Second Chances: The Seahaven Series - Book One (20 page)

“I can't go and you can't stay,” I say.

He hangs his head, his hair against my chest.

I stroke his hair, then bring his face up to mine.

“My life won't be good without you. I'll be thinking about you constantly, treading water until the next time I can see you. But I can't go.”

He studies my face. “And what if Cesar doesn't get better in nine months?” he asks.

I shake my head. “Don't even say it,” I say. “He will. He's motivated.”

“But if he slips and falls into old habits? Then it's another year, then maybe another.”

“Then I'll be miserable,” I say, “But the second he gets out I'll be on a plane to you.”

Matt looks away, lost in thought. “I can't stand the thought of you being unhappy,” he says, “and this arrangement is going to make both of us miserable.”

“We don't have a choice,” I say.

“It kills me to know I'll be the source of your pain.”

I turn his face toward mine. I kiss him, and all the emotion and frustration about being without him that I've been trying to bury comes flooding out.

He moves closer to me. I wrap my legs around his waist. We kiss almost violently, with teeth banging, and tongues, and a feral breathlessness.

“I need you,” I whisper. “I need to be physically connected to you.”

He pulls off my pajama pants and drops his, then pulls me close to the edge of the top of the couch. I spread my legs in a wide V and pull off my shirt. His eyes rake over me and then so do his hands as he moves closer. He stares into my eyes as he pushes inside me. Mine close as I gasp.

“Look at me,” he says. “Remember this.”

I look at him as he thrusts in me. We watch each other. I look down and see him entering me, giving me the most pleasure anyone's ever given me, our body parts fitting together perfectly, like we were made for each other.

He grabs my ass and pulls me as close as we can get. He moves fast, in and out, just the right speed to get me on the edge. Then he bites my nipple gently and I feel the rush start to move through me. And then he pushes himself in as far as he can go and holds himself there, and I clench and scream and come like I've never come before. Then he grunts and pushes again, and I feel his warmth cover my insides. And we hold still against each other, breathing hard, our parts locked together, like they were meant to be.

* * *

A little while later, after we've showered, I'm helping him move boxes close to the door where the movers will pick them up in the morning.

“Earlier you said your life won't be good without me,” he says, leaning against a box, not looking at me.

“I don't even know what I'll do,” I say, kicking a box. “Between the times we see each other it's going to be hell.”

He thinks about it for a minute. “Your happiness is the most important thing in the world to me. The thought of you being miserable because of me is the polar opposite to what I want for you in life. So if we're apart and miserable and I knew you were suffering because of it I wouldn't be able to live with myself.”

Wait. What's he saying? Is he changing his mind, is he saying he can't stand me suffering so he's going to stay? I feel a smile starting to break over my face.

“So I think... we should end this cleanly,” he says. “End it here and now before it gets painful. We've had great fun together but it's better to make a quick getaway. Two miserable people at two opposite ends of the globe is no way to live.”

He looks at me for a second, trying to make eye contact, then looks away.

I stare at him, my mouth open, as each word he's said stabs me in the heart like a dagger.

He walks away, out of the room, and I sit, stunned, like a truck has run into me. I physically can't breathe for a moment.

Of all the things in the universe he could have said, I never thought it would be that. But I don't know what I expected. That'd we'd have a long distance relationship potentially forever? That we'd have Skype-sex and he'd be okay with that? That he'd wait for me for years if Cesar doesn't recover as quickly as he's supposed to? But I didn't think he'd want this. I feel tears spring to my eyes.

All I can say is, “What?”

I turn to look for him. He's in the bedroom, his back to me.

“It's for the best,” he says. “So we can move on.”

I feel my confused sadness turning to anger. “What are you talking about? Move on to what?”

He's focused on something in the room. “Whatever life brings.”

He's turning cold on me and it's scary. I walk into the bedroom and stand in front of him so he has to look at me.

“Why would you think that I'd want to end this?” I say.

He crosses his arms and shakes his head. “We'll be a world away, we'll both be torn apart, and it doesn't make any sense for us to keep going.”

I frown. “You're running,” I say. “You're scared and you're running.”

He looks at me. “What?”

“You ran here when your wife died. You ran away from me when I bought up all the feelings you had about losing someone, and now you're running from me again.”

He stacks a box angrily. “I'm not running. I'm going back to help.”

“But you're running from me,” I say. “You're trying to end us when we don't need ending. We can make this work.”

He moves away and finds another box to stack. “It's a life on hold. You've spent the last fifteen years trapped in a bad marriage. You deserve happiness, not more misery. I won't do it to you.”

“Why do you get to decide for me?” I yell. “I want you! I choose you!”

He shakes his head and stacks more boxes, like he's afraid to stand still. “Maybe for a week or a month it will be fine. We'll talk, we'll make plans. But you'll spend each day being sad. Your life will stop as you wait for me. And it will be my fault, and I won't be able to bear it.”

I feel the tears coming. He's not budging. Why is he giving up so easily?

“People do this,” I say. “They talk, they see each other. They fly to see each other.”

He pushes a box with his foot. He doesn't say anything.

I stare at him. “Do I get a say in this? What about what I want?”

“No, because you've already told me how you'll feel. You need someone here with you who can make you happy. Like Danny.” He packs clothes, his back to me.

My jaw drops. In one hour we've gone from making love and staring into each others' eyes, to him breaking up with me and trying to set me up with Danny.

I start to laugh, the kind of laughing where what you're hearing is so crazy you can't even believe the other person said it. And then my laughter turns into crying. I can't help it.

I look at him, crying, not caring about holding it in.

“So that's it? You want me to forget about you and be happy with Danny?” I say. He doesn't turn around.

“Imagine it, Matt. Imagine me with Danny. I'm kissing Danny. I'm making love with Danny. I've got kids with Danny. Is that what you want?”

I see his back stiffen, but he doesn't turn around.

I shake my head. “You know this thing we have, this us, doesn't happen to people everyday. You can't mean all of this. After everything we've been through together. With the way we feel.”

“It's just the way it has to be,” he says, still facing away. “It's life. You deserve more than I can give you. You deserve to be happy.”

I stare at him for a full minute as he packs boxes slowly, not looking at me.

“I can't believe you're doing this,” I say, shaking my head. “This is cruel. It isn't you.”

He turns quickly to me, angry. His eyes are red. “Cruel is being nine thousand miles away from you and not being able to touch you,” he says, heated. “Cruel is you not living your life because you're waiting to be with me, putting your happiness on hold, for a day that might not come.”

He turns back around, away from me. The tears are freely falling from my eyes.

“I don't want this,” I say to his back. “I would trade a thousand bad days for a single hour with you. It's not fair that you get to decide this for me.”

“It's what's best,” he says. “It's the right thing. It can't be any other way.”

He looks at me. I force myself to look back, to look him in the eyes. I wipe at the tears that won't stop coming. He doesn't say anything. I shake my head in defeat.

“Buster,” I call. Buster comes to me and I pick him up. He tries to lick my tears.

My eyes are blurry as I walk to the sliding door. Matt is behind me, saying nothing. I carry Buster to the door and slide it open for the last time. I turn back to look at him and he's staring at the boxes.

“Have a nice life, one not on hold,” I say, and slide the door closed. I see him standing alone in the room, not looking at me, and then I stumble down the steps to my car, drunk with misery.

Chapter Thirty-Three

The last month has been terrible. I'm like a zombie. All I've wanted to do is stay in bed. But I get up, I feed Buster, I go to work. Nothing has changed, and everything has changed.

Matt is gone. He left four weeks ago. He didn't call me to say goodbye, and I didn't see him again before he left. When Danny and I have a call that requires ambulance transport to the hospital, I always expect to see him coming around the corner. But then I don't, because he's gone.

In fact right now I'm here in the ER, trying to get my sign-out papers for the man we just brought in. I'm standing at the counter and the slutty nurse, the one who wanted to sleep with Matt, is helping me. I can see Maria talking to Danny in the background, looking over at me periodically.

I turn away from them and roll my eyes to myself. They're scheming about something, trying to pull me out of my misery. It won't work, I want to tell them, whatever they're planning. It doesn't work that way. A night at the bar won't make me forget. Setting me up with another doctor won't make me forget.

I turn back to the bimbo nurse. She's filling everything out very slowly, which would be annoying even if I didn't already find her annoying.

She looks up and stares at me for a minute. “Hey, I remember you,” she says.

“I'm in here all the time,” I say.

“I mean I remember talking to you about the doctor who left. We had that conversation.”

Maria appears at my elbow.

“Hey,” she says, “we want to talk to you.” She tilts her head and indicates Danny.

“Yeah, I saw you over there making some plans,” I say.

The nurse doesn't stop talking. “The cute one, remember? With the Australian accent.”

“I remember,” I say, trying to forget. I take my papers from her.

“I never got to sleep with him,” the nurse says, pouting.

Maria gets a funny look on her face, and takes a tiny step in front of me. I think, uh-oh, here it comes. You never know what's going to come out of Maria when she's feeling angry and protective.

“Aww,” she says sarcastically to the nurse. “But that's probably a good thing given that his girlfriend—” Maria looks pointedly at me, “—wouldn't have liked that very much.”

I smile sweetly at the nurse and bat my eyes. Her mouth hangs open. She doesn't say she's sorry for offending me, or she's sorry that he moved away, or apologize for stepping on toes. Instead she says totally seriously, “Was he good in bed?”

Maria throws up her hands and rolls her eyes and says “Ay yai yai,” and pulls me away.

“Those young ones,” she says, walking, “are as dumb and slutty as fucking posts.”

“I'm not sure I've ever met a slutty post,” I say.

“I'm glad your sense of humor is coming back!” she says, smiling.

We stop in front of Danny, who looks at me like I'm a wounded puppy.

“You okay today?” he asks.

I suddenly feel embarrassed that everyone knows I'm hurting. I don't want to be treated any differently than before, so I take a quick breath and do my best to act the part. Fake it till you make it—I can do this. “I'm fine,” I say. “Better all the time.”

“Good,” they both say at the same time together.

“Jinx,” says Maria, pushing Danny on the arm.

“One two three four five six seven eight nine ten,” they both count together.

“You gotta buy me a soda,” says Maria. And they crack up laughing.

“You're like children,” I say. It's nice that someone's having a good time, because I'm not.

“We were talking about going to a movie after work,” says Danny. “Something funny, something fun. Maybe a drink before. What do you say?”

“Say yes,” says Maria. “She says yes.”

They watch me, waiting. I could go home and sit in my pajamas on the couch watching bad reality TV, or I could be with them, maybe laughing a little, having a beer.

I nod. “Okay, I'll come.” I say. They both give a little cheer.

Fake it till you make it.

Chapter Thirty-Four

I'm walking down Third Street, trying to be present. The movie's at eleven, before normal people lunchtime, so we've agreed to meet at nearby restaurant Kingfish for a drink. I'm looking at the late fall leaves on the ground, the pumpkins still in storefront windows, and the kids in strollers crying to their mothers for whatever they want but don't have. Even the air is the perfect temperature. It's a beautiful time of year. But I'm still a zombie.

As I get close to the restaurant, I see a man on the sidewalk, squatting down talking gently to a little boy, eye-to-eye. I can see that the boy has been crying, but now he's listening to the man and nodding. As I get closer to them I hear the man explaining plainly, patiently, why it's not okay to scream and run in a restaurant. He isn't hitting the boy or yelling at him, he's just talking to him like he's another human being who needs a little guidance. Like a dad should, if a dad is good.

When I walk by them towards the restaurant entrance I suddenly feel like I'm moving in slow motion. The little boy looks at his dad, not scared, just learning from him. He nods his head and says, “Okay, Daddy, I'll be good.” The man ruffles the boy's hair and stands up.

I get to the door and stop, lost in my own head. The man and the boy are right behind me.

“Oh, here,” says the man. “Let me get that for you.” He opens the door and I stand there, dumbly, blinking. “Were you going in?” he asks.