* * *
In the morning, I go see baby Kyle at the Saints’ place to try to clear my head. I’ve got so much on my mind and such a heavy sensation in the center of my chest that holding him makes me feel better. Holding a baby always does. I also simply craved seeing Rachel. She’s my best friend, and no marriage or babies will ever change that.
I tell her that I’ve broken up with Trent for good. I know both Wynn and Rachel have probably suspected that I’ve had strong feelings for Tahoe for a long time, though I’d never actually told them that I do.
I think they both knew that I was not ready to admit it, even to myself.
“And I told Tahoe I loved him yesterday,” I say quietly as I set the sleeping little baby back into his crib.
Rachel’s eyes widen in surprise.
“I didn’t say it so that he would say it back or anything, but I felt like a hypocrite, being friends and yet not being able to just tell him how I feel. Now…I don’t know if I regret it.”
Rachel heads across the baby’s room—beautifully decorated with a jungle painted on his wall and a plush giraffe as tall as I am—and she grabs the Kleenex on top of his changing table.
“No, silly, don’t. I’m not going to cry.” I wave it off, but only because I refuse to have the option of using them. “I didn’t go to work,” I add. “I asked Martha for a few days. I want to think things through. After what I said, I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I don’t want to lose his friendship.”
“Saint went to see him this morning.”
“Oh. Saint went to see Tahoe?”
Rachel nods. “He called him at two a.m. saying he needed to talk.” When I say nothing, she shrugs. “I’m not sure that they’ll talk about anything, really. When guys are bummed, sometimes they want to sit and drink in silence and just have a buddy nearby.”
“I guess,” I say.
“You know what? I think you need to just be with yourself while you sort out things in your head, Gina. You’ve been so busy with work, and Trent was another distraction from maybe figuring out what it is you really want—and what you want to do about it. Please, if you don’t take anything else from me ever again, please just accept going to our house in the Hamptons, Gina. I’ll arrange transportation—just go clear your head.”
And so I take her advice, and that afternoon, I accept her offer to fly me up to the Hamptons for a weekend.
CHECKED
The following morning I decide to sit down on the window bench and read Gone Girl with a cup of hot coffee by my side. I had French toast for breakfast and am enjoying this time on my own to regroup and think about how to maybe, slowly, try to rebuild my friendship with Tahoe.
I’ve wondered endlessly whether or not I did the right thing in telling him I love him. I feel like the world opened up and swallowed me, but I also feel relief that I finally came clean, even if what I said was not what he wanted to hear.
I’m still thinking of the look on his handsome face when the words left me, the shock and almost concern (for me, I’m sure it was for me). I can’t concentrate on the book on my lap. I’ve been staring at it for a while when I hear the sound of tires and a rumbling car motor.
I peer out the window and watch a tall man emerge from a silver Audi rental.
He’s wearing black jeans and a black long-sleeved crewneck. It’s hard to breathe when the man walking to the front door is the one I wanted to get away from this weekend.
A familiar triple knock startles me.
I force myself to put the book down, walk to the door, inhale deeply, and open it.
He fills the space outside like he is a god and like he is at the center of everything. Our eyes lock, and I suddenly realize I’m makeup-less, in my pajamas, my heart flipping helplessly at the sight of him.
I can’t think when he looks at me, with wounded blue eyes and a thoughtful frown.
I press my lips tight with nothing to say, then turn around and let him in.
I don’t know what’s happening, what I was getting into when I told him I loved him. Two broken parts can’t make a whole and I know it.
We were friends. And now how can we be friends after what I said?
He’s silent and so am I, two broken people, a little angry at whatever hurt them, having nothing to vent and no one to punch, not really.
The wood floor creaks as he stalks so close at my heels that I can almost hear my personal bubble pop. My lungs strain for air as he stops me and slips his fingers up my cheek and cups the side of my face.
“Don’t,” I warn.
He kisses my cheek.
“Don’t.”
He kisses my other cheek.
“Tahoe, don’t.”
He goes for my mouth and I turn my face away. His kiss lands on my cheek, and against my skin, he inhales.
His arms come around me, stronger than if they were steel.
The feeling of being engulfed by something uncontrollable seizes me.
“Are you upset with me?” he asks fiercely in my ear, turning my face.
I’m trying to talk without allowing my voice to reveal any of the chaos I’m feeling. “Why would I be—”
“For being such a messed-up fuck.” He looks at me. His perfect face is only an inch from mine. He sets a peck on my lips and my breath leaves me in a hurry.
“You’re not. I’m not upset. I just want to be alone a little bit, okay? We’re okay. You and I are okay, we’re friends and we’ll always be friends.”
He holds my face in both hands as if to make sure I won’t avoid him this time. “So easy, you give up on me, huh? You tell me you love me and run away—why? Did I not have a right to say something back?”