And I can’t believe I just said that out loud. I don’t think he can either because the line is silent as he processes my comment. “Is Dante a friend?” There is an edge to his voice this time when he speaks, exasperation mixed with irritation that has me chewing the inside of my cheek as I try to figure out what to say next.
How can I say he’s just a friend when I was going to use him an hour ago to get over the man I’m speaking with? “We weren’t talking about him.” I force the issue, not wanting to delve into the potluck of problems I have sitting on the table.
“Then we’re not talking about her. Besides, what’s it to you Haddie? I’m giving you exactly what you asked for, right? One night, no strings. So why do you care what Deena is to me?”
Ah, Ms. Exotic has a name. Deena? I hate the name Deena. Well, not really but I do now. I immediately imagine his voice moaning it, and I instantly feel sick to my stomach.
“You don’t get to keep me at arm’s length but then call dibs when it’s convenient for you,” he continues when I’m silent, lost in my thoughts.
“I’ve never done that!” A blatant lie but if I’m reaching, then I might as well stretch as far as I can.
“Bullshit, Montgomery. Dante or whatever the fuck his name is may mollycoddle you, stroke you when you need it but leave you alone otherwise, but I’m not like that. I’m not him. You can’t fuck with people’s emotions and expect them to want to be there for you, either.” He sighs out in frustration while I’m taken slightly aback by the bite to his tone.
“Who the hell mentioned emotions? Emotions weren’t included in my rules,” I say childishly.
“You want to talk about rules, Haddie? You want to know my rule number two? I don’t play games.”
“Hmpf.” It’s a disbelieving sound followed by a roll of my eyes he can’t see.
“Yeah. That’s one way to put it. Is there something else you called for besides trying to stick your nose in where it doesn’t belong?”
I open my mouth and then shut it, unsure how calling him because I just needed to hear his voice has devolved so quickly into this. Into me scrambling for words I can’t find to fix shit that doesn’t need fixing.
Because I don’t want this. Don’t want him.
“Well, then, if you want to actually talk instead of pull this ridiculous bullshit, I’m here for you … but, Had …? Whatever this is here … this passive-aggressive crap? I don’t do too well with that. We had our one night. You made it quite clear you didn’t want anything more than that, so you don’t get to call me up and question what I might or might not be doing with anybody else. You want no strings? Then cut the ties … but frankly, I don’t think you know what the fuck you want. So until you figure your shit out, I think it’s best that we say good night before we make a bad situation even worse.”
“Wait!” Desperation rings in my voice in the single word. And I hate myself for sounding like this, but I’m so lonely, so scared, and just want the comfort I know he can bring me right now.
I wait for the sound of the dial tone to assault my ears. Wait for the incessant beep that reaffirms why I have barbed wire wrapped around my heart—painful but necessary. But there is nothing for a few moments until I hear the phone scrape against the stubble on his face.
And I wait … my throat burning with the tears I want to shed but am so sick of. The ones that no longer bring me comfort.
“I’m here, Haddie. I’m not going anywhere, okay?” The timbre of his voice carries his concern and sympathy to me through the line.
The incoherent sound I make is all I can offer to thank him for not hanging up on me. For not giving up on me.
“Talk to me. What’s going on?” he asks gently as if he’s afraid if he pushes too hard I’ll run away and hide. Just like I want to. How he has me pegged so well, I don’t know.
“I’m sorry.” My words are barely audible. I don’t even recognize my own voice, can’t come to grips with how this man I don’t want to let in has gotten under my skin.
Losing Lexi was one thing I couldn’t stop, but losing myself is something I never expected. And there’s something about Becks—his easygoing nature, his personality, his kindness—that has me reaching over my iron walls and wanting to connect. Wanting to reach for that shadow of myself that is floating away just beyond my reach.
The balloon without a string at the top of your ceiling. There. Present. But never within reach.
Until it deflates. Falls lifeless.
“Don’t be sorry, Had. Never be sorry for needing me.”
I don’t need you. The words are almost off my tongue. But the gentleness in his tone causes the pain to burn brighter.
“You want to talk about it?”
You have no idea. I want to explain this all to you. How I want you, how I’m scared, how if I give you the whys, I know you’ll give me the get-over-it speech, and that’s the one thing I’m sick of hearing. The “Lex is dead, Haddie. She’d want you to keep living, keep dreaming, keep going. Live for her. Get over it.”
And I’m not sure what’s worse to me. Him telling me that and ruining this perfect image I’m holding close of him or letting him in, allowing whatever this is to run its course and then devastate him like Lex’s death did Danny.
I hear the jingle of a dog’s tags in the background, and for some reason, the sound makes me smile. So I seize on to the idea of Becks having a fur person to keep him company at night, my mind trying to distract me from the vulnerability that is seeping from my every fiber.
“No.” The word is a soft exhale on my lips.
“Are you okay? Do you need me to come over?”
Yes.
“No,” I lie, unable to take that next step in admitting how much I want that right now. Having Becks here would be like admitting there is a chink in my armored heart. And the only problem is that I’ve let him in—past the steel walls—but he can never know. If he knows, if he lets me into his heart, into his life, then I open him up to feeling how I feel.
“What do you need from me?”
And my heart squeezes at his words. Not what can I do for you but what do you need from me? Where is the arrogance when I need it? Can’t he be an asshole so that I can cling to that, grab onto that to help me push him farther away?
Protect him and isolate me?
“Nothing … I just …” I can’t finish my thoughts because I want to tell him everything I need from him. Why I want him but won’t let myself risk the chance of hurting him. At my own fear of taking a stupid blood test. So many things but all I can do is live day to day, moment to moment.
But isn’t that part of the problem? If I’m adhering to that theory, then I should be living it up. If tomorrow is unknown, I should be living with reckless abandon, throwing caution to the wind. Driving with the top down. But I’m not.
Because I’m scared.
I close my eyes as a silent tear slides down my cheek, and I try to shove my fear away, but I get a sense that I don’t even need to speak because Becks just knows.
“I’m here, okay?”
I nod my head as if he can see it and sit there for a few seconds before realizing it. “’Kay.”
“So, uh, we never finished the other day.”
I let the silence hang, unsure of what he’s talking about and at the same time wondering if I have enough in me to care and knowing damn well that I do.
“I was born in Texas. Moved at age six to the Santa Cruz area for who knows what reason. … Hmm. I feel lame doing this, but it’s only fair, right? Let’s see, it’s just my little brother, Walker, and me.”