Rebound Therapy (Rebound #1) (8 page)

“Jenna, it’s a sin that these still had the price tag on them,” she says as she comes out.

“Then why’d you make me buy them? You know I like flats. You can keep them if you like them so much.”

She looks at my feet pointedly. “You are not wearing those shoes with that outfit.” That’s when I notice another pair of black heels that she’s been holding behind her back. I groan. “You’ll ruin the effect,” she says.

“Fine, I’ll wear them,” I say, realizing that resistance is futile where Amy is concerned. She’s been bullying me into things I don’t want to wear since our freshman year of college. Amy just smiles in response and hands me the shoes. I drop them on the floor, kick off my flats, stand and slip my feet into the heels.

“Ready?” Amy says, grabbing her purse.

I grab mine, too. “Ready.”

“Let’s go get you back your man.”

I take a deep breath, steeling myself, and we walk out the door.

CHAPTER NINE

I notice that my hand is shaking as I reach to pull open the door to The Barrel Room. It’s also slick with sweat and I resist the urge to wipe my palms on my thighs as Amy and I make our way to the bar. Adam is at the bar, and his eyes widen in surprise as he sees me. I’m not sure if it’s because I’m more dolled up than I ever have been since Brian and I started dating, or if it’s because I’m here at all.

He quickly reverts to a neutral expression. “Hey, ladies,” he says as we sit in our usual places at the right hand side of the bar. “What can I get you this evening?” His gaze slides from my face to Amy’s and he quirks an eyebrow at her, silently asking what else is going on.

Amy smiles at him. “Hey, Adam. You know what I like.”

He nods, giving her a smile in return, and looks at me. I have to clear my throat twice before I feel confident that my voice will come out normally. “I’ll have what she’s having,” I say. I scan the room, looking for Brian. Is he flirting with some other chick, trying to pick her up the same way he picked me up all those weeks ago?

Adam’s voice startles me out of my perusal of the room, causing me to turn back to the bar. “Brian’s in back,” he says as he sets my glass of wine in front of me. “Do you want me to let him know you’re here?”

I shake my head. “No, I’ll just wait until he comes out.”

“Okay. Let me know if you need anything else.” I nod and give him a tight smile. I’m more nervous about this than I expected to be. I gulp down some wine, hoping it’ll help calm my nerves, then twirl the glass around and around by the stem.

I want to take Adam up on his offer, but I’m scared that Brian won’t come out if he knows I’m here. Amy said he misses me, but he seemed mad when he left my house last weekend. Is he still mad at me? What if he doesn’t want to see me? What if he comes out and sees me and kicks me out? Oh God, oh God … Why did I think this was a good idea? I should have just called him, left a message on his voicemail if he wouldn’t answer. But Amy told me I needed to make a grand gesture. I’m not even sure if coming to his business and begging him to talk to me qualifies as a grand gesture.

Amy’s hand covering mine stops my nervous fiddling with the wine glass and pulls me out of my panicky thoughts. “Breathe, Jenna,” she says quietly as I raise my eyes to look at her. She squeezes my hand and lets go. I give her a small smile, then turn to take another sip of wine. A sip this time, not a gulp, I remind myself.

I raise the glass to my lips and my gaze collides with Brian’s. He’s just come out of the back room, carrying a tray of clean wine glasses to refill the area behind the bar. Something indecipherable flashes in his eyes, quickly replaced by a blank expression.

I lower my glass, not having taken a sip or a gulp. “What are you doing here, Jenna?” Brian asks the question quietly, but with a note of steely control in his voice, like he’d rather shout but is holding back.

My mouth has gone dry and I swallow nervously, trying to muster up enough saliva so that I can speak. “Can …” I clear my throat and try again. “Can we talk?” He stares at me for a moment, his blue eyes hard and unreadable.

Just when I think he’s going to refuse he gives a short nod and says, “Come back to the office.”

I slide out of my seat, leaving my glass of wine on the bar, and meet him at the door that leads down a short hallway to the office and the rest of the back of house. He gestures for me to lead the way, and I do, having been back here several times before when I came to hang out with Brian while he worked.

He closes the door to the office behind him with a soft click. There’s a desk in one corner, a laptop and various piles of paper cluttering its surface. Next to it is a tall bookshelf and a filing cabinet. Along the opposite wall is a battered couch, the tan faux leather upholstery scuffed and scarred from years of abuse, but still surprisingly soft and comfortable.

The last time I was in this room was about a week and a half ago. Brian’s mouth and hands, hot and hungry and demanding, on me and in me and everywhere. Biting his shoulder to keep my cries of pleasure from escaping as I came apart in his arms.

Brian clears his throat, pulling me out of my reverie. It feels like a lifetime has passed since that night. I take him in, standing in front of the door, arms crossed, eyes hard, face carefully neutral. Only the clenching and unclenching of his jaw betraying some strong emotion trying to fight to the surface.

“You wanted to talk?”

I struggle to swallow again, my mouth still dry. “Yes, I did,” I finally manage. “I mean, I do. Want to talk.” I’ve never had a hard time talking to Brian before. Our conversation always flowed easily from the first time we met. It’s never been awkward, I’ve never been nervous with him. Until now. He must be really angry with me to be this … cold. He’s not even this way with strangers. He’s usually warm and easy going. Not this forbidding man in front of me.

He gestures with his hand, indicating that I should speak.

“I … I wanted to apologize.”

“For?”

“For hurting you.”

Brian takes this in for a moment. “Apology accepted,” he says. But there’s no change in his posture or his facial expression. He still looks forbidding and distant, closed off with his arms crossed and that muscle still twitching in his jaw. “Is that all?” he asks and turns toward the door.

I reach out and put a hand on his arm. He freezes, his muscles tense and hard under my hand. “No. That’s not all.” He’s staring at my hand where it’s touching him, and I let it drop away. He turns back to me, resuming his previous posture. “I also wanted to explain.”

“You don’t owe me any explanations, Jenna,” he says. His quiet voice is at odds with his angry demeanor. “You don’t owe me anything.”

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to calm my nervousness. Eyes still closed I say, “Yes I do, Brian. I owe you a lot, and I’m starting with an explanation.”

I open my eyes now, but I move to the desk and start fiddling with the various office supplies littering its surface. “When we first met it was because Amy had dragged me out to meet someone. She said I was stuck and hadn’t moved on at all since Tom died last year and that was her version of shock therapy to get me unstuck.” My voice is soft and getting steadier the longer I talk. “She wanted me to find a rebound guy so I could start getting over Tom and moving forward with my life. Her exact words were, ‘The best way to get over someone is to get under someone new.’” I chance a look at Brian’s face and see a faint hint of amusement there. He knows most of this already, but I need to start at the beginning, to make sure he really gets this.

“Neither of us expected you,” I continue in the same soft, steady voice. I look back down at the desk, continuing to straighten the piles of paper, pushing stray paperclips into a little pile, putting pens back in the pen cup off to one side.

“You brought me a glass of wine, started flirting with me, and used logic and charm to convince me to go out with you. You were sweet and patient and understanding. You never pushed for more than I was prepared to give, and you made me feel special in a way I haven’t felt in a long time.” I look at him now, gathering my confidence around me. “You made me happy. And for the first time since Tom died, I stopped thinking about him all the time. Little things throughout the day started reminding me of you instead of him. And when I did think about him it was only in relation to how different he was from you.

“On the day that should have been my first anniversary, I’d spent the night with you. I woke up in your house, in your bed, and we spent the day together until it was time for me to go home so I could go to work the next day. And I didn’t even realize what day it was until I was at work the next day and had to write the date on something.” I have to look away again, clenching my fists at my sides to push away the pang of guilt that still slithers up my spine at the memory. I take a deep breath and push on.

“When Cathy, Tom’s mom, came in here last week, it made me realize how caught up in you I’d become. And I couldn’t push away my feelings of guilt anymore.” Brian’s face, which had grown softer as I spoke, hardens when I mention my guilt. I can’t help thinking he’s remembering our last conversation. “I felt guilty about Tom’s death, blaming myself, but I felt guilty for moving on. For being happy with someone else. For not thinking about him anymore, so much that I didn’t even notice the date on what would have been our anniversary.” I close my eyes and force myself to say the next part, “For falling in love with you.”

Brian grunts in response, like someone’s hit him in the diaphragm.

“I’m sorry for pushing you away and hurting you. I didn’t know how to deal with everything, and so I broke up with you hoping that would ease some of my guilt. It didn’t, though. If anything it made it worse. Because I added the guilt of knowing I’d hurt you and destroyed our relationship, too.” I want to reach out and touch him again, but I’m afraid he’ll reject me. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper. If Brian weren’t still blocking the door, I’d be running out of here by now. As it is, he’s still standing there with his arms crossed staring at me, but I can’t bring myself to meet his eye.

Finally—finally, his impassive façade breaks. Brian drops his head forward, his hands coming up to run through his hair then drag down his face. He stays like that for a moment, face in his hands, fingers pressed against his eyelids. “What is it you want from me, Jenna?” It sounds like he’s trying to keep his voice neutral, but some other emotion bleeds through—frustration, pain, maybe hope? I decide to focus on what he’s wanting me to hear and see rather than trying to parse out suppressed signals for fear I’m projecting my own desires onto him. I can’t let myself hope when what he wants is to stay impassive, neutral, carefully devoid of emotion.

“Understanding. Forgiveness.” I stop there, too scared to push too hard.

He drops his hands from his face and looks at me. “I understand and I forgive you.”

“A second chance?” I say it with as much confidence as I can muster, but my voice betrays me by coming out breathy and pleading, breaking on the last word.

Brian continues to look at me, examining my face for something … sincerity maybe? Then he lets out a long breath. “I don’t know if I can do that, Jenna,” he finally says.

I nod once, dropping my eyes, and try to swallow the lump that has formed in my throat at his words. “Okay. I … I understand. Thanks for hearing me out.” I take another deep breath, pushing down the tears that are trying to escape. I’ve had months of practice of holding back tears, keeping it together on the outside while I’m falling apart inside. I’ve just never had to do it in front of Brian before. Gathering the remaining shreds of my dignity, I step toward Brian and the door. He moves to the side and opens it for me. I step through it, the sound of the door closing behind me echoing through me with a sense of finality.

I really did destroy the best relationship I’ve ever had.

CHAPTER TEN

It’s eleven o’clock now and I’m sitting on my couch in the dark, a blanket on my lap, staring at the blank TV.

After I left Brian in his office, Amy took one look at my face, said goodbye to Adam, walked me out to the car and brought me home. She didn’t say anything until we got back to my place.

“What happened?” she asked. I filled her in with the barest of details. I told her I’d apologized and asked for a second chance and he’d said no.

“He doesn’t want me anymore,” I choked out through the lump in my throat that hadn’t gone away no matter how many times I swallowed. “I ruined everything.”

Amy just hugged me and let me cry on her like she had done so many times before. After the worst of it passed, she gathered up my favorite lounge clothes that I’d changed out of earlier, pressed them into my hands, and gave me a gentle push toward my room. After I changed and came back out, she’d tucked me into the couch and gotten two spoons and a pint of Ben and Jerry’s from my stash in the freezer. She stayed with me for an hour or so, watching TV shows on Netflix, eating more of my ice cream than I did. After she’d eaten half the container and I had only taken two or three bites, she got up and put it away. We didn’t talk. She just sat with me, lending me the silent comfort of her presence for a while, and then left me alone, knowing that was what I wanted most.

I had left the TV on, autoplay keeping the next show coming until it stopped, words on the screen asking if I was still there. I didn’t use the Apple TV control to tell it to continue or not, just left it sitting like that. Eventually the little device went to sleep from inactivity, and then my TV did the same.

I’m not sure how long ago the TV turned itself off. It doesn’t seem like that long ago, but the passage of time has ceased to have any meaning for now. It could have been five minutes or an hour.

A knock at my door pulls me out of my still contemplation of the bars of light coming through the blinds from the parking lot, occasionally broken by the swing of headlights from cars leaving or coming home. That’s why I know it’s eleven. My eyes automatically searched out the clock at the sound of knocking at my front door.

My brain slowly ticks over, realizing it’s late. Who could be knocking at my door? Amy would text if she wanted to check on me. She was just here not that long ago, there’s no way it’s her. Besides, she just uses her key and comes in. After rooming together in college, our relationship hasn’t been the kind where you knock, except as a courtesy warning of your presence, in years.