Chapter 13 #2
I didn’t see myself doing a future with someone at my side, but on the off chance I used to think about it, in the extreme abstract, I wished it could be someone who had my back.
Always. Someone unafraid to be there for me and who allowed me to be there for him too.
Someone smart, compassionate, salt of the earth.
Someone who isn’t afraid to cuddle and be sweet.
Mostly, I wanted someone who would see me and treasure me and wouldn’t end up hurting me.
Since I was pretty sure that type of person didn’t exist because that wish list is entirely idealistic, I pretty much just stashed all hope of finding someone and whipped myself into decent enough shape to go it alone.
“Cruz?” I edge over a few inches on the couch.
One brow arches as he waits for me to go on.
“Have you thought more about what we’ll see where this goes might mean? What it looks like exactly?”
He sighs, but chokes on the end of it and swallows hard. His hand gravitates toward his knee, fingers bunching up on his thigh. I don’t think he’s even aware of it. I want to get up and get him some Ibuprofen, but I’m sure he wouldn’t take it.
“Haven’t thought about anything but.”
I didn’t see him kicking all the breath out of my lungs. “I know that’s not true.” I point at his phone. “You’ve thought about this.”
“This, the kiss, and the future.”
I know that Cruz will respect my decision, my choice, and my boundaries.
He’s waiting for me to make the next move.
I wasn’t going to do anything yet, but here I am, blurting out words that I can’t keep inside any longer.
“I’m scared to start anything, because I know that I’ll always want more with you.
I’m afraid that more will get complicated and complicated will turn into a mess, and that we’ll both get hurt. ”
He doesn’t break eye contact. “That’s the risk.” It’s a statement, not a question, and not meant to insult me. This is just Cruz being Cruz.
“Are you going to break down the risk versus reward structure with scenarios?”
“No.”
This time, he’s for sure amused. I glance at the bag of peas draped over his knee. They’re soaking a wet spot into his jeans. “Do you want me to get you the corn and replace those?”
“They’re fine.”
“Are you? Did this take your mind off your knee?”
“Is that why we’re talking about it?”
I hesitate. It would be so easy to say yes, but I respect his honesty and I don’t want to be a coward and not give him the same. “No.”
“I’m sorry if you feel pressured. That wasn’t my intent.”
“I don’t. I just don’t want you to wonder. You said you’ve been thinking about it.”
“I take it that you’ve done the same.”
“Yes.” I draw my knees up and wrap my arms around them, clasping my hands tightly, so I don’t start up with nervous tells.
“I feel messed up about it. Not in ways that I can attempt to explain either. It’s weird.
Thinking you wanted one thing and then having to admit that maybe there’s more.
” I can’t look at him, so I study my pajama clad knees.
Cute little suns and moons stare back at me from a dark blue fuzzy background.
“Not because I wasn’t honest with myself, but because I… I don’t know.”
“I think the best anyone can do is try.” Cruz’s hand creeps down his thigh, toward the bag of peas. His fingers splay out, grasping the thick muscle, but he doesn’t shift or move the bag.
Try. That’s what I need to do. Try to steer this conversation to safer ground, not that there is any such thing where Cruz is concerned. “Is it going to be okay? Your knee?”
“The surgeon did a good job, and I’m careful.” Cruz is full of surprises, answering me this time. “I do my own exercises every day for it. This is just part of dealing with injury and getting older. People ache when they’re over forty.”
“Can I get you anything?”
“You’ve got me more than enough.”
We sit with the silence that feels normal with Cruz. Normal and not the least bit uncomfortable. “I know you don’t like talking. Should I turn the TV on?”
“I have enough entertainment here.”
I track his gaze down to his phone. “You’re looking at the outside of the building, and down in the café. There’s not a whole lot going on there. It’s hardly primetime entertainment.”
“That’s good. It’s exactly the way I want it to stay.”
“Even so, it’s boring.”
“I enjoyed watching you come down the hall with the bat.”
“Asshole,” I hiss, finally cluing into the fact that he saw the whole thing on the cameras in real time. “You could have called out. What if I’d beaned you with it?”
“You didn’t have that look. You were cautious. You were going to assess the situation first instead of charging in blindly. Anyway. I don’t think it’s an impossible ask to try.”
My heart picks up, skittering like it did when I thought there was someone else in here. Cruz shifts from one sentence to the other with impossible ease. “Good to know.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I, but I don’t know what to do with it.”
“Nothing. As you said.”
“Are you mocking me?”
“I’m not.”
I try my best to give good glare, but it’s hard, with a man like Cruz. “You might be the strangest person I’ve ever met.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“Probably one of the highest I’ve ever paid.”
“Are you mocking me?”
“I’m not.” I parrot his tone, since he parroted mine. “Are we going to keep being sort of weird around each other?”
Cruz snorts and his eyes flash, sparks igniting in their depths. “I’ve never enjoyed myself more. You have an interesting coffee shop. I like your clients. For the most part.”
I’m at a loss, trying to follow his logic. “That’s the only interesting part?”
“You know it’s not. You know that you’re a beautiful, smart, intriguing woman.”
“Yes.” I don’t break eye contact even though my face is so hot that I have to will away the heat. “Sort of. I’ve worked hard to get there, both in how I think about myself and in how I’d like to think about myself and in making that a reality.”
“There’s nothing more attractive than intelligence.”
I draw a circle on my thigh, picking at the fuzzy fabric. “I would say hard work and knowledge are different from intelligence.”
“Maybe.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to bring you flowers and write you poetry?”
It’s my turn to huff in sheer amusement. “No, but I’d be willing to accept a ten-foot live cactus, a published book of poetry, and a granny square knitted blanket that you made yourself.”
“Can it be crocheted?”
“What?” All of that was just me being silly.
“The blanket.”
“I don’t know.” I do know that it’s time to get off the couch before I say anything more insane. “I was just being ridiculous. I don’t need any of that.” I stand, but can’t seem to make my legs take me to my room.
Cruz is a good guy. Know how I know? He gives all that middle of the night gibberish real consideration. He winks at me. “If the book of poetry can be self-published, it’s not that hard to do. I did pull that haiku out of my ass.”
“And what a lovely ass haiku it was.” Fuck, I need to shut up before it’s any more apparent that Cruz’s weird matches my weird all too well.
I break free of whatever hold the floor has on my feet and turn around.
“I’m going to wake Liam up to take his shift so you can try to rest.” I’m not taking no for an answer.
If he’s not going to look after himself willingly, I’ll force him to do it.
That includes snatching up the bag of peas and exchanging them for the larger, heftier bag of frozen corn.
“I see that I’m going to have to invest in some real ice packs.
” He gives me one of those signature noncommittal grunts.
It’s not until I’m halfway to Liam’s room that the implications of that statement hits.
You don’t invest in something unless you care. Investing itself, by definition, implies a future. One that Cruz fits into. Indefinitely.
It’s time that I make my peace with that.
Even if he’s not guarding me and my home, he’s going to be in Liam’s life.
He’s a good friend. Soon to be a fellow club brother.
Whatever we’re doing, we need to do very carefully.
I won’t hurt Liam. Not for anything, and certainly not to make myself happy.
I couldn’t be happy if he was hurting. That’s the point.
After Liam is up and talking quietly with Cruz, badgering him about his knee, I crawl back into my bed.
I purposely grasp the pillow that never gets used on the other side of the bed and fold myself around it so that I don’t turn over onto my back and start staring at the ceiling again.
I know that there’s zero chance I’m going to be able to go back to sleep, not with my mind racing and my body in its perma-state of confusion, literally running hot and cold, but I close my eyes anyway.
Listening to the muted voices from the living room is comforting.
My son, who I love, who belongs in my life, who has brought me so much joy and purpose.
And Cruz, who shouldn’t fit. Who should feel like a complete stranger.
Who’s thrown my entire being into chaos and question.
This isn’t a situation where I can just touch myself and tell myself to behave and call it a day.
The allure of mastering my own body has gone stale.
I know that giving myself an orgasm would hardly take the edge off.
Whatever this is with Cruz, it’s far bigger than just our bodies, though mine has given me very little peace since I met him.