Chapter 33
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Ben
“ S o now you’re best friends with Jamie Morris, is that what you’re telling me?”
Thatcher shook his head with a wry smile, and a little tug of satisfaction pulled in my chest.
He’d been just shy of miserable since last weekend when we’d left Bec’s. For that matter, it’d been weeks, as he’d been fairly morose before that run in, in all likeliness because Bec had refused to return his calls.
I used phrasing like just shy of miserable and fairly morose because calling Thatcher actually miserable or morose would ring false. He was one of the most positive, kind people I’d ever met, and he had a way of looking at things that made political spin look like it was standing still. Not that he ignored hard things, but he was one of those maddening people that could seemingly find the blessing in everything .
Damn him , I’d thought so many times. But lately, I knew he was struggling to find those blessings, to keep that positive spin.
The thing Thatcher didn’t know was that I knew why he cared so much. It was easy to see, had always been easy to see from the day Dillon had introduced me and Thatch to his twin sister.
Not sure what kind of messed up thinking he’d gotten himself into over it, but he didn’t want me knowing he felt something for her, or worrying, and he seemed to think he didn’t want Bec to know, either. I wondered if she did. And I wondered how she felt.
Sometimes, it felt like assuming Bec had feelings at all, maybe other than wanderlust, hunger, and anger, was futile.
“Yes, basically, I’m his new best friend.”
I pulled my ID card from my computer, slipped it into my wallet, and stood. It had been a long week, and we were heading to a movie. Whit had stuff all weekend, and I doubted I’d even see her, though I was going to try to find time, even twenty minutes, because the thought of going another day without touching her or hearing her voice made me feel restless and wrong.
“You’re such a jerk,” Thatcher said, a good-natured frown on his face. “You end up finagling your way into a relationship with one of the hottest Country stars of all time, and now you’re friends with Jamie freaking Morris .”
“Hey man. Power of positive thinking, right?” I joked, grabbed my bag, and we were off, leaving the battalion headquarters behind.
The crazy thing was, it was sort of true. I mean, no, I wasn’t best friends with the guy, but yeah, we’d gotten along. We’d talked about music a bit, and then he’d asked about my life in the Army. He’d actually done a USO tour to Afghanistan the winter after I’d left, and so, in a strange confluence of my Army life and my musical idol colliding, we’d talked about Bagram Air Base and how stupid and surprising it was that it got so cold even though the region was mountainous and so it shouldn’t be such a surprise.
The guy was genuinely nice.
And the music he and Whit made—wow. It had been more than a little mind-blowing to be sitting in that cozy living room listening to the two of them casually start and stop their song as they adjusted, made plans for their all-acoustic version. It’d be a guitar duet, both of them playing and singing.
The finished product sounded astounding, the song so full of emotion, I would have choked up if I hadn’t been hearing it on and off for an hour by the time they were done. I suspected it’d get me when they played it live.
Any fears I might have had about Whit and Jamie being involved, or one of them pining for the other, were removed after that afternoon, and I knew that was why she’d wanted me there. She could have sworn up and down, though I’d never asked her to, and she’d never offered. I could admit to being glad I’d seen them interact, could see the friendly, almost brotherly way they spoke to each other, and then the very professional and focused way they functioned for the majority of the time Jamie was in the house.
(And see? I’d made such progress. He was officially Jamie now, not Jamie Morris, so I felt all kinds of worldly with that.)
The immediate challenge, after I got over the holy-crap-that’s-him moment of thrill and embarrassment at meeting him was recognizing that the guy really was as pretty as he looked, but even more so in person. I didn’t use the word lightly when saying the dude was potent —between the face, the hair, the tats, and the guitar and voice… it was hard to imagine a woman being in the same room as him and not falling all over herself to get his attention.
But not Whit. And frankly, I’d seen as many men and women tripping on their tongues in front of her to know she had that kind of effect on pretty much everyone she met. It was overwhelming to be sitting there with both of them as they first started playing, almost stifling to be there with their beauty and talent filling up the room.
Until I relaxed, and listened to the songs, and let myself smile at their banter—more ribbing than flirting. In the end, it’d been reassuring, which I still liked to tell myself I didn’t actually need, but knew I probably did. Especially if they were going to go on stage and sing that song together in a little over a month and the resulting fire that would light in the tabloids and gossip blogs because of it, I probably did need the verification that there wasn’t anything between them.
“Really though, how’s it going with your woman?” Thatcher asked.
A small thrill shot through me. Your woman . I liked the sound of that.
The truth was, I didn’t think Whit was my woman. The strange thing about dating someone like her, someone famous and familiar to everyone she meets, was that she wouldn’t ever just be my woman . She was a public figure, and everyone wanted a piece of her.
But I had the biggest piece. Didn’t I? I knew she cared about me, knew she liked being around me, but I just wasn’t sure where we’d go.
I’d always been someone who had a sense of where he was going. Things lined up, I had a plan, I worked hard, and voilà. College. ROTC. Commission. Army. Tada .
But now that was coming to an end, and fast. I’d have to drop my packet soon, or the Army would force my hand by putting me on orders to career course, and if I did that, I’d be sucked in for another few years. I’d gone past the point of debating with myself about that. I was done here—just knew it.
The thought hadn’t fully formed, or maybe I hadn’t let it form yet. But I was beginning to feel the inklings of an idea for what came next. I hadn’t told anyone—wouldn’t, until after looking into it more. But the first sprouts of hope for what came next in that regard had started germinating.
And then, there was Whit. Looking at what came next with her was completely opaque. I had no idea where we were headed, and the more time we spent together, the closer we got, the more shared experiences and intimacy we built, the more I realized I might want everything with her.
“She’s amazing. Super busy with awards season coming up. She’s got Grammys next week, and Oscars end of February, and a few other things I’m not even sure about. I barely see her right now, but when I do…”
The cheesy grin on my face must have looked obnoxious, especially to someone essentially in agony over a woman he thought he wasn’t allowed to be with.
But Thatcher was the best kind of man. He grabbed me around the neck, hugged me to him with one of his massive arms, and said, “Nobody deserves happiness more than you, my brother.”
He shoved me away roughly, and that action helped me swallow the lump in my throat. Same goes for you , I should have said.
I would say, and soon.