some space between us. “I’ve always believed you need to be friends
with the one you love because how else are you going to get along?” He retreats to his entertainment center that’s rustic modern and opens a cabinet, pulling me out of the Aaron fog he almost drowned me in. I can’t see what he’s doing over his large frame, but when he stands, he holds out a pack of cards and Jenga. “Now, friend, what would you like to play, cards or Jenga?” This overly confident Aaron, the one who’s wiggling his eyebrows at me right now, the one who looks like he’s had ten thousand pounds lifted off his shoulders—he’s dangerous. I can feel it already. He can wiggle his eyebrows all he wants, but I’m with Trey, and it’s staying that way. My relationship with Aaron was wonderful, but I was young. He was attentive, kind, passionate, all-consuming. Even though Trey and I are the same age, our relationship is more mature. Yes, I can admit I want Aaron. Physically. Because I know it would be good. Incredible. It always was. But Trey doesn’t deserve my unfaithfulness. Trey didn’t push me out his door to chase my dreams or because he didn’t trust me to know my own mind. He let me leave, knowing he’d come after me. He loves me, and he will follow me. Trey won’t break my heart. He picked up the pieces Aaron threw away, albeit for noble reasons, and cherished me. Cherishes me. It’s that knowledge I’ll cling to. I’ll probably never stop
loving Aaron because he was my first. And well, because he is one of the most wonderful men I’ve ever met. But despite his confidence, I have given my heart to Trey. *** “Do you still eat six eggs every morning?” Aaron smiles at me over the Jenga tower. “Eight eggs now.” I thought Jenga would be safe to play until Aaron decided to change the rules up and add a little spice to the game. If you secure a block on top, you’re allowed to ask the other person a question—within reason, that was my addition—and so far, it’s been fun. It’s like we’re meeting each other again with our easy getting-to-know-each-other-again questions. As friends. The storm hasn’t eased up much. There is still no power at my house, so I’ve decided to take Aaron up on his offer to stay the night, but only because I’m a bit of a wuss and don’t want to be alone in the dark. But can you blame me? Who wants to be alone in the dark during one of the worst storms the city has seen in years? Can I see a show of hands? I know what you’re thinking. I would rather be with the boy next door playing Jenga. Yeah, me too. “There is no way you eat eight eggs every
morning unless you have a chicken coop out back.” “Maybe not every morning; sometimes it’s five eggs with some yogurt.” “That still seems absurd.” He shrugs, then easily pulls out a block and places it on top. Cracking his knuckles, as if this game is too easy for him, he asks, “Do you have an ex-boyfriend box full of stuff from when we were dating?” “No,” I answer too quickly, and he knows it. Pointing at me, he says, “Liar. Now I get to ask you another question.” “What? Where did that rule come from?” “I just made it up. We promised no lying so you have to pay your penance.” I shake my head. “No way, I’m not answering another question.” “Fine.” He starts to get up. “It’s either that or you have to take your shirt off.” Okay, now he’s really fishing to be inappropriate. “Do you really think that’s going to work on me, friend?” He strokes his jaw and eyes me. “You’re right, you’re too much of a prude to consider taking your shirt off. So I’ll take mine off.” Before I can protest, he grabs the back of his shirt and pulls it over his head, revealing bronze, toned, and tattooed skin. He tosses his shirt to the side, does some kind of flex thing with his pecs, and settles back into his
seat. “There, now we’re even. Your turn.” My turn. My turn? How on earth can I make a move when my hands are shaky, when my brain is filled with fog, when all I can focus on is the perfection of the man’s chest in front of me? He’s so different. I’d memorized his body when we were going out—his toned and perfect body— so believe me when I say a lot has changed. Let’s start with the obvious. He has tattoos now —sleeves that are starting to encroach his pecs— woven together intricately, framing his thick arms and making them seem sinister. And then there’s all that muscle. Everywhere there can be a muscle, Aaron has it, and it’s huge. Biceps, triceps, fucking forearms. His chest is powerful, corded. His biceps are massive, dominant, and his forearms are carved by sinew and veins. Lastly, and the most devastating of it all, his abs and the V, so rigid and tight. Where the hell did those come from and why are they so . . . defined? Maybe it’s the godforsaken eight eggs he eats in the morning. If you can get abs from eating eight eggs in the morning, I’ll start my own damn hen house right now. “Ahem.” He clears his throat. “Your turn, babe.”
“Yes, of course, sorry.” My face heats from embarrassment. Steadying my hand, I pull out a side piece—not going for anything risky—and put it on top of the stack. Thank God. “What’s your question?” He leans back, giving me a full view of his body. Damn him. My question is an easy one. “When the hell did you get all those muscles?” I have no shame right now. “And why did you wait until after we broke up to obtain them?” His head falls back as a deep laugh bubbles from the pit of his stomach. That sound, it’s so damn sexy. “A fan of the muscles, huh?” he asks over his laugh. “I never said I liked them, I just want to know when they came about.” “Fair enough.” He takes a sip from his water glass before answering. “It was after we broke up, after I met Racer and Tucker. They wouldn’t let me drink, they told me to occupy my time with something else, so I started boxing. Boxing turned into strength training, which turned into weightlifting, which stuck with me. It became something I obsessed over to keep my mind off you. It worked until you moved in next door.” The corners of his mouth tilt up. “Now I weightlift to impress you, and it seems like it’s working.” “Ugh.” I roll my eyes. “You’re awfully full of
yourself now.” He tends to the tower and speaks while he tries to wiggle a block free. “Not full of myself, just . . . relieved for the first time in three years. I’m glad we finally got to talk.” He peeks at me over the tower, looking for my reaction. When he places his block on top, he asks, “Which night was your favorite? When we stargazed in the middle of the park, or when we went to that drive-in movie theater in Pennsylvania.” “Not fair.” “You have to answer, or else I’m taking my pants off, which I have no problem doing.” I put up my hand, blocking my view. “For the love of God, please keep your pants on.” “Funny, you said the exact opposite at the drivein. Man, what a few years will do.” He raises his eyebrows at me. “Are you trying to make me blush?” He nods. “Well, it’s working.” “Good. Now answer the question.” I bite my bottom lip and look away as I answer. “Drive-in, for sure.” “I fucking knew it.” *** Five years ago, the drive-in . . .
“This place is a little janky,” I say, taking in our surroundings. “It’s supposed to be. That’s what’s so great about it.” I look out the window, observing the dead grass and the barely standing billboard in front of us. There are three other cars parked beside ours, all separated with lots of space in between. Two of the cars are already fogged up. “Is this just some giant car orgy?” Aaron chuckles next to me and laces our fingers together. “I think they’re just killing time before the movie starts. There is no way they’ll miss the thrilling title picture.” Scanning back to the sign out front, I read what’s playing tonight. “‘Twins’, with Danny DeVito and Arnold Schwarzenegger.” I turn back to Aaron. “I don’t think anyone will be tuning in.” “Bullshit, how can they not? Arnie and Danny are twins, it’s almost impossible to believe.” “It is impossible,” I counter. “Danny is the poop Arnold squeezes out every morning after his morning pump and coffee, so they’re not twins.” “I take it you’ve seen the movie?” I lean into his shoulder and rest my head. “Only a few dozen times with my dad. Huge fan of Danny DeVito.” “That’s my kind of man. I should have brought him here instead of you.”
“Now that would have been a sight to see.” I laugh. “My boyfriend and my dad together at a drive-in, surrounded by fogged-up, rocking cars. That’s not awkward at all.” “Not even in the slightest. Speaking of fogging up windows . . .” In one swift movement, Aaron pushes his seat all the way back and drags me on top of his lap so I’m facing him. It’s a tight squeeze given his height, but I’m able to position my legs on either side of his and sit back on my heels. “What do you think you’re doing?” I ask while playing with the buttons of his shirt. I love that every time we go out on a date, he dresses up in a button-up shirt. When I asked him why he didn’t wear a T-shirt, he told me because I deserve a proper date. He’s so sigh worthy. “Wasting time.” His hands rub my thighs. I’m wearing a navy-blue sundress that makes my boobs look amazing. I wore it specifically to turn him on. From the way I can feel him hardening beneath me, I take it he likes the dress. “You know I’m not about to have sex with you in your car, right?” “Who said anything about sex? I’m thinking a little heavy petting, a little motorboat action, and then we can enjoy Danny and Arnold.” I shift on his lap, feeling my leg start to cramp up. “This might not be the best idea.” “Giving up before we even get started, where’s
the free girl I know and love?” “It’s not that.” I shift again as my calf now starts to go tight. “I’m just trying to find a comfortable position.” I shift, trying to put less pressure on my leg and that’s when every muscle in my leg seizes on me. “Oh God,” I scream, reaching for where the pain is radiating. “Coming already? And I didn’t even have to do anything. You’re making this too easy on me, baby.” “No, my leg. Charlie horse.” My toes cramp up, and the arch of my foot is screaming in pain. “Oh fuck, Charlie horse!” I slap his chest with the hand that’s not holding my leg. “Get up, get up, get up.” “What? Shit.” Aaron starts to move under me but is caught by his seatbelt. “I’m still buckled in. I can’t get out.” “Ah hell!” My leg is so tight, I can’t move it an inch, so I flail my body to the passenger seat but that doesn’t do anything but stick my ass in Aaron’s face, my thong-clad ass. “Babe, watch what you’re doing with your . . . knee,” Aaron moans out loud just as I feel my leg connect with something a little too soft. “Oh fuuuuck.” Aaron folds over on top of me as he reaches for his crotch. “Get off me. Oh God, my freaking leg!” “My fucking balls.” Maneuvering one of his hands as he moans, he
undoes his seatbelt and tries to free himself from the car. My leg continues to pulse with pain as I wiggle around, trying to stretch my leg out in any way possible. It’s not until I’m feeling a great deal of wind flying over my bare ass that I realize Aaron popped out of the car, leaving my butt out in the open for the drive-in theater goers to get one hell of a preview. Not bothering to cover up, my stomach pressing against the center console, and my ass feeling the cool night air, I stretch my leg out and finally start to feel a little ease in the throbbing pain. “Oh Christ.” I bury my head in my hands. There is a light tap on my calf. Aaron’s strained voice washes over me. “I’m going to sit in the back until you’re ready to move.” “Okay.” I breathe out heavily. “Do you want me to cover your butt?” Exhausted, I answer, “I don’t care.” Aaron groans as he shifts behind me. He covers me up and takes a seat in the back. Concerned for his manhood, I ask, “How are your testicles?” “Trying to pop out of my belly button,” he grunts. “Remind me to never get in a fight with you, because your knees are vicious.” “I’m sorry.” Head still buried, I start to chuckle. “This is quite the date.” “Yeah, when I decided to bring you here, I had a
completely different idea of how this would turn out, and it didn’t include me holding my own damn balls while sitting in the back of my car by myself.” “No? That’s shocking.” The lights in the parking area die down and the movie projects onto the white billboard. “The movie is starting. We didn’t grab the speaker for the car.” “Add it to the list of mistakes we made tonight.” He chuckles. “What else is on that list?” I turn my head toward the glove box, feeling a slight bit of relief in my leg. “Well, my lack of potassium consumption has put a real damper on the evening.” “I told you to eat those bananas.” “Yeah, in preparation for the sex marathon you wanted to have,” I scoff, although, a sex marathon with Aaron is not something I would pass up. “And aren’t you kicking yourself in the ass for not listening to me now?” He chuckles, just loving his little freaking jokes. “What else is on the list?” “Hmm, well . . . granny panties would have been a better option over a thong.” “Now I disagree with that statement. I think a thong was a very smart choice because you have a sensational ass. You just fell victim to a poorly timed gust of wind. Don’t blame the thong, blame Mother Nature.” God, I wish I could see that brilliant smile of his
right now, because I know it’s stretched across his face. Bickering with him is so much fun, so I can’t stop yet. “No, I blame your car and your large body. Technically this is all your fault, trying to get all frisky when you know you’re a giant and we don’t have a lot of space in this little sedan.” “Now, now, now. It’s not polite to start pointing fingers, Amelia. If you want to point fingers, I will start wiggling mine at you for not properly warning me that your knee could have connected with my balls tonight. If I knew in advance, I would have worn a cup.” “You’re being absurd.” “Exactly. Is it making you want to come back here and knock some sense into me? I’m doing my best to try to get you to cuddle up on me.” “Pissing me off is not going to make me want to cuddle with you.” Growing a little serious, Aaron says, “Come on, baby. Come back here. I know your leg has to be feeling better by now. There is more room. I just want to cuddle.” And how can I deny him that request? Why would I deny him that request? Cuddling with Aaron is seriously one of my favorite things. He is so much larger than I am, so I feel so secure and loved within his arms. Carefully, I make my way to the back of the car
and ask, “Do you want me to grab the speaker?” He shakes his head. “No, I just want to talk with you while we watch Danny and Arnold.” We spend the rest of our evening making up our own commentary for the movie, talking about anything and everything, resting in each other’s arms . . . with maybe a little bit of heavy petting mixed in. The movie wraps up and the credits start to play, but we make no move to leave. Aaron strokes my hair and I keep my arm wrapped around his waist, my face plastered into his chest. He’s so warm, so protective. “Thanks for coming out with me tonight,” he whispers. “You don’t have to thank me, silly.” I press a kiss to his chin. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.” “Me either.” He shifts and sits me up. Feeling the loss of his comfort, I glance in his direction and that’s when I see how unsure he’s looking. He’s chewing on the inside of his mouth and his eyes are cast down. “Hey, what’s wrong?” I ask, starting to feel a little nervous. He runs his hand through his hair and sits up straighter, so I do the same. He takes my hand in his and turns toward me. “Amelia, I . . . uh.” He avoids eye contact and my heart falls. “You’re making me nervous.”
He exhales and his hand starts to shake in mine. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make you nervous.” He chuckles. “Fuck, I’m nervous myself.” Looking up at me, those soulful eyes put ease into my heart. “I’ve never really said this to anyone before, anyone I care so much about, so I’m kind of out of my element.” Clearing his throat, he brings my hand to his mouth, kisses my knuckles and says, “You mean the world to me, Amelia. You’re by far the most important person in my life and the best thing to ever come my way. I just wanted to tell you”—he swallows—“wanted to tell you I love you.” I don’t think I could love a man more than I love Aaron right here, right now with his shivering hands and uncertainty. Usually he exudes complete confidence, but then there are moments like this— moments that make him seem so genuine—where I feel my heart will explode. How did I get so lucky to find someone so perfect, for this man who was made just for me? My lip trembles and my eyes begin to water. I release my hand from his and cup his face. “There is no need to be nervous, Aaron, because I’m so desperately in love with you.” “Really?” he asks, a little surprised. It pains me to see him so shocked from my confession. How could he not know? “Really. I’m so in love with you.”
He rests his forehead against mine and exhales. “That makes me so damn happy, baby.” He lays me back on the seat and hovers over me to the best of his ability given the small space. I peer up at him, notice eyes full of love, a little wetness in their corners. “So fucking happy.” Lowering his head, his lips press against mine, soft and pliable at first until I pull him in closer. His tongue splits my lips apart and I match his strokes. His hands snag the hem of my dress and pull it up and then over my head, our lips parting briefly. I’m bare except my thong, my breasts exposed, yearning for his touch. “You, that’s all I need in life to be happy,” he confesses as he moves his lips down my neck, to my collarbone where he nips leisurely. His shirt rubs against my hardened nipples, heightening the sensation. Wanting his skin to touch mine, I yank on the back of his shirt, and with his help, I pull it over his head. His warmth immediately hits me as he hovers over me. I wrap my legs around his waist and connect my heat with his hardening length. When I rub myself against him, he moans against my skin as he takes one of my breasts in his mouth. “Yes,” I moan, lifting up into his mouth. “I want you forever, Amelia. Please say you’ll be my forever.” With my hands gripping him tightly, my legs not
letting go, and my mind fixated on one man and one man alone, I say, “I will be your forever, Aaron. That will never change.” Never.
Chapter Sixteen AMELIA
Present day . . . “Show me again.” I give Trey a get real look. “I’ve shown you three times now.” “I know, but I didn’t get a good look.” “You’re such a liar.” Sighing, I pull up my shirt one more time and show Trey the new bra I bought while I was shopping yesterday. “Ah, that Victoria’s Secret, she really knows what she’s doing when it comes to bras.” With his hand behind his head, his body resting on our bed, he smiles at the camera, showcasing his devastating charm. I pull my shirt back down and Trey protests. “Come on, I was just getting a closer look.” “Amanda is going to be here any second, and the last thing I want is for her to walk in on me showing you my bra.” “Lock the door then.” I can feel myself weakening with every smirk. I’m on the verge of ripping all my clothes off, taking out my vibrator, and giving him a show to
last him a few nights, but Amanda texted that she was five minutes away, so my impromptu sex show is out of the question. “You know what?” “What?” He shifts on the bed so he’s now lying on his side. All of his attention on me. “You’re trouble, mister. My friend is going to pull into my driveway any minute, and you have me considering a little sex show.” He sits up, his elbow supporting his position. “Really? Well, what the hell are you waiting for? Sex it up, give me a show. Take your clothes off,” he cheers, causing me to laugh. “Not going to happen.” I shake my head. “You’re going to have to wait until Sunday night when Amanda is gone.” He flops back down on his pillow. “This longdistance thing is fucked up. Is it too much to ask to be buried in your sexy-as-fuck tits?” “That’s all you want to be buried in?” I shift on the couch, getting myself seriously hot and bothered. Damn you, Amanda. “Great.” He tosses his hand in the air and directs the phone at his crotch where I see the outline of his cock. “Now I’m hard. Thanks, Amelia.” “It’s not my fault,” I state even though I’m kind of proud of myself. “Sure as hell is. Goddamn, here I come, cold shower. Just like the other night when you bailed
on me.” I still feel guilty about that. I texted him after I’d gone into the house, saying I had a horrible headache and was going straight to bed. And here he is again, horny because I started something and didn’t finish. I owe him big. He sighs. “I’ll let you go; tell Amanda I said hi. Love you.” I giggle from the pain streaming across his face. “Love you, too.” I hang up and hear a car door slam in my driveway. Bounding into my house, Amanda tosses her suitcase on my couch, kicks her shoes off in the middle of the room, and flees to the window where she peers through the blinds. “Where is he? Can you see him from here?” I shut the front door and let out a long breath. “Good to see you too, Amanda.” Still looking out the window, she waves for me to come to her. When I reach her, she wraps her arm around my shoulders and pulls me in for a hug, eyes still trained out the window. “Good to see you, pretty lady. Now tell me, can you see him from here?” “He’s not home.” “What?” The blinds snap close. “Well, that’s lame. How do you know he’s not home? Does he tell you when he’s home? Do you text each other? Talk on the phone?” She squeezes my hand and takes us to the couch where she forces me to sit
down. “Tell me all the information.” Her enthusiasm is a little overwhelming, and so is her bouncing leg. “You realize he’s just a neighbor, right? That nothing is going on. I’m with Trey, and that is not going to change, so your excitement to see Aaron is a little concerning.” “I know you’re still with Trey and you two are adorable together, but you have to forgive me. I haven’t seen Aaron in years and from the things you’ve said, he’s a real beefcake. And come on”— Amanda nudges my shoulder—“you have to admit, it’s pretty funny that Aaron is your neighbor.” “It’s not funny at all; it’s really inconvenient.” I lean back on the couch and rest my head on the cushion. “He has me thinking too much, and I don’t want to think.” “What do you mean? Wait.” Amanda stands from the couch and says, “One second.” She sprints out of the house like a mad woman, and I pray she’s not going to do something stupid to Aaron’s house when she comes back in. Thankfully, she holds up a bottle of tequila and margarita mix. “Please tell me you have ice.” “I do.” I chuckle as I follow her into the kitchen. It doesn’t take us long to make a giant pitcher of margaritas—we’re professionals—and rest back on the couch, pitcher in front of us on the coffee table and two margarita glasses with cactus stems in our hands. Amanda bought me the glasses a while back,
and they’ve traveled with me everywhere. Coincidentally, she has the same set. Sometimes we’ll have Skype dates and drink margaritas together from our matching glasses. “Okay, now we’re armed properly, back to what we were talking about. What do you mean Aaron is making you think?” “I don’t know. We’ve just been spending so much time together, and then I had to spend the night at his house, so it just—” “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold. Up. You spent the night at his house? You know you live like five feet away, right?” Didn’t think I could sneak that little tidbit past Amanda. “I’m well aware. It was when we had that big storm. Power went out and he had a generator.” “So you stayed the night?” I take a sip of my drink, thinking back to that emotional night. “It wasn’t my plan. I just wanted to see if my landlord had one, but she didn’t, and he insisted I come inside to talk.” “Talk about what?” She pauses and her eyes go wide. “About the past?” I nod, which causes her to take a huge gulp of her drink. “Sweet Jesus, what did he say?” “I don’t even know where to begin.” I recount the evening, telling her about our confrontation, how I spilled the beans about his brothers, and then he opened up about their
adoption. The whole time I was informing Amanda of everything, she slurped her drink down only to refill it again. “I can’t believe his brothers were given away for adoption.” “I know. The thing that guts me is he wishes he was adopted as well, but then he has some kind of crazy loyalty to his mom. It was one of the reasons why he knew he couldn’t move to the city with me.” “One of the reasons he broke up with you.” “Yup.” Amanda shakes her head in disbelief. “Unbelievable. I really don’t understand it.” “Me either. All I know is that after we talked, after we talked everything out, he made it quite clear he has every intention to get me back.” “No, he did not.” Amanda swats the couch. “He did not say that.” “He did. He . . . uh”—I bite my finger and try to hide the guilty look on my face—“he even took his shirt off at one point, and we might have almost kissed too.” “What?” Amanda shouts as she sits on her knees now. She’s so animated. It’s one of the things I like about her. No matter what story you tell her, she’ll always act like it’s a big deal. “You almost kissed?” I almost forgot about that part, which is weird because there hasn’t been a night that’s gone by
that I haven’t thought about it. Perhaps what’s worse is that I haven’t felt guilty, I haven’t really thought about how hurt Trey would be if he knew. And that makes me feel like the biggest ass in the world. “It was in the heat of the moment, but we didn’t kiss, and nothing happened. We agreed on just being friends.” The cackle that pops out of Amanda’s mouth is rather annoying. “Friends. Oh my God, that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. You think you can be friends with Aaron Walters, the forever man you planned on having babies with?” She shakes her head and takes another sip of her drink. “Uh-uh, no way in hell you’ll be able to keep things friendly. You loved that boy hard, Amelia. He was it for you. You can’t just forget those feelings and act like they never existed.” “We can be friends.” I hope. “We played Jenga the other night without any old feelings blossoming.” That might be a slight lie on my part. Thinking about Aaron threatening to take his pants off is a little factoid I can leave out. “I don’t think it can work. And what about Trey? Has he come up to visit yet?” “Just for that interview. Work has been really stressful.” And this part stings bad. Yes, we just had sexy fun on the phone, but it just feels . . . empty somehow. I slouch against the cushions, feeling a
little deflated. We knew it was going to be hard, but I truly had no idea. He’s been so busy that he has been absent. Long-distance relationships suck. “I mean, things are good with us. I just got off the phone with him before you got here, but sometimes I wonder if he’ll ever find a job. He’s qualified, but maybe overqualified. Just seems weird that he hasn’t been able to find anything yet.” “Really? Do you think he’ll still leave the city?” “I mean, he said he was moving up here. I know he’s had a lot of important things going on at work, career advancement things, so that keeps him firmly planted.” Amanda eyes me, and I know what she’s thinking, so I decide to steer her clear of her negative thoughts. “I’m driving down next weekend to spend my birthday with him. He said he has the entire weekend planned.” “Well, that’s reassuring.” Amanda shifts on the couch, skepticism very evident in her features. “What does he have planned?” “He said it was a surprise, but apparently it includes all my favorites things about the city.” “That’s cute. Maybe it’ll be the refresher you guys need. It’s hard being apart for so long, especially when there is a super-hot ex-boyfriend living next to you.” I give her a pointed look. “And speak of the devil. Look whose truck just pulled into the driveway.” Amanda puts her drink
on the coffee table and crawls on top of me, her knees digging into my stomach as she tries to catch a view of Aaron. “Will you please get off me?” “I want to see what he looks like. I want to see these muscles you speak of.” Amanda reaches the window, but I yank on her body so she can’t sneak a peek. “Hey, stop that, I can’t see.” “Exactly. He’ll catch you looking, and I don’t want him thinking it’s me.” “Don’t be paranoid. He won’t think that. Now let me catch a glimpse.” Pushing down on my head, trying to climb over me, she reaches for the blinds, but I hold strong and grip her around the waist, using my legs to hold her down as well. “Stop it.” She swats at my head. “Just a little looksy.” “No, he’ll see you.” “He won’t.” “He will.” “He—” Knock, knock. We still, our heads snapping to the front door. “Is someone at the door?” Amanda whispers, one of her hands holding on to my ponytail. “That’s what a knock usually means,” I whisper back. “Is it him?” Oh hell. “I have no idea.” I hold still, trying not to move
in case the person on the other side of the door can hear us. “Answer it,” Amanda scolds. “No.” “Why not?” “Because if it’s Aaron, I don’t want you anywhere near him. You’ll embarrass me, I know it.” Amanda scoffs. “Don’t be ridiculous.” She pushes off me, her hand palming my face for a brief second. “I’ll answer the door.” When she places one of her feet on the floor, I hold her in place. “Oh no, you don’t. You’re not answering that door. Just be still, the person will go away.” Knock, knock. “You’re being rude,” Amanda says as she plows her elbow into my thigh, causing me to buckle over in pain. She frees herself from my grip and rushes to the door. Right before she opens it, she fluffs her hair. You’ve got to be kidding me. I don’t even have to ask if it’s Aaron because that’s just my luck. Also, Amanda makes a low whistle sound when she opens the door. “Amanda?” Aaron’s voice floats into my house. “Aaron Walters, look . . . at . . . you.” I sit up just in time to see Amanda give him a very slow onceover. “You were right, Amelia, he has gotten sexier.” What? Jesus!
I hop off the couch, limping ever so slightly from the dead leg Amanda gave me. “I didn’t say that.” Amanda waves her hand. “It was in the realm of that. Come in, come in. We need to catch up.” Amanda wraps her hand around Aaron’s arm and pulls him into the house. When she passes me, she winks and squeezes his arm while mouthing, “He’s huge.” I shut the door behind them and bang my head on it a few times before joining them in the living room. I knew Amanda’s visit was going to be interesting, but I didn’t expect she’d be so open to having Aaron around. What happened to my best friend? Doesn’t she remember the broken Amelia she held through many tears? I glance at the empty margarita pitcher. Guess she’s been captured by tequila. This should be interesting. “How are you, Aaron? Man, the last time I saw you was, hmm”—Amanda grips her chin as she thinks—“the night you broke up with our little Amelia over there. Remember I went to your house and punched you in the neck?” Seeming a little frightened, Aaron glances at me, but I throw my hands up in defeat. He’s the one who came over here, so he can deal with Amanda. “Uh, yeah. I remember the throat punch because it was fucking weird.” I can still remember Amanda recounting her
“revenge” to me that night . The minute she found out, she drove to his place and knocked on the door. When he answered, she didn’t say a word. She simply cocked back, punched him, then left. In her mind, it was the perfect remedy. “Well, I’m not opposed to doing it again, so watch yourself,” she says sternly, holding her dainty fist up. “I don’t plan on breaking any more hearts, so you can put that lethal weapon away.” Smiling, Amanda pats his face. “That’s what I like to hear. Now tell me, Aaron, what are you doing these days?” He glances in my direction and says, “Besides trying to win the heart of your best friend again?” If there was ever a time to be able to take a reallife reaction and turn it into a GIF it would be right now. Mouth forming an O, her head turning slowly in my direction, Amanda gives me a surprised and ridiculous look. “Oh my, my, my. Heavy words right there.” “Don’t worry, I’m settling for friends right now.” The words “right now” don’t escape me. “My friends and I started and own a construction company. We’re in charge of one of the new housing developments in Vestal.” “An entrepreneur. Interesting. Seems like you’ve come a long way in three years.” She pokes his pec. “Especially in the old muscle department.”
He bows his head shyly. “That’ll happen when you fuck your life over, pushing away the only thing that ever mattered to you.” “Ahh.” Amanda nods her head dramatically and cups her chin. “So you’re admitting that you were a dumbass three years ago?” “Yes.” “And you can agree that my friend Amelia over here was the best thing that ever happened to you.” “By far,” he answers, his eyes trained on me, burning me up with their blue depths. What the hell is Amanda trying to do here? “And that it’s your own damn fault she’s now in a committed and loving relationship with someone else?” “Ouch.” He holds his chest. “That’s a blow.” Even though there is humor in his voice, I notice the tight set in his jaw. “It’s the truth, so don’t think you can come in here and ruin what she has going for her. Don’t make her do something stupid because you decide to take your damn shirt off.” Aaron’s lips turn up as he levels with me. “Told her about the almost kiss, huh?” “What? No.” “Yes,” Amanda says at the same time. “And you won’t be doing that again. Keep your hands to yourself. Don’t push her to do something that goes against everything she believes in. Amelia is not the
cheating type.” That quiets him. The humor in his features disappear, and his shoulders sag in defeat. He presses against his thighs and stands. Looking at us, he rubs the back of his neck and says, “Yeah, you’re right. I should get going.” He gives me a sad smile and starts for the door but Amanda stops him before he can make it there. “Oh, stop being so sensitive and sit the eff down. God. That wasn’t an invitation to leave, just a warning not to fuck with my friend. We have some catching up to do, Walters, and you can’t escape me that quickly.” *** “I want to hate you so bad, I really do.” “But you can’t,” Aaron says with a cocky grin directed at Amanda. She slaps the table. “Damn it, I can’t.” We ordered pizza, made more margaritas, and moved our little gathering to the dining room table where we’re casually playing Rummikub—thank you, Mrs. Ferguson—eating Nirchi’s—naturally— and drinking. It’s weird for me, hearing Amanda and Aaron reminisce, since all the stories they’re talking about obviously took place with me, but I can’t really be mad. Aaron wasn’t just my boyfriend. He was a son
to my dad, a friend to Amanda, a big part of everyone’s lives. I wasn’t the only one he hurt. But now that I know why, I can’t help but wonder what it would be like if we were still together. He wants me back, so does that mean he still loves me? Does he still want me to be his forever? I shake my head. It doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. I’m in a different place in my life now. That chapter, the chapter where Aaron and I were happily together is closed. When Aaron went to pick up the pizza for us, Amanda had a quick heart-to-heart with me. She told me she was mad at him, furious for breaking my heart, but understood his intention. She didn’t agree with them given how hurt I was, but she also said she can see the regret and hurt in his eyes. Instead of shunning him, she’s letting him know where her stance is on getting me back, and trying to enjoy her time catching up. I thought that was fair, because I have the same feelings toward the situation. Although . . . it almost seems like she has ulterior motives. Amanda leans forward on the table and points at him. “Those teeth, are they real?” Aaron chuckles while licking the front of his teeth—why is that sexy to me? “They’re real.” Slapping the table, Amanda says, “God, they’re white. Do you use that charcoal toothpaste that’s
all the rage now?” “No, just brush them.” “Uh-uh, don’t you bullshit me, Walters. Those teeth aren’t white from just brushing.” Amanda turns to me. “I mean look at them, Amelia, his teeth glow in the dark. Look at him.” Rolling my eyes, I glance at Aaron who’s shyly smirking at me. It’s the same smile I fell in love with five years ago, the one that effortlessly captured my heart. It’s a shy smile but packed full of sex appeal. “They’re not glow-in-the-dark white. They’re . . . nice.” He winks at me, which causes my stomach to flip. Wanting to change the subject, I say, “Amanda, instead of ogling Aaron’s teeth, why don’t you inform him of the insanely inappropriate crush you have on the governor of New York.” Amanda gives me a death glare but I don’t care. Payback’s a bitch, and she’s rearing her ugly head right now. “The governor?” Aaron asks, completely oblivious to the lasers shooting out of Amanda’s eyes. “As in Governor Paul? Do you like watching him on TV, or something?” “She works for him.” Aaron now turns his entire body toward Amanda and pokes her in the arm. “You work for the
governor, and you’re crushing on him? Got a little office romance going on there?” “No!” Amanda pushes her tiles out of the way, brat mode now infringing on our little game. “I never said I was crushing on him, I said he was hot. That’s completely different.” “Isn’t he ten years older than you?” Aaron asks. “Which makes him thirty-five, a healthy age for a man. He’s only five years older than you, so don’t start judging age, because you’re almost forty.” “Uh, not even close, but thanks for reminding me.” Aaron sits back in his chair and eyes Amanda. “Tell me, what do you like most about him? The way he steeples his hands when he gives speeches?” Pausing for a second, I watch the wheels spinning in Amanda’s head. “I actually like how his pants are so tight I can see the outline of his cock when he talks to me.” “I don’t know why I even asked.” Aaron chuckles to himself. A little curious, I ask, “Can you really see the outline of his cock?” Aaron’s eyebrows shoot up when he looks at me. “Oh yeah, and let’s just say . . . it’s huge.” Amanda shakes her head. “Shame he’s such a bastard though. He seems charming in person, but he’s a real asshole.” “Yeah, shame.” Aaron yawns and looks at his
watch. “I should go. I crashed your party for too long. I came over to make sure everything was fine with your power.” He takes in the well-lit house. “Looks like everything is good to go.” “Yup, I’m good. Thanks for checking on me.” Silence falls between us. I can feel Amanda’s focused attention, waiting for what’s to come next. Fortunately she speaks up. “I have to go to the bathroom. Aaron, it was great seeing you again, but leave my girl alone. Got it?” He presses his lips together and nods. “Got it.” Leaving abruptly, Amanda takes off toward the bathroom. Standing from the table, I say, “I’ll walk you out.” “I don’t get any leftovers?” he jokes while we head to the front door. “It’s the penance you pay for crashing our gathering.” “Fair enough.” When he gets to the door, he opens it but turns toward me, his large frame filling the little entryway. “Amelia,” he breathes out, sorrow in his eyes. “I want you to know I respect your relationship with your boyfriend.” And there is the man I fell in love with all those years ago. “Okay,” I say meekly, unsure how to react to that. Do I say thank you? Thanks for changing your mind and not seeing us as inevitable after all? He tilts my chin up, so I’m forced to look into
those soulful eyes of his. “I had my chance with you as Amanda pointed out tonight. I lost that, and I get it. I really do. Will I regret that decision for the rest of my life? Yes. And no. Yes, for selfish reasons, but honestly, look at where you are now. You’re helping kids, doing the job you always dreamed of, and I like to think I had a very small part in you accomplishing your dreams, no matter how much it’s killed me.” He pulls me into his chest, his arms wrapping around me. God, I love being in his arms. “I’m here if you need me . . . as a friend, and I mean that. Okay?” I nod, feeling a little choked up. It almost feels like this is the breakup we were meant to have. It makes me incredibly sad. It feels like he’s saying goodbye all over again. I wonder if he’ll be able to be my friend, or if he will pull away from that too. And maybe one day I’ll have to watch him fall in love with someone else. He kisses the top of my head, rubs my back a few times until I want to bury myself into his chest, but pulls away before I make a fool of myself. “Tell Amanda I had a good time. Good night, Amelia.” He shuts the door behind him, leaving me extremely confused and emotional. Amanda finds me standing in the entryway. When I turn to her, there are tears in my eyes. “Oh honey, come here.” Amanda pulls me into a hug
and holds me tightly. “Do you still love him?” “I don’t know,” I say on a wet sob. “Is it possible to love two men?” “I think it’s possible, but the question is, who are you in love with?” “I have no freaking idea. Am I only mourning what I used to have? I truly loved Aaron deep within my soul. Is that a feeling I’ll be able to get rid of?” From the skeptical look on her face, I think she doesn’t think so. Does that mean I’m still soul-deep in love with Aaron Walters?
Chapter Seventeen AARON
Tapping the little metal table I’m sitting at, I look at my watch one more time. Forty-five fucking minutes late. I should be used to this. I shouldn’t be irritated, or ready to punch a fucking wall, because this shit will never change. Ever. It’s just a reminder of every practice I missed, every game I couldn’t attend, and all the parties that happened without me. She can’t ever be on fucking time. It’s like time doesn’t exist to her. Her lack of common courtesy for the people around her drives me fucking nuts. Leaning forward on the table, I try to calm my anger in case she decides to show up. I stare at the concrete below me through the metal slats in the table when the telltale smell that haunted my childhood floats by me. Looking to the side, I see my mom, cigarette in hand, sunglasses covering her hollow eyes, and her hair looking stringy, unhealthy. She’s frail, skeletonlike in her loose jeans and baggy shirt that’s tied at her thin waist. I remember thinking she was
beautiful, despite her drug use, but now the drugs have caught up to her and she’s no longer vibrant. She’s a shell of who she was. “Hi, baby.” She waves before tossing her cigarette on the ground and stepping on it. Irritation consumes me when she leans down and gives me a kiss on the cheek; her smoky breath makes my skin crawl. “I thought you said you were quitting.” It’s the only greeting I can force out without jumping down her throat. “Oh, that’s the only one today. No biggie.” It’s always only one, when in reality it’s a pack. “You’re late, Mom. I told you I have a meeting right after this, so I can’t stay long.” “You can always make time for me. You always do.” She leans over and pats my hand, which I snag away from her. “No,” I snap. Her face contorts in surprise. It might be the smoke, or the fact that she’s thoughtlessly late, or maybe because I haven’t seen Amelia in over a week since she called saying she couldn’t make it to volunteer. Whatever it is, I lose my shit. “I can’t run on your time anymore. If you can’t show up on fucking time, it’s your problem, not mine.” “Aaron.” She presses her hand to her chest and leans back in her chair. “It wasn’t my fault I’m late.”
“It’s never your fault. You never take responsibility for anything.” “Where is this coming from?” I hate that she’s so clueless. She doesn’t get it. She’s so fucking blind to what it’s like to be a human being that she doesn’t understand how much she’s hurt me over the years. I run my hand through my hair and pocket my phone. “Forget it, Mom. I have to go.” “Why are you leaving? We didn’t get to have breakfast.” Looking at her, I put my sunglasses on and say, “If you showed up on time, we could have had breakfast together, but you were forty-five minutes late, Mom. I’m not waiting around for you anymore.” “Aaron, please don’t leave.” She starts her reliable fake cry that washes right over me now, having zero effect. “I’ll talk to you later.” I turn to leave when she shouts, “Wait.” When I give her one last glance, she asks, “Can you spare me a twenty, so I can at least get something to eat?” Fucking hell. Shaking my head, I pull out my wallet and toss a twenty on the table. “Bye, Mom.” “I love you, baby.” As I walk away, I can hear her smacking a pack of cigarettes on her palm. Some things will never fucking change. She can
afford her vice, but not food. The drive to work has me itching to make a wrong turn so I can head home and take a shower. That smell, that fucking smell. Smoke. It’s a smell that floods my memory, reminding me of empty promises, missed opportunities, and embarrassment. How many times did I bury my head under my covers, hoping and praying she would stop? Stop everything. The drinking, the drugs, the smoking. I wanted it to all stop. But it never did. And it probably never will. I’m thirty years old and still plagued by her choices. Sometimes all I feel is hate . . . hate for the woman who brought me into this world. Hate for the circumstances in my life. *** I’m ten minutes late. I hate being fucking late. Anxiety washes over me as I honk my horn, urging the fucker in front of me to move a little faster. Road rage consumes me as my hands grip the steering wheel tightly, threatening to break the damn thing in half from the anger raging through me. It all started with my mom this morning and the rest of the day went downhill. We ordered the
wrong tile for one of the master bathrooms we’ve been working on. Racer, acting like a dumbass, jumped on a piece of wood and wound up smacking himself in the head, giving him a concussion and eliminating him from the jobsite for a few days, putting us even further behind. Now I’m fucking late because construction on Southern Tier Expressway is ongoing and to get from my gym to the warehouse, I have no choice but to take it. Finally the jackass in front of me turns right. I press down on the gas and speed toward the warehouse. Within two minutes I’m cornering on what feels like two wheels into the parking lot and turning my truck off. I didn’t get a chance to take a shower or change out of my gym clothes so I’m coming in hot with only a fresh layer of deodorant coating my underarms. When I jog through the entrance, everyone is hard at work, putting in the final touches. Next week is Thanksgiving, but more importantly, it’s Amelia’s birthday. Is her boyfriend going to come up and visit? Is she spending the holiday with her dad? I wish I knew. Things have been strained between us ever since our little pizza party with Amanda, who seems to have killed my chances at moving in on Amelia, or at least made me feel guilty about it. She’s right, Amelia isn’t a cheater. That doesn’t mean I don’t want her, that I’m not
desperate to do everything in my power to make her mine again. It also doesn’t mean I’m backing down from Trey. Not going to fucking happen. In the brightly lit corner in the back of the warehouse, Amelia is wearing protective goggles, hard at work with a saw in her hand. Relief washes over me. She called in last week and didn’t make it, and part of me wondered if she’s avoiding me. Maybe she was, but I’m glad to see her this week. Eager to say hi, I’m about to jog over to her when someone grabs my shoulder. “Didn’t think you would make it today,” Mr. Buster says as he greets me while holding his trusty clipboard at his side. “Sorry about being late. Traffic was bad, and I had kind of a shitty day today. I lost track of time at the gym.” Mr. Buster waves me off. “No need to apologize, Aaron. You are my most dedicated volunteer. It’s okay if you’re a little late.” “It’s never okay to be late,” I mutter. God, I hate this reaction. It’s all because of her. The hairs on my skin prickle, and a light sheen of sweat coats my body. I feel the anger I carry on a daily basis start to boil in the pit of my stomach. To say she’s a hot button for me is an understatement. “Hey, are you okay?” Mr. Buster turns me to face him. “Your face is a little pale.” Shake it the fuck off, Walters. Don’t let her
invade this safe space you’ve created. I take a deep breath and nod my head. “Yeah, I’m good. Just a little lightheaded from trying to get here quickly.” I hold up my water bottle. “I’ll down this before I pick up any heavy machinery.” “Okay.” Mr. Buster eyes me skeptically up and down. “How’s things with Miss Santos?” I can see the knowing gleam in his eyes, the gleam that says, “Have you asked her out yet?” “We’re just friends.” I pat his shoulder and start to walk away. “Thanks for the kind words though.” “I don’t know,” Mr. Buster calls out quietly. “I see the way she looks at you when you’re not looking. Those hungry eyes of hers speak volumes for more than just friends.” He raises an eyebrow at me as he quirks his lip to the side. “But just my observation. Get to work, Mr. Walters.” Hungry eyes. One day. One day I’ll get the chance to act on those hungry eyes. Yeah, I’ve seen them. On my way to her little construction zone, I take her in. Yoga pants, long-sleeved pink thermal shirt, hair piled on top of her head, and safety goggles wrapped around her head with a pencil tucked behind her ear. Fuck, she’s so damn cute. What I wouldn’t give to be able to walk up behind her, wrap my arms around her waist, and kiss her on the neck. To feel her lean into my touch, to make that low, throaty moan she used to make when I kissed
her below her ear. Fucking hell, I ache for her. I want one more touch, one more kiss, one more night where it’s only us and nothing else. No boyfriends, no sick fathers, no unreliable moms, just us, together with the world tucked away to deal with another day. But that thought is a far-off dream. The sound of the saw cuts out. Amelia pulls off her goggles, sticking them on the top of her head, and brushes her hand against the wood, pushing the sawdust out of the way. “Nice curve. I’m impressed.” Quickly, she turns around and when she sees me, a small smile passes over her lips. Five years ago, that smile used to stretch across her face, now it’s the smile she gives everyone. It’s not special for me. “You’re late, Walters.” She looks me up and down. “And not properly dressed.” She motions to my shirt. “What’s with the cut-off sleeves? I never pictured you as one of those guys.” “Didn’t have time to change after my workout, and I can’t wear sleeves when I lift weights.” “Why? Do you pop holes in the sleeves?” She chuckles, but when I nod my head, her jovial laugh falls flat. “No way, you don’t pop holes in sleeves when you work out.” “I do, but that was just once. I mainly go sleeveless because it’s less restricting on my arms.”
Shaking her head, she says, “That’s ridiculous. You’re ridiculous. You shouldn’t be popping sleeves open with your biceps.” “It’s not an everyday thing.” She puts her hands on her hips. “It should be a never-a-day thing. Honestly, the relationship gods must hate me.” “What?” I ask, chuckling from her outrage. She shakes me off. “Never mind.” Letting out a long breath, she takes in her work. “Get your goggles, Walters. We have a long night ahead of us.” And just like that, we seem to be back to normal. Maybe she needed a little break. Maybe things were getting too heavy for her. Whatever it was, it’s over and I couldn’t be happier. We spend the next twenty minutes cutting out giant pieces of wood for the post office we need to put together. I try to keep my eyes fixed on the wood, but I can’t help but look in Amelia’s direction every once in a while, and dare I say it? I caught her once staring at me, at least that’s what I’m chalking it up to, even though she asked me a question when I caught her looking. Could Mr. Buster be right? We’re both sanding down the jagged edges of the large pieces of wood we cut out when I ask, “So your birthday is coming up. What do you plan on doing?”
“I’m going to have Thanksgiving with my dad in the afternoon, and then I’m driving to the city to spend the weekend with Trey.” She swallows hard, avoiding all eye contact. Fucking Trey. “Right,” I answer lamely. I don’t know how else to respond to that. Should I offer up a high five? Maybe a thumbs up? Both are stupid responses. Growing a pair, I say, “Trey, huh? Haven’t seen him around much.” Haven’t seen him in many years actually. Last time I saw him was when I went to visit him for the summer. Worst idea ever. When I take in Amelia’s reaction to my comment, I notice her shoulders slouch and her posture looks defeated. Okay, maybe not the best thing to say, but I mean, come on. Where is this dude? If Amelia moved away to be with her family, I would take every fucking opportunity to go see her. She needs supporting. Does he know how close she is to her dad? Has he even visited once? Amelia eyes me. “He’s been working extra hours lately. He would be here if he could. He’s trying.” She sounds a bit defensive. I might have hit a soft spot. “Speaking of working hard, remember when I used to visit you when you were working at A.C. Moore?” I use air quotes when I say working. Amelia has never hated a job more in her life because people came in at night after eating dinner
at the buffet next door, smelling like rotten Chinese food and wanting her help. The smell had been so overwhelming that at nights, she’d begged to work in the stockroom. When they told her she had to work on the floor, out of spite, she would work at a snail’s pace. “Ugh, that godforsaken job. If I knew old ladies were going to come traipsing in smelling like General Tso’s, I would have never applied for the job.” “You made me bring you a bottle of Febreeze once.” “Yes, and I went around spraying customers when they weren’t looking.” “Which landed you in your manager’s office.” Oh man, was she spicy that day. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so mad. “I regret nothing.” “It’s a miracle you lasted six months.” My sandpaper wears down so I trade my scrap for a new piece. When the grain hits the wood, the tension in my shoulders starts to relax. Some people hate sanding, but I find it therapeutic, especially when I’m sitting comfortably talking to Amelia. Up until now, it’s been a shit day, but filling the space around me with her laughter and witty comments has brought calm. Yeah, I’ve fucking missed her. This. I hate that she’ll be with another man to
celebrate her birthday. I took the job of spoiling Amelia quite seriously. But it’s not my job anymore. I can try to spoil her from a distance, and I have to be content with that. *** I hop out of my truck quickly and approach Amelia’s car. When she gets out, I say, “Hey, I was thinking about walking down the street to the diner to get something to eat. Never really got dinner tonight. Do you want to join me?” I hold my breath, knowing there is a ninety percent chance she’s going to turn me down. We had a pretty good night, building the post office. We joked, kept our conversation light and casual, and then parted to our respective cars. But I wasn’t ready to say good night to her. I wasn’t quite ready to let her go. Next week we won’t have volunteering time because of the holiday, which means I probably won’t see her for two weeks. Fuck that. Amelia twists her lip to the side, my question considered in that pretty head of hers. Say yes, please fucking say yes. “I, uh, I didn’t really eat dinner either,” she says as she plays with her keys. I can’t help the smile that crosses my face. “I guess that would explain the snarls you were
making at the wood earlier. Looks like we need to get some food in you before you go completely hangry on me.” Her eyes lift up, a little spark of humor in them. “I wasn’t snarling at the wood.” “You kind of were, but I won’t tell anyone. Let me grab a sweatshirt real quick because my nipples are harder than stone in this shirt, and then we can walk over together.” Her eyes go to my shirt quickly before they pop back, realizing she was staring at my pecs. Stare away, babe. “Hurry up, I don’t have all night.” She crosses her arms over her chest, but the lightness in her voice says she’ll wait for me. It takes me all but a minute to sprint into my house, run up to my room, grab a sweatshirt, and then meet Amelia outside while I put on my sweatshirt. “Good Lord that was fast.” I cringe slightly. “Uh, I’m starving.” I’m not at all happy to spend more time with you, to get at least one more hour with you. Right. The walk to the diner is slightly awkward; we don’t say much, which makes me nervous, but once we’re seated, I say, “Do you remember that Thanksgiving when we tried to make every dish on our own?” We could both cook okay, but Thanksgiving dishes are in a different league.
“Oh, God. My poor father.” She giggles, and it’s the sweetest sound. “What did he say when he tasted the bean casserole?” “You have to gently sauté the onions, Bedelia, not burn them to a crisp,” I say in a deep voice, imitating her father. “Beth didn’t stop laughing for an hour after that. God, we tried so hard. How did we get so many dishes so wrong?” she asks, while wiping tears of laughter from under her eyes. “The only two who ate everything and didn’t complain were your nephews. They’ll be ladykillers when they’re older. Always eating whatever is put before them.” When she stops laughing, Amelia leans forward in her chair and says, “So, any women in your life?” She looks genuinely interested, as if we truly are great friends and she’s looking for dirt. Some of the best and long-lasting relationships start as friends, so I take advantage of this moment, not trying to dwell on the shift in the way we have to act around each other. “Any women? I noticed how you made that plural. Are you assuming I’m a playboy, Miss Santos?” I sit back in my chair, presenting a playful challenge. She’s not fazed by my question as she shrugs casually. “I just assumed.” She pauses and looks around for a second before she says, “I mean, you
wear cut-off shirts now. Only men who carry around a brothel of women in their back pocket wear cut-off shirts.” “A brothel of women?” My laughs draws the attention of the few diners who share the restaurant with us. “There is no brothel in my back pocket, and you’re so wrong about cut-off sleeves. Mr. Harrison, three houses down, wears cut-off sleeves, and he’s a happily married man.” Amelia quirks her eyebrow at me. “Have you seen him around the Tai Chi class Mrs. Gossling has on Saturday afternoon in her front yard? Pure player, that Mr. Harrison.” The thought of Mr. Harrison being a player makes me full-on belly laugh. The man sports a basketball-sized beer belly, has a horseshoe hairdo —you know, where he’s bald on top but has a ring of hair around his head—and he wears Velcro black shoes, even with shorts. He is the farthest thing from a playboy. “You couldn’t be more wrong about the both of us. If anything, Mr. Harrison and I are the most loyal men on the street. No brothel pockets here.” “Okay, so any special lady in your life?” I can’t help it; I ask, “Besides you?” Her cheeks go red as her eyes cast toward the table. She clears her throat, and says, “Uh, yeah.” Loving how much I embarrassed her, I say, “Well, let’s see. Mrs. Ferguson is a special lady to
me, kind of like a grandma—” “I meant are you dating anyone. Honestly, why do you always make me say the damn words?” I chuckle. “It’s more fun that way.” She rolls her eyes. “And for the record, no. Haven’t really been able to move on since you. I’ve had a few short relationships here and there, but that’s it. It’s been impossible to replace you in my heart, Amelia.” And just like that, our fun conversation is blanketed by a layer of intense confessions. And I’m not fucking sorry about it. “Oh,” is all she says as the waitress steps to our table. Awkwardly, the tension thick between us, I order a burger with fries and Amelia gets a cup of clam chowder with a side of cherry pie. Some things never change. When the waitress walks away, I decide to keep the conversation heavy. I want to dive deep into her feelings. I want to know about the days, the year after we broke up. Even though I know it will kill me, I need to know. “How long did it take you to get over me?” She peers up at me, a little surprise in her face from my question. “A long time,” she answers on a long exhale. So, perhaps this relationship with Trey the wonder boy hasn’t been going on long then. “Did you hate me?” She nods. “Every day.” That fucking hurts. “But
it was a hate love. I loved you so damn much, Aaron, and for you to just rip away the one thing I cared most about”—she shakes her head and plays with the silverware on the table—“I was so furious. That anger turned into hate, but the hate never really took. I wanted to hate you. I wanted to hurt you. I wanted you to suffer as much as I was, but deep down, all I truly wanted was for you to take me back.” I blow out a long breath as I grip the back of my neck. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Amelia.” She shrugs. “What’s done is done, right?” I guess so. Pressing my lips tightly together, I prepare for my next question. “And this other guy—” “Trey.” “Yes, Trey.” His name coming out of my mouth feels like a bunch of razor blades scraping across my tongue. “Is he good to you? Does he treat you well?” “He does,” she answers somberly. “Does he treat you better than I did?” Please say no. She doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she chews on the side of her lip, her eyes cast down. What is she thinking? Is she comparing me to Trey? Am I winning? Or does Trey take the cake? My assumption? Trey wins. He always wins. “That’s hard to answer. You’re different.” She
sighs. “When we were together, we were spontaneous, kind of crazy; we threw caution to the wind and I felt alive.” She now looks me in the eye. “But with Trey there is order. We live together and our lives have a rhythm. We’re older. We work. Go out. Spend time with friends. It’s . . . good. Aaron, I know you’ve told me why you broke up with me. I get it. I do. But when I met Trey, my studies were going well, and I was breathing again. I missed you and still felt sad and bereft, but I felt more like me again. There was something so familiar about him though, and we clicked. He’s been by my side ever since. I don’t think he would ever hurt me like you did.” I nod, hating that answer but wondering one thing. “Maybe he won’t hurt you as much as I hurt you because you don’t love him like you loved me.” I stare at her hazel eyes as I say, “The harder you love, the harder you fall.” Her mouth parts, her breath escaping her as she analyzes my words. I can see her processing what I said. And I know the minute she realizes I’m right, because her eyes slightly water. I don’t press her any more. Our food arrives, and we talk little the rest of the night as awkward silence fills our time together. This may have become a time of uncomfortable conversation, but I don’t regret it because there is now one thing I’ve learned.
She doesn’t love him like she loved me. On the walk back home, I ask Amelia about her plans for Thanksgiving, if she’s taking food to her dad’s place or if they’re making a meal at the nursing home. She answers politely, not adding much. I know I threw her for a loop at dinner, and she’s trying to recover, so it’s okay. When we make it to her door, she unlocks it but turns to me before she walks in. Staring at the Nike emblem on my sweatshirt she says, “You know, Aaron, when I first met you, I thought you were this knight in shining armor, someone to sweep me off my feet and bring me Buffalo chicken pizza because I was craving it.” I chuckle, thinking back to all the times I brought her Nirchi’s. “And then we started to get serious after a few months. I realized I didn’t want to say good night to you without sleeping in your arms. I didn’t want to wake up without you next to me. I was in love. I knew it right away. There was no questioning the feeling you gave me whenever you were around, or whenever I thought about you for that matter.” “I felt the same way.” I step up and take her hand in mine. I’m convincing myself it’s friendly handholding, that it’s for comfort, but my body reacts in an entirely different way when her fingers grip mine. Her palm presses against mine, and it’s heaven.
“And then we celebrated our one-year anniversary. You went all out and even chose to include my father in the plans, along with Amanda. That night, I knew. You were the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. You were the man I wanted to grow old with. You were the man, the only man I wanted to start a family with.” Fuck if I didn’t think the same thing. I pull her a little closer. Her free hand goes to my chest as her eyes meet mine. Can she feel how fast my heart is beating? Can she tell how much she still owns me? Can she see the desperation in my eyes? I want her to know, even though she’s with someone else, she’s the only woman I’ve ever wanted. “Do you still want a family?” I ask her as her hand glides to my chest and then to my face. I want to kiss her. But I feel the distance she is creating. I feel miles away, despite how close she actually is. “I don’t know anymore. What I do know is that you were the one who was supposed to give me all of that.” Past tense. Past fucking tense. Regret pummels me in the chest. “I still can’t believe you took it all away.” She grips my shirt in anger. I don’t blame her. I’m angry at myself as well.
But then I start to get angry for a different reason. I am a good man. I am respected and respectable, something Amelia’s dad told me should be the main aim for a man. I shouldn’t have to beg. Yes, of course I want Amelia back, but she needs to want me back, and I doubt she’ll want me if I have to beg. What we had was incredible, and I know without a doubt that if we get back together—when we get back together—it will be even better. I stood up to Mom this morning. I stood up for me, and I think it’s time to do the same with Amelia. “Part of me wants to beg you to give me another chance, Amelia. I want you to stay here for Thanksgiving, for your birthday. But, I won’t beg. As you said before, deep down, even though you were justifiably angry with me, all you truly wanted was for me to take you back. Well, I’m here now. I hurt you, and I’m so fucking sorry. But I don’t think I deserve to suffer for that mistake over and over again. I haven’t stopped loving you, Amelia. I doubt I ever will. I’m still the man you fell in love with, only a much wiser version. And more buff, as you have pointed out a few times.” I dip down to be closer to eye level and smile. She barely manages a smile. Her beautiful eyes fill with tears. “Amelia, please stay here for Thanksgiving. I’d love to take you to see your father. And please stay for your birthday so I can spoil you. I won’t make a move. I won’t touch you unless you want me to.”
Closing her eyes tightly, she presses her head against my chest, and I take the opportunity to pull her into a hug. I kiss the top of her head and relish this brief moment. “I can’t,” she whispers. In an instant, my throat closes tight as anguish washes over me. I can’t. Therefore, she won’t. Okay. I am not begging. Pushing against my chest, she puts some distance between us. “I’m sorry, Aaron.” “Amelia.” I want to say more, but I won’t. She’s made up her mind on this, and to keep fighting her on it is a weakness. She turns and walks into her house, quietly shutting the door behind her, leaving me on her porch with nothing but the chilly November night surrounding me. For the first time since Amelia came back into my life, I have the horrible feeling I’ve truly lost her forever. She’s chosen him.
Chapter Eighteen AARON
Four years ago . . . “Thanks for the help, Mr. Santos. I really appreciate it.” “Anytime, son.” It’s the third time Mr. Santos has called me son, and hell if it doesn’t make me puff my chest out. Not only do I want to impress Amelia, but I want to impress her dad as well. I want him to approve of me, to consider me the only man for his daughter. And I think I’m well on my way to him thinking that. I look around, checking for anything we missed, but it looks like we took care of all we needed to take care of. “It looks amazing out here, and the LED candles in the birdhouses was a genius idea.” “I have those from time to time.” Mr. Santos chuckles. “All right, I’m going to head out.” He claps me on the shoulder. “Amelia found a good one. Thank you for treating her so well. I’ll be home in about four hours. No frisky business.” “Wouldn’t dream of it.” I swallow hard as my mind goes to two nights ago when we were fooling
around in her bedroom while her dad went to pick up pizza. It felt like we were two kids in high school trying not to get caught. Once Mr. Santos leaves, I sit and wait, feeling a little nervous. I’ve never celebrated a one-year anniversary with anyone before, so I’m not sure if I’m doing this right. Two weeks ago, I asked Mr. Santos for help. Since my apartment is less than desirable to spend a romantic evening, I asked Mr. Santos if I could borrow his backyard. I told him I wanted to give Amelia a beautiful night under the stars, and he obliged, but with his own personal input. The one thing I was adamant about was having Nirchi’s for dinner, since technically that was the first meal we shared. Mr. Santos wasn’t a fan of that idea, but understood my reasoning. His one condition about serving his daughter pizza on her one-year anniversary with her boyfriend was at least to serve it on a nice platter and not from the box. That was an easy thing to agree on. Everything else, we set up together. We hung lights today, set up a little table and chairs in the middle of the yard, put LED lights in the birdhouses Amelia made that surround the yard, and decorated with bouquets of fresh daisies. For two men, we did a fucking amazing job. I just hope she likes it. The distinct sound of a car door shutting pulls my attention to the back door. I texted her earlier to
meet me in the backyard, so hopefully she’s on her way. I saw her beautiful face this morning and gave her a card. I saved up for a few months so I could afford a spa package for her. I wanted to spoil her. She was surprised and was quickly whisked away by Amanda where they shared a girls’ day. But tonight—that’s my time. The lights turn on in the house and the back door swings open. When she spots what her dad and I did to the backyard, her hand covers her mouth in total shock. “Oh my God.” Her eyes wander around in amazement until they land on me. Without another word, she runs to me and flings her body onto mine. I catch her in the air, and her legs wrap around my waist. Chuckling, I say, “Happy anniversary, baby.” “Aaron, this is too much.” She cups my cheeks, her face brilliantly full of love. I shake my head. “Nothing is too much for you, Amelia. You deserve everything.” I lightly press my lips against hers, loving how she so easily melts into my touch. We stand there, her little body wrapped around mine, kissing lightly in the middle of her dad’s yard. It isn’t until she opens my mouth with her tongue that I start to harden, my cock pressing against the zipper of my pants. She moans, and fuck if I don’t swallow her moan, enticing her to give me more.
My hands slip under the hem of her dress where I grab her bare ass, finding no undergarments anywhere. Fuck me. I pull away. “Amelia, where the hell is your underwear?” “Oh,” she feigns innocence. “Am I not wearing any?” “You damn well know you’re not wearing any.” “Hmm, I wonder how that happened.” Knowing I can easily lose control where she’s concerned, I set her down only to receive a pout. I put her at arm’s length to gain a little control over the situation. This is supposed to be a romantic evening celebrating our love, not a savage night where we tear each other’s clothes off and fuck like bunnies in her father’s backyard. “You’re in timeout,” I tell her. “For not wearing underwear?” “Exactly.” I run my hand over my face, trying not to think about how bare she is under her dress right now. “I planned this special night for us, and I plan on seeing it through. Now, go put on some underwear so we can eat dinner.” She crosses her arms over her chest, making her cleavage look more fucking lush than before. “No.” “No?” I ask, my eyebrows raised. “Yeah, no. I’m not going to put on underwear because you want to pull some alpha move on me. I
chose to go pantie-less, and I will continue to go pantie-less.” I grind my teeth together. Fucking vixen. She’s always testing me; today is no different. Fine. Two can play at this game. “Okay, go pantie-less. I don’t care.” She blurts out a laugh. “Oh, okay.” Stepping forward, she softly places her hand on my chest and runs her other hand down my stomach to my crotch where she lightly cups me. “Seems like you care.” I hiss through my teeth. She is fucking spicy today. “Nope,” I grunt out and lace her cupping hand with one of my hands. “Care to join me for dinner?” I direct her toward the table, my cock extremely painful as it rubs against my jeans. I need to make it to the table, and then I can adjust myself. “Sure, we can eat dinner.” I don’t like the way she says that, like she has something planned, like she’s going to bamboozle me in some way. I wouldn’t put it past her at this point, especially given the no underpants situation we have going on. She’s fired up, but I promised myself I would give her a romantic evening, and dammit that’s what I’m going to do. I pull out her chair for her and sit across from her. When I lift the top off the pizza platter, she smiles brightly at me. “Buffalo chicken pizza for
my girl.” “You treat me too well.” Before taking a slice, she removes the little cardigan she was wearing and reveals an ample amount of skin and cleavage, more than before. Fuck. Me. I swallow even harder, trying to tear my eyes away from the way she’s leaning forward, allowing the sundress she’s wearing to hang forward. Is she wearing . . . I catch a little glimpse of her nipple and my cock immediately knocks against my jeans again. Nope, she’s not wearing a bra. When she sits back up, she smiles brightly at me and takes a bite of her pizza, knowing exactly what she’s doing to me. “So, did you undress in your car, or something?” “Maybe.” She takes a sip of her Coke and smiles brightly. “You know your dad told me not to do anything frisky while he’s gone, right? And I plan on honoring that. It’s the least I can do since he helped put together this night for us.” “You’re so honorable, Aaron.” She takes another bite and then pushes one of the tiny straps of her dress off her shoulder. “Ugh, these straps are cutting into me today.” Fucking lie! There is no red mark on her
shoulder. It’s smooth, completely and utterly smooth. She is playing a nasty game right now, and I slowly start to lose my resolve with every movement she makes. But can you blame me? Her tits look like they’re about to fall out of her dress. Her hair skims her shoulders, and my fingers itch to run through it. Goddamn, she’s incredible. She goes about with conversation as if the sexual tension between us isn’t choking me to the point of not being able to breathe. “The massage today was amazing. Thank you.” She touches her neck and moves her head to the side, her breasts swaying with every movement. “They really worked a kink out for me, I couldn’t help but moan when the masseuse dug her fingers deep into me. Right here.” She presses her fingers into her neck and lightly moans. My mouth goes dry. “Yeah?” I say, swallowing so damn hard. “Ugh, it was amazing. And then they worked my shoulders.” She pushes down the other strap of her dress and I’m almost positive she’s about to push the damn fabric all the way down when she leaves the dress barely covering her breasts. Shit, I haven’t had her in two days. “That must have felt good,” I say on a squeak. “So good. Here, let me show you.” She stands,
her dress barely hanging on to her body. I think she’s going to go behind me to rub my shoulders when she instead sits on my lap so we’re facing each other. She situates herself, her round, voluptuous ass rubbing against my cock, pulling a groan from deep within me. “You’re always so tense. Let me show you what she did.” I’m fucking tense right now for a very good reason. And don’t think I don’t see what she’s doing. This is all part of her trickery. I’m not going to fall for it. I will take her little free massage and continue on with my night. Leaning forward, she presses her fingers into my shoulders, and I immediately melt from her touch, her fingers working my muscles in a methodic way that has me forgetting everything. Including the promise I made Mr. Santos. Her lips find my ear as she continues to work my muscles. “See, just like this,” she whispers, and she begins to rock on my lap. “Oh God, just like this.” “Amelia,” I breathe out heavily. “Baby, you’re kind of killing me right now.” “But it feels good. Doesn’t it feel good, Aaron?” “Fuck.” I sigh while my jaw clenches tightly. Her ass feels so good on my lap. “It feels so fucking good.” I grip her side, my thumbs resting under her breasts that caress my fingers with every grind she makes.
“Touch me,” she whispers into my ear, sending chills shooting through my body. “I said I wouldn’t.” “I don’t care. I want you, Aaron.” Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. My words catch in my throat as my hands travel to her breasts. I squeeze them tightly and the moan that comes out of her mouth shakes me to my core. Wanting just a small taste, a little one, I grab the front of her dress and pull it down, exposing her breasts to the cool night air. Immediately her nipples harden into little pebbles causing my mouth to water. With both of my hands, I squeeze her ample breasts together and bring them to my mouth where I suck in one of her nipples. “Yes,” she quietly whispers in my ear, her hips starting to really rock against my hardened length. “This is all I want. You. You’re all I’ve ever wanted, Aaron.” The feeling is mutual. This woman scooped me up from the hollowed life I was living and showed me what love really is. She showed me kindness, what it’s like to be cared for, and how it feels to be held by someone who would do anything for you. She’s proven that good can happen in my life, and there is no way I’m letting that go, not for anything.
With her breasts filling my hands, I nibble on her nipple for a second before pulling away. I look into her eyes and say, “I love you, Amelia.” Her eyes soften, and she presses her lips lightly against mine. “I love you, Aaron. Always.” And then she pushes her dress all the way to her waist. She trails her hands to my jeans and starts to unbuckle my belt. My body ignites into a heated frenzy, and there’s no stopping it. Like a fucking magician, I yank the tablecloth off the table, only knocking over one drink—I can clean that up later—and lay it on the grass behind the table. Thankfully the yard is not only fenced off, but lined by trees and bushes. The only thing we need to worry about is being quiet. That and I pray her dad didn’t forget something and comes back to find me buried balls deep in his daughter. With the tablecloth somewhat in place, I hold on to Amelia and bend to the ground. I lay her beneath me, and watch as her eyes roam my body when I take off my shirt. “All I wanted for our anniversary . . . you.” I shake my head as my hands straddle her head, my muscles shaky from how much I want this woman. “You’re still in trouble, you know that, right? We’re supposed to be enjoying pizza right now.” She pulls on the back of my neck, bringing me closer to her lips. “But this is so much more fun.
Pizza can be reheated. I want to get lost in the now.” Her lips part ever so slightly right before mine connect with hers. Soft and pliable, they move around mine, her tongue parting me, making me open my mouth, demanding more and I give it to her. I move one of my hands to the hem of her dress and push it up. Spreading her legs, I maneuver my hand right above the juncture between her thighs. I hover there as she breathes heavily, waiting for my touch. I don’t give her what she wants. No, I tease her, letting her feel the heat of my hand. “Aaron, please, I want you to touch me.” “And I wanted you to put underwear on, so I guess we don’t always get what we want.” I smirk and continue to kiss her. Did I mention she doesn’t play fair? She never has. And I hope she never does. Reaching between us, she unzips my pants and sticks her hands beneath my briefs until she’s gripping my cock. She squeezes hard, and I nearly come right there. My head drops to her shoulder, my balls tightening faster than expected. She’s gripping so damn hard that my body tingles, begging for a quick release, but to hell if I’m going to let that happen. Instead, I flip her so she’s forced to sit on top of
me as I lie on the crinkled up tablecloth. With surprise she looks at me, her breasts bouncing above me. “Ride me, baby.” An evil glint runs over her features right before she tears her dress over her head exposing her beautifully naked and smooth body to me. I’m sorry, Mr. Santos. I gave it the old-collegeboy try, but I’m about to fuck your daughter in your backyard. Please don’t hate me. Wiggling down, she works her way to my feet where she strips me of my shoes and socks, followed by my jeans. She leaves my boxer briefs on, and I wonder what she has planned until she moves her mouth to my stomach and places soft kisses along the V of my hips. My cock springs forward with each gentle press of her heated mouth against my skin. It almost feels like she’s trying to melt me with her lips and tongue, and fuck, it’s working. I lie there, immobilized, my hands gripping the tablecloth beneath me, pleasure rocketing through my veins, causing my muscles to contract. Kissing right above the elastic of my boxer briefs, she peeks at me and then releases my cock from its confines. I breathe heavily as her mouth hovers over the head, her lips so fucking close that a tickle of awareness shoots straight to my balls. “I love you, Aaron, so much,” she says, her eyes
hazy, lustful. I cup her cheek. “I love you, Amelia,” as she takes the head of my cock in her mouth. “Fuck,” I quietly mumble as my hand goes to her hair and I stare at her, watching as her mouth slides up and down my shaft. One of her hands reaches between my thighs and starts to massage my balls carefully, shooting my upper half onto my elbows. Amelia’s suck becomes more forceful, more powerful, while her spare hand grips the root of my length and squeezes tightly. “Shit, Amelia . . . baby, slow down.” My breathing becomes labored, my eyes wanting to roll in the back of my head from the way she makes me feel, from the way she expertly touches me. She knows me so well, the ins and outs of my pleasure, and she’s relentless in pursuing my pleasure. Lifting her mouth to the crown, she swirls her tongue at the tip while her hand pumps up and down along my length, her other hand now gently squeezing my balls. I’m about to fucking come. “Baby, stop,” I say desperately. “Fucking stop.” With a devilish smile on her face, she lifts up and starts to crawl up my body as I try to tamp down my panting. She presses her lips against mine and parts my mouth with her tongue and dives deep, her hands roaming my chest, her fingertips scoring my nipples. Shit, there is no way I can stop her pursuit and
I’m glad I’m not, especially as I feel her arousal against my leg. Wanting to see how wet she is, wet from pleasuring me, I bring my hands to her pussy and press a finger past her lips and run my index finger along her soaking wet clit. “Fucking hell, baby. You’re so wet.” “For you,” she breathes out heavily. Yeah, she likes the way my finger massages her clit. “God, just like that.” Her lips collide with mine, her hands gripping my head while her tongue flicks relentlessly in my mouth. The occasional moan slides out of her mouth and into mine with every long glide of my finger along her slit. Needing to taste her, I remove my hand and say, “Sit up.” She eyes me, but I help her until she’s sitting on my chest, I scoot her forward so her pussy is positioned right against my mouth. Scared and a little shy with her legs spread on either side of my head, her chest heaves, waiting for what I’m going to do next. I slide my hands up her legs and then back down so I’m gripping her shins. I keep them spread and dive my tongue forward. With one touch, her head and arms are flying back. She grips my legs behind her as her head falls between her shoulder blades, her neck convulsing with the moans that rip through her. So wet, so responsive, this woman is going to
make me lose my damn mind. I make long leisurely strokes along her clit, just as her hips start to move against my tongue, begging for more. “So good, Aaron. It feels so good.” I move my tongue faster, flicking relentlessly, loving how she becomes wetter and wetter with each stroke. Her legs start to shake in my hands, her cries becoming louder and louder, and I pray the neighbors aren’t catching any of this. From behind her, her fingers dig into my skin as her orgasm approaches, her body quivering, her clit hardening . . . “Oh God.” Her pelvis flies forward, and I suck her clit in my mouth as she comes, and comes hard. She rides my tongue for a few more strokes before scooting back on my stomach and placing her hands on my chest, out of breath. My cock is aching, in great need for release, but I give Amelia a moment. When her eyes open and I’m greeted with her beautiful irises, I sigh, so fucking in love with this woman. She smiles and scoots back farther until her slickness is rubbing against my dick. She uses my stomach as a foundation for her hands as she casually glides my length along her slit. I hiss between my teeth from the feel of her, of the way her breasts sway with her movements, the loving look in her face.
“Ride me, Amelia. Take my cock.” Smiling lazily, she positions my cock at her entrance and slowly lowers, taking me in inch by glorious inch until she’s fully seated. She takes a deep breath and says, “I feel so full.” That never gets old, hearing her say that, knowing I can make her feel that way, that I’m almost too much man for her. “Take your time, baby.” I don’t mean it. I want her to fuck me, to move her hips rapidly up and down, but I know she needs time to adjust. I’m six foot four, and she’s five foot four, so she always needs to take her time. She starts to move her hips and bites down on her bottom lip as the friction between us starts to light her up, her tight channel milking me with every squeeze at the top of her rocking. Wanting to be closer, I sit up and pull her into my chest so her nipples are now rising and falling against my skin, her hardened pebbles turning me on even more; it’s almost painful to not go faster, so I take control. I flip her to her back, spread her legs with my hands on her thighs, and drive my cock forcefully inside her. She tenses and then relaxes, smiling at me before she grips her breasts and starts plucking at her nipples. She rolls her head side to side, her channel tightening around me, her moans slipping past her lips, her eyes fluttering shut. Her back arches off the ground, and she cries out, her
orgasm pushing her over the edge. I pump into her a few more times. Watching her fall over, the way her pussy clenches my cock, it’s all too much and a numbing feeling rips through my veins from head to toe as pleasure rocks me. “Fuck,” I moan, exertion in my muscles causing me to spill myself inside Amelia. “Yes, fuck . . . yes.” I move my hips slowly as pleasure courses through me. It’s always incredible with her, always, because the woman below me is the love of my life, and I can’t imagine one day without her. My hips slow to a stop and I collapse on top of Amelia. I smooth her wild hair from her face and lightly kiss her lips, the taste of her pussy hot on my lips. Grinning like a fool at me, she says, “Happy Anniversary, Aaron.” Sighing, feeling like the luckiest man in the world, I say, “Happy Anniversary, baby.” I kiss her nose. “Here’s to fifty more.”
Chapter Nineteen AMELIA
I stare out my front window. Flurries flutter from the sky, coating the freshly shoveled driveway Aaron has been working on for the past ten minutes. I didn’t ask him to shovel. I was in the midst of taking stuffing out of the oven when I heard the telltale sound of a shovel scraping asphalt. Sure enough, there he was, in jeans, a jacket, boots, and gloves, shoveling. He wasn’t wearing a hat or a scarf but from the way his breath was puffing into the air, I assumed he was probably hot anyway from all the shoveling. The last time I spoke to him was the night we went to dinner. I’ve seen him in passing, but have felt too nervous I would change my mind if I actually stopped to talk to him. Instead, I’ve given courtesy waves and continued on with my day, even though my heart has been aching. I’m here now. I hurt you, and I’m so fucking sorry. But I don’t think I deserve to suffer for that mistake over and over again. I haven’t stopped loving you, Amelia. I doubt I ever will. When he said he wouldn’t beg, my heart lurched, which it
shouldn’t. I should feel happy about that. Relieved. But I don’t. Amelia, please stay here for Thanksgiving. I’d love to take you to see your father. And please stay for your birthday so I can spoil you. I don’t think he truly knows how hard that decision was for me, to say no. And it shouldn’t have been. It should have been easy to say no, but he’s gotten inside my head. Do I really not love Trey like I loved Aaron? Do I not have the same intense connection with Trey that I had with Aaron? Have? I know every relationship is different, and I’ll always have an attachment to my first love, but is that all my feelings mean? Reminiscing what we used to have? Because as I stare at him from my living room, my suitcase ready to be packed into my car, my homemade stuffing in a insulated bag, I want to stay and see what a weekend alone with Aaron would be like. Sighing, I shut my eyes and squeeze them tightly. I wish this could be so much easier. I don’t want to feel anything for him. I want to be over him. I want to be able to breathe when around him, not hold my breath wondering if he’ll kiss me one more time. I can do this. I open my eyes and take a deep breath. It’s time to go. I gather my items and, with a heavy heart, make
my way to my car where Aaron is salting the driveway. When he looks at me, his blue eyes pierce through me, the color so vivid, yet the expression devastated when he spots my suitcase. And just like that, my heart breaks once again. I’m only leaving for the weekend, but it almost feels like I’m leaving forever. “Thanks for shoveling. It was only a few inches, I would have been fine walking through it.” He tosses the cup he was using to salt the driveway into the little snow bank to the side and takes off his gloves only to stuff them in his coat pocket. “Better to keep up with the snow in case more comes. It’s easier to shovel two inches than a foot.” “Are we supposed to get a foot?” My eyes shoot up, wondering if I should make the drive to the city. He notices my surprise and puts me at ease. “Syracuse and the Finger Lakes are supposed to be hit hard due to the lake effect snow, but we’re good here and the city should be even less. Your drive should be okay. Just take it slow.” “Okay.” Stepping forward, his shoulder brushes against me as he takes my suitcase and food from me. “Unlock your car, I’ll load you up and start it for you so it starts to get warm.” Why do I want to cry right now? Trying to calm my racing heart, I unlock my car and watch as
Aaron starts it and then puts everything in my trunk, making sure to lodge my stuffing into a safe spot so it doesn’t fly around in the trunk. When he shuts the trunk door, he turns to me and leans against the car. He’s trying to smile but I know that look. He’s not happy. He’s . . . sad. “All set.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Will you do me a favor, Amelia?” Nervous as to what he might ask me, I nod hesitantly. “Will you text me when you get to the city? It will put my mind at ease, knowing you got there safely in this weather. I know you’re not my responsibility, but it will help me sleep better at night.” “Yeah, I can do that.” You’re not my responsibility. For some reason, that really doesn’t settle well with me. “Thanks.” He pushes off my car and steps in front of me. My heart catches in my chest when he runs his thumb over my cheek for a brief second before gripping my scarf and carefully wrapping it once around my neck. “Stay safe and warm, Amelia. I’m here if you need anything.” With his hands still on my scarf, his eyes search mine, something on the tip of his tongue, but instead of saying what’s on his mind, he presses a chaste kiss against my forehead and steps away. He picks up his shovel, the salt cup, and heads toward
his garage, never looking back. Just like the last time he said goodbye, but for some reason, this time it hurts ten times more. *** Amelia: Made it to the city. Hope you had a nice Thanksgiving. I’m sitting in my car, tears dried on my cheeks from the long three-hour drive after visiting my father who once again, had a bad day. I spent half an hour with him before I decided to leave. The weather was starting to get bad and my dad failed to make a connection with me. Visits with him are becoming more and more painful. It’s hard, devastating most of the time, hard to leave . . . And now that I’m in the city, all I want is to be back in Binghamton. I should be excited, ecstatic, over the moon that I finally get to see Trey again, but instead, my mind is elsewhere. Trying to put on a happy face, I pull down the visor mirror and check my reflection. My eyes are bloodshot and my makeup is smeared. Trey will know immediately something is wrong. If not from my appearance, he’ll know from my mood. “Shit,” I mutter, trying to wipe away the blotchy makeup from under my eyes. There’s no use, so I give up and set off toward our apartment, pumpkin
pie in one hand—bought from the store—and my suitcase in the other. The familiar scent of curry hits me when I walk through the entrance of the apartment building. Even on Thanksgiving you can smell it. The smell used to be comforting—part of my home, my daily life—but now it feels weird. Everything feels weird. When I reach our apartment, I consider knocking. Technically I don’t live here anymore, but Trey will find it odd, so I unlock the door and go in. The hallway is narrow, long, and dark and for a moment, I think Trey isn’t home until his body emerges from the bathroom off the hallway. “Fucking hell!” he yells, startling me just enough that I jump and lose control of the pie. Crash. I stare at the pie, the rather smushed and smashed pie. That can no longer be eaten. Crap. “Shit, I’m sorry. You scared me.” Trey pulls me into his chest and cups the back of my head. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t know you were this close or I would’ve helped you up the stairs.” “I dropped the pie,” I say meekly, trying to pass the pie off as the reason I’m crying. “It’s okay. I scared you.” He chuckles lightly. “We kind of scared each other there, guess being apart for so long will do that to each other.” He kisses my forehead. “But I’m glad you’re here. Hell, it feels so good to have you here again.”
His voice is soothing. His body is warm. His arms are comforting. “We don’t have dessert now.” “Amelia.” He lifts my face from his chest to look me in the eye, and when he studies me, his brow pulls together. He reaches over to the wall and flips on the hallway light, casting a glow on my emotional state. “What’s wrong?” It’s a simple question that holds a lot of weight. My throat closes tight, making it almost impossible to speak. “The pie,” I answer idiotically. He doesn’t buy it. Leaving the pie and my bag behind, he takes my hand and guides me into the bedroom where I’m reminded of the little cocoon we used to share. Flashbacks of all the fun we’ve had in this apartment, all the dinners we made, all the lovemaking, flood my mind. This was my solace, my home, so how can it now feel cold like I’m only a visitor? Trey forces me to sit on the bed. He takes off my shoes and lays me down only to join me. It’s a position I used to be so familiar with, a position where we’ve had some of our deepest conversations. And from the look of it, we’re about to have another. With pillows under our heads, we lie on our sides, our legs twining together, our eyes fixed on each other. Trey lifts his hand and brushes my hair
behind my ear. “What’s going on, sweet girl? And don’t tell me it’s the pie, because I know that’s not true.” He knows me too damn well. I should be happy but instead, I’m a little annoyed and for good reason, because the last thing I want to do right now is talk to Trey about my feelings. How would I go about that? Do I tell him I’ve been living next to my first love, and now I’m caught in my mind, confused about what he means to me? Doesn’t seem like a winning conversation to have the first few minutes we’re back together, or ever for that matter. Trey doesn’t need to know about Aaron. I think it will only hurt him, especially since I won’t do anything about those feelings. Honesty isn’t on the tip of my tongue. There is so much I should want to talk to Trey about, but I’m emotionally and physically spent. “My dad had a bad day.” This isn’t a lie. When I left the nursing home earlier, I carried a heavy heart out the door. It seems like every time I go visit him, he’s having a bad day. I’m not sure if he doesn’t recognize me or if he’s so confused he doesn’t want to speak at all. The thought of him shutting off stings me, and for what seems like hundredth time today, I’m in tears. “God, Amelia, I’m sorry.” He cups my cheek and rubs his thumb lovingly along my skin. “I can’t imagine what that must be like. Did he recognize
you?” I shake my head, tears falling onto the white pillow beneath me. “He didn’t even acknowledge me. It’s been like that the last few visits. The only time we spoke was when I first arrived in Binghamton. Ever since then, he’s been quiet, never looking me in the eye.” Sighing, Trey says, “I’m so sorry. Has the nursing staff said anything about it?” “Not really.” I press my lips together. “I can tell they’re just as concerned as I am.” “Is there anything they can do?” I shake my head. “No, not really.” He’s so . . . lonely. It’s all I can think about. What kind of silence exists in his mind? Does he talk to himself at all? Does he remember the bright and fun-loving man he used to be? “Do you remember when he used to sing that stupid ditty to me and laugh himself silly at—” “Um . . .” Trey smiles hesitantly at me. And then it hits me. He doesn’t know my dad. He’s never met the healthy, wonderful, compassionate man my father was. And that makes me grieve more. My boyfriend will never know him. A new wave of tears hit me. “It’s late. Why don’t we get ready for bed and watch a movie? Get your mind off things.” I nod. “That would be perfect.” I think that’s
perfect. Isn’t it? It’s what I needed. To get my mind off things . . . He swoops in and tries to steal away my worries. That’s what he does best. There are no expectations of what we could be doing tonight, no sexual innuendos, just comfort. Together in silence, we brush our teeth and when I go to change, he doesn’t stare, he gives me space until we both climb into bed. Under the covers, he pulls me into his chest and wraps his arms around me, holding me tightly. It’s been what seems like forever since we’ve had sex. He’s holding me tight against him. It feels so good. This is why I came. To be by his side and become an us again. Yet, he’s not aroused. Trey didn’t look at me. Didn’t want me sexually. Doesn’t. Yes, in my head, I know it was for me. But what about what he wants? He’s a man. Men think about sex around twenty times per day. How can he not be aroused when he’s holding me so close to his body? Is it just because he thinks I don’t want sex? Because he loves me, he’s not initiating something we both love? If he started kissing me, surely I wouldn’t turn him down. Would I? This is a little achingly familiar and I feel disappointment deep in my bones. Three years ago, Aaron made choices because he loved me. He gave up what he wanted, so I would get what I wanted. But now, now he’s
fighting for me. I see it in his eyes. He’s desperate for me to say yes to him. And I know if I did, we wouldn’t leave his bed for days. It makes me think of our one-year anniversary again. What did he say? Buried deep inside, a look of absolute bliss on his face. “God, baby. Being inside you. Tasting you. No other man will ever have you. No man will ever know how impossible it is to go without you. Two days. I haven’t had you for two days, and it feels like months. I would never last that long without you. Nothing would keep me away from your magnificent body. Nothing. That’s all you, sweetheart. All fucking, beautiful, irresistible, insatiable you. God, I love you.” I know Trey loves me. He didn’t forget to tell me. He was trying to relax me and take my mind off my bad day. I know this. Tomorrow. Tomorrow we’ll have wild monkey sex, eat all the foods I’ve missed since being away, say I love you all day, and everything will be right in my world here. In my world . . . here. I haven’t had you for two days, and it feels like months. I would never last that long without you. Nothing would keep me away from your magnificent body. Nothing. Tomorrow, Amelia. That will be my tomorrow. With Trey. I stay awake that night in Trey’s arms while flashes of my other world invade my mind.
Chapter Twenty AMELIA
I didn’t expect twenty-six to start off like this. I had other plans. I thought I would still be living in the city with Trey, thinking about a possible wedding in the future, while taking walks through Central Park hand in hand. Instead, I’m on a bench that overlooks The Lake, by myself, a stale pretzel in hand, and a rather dreary outlook on my three-day weekend. It’s my birthday, and I was woken up at six in the morning by a phone call. But it wasn’t my phone that was ringing. It was Trey’s. He spoke softly, trying not to wake me, but there was no point, I could hear the entire conversation and when he said he would “be there in half an hour,” my stomach dropped. He’s going to work? He apologized profusely, told me he would be really quick and try to get out as soon as possible so we could spend the rest of the day together, but it’s past noon and I have yet to hear from him. Instead of sitting in one of New York City’s smallest one-bedroom apartments, I chose to take a walk. No use sitting around doing nothing. I’m in
New York City, I should at least try to enjoy the cool crisp air that fall brings, as well as the variety of boots, scarf, legging combinations so often found during the fall. I bring my legs to my chest and rest my chin on my knees. I set my half-eaten pretzel to the side, done with it, and look out over the water at the fallen leaves. Fall is my favorite season of the year. There is something about the leaves changing, apple cider on every corner, and how crisp and clean the air feels that I can’t help but have a small smile on my face. Not today though. Trey held me close to him last night, his arm tightly encasing me, attempting to protect me from my worries, but as his breathing evened out, my eyes never closed. A million things were running through my head, and I felt sick to my stomach. I love Trey, so much. He’s always been amazing, but being here almost seems wrong, and I don’t know if it’s because my life is in Binghamton or if it’s because I’m secondguessing my feelings. Which . . . God, it makes me such an awful person. I know it does. Maybe if Trey had said no to work and was here with me, I wouldn’t have such strange feelings. Maybe if I hadn’t had to clean up hardened and smushed pie off the hallway floor at six forty on my birthday, I’d be okay too.
He did say he’d do it later, but really? Maybe all I need is some solid time with him to recharge my brain, because when we’re hanging out having a good time, it’s awesome. Sighing, I watch a couple stroll in front of me, holding hands with cups of coffee in the others. That should be Trey and me. Why is he working so much lately? Everyone has the day off after Thanksgiving. It’s some weird American tradition. Eat yourself silly and then go spend a boatload of money on Christmas. Ding. My phone startles me when a text message comes in. I pull it out from my jacket pocket. Maybe Trey is done with work, and I can tell him to meet me here and we can start my birthday celebration. He said he had plans to make my day wonderful. Feeling a little bit of excitement now, I check my phone. Aaron: Happy Birthday, Amelia. I hope you’re having a good time in the city this weekend. Mrs. Ferguson left a package at your door so I brought it into my house in case Mr. Mullins sees it and tries to steal it. He’s been known to snatch packages that aren’t his. I giggle and think about Mr. Mullins, the old man four houses down that has the epitome of old-man butt, accentuated by his red suspenders and dockers.
Amelia: Thank you. And why am I not surprised by Mr. Mullins? He has package stealer written all over his face. He texts back immediately. Aaron: I think it’s the mustache. It curls out. You can’t trust a man with a curly mustache. It just screams deviant. Amelia: Oh one hundred percent. It’s the mustache. Not sure what else to say, so I press send. When he texts back, I feel a little relieved. I need this conversation. It’s so much better than the loneliness I’m feeling right now. Aaron: Are you having a good birthday? Not really, but for the first time since this morning, I actually have a small smile on my face. Amelia: It’s okay. Trey had to go into work for a bit today so I’m hanging out at Central Park, people watching. The little bubble indicating he’s texting back doesn’t appear and my heart drops as I wonder if I shouldn’t have told him about Trey, especially since Aaron wanted nothing more than to spend the weekend with me. Shoot, that was stupid. I should have told him I was having the time of my life, but then that would have been a complete lie. Pondering—and hating—that I’m so up and down with my decisions, my phone startles me
when it rings in my hand. Aaron. “Hey,” I answer softly and lean back on the bench, my feet still tucked up close to me. “Hey birthday girl,” he answers, his voice low and sultry. God, I’ve forgotten what it’s like to talk to him on the phone. I spent many nights lying on my bed, Aaron’s voice filtering into my ear while we spoke about nothing and everything. I’ve missed hearing him like this. “What are you, thirtythree now?” “Ha, ha. Very funny. I wouldn’t be talking about age since you’re the one who’s actually in his thirties.” “But damn, thirty looks good on me.” If that isn’t the truth. There is no denying he’s grown finer in age. “Trying to rub your six-pack in my face?” “I would love to rub any part of my body in your face.” I roll my eyes and shake my head. “You’re ridiculous.” “Yeah, but I can tell there’s a little bit of light in your voice and that’s all that matters. So you’re alone on your birthday? That sucks.” “Yeah, but it’s okay. I know Trey won’t be very long.” Lie. But Aaron doesn’t need to know when Trey left. Six fucking thirty. This is the first time I’ve spoken to anyone since six fucking thirty . . .
on my birthday. “That’s good.” He clears his throat and asks, “Remember the first birthday of yours we celebrated together?” “Yeah, you were late and never told me why.” I recall the elation I felt when I finally saw him walk through the club, dressed sexy as sin with a smile on his face only for me. “My mom.” He’s sullen, quiet, and I’m actually surprised he’s opening up to me now, so many years later. “She was having a bad day and needed me. Found out she was high and paranoid. Thought someone was trying to kill her. When I arrived at her house, she was fast asleep. I checked her vitals a few times, wanting to make sure she wasn’t overdosing. She was fine, but before I left, I raided her house and threw out all of her drugs.” Pain funneled into my heart from the thought of Aaron having to take care of his mom that night. When he arrived at the club, he didn’t look like he’d just dealt with something that heavy. This surprises me. “You could have told me. You could have stayed with your mom to make sure she was going to be okay.” “No. She was fine and didn’t deserve my attention. You, on the other hand, you deserved it all and to hell if I was going to let you down on your birthday.” He pauses and then says, “But I
don’t want to talk about my mom; she’s not worth our time. What I want to talk about was what happened after we left the club.” My face heats up from the memory of Aaron stripping me down in his apartment, his hands gliding over my skin, the way he slowly made love to me that night, his sole focus on pleasing me. By the time it was his turn, his cock was beyond hard, his was ready to snap. I felt loved, full, and adored when we made eye contact the moment he drove into me. My legs clench tight, the memories making me feel hot all over again. “What do you want to talk about?” I ask, my voice soft, a little shy. “Remember how you wanted to go back to my place right away?” “But you refused because I hadn’t had a proper birthday cake,” I finish for him. “Exactly. So we went to Coldstone Creamery and got birthday cake sundaes.” “Yeah, and you sang to me while we sat on the hood of your car.” I laugh. “You have a terrible singing voice.” “Can’t be perfect at everything, babe.” My stomach flutters from the pet name he used to call me. “Do you still go to Coldstone on your birthday?” “No.” I shake my head even though he can’t see
me. “Just wasn’t the same without you.” He’s silent and then asks, “Want to know something?” I’m not sure if I do but before I can stop myself, I say, “Yes.” “I still go to Coldstone on your birthday and order the birthday cake sundae. I eat it in the parking lot on the hood of my truck and think about you.” I can barely breathe. It’s easier to keep your distance from someone when you’re mad at them, but I’m not mad at him anymore. Recently, my anger has slowly dissipated, and old feelings—that rival feelings I have for Trey —are resurfacing. “You still there?” he asks, sounding unsure. “I have to go,” I choke out. “Thanks for calling.” Hanging up quickly, I set my phone next to the pretzel and bury my head in my arms resting on my knees. He still celebrates my birthday with our special sundae. Every birthday I’ve thought of Coldstone’s birthday cake sundaes. And obviously, so has he. God. Tears spill from my eyes as my heart cracks . . . again.
*** The sun starts to set, casting the apartment into a shade of darkness. The only light on is the light over the sink in the open kitchen. The TV isn’t on, there’s no music playing, and the only noise filtering through the apartment is the sound of neighbors milling about their spaces. I have on a large sweater with the sleeves pulled over my hands that are wet from the sorrow and confusion I’ve felt today. What a shitty birthday. I drove three and a half hours to spend my birthday with Trey, and for what? We don’t have special birthday traditions. Then I hear the sound of keys in the lock. I glance at the clock on the DVR under the TV. Four thirty. He’s been gone for ten hours. I don’t want to be mad. I don’t have the energy for it, so when he drops his bag in the living room and scoops me up into a hug, I let him. “Shit, Amelia. I’m so sorry. I’m so damn sorry.” He kisses my forehead. “I tried to get out as quick as possible.” “I know.” I bite back tears. Now is not the time. The day isn’t over. “Let me make it up to you. I have a present and reservations at Idyllic.” “That sounds nice,” I say with a smile. Even though my heart is heavy, I’m trying to put on a
good show. “How about we start with the present?” “Good idea.” No. Not a good idea, Trey. Why not ask me about my day? Why not ask me what I did today? Trey presses a chaste kiss across my lips and hops off the couch while loosening his tie. He disappears for a second into the bedroom, but when he returns, his shirt buttons are partially undone and his tie is nowhere to be seen. He hands me a small box and says, “This is just a little part of your gift. I’m going to get you more, but this is the start.” The box isn’t small enough for a ring, which eases my rapidly beating heart. He’s not proposing. “Did you buy me a car?” I tease while undoing the ribbon. He doesn’t answer; he just waits for me to lift the lid. When I do, I see a key. I lift an eyebrow up at him and ask, “Uh, did you buy me car?” He laughs and shakes his head. “No, look under the key.” “Okay,” I drag out. I lift the key, which is attached to an NYC keychain and pull out a slip of paper. With nerves bouncing around in my belly, I unfold the piece of paper. When my eyes focus on what it says, I become thoroughly confused. “This is an apartment on the Upper West Side.” He nods, his smile stretching across his face. “It’s ours, sweetheart.” Eh, what? “You bought a place on the Upper West side?”
He nods. “I want to take you there before dinner. Picking out all the furniture is the second half of your present. It’s a thousand square feet, Amelia. We’re going to have so much room.” Am I missing something? Did I just flashback to a year ago when we were looking for a place to live but couldn’t afford it? Staring Trey in the eyes, I wonder . . . is he high? “I don’t understand. Why would you buy a place in the city when you’re trying to get a job in Binghamton? That’s one hell of a commute, Trey.” He scoots closer to me on the couch and brings my hands into his. Taking a deep breath, he looks me in the eyes. “You know I’ve been working a lot lately. Well, it’s for a good reason.” He smiles brightly. “I’ve been on the cusp of a promotion, and I finally got it last week.” “A promotion? Is the promotion in Binghamton?” Stupid question, I know, but honestly I’m so lost right now. “No, sweetie. It’s here. I actually put in an offer on the apartment when I found out. It’s not quite ours yet but the realtor is meeting us there later so I can show you the place. I know the plan was to move to Binghamton, but when my boss told me about the opportunity within the company, I couldn’t turn it down. This is huge, Amelia. Like you don’t have to work huge.” “I like working.” My mind is racing a mile a
minute, trying to comprehend what’s going on. What happened to our plan? Did he actually have an interview in Binghamton? I haven’t been gone that long, so this must have been in the works even before I left. And now . . . he’s buying an apartment on the Upper West Side and taking a promotion that will keep him at his company. In. The. City. What the hell? He thinks I want this? “Well, we can find you a job at some point.” At some point? “And what about my dad? I moved so I could be with him, so I could watch over him. I didn’t move there and have a long-distance relationship with you for shits and giggles.” “I know.” Trey squeezes his eyes shut for a brief moment and then says, “You said it yourself, Amelia, he’s not doing well. I love you and your dad, but at what point do we stop living to accommodate him and live for us instead?” What the actual fuck? “Are you kidding me right now?” I take my hands away from his. “That’s my father. I’ve already left him alone for far too long.” “He doesn’t talk to you, Amelia.” “That doesn’t mean he doesn’t know I’m there.” Trey sighs and runs his hand through his hair. “Then let’s move him down here. I was talking to
Jane at work the other day, and she just moved her mom into this really nice nursing home in Brooklyn. The staff is amazing, and he would be close to us.” “I can’t just move him. He’s already confused and doesn’t know what’s happening most of the time, so I need to keep him in the room he’s become comfortable with. It’s not like you and me, Trey, where we can process things and adjust accordingly. He doesn’t have that ability to accept change, to understand it. I’m not just going to move him because you got a promotion.” Seeming frustrated, Trey stands from the couch and rubs his hands over his face. “Then what am I supposed to do here?” “I don’t know, maybe keep your promises? Or talk to me before you make giant life changes?” My voice is sarcastic, my mind still reeling from the bomb he dropped on me. “I wanted to surprise you. I thought you’d be happy.” Happy? What the fuck? “Surprise?” I ask and then sardonically laugh. “A surprise is something like, ‘Hey honey, got us Chinese for dinner. Surprise!’ It’s not buying a freaking apartment three hours away from where I’m living and not telling me about a promotion you were going after. I mean . . . dammit, Trey, we had this all planned out. What the hell happened?” “Opportunity happened.” He moves in closer, but I don’t let him take my hands. “I want to grow
in my career, Amelia. I don’t want to be the lowest man on the totem pole. I want more for my life. You can understand that. You know I love you, but your dad isn’t going to be around very long, so I need to think what’s best for our future, and that’s what I did.” You know I love you, but . . . They’re not the words any woman wants to hear. They’re not the words any woman with an ailing father wants to hear. And they’re certainly not the words a woman on her birthday wants to hear. I know I love him, but . . . this is completely outside the realm of what’s good for us. What’s good for me. What’s good for my dad. “What’s my favorite sundae from Coldstone, Trey?” He pauses, caught off guard from my question. “Uh, I have no idea. What’s this got to do with my promotion? Our apartment?” Nothing. It has nothing to do with his promotion. Just as it has nothing to do with him when it comes to me. To my birthday. How can one day bring so many warring emotions? Loneliness. Hope. Heat. Dejection. Heartache. I nod and stand from the couch, feeling . . . resolved. I want to fume and be angry, but after the day I’ve had, I’m simply too tired. A little defeated actually.
But not torn in two. I didn’t walk away from our relationship. I didn’t beg to go. He encouraged me to go be with my dad, with enthusiastic affirmation that he would move his life as well. He didn’t need to be in the city to do his job; he could do it from anywhere. Yet, as those words passed his lips, he knew them to be lies. His choice was all about him. His plans were in place so he wouldn’t be the lowest man on the totem pole. He loves me . . . but. “My future involved us in Binghamton, spending holidays and weekends with my dad as he grew older.” “What are you saying?” he asks, stepping in closer. Not able to look him in the eyes, my gaze cast down at the scuffed-up parquet floors, I say, “I think you know what I’m saying, Trey. I think you knew the minute you made the decision to stay here in the city. I’m just sad you didn’t tell me sooner.” How can he look so confused here? I shake my head in anger and in disappointment. “By the way, my favorite sundae from Coldstone Creamery is the birthday cake sundae.”
Chapter Twenty-One AARON
A heavy fall fog is clouding the stars tonight, making the air feel incredibly thick, thick with regret. Why did I tell Amelia about celebrating her birthday with our special sundae? That was too much information for someone who’s already skittish, but fuck, she has me all twisted inside. I flick another pumpkin seed in the bowl in front of me, debating if I should go to Coldstone or not. It would be the first year since I met her that I don’t go, and I’m not sure that sits well with me, but then again, maybe I need to let go and move on. I gave her the opportunity to stay here, but she chose to leave. She chose to spend the weekend— her birthday weekend—with another man. My lucky-as-shit brother. I need to get a fucking hint. Another pumpkin seed in the bowl. Fucking seeds. Like a douche, I decided to roast all the seeds I pulled from the pumpkins I carved for Halloween. At the time, I thought it was a good idea, but now, I can’t stand them, and I don’t know if it’s because I’m sick of them or if it’s because every time I’ve
sat down to eat them, I’m surrounded by memories of Amelia, memories I’ll never be able to touch again. I sigh and pull my hood over my head, feeling the cold seep into my bones, but I have zero interest in going back inside my house where it feels like the walls are closing in on me. At least outside, I can breathe fresh air. I flick a few more seeds into the bowl, tired of the mindless game, when bright headlights flash down the street. They’re almost blinding in the dark night, and when they start to slow down, my heart rate picks up. It’s not her. It can’t be her. She’s with him. Because the lights are so bright, I can’t tell what kind of car it is or who’s inside but when it starts to slow down significantly, I stand from my chair. When the car turns into the joint driveway and I catch a glimpse of the side of Amelia’s car, my heart leaps in my throat. Be cool, man. Don’t tackle her. But the biggest question in my mind is, why did she spend over three hours driving home on her birthday? I wait. The car turns off and I see the shadow of Amelia resting her head on the steering wheel before slipping out of the car. Intently, like a hawk watching his prey, my eyes focus as she rounds the
front of her car, her shoulders slumped, and her eyes downcast. It isn’t until she reaches the hood of my truck that she looks up and the moon peeks through the fog for me to catch a glimpse of the sorrow in her eyes. Without a second thought, I hop over my porch rail and walk toward her. Scratching the scruff on my jaw, I approach her tentatively. I have so many fucking questions. Why is she here? Why is she so sad? And why the fuck is she once again arriving in Binghamton alone? But I hold them back. From the looks of it, she doesn’t want to answer a bunch of questions. Maybe right now, she just needs her friend. Instead of reaching for her like I want to, I reach into my pocket and pull out the keys to my truck. I nod at it and say, “Hey birthday girl, want to get some ice cream?” When her eyes connect with mine, she nods. I give her a slight smile, tug on her hand, and take her to the passenger side of my truck. Opening the door for her, I swing her around and nod for her to get in. She doesn’t say anything as she hoists herself into my truck and starts to buckle up. I close the door and walk around the back of the truck, trying to catch my breath before I share a small cab with her. I don’t know what this means. I have no idea where this night will take us, or what’s going
through her pretty little head, but what I do know: I’m going to take full advantage of the opportunity. Backing out, I look over my shoulder, stealing a glance at Amelia who is looking out the window. I don’t want her to feel pressure, so I’m heading to the place where we can simply celebrate her birthday just like we used to. I turn right off Franklin and head toward Coldstone. We’re going to be coming in hot just as they start to close, but I don’t care. I’ll give them a nice tip. Sensing she’s not going to start a conversation, I decide to speak first. “Remember the time you were craving Applebee’s boneless Buffalo wings, and you begged me to take you, but they were closing in fifteen minutes?” I glance at her just as she tilts her head in my direction, a question in her eyes. “I do.” “That was the first time I was pulled over by a cop. Fifty in a twenty-five. Hot damn, I was going fast.” “For a valid reason,” she says, lightness in her voice. “You told the cop we were on our way to the hospital because your sister was giving birth, and you had to be there to hold her hand for good luck. You went as far as telling him you were blessed by a witch doctor and had the power of making sure the baby wasn’t born with an extra toe.” “That’s a concern a lot of parents have,” she
says in mock defense, now fully turning in her seat. “It was a blatant lie.” “But you didn’t get a ticket, did you?” I eye her at a stoplight. “That was until he saw us strolling into the Applebee’s five minutes before they closed.” “Yeah, that was unfortunate.” “So was the ticket I got and the points on my license.” “Not to mention the kitchen was closed so we didn’t get Buffalo wings.” She chuckles. “Kind of a bad night. Why did you bring it up?” “Because”—I glance at the clock—“Coldstone closes soon, and I’m about to pull an Applebee’s repeat if the lights don’t cooperate with us.” “Well, we don’t want that, do we?” “No,” I answer, turning onto Front Street, “because going to those defensive driver classes to get the points taken off my license was a complete nightmare. I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.” “Given your incessantly rude road rage, I can imagine you needed those classes.” “What are you talking about? I don’t have road rage,” I say as someone neglects to use their blinker and the urge to give them a “thumbs up” floods me. “Uh huh, this coming from the guy known to shout I hope you get raging hemorrhoids when someone cuts you off.”
I chuckle to myself. It’s the perfect wish. I don’t want anyone to crash, or to get hurt, but if you fail to use your blinker or cut me off, a hemorrhoid isn’t that bad of a request, right? “Could be worse. I could be wishing for other things.” “How about you don’t wish for anything and accept the fact that there are poor drivers on the road?” I shake my head and wait at the red light that leads into the Coldstone plaza. “I can’t. I expect all drivers to be alert and ready while driving.” “So the road head—” “I think we’re done reminiscing on my driving, okay?” I smile back at her, trying to push away the thoughts of that one time . . . I park the truck in front of the building and take another look at the clock, eight minutes to spare. Yup, they’re going to hate us. Luckily, they make the ice cream right in front of you. “Come on, get your birthday ass out of this truck because we have some ice cream to eat.” She hops out, and I join her on the sidewalk. I take in the workers who eye us and slump their shoulders. Sorry, guys, my girl needs some ice cream. I open the door for Amelia and when she walks in, I clear my throat and announce very loudly, “Here comes the birthday girl.” I startle not only
her, but the workers who are looking more annoyed than anything. “Aaron,” she says quietly and turns around to whack me in the stomach, “don’t do that.” Oh, but it’s what I do. Live freely, have fun, and take in the moment. She should know this by now. “What? It’s your birthday, the world needs to know it.” I look at the workers and say, “She’s thirty-five by the way; doesn’t she look good for her age?” “I’m not,” she stutters. “I’m not thirty-five.” They don’t seem to care. I don’t even bother to look at the menu, because I know exactly what we’re getting. The smell of waffle cones and ice cream envelop us, reminding me of the first time we came together. Just like the first time, I drape my arm over Amelia’s shoulders and bring her against my side. “Sorry about the late visit, boys, but it’s my girl’s birthday, and we need to celebrate. Can we get two Birthday Remixes in the Love It size?” I lean forward a bit and say, “I’ll tip well.” Seeming to be okay with that, they get to work. When I pull out my wallet, I snag two twenties and plop them in the tip jar. The workers look at each other in surprise and smile, their hands working fast with kneading the ice cream and mixings together. “Ahem,” I clear my throat. “I said I would tip well, but that also means I get a song.”
Yes, a song. It’s one of the reasons why I would never work at a Coldstone not that I really would, but if I was younger and had a choice, no thank you. You are required to sing a damn song every time someone tips you and fuck if I would want to stand there, mixing ice cream and singing a damn “Hi Ho” song. Chalk that up with the defensive driving nightmare. “They don’t need to sing.” “Yes, they do, it’s tradition. We would like to hear the birthday one, boys. And by the looks of it, I’m going to say you two have some great harmonization. Am I right?” “I do sing a good alto,” one of them says while the other rolls his eyes. “Let’s hear it then.” The non-alto sighs heavily and rings a bell that cues their song. Together, they sing a rendition of happy birthday that some evil person in corporate came up with. Alto goes for the deep voice while the other guy barely hums the song out. When they’re done, I pull my arm away from Amelia and give them a genuine clap. Amelia’s cheeks are red from embarrassment, which I find endearing. “Well done, boys. That alto was on point.” “Really? I practice in front of the mirror sometimes with my tooth brush.” Why does this not surprise me? “It shows, dude. Keep it up.” He plops one of
the ice creams in a dish and before he can hand it to me, I lean over and say, “There can be another five in the tip jar if you cover that ice cream in cherries.” “Done.” I pull away and wink at Amelia who’s eyeing me and shaking her head. She likes cherries. I didn’t forget. I haven’t forgotten anything when it comes to Amelia. I slip another five in the tip jar and when the guy rings the bell to sing another song, I stop them. “No need, boys, you’ve done enough.” I’ve got to give them a little break. After we checkout, giving the boys a wave and a thank you, I escort Amelia to my truck where she stops in front of it and looks at the hood and then back up at me. “Uh, there is no way I’m getting up on that thing. It’s so tall.” That’s fair. “How about if I put the tailgate down, does that work?” “That’s better.” I put down the tailgate and set my ice cream on the side. I turn toward Amelia and without saying anything, grab her by the waist and lift her up on the truck. A mini squeal pops out of her mouth but when she settles on the truck, she smiles softly at me. “Thank you.” With my hands still on her hips, I study her, loving how she feels. So fragile, so tiny in my
hands. “Any time, babe.” Reluctantly, I pull away and hop up on the truck effortlessly. With our feet dangling, we eat our ice cream and stare out at the community college directly across from Coldstone. “Hey, I owe you a happy birthday song.” She’s digging through the mound of cherries when she shakes her head. “No, I think you’ve done enough.” “That’s ridiculous.” I clear my throat and belt it out, loud, really emphasizing her name. When I’m done, she turns toward me and says, “You know, your voice is just as terrible as it was three years ago.” “No insult you throw my way is going to ruin this moment for me. For the first time in three years, I’m eating ice cream on this day with the girl I fell in love with years ago. I’m in fucking heaven.” I wink at her and then reach over to scoop a few of her cherries. “Hey, those are mine.” “I paid for it, so it’s payer’s tax.” I put the spoonful in my mouth and chew, loving the way she glares at me like she used to. God, it almost feels like no time has passed between us. We sit in silence for a few beats before she says, “So, aren’t you going to ask what happened?” “Nope.” I take a huge bite of ice cream, enjoying the flavor combination. “That’s up to you to tell
me. I’m not going to pry. I’m just here to make sure you have a good birthday.” She nods and says, “Well, this makes up for the first half of it.” “And we’re not done, babe. I have plans.” “We’re doing more after this?” I lean against the side of the truck and give her a once-over. “Yeah, babe, we’re doing more after this.” *** “I can’t believe you brought me here.” “Why not?” I shout above the music, black lights igniting the color on our shirts. “Because”—she looks around from the bar stool she sits on—“we are surrounded by old people.” Laughing, I say, “Hate to admit it to you, Amelia, but the bars we used to visit wouldn’t accept us old farts, so I took you to the next best thing. Flashbacks.” “The younger bars would accept us.” “They would.” I take a sip from my beer. “But they would be staring at us the whole time because they would know we were too old for their crowd.” There are a few bars on State Street. It’s where all the college kids go to party and oddly enough, they’re jam-packed during the holiday weekend with the kids who couldn’t go home for the
holidays, or the kids who came back home to Binghamton for the holiday. Basically, everyone is getting drunk tonight. When we were younger, we could go to an underground bar called The Rat, and that’s where the scene was, that or JT’s, but there was no dancing in JT’s. But now we’re older, we have two choices: Dillenger’s or Flashbacks. Dillenger’s, although an awesome atmosphere, doesn’t have dancing, just drunk singing to Journey. And I want to dance with my girl. “We used to make fun of the people who came here.” He looks around, bright hippy flowers bouncing off the walls and an old VW Bug in the corner. It’s a strange place, but the dance floor, that shit is lit up and I can’t wait to get my feet on it. “Yeah, and look at all the fun we were missing out on.” I lean over her shoulder and point to a man on the dance floor. “Look at that dude, he’s straight-up doing the hustle. Don’t you want to be a part of that?” She studies him for a second and then shakes her head. “His chest hair is glistening.” “Because that dude is feeling his groove, and I’m fucking jealous.” I lace my fingers with hers and say, “Let’s go, Amelia, time to get those feet moving.” She holds me back. “You’re kidding, right?” Caught off guard from her refusal, I tilt my head
and take her in. “Where’s the girl I used to know who would willingly jump to the dance floor? The one who would openly run nude in the middle of a field, or scream out the window while driving down the highway?” Her eyes lower as she nibbles on her bottom lip. When I tilt her chin up, she says, “She had a rough day.” “Looks like we’re going to have to remedy that then.” I pick up her drink and say, “Chug.” I do the same and the minute we’re done with our drinks, I lace our fingers together, pull her from her stool, and guide her to the dance floor. A little shy at first, she looks at me, not knowing what to do—which makes me snort—so I lean forward and whisper in her ear, “Just dance, babe. Let loose.” She looks around and when “Love Shack” by the B-52’s comes on, that’s my cue to take her lack of dancing into my hands. I spin her around and snag her by the waist with our hands clasped out to the side. Like the “funky” aunt and uncle at a wedding, I start moving our feet up and down along with our clasped arm. I know we look ridiculous, especially with my size taking up a good portion on the dance floor, but when Amelia starts laughing uncontrollably, me jostling her around, I know I’m doing everything right.
I spin her out and then grip both her hands and twist them back and forth, causing her whole body to shake. Her smile stretches across her face, her hair fanning out, and her eyes bright and sparkling more than I’ve seen in a long time. When the music starts to die in the middle of the song, I bring her down to the floor, squatting as the women in the club say, “Bang, bang, bang on the door, baby.” The men reply, “Knock a little louder, sugar.” We go and back forth and as the music gradually gets louder, the crowd stands until we’re all shouting, “Bang, Bang, on the door, baby!” Amelia finally gets into it and when the music stops and the singers shout, “Tin roof, rusted,” Amelia sings from the top of her lungs, the funloving girl I once knew peeking out for the world to see. And then she lets loose and I find it hard to keep up. Her hand runs through her hair, and her feet start to really move, but when the music switches to “Billie Jean,” I get a good show. Fuck if I can’t stop myself from smiling like a fool. Getting in her Michael Jackson position, Amelia grabs her crotch and her head and starts bouncing up and down like MJ only to start snapping around me, her moves calculated, formulated and on point. I try to keep up, but hell, she’s moving all around me, singing and “Eee-eeing” with MJ at the top of
her lungs. The crowd starts to form a circle and before I know it, Amelia is moonwalking across the floor only to stop, flip her leg out in some crazy-ass MJ way and then grab her crotch, pelvic thrusting in my direction. Oh fuck! I laugh so fucking loud and tears fall from my eyes. She’s so petite, wearing freaking riding boots and leggings, and owning the dance floor like it’s her own. That’s until my jam comes on . . . I spread the crowd apart and form a circle for me and me alone. I stand in the middle, reaching up to the sky, and tap my toe to the beat. When the music falls, so do my arms, only to rise with jazz hands. That’s right, fucking jazz hands. I mouth the lyrics to the crowd, warning them about the temperature and the thermometer getting low. Amelia claps and laughs to the side, so I take that moment to point to her, jog quickly in place and shout to the rooftops, “For the first time in history, it’s raining men.” Jogging around the crowd, I clap my hands above my head and get every single person in the bar to feel the fucking groove only The Weather Girls can deliver. Fuck, I love this song. I pull Amelia out on the dance floor and show her exactly the kind of moves she’s lacking in her dance repertoire. “Hallelujah,” I shout, while shaking my hands up
to the sky. “It’s raining men, dammit,” I ad lib for Amelia’s ears only, causing her to throw her head back and laugh. I pull her into my arms and move with her, the ridiculous song edging us on and when the music switches, I realize it’s time to get a little naughty. The distinct sound of a hi-hat fills the space and I fucking lose it. I plaster Amelia against my body, our fronts touching . . . grinding. I grip her waist and move her along with my hips; her hands go to my chest as her gaze is drawn to our connection. Salt-N-Pepa sing “Push It” as I do everything in my body to grind dangerously against Amelia and for a brief second I think she might pull away but when she wraps her hands around my neck, meeting my every thrust, I settle into a feeling I haven’t experienced in a long time: total fucking bliss. She’s wearing a sweater that covers her entire body so when she releases my neck to take it off and wrap it around her waist, I’m greeted by her low-cut camisole . . . and my mouth goes dry. With every thrust into me, her breasts bounce, her cleavage seems endless. And just when I thought I was keeping my erection under control, I am so desperately wrong. My cock turns hard as stone and I know she feels it—there is no way she can’t—but when she continues to dance with me, I realize she doesn’t care, so I make the most of it. I move my hands
from her waist to just below her breasts, my thumbs gripping her ribcage. She visibly gasps from the contact and her eyes go hazy. I’m not going to push too hard, despite what the song is encouraging me to do, because I still don’t know what’s going on with her and Trey. I don’t want to make her do something she’s going to regret. I keep it clean, well, somewhat clean. I might brush a thumb against her under boob “accidently.” Teasing me, her hands glide up my chest, feeling every contour of my pecs as we move flawlessly together, electricity bouncing between us, and just like on the first birthday we celebrated together, we’re dancing toward a wall where I press her against it. The music is pumping through us, but now her hands are pulling on my neck, making me lower my head to hers. I grind against her, my cock pressing into her, her little body hopping up onto my waist so our centers are connected and her legs are wrapped around me. Fuck, this is too far, this is way too far. This is way too familiar. I know how that birthday with her ended . . . Her head leans against the wall, her neck exposed when I press harder into her center, my cock so goddamn hard that I’m afraid it might break. I take her hands from behind my neck, lace them with mine and press them against the wall. Our foreheads connect and when I see her lips part,
I hold steady, only moving my hips, feeling the solid beat of Salt-N-Pepper. I want her so fucking bad. I want to fuck her right here, feel her tight warmth wrap around me. I want to hear her sweet moan, taste her addicting skin. I want to see the look on her face again when I fully submerge myself inside her. My breath is running rampant, my heart beating out of control as she bites her bottom lip, thrusting her hips into me and then I hear it, a little moan. I itch to press my lips against hers. I yearn to taste her. My hands grip hers tightly, my will slipping, my control nowhere to be found. I lean forward, lick my lips and when she parts her mouth, ready for me, I press even further. Millimeters away—so fucking close my body is on fire—my cock throbs uncontrollably. I’m about to press my lips against hers when the song switches, turning slow and methodic, which no longer pushes me past the line I can’t cross. Fucking hell. I pull back. Her heady eyes snap to mine, and she looks confused. She tries to grip the back of my neck again but I shake my head, keeping her hands firmly in place. “Not here, not now, baby. Not until you’re really ready.” I lower her to the ground, bring her into my chest, and kiss her on top of her head. I think we’ve
had enough fun for today. Enough close fucking calls. Yeah, I want her with every fiber of my being. But I don’t deserve her to fuck me, feel guilty, and then blame me. So, I back away. Again. *** Shyly, Amelia turns toward me, her sweater back on now, and says, “Thank you for tonight. I had a lot of fun.” I made a quick pit stop at my house before I helped her out of my truck and walked her to her front door. I wasn’t going to forget to give her her gift. “I’m glad you were able to go out with me.” From my pocket, I pull out a small box and say, “Here. It’s not much, but it’s a little something for your birthday.” She stares down at the box and then up at me. “You didn’t have to get me anything, Aaron.” “I know, but I wanted to.” I nod at the box. “Open it.” Smiling, she pops open the box and laughs when she holds up a silver chain with a silver pizza charm hanging off it. “Oh my God, it’s a pizza necklace.” I laugh along with her, realizing how stupid it really is, but it made her laugh, and that’s cool. “I thought it was fitting. There’s something else in there.”
Holding the necklace, she lifts a piece of tissue paper and reveals a card with hole punches in it. It takes her a second to realize what it is but when she does, she gasps. “You’re kidding, right?” “Nope.” I shake my head. “It’s all yours to use whenever you want.” She holds up a Nirchi’s punch card with all the punches filled, meaning . . . she gets a free sheet pizza to herself. “All I ask is that you get Buffalo chicken.” “I would be crazy to order anything else.” She holds the present to her chest. “Thank you. This is the best present ever.” I shrug and then tip her chin. “I know what you like.” She holds the necklace out to me. “Will you put it on for me?” I chuckle. “You don’t have to wear it, Amelia.” “But I want to.” Not arguing with that, I take the necklace and reach around her neck, leaning over her body. I catch a glimpse of her sweet scent, causing my toes to curl, memories of tonight filling my head. I clasp the necklace together, but when I go to pull away, she grips my waist, her thumbs caressing my hipbones. Well, fuck, that’s an easy way to get me hard again. Unsure of what to do with my hands, I rest them on her shoulders and try to act as composed as
possible, despite the raging need I have flowing through me. “Aaron,” she says breathlessly. “I broke up with Trey.” And if that isn’t the best thing I’ve ever heard, I don’t know what is. But the news also has a war starting in my head. I want nothing more than to take Amelia into her house and make love to her several times until we pass out—until I literally can’t lift my body anymore—but I know that would be wrong. She might have broken up with Trey, but that doesn’t mean she’s over him. I don’t want to be her rebound. I want her to be with me because she wants to be with me. I press a kiss to her forehead and pull her into a hug. “I’m sorry to hear that, babe. I’m here if you want to talk about it.” “Aaron—” “Not now, Amelia. You need to heal. You need to process what happened with you and Trey. I’m not going anywhere. Take your time, recharge yourself, and figure out what you truly want. Okay?” When I pull away, she’s biting the side of her lip, but there’s understanding in her eyes. “Have a good night, beautiful. If you need me, you know where to find me.” I pull away and step off her porch. I head toward my house but turn and
walk backward to see her staring back at me. “Happy Birthday, Amelia.” The moment I close the door to my house, I make a beeline to my bathroom and strip. I consider taking a cold shower but nix that idea. I need a fucking release. With steam billowing around me, thoughts of Amelia make me hard. Placing one hand on the tile in front of me, the shower water beating off my back, I grip my aching cock and start to pump. My eyes are squeezed shut as I pull up memories from tonight: the feel of Amelia riding me against the wall, her tits bouncing with every thrust, her laugh, her smell, her fucking moan. Fuck, I squeeze tight and pump harder, making sure to pull tight at the tip of my cock. I grunt to myself, my legs starting to tingle as I envision her riding me in the club, of the way her eyes sparkled with arousal, the way her hair brushed against my face. I could have pulled her tits into my mouth. “God,” I moan, leaning against the shower. I pump harder, my hand sliding fast along my hard cock. I want her so damn bad. I want her tight, lithe body riding me, her luscious, ample breasts bouncing above me. I want to see her face when she orgasms. I want to hear the erotic sounds she makes when she comes, and I want to feel her core contracting around my cock. I want it so damn bad.
“Christ.” My balls tighten, my hand pulling harder on my cock, my legs weakening with each yank. I squeeze my eyes tighter as I feel my orgasm approaching, waiting to fall over the edge. I envision her lips, those plump, red lips wrapped around my cock, the way she used to suck me so damn hard I saw stars. And just like that, I’m grunting as my cock convulses in my hand, orgasm violently wracking my body. “Shit.” I breathe heavily, my eyes still closed tight as pleasure rips through me. It isn’t until I’m dried off and lying naked in bed that my heart starts to beat at a normal rate. She’s only a few feet away, and yet, she still feels so fucking far away. I almost had a taste. I almost . . . Tonight was a step in the right direction. She broke up with Trey. Maybe Trey doesn’t get everything.
Chapter Twenty-Two AMELIA
I check my phone, two missed calls from Trey and three text messages. It’s the Sunday after my birthday, and I have yet to talk to Aaron after our night or talk to Trey since we broke up. I spent the day yesterday cleaning. Yes, cleaning. I cleaned everything, from my bedroom to the basement. No square footage was left untouched. I dusted, swept, mopped, scrubbed the toilet and counters, and searched for cobwebs. It was the only way I could keep myself busy, busy from thinking about Aaron, about Trey’s horrible assumptions, about how angry Trey made me, and my dad who has slowly deteriorated ever since I moved here. I’m still reeling from Trey’s “present.” How could he think I would be delighted? How could he use words of encouragement urging me to feel positive about our move, when he didn’t really believe them himself? Is it me? Was I so determined to find a man who appeared so different than Aaron that I fell for Trey? Reliable Trey. Charming Trey. Steadfast Trey.
Caring Trey. Rescuing Trey. We had everything planned . . . Why did he lie? Feeling desolate and slightly curious, I read his texts. Trey: Please call me, Amelia. I want to talk about this some more. Trey: I’m just looking out for our future, planning for it. You can understand that. There is no future with Trey, not when he’s made deliberate decisions to stay in the city. I’m not leaving my dad and honestly, I like my job here. I like the people and the kids I work with. I enjoy driving to my job without having to deal with city traffic, and I particularly enjoy living in a home rather than an apartment. I do love him, and I thought he was my world. Yet, Trey and I don’t seem to have the same goals, and what’s more disheartening is he has no concept of what truly is in my heart. Something we discussed ad nauseam before I moved to be closer to my dad. Why did he make such false promises? And then there’s Aaron. The man who made sure I had a good birthday. Who not only called to wish me a happy birthday, but also took me out to places I loved, showering me with his ardent . . . love? He was right to press pause the other night. I wanted him. My God, I wanted him, and I knew he wanted me. I know what the look of lust and love look like on his handsome face, and they were there throughout the whole night. He didn’t ask
questions. He knew I needed headspace. He knew I needed something special, and he gave it to me. For nothing in return. I was ready to give myself to him again last night, but I think he knew I would regret such a move. This time he didn’t make the decision for me without explaining why. He didn’t close the door, but left it open. Not now, he told me. You need to heal. You need to process what happened with you and Trey. He’s right. I’m not devastated or completely broken about Trey and me. I’m actually hopeful, and again, it’s Aaron’s words that give me hope. I’m not going anywhere. Take your time and figure out what you truly want. What I truly want. Still in my robe with a towel on my head to dry my hair, I add two spoonfuls of sugar to my coffee and give it a stir. Looking out the kitchen window, I see the leaves have fallen from the trees, covering the grass in a brown blanket. It’s dreary, a very common look for Binghamton during this time of the year, and very fitting for my mood. Needing a little voice of reason—or kick in the ass—I dial Amanda’s number. “Hi, pretty face,” she answers. “How’s the city?” Can you tell I haven’t talked to her in the last few days? “Uh, wouldn’t know, I’m back in Binghamton.”
There is rustling on the other end of the phone and then a serious Amanda asks, “What happened?” Sighing, I head to the living room, coffee warming my hand, and sit on my couch, my legs tucked under me to keep my cold feet warm. “I don’t know where to begin.” “Start from when you got to the city.” “It wasn’t a good day to begin with. I was feeling uneasy with Aaron and him wanting me to stay the weekend to hang out. When I went to see my dad, he didn’t acknowledge me at all.” “I’m sorry, sweetie, I know that hasn’t been easy for you.” “It hasn’t.” I take a deep breath, trying to not break down on the phone. “So when I arrived, I wasn’t really in the best mood. Luckily, Trey thought I was upset about my dad and held me while I cried silently.” “Oh, my heart is breaking for you. You weren’t just upset about your dad?” “No.” I bite my bottom lip, thinking about the look in Aaron’s eyes when he helped me get in my car. I saw how desperately he wanted me to stay with him. It still kills me thinking about it. “Aaron asked me to stay with him over the weekend, and when I turned him down, I saw utter disappointment in his eyes, and it kind of destroyed me.” It was as though he’d given up.
“He broke your heart, sweetie. You have a boyfriend, so you don’t have to feel bad.” “I know. But it’s just . . . different with him. You know? Knowing why he gave me up, his history with his mom, seeing the sadness in his eyes, it just pulls at me.” “I understand that, you two had a strong bond between you when you were together. He was your first love, your first everything, you will always have a special place in your heart for him. It’s hard to shake those feelings.” “It is.” I swallow hard. “So, my birthday morning, Trey received a call from work, and he left. At six thirty.” “No, he didn’t. Why didn’t you tell me?” Amanda called me on my birthday, but I failed to mention any of the drama going on. I didn’t have the strength after talking to Aaron. “I couldn’t. I was really upset and didn’t want to alarm you. I know you were Black Friday shopping with your mom. Given it’s your tradition, I didn’t want to disturb you.” “Amelia . . .” “I know. Please no lecture.” I take a sip of my coffee. “I spent the day by myself. Aaron called me at one point, and it only made me ache for him more. When Trey finally came home, ten hours later, he gave me his present.” “Ten hours later? You drove there to spend your
birthday with him, and he left you while he went to work for ten hours? It better be a really good present.” It’s so good to hear her anger at this. It’s not just me. “He bought us an apartment in Manhattan.” I exhale heavily, still confused as to what he was thinking. There is silence on the other end of the phone and then Amanda says, “Uh, what? Isn’t that the opposite of the plan?” “That’s what I said. Apparently he got a promotion within his company. No, let’s go back. While I’ve been setting up home here, he had been pursuing a promotion within his company in the city, which was why he’d been working so hard. He wanted me to move back, uproot my dad, and resume our life there. God, Amanda, I’m so mad about it.” “I’m really confused. Where did all this come from?” This is the part that has put a bad taste in my mouth when it comes to Trey, something I never expected him to say. “He said he was looking toward our future and that we shouldn’t be hindered by my dad’s illness. His words were, ‘I want more for my life. You can understand that. You know I love you, but your dad isn’t going to be around very long, so I need to think what’s best for our future.’”
More silence and then she clears her throat. “Well, please tell me you dumped that motherfucker.” I chuckle quietly. Thank God for Amanda. “I left. Told him we were done. All I heard in my mind was ‘I love you, but . . .’ I couldn’t ignore that he’s been banking on my dad passing soon. That hurts. He knows how special my dad is to me. He knew that when I left the city, but now . . . Now he has a new job, a new apartment, and a new, unsympathetic attitude toward my dad. I still don’t get it.” I pause. “And even though I’m enraged when I think about what Trey did, since it was so out of character for him, a part of me is sad. But, Amanda, I’m not the absolute crushed soul I was when I lost Aaron.” I sigh and push up my towel. “I don’t know. Do you think he wanted me to break up with him? Little contact. Complete change in direction.” “No way. You’re a catch. Trey is an idiot. He’ll regret it, no doubt in my mind. So what happened after you broke up? Did you drive home three hours on your birthday?” “Crying the whole way,” I confirm. “Why didn’t you call me? Amelia, I could have at least talked to you, or you could have driven here.” “Honestly, I wasn’t in the mood to be around anyone.” I look out the window at Aaron’s large
black truck in the driveway, remembering the intimate time we shared. “But when I pulled into my driveway, Aaron was sitting on his porch.” “Ohhhhhhh boy. What happened? If you say you had sex, and you’ve waited an entire day to tell me, I’m going to kill you. Literally kill you.” “We didn’t have sex.” I chuckle. “But he did take me out for my birthday. He took me to get ice cream—” “Ahhh, your special ice cream?” “Yeah, apparently he’s gone on my birthday every year. I can’t even with that right now. And then he took me to Flashbacks.” “The old-fart bar?” If Amanda was sitting in front of me, I know her face would be scrunched up with disgust. “Yes.” I laugh. “But it was so much fun. I don’t think I’ve danced that hard in a very long time, and then, maybe . . . we kind of . . . did a little bit of dry-humping against a wall.” I bite on my lip and close my eyes, waiting for Amanda’s response. “You WHAT?” she yells. “Oh my God, did you come?” “No, but God, I was so close. He’s different than when we first dated, and there’s so much more of him. I honestly didn’t know what to do with my hands because they wanted to wander all over his body.” My stomach flips in the best kind of way just thinking about it.
“Oh, I’m getting all hot and bothered. So you’re dry-humping. Where did it go from there?” “He took me home.” “And . . .” “Gave me a present and said good night.” I grip the pizza necklace he gave me and play with it. “Uh, did he kiss you? What did he give you? Is it a picture of his dick? Send it to me if it is.” I roll my eyes. “No kiss, no dick pic.” “Well, that’s disappointing,” she huffs. “What did he give you then?” “A necklace with a silver pizza slice on it and his completely full Nirchi’s punch card.” “Hell. That’s good.” Amanda chuckles. “That is so fucking good! Oh, that man wants you, and he’s willing to give up a free sheet pizza for what he wants.” I know what you’re thinking. It’s pizza, what’s the big deal? It’s such a big deal when it comes to Aaron and me. Pizza is the soul reason we met, and Nirchi’s is nothing to joke about. “I know.” “Okay, so you broke up with Trey because he was a douche, you dry-humped Aaron at a bar for sixty-year-olds, and he gave you his free pizza. What happened next?” I wanted him to take me to his bed and fuck me all night. Yeah, thinking I may not say that. “I wanted him, Amanda, and he knew it. He still
wants me back. But, he told me I need time to heal. He wants me to process what happened with Trey, and he would wait for me.” In his arms at the club felt like we were back where we started. The emotion, the connection . . . God, the sexual chemistry. It was all there. And I wanted it. I had just broken up with my boyfriend, yet within ten hours I was willingly in the arms of another man . . . and wanted him. Desperately. “I haven’t talked to him since we said goodnight.” “Let me guess, you cleaned yesterday?” “The house looks brand new.” I scoot down on the couch and rest my head against the cushion. “I don’t know what to do, Amanda. I just broke up with Trey. Why don’t I feel devastated about Trey? I loved him; shouldn’t I be stuffing my face with brownies and ice cream right now?” “You loved Trey, Amelia, and until Friday, we’d both thought he was the man for you. Perhaps he was always a filler for the person who truly owns your heart, and you realized that long before Friday. The question now is, will you take Aaron back?” I’m not sure Trey was a filler. I loved him . . . I still love him, but I also carry love for another man. “I want to . . . but I’m scared.” There’s a knock at my door, and I have a sinking feeling I know who it will be. “That’s a justified feeling. I would be scared too
if I was in your position, but don’t let fear dictate your future. You’re not living unless your take a leap. Let your heart beat, let it feel, let it soar, and let it love again.” Tears brimming my eyes, I nod even though she can’t see me. “Thanks, Amanda.” “Anytime, sweetie.” I quickly say goodbye, cinch my robe tight, and open the front door. Aaron stands in front of me, wearing a green jacket, his Yankees hat, and a huge smile on his face. “Morning, babe. I let you have yesterday to soak everything in, but today, we’re going to have fun.” He takes in my apparel and the towel on my head. “You’re going to have to get changed first, though.” I stick my chin in the air, the towel on my head threatening to fall. “What if this is what I choose to wear?” He eyes the partial opening where my leg is showing and lifts an eyebrow at me. “Then I’m looking forward to the show you’ll be giving me today.” “Fine, I’ll change.” “Hurry up.” When I turn, he slaps my ass and smiles. “We have a lot to tackle today, babe. Keep that face of yours free of makeup; you’re beautiful without it.” When he winks and takes a seat on my couch, every nerve in my body tingles. Let your heart beat, let it feel, let it soar, and let
it love again. I don’t think I’ve ever been more scared in my life. I don’t think I’ve ever felt more alive, either. *** Aaron opens my passenger side door and I stretch out. The three-hour drive with Aaron next to me has me a little tense, especially since all I focused on was his toe-curling cologne and how his forearm flexed while he drove. “You ready?” His brimming excitement is contagious. I settle my winter hat on my head and look over at the entrance to Hershey Park. “I can’t believe you brought me here.” “I remember you saying you’ve always wanted to go during the holiday season.” “I did. They decorate the park with lights. Chocolate and Christmas lights, which is a deadly combination.” He takes my hand and helps me out of his tall truck. “For a chocolate fiend like you, this might be your best day.” “We’ll have to see about that.” With his large hand encasing mine, he guides me to the entrance, pays for our tickets, and hands me a map with a huge smile on his face. His boyish
charm. God, he’s gorgeous. Even when he’s been upbeat around me, seeing joy in his expression rather than pain is invigorating. He’s the man I once fell in love with. “What do you want to do first?” “Gift shop,” I say without even thinking about it. A laugh erupts from him as he shakes his head and guides me toward the gift shop. It’s time to get my chocolate fix. “I don’t know why I asked.” He takes me straight to the Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups and motions to the shelf. “Go ahead, pick what you want.” “I eye the mega pack of Reese’s Cups but decide to start small. It’s going to be a long day, so I need to pace myself. When I choose a regular-size Peanut Butter Cup pack, both his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “You’re kidding me.” “I have to pace myself. Believe me, this is just the beginning of this sugar high you’re taking me on.” He takes the package from me and chuckles. “Oh hell, I’m not sure I’m going to be able to handle this.” “Honestly, I don’t think you’re going to be able to either.” ***
One thing we learned about Hersey Park’s Christmas Candyland is not all the rides are open, and there are a lot of kids vying for Santa’s attention on the biggest sugar highs of their lives. Then again, I can’t say much about sugar highs since I’m riding one myself. We’ve spent most of our time eating, drinking special sugar-infused milkshakes that should never be offered to children, and visiting the “reindeer.” “I don’t think we’re going to fit in one of those seats together,” I say as Aaron leans over me, his arms straddling me and holding on to the fence in front of us as we wait for our turn to ride the kiddie coaster. From the start of the day, he’s been touching me somehow, whether it’s holding my hand, his arm draped over my shoulder, or his body pressed up against me as we wait in line. There has always been contact, but nothing too intimate. It’s driving me crazy being this close but not close enough. “We’ll fit, you’re really small.” “And you’re huge.” “The perfect match,” he whispers in my ear, sending a shiver down my spine as the ride ends. The line moves forward, and when the ride attendant eyes us, Aaron pats him on the shoulder and directs me toward one of the carts. There is no way we’re fitting. I get in first and press my leg against the farthest
side, making room for Aaron. When he sits down next to me, his upper half of his body crowds me and his knees touch the wall of the cart in. Making the most of our room, he wraps his arm around my shoulder and then brings down the bar to the side. It’s flush against his thick quads, but doesn’t come close to reaching my legs. I eye him and he smiles. Leaning down he talks straight into my ear. “Don’t worry, babe. I’ve got you.” He kisses the side of my head and brings me closer to his side. Wrapped in his embrace, his lips tickling my ear, he’s making it so damn hard to take my time, to heal. Because, honestly? I want to jump him right now. He’s so light, so carefree . . . so in love. I can see it, plain as day whenever he looks at me. There is a sparkle in his eyes, a distinct look of awe in his face whenever he catches my eye. When the ride takes off, a laugh pops out of me because I already know this is going to be a rough ride for me. Every time the cart twists or turns, I slide against him but not once does he let go. Not once does his hand leave my shoulder, or his grip loosen. Never lets me go. So there isn’t a point in time where I feel scared, only . . . free. Laughing the entire time, I simply enjoy. I let go of my consuming worries about my dad, allow the confusion over Trey to drift. I permit myself to be present, to be in the here and now.
When the ride ends and we’re waiting to be pulled into the loading and unloading station, I rest my head against Aaron’s shoulder. We don’t say anything, but we don’t need to. He kisses my head and squeezes me tight, and I absorb the feeling of being wrapped into his arms again. This is what home always felt like. *** “Do you know what you’re going to ask for?” I ask Aaron as we wait in line to visit with Santa. Longest line of the day, something we could have easily skipped, but Aaron refused. He said we came all the way to Hershey Park and there was no way we would miss visiting with Santa when he came all the way from the North Pole. I know, eye-roll, but he’s cute. So we’ve waited . . . for an hour. And instead of Aaron being on his phone, looking at his Twitter feed or checking work emails, his entire focus is on me. He’s asked questions about the years we spent apart, quizzed me on my Friends knowledge, as if he knew more than me about our favorite sitcom, and we’ve played the alphabet game that he won easily. This is not what I expected to be feeling two days after breaking up with my boyfriend. “I can’t tell you what I want or it won’t come
true,” he scoffs, as if I just asked him the most preposterous question. “That’s only for birthday wishes, not asking Santa.” He pauses. “Oh, huh, I guess you’re right.” Chuckling, he pulls me into his chest, my back pressing against his rock-hard pecs. He leans over and says, “What are you going to ask for? Another vibrator?” “What? No!” I chuckle and then slyly say, “Maybe some new batteries though.” “I can get you batteries, babe. We can stop on the way home. No problem.” Home. “So you would be okay knowing I’m masturbating courtesy of the batteries you bought for my vibrator?” There are lots of kids around so my voice is very quiet. The only reason Aaron can hear me is because he’s leaning over my shoulder, his face right next to mine. He groans in my ear just as Santa is ready for us. Before we walk over, Aaron whispers in my ear, “Great, I’m going to greet Santa with a fucking boner.” Laughing, I look back at him, “You started it.” “Ho, Ho, Ho,” the rotund man bellows. “What brings you to my workshop today, little lady?” He pats his lap, and I sit down. Aaron stands before us,
arms crossed, keeping an eye on Santa, as if Santa makes the wrong move, Aaron will throat punch him. I think Santa gets the idea because he keeps his hands off me. “We’re visiting from Binghamton, riding a chocolate high, and enjoying the cold weather.” “Sounds like a magical day. Have you been naughty or nice?” “Maybe a little bit of both.” “I bet you have,” Santa mutters under his breath. When I eye him, he just smiles. Looks like Santa is the one who’s been naughty. “What can I bring you for Christmas this year?” “Hmm.” I press my finger to my chin. “I think an Easy Bake Oven. I’ve always wanted one as a little girl but my mom didn’t think a light bulb could cook a cake. But I believe, Santa, I believe it can.” He pats my back. “They can.” We take a quick picture, and then it’s Aaron’s turn. I didn’t expect him to sit on Santa’s lap but when he takes a seat, a laugh bubbles out of me. He’s so big, he looks absolutely ridiculous, and I love every minute of it. “Ho, Ho, Ho my God,” Santa complains as his body dips with Aaron’s weight. “Been pumping the iron there, little boy?” “Every day, Santa baby.” Aaron leans over and pulls Santa in for a hug. “Every damn day.” Santa straightens his hat as Aaron gets
comfortable on Santa’s lap again. Poor fella, Aaron can’t be light. “For the record, Santa. I’ve been very nice this year. Which means I get what I ask for, right?” “That’s correct.” Santa seems like he’s in pain, so I give Aaron the universal sign to wrap this up. Winking at me, his eyes fixed on mine, he leans in and says, “Then what I want for Christmas is another shot at dating that beautifully perfect woman right there.” Butterflies shoot up in my stomach as Aaron’s eyes connect with mine. I see promises of forever in them. Santa gives a knowing smile and claps Aaron on the shoulder. “From the look of it, I think I can make that happen.” He hands Aaron a candy cane and they quickly take a picture together. Aaron shakes his hand and then takes mine, leading me out into the cold air. “That was a high-risk ask,” I say while we walk toward one of the only roller coasters open at the park during seasonal hours. “I’m confident Santa can pull through.” He plops his candy cane in his mouth, and once again I’m struck mute by his relaxed confidence with me. What I want for Christmas is another shot at dating that beautifully perfect woman right there. Less than forty-eight hours ago I was driving home feeling loss and sadness. I was letdown,
confused, angry, but most of all, numb. However, none of that paralyzed me. In fact, Aaron has literally filled my aching heart with kindness, love, and laughter. Given the peace and joy I feel around him, maybe Aaron has good reason to be confident. I’m not pushing him away. I love every moment he touches and kisses me because it reminds me of how incredible we were together. Of how much Aaron really does know me. He knows my heart. *** Aaron turns off the highway, it’s pitch-black besides the street lamps, and I’m crashing hard from all the sugar I consumed today. I haven’t smiled as much as I have today in a very long time. I had genuine fun, the kind of fun I used to experience as a kid, but without restrictions. I didn’t have to ask my parents to do anything. I could do whatever the hell I wanted and still act like a kid. And there is only one person to thank for that. It’s been a surreal day, because it almost feels like the three years apart never happened, that there was never a break in time where we grew apart. We so easily stepped back into our roles of teasing, testing, and egging each other on. Loving. It felt really good. “Thank you for today,” I say, leaning against the
headrest, my eyes drifting shut. “I’m glad you came along, not that you really had a choice. You were coming robe or not, it was nice that you came willingly.” “Sometimes I need a little push.” Aaron’s hand snags mine, and our palms press together, the engine of his truck filling the silence between us. We don’t need to say much, as the day we spent together speaks for itself. There’s no denying it. Aaron brings out the best in me. His addicting energy captures me. Or perhaps captivates. He makes me laugh, makes me think, and makes me enjoy the moment, the here and now, and he’s always been like that. The truck turns onto Franklin Street. All the houses have their lights off, which is no surprise since it’s so late. I’ve come to love this little neighborhood and the odd community it is. I still may be on the fence when it comes to winning over my elderly neighbors, but I know I’ll get there. At least I hope I do. Aaron parks his truck and turns it off. He doesn’t turn toward me, just squeezes my hand before letting go and getting out. He rounds the front quickly and opens my passenger side door. My tired body turns to be hoisted out by Aaron and placed on the driveway. Sleepily I laugh and say, “I could have gotten down, you know.”
He shakes his head. “I didn’t want to risk you falling down on those sleepy legs of yours. I know how you get when you’re tired; you’re barely able to function.” “Not true.” I take a step forward and trip over my own damn feet. Aaron catches me and starts laughing. “That was a poorly timed step, very unfortunate actually.” “Uh-huh, and your eyes aren’t open, why?” “It’s bright out.” I hold my hand up, blocking the foggy moon from sight. “Not buying it. Come on, I’ll help you into your house.” I blame the giant sugar crash I’m experiencing for feeling slightly drunk. Aaron guides me inside, holding my hand the entire time as I stumble past furniture. He leads me to the bathroom, puts toothpaste on my toothbrush, and hands it to me. “Brush, babe. I’m going to go check the locks to make sure you’re good for the night.” When he leaves the bathroom, I stick the toothbrush in my mouth and start brushing, staring at myself in the mirror. My eyes look tired, but also . . . excited, if that makes any sense. It’s like there’s a glimpse of hope in them, hope for what’s to come. I’m sure I’m not supposed to feel this already. I rinse and wipe my mouth as Aaron comes into the bathroom. “You’re all locked up.” He sticks his hands in his pockets, his arms flexing, and rocks on
his heels, eyeing me. “You good? Think you can make it upstairs to your bedroom?” I can, but I don’t want to go up there by myself so I shake my head no. His lip turns up as he grabs my hand and says, “Come on.” He takes his time, making sure not to rush my tired, sugared-out body. When we reach my bedroom, he releases my hand, goes to my dresser, and starts pulling out drawers until he finds a large T-shirt. He doesn’t turn around right away, but when he does, he holds it open, revealing his BMets T-shirt I’ve kept all these years. “You still have it.” His eyes grow soft, appreciation in his voice. “I couldn’t get rid of it,” I admit. “It was the one thing I couldn’t part with, no matter how mad I was at you.” “I’m glad you didn’t.” He hands it over and nods at me. “Go ahead and get changed.” He turns and heads out of my bedroom when I call out to him. “Are you leaving?” “No,” he responds, his voice low, gruff, “just giving you some privacy.” Despite how tired I am, I make quick work with my clothes and strip down to nothing but the T-shirt and underpants. I secure my long brown hair into a high bun and call out, “I’m all set.” Aaron appears in the doorway, and when he takes me in, I notice a small tick in his jaw, like he’s
grinding his teeth, trying to hold back. He nods at my bed, keeping his distance. “You going to get in? I’ll lock up downstairs as I leave.” I twist my lips to the side, butterflies fluttering in my stomach as I try to gather the courage to ask him to stay. I wring my hands together and say, “You don’t have to leave right away, you know.” Not quite asking him to stay, but then again, I’m not asking him to leave either. Maybe he can decipher what I’m trying to ask him. His jaw looks tighter, and I see him mulling over his decision. He blows out a long breath and grips the back of his neck, his head turned down, but his eyes on me. When he takes a step forward, my heart leaps in my chest. It’s funny how much I want him to stay, compared to a few days ago when I was pushing him away. I must seem so indecisive; hell, I have been. I don’t know what I want, all I know is I don’t want to be alone tonight. At least, that’s some of what I feel. When he reaches me, I expect him to wrap me in his arms, but instead he takes me to my bed and helps me lie down. He pulls the comforter over me and tucks in the sides, just the way I like it. I rest my head on my pillow and stare at him, loving how kind his eyes are. They have always been kind. He leans forward and brushes stray hair out of my face, tucking it behind my ear. From my ear, his fingers glide to my cheek where his palm cups my
face. He sighs and smiles. “You’re beautiful.” I press my hand against his, trapping him in place. “Stay with me.” His eyes squeeze tight as he bows his head. When he speaks, his voice sounds pained. “You have no idea how much I want to stay, but I think it’s best if I go home.” Leaning forward, Aaron presses a kiss against my forehead and then lifts away from me. His thumb strokes my cheek a few times before he stands. Why is he so patient? Why am I so forthright? I left Trey days ago, and yet here I am, asking another man into my bed. Trey doesn’t deserve that. Neither does Aaron if I’m being honest. It’s not as if Trey stopped loving me. Well, not really. He did lose focus of who we are as a couple. And as I realized on the way back, I had too. I have genuinely missed him while living in Binghamton, but I’ve also adapted to daily life without him. We have grown apart. We didn’t connect every day, and when we did it felt a little forced. Rushed. I still love Trey, but I can’t see him in my future, even though I’d been so adamant that he was my future. I once felt that way about the man in front of me, looking at me with love in his eyes. But he’s right. I shouldn’t be jumping into a new relationship, even
if it is with someone I’ve loved before. I need time. I know why I want Aaron to stay, and it’s not just about sex. It’s about comfort. I can stand on my own two feet. I know this. But it’s been so long since I’ve been held. Apart from Thursday night when Trey held me, I’ve missed sharing a burden with someone while lying beside them in bed. It’s something I crave. And it’s not right to ask it from Aaron tonight. “This”—he motions between us—“is the most important thing in my life. I don’t want to fuck it up. I’ll never forgive myself if I do. I want us, Amelia, but I want to take it slow. So I’m going to say goodnight and dream about you tonight. Tomorrow, when you wake up, send me a text, because I would love to see you before you head off to work, even if it’s only for a moment. I want to see your beautiful face.” “Okay, Aaron. Thank you for a wonderful day today.” “You’re welcome, beautiful girl.” He steps closer to my bedroom door. “Text me in the morning. Night, Amelia.” He is a good, good man. I sigh and say, “Goodnight, Aaron.”
Chapter Twenty-Three AMELIA
Amelia: Good morning. It’s the same text I’ve sent every morning I’ve woken up this week. Aaron: Good morning, baby. Dream of me? And that’s the same response I’ve received. When Aaron said he wanted to take it slow, he wasn’t kidding. We see each other briefly in the morning, text throughout the day, and then at night, he either makes me dinner or I make him dinner. He doesn’t kiss me, he only holds my hand, sometimes he’ll touch my leg if we’re sitting on the couch, but other than that, he’s very hands off. He was NEVER like this when we first started going out. He was all over me, couldn’t get enough of me, but now, the respect he’s showing me is incredible. I’m not going anywhere, but a part of me wonders if he’s guarding himself, thinking if he pushes too quickly, I’ll disappear. Having Aaron back in my life on a consistent basis, and not feeling guilty about enjoying it, causes me to crave to see him more. That is what I used to feel. I stretch my arms above my head, the comforter
slips down and exposes my naked body. I don’t normally go to bed naked but after Aaron once again tucked me in and kissed me on the forehead, I needed some kind of release, so I stripped down, pulled out my vibrator and thought of his big, strong body hovering over me. Took me a minute before I was saying his name under my breath. Feeling a little naughty, I pull up the camera on my phone and take a picture of myself. I pose in a position where he knows I’m naked but can’t see any of my naked bits. I want to send it to Aaron, but stop myself. He is waiting for me. But he’s not waiting for me to strip, so we can make love all night. He’s waiting for me to be ready to make love to him for forever. And I will respect that. Physically? Yes, I want him with every fiber of my body. Emotionally? Mentally? I spend the next half hour taking a shower and getting ready for work while thinking about my upcoming Christmas break and my visit with my dad tonight. As the play is in a week and a half, we spent last night putting all the pieces of wood together. We’ll tackle painting next week, but the volunteers have been painting all the buildings, so we won’t have to do much. Looking in the mirror, I curl my hair into long tendrils, letting the loose waves fall over my shoulders. I don’t spend much time on my makeup, just a little mascara and bronzer to get me through
the day. I change into a pair of black leggings and put on an eggplant-colored wrap dress and black flats. I check myself in the mirror and adjust my dress so it sits properly on my body. Pleased, I head downstairs where I smell coffee. My lips twist to the side with a smirk. When I turn into the kitchen, Aaron is leaning against the counter, arms crossed, and a cup of coffee in one of his hands. His hair is still wet from his shower, and he’s wearing his worn work clothes but looks handsome as ever. And seeing him in my kitchen, the first person I see to start my day, I know. I’m ready. “I don’t think as a property manger, you’re allowed to come into my house anytime you want.” He pushes off the counter and walks toward me, pure testosterone dripping off him with each step. God, he’s so sexy. “Just in case I need to check on something or if anything illegal is happening on the property, I’m allowed to enter at my own will, says in the lease.” I move in closer to him and press my hand on his chest, hoping for a little kiss. “Anything illegal happening here? Anything you need to check on?” He pulls me into a hug and kisses the top of my head. “I think you know the answer to that.” When he pulls away, he hands me a coffee cup. “I have to get to work. We have a lot of molding to nail today.” He nods at the coffee. “Just the way you
like it.” “Thank you.” I take a sip and love how he knows how I take my coffee. It’s a small thing, but it matters. “Okay, I’ll talk to you later.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets and gives me a smile before he starts to walk away. “Hold on.” I set the coffee down and press my hands against his chest, loving how strong he is beneath my palms. “What are you doing tonight?” His hands circle me and pull me close, engulfing me in his fresh soap smell. “Depends on how late we have to work tonight. The boys and I might have to pull some extra hours.” “Oh.” I bite my lip and second-guess asking him my question. “Why?” He tilts my chin up so I’m forced to look him in the eyes. “Did you have something planned?” “Not really.” I toy with his shirt. “I’m going to go visit my dad and I wanted to ask if you want to go, but don’t worry about it. If you have—” “I’ll be there.” “What?” I ask, a little stunned. “I would love to go with you. Just let me know when. I’ll grab some spare clothes to change into at work, so I’m not visiting your dad in paint-covered jeans.” “Are you serious? You’ll go?” I don’t know why
I feel so surprised. Aaron loves my dad. I’m still disappointed that Trey intended to pass my dad off as a lost cause. “Of course I’ll go.” Aaron hugs me tightly. “Your dad means a lot to me, Amelia. He was my role model, the man I strove to emulate. Of course I want to visit him. I’ve missed him. I’m glad he’s close by so I can see him. If he’d like that. As long as he’s comfortable seeing me. I read that it can be confusing with Alzheimer patients if there are too many changes too quickly.” My eyes well with tears, and I press my cheek against Aaron’s chest. “Thank you,” I whisper. “No need to thank me. I’m glad you asked.” He presses another kiss on my head and then pulls away. “I have to go. I’ll see you later. Have a good day.” He tips my chin up and takes off, leaving me feeling all tingly and warm inside while I prepare my breakfast. I’m in an Aaron fog when I receive a text message. Smiling, I look at my phone, and I’m shocked when I see the name across the display. Trey: Amelia, can we talk? I totally fucked up. Please, I want to try to fix this. I freeze in my kitchen, my cereal getting soggy as I stare at my phone, speechless. I haven’t heard from Trey since the weekend we broke up. What’s changed? And does he really think there is a way to fix this? I thought I made it clear when I left that
there was no way I was changing my mind about sticking close to my dad. I still don’t understand why he urged me to leave him yet had no intention of changing his mind about our future. He sent me away under a ruse that he wanted what was best for me, only to attempt to pin me down. Aaron sent me away to make sure I thrived. I can’t imagine Trey has had a change of heart, given his promotion and the new apartment. Feeling a little sick to my stomach from being slightly blindsided, I put my phone down and ignore the text. Honestly, I think Amanda was right. I’ve already closed the emotional door to Trey. I can’t process this right now. It’s been over a week since I left him, yet I’m not a mess. I’m disappointed in his choices, in the sadness associated with our breakup, but I’m not heartbroken. I need to move so I’m not late for work. Catching my breath and steadying my heart, I focus on my day, pushing thoughts of Trey’s text out of my head. *** Aaron: Want me to grab dinner for tonight? I can pick up some Nirchi’s pizza and bring it to the nursing home. Amelia: Only if you want to. Don’t feel like you need to.
Aaron: I’ll get half Buffalo and half pepperoni since your dad is a classic man when it comes to his pizza. Amelia: He’ll like that. Hopefully he’ll eat it. Aaron: If he doesn’t, it’s no big deal. Maybe I should get some half-moon cookies too.” Amelia: Now you’re just trying to suck up. Aaron: And that’s bad because . . . Amelia: Don’t you want to play hard to get? Aaron: Not even a little. I’m showing all my cards, babe. I want you and I’ll do anything to make sure you’re mine again. Amelia: And half-moon cookies are your way to my heart? Aaron: It’s a start. Amelia: It’s a good one. Aaron: I better get back to work. I’ll see your pretty face tonight. Amelia: Don’t hammer your finger. Aaron: Lol, noted. This has been our week. Fun texts that affirm our friendship. I know his intent, but he is also being patient and thoughtful. *** I pull into the parking lot of the nursing home and spot Aaron sitting on the back of his truck with the tailgate down, his long legs dangling, and a huge
smile on his face when he sees me. His hair is wet and styled, he’s changed into a pair of khaki chinos, and a navy-blue button-up that makes his eyes pop. When he hops off the back of his truck, I see he’s tucked in his shirt and is wearing a belt. I smile to myself remembering the outfit he wore when he first met my father. He learned from his “mistake” and wears a belt this time. And it makes me sad that Dad may not notice. I grab my purse and when I go to reach for my door, Aaron is already opening it. He greets me with a huge, heart-stopping grin. “Hey baby.” “Hi, you.” I look him up and down once again. “You look very handsome. When did you get a chance to take a shower?” “Stopped at the gym on the way here and used the showers.” He shrugs shyly. “I didn’t want to smell bad.” A laugh pops out of me. “I’m sure you didn’t smell bad.” “Babe.” He gives me a pointed look. “I just finished doing manual labor for eight hours straight —I smelled.” He helps me out of my car, our hands linking together. He pulls me in for a quick hug and takes me over to his truck. He opens the passenger side door, never letting go of my hand and picks up a sheet of pizza from Nirchi’s with a bakery box on top. Half-moon cookies. This man is too good. “You didn’t have to get pizza and cookies.”
“I wanted to.” He squeezes my hand and looks at the building. “I’m not going to lie, I’m a little nervous.” “Why?” “Uh . . . the last time your father spoke to me was before we broke up.” “You afraid he’s going to punch you?” I joke, trying to ease the tension in his shoulders. “A little.” He chuckles. I pull on his hand toward the entrance. “Come on, it’ll be fine. And if he does decide to punch you, let him.” I give him a sly smile. When we walk into the nursing home, we’re immediately hit with a wave of heat. It’s unseasonably warm today, but the nursing home is always at least ten degrees warmer for the residents. Aaron leans down to me and whispers, “Holy fuck, it’s hot in here.” I chuckle and say, “You might want to roll up your sleeves.” “Yeah, you’re not kidding.” “Amelia, it’s wonderful to see you,” Darra at the front desk says. “And who is this young man who’s joined you?” She eyes Aaron and smiles. “This is my friend, Aaron,” I say, feeling awkward calling him my friend, but I’m sure as hell not going to say boyfriend, or ex-boyfriend for that matter. That would be even more awkward. “Aaron, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Darra.”
“Darra, what a pretty name. Pleasure’s mine.” My brows cinch together in confusion as I look up at Aaron. Look at Mr. Charmer over there. My, my, my. “Oh, isn’t he dreamy?” Darra gushes and puts a pen on the sign-in sheet. “Just sign in for me and you can head upstairs to visit your father.” “Thank you.” I don’t agree with her on the dreamy part, because I’m not ready to admit that out loud in front of Aaron. His ego is already big, and I don’t need to inflate it any more than it is. All signed in, we head to the second floor. The nursing home is quiet today, not much going on, and I wonder if it’s because the holiday is over and visitors have gone back home. That makes me sad, because it must be so lonely for them. It’s one of the reasons I moved closer. Dad deserves more than biannual visits. “It’s nice in here,” Aaron says as we make our way to my dad’s room. “I’ve always thought nursing homes were cold and uninviting, but it seems like a comfortable residence.” “It is and the staff is loving. I’m glad Dad is taken care of here.” I eye Dad’s room but turn toward the nursing station where I spot Heather. I wave at her and in return, I get a sad smile. “Oh, no.” “What?” Aaron asks, concern is his voice. Heather approaches. “Amelia, how are you?”
“Good. How’s Dad?” The sad smile fades and a disheartened look crosses over her face. “It’s been a bad day. He’s been very confused since morning so much that he lashed out and we had to sedate him again. Last time I checked, he was sleeping.” My hopes for a good visit fall flat. I’m trying to stay positive, but it’s so hard to tamp down my sadness with every visit. I just want my dad back. “I’m not sure he’s up for visitors, sweetie.” Heather squeezes my arm, and I can feel the tears starting to form. I know he hasn’t been well for a while, but I didn’t think it would get to where I would be turned away, or at least have a nurse suggest I don’t bother. I think of things my father has told me through the years, what he would do in this situation . . . Leaning down and pressing his lips against my ear, Aaron whispers the two words that were on the tip of my tongue, the two words my dad raised us on. “Who cares?” He gets me. He knows my dad and loves him. This feels right. I squeeze my eyes shut as tears drip down my face, those two words rolling around in my mind. He’s right, who cares? Taking a deep breath, I say, “I still want to see him if that’s okay.” “Go ahead, sweetie. You know I like to prepare
you.” “I appreciate that.” I pat Heather on the forearm and turn toward my dad’s door, Aaron holding my hand tightly, following closely behind. When we reach the door, I peek through the window and see him sitting on his bed, his back to us. What must he be thinking right now? Does he know where he is? I turn to Aaron and say, “I’m going to go in first to see how he is. Do you mind standing out here?” “Not at all. You do your thing, Amelia.” He squeezes my hand before letting go, giving me one last reassurance that he’s here for me. This is the first time I’ve visited with someone, and it’s incredible how less lonely it seems. Taking a deep breath, I open the door and set my purse by the door. He doesn’t hear me, or at least he doesn’t show that he does, so I clear my throat and say, “Hey Dad, it’s Amelia.” He stays still. Doesn’t even flinch. Sighing, I walk forward so I’m in his line of sight. He doesn’t glance in my direction. Instead, his eyes fixate on the window in front of him. “How are you, Dad? Heather told me you didn’t have a very good morning.” Nothing. “Is everything okay?” No answer. Well, doesn’t seem like he’s going to be
responsive once again, which scrapes at the open wound of my heart. Will this be the new norm? Should I accept this truth so my heart will stop splintering in half with each attempt at conversation? With a heavy heart, I walk to the door, open it up and spot Aaron leaning against the opposite wall, pizza and cookies still in hand. He lifts off the wall and asks, “Everything okay?” I shake my head just as my emotions win over once again, my throat choking up on me. “Ah, babe. Come here.” He walks up to me and wraps his arm that’s not holding the pizza around my shoulders, pulling me close into his chest. “We should leave. Maybe we can give the pizza to the staff.” “If that’s what you want to do, I’m good with that.” He pauses and then says, “I just want to say hi before we leave. I haven’t seen him in so long. I know he’s not the same man I used to know, but I still want to look him in the eyes, to let him know I’m sorry for the pain I put you through.” “That’s not necessary, Aaron. He probably doesn’t remember.” “Can I at least say hi?” His eyes plead with mine, and I can’t say no. My dad means that much to Aaron, and I’m thankful I’m with someone today who is as gutted as I am. He understands my agony. “Of course. Set the pizza on the table inside his
room and say hi.” Aaron solemnly nods, and we walk into my dad’s room. He sets the pizza down and quickly rolls up his sleeves. I watch in fascination how his tan forearms flex with each roll, his tattoos popping off his skin, so dark, yet vivid. Bad timing to be turned on by arms, but it takes away the pain running rampant through me for a few seconds. Giving me an unsure look, Aaron presses a kiss against my temple and walks to my dad and squats in front of him, his large body eclipsing my dad. His approach is sweet, caring. It makes me want to wrap my arms around him and give him a big hug. Aaron places one of his hands on my dad’s leg and says, “Hi, Mr. Santos.” My dad doesn’t flinch. Aaron continues. “It’s Aaron, in case you don’t recognize me. I’ve developed some muscles, I know, I was trying to bulk up in case I ever ran into you again. Didn’t want to get my butt handed to me like you said you would if I ever hurt Amelia.” Nothing. “I think I could take you now, though.” Aaron smiles, and I sadly shrug my shoulders when he peers at me. Chuckling to himself, Aaron motions around his head and says, “I love what you’ve done with your hair. No doubt the whole bullseye on top of your head is fun for birds when you’re outside.” My dad went incredibly bald over the last few
years. Aaron’s comment makes me snort laugh. I place my hand over my mouth, and Aaron smiles up at me. We both share a little chuckle over this horrible situation. Normally, if someone joked about my dad’s hair, I would defend him, but Aaron and my dad enjoyed a special relationship where they would tease each other all the time, so Aaron’s comment makes me feel somewhat normal during this otherwise melancholy moment. Looking up at me, Aaron winks. My heart stutters in my chest as my body feels like it’s floating into bliss. Dad might not be doing well, but at least I have Aaron here, supporting me. I feel less . . . alone. “If you want, I can get you some Velcro shoes to go with that haircut,” Aaron continues, making me smile even harder. “I’ll steal them from one of the neighbors on my street.” “Don’t be a smart-ass.” The room stills as Aaron and I both turn to my father, who is looking directly at Aaron, his brow pulled together, and a stern look on his face. Did he just . . .? “I might be old, but I can still shove a stick up your ass to teach you a lesson.” My hand goes to my mouth as Aaron stays in a squat position, almost dumbfounded. My dad gives Aaron a once-over and then nods. “At least you have your shirt tucked in. Only took
you a few years to figure it out.” Still staring at him, Aaron doesn’t know what to say, but he doesn’t need to say anything, because my dad stands and yanks Aaron up by the arm. I didn’t know that was actually possible. The man is not small. I’ve lost hope that Dad would acknowledge Aaron, yet he not only spoke, but spoke with clarity and accuracy. It’s as though he’s lain dormant, and by some miracle, we’re getting to glimpse his beautiful heart again. How I’ve missed him. And Aaron’s face. He has tears in his eyes, and the sight of them is slaughtering my selfcontrol. Aaron wears his heart on his sleeve, so right now, I’m seeing awe mixed with pain, mixed with joy. Aaron is a few inches taller than my dad, but without warning, my dad pulls Aaron into a hug and says, “I’ve missed you, son.” And just like that, the big-hearted, larger-thanlife man who towers over everyone crumbles in my dad’s arms. His arms tighten around my father’s frail body and tears fall from his eyes as he buries his head into my father’s shoulder. The connection they share doesn’t escape me. Neither does hearing my father’s deep voice once again. Feeling weak, I lean against the wall, hand to mouth, throat constricted as tears of joy fall continuously down my cheeks. For what seems like forever, Aaron and my dad
embrace. Aaron’s eyes squeeze shut and his grip tightens on my father as I lovingly watch them. And I know one thing. I love both of them. It isn’t until my dad pats Aaron on the back and says, “Do I smell pizza?” that Aaron releases his grip and laughs. Wiping his face, he says, “I brought Nirchi’s.” My dad points his finger at Aaron and says, “I hope you got pepperoni. You know I don’t eat that Buffalo crap that my Bedelia eats.” “I got half and half, just for you.” “Good man.” My dad pats Aaron on the shoulder and turns to me. He smiles and pulls me into his chest where he kisses me lightly on the head. “When did you get here?” “With Aaron,” I choke out, shocked that somehow a switch has flipped on, and a lucid man has emerged. He’s more coherent than I’ve seen in a very long time. How long will it last? For now, I’m not going to worry about that, because even if it’s only for a few minutes, I have a piece of my dad back. “It’s about time you brought that fella around. I thought he would never show.” Turning to Aaron, he asks, “Been working extra hours at the sanitation plant? Trying to save some money so you can finally ask my daughter to marry you?” My heart catches in my chest. My dad’s perspective is from three years ago. I cringe
wondering how Aaron is going to handle this. But when he speaks, I shouldn’t have worried at all. “Yes, sir. I’ve been saving a lot lately. Don’t you worry, I’m going to marry your daughter one day and protect her for the rest of her life.” “That’s my boy.” My dad smiles and grabs the pizza box, eyeing the bakery box. “Are those halfmoon cookies?” “Can’t have pizza without them.” “Hot diggidy dog, we hit the jackpot today, Bedelia.” He licks his lips like a fool and adds, “Let’s dig in. I’m starving.” My dad opens the pizza box and starts claiming pieces as Aaron walks over to me and bends down to speak into my ear. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy in my life. Thank you for bringing me here, Amelia.” I can’t help it. I stand on my toes and kiss him on the corner of his mouth. His face goes soft, his eyes hazy. “Thank you for being here, for bringing my dad back to me. This means everything to me.” “You mean everything to me,” he replies, wearing his heart on his sleeve. I wouldn’t expect anything less. *** I shut my car door and shimmy out of the small garage in time to see Aaron pull into the conjoined
driveway. My stomach flutters at the mere sight of him. It would be easy to think over the course of one week, I’ve done a complete one-eighty. I was in a safe, reliable relationship with a man I loved dearly. And now . . . I desperately yearn for Aaron. I’m in love with my ex. Again. It seems like a flip of a switch. But if I am completely honest, I knew it was feasible to open my heart again to Aaron after the night of the storm. His protective nature, his ability to pull back and not disrespect the relationship I had with Trey, and his insanely talented ability to have fun in what could have stayed a very awkward night proved his love for me. Had my heart known then, I wouldn’t have hesitated to go to the city at Thanksgiving. Had my heart not been pulled to Aaron, I would have driven to Amanda’s rather than back to Binghamton. Had my heart not been consumed by Aaron Walters, I would now feel pain and anguish instead of joy and peace. It’s not as if I simply fell out of love with Trey. That was a slower process, one I wasn’t completely aware of. It’s like my heart expanded to its full width as I accepted Aaron back into my life. It’s almost like we picked up where we left off. I hate to admit it, but he brings out the best in me, a part of me no one else has ever been able to extract. And then today with my dad . . . it was difficult to avoid making a scene in front of him, as I thought I would fall to the ground in a puddle of
emotion. Aaron, the man I thought I’d marry one day, swooped into my dad’s room and made him smile again. They talked about Aaron moving to construction. Aaron didn’t say he owned a company, that would be too much to comprehend, but they joked about trying to get me a job where Aaron works, given my birdhouse constructing abilities. It was . . . perfect. Aaron hops out of his truck, his shirt untucked now and his hair a slight mess, as if he was running his hand through it all the way home. “Hey,” I say shyly as I walk to him. He closes his door and locks up his truck only to lean against it, his gaze fixed on me. “Hey beautiful.” Getting closer, I stare at his blue eyes, so loving, so soulful, and yet there is still pain in them. He grips my hips and exhales. “God, I missed your dad.” “I missed him too. Thank you for bringing him back to me.” Aaron shakes his head, his lips turning up. “It wasn’t me. He must have smelled the Nirchi’s. That pizza has super powers.” I laugh and bury my head against his chest. “That’s it; it was the pizza.” I move my hands and wrap them around his
waist and then up his back. I pull him into a hug, and he reciprocates the embrace; I love how his warmth surrounds me. Tilting my head back, I kiss his jaw and he visibly tenses, so I do it again and again, standing on my toes trying to reach him. When I reach up farther and press my lips on the corner of his mouth, he exhales and gently puts distance between us. “You should get inside, it’s getting cold.” Frustrated with him, I shake my head. “I don’t want to go inside.” I kiss him on the chin and he growls this time. “Amelia, say goodnight.” “I don’t want to.” I grab the back of his neck and pull him closer to me, despite his resistance. This time, I kiss the other side of his mouth. I love his mouth. I always loved kissing Aaron. He grabs my hips, but more to pry me away, not pull me in closer. “Amelia,” he warns again. “Say goodnight.” “No.” “Yes, this isn’t the time—” “Shut up, Aaron.” I pull him closer to me and place my lips on his. At first he goes stiff in my arms—perhaps out of disbelief that I’m actually kissing him—but once my tongue moves across his lips, he parts his mouth and melts into our connection, his body softening, his restraint no longer in check.
His hands run slowly up my back, cupping me closer until they tangle in my hair. He moans into my mouth, a moan so organic, so earthy. I need to kiss him. But it’s more than a need to touch him, kiss him, love him. It’s as though my heart has woken up. It’s as though scales have been removed from my eyes, and I can see beyond the filter of pain and hurt. It’s obvious how much he’s always loved me. I clearly see he is the man meant for me. And I’m the woman for him. After the visit with my dad and the love Aaron has for him as well, I know it’s not just about us. We’re already family. The whole time I’ve been back home, he has stood by my side. He’s provided Aaron-shaped pillows to cushion my heartache. He’s watched and relearned things about me rather than assume I’m still the same girl he once dated. And if that isn’t one hell of a neon sign about how true love works, I’m not sure what is. He asked for a second chance, but I think it should be me asking him for that second chance. He needs to know that. The grip is so strong yet soft, his mouth urgent yet gentle, and his groans, guttural yet sweet. He’s holding back, and I don’t want him to. I break our connection and lace our hands, pulling his away from my hair. I look him in the eyes and say, “Take me into your house, Aaron.” He exhales a long pent-up breath and shakes his
head. “I can’t risk—” “You’re not risking anything.” I press my finger over his full lips. “I want this; I want us.” “You want us?” he asks, almost sounding timid. I nod. “I want us, Aaron.” He shakes his head in disbelief and kisses me softly on the forehead before pulling me toward his house. Thank God. This is all I want right now, this man, me naked under him, his love pouring over me.
Chapter Twenty-Four AARON
This feels like a dream, a dream that’s going to be snatched away if I make one wrong move, if I’m not careful enough, if I jerk too fast and wake myself up. This was the end goal, to have Amelia believe in us, be in my arms again, but now that it’s actually happening, I fear she’ll second-guess her choice. Am I a rebound or does her heart and soul want a second chance for us? She left me . . . us . . . last Thursday to be with Trey. I haven’t pressed her for information about why she broke up with him, but it is reasonable to wonder if I’m her convenient friend, lover, wanted for comfort while she tries to figure out her future. I don’t want to be that man; I want to be the man she calls her forever. I want to be the man she kisses goodnight and the man she shares a cup of coffee with in the morning. I want to be the man who holds her hand while walking down the street. I want to be the man who takes her to our bedroom and makes love to her. But there is no guarantee she wants me as that
man. She might want that now, living on a high from her visit with her father, but what about in the morning, when she wakes up, her actions from last night being emotionally charged rather than thought out properly? As we walk into my house, ready to make love, what does she want? Worry etches my features, and she notices right away. She presses her hand against my face. “What’s wrong? What happened to that handsome smile of yours?” I grip the back of my neck, shut my front door, and turn toward her. “I don’t know if this is a good idea, Amelia.” “Aaron, stop overthinking everything. Just feel this, us.” She presses her hand against my chest and my hands itch to pull her closer. “I want to, baby, I really do, but I can’t help but wonder what tomorrow will bring. Are you only acting on emotion instead of what you really want? I can’t live through another breakup with you; there is no way I’ll survive if you walk away from me. I don’t want to rush anything. I can wait, I have all the time in the world to wait for you, Amelia.” Her eyes soften and her mouth stretches across her face in a sweet smile. “Aaron, my handsome man, I feel this pull between us. It’s real. It’s not me acting on emotion. It’s me thinking clearly. I
want you, I need you, and I’m ready. I’m ready to give us a second chance. I’m ready if you’ll give me a second chance. Stop trying to deny the inevitable.” I emulate her smile. The inevitable. That used to be such a negative word in my vocabulary, a countdown to disappointment, but with one simple sentence, Amelia changes the meaning and use of that word. And there was no way in hell I want to deny that inevitable. Taking a leap, my heart on my sleeve, I link my hand with Amelia’s and take her to my bedroom, not bothering with lights. I place her in front of me, her legs pressing against my large bed, and slowly start to unbutton my shirt. Her eyes are glued to my fingers, watching every flick of the button, and with each reveal of skin, her breathing gets heavier. With my shirt completely unbuttoned, I leave it open but don’t take it off. I step forward and grab Amelia’s hand. I press it against my chest, letting her palm feel the strength of my pecs, loving the way her touch makes them twitch. Moving along, restricting the time she gets to spend touching that part of me, I move her hand lower to my abs. She bites her bottom lip as she grazes her fingernails along my skin. I want her to feel the new me, to explore the man I am now, not thinking of the man I used to be.
Moving her hand again, I bring it the V in my waist where her fingers run along the edge. Her other hand grabs my side and with an exhale, she glides her hands up my chest, slowly, leisurely, but methodically, memorizing every contour, every ridge. When she reaches my heart, she circles her finger around, branding me with her touch before she leans forward and presses a kiss above my rapidly beating heart. Numb, unable to move, I completely freeze as she continues to explore my body, pushing my shirt off my arms. When my upper half is bare, she sighs and moves her hands over my pecs again, her fingers grazing my nipples, causing me to hiss through my teeth. Shit, that feels good. Not just because I haven’t been with a woman in a while, but because it’s Amelia who’s touching me. The woman I never thought I’d see again is touching me, admiring me, loving me with every scrape of her nails. “Your tattoos don’t seem to have any rhyme or reason to them,” she whispers, tracing the black ink. “They’re demons,” I answer on a swallow. I got them after I broke up with Amelia. I needed a way to express myself, to let out some of the pain. “They wrap around your heart.” She looks up at me. I nod. “Because that’s where my demons live.” I
brush her hair over her shoulder and cup her cheek. “You mean everything to me, Amelia. You were the light in my dark life. You found me when I was lost, and when I had to say goodbye, the light vanished and the demons took over. They took up residence in my heart and ate away at me every fucking day.” She squeezes her eyes shut and presses her cheek into my palm. “I hate that you pushed us apart. That you loved me so much that you gave me away.” “I had to. I didn’t want to let you down, to hold you back when you had a huge opportunity in front of you. I did what I thought was best for you.” “You’re what’s best for me, Aaron.” Her fingers caress my skin, her thumbs kneading my muscles, but those words tend to my aching heart. “Promise you’ll never lie to me like that again. That you’ll never put us through something like that again.” “I promise,” I answer. Nodding, she removes her hands from my body, and I feel the loss immediately, but before I complain, she starts removing her clothes. She unties the wrap of her dress and it parts open, revealing a black lace bra, her breasts ample and heavy in the cups. Fuck, I’ve forgotten how perfect she is. She takes her time and pulls down her leggings. She pushes them to the side, leaving her in a bra and matching black thong. Her curves are endless,
her hips swell at just the right height for me to grab, her breasts ache to be free of her bra, and her chestnut hair drapes over her delicate shoulders. She’s a fucking vision, and I can’t stop myself from staring. She’s everything I remember and so much more. Three years not only changed me but changed her as well. She’s fuller in places, her flat stomach is accentuated by her hips, and her toned legs look stronger than ever, like they’re ready to grip me when I bury myself deep inside her. I run my hand over my mouth as I stare at her in disbelief. “You’re so goddamn sexy, Amelia. Always have been.” I bring her close to me, my hand on her lower back, my fingers tracing the top of her thong. “You have no idea what you do to me, how you make me feel. Being able to hold you again—a fucking dream come true.” I slip my hand under the fabric of her thong and splay my hand over her ass, giving it a light squeeze. Her breath hitches, and her mouth slightly parts. “Your reaction to my touch, the look in your eyes when you memorize every contour of my body makes me so goddamn hard.” I move my hand a little, cupping her ass in my palm, digging my fingers into her skin. “I’ve missed this, I’ve missed this so fucking much, being able to have my hands on you, to be able to feel the goosebumps over your skin when I talk about what you do to me. It was my constant
dream.” I lean forward and kiss her neck, her jaw, and her ear. “And now it’s my reality. I can’t decide what I want more, to taste your sweet pussy, reminding myself how much I love having you come apart on my tongue, or driving my cock so deep inside you that neither of us can catch our breath.” I bite down on her earlobe, moving my hands up her back to her bra where my fingers play with the clasp. “I think I’ll do both.” I snap her bra open, lift it, pull the straps down, and watch it drop to the ground. Shit. She’s so beautiful, and I’m so fucking in love with her. “Sit on the bed,” I say, a little demanding, but with a hint of love in my voice. The surprised look on her face doesn’t escape me. She should be surprised. I’m a different man now. Our sex was always phenomenal, the best I’ve ever had, but over the past three years, I’ve become more demanding, and I wonder if it was because I was always chasing the high we felt when we were together. Now, I don’t know how to act any other way. From the way she sits on the bed, I guess she doesn’t mind. I tip her chin up with my index finger. “You’re so beautiful, Amelia, so goddamn sexy. Feel me, feel how fucking hard you make me.” Cautious at first, she moves her hand up my thigh; her tentativeness makes my cock throb even
harder for her touch. When she pauses at the zipper of my jeans, her fingers barely touching the fabric, I have to bite my cheek to keep from thrusting into her hand. I’ve waited so long for this moment, but I want to take my time. Scooting forward on the bed, she brings her other hand to my jeans and starts to unbutton them. Christ, I want her to feel me, not strip me down, but I’m not stopping her, not with the confidence she shows. I wait as she slowly unbuttons my pants. She pulls down on the zipper, inch by inch until my burgeoning cock has more room to breathe. Licking her lips, she looks at me briefly and pushes my jeans down, leaving me in my boxer briefs and a with very blatant hard-on. I step out of my jeans and push them to the side along with my socks that I quickly remove. Placing her hands back on my thighs, her fingers inch toward my cock when I freeze her hands. “Don’t tease me, Amelia.” She eyes me and says, “What do you want me to do then?” And fuck if my cock doesn’t leap forward. “Grip me, through my briefs. Just feel what you do to me.” Nodding, I release one of her hands and in one swift movement, she grabs my dick, and her eyes pop open in shock. Looking at me, her chest rising and falling
rapidly, she moves her hand to the tip, and given the only thing between her hand and my cock is the thin fabric of my briefs, this just about kills me. Her fingers circle the swell of my cock, and before I can tell her to stop, she slips her hand inside and connects her palm to my sensitive skin, dragging it to the root of me. I lurch forward and grab her shoulders. “Fuck,” I mumble, loving how this woman’s squeeze can bring me to my knees. In a deep voice, I whisper, “Let go and lie on the bed.” I watch in fascination as her breasts spread across her chest, her pretty, dark-colored nipples poke up like little pebbles, enticing me to bring my mouth to them. Catching my breath and trying to calm my raging hard-on, I step in front of her and hover, my hands gripping her shoulders. Her hair fans across my bed, her heady eyes wait for my next move. “Slide your thong off.” With her eyes trained on mine, she moves her hands to her thong and wiggles it off. I feel her legs kick it to the side and pure joy rips through me knowing my woman is completely naked beneath me. Running my nose along her jaw, trailing kisses in its wake, I speak to her softly as I pepper her with kisses. “This body is mine, Amelia.” My hand trails up her stomach, which contracts from my touch.
“These lips”—I press my mouth against hers briefly —“are meant for my mouth.” I slowly roll her nipple between my fingers, causing her chest to hitch. “These nipples, these perfectly pebbled nipples, they were meant to be squeezed, plucked, and bit by me and only me.” I lower my mouth to her collarbone and lick and nibble. Her hand goes to my hair, her fingers twisting through my strands. Loving how she’s losing control, I grip her breasts and squeeze hard while I take one of her nipples into my mouth. She grips my head tightly and moans, her pelvis pushing against mine. “Yes,” she drawls out. “Yes, Aaron.” My name coming from her pliable lips . . . it’s my fucking dream. I move to the other breast, giving it the equal attention it deserves. But on this nipple, I bite down hard. She screams in pleasure, her hips now rocking against mine. I place a kiss of comfort on her nipple and move to her stomach where I slowly kiss her skin, lowering my head with every move. When I glance up, her eyes are shut, her cheeks are rosey pink, and her teeth are biting her lower lip. I reach her pubic bone and stop my trail of kisses, pulling away from her, leaving a wave of cold, causing her to open her eyes and look at me. “Wh-what’s wrong?” she asks, her eyes hazy from lust.
I place a kiss just above the juncture between her thighs. “This Amelia, this pussy, this perfectly sweet pussy, this is meant for me and only me.” The tension in her shoulders ease and she nods. “I want to hear it from you. I want you to tell me this pussy is mine, I’m the one who was made to lick, suck, and fuck this pussy. Tell me, Amelia.” Her hands move over her breasts, and I watch in fascination as she slowly starts to pinch her nipples. A low growl pops out of me. “Tell me,” I repeat. Instead of answering right away, her hands move from her stomach to her already wet center, where she cups herself and starts to move her fingers. My mouth goes dry, my cock throbbing to the point of pain as I watch her finger herself in front of me. “This pussy,” she whispers, her voice a little shy but her movements brazen, so out of character from the woman I used to know, “belongs to you, Aaron, and only you.” A warm and pleasant hum warms my body. Amelia is claiming herself as mine. “Mine,” I rumble, leaning forward to place kisses on her inner thigh. I remove her fingers and carefully place them in my mouth and suck on them. Her breath catches in her throat, and her legs fall farther apart. “So fucking good,” I whisper. Draping her legs over my shoulders, I spread her lips, exposing her arousal. I stay still, letting the air
hit her, watching in fascination at how much she’s affected by this, by me being so close. “God, Aaron, touch me,” she moans, her hands gripping the comforter beneath her. “I want your mouth on me.” “How bad?” I ask, lowering myself so my lips barely graze across her skin. Almost as if she’s about to cry, she says, “So bad. So fucking bad, Aaron.” Every time my name rolls off her mouth like that, like there is so much pressure building inside her she doesn’t know how to react, I nearly come. Not being able to keep myself away any longer, I lower my head and press my tongue along her slit. She moans, her neck arching up and her tits shooting to the sky. Fuck, that’s sexy. Fuck, I need release. But it’s not my time yet, its Amelia’s. Not moving too fast, wanting to slowly edge her out, I gently run my tongue up her slit not pushing too hard, only grazing her. When she wiggles beneath me, I move my hand to her stomach and press down, keeping her in place. “More,” she pants. “Please Aaron, I want more.” How can I deny her that? Flattening out my tongue, I apply more pressure. Stroke after stroke, I harden my tongue, watching as Amelia grips the comforter tighter and tighter, her knuckles turning white. “More?” I ask.
“God, yes,” she cries out. “Are you throbbing, Amelia?” “So hard, please don’t stop.” Smiling, I press my tongue back on her slit and hold it there for a second before I dive in and press my tongue on her clit where I flick her rapidly, still holding her stomach down so she can’t buck up like she wants to. “Fuck,” she breathes out. “Oh fuck.” Sweat coats her skin, her legs slip on my shoulders, her body shudders. Gripping her ass and lifting it off the bed, I press even harder with my tongue, massaging her clit in the most delicious way possible. “Oh God, yessss,” she moans as she comes on my tongue, her taste so sweet, so addictive. I lap her up, sucking her clit into my mouth, riding out her orgasm, not allowing her once to move her hips against my mouth, taking her pleasure entirely into my own hands. I continue to flick her as she pulses, her head moving from side to side, her knuckles still white from her grip. Seeing she’s still very much on edge, I move my fingers inside her and start curving up, filling her while my tongue continues to move along her clit. Her stomach falls and she shoots up on the bed to her elbows only to fall back onto the mattress. Her spine arches, her tits reaching for the sky, her
moans coming at a rapid rate. She’s so damn vocal, so responsive, so sensitive. Fuck, I’ve missed this. I’ve missed this so much. Stroking, thrusting, sucking, nibbling, I take her higher and higher, her legs clamping onto my shoulders, her hands now gripping my hair, pulling. “I can’t, I can’t,” she says on repeat, her features in disbelief. “You can,” I say. “Let go, baby, just feel.” I flatten my tongue and stroke her with long presses, matching the curve of my fingers with what my mouth is doing, bringing her to the edge. “Oh my God,” she shouts just as her walls contract around my fingers, and I feel a fresh new wave of wetness on my tongue. I soak it all up, smoothing it over her arousal, once again riding out her orgasm, loving every second of it. While she floats down from her orgasm, I snag my wallet from my pants and sheath myself with a condom. Rolling it on is painful as fuck since I’m so damn hard. I need to steady myself so I don’t immediately explode the minute I slip myself inside her. Her eyes are heady, lazy, barely open. Her hair is fanned out on the bed, a little sweaty around her forehead and neck. And her nipples are still pebbled, begging for my touch once again. “Watching you come like that, like you were about to cry from pleasure, fuck, it turns me on so
much, Amelia.” She glances at my cock, her eyes widening from my girth. It’s nothing new, she should be used to this. At least she should remember what it was like to be with me. She scoots up on the bed and eyes me. “You’re bigger than I remember.” She bites her lip. “Will you go easy on me?” “Always.” I crawl onto the bed and sit against the headboard so I’m propped up, my dick aching to be touched. Wiggling my finger at her, I say, “Come here, Amelia.” Smirking, she straddles my lap, my erection in front of her heat, where I was just buried. Pressing my fingers into her hips, I move her forward so my cock is pressing against her pussy. “Rub yourself on me . . . slowly.” To help her understand, I guide her hips at first and once she gets the hang of it, I move my hands up her ribcage to her breasts where I palm each of them. Leaning forward, I take her mouth with mine, molding our lips together. She rocks back and forth on my cock, easily sliding over my length while I plunge my tongue in her mouth, stroking relentlessly, enjoying the feel of her mouth against mine, her breasts in my hands, her wet pussy rubbing against my hardened dick. “God, yes,” she says, starting to move her hips a little faster now as I pinch her nipples, rolling them between my fingers. “Ah, yes.” She picks up her
speed, gripping my shoulders for support. She breaks apart our kiss and looks at our connection, her hips shooting back and forth. She tenses on me, and I know that look, that sensation. She’s about to come and to hell if she’s going to do it without me being buried deep inside her. I still her hips, and she protests with a squeak. “What are you . . . doing?” she asks, out of breath. “I want you riding my cock when you come. I want to feel your pussy milk me while my name rolls off your tongue.” Reaching between us, I position my cock so she can lift up and take me in. “Ease yourself on me, take your time, baby.” Looking at my cock, she eyes it for a second and then lifts up on her knees, her breasts brushing against my face. I can’t help it. I suck one into my mouth, biting her nipple. She hisses between her teeth and her forehead falls to my shoulder. “Amelia, I need you to straddle me, baby. I need to feel your warmth.” “Stop . . . distracting me then.” She takes a deep breath and lifts her head so we’re both staring into each other’s eyes. Those irises, they’ve lived in my dreams for three years, reminding me of everything I pushed away, but now, with her straddling my lap, those eyes convey nothing but love and lust, I can’t imagine anything more perfect. Gently, I move my hand to the nape of her neck, pull her closer, and lightly kiss her lips. Soft,
enticing, light, I move my lips across hers as she lowers herself onto my cock. The initial touch has me wanting to slam her down on top of me, but instead, I focus on kissing her, on enjoying the simple act of making out. Inch by slow inch, she relaxes on top of me. When she bottoms out, I feel her wince and I pull away, cupping her cheeks, I ask, “Are you okay?” She nods. “So full, Aaron. I’m so full right now.” “I know, baby.” Her walls contract around my cock, and I hold back the slew of swear words that want to escape. Christ, I need to move. I need a bit of relief, something to ease the pressure building in my balls. “Rock on me, Amelia.” She shakes her head. “If I move, I’ll come.” That makes two of us. “I need you to move, baby. So fucking hard right now. Need release.” “I’ll come,” she repeats, her voice sounding almost like a cry. “Then fucking come. Come all over my cock.” Running my large hands up her small back, I pull her close and press my lips against hers, more demanding now, my tongue thrusting in and out of her mouth. It’s so erotic, the strokes of her tongue, the scrape of her nipples against my chest, the tight heat of her pussy wrapped around my cock. I can’t hold back. I roll her so she’s underneath me and spread her legs far apart. The look on her
face is pure innocence, pure shock, and it’s fucking hot. I lean on my elbows, encasing her head, and bend to kiss her while I start to piston my hips in and out of her; my veins immediately start to spark, igniting my body. “I love this, I love being inside of you. There’s no one else, Amelia, no one else I would rather be wrapped up in.” She places her heels on my back, grinding into me with every thrust I give her. “Me either. This is what I want, Aaron. All I ever want. You, Aaron.” “It’s just you and me, baby,” I groan, my voice turning horse with each passing thrust, with every contraction around my cock. “Fuck, just me . . . and . . . you.” I grind my teeth together. “Yes, only us.” She swallows hard and digs her nails into my shoulders. “Oh God, Aaron. I’m going to come.” “Fucking come, baby.” I squeeze my eyes shut, my balls tightening, my cock swelling inside Amelia, my body numbs, starting at the tips of my toes until it gets to my stomach, where it feels like I’m floating. I’m going to come. Going to come harder than I ever have. I ram my hips inside Amelia, and she screams my name, her fingers breaking my skin, sending shots of pleasure through me.
I’m so fucking there, higher and higher and higher until I expel a long breath as I shoot everything inside her. I groan, Amelia’s name coming from deep within me, while pleasure rips through me, splitting me in half in the best way possible. Goddamn. I collapse on top of Amelia for a second then roll off her and pull her into my chest. I know my size, and I don’t want to squash her. “Oh my God,” she whispers while her hand instinctively goes to my chest. She takes a few breaths and then partially sits up, her hand on my chest propping her up. She studies me for a second. It’s always so good between us.” “You meant what you said?” she asks hesitantly. “That you’re mine?” If I had my way, I would be dropping to one knee right now, begging this woman to be mine forever, but I know I have to take baby steps. I hate that I have to take baby steps. I shouldn’t have to feel hesitant around her, and I hope that stops soon. “Yes, Amelia. You are mine. This is us, babe.” “So we . . . are we a couple?” She’s nervous asking the question, and it makes me smile. Hell, if she only knew. “Yeah. I want us, Amelia. More than anything. You should know that. But what about you? Is this our second chance? Our place where we start
again?” She thinks about her answer for a second, her silence shaking my confidence. “I want to give us another chance, Aaron.” It feels like there’s a “but” at the end of that sentence so I decide to help her. “But . . .” She shakes her head. “No but. I want to give us another chance.” My heart stills, as a wave of pure euphoria washes over me. The alpha who controlled the bedroom quickly evaporates and in his place comes a very grateful and emotional man. “You’re fucking serious?” My body tingles with the hope that what she says is true, that for a second time in my life, I’m being given the opportunity to hold her heart in my hands. I will never fuck this up. I know that now. “Yes.” She nods, a smile spreads across her face right before she grows serious. “Just don’t hurt me again. I don’t think I could take it.” Needing her to know my intentions, I push her on her back and cup her face while my thumb strokes her cheek. Staring down at her, trying to convey through my touch how much I love her, I say, “I won’t, Amelia. You have to know how much you mean to me, how much this second chance means to me. There is no way I would do anything to jeopardize it.” I press my lips against hers lightly and say, “I love you, Amelia, always have, never
stopped, never will.” Her eyes grow soft, and her hand wraps around my neck, keeping me in place. She presses her lips to mine, and we once again are lost in each other. It doesn’t bother me that she didn’t say she loves me back. I’m glad she’s not running away, that right now, she’s in my arms. I’m one grateful mother fucker. My girl is back, the bright light in my life— the woman I want to worship in every way possible —is home. Once again, Amelia is mine.
Chapter Twenty-Five AMELIA
“Oh God, yes, harder,” I scream as Aaron drives his hips into mine. Sweat coats his forehead, his eyes closed, his teeth gnawing at my lower lip. “More.” I dig my fingers into his shoulders while the cold of the kitchen counter on my bottom adds to the pleasure that’s rocketing through me. “Your pussy’s so damn tight . . . fuck,” Aaron mutters as he pulls me in harder, his cock sliding in out of me at a rapid rate, and in the matter of seconds, I’m coming in the middle of Aaron’s kitchen. Aaron groans against my ear, his body stilling as his orgasm hits him moments after mine. Still throbbing, still floating down from the high Aaron sent me on, I rest my forehead against his shoulder and take deep breaths. I don’t even know how many times he’s made me come. I’ve lost count. But in the matter of twelve hours we’ve had sex in his bed, against his bedroom wall, in the shower, against the shower wall, on the bathroom counter, me over the couch,
and now in the kitchen. I want him again. Amazingly, with each itch he scratches, I only want more. “Fuck, I love you,” he whispers right before kissing the side of my head, his lips lingering on my skin. He says those three little words whenever he gets the chance, but he doesn’t just say them to say them. It’s not hard to see how genuine he is when he confesses his love to me, how serious he is about being with me again. And deep down, I share the same love. I know it’s there. I’m thinking it never left. But I’m cautious with saying those three little words, even though I can feel them bubbling closer and closer with each passing moment I spend with Aaron. But the last time I said those three little words, I said them to Trey, a man who still crosses my mind, allowing my barely bandaged heart to pinch. I don’t know if I’m ready to say them to another man yet. Once Aaron cleans up and helps me put his sweatpants back on me—it’s chilly after all—he pulls me from the counter into his bare chest. Encased by him, I glide my hands up his back and enjoy every ripple of his muscles against my palms. “If it was a work day, I’m pretty sure we’d be screwed. There is no way I would be able to leave you right now.” His chest rumbles against my cheek, his laughter soft.
“I would have to call in sick for sure. Everyone would be asking me why I was walking weird.” “Are you sore?” he asks, pulling me away to gauge my reaction. I run a finger over the scruff on his cheek, the same scruff that burned me in the best way possible early in the morning when his head was buried between my thighs. “I am sore, but that’s not going to stop me.” He winces. “I’m sorry, baby. I should have been more careful.” “Don’t apologize. I’m not sorry about it, that’s for sure.” I press a kiss against his chest. He’s so different but the same. It’s strange. Aaron was twenty-five when we met. He was sweet, caring, sexy, and only wanted to make me happy. Now at thirty, he’s the same man, but with an extra coat of testosterone. And muscles. Sex with Aaron has always been amazing, but last night, this morning, I can’t even describe it. I don’t know if he’s ravenous to have me back in his life, or if over the years he’s morphed into someone else in the bedroom, but whatever it is, it’s addicting. I can’t stop myself from touching him, kissing him, making him hum with need. The way he growls when kissing my neck, or the way his powerful body shifts when I stroke his cock, or the way he drives into me with such force, such abandon, it’s all new, and it’s all I want.
Aaron rubs my back and stares at me, a bit of awe in his eyes. “Is this for real?” he asks. “Are you really in my kitchen, wearing my clothes, kissing me, loving on me?” “It is and I am.” I smile, unable to hide the joy I feel. Shaking his head he lets out a long pent-up breath. “Honestly, I never thought I would be able to hold you again, and now you’re here, After last night I could die a happy man.” “Can I ask you something?” I lower my hands to his hips where I grip him, playing with the elastic of his sweats. “Ask away.” “If you talked to me instead of pushing me away, do you think there would have been a way we could have worked everything out, to have the best of both worlds?” Sighing, he lifts me on the counter so he can look me better in the eyes. He spreads my legs and steps into my space, warming me from the cold counter. “I’ve thought about it a lot. What if I had taken the chance and tried to make things work?” He shakes his head. “Honestly, I don’t think I was mature enough to make it work. I was still very much attached to making my mom happy even though she didn’t deserve it. I wasn’t in a good position in my career, or my life for that matter. The best thing I had going for me was you, and I
didn’t want to be the one who held you back. I needed to make changes. Grow.” He takes a deep breath and continues, “I was the one who always seemed to screw up something in our relationship. I was always apologizing. I saw myself as a roadblock to your drive to earn an education. I didn’t want to be the jealous boyfriend who wondered what you were doing every night while away from me. I think in the end, I would have fucked something up, ending us no matter what. I wasn’t the man capable of walking beside you. Not then.” This man, this sweet, caring man. Does he not understand his worth in this relationship? Does he not get how much he contributes to my happiness? “This isn’t a one-way street, Aaron. You’re not the only one who gets something out of this relationship. You have a way of making me feel cherished, special, understood and I think that’s rare.” “I’m sorry.” He lets out a long breath. “I’m not very good at seeing my worth, never have been. I’ve always felt second best my whole life, never good enough.” He runs a hand over his face and laughs sardonically. “Shit, talk about mom issues.” “Hey.” I still him. “You’re important to me, and I see the worth in you.” I kiss the space above his heart. “Don’t let how your mom treats you determine the incredible man you are.”
His strong hands pull me into his chest, and he hugs me hard, his lips pressing against my head. “I love you, Amelia. So damn much.” We stay there, in his kitchen wrapped around each other for longer than expected, just enjoying the feel of once again being in each other’s arms. I never thought moving to Binghamton would bring this, but I’m damn glad that I did. The sound of my stomach gurgling breaks the silence between us. Chuckling, Aaron puts a few inches between us and looks at me. “Hungry?” Shyly I nod. “I think my stomach is trying to communicate to me.” “Sounds like it.” He presses a kiss against my forehead and steps toward his fridge. “Let me see what I have.” When he opens the fridge door, he winces. “Shit.” A low chuckle comes out of him as he scratches his chest. “Uh, I kind of have beer and that’s it.” I roll my eyes. “Why am I not surprised?” I hop off the counter. “Come on, I have food at my place.” “Lucky Charms?” he asks, looking a little too excited. “Lucky Charms puts unwanted weight on my hips, so no. I have Special K, cereal, and eggs. Which I’m shocked you don’t have any eggs, Mr. IEat-Ten-a-Day.” “It’s not ten.” He laughs behind me and grabs a
sweatshirt from his coat closet. He quickly puts it on before we head outside. “Whatever, you should always have eggs.” “I planned on going to the store today, but I was wrapped up in something.” I slip on my shoes and head out his front door. “Are you complaining?” “Fuck. No.” He steps out on the porch and then quickly heads back in his house. “Shit, I need shoes. The ground is frozen. Give me a second, I’ll be right over.” “Hurry up, my stomach isn’t going to wait.” He places a chaste kiss on my lips and takes off into the house. Smiling, I fold my arms over my chest and walk to my house, my eyes transfixed on the ground below me, remembering the last twelve hours and how delightfully real they were. I’m back with Aaron Walters. It’s almost unbelievable. After the way we left everything, I never thought we’d be together again. It’s as if we needed to break up to be put back together again. And for my precious father to have helped me open my eyes, I’m in awe. And so thankful. I know I’ll need to talk to Trey at some point, but right now, I’m in a dazed state of euphoria. Shaking my head, I make it to my walkway and halt in place when I see someone on my porch. My heart jumps in its place when I step back, startled.
About to flee to Aaron’s, my hand to my chest, a scream ready to pop out, I make eye contact with the man in front of me. Trey? It almost feels like the world around me fades to black as my eyes zero in on Trey. My muscles seize on me, my heart sputters in my chest as he takes a step forward, agony painted across his face. I don’t know if I can do this, if I can see him again. Not yet. “Oh my God, you scared me.” I step back and try to catch my breath. “I’m sorry.” His voice sounds tattered, broken, which only adds to the anxiety rolling through me. “Wh-what are you doing here?” My fingers tremble over my lips in disbelief. He steps forward, running his hand over his hair. I take a moment to observe him. Trey doesn’t seem to be doing well. His hair is unruly, unlike his usually well-kept hairdo, he’s wearing sweats and a long-sleeved T-shirt that looks rumpled, and there are dark circles under his eyes, eyes that once were bright but now seem dull. Did he take the breakup hard? I’m kind of surprised, given I haven’t heard from him besides his one text. His intention to switch our entire life around to accommodate his needs rather than our needs still makes me angry. Honestly, I’m surprised to see him here.
“Amelia, can we talk for a moment?” Caught off guard, not really knowing what to do, I nod while a little voice in the back of my head is sending me warning signals. I can’t decipher them. I walk to my porch and take a seat on the wicker love seat. Trey takes a seat next to me, his shoulders slumping. The morning air is crisp, making my nose run and my bones quiver. I fold my hands together and push them between my knees to keep them warm. “Can you at least look at me for a second?” he asks, almost sounding desperate. I didn’t realize I wasn’t. Maybe it’s because I don’t want to see the hurt in his eyes. I want to believe in my heart and mind that Trey wasn’t affected by our breakup, that I was the only one hurt. But when I see him, when I make eye contact, I know that’s the furthest thing from the truth. He presses his hand on my knee, sending some warmth up my leg. With his head down, he says, “I’m such a fucking fool. I don’t know what I was thinking.” He’s shaking his head now, only to look me in the eyes. “I was an idiot thinking I could take you away from the future we planned. I was insensitive when it came to your father, and I got caught up in my own career trajectory rather than considering my very own quality of life. Our life.” I don’t want to hear this. I don’t want him saying these words to me, these words of regret, of sorrow.
Breaking up with Trey was so much easier when I knew he had a different plan in life, but now that he’s re-evaluating, it’s too much to handle. It’s confusing me . . . “I love you, Amelia, and I was an idiot to let you go.” He takes my hands in his. “I will do anything to get you back, because I’m miserable without you. Without hearing your voice before I go to bed, without receiving your loving text messages throughout the day, without seeing that beautiful face pop up on my phone. I can’t fucking stand it, being away from you, knowing I completely fucked up. You’re the best thing to happen to me, and I’d be an idiot to throw that away for a job opportunity.” Tears well in my eyes as a knot twists and turns in the pit of my stomach. There is so much regret in his face, in his body posture, in the way he’s pleading. I don’t know what to say. But I know I need to speak some of my anger within me. Everything he said is only about him. He’s miserable. He wants to hear my voice. He wants my text messages. He wants to see my face. He can’t stand being away from me. I’m the best thing for him. “Trey, I left last Friday. I haven’t heard from you except for a few texts. You could have driven up on the weekend. Or did you go straight back into work for another ten hours without giving me a thought?”
He looks sheepish. Did he really go back to work as if nothing had happened between us? “Trey?” “I had to go back in, because there was—” “No. Stop. Please stop. You made promises to me that you broke. Nothing’s changed.” But at the mention of promises, I think about another man who did the same thing. Aaron. His promises, his apology, his reasoning. Our connection, last night, the future he wants . . . the future I agreed to. With him. My heartbeat is rapidly speeding to an abnormal pace, a pace that’s making my breathing start to become labored. “Hey, are you okay?” Trey asks, one of his hands going to my face. I can’t seem to focus on him, my eyes feeling wild, erratic. “Amelia, talk to me, sweetheart.” “I don’t . . . I don’t want this—” The sound of rapidly approaching footsteps breaks my eye contact with Trey just in time to see Aaron jog onto my porch. You can see the minute he sees Trey because his jovial expression switches to panic. His eyes run skittishly between us, skimming over our connected hands and back to Trey. My tongue feels twisted, my throat completely choked up. I never wanted these two to meet. I
never wanted to be in this position where my heart reaches out to two men. But does it? Does it really reach out to two men? They’re two different chapters in my life, two chapters that are now colliding in the worst way possible. Silence stretches between us for what seems like a lifetime until Trey stands, his hands leaving mine, and steps toward Aaron, as if he’s trying to get a better look at him. How do I explain Aaron to Trey? I wring my hands together, wracking my brain for some kind of words when Trey says, “Aaron?” What? How the hell does Trey know Aaron? Confused, I look between the two of them, trying to understand their connection, how they might possibly know each other. Did I show Trey a picture one time? That doesn’t seem like something I would do, especially since ex-boyfriends are meant to stay in the past. I’m about to question Trey when Aaron deflates right in front of me and says, “Trey.” It’s as if he knows Trey. Well, I guess he did see his picture that day on the mantel. His shoulders slump, his hand pulls on the back of his neck, he’s showing all the signs of being defeated. But why? Why isn’t he by my side? Where has confident Aaron gone? I capture their attention as I stand. I take them
in, trying to connect the dots. Aaron avoids looking at me, and Trey is puzzled as to why Aaron is on the porch. But when their eyes meet mine, their vivid blue eyes, my heart catches in my chest. Oh my God. No. Surely not. With my voice shaky, my body humming with awareness, I ask, “Trey, how do you know Aaron?” Without skipping a beat, Trey says, “He’s my biological brother.” I know the earth spins on its axis at a consistent pace, never slowing down and never speeding up. I know this is a true scientific fact, but I swear to you, at this moment in time, with both Aaron and Trey staring at me, their eyes burning a hole in my soul, the earth stands still, the air stagnant around us. For a brief moment in time, everything around our little threesome pauses as I try to wrap my head around what Trey just said. They are brothers. The two loves of my life are brothers. And from the looks of it, from the guilty expression Aaron is wearing, he’s known. He’s fucking known. It’s written all over his face. When? How long? A million questions roll through me as my mind flashes back to a few weeks ago, when Aaron was in my house, waiting on a rent check from me. He was in my living room, when I came back, I saw him looking at a
picture of Trey and me. Did he know then? He must have. And he kept it a secret this entire time, never bothering to tell me? Turning to Aaron, I state, “You knew, didn’t you? You knew I was dating Trey, that I was dating your brother, and you didn’t say anything.” My voice gets louder, angrier as I press him with my questions. Aaron doesn’t look me in the eye, instead, he avoids me at all costs, his feet shifting beneath him. “I knew,” he admits, his voice full of sorrow, so quiet I almost didn’t hear him. Trey looks between us, trying to understand what’s happening, and then realization hits him. “Aaron. This is Aaron? The guy who broke you, shattered your heart? That’s this Aaron?” I nod. “You’re fucking kidding me, right?” I’ve never seen Trey so distraught. Even when I eventually shared my relationship with Aaron, he was angry, but quietly supportive. I can only attribute this outof-character display of fury to his emotional state. He looks ragged. A little lost. Trey turns to Aaron, and I see rage starting to flex in his arms. “Do you realize what you did to her?” Trey’s voice rises, and I worry about the neighbors. “Do you understand the kind of mental dent you put in Amelia? Her ability to love, to let people in?” Growing angrier by the second, Trey steps up to Aaron, only a few
inches shorter than him and says, “You’re a fucking asshole.” And before I can stop him, Trey pushes Aaron off the porch, causing Aaron to stumble backward and fall to the ground. Not giving Aaron a chance to get back up on his feet, Trey charges after him, saying, “Why the hell are you here?” Trey pounces on Aaron, straddling him and lands a punch to his face. I scream, placing my hands over my mouth for a brief second before I go after Trey, but when I reach them, Aaron flips Trey to his back and cocks his arm. I grab hold of his pulsing bicep but struggle to hold it. “Stop,” I cry out. “Stop right now.” Tears fall from my eyes as I try to hold Aaron back. “Go ahead, punch me, fucking do it. I know you’ve wanted to do it for years. Just fucking do it already. It won’t change anything, though. You’re such an asshole.” Blood drips from Aaron’s nose, his eyes are trained on Trey, and fury radiates in every muscle of his body. For once in my life, I feel afraid of Aaron. “Do it,” Trey says, egging him on. I’ve never seen this behavior in Trey before. He seems to be more than angry at Aaron for what he did to me. He is . . . taunting him. But why? “Stop it,” I repeat. They’re both so lost in their own world. Aaron pauses and pushes off Trey. I scoot back
and watch as Aaron flips the hood of his sweatshirt over his head. “You’re not worth it,” Aaron says before walking toward me. The look in his face can only be described as utter devastation. In a low voice, he says, “I’m sorry, Amelia. I’m so fucking sorry.” Not giving me a chance to respond, he takes off toward his truck and pulls keys from his pocket to unlock it. The truck roars to life, and in the matter of seconds, he’s taking off down the road, leaving only his sorrow in his wake. What just happened? Bewilderment, anger, pain, and doubt overwhelm me. The biggest question is why. Why did he hide what he knew? Why didn’t he stay to help me understand, especially after he’d told me less than an hour ago how much he loved me and I was his forever? The worst thing? These feelings are horribly familiar. Watching him leave me, feeling confused, hurt, and angry. What just happened?
Chapter Twenty-Six AARON
I bang on the door right after I swipe at my nose again. There is blood all over the arm of my grey sweatshirt, and it keeps coming, probably because I’ve made no attempt at stopping it. I knock again, this time a little louder, growing impatient. Shifting on my feet, my hood still cast over my head, I ring the doorbell. Finally I hear footsteps approach and the door unlocks. Tucker appears, shirtless, looking irritated as shit until he takes in my appearance. “Smalls, what the hell?” I blow past him, finding Emma wearing a robe, her hair a mess, and a cup of coffee in her hand. She takes me in and immediately puts her cup on the dining room table and rushes to the bathroom where I hear her rummaging through a cabinet. Unsure of what to do, not wanting to get blood on their furniture, I press my back against their wall and slide down to the floor where I grip my head in my hands, watching blood from my nose trickle onto my pants. I told her I wouldn’t fuck up. I told her I
wouldn’t hurt her again. I told her I wouldn’t lie, that I wouldn’t run, yet here I am, beyond lost, running, and consequently contradicting everything I promised her. Emma places her hand on my arm but I don’t move. I deserve this. I thought I was doing the right thing in taking it slow. Should I have come clean and told her I knew who Trey was when I first saw that picture? At the time I’d been too shocked, and since then, has there really been a moment where I could tell her what I know about Trey? But hell, how was I supposed to bring up that conversation? I would be lying if I said I wasn’t scared to lose her if she found out, if she knew she was in love with my brother, the better brother, the one who has everything. She broke up with him. She left him, and it had nothing to do with who Trey was to me. I never talked badly about Trey to Amelia. Christ, I even suggested she wait until she was sure, had healed, and knew what she wanted. And that had been a risk. In the last twenty-four hours, as we finally made it back into each other’s arms, it didn’t cross my mind. She had chosen me. Had. I press my palms over my eyes, hating everything about myself right now. Demons from the past start to surge forward, my self-worth disintegrating with every breath I take. Seeing Amelia sitting with Trey, their hands
connected, fuck, it looked like they belonged together. She can and will be happy with Trey. And even though it tears me apart, if that is what she wants and needs, walking away is the best solution. She told me she wanted me, but that was before Trey came to take her back. “Dude, you don’t have to talk,” Tucker says, sitting next to me now, “but let Emma take care of your nose.” Knowing Emma is a nurse and the bleeding has yet to ease, I make eye contact with her. She doesn’t flinch when she takes me in. There is a little first aid kit next to her, and she quickly goes into action. I don’t pay attention to what she’s doing. Instead, I close my eyes, trying to forget everything that happened moments ago, and fuck, everything that’s happened over the past few months. Fuck, why did she come back into my life? I was doing all right before she showed up. I hadn’t hoped there would be a second chance. I should have known better. When it comes to Amelia, I’ll never get it right. She has the better man now, so I’ll never try again either. Once again, because of being born first, I lose. “I think your nose is broken,” Emma says, touching it. Feels like it. “You should really go to the emergency room.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I say, my voice so low, so menacing I’m afraid I look ungrateful to Emma. I blow out my frustration. “I’m sorry, Emma. I don’t want to be mean to you, but don’t make me go anywhere.” Emma looks over to Tucker, who subtly shakes his head. Catching his cue, she says, “Okay, let me see what I can do.” She takes out some gauze and leans my head forward. “This will hurt, but I need to pack some gauze up your nose. Tucker, can you get him some ice please?” “I don’t need ice.” “Yes, you do,” Emma states with authority. “You’re not in charge. I am, and you will do what I say, Aaron.” Damn. When Emma puts her foot down, she means business. “Now get him some ice, Tucker, and three ibuprofens.” Tucker does as he’s told—I don’t blame him— while Emma tends to my nose, shoving gauze up my nostrils. I welcome the pain. It was right for Trey to hit me. I was an asshole to Amelia, good intentions aside. We sit in silence and when Tucker returns, ice pack and a cloth in hand. Emma presses the pack against the bridge of my nose, her other hand on my shoulder. “Keep this here until I tell you to take it off, got it?”
“Yeah,” I gruff out, sounding ridiculous with everything stuffed up my nose. When I think Emma is going to leave, she sits right in front of me and presses her hands on my feet that are flat against the ground, propping up my knees. “Now I don’t care what Tucker said. If you come roaring into my house, interrupting my morning coffee and sex time, you’re going to explain what you’re doing here.” No wonder Tucker was so irritated. Should have known, newlyweds and all. I eye Tucker, and he shrugs his shoulders as he sits back against the wall with me, crossing his ankles and arms. Lot of help he is. “Don’t make me repeat myself, Aaron,” Emma urges, gripping my feet a little tighter with her claw hands. Apparently her bedside manner flees the moment she’s done tending her patients. I lean my head back against the wall only to have Emma to position me forward again. Christ. Sighing, I say, “Trey paid Amelia a little visit this morning.” “Trey, your brother? As in Amelia’s exboyfriend?” I told Tucker and Racer about Amelia dating my brother, and I assumed they told their girls as well. That’s what happens when you’re in love. Your significant other becomes an extension of you. I nod. “Yeah.”
“Did he punch you?” “Yeah.” Growing a little impatient, Emma says, “You’re going to have to give me more information than that.” “Babe,” Tucker cuts in, “give him a break.” Her eyes shoot to Tucker, and I honestly get nervous for him. “Tucker Jameson, do you not remember where your tongue was right when your friend Aaron knocked on the door? Do you not remember where my hand was, the way it was slowly rubbing—” “Answer her fucking questions,” Tucker growls at me. If I wasn’t in such a bad place right now, I would be chuckling from the pain in Tucker’s voice, from the way I totally—unknowingly— cock-blocked him this morning. “I saw Amelia’s dad last night, and it was perfect. He had a moment of clarity, and we spent a few hours eating pizza and enjoying each other’s company. Amelia said it was the first interaction she’s had with him since her first visit.” “Oh wow, that must have been so special,” Emma says. “It was. It really fucking was. In more ways than one.” With the hand that’s not holding the ice pack to my nose, I run my hand through my hair. “When we got home, everything shifted between us. It was like that moment with her father brought back all
the good memories, helped us forget the pain from the past.” I pull on my hair. “Last night was everything.” “Did you sleep with her?” “Yeah, and it was perfect. Everything I dreamt of. I woke up this morning feeling like the luckiest fucking guy in the world.” I squeeze my eyes shut, remembering how euphoric I felt having Amelia’s naked body tangled up with mine. It was a position I never believed I’d be in again. “So what happened?” Trying to shut my mind off from thinking about Amelia’s touch, I continue, “We were hungry, and I had nothing in my house so we decided to go to hers. She went ahead of me so I could put shoes on and when I made it back to her house, she was sitting on her porch with Trey, holding hands and talking.” “Shit,” Tucker mutters to himself, understanding the impact this has on me. “Yeah, shit was right. At that moment, everything blacked out around me and all I could see was them. Together. And before I knew it, Amelia, with the help of Trey, put two and two together. She asked me if I knew, and I couldn’t lie. She looked at me with total disgust.” I take a deep breath, pausing to gather myself. “Trey figured out I was the asshole Aaron who broke Amelia’s heart, and he didn’t take kindly to that. He punched me. I
didn’t reciprocate even though I wanted to, and then I left. I apologized to Amelia and fucking took off.” “Did she say anything to you?” I shake my head, removing the ice pack but Emma gently pushes my hand back to my nose. “I didn’t want to stick around to hear what she had to say. It was written all over her face. I fucked up my second chance.” “Maybe she was just in shock.” “I like you, Emma, so I’m going to be honest with you. There is no way she’ll forgive me or even look at me again. No fucking way.” “Was it that bad?” “Yeah,” I sigh. “It was that bad. And I only have myself to blame. I should have said something. All she ever wanted from me was to be open and honest with her, to talk things through with her, but fuck I was scared.” “Why?” Emma places her hand on my knee to comfort me. “Because, he’s so much better than me. I didn’t want her to look at me and think she was stuck with the other brother. The brother less successful, emotionally unstable—who can’t control his temper at times—and who doesn’t have the loving family to visit on holidays. The other brother who, despite how hard he tries to shed his upbringing to be a better man, will never be enough.”
“Dude,” Tucker chimes in. “You’re so much better than that, and you know it.” I chuckle sarcastically. “Yeah, not so much.” Standing, feeling a little lightheaded, I gain my balance and hand Emma the ice pack. “Thanks, Em.” I stumble slightly and Tucker grabs my shoulder, stopping my walk to the door. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?” “Somewhere. I don’t care where, just somewhere.” “Fuck that. Give me your keys. You’re not in any condition to drive.” I shrug off Tucker’s hand and keep walking. “I’m fine.” “You’re not.” Tucker charges toward the door and blocks me while holding out his hand. “Give me your fucking keys. We won’t bother you, you can rest in the guest room if you want, but you’re not going anywhere, and you’re sure as hell not driving anywhere.” I stare Tucker down, contemplating moving him. I’m bigger than he is. I can do it. He will fight me, but I know I can get past him. “Don’t even think about it,” Tucker says, recognizing the look in my eyes. “Hand over your keys. I’m not opposed to breaking your nose again.” Knowing he’s not kidding, I pull my keys out of
my pocket and hand them over, feeling exhausted, lightheaded, ready to call it a fucking day, despite that it’s still morning. Sagging to the floor, I place my forehead in my hands and ward off the agony I’m feeling. Tucker speaks to Emma while standing above me. “Babe, can you grab me a pair of sweats for Smalls. My shirts won’t fit him, but at least he can change out of his pants.” “Of course.” Emma heads upstairs, the creak in the wood giving her away. Tucker squats in front of me and says, “Come on, man. Let’s get you in the guest room.” “I don’t want to go back,” I say, my voice cracking. “I can’t fucking see her again.” Tucker pats my shoulder. “Don’t worry, you can stay here. I’ll drive over later today and grab some things for you. For now, let’s get some food and water in you, okay?” I nod and keep my head down as Tucker guides me to his guest room, his hand never leaving my shoulder. We’ve seen each other through the worst, and today is no exception. Emma brings me a pair of sweatpants and leaves the room to make me breakfast. I quickly change out of my bloody attire, not caring that Tucker is in the room and rest on the bed, my hand draped over my eyes. I can feel Tucker’s gaze on me and silence
stretches between us before he asks, “Is it over?” I press my lips together, a stray tear falling down the side of my face. “It’s fucking over.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven AMELIA
Tucker drives away, his brief visit to Aaron’s house complete. He hasn’t returned; it’s eight at night and he hasn’t returned. And I’m not sure what I would have done if he did. I’m mad, confused, caught off guard. Brothers? I should have known. I don’t know why I didn’t see it before. Why I didn’t notice their similarities from the beginning. Both loving hearts, both sweet, both with devastatingly blue eyes. Those eyes . . . I press my head against my palm. It was so obvious and yet, I was so oblivious. But then again, who would think they would date their ex-boyfriend’s brother? I knew Aaron had brothers, but I never knew exactly who they were or where they were. I knew nothing about them. I guess I do now. After Aaron took off, I asked Trey to leave as well, unable to stomach talking to anyone. Thankfully, Trey gave me space, time to process the bomb dropped on my front porch this morning.
Sighing, I lie on my bed, peeling my eyes away from the window, knowing Aaron isn’t coming home tonight. I feel marginal relief. Having him only a few feet away from me right now would be too difficult. I would be tempted to lash out, to ask him the many questions I’ve been asking myself since he left. My lips flatten as I squeeze my eyes shut, a new wave of tears starting to fall. I have no idea what to believe anymore, who to believe, or what to do. I only know I’m in pain. I wasn’t this hurt when I left Trey, yet here I am again, hurt because of Aaron. I’m tempted to call Amanda, but I don’t want to hash things out again, so I turn on my side, smelling Aaron’s cologne on his shirt I’m still wearing. And I just started to get used to the comfort of his smell . . . A sob escapes me as memories from last night come to the forefront of my mind. The way he was with my father, his smile, his joy when they were talking about my birdhouses. And then his touch, his lips pressed against mine, the way he stared into my soul when he entered me. It felt so real, so right. And once again it’s gone. There’s a knock at my door, startling me to my feet. With the backs of my hands, I wipe at my eyes and go to the door and find Trey with his hands in his pockets, dressed more like himself. “Hey,” he says, shyly. Looking up, he asks, “Can
I come in?” Another tear drips down my cheek as I nod and push open the door for him to come in, but he doesn’t walk fully into my living room, instead, he gathers me in his arms and holds me tightly. That’s all it takes, one hug and I break. I sob into Trey’s chest while he shuts my front door and guides me to the couch, sits down, and drags me on top of his lap. I bury my head into his shoulder, letting my anguish seep into the cotton of his shirt. “Shh,” he coos into my ear, his hand rubbing up and down my back. “It’s okay, Amelia.” And then my mind runs rampant. “Why? Why do you two have to be brothers? Why did you have to ruin everything, ruin our plans? How could you want me to leave my father? Why did you lie to me about interviews?” Questions fly from my mouth, my brain unable to stop them. “Fuck, I’m so sorry, Amelia. You have no idea how sorry I am. I’m such an idiot, and I did the one thing I promised I would never do. I hurt you when I thought I was doing the right thing.” “We were happy, Trey. We had a little stumble, but we were figuring it out. I don’t understand. Was I not good enough to move for?” My past insecurities start to show, my damaged heart on full display.
“No, don’t even think that. Shit.” Trey exhales. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I just . . . I wanted to make sure we were happy. I know you were upset to leave the city, and I thought I was making a decision you were too afraid to make. I never should have assumed. I should have talked to you about it. I can’t apologize enough.” He cups my face, lifting me up from his shoulder. His thumbs wipe at my tears as he studies me. Those eyes, they’ve lived with me for so long between two different men, two brothers, how did I never notice the similarity before? “Amelia,” Trey says, his voice soft. “I love you.” Sorrow encompasses me as more tears roll down my cheeks. “Please tell me I have another chance. Please tell me I didn’t ruin everything between us. I need to know I didn’t screw up completely.” My voice catches in my throat as I try to answer. “I . . . I don’t know, Trey.” Why am I thinking this? Nothing has changed. He’s apologized but nothing has really changed. He squeezes his eyes tightly together, his forehead leaning against mine. “Fuck, please think about it at least. Please don’t make a decision right now, give it some time.” Give it time. Aaron gave me time to process leaving Trey. Knowing there is no way I can verbalize what’s in my heart, I nod. “I’ll think
about it.” Relief washes over Trey as his hands grip my face, his head still pressed against my forehead. “Thank you.” He shouldn’t feel relief here. Even if I don’t resolve things with Aaron, I still feel Trey and I are done. Nothing has changed. Sadly. His nose rubs against mine and despite the anger, confusion, and sorrow that’s keeping me from thinking clearly, when his lips press against mine, I pull away quickly. “No,” I whisper, putting my fingers against my lips in shock. Slightly defeated, Trey squeezes my hand and says, “I love you. Call me anytime, I’ll be waiting.” Unable to say anything, I nod, my hand at my lips as he walks out of my house, leaving a disturbance in my already tormented thought process. What the hell do I do now? *** I put my car in park and rest my head on the steering wheel. Three days, it’s been three days and there has been no sign of Aaron. He hasn’t come by the house, at least not when I’m around, and I haven’t heard anything from him. I thought maybe he would send a text message, but he’s been radio silent.
Trey has been sending me at least half a dozen texts a day, all sweet, all loving. Yet truly, although they’re nice, they’re a little too late. Even though I’m angrier than ever at Aaron, for lying, for walking away, I want to say it’s for the best, but I can’t. Despite everything that has happened between us, I want to know he’s okay. And that bothers me. He left my house with a bloody nose, for all I know, he could have been seriously hurt. If I had Tucker’s information, I’d give him a call, but I have nothing. I tried Mrs. Ferguson last night to see if she’s heard anything, but she’s on vacation and has turned off her phone, at least that’s what her voicemail said. Feeling defeated in more ways than one, I grab my purse, the donuts I brought for my dad, and head to his room. The nursing staff is scattered around the floor, so I don’t bother talking to any of them about my dad’s condition. At this point, I’m prepared for the worst and I’ll be surprised for the best. The moment I open the door to my dad’s room, a wave of heat hits me, hotter than the main lobby, so I quickly disrobe to my T-shirt. Once again, Dad is sitting in his chair, blanket over his shoulders, looking out the window. I set my items on his bed and head to the chair that sits opposite of him. “Hey Dad,” I say. Nothing. It’s going to be one
of those days, but that’s okay. It will give me time to talk. “I brought you a donut.” I take out the strawberry-frosted donut, place it on a napkin, and then on the table next to him. His eyes surprisingly follow my movements, acknowledging my presence. “I got myself a cronut. It’s all the rage.” I take a bite and enjoy the sugar coating my tongue. I haven’t eaten much in the last few days, so having a little sugar burst feels good right about now. I cross my legs on the large chair and make myself more comfortable. “You made love look so easy, you know that, Dad? You and Mom, you made it seem flawless, like it was the easiest thing to fall in love, to stay in love, and to live happily ever after. You kind of set me up.” I laugh to myself. “Boy, did I perceive love in a completely different light.” I take another bite of my cronut. “I wish things were different. I wish you weren’t slipping away from me every day that passes. I wish Mom was still alive. Part of me wishes Trey had moved to Binghamton with me. Sometimes I wish Aaron never broke up with me to begin with. Life would be so different.” I sit back in my chair. “Now I have no idea what to do. I’m so mad, so freaking angry, and entirely way too confused. How does someone choose between two people they love?” I shake my head, my thoughts not having any
cohesion. “I worry about him, Dad. I worry about Aaron, even though I’m so angry at him.” Sighing, not sure I can comprehend what I’m about to say. “I was dating Aaron’s brother. Trey is Aaron’s brother. He has a brother,” I say in disbelief. “Two for that matter. Aaron has two brothers. You didn’t know that. I didn’t tell anyone. I should have seen it, Dad. It’s so obvious when you see them together because they look similar. But where Trey is more polished, Aaron has ruggedness about him with his scruff and bronzed skin. They’re alike but so different. They both work very hard, but I can see that Aaron’s work doesn’t define him.” Taking a deep breath, I exhale slowly. “I know what you would say right now, you would say who cares, but I don’t think this is a who cares moment, not when I feel so . . . broken.” I stare out the window, my appetite fading. “You made it look so easy, Dad. I only wish you could hold me and tell me everything will be okay, because right now, I’m lost. I wish I knew why he kept his brother’s identity from me.” I lean my head against the back of the chair. A tear slips down my cheek, and I wipe it away just as my dad presses his hand on my knee. He doesn’t look at me and he doesn’t speak, he just holds me, and that’s all I need. His warmth, his touch, letting me know that everything around me might be crumbling to the ground, but he’s still here for me.
Chapter Twenty-Eight AMELIA
I’m about to sit down with a pot—yes, pot—of mac and cheese when there is a loud knocking at my front door. Taking a look at the time on my phone, I realize it’s entirely too late for visitors, so I take my pot of freshly made Kraft Mac and Cheese with me to the door in case I need to use it as a weapon. Cautiously I walk up to the door and look through the peephole, and when I see Amanda waiting impatiently on the other end, I relax. “Amanda, what are you doing here?” I ask, opening the door. She plows right by me and starts looking around the room like a crazy person, her jacket flapping with her movements. “Where is it?” “Where is what?” I ask, closing the door. What the heck is my best friend is doing in my house late on a Friday night when she lives hours away? “Ah ha!” Amanda holds up my phone as if she’s just won a trophy. “I knew you had a phone, I just knew it. I thought to myself, ‘You know, Amanda. I’m pretty sure Amelia has a phone so you’re not sending her texts into the Interweb. There is an
actual landing base for them.’” She holds my phone out to me and continues, “And look, there it is.” Okay, she’s angry. I may not have messaged her back for a few days. “So can you explain to me, Amelia, why the hell you haven’t been answering me? Hmm?” Unsure what to do, I hold out the pot in my hands and cutely ask, “Mac and cheese?” Sighing, Amanda reaches for the pot and says, “I’m not a barbarian. Of course I’ll take some mac and cheese. But you better tell me what the hell is going on, and why I had to drive all the way here to get in touch with you.” Knowing this is going to be a long conversation, I tell her to make herself comfortable and go into my kitchen for an extra bowl, spoon, and drinks. Looks like my plan to stay away from the outside world has come to an end. It’s time to face the music. Amanda has her shoes and jacket off and her legs propped on my coffee table when I make it back to the living room. She’s eating the mac and cheese like a fiend from the wooden spoon I used to make it, and she follows my every move until I’m sitting right in front of her. As if I’m begging for food from a snarling wildebeest, I hold out my bowl. She eyes my bowl and puts half a scoop in the middle. She points the spoon at me and says, “That’s all you’re getting until you start speaking.”
Yup, I knew this wasn’t going to be easy. It never is with Amanda. I eat the little scoop then set the bowl on my lap while I lean back on my couch. “I don’t know if you’re ready for this.” “Try me. There isn’t much I haven’t heard,” Amanda answers, mouth full. “Trey, do you remember him?” Amanda rolls her eyes at me. “Don’t be a dick about this, just tell me for fuck’s sake. I have zero patience right now.” I smile to myself and continue, “Trey is Aaron’s biological brother.” Amanda pauses the spoon that’s headed for her mouth midair, her eyes widening and her jaw dropping. “Excuse me?” “They’re brothers. Trey and Aaron, they are brothers.” Slowly Amanda puts the spoon in the pot and sets it to the side. “You were dating two brothers, like . . . two brothers.” I nod, still unable to comprehend the entire thing myself. Amanda holds up her hands and shuts her eyes for a brief moment. “I’m going to need you to start from the very beginning, because I feel like my mind is about to explode.” I spend the next few minutes retelling her everything that happened in the last two weeks
from my slow restart with Aaron, to our visit with Dad, to the night we had sex—which Amanda made me share in detail—to the morning after when I found out Trey and Aaron are brothers, to Trey’s gut-wrenching pleas to get me back. “Wow . . . just wow.” Amanda leans back on the sofa, her eyes staring at the ceiling. “I mean, what are the odds of that happening?” She grips the couch. “And Aaron knew all along?” “Yeah. Well . . . when I think back about it, I caught him looking at a picture of Trey and me that I had on my mantel. He knew for a while.” “And never said anything to you.” I shake my head. “Well, that’s fun,” Amanda says sarcastically. “It’s not. It’s not fun at all.” “What would you have done if you had known?” Yep, she nails it. That’s one of the many questions that have run through my mind since the whole thing happened. “I’m not sure.” “Yet, you’ve made it the reason for rejecting Aaron. Interesting.” I have no answer to that one either. “Okay, so you find out they’re brothers, what happened after that?” I’m thankful she’s trying to get her head around this with me. I don’t feel so alone. Aaron’s sorrowful face pops up in my head. “Trey lost it when he found out Aaron was the
Aaron, so he punched Aaron in the face. Aaron threatened to retaliate but then backed off, muttered an apology to me, and took off.” I swallow hard. “He has yet to return.” “He hasn’t come back home?” I shake my head. “He ran?” “Yup.” Amanda mulls that over as she takes a sip of her drink, eyes still cast to the ceiling. “Okay, so where do you stand? Is Trey moving here?” “I have no idea.” Amanda waves me off. “And what about Aaron? Are you in love with him?” “It doesn’t matter if I am or not. He ran again, Amanda. How can I trust him anymore?” “Valid answer. I guess.” Amanda nods. “But that’s not what I asked you. I asked if you’re in love with him.” Am I in love with Aaron? Two days ago I believed I was. He knows me. He loves my dad. The absent man now is not the confident, caring, invested man I spent the last week with. The man who asked me to take my time, then ravish me throughout the night, is incredible. Where is he? God . . . I nod, my lips pressed tightly together. “It’s obvious that you do, sweetie.” Amanda leans forward and pats my hand. “You love Trey, but you’re in love with Aaron.” She squeezes my
hand as the truth of my feelings are pulled from deep within me and thrown on the table, smacking me dead in the chest. “What’s holding you back with Aaron, from going and getting him?” “He lied, Amanda, he lied and then left, just like the first time. I can’t . . .” I choke on a sob that gets caught in my throat. “I can’t keep going through this cycle. He says all these things like he loves me, that he will never hurt me again, and then the next freaking day, he’s standing there, unable to make eye contact with me. I don’t know where I stand.” I wipe a tear away. “My heart can’t take any more disappointment.” I take a deep breath. “It’s why I’ve considered talking to Trey. Maybe he’s changed. I can be on my own. This isn’t about that. As long as I don’t have to move away, I can—” I can what? Amanda scoots forward and clears her throat while her hand stays on my knee. “You and I both know that’s not what you really want. Trey is a good man, but he isn’t the man who will truly fulfill you.” Taking a second to think cautiously, Amanda asks, “Have you ever thought to put yourself in Aaron’s shoes?” Unsure of where Amanda is going with this, I say, “No.” “Think about it for a second, Amelia. We’re talking about Aaron here. He broke up with you because he wanted you to have a better life, he
wanted you to pursue your dreams, and he knew if he stuck around, you weren’t going to go after that scholarship in New York City. Should he have talked to you about it instead of pushing you away and taking off, maybe, but in his head, he was doing the right thing. Flash forward three years, he still loves you, he is genuine and wants nothing more than to make you happy. You find out about his family, he opens up about his mom, his childhood. He makes it known he will always love you and do anything to make you happy. He finds out you’re dating his brother, the one man he knows he can’t compete with, the one man who’s always had more than him. If I were him, I wouldn’t have told you either. Aaron is a selfconscious man with all the confidence in the world, which doesn’t make much sense, but if you know the man you know what I’m talking about. On the outside, he exudes confidence, but on the inside, he’s still a little boy, comparing himself to his brothers, his mom’s constant nagging about being like his brothers on repeat in his head.” My mind is racing, Amanda’s thoughts connecting the dots I neglected to acknowledge. “I don’t blame him for not telling you, and I can see why he didn’t. He didn’t want you comparing him to Trey. Without you knowing, you were comparing two men, but if he told you, then it would be comparing two brothers, and he’s had to
deal with that his entire life, thanks to his mom. And you did exactly what he imagined. Rejected him immediately and turned to Trey to see if there is a better offer on the table for you there. My guess? Aaron assumed there was no use staying around, because you would choose Trey again over him. You did on Thanksgiving, and you did the other day. How much rejection does he need to take, Amelia?” I push my hand through my hair, a light bulb switching on in my head. “Oh my God, Amanda, you’re right.” “I know I am,” Amanda answers with confidence. “And when he saw how hurt you were, how upset you were, he probably believed that was it, the final nail in the coffin of your brittle relationship. He’s a broken man, Amelia, who loves you dearly. And that’s why he let you go because in his mind, he thinks you deserve more. I will tell you right now, that breaks my heart. For such a largerthan-life, gorgeous, and selfless man, years of unjust rejection and self-loathing have beaten him down to a small, fractured man on the inside. And that is a tragedy.” I’ve been so blind. Everything Amanda is saying makes all the sense in the world, and I feel sick to my stomach. Aaron, sweet, passionate, insecure Aaron. I was so caught up in the past repeating itself I didn’t take time to see the situation from his
eyes. “I can see you’re trying to figure out what you want to do. I think this is a moment where you should channel your dad and use his mantra, Amelia. So what? Aaron loves you. Can you say so what to his faux pas?” Amanda waves her finger at my head. “Do you want him back? Do I need to get some cue cards so you can pull a Love Actually moment?” I don’t really deserve him. “I don’t know.” I press my hand against my forehead trying to think. “I don’t even know where he is, if he’s okay or not. The last I saw him was when he took off with blood dripping down his face. What if he drove off into some ditch, I would have no idea.” “Well, that seems like an exaggeration, so let’s not go there. Could he be at a friend’s house? Maybe it’s too hard for him to be around you. And, before you ask, you know what to do about Trey.” Unfortunately, I do and I’m immediately hit with dread. “Tucker did stop by his house that night. He had a bag with him when he left Aaron’s house.” “There you go. Aaron is clearly staying with Tucker. Now that we know he’s not in a ditch, I want to know, do you want him back?” I slowly nod my head. “I think I can be angry all I want at him, but when it comes down to it, I will always be in love with him, and I don’t think that’s
a feeling I can ever shake.” And he shouldn’t be alone anymore. He deserves to be loved and nurtured, even more than he has loved and nurtured me. “Yeah. You were made for each other. You ground him, and he sets you free. And that man, with the broken soul, he needs your love, Amelia. He needs your love more than you need his. Your souls were meant to be together, to help each other heal, and to guide one another through this crazy world. I know you’re scared, but he’s terrified, terrified of losing the one thing he ever cared about. Be with him, Amelia. Take the leap, and be with him.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine Aaron
“Well, don’t you look nice?” Mr. Buster scans me up and down while holding his clipboard to his chest, looking rather calm, given the play starts in an hour. I shift uncomfortably in my dress shirt and khakis. “You did set a dress code.” “It’s nice to not look like a slouch.” Pointing his pen at my face, he asks, “How did you get those black eyes again? Those weren’t on the dress code.” “Two by four to the face,” I lie, not wanting to get into the drama of my life. My nose was definitely broken and since I’ve been staying with Tucker and Emma, she’s been on my ass about icing it constantly. She’s even threatened to make me wear a brace across my face at night but I drew the line there. I’ll ice, but there will be no face brace. “Ooof, that must have smarted.” I chuckle. “Yeah, it smarted all right.” I deserved the punch. I can understand where Trey was coming from, especially since he recently wrote me
an email, explaining his actions and apologizing as well. He doesn’t want there to be any bad blood between us. I don’t want there to be any bad blood either, but it’s going to take some healing before I call my brother to talk. We’ve never been close, I’m not sure we ever will be, but at least I know we cleared the air. I don’t know what Amelia told him about us in the weeks they were apart, if she told him anything at all, but knowing she will be in his arms each night will break me, so for a while, I need to lie low. Mr. Buster looks around. “Where’s your little friend, Miss Santos? She’s coming, right?” I shrug my shoulders, even though I’m almost one hundred percent sure I know the answer to that question. Amelia won’t show up tonight, and I’m the one reason why. “She’s been busy, so she probably won’t be able to make it,” I lie again to Mr. Buster, with my eyes downcast. “Hmm, there’s something you’re not telling me, Aaron.” Lying has never been my strong suit. “Did you two quarrel?” Mr. Buster has many more important things to deal with, so he doesn’t need to add this to the list. I pat him on the shoulder and say, “Nothing you need to worry about, but thank you for your concern. I have to make sure the sets are secure. I’ll catch you after the show. Break a leg, Mr.
Buster.” I start to walk away, but Mr. Buster calls out, “This conversation isn’t over.” Little does he know, it is. If I have to skip the last act to avoid a conversation with him, I will. As I walk backstage to check on everything, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out and answer. “We’re here!” Racer shouts into the phone, making me pull it away from my ear. “Did you save us seats?” I roll my eyes. “No, dickhead, and sit in the back so the parents can have good seats for pictures.” “We showed up an hour early for the good seats. There is no way in hell I’m sitting in the back. I want to be front and center so I can judge your craftsmanship.” “Thanks for the support, man.” “Anytime.” There is shuffling of the phone and Tucker’s voice comes on the line. “Is she here?” I run my hand through my hair, messing up how neatly I styled it earlier. “No, man, and I don’t expect her to be. Hell, I don’t want her to be. I just want to get through this night and get the hell out of here.” “Okay . . . well, we’re here, so let us know when you’re ready, and we’ll leave with you.” In the background I can here Racer say, “I’m not leaving until I see Santa.”
“He’s a fucking treat tonight.” “You have no idea,” Tucker huffs into the phone. “He snuck a box of Swiss Rolls in Georgie’s purse, even though there’s a sign that specifically says no outside food.” “I wouldn’t expect anything less.” Sighing, I say, “All right, I should make sure everything is set. I’ll see you after the play.” “Okay, let us know if you need anything,” Tucker answers sincerely. “Thanks, man.” A few nights ago, Tucker had a mini heart-toheart with me. He let me know I was welcome to stay with him and Emma for as long as I wanted, as long as I promised not to revert to drinking. He knew the kind of destruction I could make when trying to drink my sorrows away. I promised him I wouldn’t drink, and I would leave his place soon, but every time I started to pack, the thought of going back to my house, being close to Amelia again and not able to hold her, I couldn’t stomach it. I’m trying to put her in my past, but it seems like everywhere I go or everything I do reminds me of her, of the laughs we shared, the adventures we took, the nights we spent simply enjoying each other’s company again. Deep down I know I was made for loving Amelia, but despite that, our paths never perfectly crossed. You can love someone
with all your heart, but if the timing is off, it never works out. And I’m not saying it’s timing that got in the way of my relationship with Amelia, but I’ve never had the best of luck when it comes to her. There always seems to be something in the way where we’re concerned, and I don’t think that’s going to change. I scan the sets and check for loose screws, unsanded edges, or spots that need paint touch-ups. I spend the next hour examining everything. The last thing I want to happen is for a child to get hurt because I didn’t double-check. Mr. Buster charges through the backstage. “Twenty seconds, people. Get to your places.” He spots me and says, “Aaron, get the heck out of there, we’re about to open the curtain.” “Yeah, okay.” I stand and work my way to the side of the stage where I lean against a pole and fold my arms over my chest, watching Mr. Buster count down. It’s comical, seeing this grown man take a children’s holiday musical so seriously. This is like his World Series; it’s almost as much fun watching him as it is watching the kids try to remember their lines, dance moves, and song lyrics. The opening song plays on the piano and the curtain is drawn. The children mill about the “town” and sing “Holly Jolly Christmas” as Mr. Buster taps his foot off to the side, mouthing the lyrics and performing the dance moves himself.
He’s a dance mom to the extreme. “Everything looks amazing.” I still, my eyes trained forward as the hairs on the back of my neck stand and goosebumps rattle over my skin. That voice. Like honey. Unfolding my arms, I turn to see Amelia standing next to me, wearing a green dress with long sleeves that ends just above her knees. She’s wearing red earrings and her hair is in a low braid that falls to one side of her body, a small poinsettia flower tucked behind one of her ears. She looks beautiful. “Amelia,” I breathe out, nerves wracking my body. “Wh-what are you doing here?” “Well, I did put together half of the set.” “Oh, right.” I nod and swallow hard. Fuck, she looks so damn beautiful, my arms itch to pull her into my chest and keep her there forever. I turn back to the play, feeling more awkward than ever. Should I step aside and let her watch by herself? Should I give her space? I’m about to do just that when she says, “Would you mind catching some fresh air with me?” “Uh”—I look around, still thrown off that she’s talking to me—“Sure.” I head toward the side door when Amelia stops me, and says, “No, this way.” Confused, she takes me to the back of the school where we were told to park and leads me into the chilly winter night. Thankfully it hasn’t hit single
digits yet, so even though we can see our breath in the air, we aren’t about to get frostbite. “Over here,” she calls out, leading me around to a dark corner of the building, as she shrugs on her long coat. Eh, should I be concerned? When I turn the corner, I see my truck with its tailgate down and the bed decorated in Christmas lights. When I stop to take it all in, Amelia grabs my hand and leads me the rest of the way. “What’s going on?” I ask, trying not to get my hopes up, trying to steady my rapidly beating heart. “Mind giving me a lift?” she asks, pointing to the tailgate of my truck. Not giving it a second thought, I lift her up on the tailgate, and when she pats the spot next to her, I take a seat as well. Reaching behind her, Amelia pulls up a box of Nirchi’s pizza. She hands it to me, a huge smile on her face and says, “Open it.” Thoroughly confused, unsure if something startling is going to pop out of the box, I carefully open it up. When I see what’s inside, I almost break down. Staring back at me, written in Buffalo chicken pieces are the words, I love you. I stare at the pizza for what seems like forever, trying to figure out if I’m dreaming, but when Amelia takes the box away from me and cups my face, forcing me to look at her, I know this isn’t a dream.
“I’m so in love with you, Aaron, desperately in love with you. I’m so sorry you thought otherwise.” A smile breaks through my lips, total elation coursing through me as she presses her lips against mine. I reciprocate the kiss, taking in this moment, a moment I never thought I’d have again. When she pulls away, she brushes away a single tear that falls down my face. I clear my throat. “I don’t understand.” She holds my gaze. “I get you, Aaron. You might not communicate the way I wish you did, and you might make decisions for the both of us that I don’t agree with, but I understand where it’s coming from.” She presses her palm against my chest. “You have a beautiful heart, a beautiful soul, and you show it every day to me. Some days I might be blind to it, like I was the other day, but that doesn’t mean I won’t recognize it over time. You might not see your worth, but I see it, and you are everything to me.” She grips my head again and speaks with firm passion. “Everything, Aaron. And no matter how many times you try to push me away because you think it’s what’s best for me, I will always come back, because what you need to understand is what’s best for me is you.” She presses another kiss against my lips. “You’re my once in a lifetime, and I’m not letting you go. So push all you want, run away, try to send me in a different direction; from
now on, it’s not going to work. I’m yours and you’re mine, and it’s time you realize that. You’re my forever, Aaron.” Fuck. Warmth, the warmth of Amelia and her love, spreads through my veins, igniting me, awakening a part of me that’s been dead for quite some time. Needing to be closer to her, I pull her onto my lap so she’s straddling me. I hold on to her hips and rest my forehead against hers. “I love you so much, Amelia.” I kiss her lips. “Don’t let me push you anymore. I want you to follow me, even into the dark parts of my life.” “I will, always, Aaron.” She presses a kiss against my lips. “Always.” “I didn’t purposely lie to you about knowing who Trey was, Amelia. At first I was so shocked, but I didn’t want who he was to me to influence you. I stepped back, hoping you would see me as the man for you.” “I know that now. It makes sense. And I did. You are the man for me.” Thank fuck. “Trey knows?” “Yes. I talked to him before he drove back to the city. I think he regrets punching you.” I nod. “He wrote me an email.” “I didn’t explain everything to him about us, because I decided it wasn’t because of us that I broke up with him. I didn’t mourn his loss when I
left him on my birthday. I mourned the breakdown of the relationship, of my visions of him and me in Binghamton. But I had already felt that we had pulled away from each other. I didn’t tell you why we broke up, but he taken a promotion in the city and bought an apartment for us—” “But your dad . . .” “Exactly. Anyway, his decisions were the icing on the cake to some extent. As I walked up the stairs to our shared apartment on Thanksgiving, I knew I was no longer home. I told him that, too. It wasn’t only his actions that broke us. My heart had already left. Binghamton is home. You are home, Aaron. And you reminded me of that when you cared for me so lovingly on my birthday and the week afterward. I didn’t need your love to make me whole, but it made me whole anyway,” I said, barely holding back more tears. Happy tears this time. “It’s you, Amelia. I’ll never stop loving you, but I may fuck up occasionally.” “Yeah, you might. But so might I. But you need to talk to me, no matter how scared you are, you need to talk to me. I’m not going anywhere; I’m here to stay, just know that. Whatever you may be going through, I will forever hold you tightly. Okay?” I nod, understanding everything she’s trying to convey. With a gruff voice, I say, “I’m a bit of a broken man, baby.”
“Good thing I’m the perfect match to put you back together.” And if that isn’t the God’s honest truth. I’ve never needed anyone more than I need Amelia in my life. We hold each other in the barely lit space of my truck bed, the faint sound of the musical playing in the background. The only thing keeping us warm is each other’s arms. That, and the promise of a future together. “Nirchi’s pizza, huh?” She shrugs, placing a kiss on the tip of my nose. “Seems fitting. I know you can’t turn down a girl with a passion for Buffalo chicken pizza.” “No chance in hell. I’d be a fool to.” “Good thing you’re a smart man, then.” Her lips find mine again and I sink into her kiss, letting her love pour over me. When you first meet someone, it’s exciting, thrilling, that first chance is a gift bestowed upon you. And when your heart is taken away from you, when you think everything you ever wanted is taken away, sometimes you get a second chance. That second chance is pure luck. It doesn’t happen for everyone, only a select few. But that third chance, the one where you think there is no way you’ll ever be able to hold her heart in your hands again? When it happens, when that third chance is placed in front of you, it means one thing and one
thing only. You were meant to be. Despite the roadblocks, the heartache, the stumbles and falls, the universe tells you something important: you’re meant to be together. Third chances are the rarest of them all, which makes them the most important to treasure. Amelia is mine . . . forever.
EPILOGUE AARON
“What the hell are you doing in there?” The bathroom door opens and Amelia strides into the living room wearing a red flannel pajama set, her hair tied up into a bun. Her face looks fresh . . . freshly fucked. “Don’t rush me,” she responds with a smirk before she sits between my legs and rests her back against my chest. “I wanted to make sure I looked somewhat presentable. I plan on taking pictures, you know.” I’m not surprised. Since we’ve gotten back together, she’s made it her mission to make up for three lost years and take pictures of us together whenever she can. “You don’t need to look presentable for pictures, you’re beautiful on your own.” “Aw.” She leans back and pats my cheek. “You’re just trying to get your dick sucked again.” “No, but I’m not opposed to round two.” “Of course you’re not. What man says no to a blow job?” Her hands fall to my thighs as she stares in front of her.
“I’m sure there are men out there who don’t want their dick sucked.” “Name one,” Amelia challenges me. Errr . . . “That’s what I thought.” She rubs her hands together and says, “Okay, give me my presents.” If you asked me three months ago who I’d be celebrating Christmas with, I would’ve said myself, and then in the afternoon I probably would’ve gone to Tucker’s. If you told me I’d spend it with Amelia, peppered by her loving kisses, I would’ve told you, you’d lost your damn mind. I never envisioned my life turning out this way, engaged to the woman who stole my heart so many years ago, spending Christmas together, in OUR house, staring at a Christmas tree we chopped down together. It’s like a fucking fairy tale, and I’m the leading man. Shortly after Amelia surprised me at the musical, I proposed. It didn’t take us long to go from zero to sixty in our relationship. That night, she moved into my house permanently, making it our house. A week later, I proposed. I didn’t want to waste time where Amelia’s concerned, because we’d already wasted enough. Amelia said yes, and we’re now planning a very small and intimate wedding on the nursing home grounds, out in the garden—the same garden Amelia’s dad watches over every day. She wants
him there, hell, I want him there, and we both think it will be a comfortable place for him to watch his daughter get married. We’ve had good visits and bad visits with him, but it doesn’t deter us from visiting him every Friday with pizza and half-moon cookies. It’s a tradition now, and if Mr. Santos doesn’t interact with us, Amelia and I use that time to play checkers and just enjoy being in the same room as her father. “Let’s see, what should you open first?” I ask, scratching my jaw and looking at all the presents I bought. I might have spoiled her, but I’m okay with that. She deserves it. Let’s just say I’m making up for lost present giving. “The big one,” she shouts, leaning forward and bringing it to her lap. Chuckling, I shake my head. “Some things never change.” “I have no shame,” she announces right before she rips the wrapping paper off the box. “Hey, I took my time wrapping that.” She doesn’t care as she squeals and holds the box above her head. “An Easy Bake Oven! Oh Aaron, you shouldn’t have.” She’s gushing, and I can’t help but laugh. “You said you always wanted one but never got one.” She spins around and wraps her legs around my waist, pressing her center against mine. Fuck that
feels good. “You’re the absolute best. I’m going to make you the most delicious cake baked by a light bulb you’ve ever tasted.” “I believe it, baby.” I chuckle as she presses her lips across my face. When she reaches my lips and parts them with her tongue, diving deep, I unconsciously moan and bring her closer. When she doesn’t let go, I lay her in front of the tree on top of the wrapping paper and start to unbutton her flannel shirt. I just had her not ten minutes ago, but there is no denying how much I want her again. Her mouth pulls away for a second and my pursuit pauses when she stares up at me, loving awe in her eyes. Gently, she strokes the roughness of my jaw with her index finger as a slow smile spreads across her face. “What?” I ask, needing to know what she’s thinking in that pretty head of hers. “Sometimes I still can’t believe we’re together, that we’re here, engaged, with a wonderful future ahead of us.” “Me either,” I sigh. “I’m so goddamn lucky.” Chuckling and shaking my head, I say, “I almost sent Trey a Christmas present, thanking him for finding you Mrs. Ferguson’s rental, but I thought it would be in poor taste.” Amelia laughs. “It would have been, but he is the one who found that house.”
“I know, and I secretly thank him every morning when I wake up next to you in our bed.” “It was meant to be. You were meant to be mine.” And if that doesn’t make me the happiest man alive, I don’t know what will. I’ve never been a man who believes in second chances, or third chances for that matter, but here I am, with the woman of my dreams resting in my arms, wearing my ring, and staring at me with all the love a man can ask for. I thought luck wasn’t in the cards for me. Hell, was I wrong. I just might have all the luck in the world. The End
To my son’s oldest biological brother, may you one day own a home with stairs and find your well-deserved happily ever after.
Thank you for reading THE OTHER BROTHER. I hope you enjoyed it! Want to learn more about Aaron’s friends? They have their own stories, check them out:
Tucker and Emma, click here to read My Best Friend’s Ex. Racer and Georgiana, click here to read Twisted Twosome. COME HANG OUT WITH ME! Join my reader group for weekly giveaways and fun. Click here. · Would you like to know when my next book is available? You can sign up for my new release email list at http://www.authormeghanquinn.com/newsletter.html · You can also follow me on twitter at @authormegquinn, or like my Facebook page at https://www.facebook.com/meghanquinnauthor/ · Reviews help other readers find books. I appreciate all of my readers’ reviews. Standalones (Full of heart, humor, and heat. Both heroes are sweet, yet demanding) The Mother Road Newly Exposed Dear Life Co-Wrecker My Best Friend’s Ex Twisted Twosome The Romance Novelist Series (Hilarious, laugh out loud romantic comedies) The Virgin Romance Novelist The Randy Romance Novelist The Stroked Series
(HOT sports romance with plenty of humor) STROKED STROKED LONG STROKED HARD The Bourbon Series (Sassy, erotic romance with a gorgeous, protective alpha male) Bourbon Sins Bourbon Deceit Bourbon Kingdom Bourbon Truths The Love and Sports Series (New Adult, college football forms into professional football careers. Love triangles.) Fair Catch Double Coverage Three and Out The Hot-Lanta Series (My first series ever. Baseball sports romance with lots of drama!) Caught Looking Playing the Field Warning Track Hit and Run The Addiction Series (Rock star romance, minor cheating and love triangles. Book three still to come, Rehab.) Toxic Fame
The Warblers Point Series (Three Irish brothers, their younger sister, and the drama they get into. Love triangles. Book three still to come.) Beers, Hens and Irishmen Beers, Lies and Alibis