32. Roman
CHAPTER 32
ROMAN
Mother Nature has decided to bless us with another downpour. This doesn’t help me out at all. For me, it’s not a blessing, but a curse. The need for my feet to pound the pavement hard goes unmatched. A man needs to run to release his frustrations, for fuck’s sake. And that’s exactly what I’m doing.
Patrick’s alive. That’s amazing. My brother is back—in the flesh. I’m happy. My brother is back, which means Waverly is back to being his fiancée. Or is she?
My emotions are everywhere. I’m not sure if I should laugh, cry, sleep, or stab someone. If this is the way women feel on their periods, they have my condolences.
Not sure why my parents haven’t called. I feel like this would be the phone call that would supersede any and all post-retirement events.
A flash of lightning. Great. As low as I feel in this moment, I don’t have a death wish. I throw my sweat towel on the bench close to my front door and I open the carved wood, welcoming the blast of cool, damp air in my face, but as much as I welcomed an airy smack in the face, there she stands. Soaked. Sobbing. Broken.
“Waverly…” Instinctively, I grab her by the waist and pull her over the threshold, “What are you doing here?” Her skin is cold to the touch. She’s wearing a soaked Kelly green cropped tank and her arms curl around herself as she shakes. The fabric clings to her body and I’m jealous.
I can’t help but glance past her to her car, checking for Patrick. I feel like a complete asshole when I feel a sense of relief that he’s not there.
“I-I c-cut m-m-my f-finger,” she barely gets the words out, her shivering is so violent. I sit her down on the sofa, throw my plush Notre Dame blanket over her shoulders, and push her wet hair out of her face.
“I’m going to get something to clean up your cut, okay? Don’t move, baby.” Waverly came here because she cut her finger? I’m so confused. Did Patrick say something to her to upset her this badly that she drove over thirty minutes in a storm to get away from him?
I fumble with the first-aid kit I keep in the bathroom, trying to open it before I grab the whole fucking thing and run back to my girl.
I take a deep breath before I kneel in front of her. This isn’t exactly how I saw myself getting down on one knee. But regardless of the circumstances, I can’t help but feel ecstatic that she’s here.
I’m fixated on her wound but can feel the burn from her eyes in the back of my downturned head, and I can’t resist glancing up into those gorgeous eyes I know and love. Bloodshot from the tears, her irises are greener than I’ve ever seen them, and I’m slowly becoming unhinged.
She stares at me, probably judging my equally as puffy eyes and red nose. After Patrick appeared, I lost it in the car on the way home. I had to pull over because I couldn’t see. A few minutes later the tears turned to full-on rage. I pounded the steering wheel…a lot…and now my damn air bag light is on.
Her wince brings me out of my thoughts as she takes the towel off of her finger, and there lies a sliced flap of skin hanging off.
“You got yourself pretty good here, didn’t you? I’m starting to think you’re deliberately cutting yourself so I have to take care of you.” I try to add humor to the situation before another sob escapes her. Poor joke. Noted.
“That was a pretty bad joke. I’m sorry,” I chuckle as I feel myself blush.
I spray hydrogen peroxide over the wound to clean it and dab it dry, ignoring the low hiss she emits at my touch.
Dabs of topical antibiotics cover the gash before I apply the Band-Aid, making a big show of ensuring it’s well stuck so that I can feel her touch a moment longer. “Are you going to tell me what happened?” I ask, refusing to let go of her hand.
“It’s like he’s changed, but at the same time he’s the same person. Does that make sense?”
I nod, and she gives me a very fake smile. I watch as she scratches the skin around her thumb nail. Anxiety rears its ugly head in many different ways, so I place my hand over hers, encouraging her to stop. “I offered to take him to the diner so we could eat while we talk, and he insisted on wanting me to cook the chicken and potatoes he loved.” I try to contain my feelings, but him showing up and falling into his old habits, demanding that she cook a meal and clean up after him is far-fetched of him to assume she’d bend over backward for him. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be talking about this to you of all people.”
“No. Don’t do that.” Her brows pinch at my words. “We’re friends before anything, Kensi. You can tell me anything.” I run my hands through my hair. How the hell do we navigate this shit show?
“I thought he would at least help prep, but instead he sat in front of the TV, and I wasn’t paying attention, and instead of peeling the potato, I peeled my finger.” Tears stream from her eyes and I bring her freshly bandaged finger to my lips, locking my eyes with hers. I told her there was no reason for her to have to take care of herself as long as I’m around. But it looks as though my brother doesn’t have the same sentiment.
“I’m sorry, Waverly. How can I help?” Her head falls to my shoulder, and she slumps off the couch in front of me so we’re both kneeling on the carpet, retracting her hand from mine, but slipping it around my back. My skin tingles from the touch of her hands, despite the fabric of my shirt dividing us.
“Don’t leave me. I don’t know what this is, Rome…but… I can’t go back to how I felt before,” her grip tightens on me, as if her touch can keep me from going anywhere, even though we both know I’m going nowhere, “It was like… He was sitting in the kitchen, and I just—I couldn’t breathe. I felt as if I was trapped in my own house. And I was drowning. Me…drowning…oh, the irony. And he—he didn’t…” She pulls her head away from my chest to look back into my eyes as she continues, “All he wanted me to do was to make him dinner. And the guilt he made me feel for not going along with his want? It’s consuming, and not in a good way.” Consuming. The word of the century. I’d let this woman consume every fiber of my being if she’d allow me.
“It’s been hell for me, too, Kens.” I pull away and tug at the roots of my hair. This old habit is making a comeback…and it’s because of her. She drives me insane! “You don’t think I’ve been tossing and turning every night wondering if that is the night you’ll let him have you?” My voice raises at the end, and I take a deep breath, calming myself.
“Have me?” she repeats as if she doesn’t get it.
“Yes, have you. Fuck you.” I close the space between us and lean down, resting my lips on her ear. “Make love to you like I’ve been wanting to do for so long.” Goosebumps erupt under my touch, and I smirk. She wants it just as bad as I do. I know how to read women and their body language. Their reaction.
“Then…do—” she starts, but my cell rings, and I don’t need to look at it to know who it is, but as much as I want to ignore it, I have to answer it.
Waverly leans back, her eyes silently pleading for me to let it ring.
“It needs to happen, Kensi. It’s my brother. But I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do.”
I stand to give her space from the dreaded phone call. I shouldn’t be trying—or wanting — to avoid my brother who’s back from the dead. This is all so fucked up.
I hold the phone up to my ear while simultaneously grabbing Waverly some warm, dry clothes. “Patrick. It’s strange to see your name appear on my screen after all this time.” My parents decided to keep his phone number. Mostly so they could call and hear his voice on his voicemail. Not sure how he got a phone and set it up so fast, but maybe Mom and Dad helped with that.
“Is she there?” His voice sounds strained.
“She is.” I hold up a black shirt that I bought at The Weeknd concert before he became so famous. Waverly bought the exact same one. A couple years back, the three of us saw him at a small venue outside of L.A. Patrick hated every minute of it, but me and Waverly? We were high on music that night…and probably a little contact high on weed, too. It was the night before I spilled my guts to her at the county fair while we watched the sunset. That was the day Patrick decided to finally introduce her to our parents. It only took him three years.
“Would you mind if I came to see her? She cut herself, threw the peeler at me, and took off running out of the house. By the time I got up to go after her, she was already in her car.”
“What happened, man? When she got here she was a mess.” I know what happened, but hopefully if he tells me himself, he’ll recognize old patterns and apologize.
“Nothin’! I asked her to make me my favorite meal. It’s been forever. And you know I haven’t seen a baseball game or a hockey game in forever, I thought I’d take a load off.” He exhales into the phone. “I was giving her space.”
Therein lies the problem. He doesn’t see anything wrong with his actions. For fuck’s sake.
This puts me in a tough spot. With whom does my loyalty lie?
I reach for a pair of my shorts. She’s going to float in them, but having her in my clothes gives me a divine sense of contentment. Besides, if Patrick’s coming here, I’d rather she was in some sort of dry clothes, even if they are mine… But I don’t think he should be here. Not right now. Not while she’s in this state.
“Patrick.” I stop in place, holding the clothes in my hand, gripping them a little too tightly. “I’d love nothing more than to bring you into my home, but it seems like you have a lot to discuss with her. And quite frankly, I think it’s best if I’m not a part of it.”
“You never had a problem being a part of us before you stopped coming around, did you? In fact, I’m pretty sure I overheard your dumbass friend say that you ghosted us because you were in love with my woman.”
There’s a side of Patrick that I’ve never seen before. He’s usually an upstanding citizen. Respectful with his words and actions…for the most part. But this comment is liable to end up in an uppercut to his jaw. I know Hendrix has a big fucking mouth, but I never admitted to feeling anything for Waverly. Not then. And unless he was talking to me, I know my business is safe in his hands. My name doesn’t come out of his mouth. He is the most loyal friend I have. Far from the brother who’s taunting me right now.
“Patrick…” my voice is low but rumbles with warning. Everything is too up in the air to discuss. The shock of him being alive has to die down a bit. I make my way to the living room, a lot warmer than when I left. I’m not sure if Waverly turned the heat on, or my brother’s caused my blood pressure to skyrocket.
I offer Waverly my clothes with a smile. She eyes the shirt on top and her cheeks turn a beautiful shade of pink. I want to know what she thought of that night.
“Not tonight. You can wait. She needs time.” I hang up the phone and turn it off.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“You know what. For doing that .” Her face falls, “I’m so sorry for putting you in the middle.” She takes the clothes and holds them to her chest.
“Kensi…” I rest my hands on her upper arms, rubbing up and down. “As much as it pains me to admit this, I’ve always been in the middle. And I’m not going anywhere.” The tension leaves her muscles, and she rewards me with a small grin before disappearing into my bedroom to change. I’m fully prepared for what she’ll look like when she walks out of that room wearing nothing but my clothes, and I stare intently at the thick black door like I’m trying to summon some magical X-ray vision. Ever since that night on the boat, I’ve tried to relieve the extreme case of blue balls I’ve had since Waverly Kensington got propelled into my life again, but to no avail, it’s impossible to relieve the pressure myself.
A click sounds and the door slowly opens. My chest is tight waiting for her to reappear, and the tension is fucking killing me.
“Oh my God,” I say under my breath. Her hair is in a messy bun on top of her head with heaps of natural curls popping out from the sides. The t-shirt is tied at her waist, and my shorts are rolled at her hips.
She notices me drooling, and for a long moment she looks back at me. My gaze lowers, as does my voice, “I can’t sleep with you.”
Her eyes blink rapidly, looking around the room, most likely as taken aback by my words as I am. Although there is an obvious invitation smoldering in my eyes that says the exact opposite of my outburst, she agrees. “Good to know.” She prances toward me with a little extra sway in her hips. Or maybe her hips aren’t swaying. Maybe it’s just me falling into a seduction that’s been whirring around us for a half decade, neither of us bold enough to say what we feel.
Now’s the time, you moron.
“I don’t want to sleep with you, anyway.” Her words tug at my heart. Is it because, despite his ignorance when it comes to the women he dates, she may still be in love with him? Her brow raises and she sucks in her cheeks, either fighting a smile or a sob.
So, I decide to let her off the hook. This whole situation is fucked. And we’ve had enough tears for one night.
“I need to take some time and figure all of this out.” Another knife to my heart.
“I’d be worried if you didn’t, Kensi.” She casts her eyes downward. “But we don’t have to talk about it now…” I opt for a subject change. “How’s your finger feeling?”
She holds it up like a child showing someone her boo-boo. “It’s better. Not really throbbing anymore. Just an annoying dull pain.” She pulls her cheek into her mouth and starts to bite. That can’t feel good.
“Movie? I’ll let you pick.” That earns me a smile.
“ Twister .”
My smile drops. “Seriously? Twister?”
“Yes, it has that right person wrong time thing happening.” Gotcha. Minus the tornadoes, it’s essentially a similar situation between us, I guess.