Chapter 11
VIVIAN
I lie there, my head resting on Leo’s lap, searching his face for any sign of humanity. I’ve just bared my soul to him, leaving myself exposed and raw with emotion. My face, I can only imagine, is a wretched mess—puffed and blotchy from crying. His hands gently tangle in my hair, and though there’s nothing sexual about this moment, it’s the most intimate I’ve been with anyone since Ben. I swallow back the lump in my throat, terrified of the emotions brewing inside me, ready to spill over again at any moment. Leo smiles softly, a quiet laugh escaping his lips as he reassures me that he’s just as human as the rest of us. Then his expression turns somber, his gaze fixed on the shimmering lights reflected in the river. He looks like he’s reaching for a distant memory, unsure if he really wants to find it.
The suspense is killing me. Part of me yearns for him to share something so horrific that it makes my problems seem insignificant by comparison. Yet, another part of me hopes his life is perfect because I wouldn’t wish this kind of pain on anyone, especially someone I care about.
He sighs, swallows, and stares straight ahead. “Every woman that I’ve ever loved has either left me, cheated… or died.” His face remains emotionless, his voice almost monotone. He doesn’t break his stare, barely even blinks. My heart skips a beat, or possibly stops beating altogether. His words hang heavy in the air, weaving a tapestry of sorrow and betrayal that I can’t fathom .
Without thinking, I hear myself whisper, “What?”
He looks down at me then, emotion threatening to surface. He swallows it down, blinks a few times, and then goes back to staring at the river.
“I had a twin sister… Chloe.” Her name brings a fleeting smile to his lips. “God, she was great. She was my best friend. She was diagnosed with leukemia when she was twelve. Fought hard for over a year—enduring all the chemo, the pain, the tears, and the suffering. I sat with her through it all, holding her hand every minute. She beat it. After eighteen months, she beat it. That was one of the best days of my life, when they looked at her and told her the cancer was gone.” He pauses, trying to regain his composure. He clears his throat and continues, “Three years later, it came back… with a vengeance. She was always so positive, so happy… she had so much faith in her ability to get better. She was so strong.” He tries to smile as he looks at me. “You remind me of her sometimes. Your strength and ability to stay positive, even when I know you’re fighting a battle of your own.
“Anyway… she died six months later. The cancer ultimately won. When you tell me that you wonder why it was Ben and not you, trust me when I say I empathize completely. Chloe was the good one. She was kind and honest, had integrity, and followed all the rules. I was a mess—a rebellious teenager, getting into trouble and fighting anyone who would fight me, verbally or physically.”
I glance up at him, seeing the ghost of his past in his eyes. It’s hard to reconcile this image with the composed man I know. My heart aches for the boy he once was, lost and angry.
“Chloe didn’t deserve to die… they never do, the ones who are taken from us. They never deserve it.”
I don’t know what to say, and I get a glimpse of what people must feel when they find out about my situation. There is nothing you can say to make it better. I do know, however, what not to say. Abruptly sitting up, I turn my body to face him. “I’m sorry,” I say. It’s all I can say.
He looks at me, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “It’s okay,” he replies, giving me a slight nod. “It was a long time ago.” His words are meant to reassure, but I can see the lingering pain in his eyes, a silent testament to the wounds that time hasn’t fully healed.
I scoot my body over to the chaise section of the sofa and pat it, beckoning for him to join me. He slides over, extends his legs onto the chaise, and I settle my body against his and pull the blanket over us. For reasons unknown, I just want to hold him… or for him to hold me—I’m unsure. But I want to be close to him. I want to feel his chest rising and falling with each breath, to hear his heartbeat against my ear, and to feel his strength enveloping me… his muscles wrapped around my body, keeping me safe.
“Thank you for telling me about your sister,” I say. I feel him nod above me, but he doesn’t say anything.
We lie there in silence, staring into the night, holding each other, the deepest, darkest parts of ourselves exposed—two friends who finally have an inkling of understanding each other. The night is still around us, Florence and the Machine playing in the background, mingling with the gentle rustle of the blanket as Leo starts running his fingers up and down my back.
“Tell me something. Something I don’t know about you.” His voice is deep, and the vibration hums along the side of my face, resonating through my bones.
“Like what?” I ask, my voice soft, as I mechanically start to stroke my fingers along his chest, following the patterns he traces on my skin.
“Something fun or unique about you.” He can’t see the grin that spreads across my face as I think about something random to share.
“Hmmm… let me think.” My hand lowers to his abdomen. God, these abs are made of steel, and I can feel the ripple of muscles through his shirt. The thought sends a tingling sensation through my body, but I strive to push it from my mind, because… you know, we’re friends.
“I love music,” I say. “Like, really love it. I think it can define any moment or feeling, and I have a playlist for everything. I have playlists for when I’m sad, for when I’m happy, for when it rains, when I run, when I lift weights, when I’m mad, for getting ready—I even have playlists for sex. And then I have playlists for each year and season. Each song can take me right back to where I was in that moment and why I put it on the playlist.”
He chuckles, and I feel his abs compress and release. “What kind of music do you have on these playlists?”
“Oh gosh, everything. I had a friend tell me once that I have the most random mix of music he’s ever seen. Everything from Tom Petty to Morgan Wallen to Jack Harlow. Literally, every genre.”
“What’s on the sex playlist?” he asks, his voice low, vibrating in his chest.
“Ha, wouldn’t you like to know. That’s the last thing I’m telling you. You’ll start blasting my incredibly sexy playlist while you’re bangin’ hot chicks next door, and I’ll be forced to listen.” I shake my head. “No, no, that’s not something I’m sharing with you,” I tease. But as I say it, the thought of him with other women sends a rush of envy through my body, a feeling I’ve never experienced until now. I try to laugh it off, but the jealousy gnaws at me, unexpected and unsettling.
“Your turn,” I say, “tell me something fun about you that I don’t know.”
“Okay. Let’s see, I’ve watched Friends from start to finish at least a dozen times.”
My brows knit together, “Really? I didn’t pin you as a Friends kind of guy. I’ve only seen some of it, it wasn’t as big for my generation.”
“Yep. It was Chloe’s favorite show. We binge-watched it over and over when she was sick, during her chemo treatments. After she died, I’d fall asleep to it every night. I did for years. Still do sometimes…” His hand lowers from my back to my side, then to my stomach. “Makes me feel like there’s a part of her still here.”
A wave of tenderness washes over me. The idea of him finding solace in something so simple, something so tied to his sister, tugs at my heart. It’s strange how the things we cling to for comfort can become a lifeline. I press myself closer to him, wanting to offer some of the solace he’s given me tonight.
I think of my own lifelines, the things I hold onto that remind me of Ben. Our high school yearbooks, Easy A, our shared love for Ted Lasso. Every time I watch an episode, I feel his presence, like he’s sitting beside me, laughing at the same jokes.
His hand slips under my sweatshirt, and he delicately strokes the skin below my belly button. My breath catches, and I begin to crave his touches… more, I silently plead. More. Anticipation builds as he moves his fingers along my side, dragging them along each curve until his finger meets the side of my breast, where I am bare and braless. I suck in a breath, a fire building inside me. He pauses, seemingly surprised to find me without a bra, then slowly, softly traces the underside of my breast before working his way back down to the side of my waist. He splays his hand open and rests it there.
I can’t think straight. His touch is electrifying, brewing butterflies in my stomach and stirring a desire I can barely contain. I inhale slowly, willing my heart to slow down so I can think of a question to ask him, anything to bring me back down to earth.
“You said you’ve been in love before?” I phrase it more as a question than a statement.
“Hmm,” he responds, a noise reverberating from his chest instead of a word.
“Tell me about it,” I say, deciding to play his little game. I slip my fingers partially under his shirt where it meets the waistband of his pants. He tenses, his muscles flexing as I tease him with my fingers. Brushing them ever so lightly over his chiseled abs, Jesus. I slow to appreciate the V along his hip, running the indent with my thumb. The heat of his skin beneath my fingers sends a rush through me. I can feel his heartbeat quicken, matching the rhythm of my own.
He relaxes slightly. “Not much to tell. I let myself fall in love, even had a ring. I was going to ask her to marry me. Then I found out she had been unfaithful… for a long time. She’d been cheating on me for over a year with multiple men. I don’t know how I was so blind to it. I think I knew, I just didn’t want to believe it—I was in denial.”
“God, that’s awful. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, well, apparently I wasn’t cutting it. She needed a whole bloody team. ”
“Is that why you don’t date?” I ask.
He chuckles quietly. “It’s on the ever-growing list of reasons.”
I continue with my strokes, running a finger along the inside of his waistband, triggering sudden movement from within his joggers. I smile to myself, pleased. He shifts, simultaneously removing his hand and pulling my sweatshirt down to cover my stomach. Grabbing my hand from inside his shirt, he intertwines his fingers with mine, putting them in a timeout from exploration. He holds my hand against his ribcage as if it’s his lifeline, keeping him from doing the things I know he wants to do.
Damn.
But then I remember him saying that he would always want to have a go with me, but that we would never be more than friends. I scowl in frustration.
“Tell me something else,” he says.
“Ask me a question,” I offer.
“Just tell me something. Anything to get my mind somewhere else.” His confession turns me on all the more.
“Okay, let’s see… oh! I just booked a flight to Paris for April,” I say. “It’s on my list of things I want to do before I’m thirty. I haven’t been yet, and since I turn thirty in June, I decided to treat myself to an early birthday present!” I’m really excited about this. I just booked the flight a few days ago after both my mom and Sarah encouraged me to do so. It was something I always planned to do with Ben, but with him not being here, I decided it was something that I could do for me anyway. The decision feels liberating, like a step towards reclaiming my life and dreams.
“You’re going alone?”
“Going solo,” I say, trying not to focus on Leo’s thumb caressing my hand as I speak.
“Let me take you.”
I give him a curious look, taken aback by his offer.
“C’mon, Paris is magical and meant to be shared with someone.” He pauses, searching my eyes for a reaction. “We used to spend our summers there with our au pair. I speak French fluently, and I’d love to take you, show you the city the way it’s truly meant to be seen. But I know it’s something you and Ben had planned, and I understand if you’d rather do it on your own.”
A travel buddy…
I could think of a worse travel buddy.
“You had an au pair growing up?” I ask.
“Out of all that, that’s what you want to know? Yes, we had an au pair, my dad worked a lot and needed help.”
“Where was your mom? Were they divorced?” I can’t believe I don’t know anything about his mom, but he’s changed the subject almost every time I’ve asked about his family.
“My mum died when I was ten,” he says, his tone flat.
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. She was a shit mum.”
His response shocks me, and I don’t feel it’s something I can press him on, so I answer his question about Paris.
“I’d love for you to come… to Paris. It’s much more fun to sightsee with a friend.”
“Can I plan it for you? Book the hotels and activities? Paris is incredible, and you’ve got to do it right.”
I laugh. “Yes, you can plan it. As long as I get to see the Eiffel Tower, eat chocolate croissants, and drink way too much coffee, then I’m good.”
We stay like this until the early hours of the morning, talking. At some point, I drift off to sleep and awaken to Leo nudging me around three in the morning.
“Shh. It’s just me, it’s getting cold, love. Let’s go inside, get you to bed, yeah?”
He turns off the space heater and helps me gather all of my stuff to take inside. We walk down the three flights of stairs to the kitchen, setting the wine glass in the sink and the almost empty bottle of wine on the counter. Leo folds the blanket, setting it on the couch, and places my books on the coffee table. The house is quiet and dimly lit, creating an intimate atmosphere as we move around each other in comfortable silence .
I walk behind him to the door, the only light being under the cabinets, illuminating just enough to lead us through the living room and to the foyer. He turns to face me as he opens the door.
“Hey, Viv?” he asks. I love the way my name sounds on his lips.
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for letting me share this with you, for letting me in. I know that wasn’t easy for you.” He nudges my shoulder. “You’re gonna be okay, Walker.” He grins mischievously, deepening those damn dimples and making me laugh.
Damn him.