After five months of dating, you shouldn’t get nervous before a date.
Right?
I shift on my feet next to the gate in front of Blake’s house. Since Zoe declared she was moving last month, the pace of our burgeoning relationship has crashed over some hurdles. Repeatedly.
Apparently, Blake doesn’t adapt well to change because he’s been in a sour mood ever since Zoe laid down the law and told him that she was leaving Chicago with or without his support. Eventually, he conceded and gave his reluctant blessing. At least that’s what he told me. I still haven’t seen Zoe since that day she begged me to leave the very house I’m standing outside now. She left earlier in the week on the seventy-mile trek to Michigan.
It’s okay to be nervous because today is the first time that I’ve been at this house since Blake and I slept together and Zoe kicked me out of her life.
Aside from the night when he found out she was moving, Blake and I haven’t seen each other much. He’s spent most of his time finalizing the details on the lake house while trying to convince Zoe to stay.
“Waiting for something?” Blake’s tiny voice asks from the speaker above the buzzer button.
Some of my nerves slip away when I hear his familiar, playful tone. Maybe I’m reading too much into his recent departure. It’s not like we stopped communicating, it just became…less.
Before I can answer, he unlocks the gate and I make my way to the front door. The heavy wood structure flies open and there Blake stands in all his glory. Low slung jeans, a white V-neck t-shirt. He’s lickable and tempting, especially when he flashes his half-smile half-smirk my way.
“Did you lose your voice since we talked this morning?”
I place my hand on the wall of muscle that passes for his chest and push him back slightly. “You caught me daydreaming.” Blake’s hand closes around mine and he pulls me completely inside the house and flush against his body. One hand rests on the small of my back, the other dives into my loose waves.
“About me, I hope.”
We’ve been dating for months, and my body still reacts as if it’s the first time he pulled me close. The filter my brain typically uses breaks down, leaving the flicker of disappointment plain as day on my face. Doesn’t he know by now that it’s always him? My dreams have
always
been about him.
“What did I say?” He releases my hair, moving a hand to cup the back of my head and hold my attention firmly on him.
“There’s nothing else I dream about,” I answer softly.
Blake responds with a kiss like my lifeless words satisfy his question.
The intoxicating scent of his aftershave wraps around me as it always has, driving me nearly to distraction. But this time, it’s not enough to divert my attention. Little worries nip at me. Are we back to where we started—when Blake spent more time in his own thoughts than together with mine? Sometimes, when I’m particularly insecure, I wonder if I’m more invested in this relationship than Blake.
“Why don’t you help yourself to a drink and I’ll meet you out back? I need to make a quick call.” He disappears as quickly as he arrived, leaving me to find my own way to the kitchen. Suddenly, I feel stupid for my anxiety about returning to this house. Clearly, it doesn’t bother Blake that the last time I was here we fucked like a nameless one-night stand.
One bottle of water later, I’m curled up on a chaise lounge on the stone patio, watching puffy white clouds drift across a bright blue sky. The distance Blake forcibly thrust between us and the stress at work is starting to wane on me. I’ve been tired, grumpy, and clearly more insecure than normal.
There’s a noticeable difference in my relationship and that, above all else, stings the most. Violet’s been asking about what’s bothering me, and I blame it on the stress of keeping my pile of clients happy. Confidence I normally carry when it comes to my career leaks out of me like helium sliding out of a balloon. Slowly slipping out until the point where I’m afraid there will be nothing left.
Behind me, the sliding glass door opens and shuts. The clink of a glass bottle on the table next to me startles me from my morose thoughts.
“Sorry about that. Needed to check in with Zoe.”
Don’t be jealous of Zoe. Don’t be jealous of Zoe.
The emotion is raw, sharp. I want Blake to notice that I need him. My nose wrinkles in self-loathing. How can I fault him for taking care of his sister when she is in need?
I’ll be fine. He’s the one who needs my support now more than ever.
“How’s she doing?”
“Fine, except for almost locking herself out of the house. There’s no support system for her in New Point. I give her until the end of summer. Then she’ll be back.” A hard edge laces his tone, the tension unmistakable.
Rolling onto my side, I glance at where he sits on a chair adjacent to me.
There was a time when he couldn’t bear to be near me and not touching.
Stamping the painful observation down, I appraise him thoughtfully. “Maybe Zoe’s felt out of control. Moving to New Point by herself could give her the independence she needs.”
Blake frowns and responds sharply. “Zoe doesn’t need independence, she needs her family.”
I fight back the hurt building inside at his abrasiveness. “I don’t disagree with you,” I respond quietly. “But I’m trying to make sense of this like you. Please don’t get upset with me.”
“I’m not.” He sighs heavily then reaches down for a swig from the IPA. “Sorry.”
It’s a curt response, telling me everything that I need to know. Blake’s
so
not okay.
“Do you want to talk more?” I ask softly.
Blake’s beer bottle hits the side table with a clatter. “Nothing to talk about. I’m going to Michigan next weekend to see her.”
“You’re what?” My heart twinges sharply. It’s a little thing, Blake visiting Zoe, and something that I prepared myself for, but still the abrupt decision makes me feel left out. Blake’s kept me separated from every detail of Zoe’s move. Instead of moving closer together, we’re drifting further apart, a chasm keeping me from this portion of his life.
An upturned palm extends toward me. The gesture lifts my heart from where it’s fallen in my chest and I allow him to gently pull me to my feet and over to where he sits. Blake’s long, muscular legs surround me and I settle back against his chest. When he speaks, his lips are pressed against my temple, and I revel in his masculine scent and the way his arms flex around me. “Friday is the anniversary of my mother’s death. We spend it together every year.”
The words wash over me and I immediately regret questioning him, if even silently. Of course, he would spend the time with Zoe. I place my hand over his two, which are clasped in the middle of my chest. “You should go,” I concur.
He presses a sweet kiss to my forehead. “When our mom and her dad died, they were on their first vacation to the New Point house. I think that’s part of the reason she wanted to move there, to be closer to them in some respects.”
I nod in silent agreement. Zoe had already told me about the drunk driver who killed her parents fifteen years ago. But I never looked at it from that angle. “Does she know that you’re coming?”
“I’ll surprise her. With all the mess about moving, I don’t think she’s paid much attention to the date. But once it rolls around, she’ll need me.”
What about when I need you?
I brush the thought away furiously. It’s not in my nature to be jealous, and I don’t like this side of myself.
It’s not jealousy. Blake doesn’t know what’s happening at work or how it still hurts immensely not to have Zoe as a friend.
Try as I might, I can’t push the pain splintering through my chest. We’re lying together on this chair, not a sliver of air between our bodies, and yet, it’s almost as if we’re back to square one.
Blake
Grains of sand sink beneath my footsteps as I make my way toward the lively, lakeside bar in New Point. With my free hand, I yank the bill of my baseball cap further down my head, not wanting to be recognized by a fan or heckler in my attempt to find my sister. The other hand cradles the first of two surprises for my baby sister. I’m not positive that she’s at this bar, but when I passed it as I drove through town, I instinctively knew I’d find her there. Traditionally, we find a bar and get shitfaced on this anniversary, sharing memories of our mom and her father until our words slur together and a nasty hangover is inevitable.
The day is not heavy with bittersweet memories that would normally occupy my thoughts. I’m not focusing on my lost loved ones, but of a very real force in my life: Stella. The last time I saw her was five days ago on Sunday. Work’s been occupying most of her time and I was in LA for the past two nights. Stella understands my responsibilities to my job and my sister. That’s what I love about her; Stella never nags me for attention or demands my time.
Hold up.
Love. Did that just cross my mind? No way. We’ve only been dating for a few months. Love’s the last thing that I have time for, what with a team that just won the Super Bowl and a never-ending public relations junket. There’s the hockey team day-to-day duties and, of course, always, whatever Zoe needs. No, I’m not in love with Stella.
I’m still wading through that automatic thought when I shift into the bar and catch sight of my morose-looking sister toying with a tumbler of tequila. The occasion is somber, but I’m fighting back a smile at the sight of her.
When I reach Zoe’s side, I curl my arm around her back and place a carrot cake cupcake on the concrete bar slab in front of her.
“You’re here,” she mumbles, sagging against me in relief. All the humor evaporates and I hug her close to my chest.
“This is our day, Cupcake,” I remind her. Then I release her and drop down on the stool next to her. A few hours earlier, Zoe had called to talk and I blew her off to get to New Point faster. “You called right as I was climbing into the car getting ready to drive down,” I explain.
“How did you find me at this place?” she asks somberly.
“When I went to the house and no one was there, I figured that you’d stick to our tradition.”
An easy smile creases her face and I release a breath. God, I hate seeing her unhappy. Peeling back the paper wrapping, she inspects the cupcake with an expert eye. “And you’ve brought my favorite dessert.”
Glancing at the wall of bottles lined behind the bar, I shrug noncommittally. “It is your namesake.” It was nothing, bringing this to her.
To get my mind off her unnecessary praise, I swipe the tequila glass from the bar, downing it in one solid swoop.
“Hey! That was mine.”
“You probably haven’t had a decent meal today. No drinking before eating,” I lecture automatically.
“How do you know that I haven’t had dinner?”
“Because you just told me.” She glowers when I appraise her knowingly.
“Hey, man, what can I get you to drink?” The bartender appears with a quizzical expression. His brow is furrowed as he looks between Zoe and me. What’s this guy’s deal? Maybe he wanted to hit on my sister or he could have recognized me. Eh, it’s not the first or last time someone will stare at me. I do what I always do with unwanted attention: put on my impassive mask.
“We’ll take two more of these. Thanks.” I nod my appreciation and angle my body back toward Zoe.
“Listen, I don’t want to be a dick, but we have a no hats policy here…” The bartender doesn’t sound apologetic, and his eyes flicker to my sister. My spine straightens. If this jackass is hitting on Zoe, he better watch himself.
“Do you want to go?” Zoe asks softly, knowing that as soon as I pull off the baseball cap, all anonymity will be lost.
Not wanting the fucker to think he can push me around, I keep my eyes on him when I answer. “No, of course not.” I yank off the hat by the bill and shove it into her purse stashed underneath the bar.
A collective gasp can be heard even over the rumblings of the other bar patrons, likely because this is a small town that doesn’t get too many semi-celebrities in their midst. Yeah, I’m coming off as arrogant, but I know that my face is recognizable. That’s part of my job. This place is the first public outing Zoe and I have had in the United States, without my security present, in nearly a year.
Fuck it. Zoe wanted to be “normal” again; there’s no other way than being out in public. In fact, I’m going to goad this place on. I flash my most charming ‘you know you love me’ grin at the women practically leaning across the bar to get a better look at me.
“Can’t you ignore them?” my sister grumbles.
The only response that I offer is an easygoing laugh when the bartender unceremoniously drops the drinks in front of us. “Serve food?”
He presents us with a menu. “Holler when you pick something out.” His voice is tight and unfriendly now.
“No need, we’ll have nachos.” My pleasant expression doesn’t slip once, despite the coldness from across the bar. This punk does not intimidate me. Nothing ruffles these feathers. “Better to be kind than spiteful, that’s what Mom always taught me,” I mutter to my sister.
“One of Mom’s favorites.”
With the tips of my fingers, I push the cool glass toward Zoe. We clink them together in a toast.
“To Mom and Dad. Our love and admiration for you will live on as long as there’s air passing through our lungs,” Zoe says.
“To Mom and Pete,” I echo. Zoe’s eyes mirror what I’m feeling—longing. “We’ll strive to become the people that you encouraged us to be, to live with the values that you instilled in us.”
The tequila slithers down my throat smoothly as I throw back half the liquid. Next to me, Zoe’s eyes go glassy.
“See? You need to eat,” I admonish in what Zoe calls my ‘dad voice.' If the name fits…
A few minutes later, the bartender sets a heaping plate of nachos between us, and we practice the well-rehearsed tradition; while we eat and drink, we retell stories of our mixed family and memories only we share. There’s something weighing on me though, thoughts of the girlfriend I left in the city.
Stella.
We haven’t talked today except for a couple of texts. I have no clue what she’s doing tonight and the thought unnerves me. Sometimes it’s like I’m caught in an invisible balancing act—my sister, my job, my teams, my dad, my girlfriend. Maintaining equilibrium proves to be challenging.