CHAPTER 18
Aaron
The mystery behind Fro’s moniker doesn’t cease to amuse when Wolf produces a screenshot of an old photo on his phone of the man with a frizzy bush of dark hair sticking up at all ends. Glancing at the now-bald man, I try to compare amidst the cacophony of laughter from his friends at his expense.
Scoffing, he grumbles in front of his beer bottle, “You try taking care of that shit all summer. This is way more low maintenance.”
“He’s failing to mention the gum incident,” Wolf informs me, chuckling as he tucks his phone back into his pocket.
“Oh, come the fuck on,” Fro grumbles. “Not this shit again.”
“There’s a no chewing gum sign on his stall for a reason,” Shannon informs me with a wink where she’s perched on the new coffee table in my living room.
They’re a merry crowd, to be sure. I’ll admit, there was a moment where I wondered if this would turn into some type of kegger when I first saw Fro carting in a case of beer earlier, but no one’s overindulged. Everyone cleaned up after themselves the second they were finished with a drink or a plate. It’s casual and so natural it feels like they’re my own house guests.
The sun has just set, which means it’s nearly dinner time, but there was so much pizza delivered, I have no designs of being hungry again anytime soon. Somehow, it seems ungrateful to be sitting in my camping chair after all the trouble these people went to, but they completely deserve the comfort of the new couch after giving up a day of their life for me.
I still can’t believe everything that came out of Wolf’s van. It was like Santa Claus’ magical sack of presents. I managed to bite my tongue most of the day, keeping myself busy helping Fro put together the entertainment center that appeared along with all the other unnecessary items. While I’m enjoying being surrounded by laughter and the easy merriment of these wonderful people, I haven’t had a chance to speak to Easton since the pizza arrived a few hours ago.
Excusing myself, I head to the kitchen, where I saw him escape moments ago with his empty soda can. One hand resting on my counter, the other clutching the small of his back, he arches his chest, stretching. Eyes closed, the cords in his neck are strained, pulling his face taut. How much anguish has he had to live with because of his past injuries? No young life should have started out the way his did. I can’t believe how much moping I’ve done when what stands before me is clearly a fighter, a silent warrior of this earth. My younger years were basically carefree. I doubt I’d have had the strength to endure what he must have.
“Please tell me you didn’t hurt yourself hauling any of this stuff in here today.”
Straightening, he turns around and leans against my kitchen counter. “No. Tattoo back. Hours spent hunched over every day.”
I hadn’t considered that. Still, it sounds like one more reason he shouldn’t have hauled a furniture store into my house today.
Something slaps the doorframe, giving me a start.
“Yo, Bossman. We’re still supposed to ride back with Wolf, right?” Shannon asks, popping her head into the kitchen.
“Uh, yeah. Thanks.”
“Cool.” She digs a set of keys out of her pocket and slaps them into Easton’s hand. “We’re going to head out then. Melissa’s itching to get home.”
Shaking his head, he chuffs. “Surprise, surprise. Thanks.”
“My pleasure.” Turning to me as she passes, she graces me with one of her perpetually cheery expressions. “Nice to see you again, Aaron. If we dinged any of the walls, I blame Fro.”
“Thank you. This was…incredible of all of you. Seriously. I don’t have the words.”
I follow Easton back to the living room, wondering if I’ll miss getting another word with him. I know he doesn’t want to be thanked, but how can he just up and leave after today without so much as a few minutes of chatter? Maybe it’s my need to give him something in return that has me feeling like something is missing.
I thank the rest of his friends as they pile out the door. A giddy sensation comes over me when Easton remains, bidding them farewell with me like he’s staying put.
I got what I wanted. Now what? What can I say to not scare him off or ruin the magnanimous gesture he made today?
After the Wolf departs, it’s just the two of us left standing in my living room. He moves to the coffee table and collects the last of the pizza boxes, carting it into my kitchen without a word. Scrambling, I snag a napkin that was left behind just for an excuse to follow. Face to face in the kitchen, I’m about to blurt out more thank yous I know will make him squirm when he speaks.
“I’m gonna go too. You good?”
Scoffing, I give the cottage a scan. “I feel like I robbed a home goods store and didn’t even know it.”
Snorting, he reaches into his pocket and retrieves the keys that Shannon gave him. I stare dumbly as he holds them out to me.
“Here. So you can get to work,” he explains.
I stare at them, remembering that I forgot all about calling my mother to ask for the use of her car. Right. My truck is gone. Forever. Shit. But what is he talking about?
As his crew pulls away, I glance out the front window and notice the silver SUV is still sitting in my yard, along with Easton’s motorcycle. Two vehicles, but only one person left to drive. The keychain on the keys has a Chevy emblem on it, matching the symbol on the front of the shiny, newer-model Suburban on my lawn.
“What? No. I can’t.”
Sighing, he rolls his eyes, grabs my hand, and drops them into my palm. He starts heading toward the door, setting off a panic in me. I only have seconds to unravel this new mystery. Which one of his friends offered up an eighty-some- thousand-dollar ride to a complete stranger? This is getting out of hand.
“Easton, wait. Whose is this?”
Mine , he signs, and then that playful light in his eyes flickers. Don’t worry . It’s not stolen .
God, what kind of impression of him did I convey? “I wouldn’t have thought that,” I babble and make my feet shuffle forward. “But seriously, I can’t borrow your car. This is too much. You’ve already done way too much. There’s no way I can—”
His palm covers my mouth. It’s gentle, but so unexpected I stop speaking. Leaning in, his lips press a quick peck to my temple, and he murmurs, “It’s fine. Get some sleep.”
I think I’ve been numb most of the day, too swept up in the events that unfolded to be fully present. My brain comes back online, however, the second I feel him pull back. It’s pure instinct and gratitude, and probably still more self-pity, but I latch onto him, hugging him tightly.
I know he doesn’t like talking or praise, but I have to let him know how much this means to me. I hope he understands that it’s not even about furniture. It’s the chance he’s giving me to exist in his world again.
He’s stiff under my embrace as I try to hold back my tears. Will I ever stop getting teary-eyed?
I don’t blame him for not knowing what to do with such a mess of a man in front of him, but then I feel his arms go around me. They’re loose at first but then tighten. It feels like they glue some of my pieces back together. I let out a breath that sets free something painful from my chest. For the first time since Jason passed or perhaps even longer than that, it feels like everything is going to be alright. And it feels like it’s because of the man I’m clutching in my arms.
When his arms loosen, I have the gumption to do the same. Drawing my face out of the crook of his warm neck, I find a strange look on his face. It’s not the guarded mask of humor. It’s something closer to awestruck.
“Goodnight,” he rasps. Nodding toward the TV, he adds, “Don’t order any porn.”
I bark out a laugh through the congestion building in my sinuses. “Not a problem.”
The words hit his back, though. Seeing his hand on my doorknob has my chest going tight. The fairy godmother only visited Cinderella once. I’m well past that many visits from the enigmatic man about to walk out my door.
“Will I see you again?”
I cringe at the foolish question, feeling his car keys in my hand. Of course, I’ll see him again. I’ll have to return his car to him, but that’s not what I meant.
Freezing, his hand stills. It’s probably only seconds, but seems much longer as I wait for a reply. He cants his head to the side without looking back.
“Do you want to see me again?”
“Yes,” I answer without missing a beat. “Yeah…I’d like that.”
Swallowing, he nods before pushing through the door. “Then you will.”
I don’t move as the rumble of his bike fires up. I don’t move when his headlight flashes across the front room window, nor do I, until the purr of his engine is out of earshot down the road. Turning around to the silence of the cottage, it no longer feels like a place to wait out a stay of execution. Lights blazing in every room, television broadcasting a hockey game, all the once-empty spaces now filled with things that make it look like a home—not a single memory of the miserable hours I’ve spent in here comes to mind. All I see is Easton. Easton hauling in a couch and a dresser. Easton setting a stack of pizza boxes down on the coffee table. Easton cursing at the remote to get the cable set up. Easton screwing the legs into the sockets of the table, now sitting in my kitchen. He gave me more than things. I think he just gave me a clean slate.
I remember when I first met him, how disgruntled and bitter he seemed. And yet, I could tell there was genuine kindness and optimism about him, hiding inside that scared kid who’d been through hell.
It no longer seems cold in here, but I haven’t touched the thermostat. The most unlikely man just filled my house with warmth. All those good qualities I saw are still in there, no matter what the years have done to either of us.
I make a vow that this is the last time I’ll cry. For this month, at least.
“Thank you,” I whisper, choking on the overpowering sensation of being so undeserving.
I’m not thanking him, though. I know he wouldn’t want it. My decree is addressed to life for bringing us together.
“Thank you.”