Sail (Wake #2) (4 page)

When I took control, I was a man worthy of her. Composed. Owning my shit. I wanted her; my need was obvious. It felt like lasers shot from every pore on my body, searching for her at all times. She never went undetected.

At the wedding, he fell apart, getting drunk and acting like an ass in front of everyone. I couldn’t really blame him. He’d realized a pretty huge thing. But in the bar when he looked weak and pathetic, I stood tall, knowing he was on my turf and I wasn’t about to play the part of the fool.

Sure, I could have beaten his foolish ass all over that bar and no one would have stopped me. But I didn’t. I was a man deserving of her love.

Then—like a fool—I’d been rough and indifferent with her heart, when all along it was mine feeling vulnerable. Once again, I’d reacted in a way that would have any other woman running for the hills. I’d text her “Goodbye,” and she was still fighting for
me.

I opened my phone to take it back. It was time I
was
the better guy. Me.

The old way didn’t work for either of us. If I had any chance of making her mine, I’d have to
be
hers. I’d have to be there for her.

My finger slid the phone open on a mission to retract my shitty message, that I’d only said—once again—to make her feel the hurt I felt. She’d just told me she loved me for the first time and I didn’t even look at her.

What a prick.

I wouldn’t have been surprised if that was too much. If this time, when I’d pushed her way, she’d really let me go.

Then my phone buzzed and lit up like the night sky on the 4th of July. Many notifications of missed calls and messages flooded it.

Spectacular are those moments—the silent, invisible connections revealed—when you pick up the phone and it chimes. The time for us to be a team in this thing was right in front of us, and it appeared she felt it too.

Honeybee: Happy 2010. Don’t say goodbye. We’re just in a fight. Remember?

Honeybee: I won’t give up on us.

Honeybee: I’m at a hotel, not at Grant’s.

I read the last one three hundred fucking times. She couldn’t have sent a better text. I’d wondered if she was going back to their house. Finding out she hadn’t was like hearing my death-row heart receive a pardon. Even the way she said “Grant’s” excited me. Grant’s house. Not home. Not their house.
His.
If she wasn’t thinking of their house like hers, then maybe she was finally going to make this happen. Us.

We were fantastic at frustrating each other, but we also knew exactly what to offer as a life rope. And that’s what she’d done. She tossed me a line and on the end of it was hope.

Admittedly, I’d been rough on her at the party. Parading Aly in front of her. Playing that song. Dancing to it with another woman. Another woman who she’d just learned I’d been with in her absence. I could only imagine how that conversation went down. What had Aly said?

It certainly wasn’t a good time to ask, but someday I’d find out. I imagined Aly being callous and Blake not taking her shit. But who knew? I’d put both of them in an ugly situation that night.

I wasn’t perfect and hated facing the ugly reality that I’d been with someone other than her—even though I knew she’d been with Grant. And of all people I’d chosen Aly, someone who Blake already had a less than stellar history with. The lines of faithfulness were never clear with us. I wondered if they ever would be.

Actually, no. Going forward, those lines had to be clear.

Would she trust me? Could I trust her? There was no way of knowing. But, shit, I didn’t want to find out firsthand if it
was
all possible. Love can make a dude do some messed-up shit.

Me: Are you okay?

Honeybee: I think so. I did a lot of thinking. Took the long way back. Had a layover in Reno, and then hung out at the airport for a while.

Me: Want to talk about it?

Honeybee: I don’t know. I’m afraid of being wrong or hurting you any more than I already have.

Me: We hurt each other. It’s not just you. It never was.

Honeybee: I don’t want us to be like that anymore, Casey. I want this done already. I want to be together.

Me: Me too.

It wasn’t like we were talking on the phone, but I muted the television anyway. I’d only been back home for a little while, long enough to order a pizza and take a shower. I lounged on the couch, and it was probably the shock of her sending me the message I’d been dreaming of for a long damn time that made it a mute-worthy moment. I felt like I’d won a battle I’d been fighting alone. Finally, relief.

Me: What are you going to do? Have you told him you’re back in Seattle?

Honeybee: I haven’t spoken to anyone. Just you.

Just me.

If I were a girl I would’ve probably made one of those squealy noises, but I’m not. I’m a dude. So instead, I high-fived nothing, midair.

Instantly, I knew it was an opportunity for me to make the right decision and tell her how I felt—spelled out, without any possibility of misinterpretation. Not being completely honest and open about how I was feeling had been my biggest mistake. I leaned back deeper into the soft couch and looked around as I searched my mind for the right words.

I couldn’t find them, so I winged it.

Me: Not sure if it’s the right thing to say, but I want you to know that what you just texted me makes me happy. You, leaning on ME first. I want that. We can be a team. Me and you.

It was now or never. Literally. And fuck, it was time I showed up for her.

Me: I’m here. All the time, honeybee. I love you. Let’s do this.

Honeybee: You love me? You still want me? Want us? What about goodbye?

Me: Yes, I want you. No more messing this up, okay? Either of us. I’m sorry I sent that text. There is no goodbye. I won’t lie like that anymore.

Honeybee: Lie?

Me: I lie about how much you mean to me or how bad I miss you. I’m done pretending you’re not mine and I’m not yours. Because we are. We always have been. Our hearts just got there before the rest of us.

I sucked my lip into my mouth. The feeling of this text was almost reminiscent of how we started—or how we should have started. How easy it was to talk to her before worry and doubt crept into the equation. All of this could have been different had I just realized she was
it.
End of story. The one for me. I’d felt
it
from the start, I just didn’t know what
it
was. Some people probably fall in love as if they’ve peacefully dropped into a bed of feathers. Falling in love for us was like right before a bike wreck when the front wheel gets all wobbly. Out of control.

Before, when I’d tried to pretend I didn’t love her, it was so I didn’t have to deal with the reality of her not being mine. And she wasn’t mine mostly because I never flat-out fucking told her how I felt about her in clear words from the get-go.

Those days were over. If she needed reassurance, I’d give it to her.

I thought back to Atlanta when I’d left her in the supply closet at the club, about Valentine’s Day, and so many other times I should have stayed and laid it all out there but didn’t. Instead, I’d tucked my tail between my legs and left like a chump. And like chumps deserve, I lost the girl. Over and over again.

Well, I should have anyway.

Thing is though, by the grace of the god of fucked-up love, she didn’t have a damn clue how to
let it go
either. And no matter how I’d beat her down for never knowing what to do, or how to do it, it was my fault for never fighting beside her.

Not anymore. She deserved more from me. I was getting off my poor, pitiful ass and getting this girl. If she was everything I wanted then I had to start being there for her when she was in need.

Everything. If I wanted to be her lover, I needed to be a better friend. If I expected her to talk to me, I had to start being very literal and open with her. This
was
supposed to be a two-way street. I wanted to feel some control over the situation and no one just handed that shit over. I was going to grab it with both hands and take it.

Me: You should call your family though and let them know something.

Honeybee: I will tomorrow.

The clock read five thirty. If she’d been traveling all day, then she was likely tired as hell and probably hadn’t even slept.

Me: It’s still early.

Honeybee: It’s just nice having a little time to think without hearing everyone else’s opinions. I’m listening to myself first this time.

That’s my fucking girl.

Maybe after everything that went down she was ready to make some changes, too. Big ones, I hoped.

Me: We can do it.

Honeybee: We can.

My doorbell rang and I picked up my wallet on the way to answer it. After paying the delivery guy for the pizza, I almost felt comfortable for the first time in a long time. It was so odd holding my phone and paying for a pizza, all the while reading her next message.

Honeybee: I’m sorry I never believed you’d love me back. I didn’t think I could be that lucky.

The shit was getting deep, and after everything I just wanted to make her smile.

Me: No more apologies. Got it?

Honeybee: Ok.

Me: Besides, there’s something I need to know.

I typed one-handed as I brought the pizza with me into the living room and flipped the lid open. My hands worked fast, rearranging the pepperoni with the conviction of a frat house jock. Piece after piece, I redecorated my pizza into an abstract phallus, then snapped a quick picture and sent it to her.

Me: Does this dick make your mouth water like it does mine? And should I have penis envy of my pizza?

I pulled a piece, with the lion’s share of the balls made of pepperoni, and waited.

Honeybee: I know what you’re thinking. How am I going to fit that big cock in my mouth? You get that a lot, huh?

I laughed. We spoke the same language. Equal parts love and diversion. I wanted to hear her. Her laugh. Her voice grow quiet as she got tired. I wanted to hear the gentle humming she did as she drifted off.

We sent each other messages late into the night and it was soul quenching.

I told her about my bike ride with Troy. She explained to me she’d almost overdosed on coffee. She’d spent the past twenty-four hours thinking and figuring out she didn’t have to wait for a change anymore. That change was already happening, whether anybody was ready or not. She confessed that it was about time she was honest with everyone, including herself.

Me: This almost feels normal.

Honeybee: I miss you.

Me: You just saw me last night.

Honeybee: Not really. It was more of just a taste. A tease. A mirage.

Me: I miss you too.

My cell lit up a few seconds before it actually rang. The motherfucker rang. Then her name showed on the screen and I knew something had shifted.

“Hey,” I answered.

“Hey,” she replied. Her voice was low and thick with sleep. It wasn’t late, but if she hadn’t slept since 2009 it was way past my girl’s bedtime.

“How are you still awake? It’s almost ten.”

“I don’t know. I wanted to tell you goodnight. You said you missed me.” I heard a rustling and I pictured her lying on her side, pulling the covers up over herself and preparing to pass out.

“You could have just texted me goodnight,” I said, but I was more than happy to hear her instead.

“Since you missed me, I thought calling would help.” She sounded hesitant, but hopeful.

Hearing her on the other end of the line reassured me it was real. It wasn’t just a fantasy. Somehow she knew I’d needed that. Her voice always sunk to the deepest parts of me and filled every crack with her sweet timbre. When had I become such a pussy?

“It does, honeybee. Thank you.”

“I was serious. I’m in this. I want to make you feel good more than bad from now on.” She yawned. It sounded exaggerated, but it probably wasn’t.

“We’ll get there,” I assured her, yawning too.

“And maybe I wanted to hear your voice.”

My eyes closed the same way they would if I’d taken a long drink of a new beer and it was better than I’d imagined. I savored it.

“I hope you want to hear it tomorrow, too.”

“I will. I always will,” she said and the faintest hum vibrated over the line.

“Goodnight, Blake.”

“Goodnight, Casey.”

I lay in my bed staring at the ceiling in the dark with only the light from my phone lighting the room. I wasn’t content, but I was close. Maybe there wouldn’t be any more absences. No more days without calling. Without texts. Without communication.

Maybe it was the end. Or better yet. Maybe it was the beginning.

It had been right to tell her I loved her. Right to tell her I missed her. Right to tell I want her. Us.

Finally.