Chapter 23
Nora
Thirty minutes after I enter my apartment and change, the doorbell rings. Dropping my brush onto the counter, I jog to the door to see which neighbor needs something tonight.
Swinging it open, I tilt my head in mock disapproval at Sydney and her three-year-old son, William.
“I thought I might see you tonight.” I welcome them inside, hug Sydney on her way by, then pick up William to give him a squeeze.
He lets out a loud squeal-laugh when I lift his sweatshirt and deliver noisy kisses to his belly, his deep red curls falling into his eyes as he wiggles. He’s one of those kids with infinite energy and sweetness. It’s impossible not to adore him.
“You can’t be all weird on the phone and not expect me to come check on you,” Sydney says, leading us to the living room couch. “Love the dress.”
“Thanks.” William’s energy gets the better of him, and he squirms to get down. Once he’s running about the apartment, I smooth the front of my black, white, and teal-striped, knee-length sweater dress before sitting. “I’ve had it for years, but it’s too nice to wear to work or out at our usual places.”
I glance over at William, examining the fake plant in the corner, to avoid Sydney’s inquisitory eyes. Knowing her, she’s shuffling through dozens of questions my recent behavior has invoked to select one that won’t make me bolt. But she knows me too and my evading tactics. When I called her on the way home, any and all topics that involved or could lead to Jordan were sufficiently skirted. At the time, I needed my friend to take my mind off the chaos and distract me from losing my composure in the quiet car. I hadn’t fully thought through the consequences before dialing her number.
“Where are you going all dressed up?” she settles on cautiously.
And that one weighted question is all it took to bring back the trepidation and confusion I felt leaving Jordan’s earlier.
While I find the words to explain, William rushes over to us, looks up at me with his big, dark eyes, and hands me his plastic toy soldier—the one he goes nowhere without.
“He only shares that when he thinks someone’s upset,” Sydney explains.
“Well, aren’t you perceptive?” I say, cupping his chubby, freckled cheeks in my hand and planting a kiss to his nose. “And the sweetest.”
“I wasn’t joking. You did sound off earlier. What’s going on?”
In what feels like one strangling exhale, I summarize our trip, Henry’s invitation, and Jordan’s stance on the matter.
“Wow. There’s a lot to unpack there,” Sydney says, surveilling William’s exploration of the unfamiliar room while she processes. “I can’t believe you’re going. Not only because you’re not big on dating, but what about your feelings for Jordan?”
“He gave me no choice. He wants proof that I’m not going to push him away again…if we decide to be together.”
“Can you give him that assurance?”
I’ve been avoiding doing that with any man since Sydney and I met, most of all Jordan. Still, hearing her skepticism stings more than it should. But she’s right. Can I give Jordan the security he needs?
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “Everything about him and this situation is confusing. While I’m trying to wrap my head around how I feel, he’s giving me whiplash with his ever-changing mind.”
“What do you mean?”
“One minute, he’s seducing me or saying the sweetest things that make me think he loves me. The next, he’s insisting we stay in the friend’s zone. If he has feelings for me, why in the he—heck,” I correct for the young ears in the room, “am I going out with another man at his insistence?”
“It sounds like he’s battling with his own heart and emotions the same way you are. William,” she calls to him with a threat of a scold in her tone. He’s reaching for the porcelain statue of a woman in a yoga pose Sydney gave me for my birthday. “Leave that be.”
He stares at her, his arm stretching slightly closer with a mischievous smirk as if to test her sincerity, and I have to hide my amusement at my spirit child. I turn away before he takes my smile as encouragement. He soon moves on to something else, and Sydney praises his good decision.
“Sorry. Not exactly toddler-proof around here.”
“No biggie. He spends a lot of time at Jackson’s, so he’s used to being told what he can and cannot touch.”
“Goodness. How does that poor child keep his hands to himself with all the priceless and beautiful things in that mansion?” Laughing, I think of my own difficulties doing exactly that when I visited the historic Vane estate for the first time last year.
“It’s an exercise in impulse control for him and patience for me.” We laugh, and William’s head turns to see what all the excitement is about. Unimpressed, he goes back to his inspection.
“We’re going to New York tomorrow for Josie’s show,” I announce.
“That’s exciting.”
“I guess. I don’t know how much more of this rollercoaster I can take. She’s staying up there longer than originally planned, but I need to get back to work and my life.”
“Doesn’t that life include Jordan now?” Sydney asks, studying me.
“I’m not sure. I thought we were heading in that direction until he insisted on this.” With a motion toward my pretty date dress, irritation takes root like an invasive vine. I hate everything it represents. Wearing it, I’m not myself, or more accurately, the person I’ve trained myself to be. That girl could enjoy Henry and not care about anyone’s expectations or feelings. Her heart didn’t get a say, and she lived by her own rules. She was free.
Since Jordan waltzed back into town, that way of life—that freedom I once relished—feels more like a noose with the other end attached to a ship adrift at sea.
“Will you tell Henry about Jordan?”
I consider the question. Is there anything to say at this point? My heart, the one vote I usually ignore, says there’s plenty to talk about, and for once, my head agrees. “Yes,” I decide. “It’s another reason I’m anxious about going. I don’t want to disappoint him. He’s so sweet.”
Sydney shakes her head. “I’ve never seen you like this.”
“Like what?”
“For one, you’re going out on a date.” She emphasizes the word like it’s something significant I’ve never experienced before.
Offended by her wonder, I think back, and nothing comes to mind to contradict her. Shit. Am I that woman? The one men take to bed but nowhere else? Is that what I’ve done to my life? Is Jordan the first man to want more and see me as worthy enough to have in his future?
What does Henry want? I haven’t exactly painted myself in a wholesome light in the classes he attended. Quite the opposite, in fact, and it’s been entertaining. Until now.
I sit up with a new revelation swirling inside me.
“Holy shhh—nitzel,” I say, cutting off Sydney mid-sentence and shooting to my feet. William runs over to me, excited to start another tickle game, and holds his hands out to me. Picking him up, I kiss his soft cheek. “I don’t want to be everyone’s good time.”
Sydney rises, my excitement contagious. “What does that mean?”
“It means I’m done with one-night stands and being alone on holidays. I deserve more. I want more in my life.” I turn to Sydney. “Despite the rocky road you had to get here, I want what you have—unconditional love, someone to come home to, a family. And for the first time, I’m willing to face uncertainty and the unpleasant for a chance to have something amazing forever.”
Sydney places her hands on my elbows, tears welling. “Oh, sweetie. You don’t know how many times I’ve prayed to hear you say that. Not for you to want all those things for yourself because everyone’s version of happy and path to get there is different. And you needed to discover yours. But I’m so glad to hear you finally believe that you deserve more than what you’ve allowed for yourself.” She touches my arm. “You, my dearest friend, deserve it all.”
Emotion lodges in my throat, and I tug her into a hug. “Thank you.” William joins in, wrapping his other arm around Sydney’s neck, and we relax into the best hug I’ve ever had. “I have a lot of making up to do first.”
“You’ll get there,” she says, drawing back and collecting William. I miss him already. “They do that,” she adds with a smile.
“Who does what?”
“Children. Whether you give birth to them or not, they have a way of filling your heart with a love you can’t get anywhere else. It’s indescribable, but once you feel it, you’ll never be the same.”
“I feel it,” I agree, threading my fingers through William’s thick curls.
“He’s quite the charmer…like his dad.” Shaking out of her memories, she wraps me in another embrace. “We’ll get out of your way so you can finish getting ready.”
“Ready? Oh, right. Henry.” I’d forgotten about sweet Henry. Walking Sydney and William to the door, I wave goodbye and wonder where to go from here.
◆◆◆
When I slip into Jordan’s apartment hours later, I find the group cleaning up.
“Wow,” Quinton says, frozen where he stands with his arms full of uneaten snacks and his eyes locked on me. The others follow suit. Guess the back-of-the-closet dress and knee-high black boots were the right choice.
I dial up my best smile. “Looks like poker night was a success.”
“Jordan won, as usual,” Peter complains and drops his armload into the trash.
“He’s had a lot of practice.” I shift to find Jordan staring at me, his mouth gaping open. To remind him of the games we used to play, I peel out of my coat slowly and toss it over the back of the couch with a flip of my wrist. This dress hugs my body like it was made for me, and by the way his eyes are taking it in, he agrees.
A heavy silence fills the room until Wes clears his throat. “We were planning to hit the new club down the street. Would you like to join us?”
“You’re going?” I ask Jordan, surprised to hear he’d want to go to a crowded dance club with his cast.
“No. Jordan declined,” Wes answers for him. “But since you were in the mood for going out, I thought I’d extend the offer.”
“Wes,” Jordan warns through gritted teeth.
“It’s fine, Jordan.” I stroll closer until there’s only a few feet and palpable tension between me and his friend. “I can take whatever he wants to throw at me. Go ahead, Wes. Say your peace.”
I hear feet shuffling behind me, Quinton and Peter getting a better view, no doubt. Jordan’s audible breathing nearby has me retreating and leaning casually against the back of the couch. I’m concerned about how this altercation may affect him.
“Choose your words carefully,” Jordan warns again.
Wes glares down his nose, his opinion of me deeply rooted already.
“I understand why you hate me,” I say to get it over with.
“Oh, yeah? Enlighten me.” He crosses his arms, smug danger hardening his features.
“I’ve hurt a friend of yours, and—”
“You did more than hurt him.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” I spit back.
“Yeah. That’s the problem. You do whatever you want with no regard for him. You won’t meet a more loyal, nicer, or caring person—”
“Hey,” the other guys chime in, pretending to be offended.
He barrels on as if they said nothing. “He treated you like you hung the fucking moon.”
“And I took advantage of that.”
“Like a heartless bitch.”
“Damn,” the chorus in the wings sings softly as Jordan shoots out of his chair with a stifled grimace.
“That’s enough,” he yells at Wes, his face flushes with fury. I place a hand on his chest to stop his advance and feel his heart throwing itself against my palm.
“I’m not proud of what I’ve done, you know.” Both men relax a bit, and I drop my hand to take Jordan’s. We have a lot to work through, but I want him to know I appreciate his jumping to my defense. He didn’t have to. His friendship with Wes goes back long before I entered the picture, and it’s not like he said anything that isn’t true.
“I was a bitch,” I agree. “Selfish and cold and rude on a regular basis. I’ve got issues I’m working on, more now than ever. Hate me all you want. Hell, I hate myself.” Straightening and taking a calculated step closer, I point a finger at him. “But that gives you no right to put yourself in the middle of our business and confront me like this. You think you’re protecting your friend—”
“Wes,” Jordan interrupts. “I think you should leave.”
Wes sucks in a deep breath, his nostrils flaring as he stares through me. “Fine. But there’s nothing either of you could do to change my opinion. He’s too good for someone like you.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.” I hold my ground, attempting to keep those words from affecting me again.
Senior year of high school at my boyfriend’s eighteenth birthday party, his mother said that exact phrase to me. It was the first time she told me I wasn’t good enough for her son. Someone like you. I couldn’t care less what she thought of me. Those three little words meant nothing until Tristan agreed with her four months later. He said he loved me countless times. But if he believed, despite his heart, that I wasn’t a good person, it must be true. I spiraled after that, doing everything I could to prove them right.
It took finding my college acceptance letter in the trash, tossed there by someone who thought I wasn’t worth it, to wake up. After taking a good, hard look at myself, I didn’t like what I saw. I could do and be better. My oppressive upbringing didn’t have to define me or my future if I didn’t let it.
It felt good to set that part of me to flame, allowing a new me to rise from the ashes. But the transformation wasn’t without flaws, I’ve come to realize. Some pieces of that heartbroken girl survived and latched on to the one piece of me I protected the most. All her pain, all her insecurities caused me to do some things that need undoing. Facing the consequences of those actions over the last few days has brought everything full circle.
It’s time to start another fire.
Meeting Wes’s challenge, I latch my gaze onto his to make my final point. “People can change, and you know nothing about me.”
“You’ve shown me all I need to know.”
“Buddy,” Quinton calls from the door.
Wes’s hands fly up, indicating he’s finished with me and strolls toward the door. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” he says to Jordan.
The door slams behind him, making me jump. I swivel to Jordan, who’s lowering to the wheelchair as if every muscle aches. “I’m sorry, Jordan.”
“You have nothing to apologize for.”
“I shouldn’t have encouraged him.” I sit on the arm of the couch beside him, suddenly drained.
“You look beautiful.”
And there he goes again, destroying all the pressure with his unyielding tenderness. “Thank you.”
“How’d it go?” he asks, searching my face.
“Fine. What games did you guys play? Anything new?”
Ignoring my attempt to redirect the conversation, he circles back. “Did you do anything after dinner?”
“Jordan.”
“Did you kiss him?”
And with that, all the gooey sweetness crystalizes. I rocket to my feet. “Don’t do this.”
He rolls after me as I head to the kitchen, the sound of my boots hitting the hardwood floor and echoing through the quiet apartment.
“I need to know.”
“You’d already know the answer if you’d get Wes out of your head.” I reach into the refrigerator for a bottle of water and hand it to him. Whatever is developing between us doesn’t need this. Just like I didn’t need to go out with Henry to determine how I feel.
“I want to hear it from you.”
To give me time to rally the patience I wasted on Wes, I return to grab another water for me. With more calmness than I feel, the words tumble out. “No. I didn’t kiss him.”
“Why not?”
“Jesus, Jordan. Do you hear yourself?” Flipping the door closed, I stalk past him to my suitcase in the living room. I need to get out of these clothes. Maybe if I can find some level of comfort, I’ll have more energy to prevent another argument.
“I remembered our last break up,” he says suddenly.
A weighted silence blankets the room. To keep it from getting to me, I busy myself with the clothes in my suitcase, seeing none of it. I can’t think, can’t feel. It’s another nightmare he had to relive, and I wasn’t here to explain myself. Not that I have any good reasons for how I treated him.
“It’s why Wes is pissed,” he continues.
My hands still. “I’m surprised you’re not.”
“It wasn’t fun, but I’m glad I remember.”
Weakened by his gratitude for one of the worst days of my life, I drop to my knees. The unforgiving floor emphasizes the dread seeping into my bones. This is where he tells me it’s over. He knows everything now. The good, the bad, and the horrific. I doubt my past transgressions leave any space for building that future I dreamed about.
“That night, you wouldn’t tell me what you wanted from me. You just said no to the ring and shut me out.” He pushes the wheelchair closer and transfers himself to the couch.
“As I said earlier, I’m not proud of how I handled anything with us back then.”
“You also said people change. Do you think you’ve changed?”
He’s gauging me, but I don’t dare lift my eyes. We’re both vulnerable in this conversation and seeing him like that, knowing I’m the cause yet again, is too much.
“In a lot of ways,” I finally say, giving my focus to the hem of my dress to keep tears from forming.
“Tell me.” He pats the cushion beside him, but I haven’t recovered enough to be that close to him. To smell him and feel the warmth of his body while anger and pain push us apart.
“I will,” I lift my gaze to seal the promise and boldly meet his. “But I’d like to change first.”
His midnight eyes somehow darken. “Good.”
“Good?”
“You wore that for him, and it’s getting increasingly harder to see you in it while talking about us.”
“Jordan, I didn’t—” He looks away, disinterested in a clarification. After all, nothing I say about it will make him feel differently. I grab the first sweatshirt and pants I find and escape to the bathroom.
The edges of this imaginary triangle are slicing through us, inch by inch, the longer he believes I followed through on our plan. After talking with Sydney, it felt wrong to use Henry to placate Jordan’s fears, hurting them both. Saying yes may have been Jordan’s idea, but he didn’t mean it, and his reaction proves it. I thought we could put the whole ordeal behind us. I didn’t expect him to demand details, anger fueling his inquisition.
How will he react when I tell him I didn’t go?
Frustration, fear, and determination bubbles inside me, competing for control as I take hold of the doorknob. By the time I make the short trek back to the living room, the chaos is poised to erupt. Then, I see him, and everything I need to say dissipates into a cloud of smoke.
“Can I get you anything?” I ask. It’s a cowardly move, but the strength I gained from my talk with Sydney earlier and myself in the bathroom has swiveled and holed up somewhere I can’t locate in his presence.
“I’m fine.”
Resigning, I sit beside him and tuck my legs under me. “Did Wes give you a hard time about me?”
“He did, but I can take it. The hardest part was thinking about you doing what I asked you to do. I regret uttering the words.”
I sigh. “Nothing happened between me and Henry. I canceled.”
His hand grips the back of his neck as he lets out a long exhale, relief settling on his face.
“I don’t want to be with Henry or lead him on.”
He places his hand on the cushion between us, palm up, and I slide mine into it. “Then, tell me what you do want, Nora. Why does it feel different between us this time?”
My chest tightens, and I breathe deep to release the knot forming there. “Because I realized something the other day and tonight only solidified it.”
“What’s that?”
No hiding now. May the truth set us both free. “I don’t want to lose you. But I also don’t want to hold you back.”
“What does that mean?”
I push forward despite the shock altering his expression. “A long time ago, I convinced myself we could never be more than casual. That you’d be happier with someone else. Someone who could give you a horde of beautiful babies and no baggage to trip over. Someone who hadn’t stomped on your heart. And that one day you’d find her and never look back.”
“I’ve never given any indication that I wanted anyone but you,” he says, his voice rising.
“Not exactly, but you do want the family I can’t give you.”
“So, you chose to push me away instead of letting me decide? Trusting in us?”
“Yes. At the time.” I look down at our hands bound together, surprised he hasn’t pulled away. Reveling at my luck and this man with a golden heart, I shake my head.
“And now?” he asks, and I scoot closer.
“If you’ll have me with all my issues, I don’t want to run anymore.”
He pins me with a frown, trying to process what seems like my sudden change of heart. Little does he know that over the last year, I missed him and remained celibate because my body and heart longed for only him.
“Anything else?” he asks flatly, making me wonder if I’m too late. It sends me into a tailspin until a faint grin emerges and alights his eyes.
“Oh, there’s plenty more,” I tease, letting hope plant a seed.
“Like what?”
“I want lazy weekends in bed, more bucket list adventures, and whatever happened last night on repeat. And I want to remember it this time.” I flash him a shy smile. “More than anything, I need to know what you’re thinking.”
In answer, he hauls me into his lap. I straddle his hips, letting my arms rest on his shoulders while my fingers comb through the hair at the nape of his neck. His eyes drop to my lips, and every cell in my body awakens. I could get used to this view, and everything his hands are saying. But my stubborn brain would like to hear them voiced anyway.
“Does this tell you what I’m thinking?” His powerful fingers squeeze my hips and drag me closer.
“It’s been a crazy day. Maybe you should spell it out for me.”
His hands trail up my arms and rest gently under my jaw, pulling my lips to his. He takes his time, soft and testing.
“Does this set the stage for a replay of last night?” I whisper against his lips, not letting him get too far away.
“I hope not.”
His breath skates over my cheek, and I have to work to deconstruct the walls going up. “What?”
“Nothing happened last night, Nora.” His hands relax and drop to my thighs. “Well, we started something incredible, but I stopped it.”
“Why?”
“What you just told me…you also mentioned it and more last night.”
“You thought it was a drunk confession I didn’t mean.”
His gaze drops, but I bring it back to me by framing his face with my hands.
“I’m sorry for giving you so many reasons to not trust me. I should have been the one protecting your heart and constantly filling it, not—”
“I’ve never stopped loving you. I was upset after the breakup, but I’d have found my way back to you eventually. I always do.” He leans in for a kiss, but before he can withdraw, I hold him and deepen it. He’s less tentative this time, more possessive, hungry.
“Where do we go from here?” I ask, knowing that one taste of him won’t be enough and hoping he feels the same.
“Well, we agreed to start over, but I’d rather skip ahead.”
“How far ahead?”
“Cool your panties. I’m not proposing again,” he confesses with a playful eye roll. “But I learned tonight that I’m not good at sharing you. I won’t do it.”
“Jordan Jones, are you asking me to be your girlfriend?”
He nods. “In private, public, and every way that matters. No more pretending, Nora. No hiding. I don’t need you to marry me, but I do need a real commitment.”
My hands slide down his broad shoulders and chest, taking in the feel of him—my sweet, sweet boyfriend. “I can handle that.”
Bringing me closer, he kisses me until the room spins, and I’m no longer thinking of relationship labels. I no longer care about promises, past mistakes, or future uncertainties. Only him.