8. Roman
CHAPTER 8
ROMAN
I spend all day packing comforters and pillows into the bed of my truck. I had to make sure everything was tied down and ready to set up when we reach where we’re going. I could have easily taken her to Mount Hollywood, but it’s so cliché. I needed to give her something “bucket list” worthy.
When I was helping her clean, I peeked in her fridge to see what kind of food she liked, but that mission failed. She barely had anything in there except for condiments and expired produce.
I can’t go wrong with popcorn, can I?
When I pull into her complex, she’s already waiting outside for me. What a far cry from the other day when she was lying inches away from stale pizza, zoned out watching I Love Lucy .
She’s stunning. I’m offered a small wave and a grin before she starts toward the truck, and like a gentleman, I get out and race around the truck to open her door for her. Leaning with her back against the door, blocking the door handle, I smirk. My eyes dip to her lips that are curved slightly, down past her breasts that are hidden by an almost sheer veil of white cotton. As if she knows what she just did, she steps to the side, letting me reach for the door. My arm brushes hers and we subtly jolt from the feeling.
I’m trying damn hard not to act on the tension that’s building between us, but it’s beginning to be too much. Every time I think of rubbing one out to the thought of her, I kindly remind myself that this is Patrick’s fiancée. She’s not up for grabs…even though the only thing I’m grabbing is myself when all I want to do is grab her and have my way with her.
Before she slides in, she tilts her head quizzically. “Why do you keep opening my door for me?”
What? It’s what men are supposed to do for women. My father engrained it in us before he taught us to pee standing up. “My dad. Our dad. He was huge on treating women respectfully. He made sure to really hammer it into me…and Patrick.”
“Huh.” That’s all she says. Her eyebrows raise briefly. Did Patrick not open doors for her?
I try not to travel down the slippery slope of the past, so instead I toss my phone in her lap. “Turn on some music. We have a long drive.”
She positions herself in her seat, legs crossed, facing me with an evil look on her face.
“Ah! Wait. I got you a coffee. You still like that oatmeal cookie creamer?” I hand her the cup from the holder, and she takes it with wide eyes, looking at me like it might be poisoned.
“Yes,” she practically whispers before she takes a sip. Her lips line the opening and her eyes close before she moans softly. “Mmm. That’s so good.”
I can’t help but smile, and resituate in the seat because that little noise did something to me.
With my phone in her hand, she taps the screen. “Oh-ho-ho, you’re going to wish you never asked me to be the DJ, sir.” The light of the screen bouncing off her face illuminates her smile. I think back to yesterday, I could barely get her out of the house.
Silence between us is deafening. Not sure if it’s the anticipation that’s making this as awkward as hell, or maybe she’s just the silent-passenger type—but then, the start of “Dreams” by The Cranberries starts playing.
Waverly’s eyes close and she starts singing the lyrics like they’re a part of her. Damn, she’s good. Not America’s Got Talent type of good, but she can carry a tune. I won’t try to read into the lyrics, but they’re impossible to ignore .
We have three more miles until we arrive at Joshua Tree National Park. She’s played everything from The Weeknd, to Def Leppard, to La Bouche. I had no idea who the hell La Bouche was until Waverly clued me in and insisted that, “The 90s were a way better music era.”
I turn down the radio while she’s belting out a song I’ve never heard before.
“Take my breath away!” She scream-sings. It’s nice to see her having fun. I almost forget why we're really spending so much time together, but at the end of the day, it’s my job to take her mind off Patrick.
I’ve done my share of mourning my big brother when I’m alone. But knowing I had someone else to take care of—someone as broken as much as, if not more, than me—it’s made his death almost bearable. And it kills me to say it; the last thing I want is for Waverly to be as broken as I am.
Once we park, I kill the engine and tell her to stay put while I set up for the night. She fought me on it. Of course she did. But I love seeing a glimmer of the Waverly she once was; her feistiness was always something I adored.
I'd pre-cut a six-inch memory foam mattress to fit the shape of the truck bed, and I'd thrown a red and black flannel blanket and comforters over it. Tonight, Waverly's comfort is my priority. I'd taken note of the vast number of pillows throughout her apartment, so I'd lined the truck bed with just as much fluff.
I hurry around to the passenger side and help her out.
“Do me a favor and don’t look up until you lie down.” I want to make sure she has the full experience, “Promise?”
“I promise,” she whispers, as she rests her hand in mine and hops out, looking up at me like I’m about to give her the stars. And I am. Every single one of them.
I lead her around the back and help her jump up into the bed of the truck. “Oh my! Roman, this is amazing! You did all of this?” She looks at my homemade accommodations and beams with happiness. “So many pillows! I need to lie down. Right now!” And she settles herself into the cloud of pillows lining the side, staying true to her promise to keep her eyes low. And they're low; roaming as she scans the rest of my handiwork across the pile of blankets strewn tastefully about, to land on the massive tub of popcorn in the corner as she lights up with joy. Next to it are two flasks of her favorite whiskey, and a bottle of water to make sure we have all our bases covered.
“Mmm.” She moans with her eyes closed. “This feels so good .” Her voice is raspy and seductive, and it’s causing the blood to flow straight to my groin—an unwelcomed surprise when I remind myself over and over again that she’s my late brother's fiancée. Her eyes flutter open and hood, offering me a lazy smile. “You really pulled out all the stops, didn’t you?”
I can tell she’s nervous. “No stops to pull. I have some work to do as your new best friend.” I smirk.
“My new best friend? That’s bold of you to say. Did you forget about Victoria?” She cocks her head to one side, meeting me straight in the eye. “If she hears you call yourself my best friend, she’ll have your head.”
“I believe a person can have two best friends.” I nudge her leg, signaling for her to move over and give me room to climb up, “I’m not one to compete, but I’m obviously the better one,” I joke, waiting for the inevitable smile, which she, of course, grants, before pulling a blanket up to her waist. I settle into the truck bed and sit beside her, close enough to see her green eyes through the black, but with enough distance so that I don’t make her uncomfortable
“Can I look up yet?” she asks in anticipation. The stars are so bright when they don’t compete with the city lights…so much so that I can see the glimmer of excitement in her eyes.
“Of course.” I don’t turn with her to look up, but I watch her reaction.
Waverly’s eyes flutter shut, she takes a deep inhale and lets it out, slowly tilting her head to the sea of stars, opening her eyes. If I could only live one moment for the rest of my life, it would be this one. Her mouth falls open, part wonder, part smile, and tears form in her eyes, as she lets out a huff of air.
“This. This is…magnificent.” She leans back onto the bed of pillows and lets her hands fall to her sides as her eyes remain fixed to the sky. I can’t look away. I know I should. I’ve been watching her for longer than is appropriate, but I’m scared that I’ll miss a reaction flashing over her face. And I can’t bear to miss any spark of joy after not seeing it for so long.
She lets out a sigh of content, and I finally force myself to tear my eyes away from her face and lower myself into her mirror image on the pillows beside her,
Like her, I allow my arms to fall by my side. Like her, I turn my gaze to the sky. Seconds turn to minutes, and minutes turn to hours. Three hours, to be exact. Eventually, I stopped watching the sky and returned my gaze to her. But her head has moved non-stop, as if she was afraid to miss something under the starry dome.It’s three in the morning and I’m next to the woman I never thought would give me the time of day again.
Stress of the day—or the year—melts off of me as we lie silently, covered by the puffy blankets. The warmth of her body is a subtle reminder that I’m not alone. I’m with someone whom I used to be able to call my closest friend.
“I forgot to tell you,” I reluctantly break the silence. “I’m filming a time-lapse of the sky on my GoPro for you to have.” I point to the edge of the gate and her eyes light up.
Another few minutes pass. “Where do you think we go when we die, Rome?”
“I…” I’m stumped. Before Patrick died, I never thought of there being some ‘higher power’. I never really thought about it at all. I was too focused on securing any college class that didn’t start before noon so I could still party the night before. I was too concerned with who my next lay was going to be. And then I graduated, started a business. The same priorities were still there, but instead, I didn’t have anyone to answer to. So, where do I think we go when we die?
“I think…” my voice cracks. I don’t know what to think. I can’t think that he’s just gone. His body is missing in the ocean and that’s the end of it? No. For me to make it through this, I need to believe my big brother’s spirit is happy. Wherever he is, he’s happy. It’s the only peace I have within myself.
Waverly sits up next to me and lays her hand on my shoulder. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I was just curious. It’s hard to recognize something existing if you’ve never seen it for yourself. But it’s almost necessary to believe there is more after death…you know? So we can find peace in the loss.”
You took the words right out of my mouth.
I nod.
She lies back down, but this time she’s closer. Her hand brushes mine and she doesn’t bother moving it away. The touch of her skin sears mine and adds fuel to a fire I didn’t know was burning.
“Can I ask you a question, Rome?”
“You don’t need to ask if you can ask me a question, Kensi. What’s up?”
She sits up once more, her hair tousled from the breeze. “Would it be weird if I got a picture of us? I mean, not of us because it’s us , but because this has been on my bucket list for a while, and I have this idea—I get a picture of who I’m with and I can use it in my journal.” She’s rambling and it’s adorable. It’s what she would always do when she was nervous. Some old habits die hard. “I want to be able to look back when I’m old and remember these moments. And if I turn out like Ally in The Notebook , I can look at my journals and appreciate the moments that the woman in the photo had. Moments that made her smile like she hadn’t a care in the world. Like the person she was with gave her the sunlight, when all she could see was darkness.”
Waverly Kensington was, and still is, a knockout. There is no possible way to describe her beauty. Her face could be clear of makeup, and she is drop-dead gorgeous. When she’s done up for a party or event, she’s extraordinary. Waverly’s untouchable when it comes to intellect, but her words…it’s a sentimental side of her I’ve never seen. Absentmindedly, I tuck a tendril of rogue hair behind her ear, and she tenses. So I pull back. “I’m sorry,” I let the silence hang in the air momentarily before I cave and break it. “Yes, of course, we can get a picture.” I grab my phone from the front seat through the back slider window, unlock it, and lean on one elbow next to her. “Mind if I get close?”
“Well, I need you to be in the picture, and your wingspan is pretty short, so…” she pokes.
I wrap my arm under her and tap my fingers over the sensitive skin of her ribs, as I growl, “My wingspan is short?” Even covered with clothing, she’s ticklish. Noted. She belts out a loud laugh and digs her head against my chest, trying to push me away. My fingers still as I chastise her, “You’re going to miss the picture if you don’t stop laughing.” She rolls her eyes but looks up at the camera and I snap the live photo.
Picture taken, she wriggles away, putting a little more distance between us, while I look at the photo. The genius thing about live photos is you can get maybe five good pictures out of one snap. I drag the square from left to right and back until I find the perfect picture pose.
“This one.” I hand over my phone for her approval. It looks as if she’s hugging me as I’m holding her. No tickling. No pushing my chest with her head. A genuine smile into the camera from both of us. A happy couple. As if that could ever happen.
“It’s perfect. Thank you.” She hands the phone back to me and waits expectantly, as if waiting for me to open Instagram immediately.
I know my generation has a knack for documenting everything on social media, but I don’t want to miss this night. It’s different. I don’t know if it’s because I’m with the woman I measure everyone against, or because being around her makes me feel closer to Patrick. Whatever it is, I want to experience it now , so I place my phone back in the front and lie down again. “This time of year, the sun comes up in about an hour.”
“Oh. Do you want to leave?” she asks, and I can’t read her tone.
“That’s up to you. Are you tired?”
She shrugs. “I am. But would you mind if we stayed and watched the sunrise?”
I look into the sky. “It’s your bucket list, sweetheart.”
Waverly grants me a faint smile and then leans forward to grab both flasks, handing me one. She raises hers up in toast and I follow, holding my own flask high in the air. “To stars and sunrises.”
She counters, “To awakenings.”