Page 13 of Tangling Hearts

Chapter Eight

Brendan

4:00 A.M. Lying on my back. Blanket: halfway up my waist. Tent: popped.

I’m looking at the woman lying beside me, sleeping on her stomach, her arm a little twisted because her fingers are laced through mine. I woke up like this, but I don’t know if I held her hand in the night, or she, mine. What I do know is not once have I looked forward to when she’ll leave, which is what I always think about when someone spends the night. I’m normally itching to have my space back and start my day in my own way without having to look out for someone else. Rebecca was the one exception. I’d gotten used to spending entire weekends with her only because she was coming in from out of town and it was just four to five times a year, so it made sense. But I had to get used to it.

This… with Freckles… feels easy. Really easy. Sometime last night I decided to stop fighting it. To be here with whatever this is, and stop trying to figure it out, like she said to. When we guys make a decision to be in, we’re in. I guess that’s where I’m at right now, which is crazy, and very, very… cool. You don’t realize you were missing something until it shows up.

She looks very peaceful, her expression dream-laced. I’ve visually traced every eyelash, every freckle, every angle of her, and what’s wild is there’s nothing I’d rather be doing. I want to take her again. I’m hard right now. And she’s got those lips I have to kiss. But watching her sleep, I make myself leave her alone. About ten minutes ago, she frowned, and it took me squeezing her hand to make it go away. She’s been through a lot. She got hospitalized from exhaustion, after all. I assumed it was from the shock of everything that happened to us, but when she made that comment about the size of my bathroom, I realized I don’t know her financial situation, haven’t seen her apartment. I thought because she owned the bar that she was flush, but that comment made me second-guess the assumption. When money-stress comes into play, it can rip you to shreds. Having involuntary reconstruction and subsequent closing of her only source of income has to be insanely stressful. So, I won’t wake her.

There hasn’t been a single time in all the years since college that I’ve thought about giving monogamy a shot. I was on a roll – for years – and panties were flying. Some tried to have more, some tried to capture me, and some knew instinctively there wasn’t a chance in hell so they just calmly went on to the next guy – the one who could give them what they wanted. That wasn’t me, unless what they wanted was a really good time for a really short period of time, months at the most. There’s something valuable in that, so a lot were game.

But me? I was happy with it. Didn’t need anything else. Name one guy on the planet who wouldn’t have loved to have had what I had, and I was top on that list.

Rising to Creative Director was connected to that. Having a revolving door of the hottest ass in town was a rush that kept me at the top of my game. After a night of fucking someone who could have easily posed for Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition, and sometimes had, I’d walk in feeling like there was no way I could lose. My mojo was amped, high on pheromones and acquisition. Applying that same strategy – make them feel like it’s their idea, and they’ll open their legs or their advertising accounts – I found that all the goals I set out for myself were not only achievable but achieved. I got what I wanted. They gave me what I wanted. They all did. And the main ingredient to success was that I never really cared.

When you can walk away, then you have all the power. I knew if Location Times Three didn’t promote me, there’d be another agency waving me in with a smile. I’ve studied the changing marketplace. I know how to help my clients reach new people, even if that means rebranding. I know what to do and when to strike. So I had all the answers, and all I had to do was let them know I was willing to walk.

People will do a lot when they don’t want to lose someone.

Losing someone…

Looking at this beauty beside me, there’s a feeling deep in me that I can’t believe is here; I don’t want to lose this one. Which means she holds the cards. She’s got the knife and I’m left hoping she won’t use it. That should scare me. But I trust her. She’s the first woman I’ve trusted since my first love. And there’s a huge difference between my trust then and now; then it was born of innocence, now it’s the opposite, so it’s stronger. Coming from where I’ve come, trusting her means a lot more.

Staring at her sleeping face, I’m wondering why I trust Annie, and the only answer that comes back to me is it’s in her eyes, in the way she looks at me. Besides that, it’s just a feeling I have in my gut, like she’s safe for me to care about. Like she won’t do anything disrespectful to me.

Plus, she’s given me room to be a man in so many of the things she’s done. And never once have I caught her looking at me like she was planning something. She just seems happy to be around me, grateful for our time together. Not in an insecure way, but in a way that says she gets her own worth, gets my worth, and is happy when the two come together. Or maybe she knows that life is short so why not just let things be as they are and enjoy them. I’m sure the shooting helped solidify that. It sure did for me.

Rebecca... dammit, I can’t believe what’s happened with her.

I turn my head and look at the ceiling, thinking of that stupid hair-tie stunt, feel the impatience pull at my belly. Plus, I’ve got to pee. Carefully getting up to answer nature’s call, I let go of Annie’s hand and walk away from the bed, thinking of Rebecca and how she handled everything.

Calling Tommy I could understand more than that rubber band bullshit. Tommy was a bomb waiting to detonate that she was powerless against. He’d been scheming and I know his game just as well as I know Mark’s. Which means I know how good he is at it. The second she found out there was a weakness in our relationship was the second she’d fall into his trap. Looking at myself in the bathroom mirror, I say with disgust, “You have only yourself to blame for how this went down. You should have set her free years ago.”

But I’d negotiated with myself. Gave myself ‘The Maybes.’ Maybe I’ll grow to love her. Maybe we can keep things casual without problems. Maybe she won’t get hurt. At least Tommy called off seeing her when I asked him to. At least I’ve got that. At least she told me what she was planning, so I could cut it off before it happened.

He’s not a good guy, and she deserves better.

“Go find someone who will make you happy, Rebecca,” I say out loud, flushing the toilet.

Pity, too. I’m not one for burning bridges so I was planning on continuing a friendship with her – until I saw the nightstand and lost all respect. And I know she left the calls on my phone for me to find, to make me crazy. The list goes on and on, nailing the coffin and setting it to sea.

I walk back into the bedroom, see Freckles sleeping with San Francisco as her backdrop, and it occurs to me like a punch to the head that maybe the robbery was what Oscar called a ‘God-Shot.’ If I hadn’t been shoved down into a hospital bed with nowhere to run, would I have kept my wall up and not let Annie in? Would I be looking at Rebecca in my bed now, feeling dissatisfied and ignoring it? Would I be still thinking Mark was an idiot for falling in love and changing everything?

I reach for the remote on the nightstand, press the button, and watch the blinds shut all three windows, holding back the soon-to-be rising dawn and the busy world.

No more interruptions.

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