Chapter 13
Eden
We run together, side by side, stride for stride.
Each time we pass a station, we stuff donuts or gummy bears or rainbow-iced cupcakes in our mouths.
It’s such a bad idea, but it makes us and everyone around us laugh.
Especially when I shove vegan gummy worms into my sports bra, professing I’ll need an after-race sugar hit.
At the finish, we collapse in a heap. I am shaking with exhaustion and happiness, the taste of sugar and summer sweat on my lips.
A few minutes later, the rest of the team stumbles in, Bella and Becca arm in arm.
They’re sweating profusely. Well bugger me, I can’t believe they actually stuck to their word.
We pose for pictures before wandering over to the festival tents, sitting in the grass with food truck milkshakes and burgers.
I’m so pleased we decided to do this. I was looking forward to my first summer after graduating. I planned to do nothing but paint, but fuck, it turns out adding a bunch of running, gay people, and Sloane has made it so much sweeter!
Later, when we say goodbye to the others after dropping them off first, I drive Sloane home. She doesn’t question the fact I should have dropped her off first. I hope she knows I just want some time alone with her.
We don’t talk about the past. We talk about the next run, and the paintings I’m doing for my gallery show.
We also hit on Sloane’s maybe-future as a physical therapist. When we get to her door, I stand with my hands locked behind my back, rocking on the balls of my feet.
I must look a proper melt! I’m just desperately hoping she invites me in.
It’s her move. I know it and so does she. After a few pregnant moments, she leans in.
She kisses me, and it’s not the goodbye kind, or the “let’s see what happens” kind. Sloane lays the real deal on my lips. She tastes like sugar, and also like salt, and for a second I forget about our time apart.
We break apart, both of us breathless and temporarily out of things to say.
“Want to come in?” she asks, her voice steady as a rock.
I throw her the grin reserved only for her. “Thought you’d never ask.”
The door closes behind us with a quiet snick. Sloane isn’t shy when she grabs my face and dives in for more kissing. It feels like coming home when I feel her lips brushing against mine.
Our energy is frenzied and there is a voice in the back of my head which gets louder the longer we make out.
As Sloane drags me towards her bedroom, the voice is no longer quiet but screaming.
Pulling back, I create some space. I just need a second to get my head right.
Sloane looks at me confused, which is fair because I’m blowing hot and cold and she doesn’t deserve mixed signals.
The thing is, we need to talk. Not just about what it means for us to cross this line, but about the potential risk of doing it. And by that, I mean STIs. I’m tested regularly because I’ve been sexually active. Has Sloane?
A sour feeling swirls in my stomach at the thought of another person touching her body the way I did, even though I have no right to be jealous. We haven’t been intimate in two years, and I didn’t expect her to be a nun in that time, which leads us to the testing question.
Underneath the legitimate reason for having “the talk” with her, I not so desperately need to know if Alex was one of those people.
I know Sloane wouldn’t have cheated on me, however, there was a sliver of doubt when she ghosted me.
I’m not sure how I will feel if Sloane was unfaithful because I promised myself and her that we’d look forward and not back. I forgave her, and I meant it.
The whole Alex thing is still a thorn in my boot, though. That’s always been my problem, really. It’s not the forgiving, but the forgetting I struggle with.
She looks so fucking beautiful. Her hair’s falling out of the tiny ponytail she wore for the run. There are wispy ends plastered to her jaw. She’s flushed and she’s studying me with that little crease above her nose, which means she’s already bracing for something she doesn’t want to hear.
“Sloane,” I start, my mouth dry as a charcoal pencil. “Can I ask you something before we…uh, before this goes further?”
She laughs nervously. “Is this about the gummy worms? Because if you’re looking for them, I already took them out of your bra.”
It’s such a perfectly Sloane thing to have said that it nearly derails me.
“No, not that. Well, yes, but…ugh. Listen, I want you. Badly. But, well, I’ve slept with people, and I just want both of us to have all our, uh, cards on the table regarding safe sex and, you know, testing and stuff.”
There is a heartbeat of silence. Her face goes through a slow parade of surprise, relief, and then hyper-focus. After another beat, she closes her eyes for a second, and when she opens them again, it’s with a look that means she’s about to be both honest and more than a little sarcastic.
“Oh my god, I thought you were going to say you didn’t want to sleep with me.”
The idea I wouldn’t want her is absurd!
Tutting, I shake my head. “Of course I want to sleep with you. Christ, Sloane, I want nothing more.”
“But?” she counters.
“We have to be safe, and…and I think we should be honest with each other. I’m tested regularly.”
Her cheeks grow red. “I’ve been tested too.”
Well, that answers my question then, doesn’t it? Sloane has been with other people.
“O-okay. That’s good.”
Sloane bites her lip and can’t seem to look me in the eye. A dread settles in the pit of my stomach.
“Did Jenna talk to you?”
What? That’s not what I expected her to say.
“The last time we spoke seriously was the day she told me you were back. Jenna’s been MIA for a couple of weeks, which makes me think she’s got a special kind of someone.” I grin. “I can’t wait to roast her about it.”
Sloane rolls her eyes. “And you wonder why she’s MIA?”
Shrugging, I don’t reply. Jenna is my kid sister, and it’s my duty to bug the shit out of her. Plus, I always said I’d get my revenge over her horrific teenage years once she was older and had a boyfriend.
“Back to the conversation though. Why did you ask if she’d spoken to me?”
Sloane is back to looking nervous again. “Because she asked me something and I answered.”
“Blimey, that sure clears it up,” I deadpan. “Sloane, just tell me.”
Huffing, she straightens her back and clasps her hands in her lap. “When I got back, Jenna told me you’d seen a few girls since we’d broken up. Then she asked if I’d been with anyone.”
“And?”
“And I said yes. Just one person, six months ago.”
My eyes close because I know the name which is about to slip from her lips. “Alex,” I state.
Sloane’s silence confirms it. I take a moment to digest the news before rejoining the conversation. I refuse to jump to conclusions and fuck this up before it’s even started.
“It’s okay. Please tell me.”
“Eden, you have to know I never crossed a line with Alex when you and I were together. I had zero interest in anyone.”
I feel my shoulders drop in relief. “Thank you for telling me. I’ll be honest that I had some doubts when you disappeared on me.”
Sloane nods. “Jenna told me, and all I can do is apologise.”
I take her hand. “We’re done with those. I’m not shitting rainbows to find out you’ve been with Alex, but we weren’t together.”
“No, we weren’t, but it still sucks to hear.” Sloane smiles. “I know just how much.”
“I guess you do.”
“I want you, Eden. I want what we had back.”
Swallowing, I clear my throat. “You should know I want the same, Sloane. It’s why we’re in your bedroom right now talking about all kinds of awkward shit.” I laugh.
“I’m sensing a but.”
“Not a but, just a pause. Kissing you messes with my mind. It always has. I do want you, Sloane. Physically and emotionally. Sex is the easy part,” I clarify.
Jumping into bed with Sloane is easy. We are so compatible and know each other’s bodies like the back of our hands.
That’s never been the problem. It’s the emotional side that needs some major work.
“Eden, we can take this as slow as you want. I’ll do anything.”
My hand reaches for her face and brushes her cheek. The touch stimulates a part of me that seemed to have died when Sloane asked me for space.
“I know you can’t promise me you’ll never push me away again,” I begin. “But I think I need to feel a little more secure in us before we get physical.”
I know my earlier actions are in direct contrast to what I just said, but the space we created and the brief chat have allowed my brain to quiet my libido long enough to think logically.
Sloane slips off the end of the bed and kneels in front of me. She places her hands over mine and waits until I’m looking into her eyes. Eyes that are shining with unshed tears but aren’t reflecting sadness.
“Eden, I can’t promise you I’ll never struggle.
I’d be lying. I know I’ll always suffer from anxiety and that sometimes it will make me act irrationally.
All I can promise you is that I’m working on it.
Constantly. I never want to get as bad as I did in college.
I never want to hurt myself or the people I love like that again.
All I ask is that you give me a chance. Stick with me through the hard time and I’ll do everything in my power to let you in. ”
“I’m here, Sloane. I always was.”
She nods and squeezes my hand. “Yes, you were. I just wasn’t ready to accept that I needed you or deserved you. I know different now. I am surrounded by love, and even if I do waver in the future, I know none of you would let me drown like I did before.”
“That’s all I needed to hear,” I reply. Tugging on her hands, I draw Sloane into my lap. “Would you be up for dating?”
Pure joy blossoms on her face. “I would love nothing more than to date you, Eden.”
Feeling triumphant, I draw Sloane’s face down until our foreheads are touching. “I’m still going to kick your arse in the next race,” I whisper. Sloane chuckles into our embrace before capturing my lips in a soft, slow kiss. It’s a kiss we’ve shared so many times.
But this one is different because we are different.
We break only when we have to, our heads pressed together, giggling in the pockets of each other’s air.
Sloane crawls off my lap after the last make-out session left us both on the precipice of losing control.
She gently releases me, and I miss the weight of her immediately.
We suddenly turn shy and awkward, like we’re seventeen again.
There’s something beautiful about that. Maybe all beginnings are just disguised second chances.
Wow, that’s the tortured artist in me showing.
Blimey, I’ll start waxing poetic about love and loss soon.
Jesus, I’m too much sometimes. Where’s Pia when I need her?
She always manages to keep me in line. Yammering on about beginnings and second chances would’ve earned me a smack upside the head if she were here.
Sloane grins, sparking her dimples. “You want tea? Or a beer?” Her voice lilts, half-serious, half-hopeful.
I don’t want tea or beer, but I nod anyway. I’m happy just to be here. I trail her to the kitchen and lean against the counter as she puts the teakettle on the stove.
“You’re driving, so tea is probably best.”
I remain silent. As she moves about the space, I let my eyes wander. Her apartment is different from the last time I was here. Cosier. There are plants everywhere now, and little sticky notes crowding the fridge. I want to read every one, to soak up everything that makes her who she is now.
Sloane stands on tiptoes, fishing for the good honey on the top shelf. Her shorts ride up, revealing the bruise-purple mark on her thigh from when she tripped last week and refused to ice it, saying it built character.
She catches me staring and grins.
“You can’t blame me,” I declare. Which makes her do that thing where she reds up from her collar to her hairline.
We camp on the floor of her living room with our mugs, knees pressed together, and something in my ribs slides into place, like a puzzle piece I lost ages ago.
“I should give you a heads-up,” Sloane says, picking at a stray fuzz on my shorts. “Alex texted me. She plans to be at the next run and wants to meet up.”
I consider this, sipping my tea. “Will it be weird for you?”
“Maybe,” she admits, looking down. “We sort of lost touch after…you know. I didn’t think we’d be friends again.”
“Do you want to be friends?”
“Not like before,” she begins. “I’m happy with friends from a distance. Is that okay with you?”
I appreciate her asking, but I’m still not the type of person who will ever dictate who my partner can be friends with.
“That’s up to you, babe.”
Sloane’s breath hitches. “You called me, babe.”
“It feels right,” I say. “If you’re okay with it.”
She answers me by attacking my face. I’m a dopey mess by the time she pulls back.
“Are you sure about Alex?”
“I support you, Sloane. I’ve got no issues with her.”
Sloane flashes a smile so open and grateful it nearly floors me, and she leans her head on my shoulder, just like she used to when we were dating the first time around. I lace our fingers. She squeezes once, and then again, as if to convince herself I’m real and I’m not going anywhere.
We talk for hours. About whether running shoes actually matter, and how evil Bella was to throw my old faithful sneakers in the trash.
Then we move on to whether Jenna will ever admit she likes someone and have the bollocks to bring them home.
We fall asleep curled into each other on her couch, the TV tinting the room blue.