3. Chloe

“You hungry?” Bastian’s voice startles me and I jump back from the opened suitcase of clothes I set on the sofa.

His rough chuckle at my expense makes me want to smack him, but his strong arms wrapping around me send a warmth through me, calming all those nervous feelings that wormed their way in. “Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says low and deep, pulling my back into his chest.

As I reach up behind me to wrap my arms around his neck, he kisses the crook of my neck right in the small gap my baggy sleepshirt allows him.

With my eyes closed and breathing in his woodsy scent, I remind him, “I’m still mad at you.”

Last night we slept together, my legs tangled with his and my entire being happy to be by his side again. We avoided the argument for the time being … and then I woke up alone. It wasn’t until I found his note on the nightstand that the hollowness in my chest went away. He was only going to see Carter while I slept.

I don’t like this insecure feeling. The nerves are a permanent stitch in our relationship. Like one day I’ll lose him. I’ll wake up alone, and that’s how it will be for the rest of my life.

I don’t want another man to take his place. I only want Sebastian. His lies and hidden truths are what give me that feeling that it’s all going to unravel though. Lies he’s carried for years. Secrets he needs to let go of.

He rocks me gently, and that’s how he gets me every time. He didn’t use to give me this so easily, so freely. The touches, the kisses, the obvious need for me to feel loved.

And I didn’t use to feel like I needed it. But I do. I need him. I need this. Just like I need the air to breathe.

“So food? Yes?” he asks again and I stand up a little straighter, nudging him away because he doesn’t acknowledge the fact that there’s this gaping hole between us. How can we fix what he refuses to admit is broken?

“I’m going to unpack this stuff first.” My knee prods the suitcase and the insides of it jostle slightly as I get back to the unpacking I’ve been tending to. It’s mostly clothes and bathroom essentials. “I assume you’re having everything back home packed up and moved here without my knowledge?” I ask him, peeking over my shoulder just in time to see him cross his arms and lean against the wall.

My gaze drifts to the corded muscles that line his arms and I know he’s doing that shit on purpose.

It’s quiet and I hate that I think he’s not going to answer me, when suddenly he does.

“It can wait until you tell me you want to stay.” He readjusts and adds, “I know you like the apartment, I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“Are you thinking we could keep it? And have both places?” I ask him, noting his every moment as I fold a sweater I’d pulled out of the suitcase before he came in here.

“We have options,” he answers and I huff out a sarcastic laugh.

Options. I have to stare at the plush cream sweater as I toss it onto the sofa and then retrieve the next piece of clothing from the suitcase. It’s an old shirt of mine, but one of my favorites that reads Carpe Diem. I have never felt so much betrayal from a shirt before. Even this garment has taken Sebastian’s side.

“With you writing, we can go anywhere, do anything. Remember how you told me that?” he reminds me.

“I didn’t mean you could drag me along to wherever you wanted to go against my will,” I answer him flatly.

“You said you’d go wherever I wanted to take you. Change your mind?” he says, and the tone of his voice changes. The way the words float in the air longer, needing more attention and wanting to be heard so much more than any other words… the way he says them makes me pause.

Tick. My heart’s counting the seconds. That’s what it’s been doing. Savoring each one and recognizing that they matter.

“I came here, didn’t I?” I ask him, leaving out the emotional damage threatening to spill into each syllable. I remember the way I felt when we were first together. Counting each day and waiting for the one where we inevitably said goodbye.

I don’t want that. Ever.

It’s quiet, too quiet. The kind of quiet that turns to nights filled with loneliness and heartache.

I focus on the room and change the subject as I ask, “You had someone decorate this place?” It’s a bitch move to cower away from the argument because I’m afraid to lose him. I hate myself for it.

This is the exact reason he thinks he can keep secrets from me. He knows I don’t want to fight. Not with him.

He stares at me hard for a moment, reading into every detail of my expression the way he always does. I wish he wouldn’t.

“Yeah,” he answers and his single word tests the tension between us.

It’s still there, smoldering, but I don’t add fuel to it. I don’t want to fight with him, ever. Not when he’s the only hero I’ve ever had. The only knight in shining armor I’ve ever wanted. Even if he’s all dinged up and damaged but pretending he’s not.

I can pretend too.

“I like it,” I tell him as I toss the shirt onto the pile, folded nice and neat even though I’m debating on finally donating it now that it’s taunted me. Taking in a slow breath and releasing it, I say, “I really like the whitewash on the furniture with the light woods. And the cream walls, it’s very calm and relaxing.” All the while I talk, I fold another sweater and toss it down, making my pile lean a little. “It needs some pops of color I think, but I really like it.”

It looks like I could have plucked this house straight from the pages of a Good Housekeeping magazine. I attempted something like this at the apartment, but it wasn’t quite right. It was just items I bought and put in the rooms, but they didn’t fit the way I thought they would. “I think I may even love it.”

“Is that right?” he asks me easily, and even his lips tick up into an asymmetric grin. My heart recognizes something powerful between us: I love to make him happy and make him smile … in turn, he wants that for me too.

It’s still just ticking along though.

I don’t know how long my smile will last here.

“Yes, that’s right,” I answer, avoiding the unknown and focusing on the here and now. On the fact that if I’m not ready to fight, I want to love him. It’s only one or the other, with no happy medium. Because either way, we’re together.

Knock, knock, knock. The three timid knocks save me from a strained breath.

Bastian makes a move to get the door and turns to walk out of the room, letting me return back to this new reality.

It is my reality and it’s already better than I anticipated, but I can’t shake the nervousness. “I’d like it better if you’d tell me the truth,” I whisper lowly under my breath, knowing that’s exactly why the ticks are being counted.

“Chlo,” Bastian calls my name from the foyer, a gorgeous foyer with whitewashed floors and an iron lantern chandelier. I wasn’t being complimentary for the sake of a truce; whoever decorated this place knew what they were doing.

My bare feet pad on the floor as I make my way to the front entrance, following the sound of a feminine laugh.

“I hope so,” the woman says as I enter. That ticking turns to something else when I see her. Something like a war drum being beat with the handle of a machete.

I’m in shapeless pajamas and feeling the heaviness of the bags under my eyes and she’s… put together and chic and beautiful. And a woman I don’t know.

“I know she’ll love it,” Bastian tells her and then they both spot me in the threshold.

“Hi,” the petite brunette says with a shy wave. She rocks on her heels as I look between her and Bastian, who’s holding a tray of something covered in tinfoil.

“Chloe, this is Aria,” Sebastian tells me and I look between the two of them again as I say hi. I have no clue who she is. The name Aria means nothing to me.

“I wanted to give you guys a housewarming gift. Food for Sebastian… because … well, because he’s a man and I don’t know what men like… and this for you,” she says clearly, politely, matter-of-factly as she hands me a brown kraft gift bag with a white lace design and white tissue paper. Something tells me she’s already been here, given that the bag matches the décor.

“It smells delicious,” Bastian comments and then looks at me pointedly to inform me, “Lasagna.”

“The guys all love it when I make pasta, so … I hope you like carbs,” she says with another one of those laughs I heard before I walked in. A nervous kind of laugh which has me wondering what she has to be nervous about.

“The guys?” I prod.

“Carter and his brothers,” she clarifies as I absently open the gift and mentally try to place her from back when we lived here, but I don’t remember an Aria. A single sheet of tissue paper’s already out before I realize she’s intently watching me open the gift bag as she chews the inside of her cheek.

I don’t have to pull out the rest of the tissue paper to see it’s a frame I can easily remove from the bag.

With the empty bag cradled in my right, and the frame in my left hand, I turn it over to see a beautiful drawing of Sebastian and me. It’s a sketch of a photo I remember from years ago when we first got together.

It’s all done in a deep blue charcoal, but so finely sketched and on a thick cream canvas. The multiple shades of blue add dimension and capture the details perfectly. I’m awestruck for a moment at how thoughtful the gift is. And how breathtakingly beautiful it is.

We were only two kids really, barely out of high school and trying to find our way through the shit life we were born into.

Sebastian’s holding me on his sofa, and I’m nestled in his lap with my knees pulled into my chest, looking at the camera while he’s looking at me. I remember when Carter took this picture, only days before we ran away. Bastian asked him to. I remember it like it was yesterday.

“Do you like it?” she asks nervously, and her voice brings me back to the present.

“It’s beautiful.” I have to clear my throat as I set it down on the round beechwood table in the center of the room. “I love it,” I admit honestly. “Thank you.”

“Let me see,” Bastian asks and even though I move to hand it to him, he stands behind me, both of his hands on my hips as he peers at it over my shoulder.

Watching his reaction, I see how his expression softens. I can tell he remembers too. Some memories here weren’t the worst. Some of them are the best.

“Carter showed me the picture a couple of days ago when he was telling me about how him and Sebastian were so close growing up.” Aria’s voice grabs my attention. “He told me all about how you stole Sebastian’s heart. It was such a sweet story,” she says, and her voice is nearly singsongy.

I wonder which version of the tale she got, because I don’t remember it being “sweet” exactly.

“You drew it?” Bastian asks, and my mouth drops open when she nods.

“You’re so talented,” I comment.

“I’m so happy you love it,” she says cheerily, more at ease than she was a moment ago. “Carter thought you’d like it but … you know, he’s a guy and I think he likes to make me feel like I’m good at drawing, so he’d say just about anything to make me smile.”

“Is Carter your…?” I don’t finish, not sure if Carter’s married or dating. The least Sebastian could have done is told me that much.

“Oh,” her eyes widen and her gaze moves from me to Sebastian, then back to me. “I’m with Carter. I’m his … fiancée,” she tells me and when she says the last word, she smiles, a kind of sweet, innocent smile and then looks down at her hand. Her ring finger is barren. “No ring yet, it’s been a little crazy recently.”

“Let me take this to the kitchen. I’ve got to make a quick call and I’ll be right back,” Bastian says and without waiting for a response, he leaves the two of us. The kitchen is in the back of the house and I listen carefully as his footsteps disappear.

“Crazy, huh?” I prod, not wasting a moment to get details on what happened this past week while Sebastian was here and I wasn’t.

“We found out we’re expecting,” she says and lifting her voice a little higher, immediately tells me, “Congratulations, by the way.” She shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “I meant to say that first thing, but I swear my head isn’t on right.”

“First, thank you. And second, you can blame that on the baby now and for probably the next eighteen years or so I’ve heard.”

My comment makes her laugh again, and any bit of jealousy I had vanishes knowing she’s with Carter.

“Congratulations to you too,” I tell her and prod again, my left hand resting on the table, “I haven’t seen Carter in … gosh,” I blow a strand of hair from my face, remembering him as a sixteen-year-old kid, “in years.”

“Really?” she asks, seeming surprised. “Well, he has a lot of respect for you and for Sebastian. He speaks really highly of you two. And he seems really happy to have you two back.”

Guilt is what makes my smile slip the way it does. I feel it falter and I can’t stop it.

I know why we left, even though Sebastian doesn’t know that I know.

I know what happened when we took off too. What happened to Carter specifically.

“He’s a good guy,” I tell her and try to ignore the regret. If I’d known everything he’d go through at only sixteen and have to face alone because his best friend left, I would have made Sebastian come back. It’s ironic that I can admit that, yet coming back now, the thought never occurred to me.

“So, how far along are you?” I ask her, trying to hide everything I’m feeling, but she sees it just like Sebastian does, if her wary expression is anything to go by.

“Not far at all,” she tells me and offers a small smile as she touches her lower stomach. “We only just found out.”

With a nod, I acknowledge what she said, but new words fail me.

“You okay?” she asks with hesitancy.

“I just wish Sebastian would tell me why we’re here,” I blurt out the truth. “Why now?” I don’t bother keeping my voice low as I spill the truth to a perfect stranger.

“It’s funny how they keep things from us,” she says a bit lower, a bit more serious than she’s been, “as if we aren’t going to find out.” The small eye roll and shake of the head are meant to add humor, but I can see how she really feels in her eyes, in the way her smile struggles to stay where it is.

“Carter too, then?” I ask her, feeling the race in my pulse.

“He tried; I think he knows better now.” The moment the words leave her, she bites down on her lower lip and peeks over her shoulder at the door, as if he could come in any second. For a moment I think she’s worried he’d come here, worried he’d see her talking to me about him. But then she mutters, “He better know better now,” in a tone not meant to be negotiated.

“He’s an asshole sometimes,” she tells me, playing with the nonexistent ring missing from her finger. “He’s rough around the edges and difficult at times. But he loves me, and I told him I want to know what’s going on. Even if he thinks I shouldn’t know, not knowing makes it harder on me, you know? Which makes it harder on us.”

She’s saying every single thing that I could say right back to her.

“I told him, I’d let him know if I didn’t want to hear.” Again she looks over her shoulder, this time as if summoning him, but the man doesn’t show himself. “And if I want to know something, he answers. And I do the same for him.”

“Right.” I nod in agreement.

Her last sentence is spoken with finality. “Being raw and open is scary as fuck, especially in this life, but it’s the only way I know how to survive.”

Those words, each and every one, settle into the very marrow of my bones. “I don’t think I can stay here if Sebastian doesn’t tell me what’s going on,” I confess to her. Bastian isn’t anywhere to be seen or heard; I have no idea what he’s doing, but he needs to hear those words. “I’m afraid he’s going to choose this place over me, to be honest.” There’s the truth. The heart of the matter. He’s wanted to come back since the day we left, and now he’s done it, without my permission. If I say I don’t want this, I am certain he’s not going to choose me.

“Why would you say that? You’re all he talks about.”

“Because he’s been waiting for me to leave him for years. He’d let me walk away if he thought it was the right thing to do by me.”

“Do you want to walk away?” she asks.

“No,” I say, and the answer is easy. “I don’t even mind this place. It’s not what I was thinking when I told him I’d never come back. This isn’t Crescent Hills and I could be happy here. The only thing I really care about is that he’s not telling me what’s going on. And with the history of what happened before, I want to know. I don’t want to go crazy worrying.”

“I know that feeling,” she mutters beneath her breath. “What did he tell you?” she asks me, and I shake my head along with giving her a shrug.

Swallowing and feeling my dry throat tighten, I answer, “He said he wanted to come home. He said Carter needed him.” Every word feels drier and drier in the back of my throat. Like it’s suffocating me to tell this woman and admit how little he tells me. “I know something’s wrong,” I confess to her.

She only nods her head in response, her eyes darting behind me, but when I look she finally speaks. “He’s not there, I was just checking.”

Feeling an oncoming chill from the draft of the front door, my right hand absently rubs my opposite forearm.

“Do you know why he came back now?” I ask her and again, she nods and answers, “Yes.”

“Is it bad?” I question.

“The bad just passed, now it’s just waiting for things to settle, I think. There are some loose ends, but they’ll be tied up shortly.”

A beat passes, and the ticking in my chest speeds up, feeling each second slip by me faster and faster.

“I’m sorry, I’m a little guilty. Carter asked Sebastian to come back because of things with me, I would think. Things were the worst…” She trails off as her bottom lip wobbles, but she catches it between her teeth and swallows her words.

“Are you okay?” I ask her, feeling for the first time that she’s more like me than I could have ever known.

“I am. I am now,” she adds.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Maybe one day, but I don’t think today is a good time. I’m grateful Bastian came back. I’ll tell you that much. And if you’re worried, I wouldn’t be. But I really think you two should talk.” Her gaze again moves behind me, and this time I know he’s there. She lets her gaze linger and the floor softly creaks behind me.

“We should,” I answer and hear the floors protest once again, but still far behind me, maybe in the doorway. As if he’s stopped there and doesn’t dare to move any closer.

“Sorry to intrude… I just wanted to say ‘hi.’” She gives me a small smile and an odd wave before tucking her hair behind her ear and turning to leave.

“Thank you so much for the gifts.” My response is nothing but polite, even though inwardly I’m prepared for confrontation with the man standing behind me.

“If you ever want to hang out or just talk, I’m right there or happy to come over even.”

“I’m going to take you up on that,” I answer her and then watch her leave.