Chapter two #3
As I watch him walk down the hall, my heart twists in my chest again.
If only Penn knew how little Brandon really helped around here.
He merely kissed the kids good night from his seat on the couch most nights while I made sure they had their favorite blankets, their nightlights were plugged in, and their sound machines were turned on.
I’m the one that assured them there were no monsters under their beds or in their closets.
And I’m the one that got all of the “I love you’s” right before they drifted off to sleep.
Penn might think he’s doing what Brandon would have done.
But the truth is, he’s always done more.
And that’s something I don’t ever want him to know.
That’s why I never crossed that line, and why I pushed him away when I could have taken what we both wanted—because the man Penn has been in our lives is more than we’ve ever had, and the last thing I want is for the three of us to lose him forever too.
***
Three Years Ago
“I can’t believe it’s been a year,” Penn slurs, reaching for the bottle of tequila again, pouring two shots and handing me one.
“You’ve already said that.”
“But it’s true. One fucking year, Astrid. One year that my best friend hasn’t been on this earth.” His eyes are bloodshot as he stares at me. “I still can’t fucking believe it.”
I think this is our fifth shot, but honestly, I haven’t been keeping track.
Tears well in my eyes again as I toss the shot of alcohol back and wince as it goes down. “One year of my kids not having their dad.”
I think that’s the part that cuts the deepest—all the things they’ll miss out on because he’s not here.
Of course I’m sad. I lost my husband. But the truth is, I lost him long before he ever left this world.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He was supposed to come home. We were supposed to go through with the divorce and co-parent. He still would have been here for soccer games and dance recitals. He still would have seen them on Christmas and their birthdays.
Selfishly, I was looking forward to the time for myself, the ability to focus on my dreams and aspirations without him mocking me about it and me having to listen to him.
I had planned trips I wanted to take by myself, work I would have time to do on my thoughts, and just finally having space to breathe.
Our relationship may have been over, but his relationship with his kids was still supposed to survive. In fact, I was hoping it would get stronger since his limited time with them would be even more precious.
But we never got the chance to make that work.
“I’ll be there for them, Astrid. I promise.” Penn grabs my hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing the back of it. It may just be the tequila, but his touch and the softness of his lips warm my entire body from head to toe, the strongest heat pooling between my legs.
That’s been happening more lately—each time we touch, each time he hugs me or holds me while I cry—my body has the most visceral reaction to it.
The night that he came over and cooked us dinner and forced me to take an hour-long bath after I’d had a horrible week was the night I started to see him differently—and I think it was because he showed up for me and took care of me in a way that no one else ever had.
“I know you will,” I whisper.
“And I’ll be there for you too.” He kisses my hand again, and then places another one on my wrist. “Whatever you need.”
My body instinctively starts to lean forward. “You already have been.” He shakes his head, pulling me into his chest and wrapping his arm around me now. I feel safe, protected, and dare I say…treasured. “I wouldn’t have survived the last year without you, Penn.”
“Yes, you would have because you’re incredible, Astrid. Strong, resilient, and brave. But I’m glad I could be here for you and the kids. It makes me feel like I’m at least doing something when honestly, I just feel fucking helpless. I can’t take away your pain. I can’t bring him back…”
Breathing him in, I clutch his flannel and bury my face in his neck. He smells of sandalwood and pine, with a hint of sweat that only enhances his natural scent. He smells like a man, and my body is aching for more.
But it’s Penn. I can’t go there. It’s wrong—so very wrong.
But god, I bet it would feel so right.
It’s just the alcohol talking, Astrid. Tequila makes people want to take their clothes off, remember? There’s even a song that says so.
I lift my head so our eyes can meet. “You’ve done more than I can ever thank you for.
” Brushing his hair from his face, I swear I hear him take in a sharp breath of air, and then his grip on my waist tightens.
“When the roof had that leak, you fixed it the next day. When the air went low on my tires, you took them to the garage to fill them up. On the days when I left Catch & Release utterly exhausted, you brought pizza for dinner and entertained the kids because you knew I just didn’t have the energy to do so.
” My eyes dip down to his lips. “You’ve done more for me than anyone ever has. ”
I watch his gaze drop to my mouth now just as his tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip. “I wanted to. I had to. I couldn’t stand the thought of you being alone, or feeling like you have to do this on your own.”
“I’m never alone when you’re here.”
“Astrid,” he whispers, his eyes bouncing between my mouth and my eyes. “Do you ever feel…” He pauses. “Do you ever think about…”
“What?” I breathe out, my heart hammering wildly.
Penn reaches up and strokes the side of my face, a pinch in his brow hinting at the battle he’s fighting in his mind.
I can feel his breath on my lips, smell the tequila on both of us, and feel the effects of it all over my body.
But then I concentrate on the way his finger traces my skin, the flecks of gold in his otherwise brown eyes, and the stubble that dusts his jaw so perfectly.
Penn is rugged but still put together. He’s handsome but doesn’t flaunt it. He’s noble and loyal and so utterly dependable that you’d think he could be a superhero in another life. But he also has an edge to him, a thin line of control that I have a feeling could snap under the right pressure.
“Feel what?” I practically moan as his head dips closer to mine.
“This.” He takes my hand and places it over his heart where I feel the organ in his chest thrash against his sternum. “Does yours do this too when we’re around each other?”
I pause for a moment, debating how honest I should be with him. But the alcohol decides for me. “Yes.”
Time stands still as we stare at one another, and then before I can say a word, Penn mutters, “Fuck it,” and his lips crash into mine.
An inferno rages through my body the second our lips touch.
I push myself into his chest and straddle his hips, burying my hands in his hair.
Penn frames my jaw in his hands and tilts my head to the side, swiping his tongue across my lips to make me open up for him.
And as soon as our tongues tangle, I let out an embarrassing moan.
My hips start moving, rolling over his lap slowly, finding him hard beneath me. So very hard.
God, I want him inside of me.
I miss sex.
I’m tired of my hand and feeling so alone.
“Jesus, Astrid,” he mumbles against my lips, kissing me deeply again, over and over, stealing the breath from my lungs.
But then reality slams into me.
His voice brings me back to the reality of what it is we’re doing.
I’m kissing Penn—my dead husband’s best friend.
Oh my God. What am I doing?
“Shit,” I curse, launching myself from Penn’s lap and the couch, creating as much space between us as possible as I hold my fingers to my lips, where I can still feel his mouth on mine.
Penn’s eyes are wild and wide, staring up at me. “Astrid…”
“This was a mistake. I’m—I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. I made the first move. I just…” He moves to stand, but I put my hand up to stop him.
“No. Don’t. I—I don’t know what we were thinking.”
“Well…” he starts, but I cut him off again.
“No. This can’t happen, Penn.”
A flicker of irritation crosses his face. “Okay…”
“This was a mistake,” I repeat.
“No, it wasn’t.” He stands now and makes his way over to me. I’m holding my breath, warring with myself over wanting to push him away or pull him close again and pick up where we left off.
But then I hiccup loudly, and my eyes dart to the bottle of tequila on the coffee table. “We’re drunk. That’s all this is.”
Blame it on the alcohol. Yes. There’s a reason Jamie Foxx coined that phrase and put it with music.
“I’m not that drunk, Astrid.” He stands right in front of me now so I have to crane my neck back to see his eyes.
“Well, I am. I’m sorry. Let’s just forget this ever happened.”
“What if I don’t want to?” he counters, making my breath hitch.
“I’m—I’m not ready, Penn.” It’s not a total lie, but honestly, the reality that I just kissed another man who wasn’t my husband is making me want to puke.
A man who is also his best friend and completely off limits.
“But…”
“No,” I interrupt. “This is wrong. On so many levels.” I turn away and head for the hall closet, pulling out a spare blanket and pillow. I return and toss them on the couch. “You should stay here tonight.”
His brows are drawn together fiercely, and his voice accepts no argument when he says, “Astrid, we need to talk about this.”
I shake my head, trembling all over. The nerves, the reality of what I’ve done, the shame and guilt and longing that’s racing through me—I need to be alone right now before I fall apart.
“I can’t, Penn. I’m begging you, just…please pretend this never happened.
Tomorrow, everything goes back to normal.
I’m just emotional.” I shrug. “It’s the anniversary of Brandon’s death, and you’re here and you’re such a good friend, and I… ”
He hangs his head, closing his eyes and breathing harshly through his nose. He stays like that for so long that I almost think he’s fallen asleep, until he finally mutters, “Okay.”
Silence hangs in the air between us as I wrap my arms tighter around my body. “Thank you. I—I’ll see you in the morning.”
Turning his back to me, he arranges the pillow and blanket on the couch and then slides in. “Yeah. See ya.”
Fighting back tears as I stare at the man who has been the strongest constant in my life recently, I cover my mouth to stifle my sobs and then head back to my room, shutting the door before sliding under the blankets and burying my head in my pillow to cry.
And because Penn is the best man on the planet, he honored my request and never mentioned that night again. He acted as if it never happened.
But we both know it did.
Now, three years later, I think it’s safe to say that that night wasn’t just a drunken mistake. It was real. At least, those feelings were real for me. And they’ve only grown since then.
Too bad I can never do anything about them.