Page 6 of Here In Your Arms

When it comes to commitment, I’ve been hesitant to really look for someone to love, but maybe I’m finally ready. I’m worried that I won’t be enough for anyone else, but Wes doesn’t seem to hold my same reservations.

“I don’t think I’m up for that today,” I confess.

Wes stares at me for a few minutes, and I stare back. Both of us trying to assess the other. He smiles softly. Of course, Wes sees through me faster than I see through him. He knows me better than I know myself some days.

“It’s time to look for our girl, isn’t it?” he asks.

My mind whirls with the possibility. It’s never felt like the right time to search for her, but maybe this is it. Maybe this discontent I’m feeling would settle if we were complete with a third.

“Maybe,” I tell him. “What do you think?”

Wes flips onto his side, propping his head up on one arm, while the other lazily traces my muscles. He grins wickedly.

“I think I’ve been ready for a while and now you’re ready. I think it’s time. I also think you found someone,” he teases.

“What? I have not. When would I find someone?” I reject the idea.

“I saw you staring at that woman as she left the gym,” he confesses, waggling his eyebrows.

I don’t think this man has an ounce of jealousy in him, and his mirthful eyes tell me he’s not upset that I was staring. I huff a laugh at him. Truthfully, she hasn’t left my mind, as much as I’ve told myself I’ll never see her again. I wonder what the rest of her is like if just her eyes are haunting me the way they are.

“I seriously doubt I’ll see her again, but who knows? Maybe this mystery woman will pop up again.”

“Those blue eyes were pretty, too.”

“They were green,” I immediately correct him with a frown.

“Yeah, I know. I just wanted to make sure you knew how much you looked at her,” he says, kissing my chest.

I growl and start attacking all his most ticklish spots. We laugh and wrestle for the upper hand, enjoying being ridiculous together. Someday we’ll have a third to throw into the mix and have even more fun.

Chapter 4

Rory

A few days after seeing the Pool God, as I’ve come to dub him, I wake with a heaviness I knew was coming. It’s been too long since I’ve felt it, so I’m definitely due for some downtime. Not in a good way. When I open my eyes, I immediately resist the idea of the day starting. Glancing at my phone, I note that it’s almost 2 p.m., which means I need to get moving to make it to work. Especially since the heaviness will slow me down.

I lay on my back for a few minutes, feeling the despair sink into my bones as I stare at the ceiling. There’s nothing to despair about, but I suppose depression doesn’t really have to make sense, does it? My body resists the idea of moving, but I know I need to. My mind is telling me I need to, therefore it must be important, but my emotions and my body don’t give a shit.

Wallowing is much easier than moving. Maybe I should call in today. I consider the idea for a brief moment before my rational mind points out that I need the money. Muttering internal curses at my stupid, rational mind, I slowly move my body from the bed and trudge to the shower. It takes twice as long to get through my routine of shower and blow dry, but I get it done. Looking at the clock, it’s now 3:30 p.m. and I start work at 5 p.m. Food sounds terrible, but if I don’t eat something, I know I’ll regret it when my boss gives me shit halfway through my shift.

I tip my head back and let out a petulant groan. I don’t want to adult. Standing there, in the kitchen, with my head tilted back, I’m working up the internal dialogue to get my feet moving toward the fridge. Thankfully, on clear days, I remember to buy things like pre-made frozen sandwiches and protein shakes, so when this hits me, I’m prepared. Trying to make anything isn’t going to happen. My limbs weigh too much, and I’m going to have to fake it extra hard at work. So, I grab a sandwich and warm it up. Once I finish that, I grab a protein shake and make my way to the car.

Walking into the pub, I shake my shoulders and push forward a cheerfulness I don’t feel. Walking feels like an effort and people are too loud. Once I’m clocked in and my purse is stored, I move behind the bar to start my shift. My coworker, Tim, is there already, cleaning some glasses and cashing a customer out.

“Made it right before the rush,” he comments to me absent-mindedly.

“I do what I can,” I tell him, pushing some friendliness into my voice.

Pulling out the garnishes, I start prep by slicing lemons and limes and storing them in the containers they belong to. I’m praying for the shift to go quickly, but one can never tell.

“You feeling alright?” Tim looks over at me.

I turn and give a small smile. “Yeah, I’m okay, no worries.”

Tim, being too perceptive for his own good, doesn’t look like he believes me, but he doesn’t push either. If I were someone who kept friends, I’d definitely count Tim as a friend. I know better though; most people don’t hang around depression. Affixing a better smile on my face, I return to my task. Once I complete that, I notice the bar is starting to fill up, so Tim and I divide sides and get to work.

I can feel a gaze on the side of my face, and I look over to the far side of the bar. Fuck. He’s here again today. I wish he would stop. He’s here every damn weekend and today is not a day I can handle him being here. Thankfully, he is on Tim’s half of the bar, and I don’t have to talk to him. My heart is racing and giving into the urge to cry is incredibly tempting, but this job is more important than my mental breakdown. I can do this. I can make it through the shift.

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