2. Effie
2
EFFIE
“ A re you nearly ready?” Kieran calls. “Our reservation is in twenty minutes.”
My stomach sloshes, acid burning up my throat.
You should have told him .
Everything I should have done taunts me, but it’s too late now.
I never meant to lie to Grams. It’s just…she deserves for all of her dreams to come true.
And I could actually help with this one.
Even if it’s fake. Just one little white lie—and a cheap engagement ring—to make a dying woman very happy.
“Yeah,” I call back, dragging my eyes from the piece of jewelry that I’m currently wearing on the other hand.
It was such a relief to see Kieran standing there in Grams’ room earlier. I’ve missed him more than I could ever explain. But as soon as reality hit, I hated myself, because his arrival meant that everything was going to get harder. And it’s already really freaking hard.
A ball of emotion crawls up my throat, my eyes threatening to fill with tears.
I don’t know how I have any left at this point. Every single time I leave that care home, they’re uncontrollable. The prospect of each visit potentially being the last time I'll get to see her is too much.
“Eff?” Kieran calls again.
I blow out a long, slow breath.
“Y-yeah,” I half say, half sob as I stand tall, wipe beneath my eyes, and smooth my hair down.
I’ve been craving my best friend’s presence for weeks—months—now. I refuse to let one small white lie to make a dying woman happy ruin that for me.
You’ve got this, Effie. Hold your head high and enjoy spending time with your bestie.
With one last look at myself in the mirror, I blow out a long, slow breath and take a step toward the door.
I’ll never look good enough to be on his arm.
I’m not a jersey chaser, and I never will be.
I’m okay with that.
I’m okay with the fact that Kieran will never look at me and want me like he does them.
I have to be.
Kieran friend-zoned me a long time ago.
It’s been years.
I should have come to terms with it by now.
I mean, I have. He’s my best friend. I would do anything to keep him in my life in some way or another. Every now and then though, when I’m feeling vulnerable and fucked over by life, I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to be his girl, not just his bestie.
I banish those thoughts as quickly as I pull the door open and find the man in question waiting for me. He’s leaning against the opposite wall with his hands in his jeans pockets, wearing a navy t-shirt that fits him so snugly it should be illegal. His hair is perfectly messy, as he stares down at his cell.
The second he notices me, he looks up, wearing his signature smirk.
“What?” I ask as I step out into the hallway.
The scent of his aftershave hits me, and I swallow thickly.
I love my best friend dearly—he’s one of the best people I’ve ever met—but is it really fair that he not only gets the personality but the looks as well?
His smirk grows as his eyes drop down the short length of my body. His attention makes my blood heat, but I try to play it off.
“You look good,” he says innocently, pushing from the wall.
“Thanks,” I whisper, following him down the hallway with my maxi skirt grazing over my legs.
“When was the last time you got laid?” he suddenly asks, making me almost trip over my feet.
“W-what?” I stutter.
He spins around once we’re in the kitchen, picks up my purse from the counter, and turns to me, holding it out.
“Simple question,” he says as if he truly believes the words.
But then, I guess it is when you’ve got willing women throwing themselves at you every day of the week. Some of us don’t get the chance to be so selective.
His eyes hold mine as if he’s trying to drag the answer to the question out of them.
He quirks a brow when I stand there, silent.
It’s not because I don’t want to tell him. We’ve always been open about almost everything in our friendship. The problem is…I can’t remember.
“A while ago.”
His chin drops. I don’t know why he’s shocked, but he is.
Did he really think I was spending my days hanging out with Grams and then going out hunting for a hookup come nightfall?
Men—or more specifically, their penises—have been about the furthest thing from my mind. To be honest, even when I was in Chicago and living my normal life, they weren’t exactly high up on my priority list.
Sure, I have dated. I’ve even had a few unmemorable boyfriends, if you can call getting past a handful of dates before discovering the guy is an epic douche canoe a relationship.
I came to the realization many years ago that there is only one man on this Earth I can rely on. And he’s currently staring at me as if I have told him I’m really an alien.
“Eff,” he sighs.
“Don’t ‘Eff’ me. It’s sex, Kieran. I’ve got other things to worry about.”
His mouth opens and closes, but no words come out for a few seconds.
“Yeah, I know that. But…you’re stressed and?—”
“I’m fine,” I say in a rush, cutting off whatever he was going to say next. “Can we please just go out for dinner?”
“I’m worried about you,” he confesses quietly behind me after I’ve tugged my purse from his hand and walked away.
My heart squeezes, making me feel like a dick for shunning his concern.
Pausing at the door of my grams’ modest home, I spin back around to face him.
“I know, and I really appreciate it. I’m so glad you’re here. But my underused female parts are not something you need to lose any sleep over.”
His eyes drop momentarily to my previously mentioned parts, and my cheeks heat.
“I just want you to be happy,” he says, surging forward.
“I know. But right now, I’m living here in my grams’ house and supporting her in her f-final… however long,” I choke out. “My focus is her. There will be time for me later.”
Without hanging around to hear him dispute my words, I rip the door open and race through it.
Ignoring my car, I march toward his, knowing that he’ll want to take charge.
“We’re going to our place, right?” I ask once he’s backed out of the driveway.
When he told me earlier that he’d made a reservation, I just assumed.
Now, though, I can’t imagine going anywhere but our favorite place in the city.
“Do you know me at all?” Kieran asks with a laugh, instantly making me relax. “I sorted it out before leaving Chicago.”
His words remind me of the long day he’s had.
When he first showed up, I expected him to tell me that he’d flown. But no sooner do we emerge from the care home and I see his car parked up, I discover that wasn’t the case.
Kieran had jumped in his car first thing this morning and driven almost five hours to me. Even now, hours later, a smile pulls at my lips.
It’s not the first time, and I’m sure it won’t be the last, but he made the journey to see me. Not anyone else in the world. Me.
Thousands of people—women—across the country clamor for my best friend’s attention, and yet he drives for miles to spend time with me.
“Thank you,” I whisper, my voice cracking.
“I’m sorry it took me so long to get here. Things have been…”
Reaching over, I squeeze the hand resting on his thigh in support.
“It’s okay. Whenever you’re ready.”
He blows out a long, slow breath, letting me know that I’m not the only one struggling with the things life has thrown at us recently.
The ding of my cell phone cuts through the heavy silence in the car and I pull it from my purse, frowning at the message from Jasmine, my assistant who has been keeping my job and our team functioning in my absence.
“Everything okay?” Kieran asks, glancing over.
I tap out a quick response to her query and shove my cell back into my purse.
“Yep, just work stuff.”
“You’re on sabbatical, you don’t need to be involved.”
Guilt twists up my insides. I hate that I’m letting my team and the Foundation down. But I can’t be in two places at once.
“It’s fine. I like still being involved, even if it is from a distance. “Shall we go eat?” I ask, changing the subject, my eyes landing on our favorite little hidden gem in the city.
It’s a stylish bistro that’s concealed in the backstreets. We found it by accident when we were visiting Grams a few years ago, and it very quickly turned into our number one place.
Pushing the door open, I take a moment to appreciate the warmth of spring before Kieran wraps his thick arm around my shoulder and guides me toward the front door.
The owner, Melanie, is there waiting for us with a beaming smile on her face.
“I’ve missed you guys,” she cries enthusiastically before giving us both a hug as if we’re long-lost friends. “Sorry about how your season ended,” she says to Kieran, making his body lock up.
“It is what it is,” he lies, his deep, raspy voice giving away how he really feels about their final game of the season.
Melanie doesn’t have much to say about my life. As is to be expected. Unlike Kieran, my day-to-day movements aren’t plastered all over social media for everyone to know about.
I might have accounts, but I barely ever post anything personal about me. Unless you really know me, you’d have no idea that I’m currently on a sabbatical from work so I can spend my days here in St. Louis with Grams.
Melanie shows us to our favorite table, right at the very back of the restaurant, where we can remain hidden from prying eyes should anyone recognize Kieran, and after talking our ears off for a good ten minutes, she finally leaves us alone.
As per our tradition, a few minutes later four glasses—two whiskey and two prosecco—are placed on our table. I groan at the sight of the amber liquid.
“You know you love it really,” Kieran teases as he lifts the glass of his favorite from the table.
He won’t drink more than a sip of either, but the gesture brings a wide smile to my lips.
It’s a tradition we started many, many years ago, and as much as I hate the whiskey part of it, I love that he keeps it going.
“To Grams,” he says simply as he waits for me to clink my glass against his.
His eyes hold mine, and I have no doubt that he can see the emotion pooling in them.
“To Grams,” I say weakly before lifting the glass to my lips and taking a sip of the disgusting liquid.
There once was a time when I thought I might get used to it. But it’s yet to happen. Just like Kieran’s hatred of the bubbly stuff.
The strong alcohol burns down my throat, but unlike usual, I welcome it and swallow another mouthful.
I can’t remember the last time I had a drink, and suddenly, the freedom a couple of glasses could offer seems very appealing.
Kieran watches me with pride on his face as I take my third sip.
“Don’t tell me that you’ve finally developed a taste for the finer things in life,” he teases.
Sucking in a deep breath, I place my glass back down as the whiskey warms my belly.
It might taste foul, but it sure has its benefits.
“There’s never been an issue with my taste,” I argue with a smirk.
“I mean, the fact that I’m your best friend would attest to that.”
Shaking my head, I reach for my preferred drink and hold it up.
“To my best friend and his massive ego,” I say, almost managing to keep a straight face.
He narrows his eyes but doesn’t argue as he clinks his glass to mine.
“To my best friend who puts up with my giant ego and always keeps me grounded.”
I stick out my tongue at him like a child before swallowing down two big mouthfuls of delicious bubbles.
“Come here,” he says after opening his phone camera ready to take a selfie.
“Really?” I complain, although do as I’m told and shift closer.
“Yep. Brax wants to know if I got here safe.”
I smile, and to my relief, it actually looks genuine. It’s amazing what the presence of your best friend can do.
“We look hot,” he muses before sending it to his teammate and close friend.