Chapter 04
“F uck!” I muttered, grabbing a towel to wipe the toothpaste from the mirror. Glancing into my bedroom I saw I had ten minutes before Monica had said she’d be here. I didn’t know why I felt so nervous. We saw each other regularly.
Just knowing I was about to start the process of trying to win her back was putting my stomach in knots. I backed up, looking at myself in the mirror. I had packed my six-foot-three frame with muscles since becoming a firefighter. I had also covered myself with tattoos and gotten a couple piercings in my moments of stupidity, grateful they still looked good.
The eyebrow piercing looked so natural it would be weird to remove it at this point. The other piercing wasn’t something just anyone could see.
I'd left my blonde hair shaggy on top, having never quite grown out of the skater-boy haircut from high school and my younger years.
“Jeans and a shirt should be fine.” I said to myself. “Dude. Pull yourself together. It's just a conversation.”
Walking out of my bathroom, and through my bedroom, I entered the main living area of my apartment.
“Coffee,” I said to myself, going into the kitchen to prepare a pot. Monica had been addicted to the stuff in high school and never looked back. I’d never quite developed the taste, preferring my soda and energy drinks.
“Just going to talk about how she’s doing today, it's not like you're going to confess your undying love for her.” I groaned at the thought, bending to set my head in my hands, with my elbows on the beat up countertop of the small kitchen. I was nervous as hell. There was no denying it. I wanted to offer her an ear to listen or a shoulder to cry on. I knew she was missing Paul. I knew she was struggling to do everything alone. Monica had never been the type to ask for help from anyone. It was something we’d fought over and had made me feel illogically useless in our young relationship.
Not only did I have shitty role models growing up, but I’d suddenly had the stress of a wife and baby. All the expectations had just crowded around me and I hadn’t been enough or felt like enough. I’d convinced myself that she could do better and that Lacey needed someone different in their lives. I was just a constant disappointment.
Throwing caution to the wind was the theme of the day. I was still in love with my ex-wife. I had been too late getting my shit together back then, but I had it together now.
Standing, I grabbed my water bottle, chugging some down. I just wanted to make the moves slight. Paul wouldn’t have wanted her to not move on. He’d told me as much when he asked me to step back in. He’d known Monica had a stubborn streak a mile long.
Monica was loyal to a fault. She was likely to lock herself in her house and never move on. She was only thirty-eight. She had so much life ahead of her. Paul didn't want her to play the widow for the rest of her life.
I didn’t ask for this second chance. I never wanted it to happen this way. Paul was one of my best friends. I gripped the counter again, knuckles whitening. I’d waited a year and a half. I could test the waters. If she balked or it went too horribly, I could wait longer. I’d been waiting so long already.
My head jerked up at the knock on my front door and I hurried towards it, tripping over my own feet and stumbling a little to answer it.
“God, you’re a dumbass,” I muttered to myself. I stared through the peephole of the old, brown, apartment door. Pretty sure this place hadn’t been renovated since the nineteen-nineties.
There she was. Brunette hair thrown up on top of her head, nose scrunched under her glasses as she checked her phone. I looked her over, knowing she couldn’t see me. Leggings, a baggy t-shirt, and sneakers completed her usual summer uniform. She was fucking gorgeous. I watched her sigh and look up again, moving to knock a second time.
Gripping the door handle, I swung it open, meeting her wide eyes, hand raised to knock, and grinned.
“Hey, Mon. You look good.” I stepped out, hugging her briefly.
“Hi, yourself,” she laughed softly, returning the affection.
I ushered her into the apartment, gesturing towards the empty recliner or couch. The room already felt brighter with her in it.
She smelled like coffee and lavender soap. She perched on the couch and looked out the window at the oak tree that blocked most of the view.
“That tree is going to fall right into this apartment someday,” she said, head swiveling to look at me.
“Trust me. As a fireman, I know this.” I chuckled, sitting on the other side of the sofa. “Try telling that to my stubborn ass landlord.”
Nodding, Monica's eyes moved over me, seeming to take stock.
“So,” she began, “What did you need to talk to me about?”
I shrugged my shoulders and leaned back against the couch, trying to relax.
Monica sniffed, looking towards the kitchen.
“Is something burning?” she asked suddenly.
The coffee.
Jumping back up I ran into the kitchen to see smoke coming from the burner under the pot. I apparently needed to learn how to make coffee again. I hadn’t done it for years, since living with her. I’d only bought the new machine yesterday, just for this moment.
“Dammit,” I muttered. “Don’t tell anyone about this. Ever. I’ll never live it down if the guys at the station hear about it.”
Monica was snorting on the couch.
“Since when do you make coffee anyway?” she asked.
I stalled, panicked. I didn’t want her to know I’d bought it just for her.
“I’m trying to break the energy drink habit.” I blurted out.
“Finally.” she praised, cheeks pink from laughing at my spectacle. “Those things are horrible for you.”
“Yeah, yeah.” The brown sludge in the pot was mocking me and I sighed, glaring down at it.
“Trevor.”
My green eyes shot up, meeting Monica’s beautiful brown ones.
“Don’t worry about the coffee. I had two lattes at brunch.” she shook her head at me.
“Right. Of course you did.” I tossed the pot into the sink and unplugged the machine, walking back over to the couch sheepishly.
“I just thought I’d ask you over to see if we could talk about things.” I began, sitting back down on my side of the sofa, stretching an arm across the back of it.
Monica’s eyes narrowed at me.
“Are you seeing someone?”
I choked.
“What?” I stuttered. That was not where I saw this conversation going.
“I just thought that may be what you wanted to talk to me about. You’ve dated off and on for years but never committed. You seemed so serious about it all. I thought you were telling me about a new woman you were bringing into Lacey’s life.”
“No.” I sat up straighter, shaking my head. “There’s no one.”
“Oh…okay?” she looked confused now. “What is it then? Are you sick?” she looked slightly panicked now.
“No. Monica. I just wanted to tell you that I’m here for you. I’m here to talk to if you need someone. Not just something for the girls like last night. I’m here for you, hon.” I said.
She stilled, looking at me intently for a minute. Her eyes were filled with tears that she was rapidly trying to blink back. I continued staring at her seriously.
“I’m fine.” she said, looking down at her lap where her hands lay, fingers intertwined nervously.
I scooted closer, just slightly, and reached over, laying my hand over hers, stilling them.
“Mon,” I said softly.
Then she broke. I didn't even know how to describe the sound that came out of her. It was like the night we’d learned Paul had died. Only this time it wasn’t a scream. It was just a broken, tired sob and she curled in on herself.
“Monica,” I said again, scooting up against her now, wrapping her in my arms. I’d just let her cry for now. I wondered how long it had been since she’d actually let herself.
“I’m not okay,” she blurted out. “Everyday people ask me if I’m okay. You’re like the sixth person today. People that know Paul or me, or of Paul and me. They ask twenty-four-seven if I’m okay. I’m not. Why would I be okay? What do they expect me to say? I have a seventeen-year-old and thirteen-year-old I’m suddenly raising alone. I’m expected to move on, daily. I feel like with everything happening in my best friend's life I can’t ask for help. I can’t sleep. I can’t sleep in my bed-”
“Whoa, slow down.” I’d known she was holding a lot in but this broken, sob-filled monologue was taking me off guard.
She swiped at her tears, angrily, even as she kept sobbing and continued.
“Lucas and you mowed my lawn for a few weeks but I felt so guilty over it. You all have lives and I felt like I couldn’t keep asking. Did you know I had to search YouTube to learn how to run the mower? I had to YouTube how to fix a leak in the shower the other day too. Then there's the girls, they used to go to Paul for so much more than I realized. Now they feel like they can’t talk to me about anything involving him or I’ll go off. Like some timebomb waiting to explode.”
I squeezed her tighter, letting her rant. Jesus .
“I haven’t even slept in my own bed since the night before Paul died. I can’t. I move to the couch after the girls lay down for the night. I can’t go through his clothes. I can’t ask anyone to help me. I feel like everyones moved on and I’m frozen in time. Some days are good and I feel like I could start trying to move on if I had someone there to help me, but the next day I’m terrified of that thought process. Of getting rid of the way things were and forgetting him. Like it's a slap in Paul’s face. It was Monica and Paul for fourteen years, Trev.”
She finally stopped, sobbing into my shoulder, as I just stared down at the top of her messy bun. That was a lot more information than I thought she’d give me. I hadn’t expected her to open up so thoroughly to me although I was glad she had. I squeezed my arms tighter in what I hoped was a comforting hug.
Monica’s sobs were becoming hiccups and she was practically laying against me. I cleared my throat and tried to speak softly.
“Mon. Paul wouldn’t have wanted this for you. He even told me that at one point.”
She jerked back, straightening and staring at me. Her glasses had water on them and she was so adorably disheveled I was having trouble focusing.
“What do you mean?” she hiccuped. I watched her hands nervously fall to her lap. Her fingers found the sapphire ring that Paul had left instructions for Lucas and Becks to give her if something had ever happened to him. His ashes were a part of it and she never took it off since she’d gotten it for Christmas.
“Paul used to talk to me about his job and the dangers.” I shrugged, sitting up with my arms on my knees. “He didn’t want me to let you live your life alone with those girls if anything ever happened to him.” I continued, keeping it basic.
“You’re thirty-eight years old, Monica. No one deserves to live their life alone. The things you just told me? Any one of us would’ve helped you with. You’re not a burden at all. You don’t have to do it alone. Becks and Lucas would feel horrible if they knew you weren’t going to them with things. Especially Becks. She’s been berating herself for all her happy events, according to Lucas, because she knows you’ve been holding back and not letting things out. But, even if you felt you couldn't go to them with things. Mon, You have me, what about me?”
My eyes swung to hers.
“You should know that I am here. I will always be here, Monica. We used to be married. We have a damn daughter together. Do you need a leaky shower fixed? I can do it. Do you need someone to cry on? I’m your guy. You need someone to help you go through Paul’s things? Tell me when, sweetheart.”
Her eyes started watering again at my words, and she removed her glasses with shaky hands, tears trailing down her flushed cheeks.
“I’m just so scared. I’ve been so scared.” she broke again.
I had her back in my arms, rubbing her back soothingly.
“Well. Now I know, and you don’t have to be.” I promised.