Page 40 of If It Can't Be Us

I don’t really want to go into the details of my past, not just because I don’t want to talk about it, but because I don’t want to overshadow her night of remembering Ben. I form a small smile and let a chuckle escape.

“Oh, Walker,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m just as fucked up as everyone else. Isn’t that what you predicted the first night we met?” I flash her a full grin. Tonight, I’ll give her a half-truth.

Chapter 11

VIVIAN

I lie there, my head resting on Leo’s lap, searching his face for any sign of humanity. I’ve just bared my soul to him, leaving myself exposed and raw with emotion. My face, I can only imagine, is a wretched mess—puffed and blotchy from crying. His hands gently tangle in my hair, and though there’s nothing sexual about this moment, it’s the most intimate I’ve been with anyone since Ben. I swallow back the lump in my throat, terrified of the emotions brewing inside me, ready to spill over again at any moment. Leo smiles softly, a quiet laugh escaping his lips as he reassures me that he’s just as human as the rest of us. Then his expression turns somber, his gaze fixed on the shimmering lights reflected in the river. He looks like he’s reaching for a distant memory, unsure if he really wants to find it.

The suspense is killing me. Part of me yearns for him to share something so horrific that it makes my problems seem insignificant by comparison. Yet, another part of me hopes his life is perfect because I wouldn’t wish this kind of pain on anyone, especially someone I care about.

He sighs, swallows, and stares straight ahead. “Every woman that I’ve ever loved has either left me, cheated… or died.” His face remains emotionless, his voice almost monotone. He doesn’t break his stare, barely even blinks. My heart skips a beat, or possibly stops beating altogether. His words hang heavy in the air, weaving a tapestry of sorrow and betrayal that I can’t fathom.

Without thinking, I hear myself whisper, “What?”

He looks down at me then, emotion threatening to surface. He swallows it down, blinks a few times, and then goes back to staring at the river.

“I had a twin sister… Chloe.” Her name brings a fleeting smile to his lips. “God, she was great. She was my best friend. She was diagnosed with leukemia when she was twelve. Fought hard for over a year—enduring all the chemo, the pain, the tears, and the suffering. I sat with her through it all, holding her hand every minute. She beat it. After eighteen months, she beat it. That was one of the best days of my life, when they looked at her and told her the cancer was gone.” He pauses, trying to regain his composure. He clears his throat and continues, “Three years later, it came back… with a vengeance. She was always so positive, so happy… she had so much faith in her ability to get better. She was so strong.” He tries to smile as he looks at me. “You remind me of her sometimes. Your strength and ability to stay positive, even when I know you’re fighting a battle of your own.

“Anyway… she died six months later. The cancer ultimately won. When you tell me that you wonder why it was Ben and not you, trust me when I say I empathize completely. Chloe was the good one. She was kind and honest, had integrity, and followed all the rules. I was a mess—a rebellious teenager, getting into trouble and fighting anyone who would fight me, verbally or physically.”

I glance up at him, seeing the ghost of his past in his eyes. It’s hard to reconcile this image with the composed man I know. My heart aches for the boy he once was, lost and angry.

“Chloe didn’t deserve to die… they never do, the ones who are taken from us. They never deserve it.”

I don’t know what to say, and I get a glimpse of what people must feel when they find out about my situation. There is nothing you can say to make it better. I do know, however, what not to say. Abruptly sitting up, I turn my body to face him. “I’m sorry,” I say. It’s all I can say.

He looks at me, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “It’s okay,” he replies, giving me a slight nod. “It was a long time ago.” Hiswords are meant to reassure, but I can see the lingering pain in his eyes, a silent testament to the wounds that time hasn’t fully healed.

I scoot my body over to the chaise section of the sofa and pat it, beckoning for him to join me. He slides over, extends his legs onto the chaise, and I settle my body against his and pull the blanket over us. For reasons unknown, I just want to hold him… or for him to hold me—I’m unsure. But I want to be close to him. I want to feel his chest rising and falling with each breath, to hear his heartbeat against my ear, and to feel his strength enveloping me… his muscles wrapped around my body, keeping me safe.

“Thank you for telling me about your sister,” I say. I feel him nod above me, but he doesn’t say anything.

We lie there in silence, staring into the night, holding each other, the deepest, darkest parts of ourselves exposed—two friends who finally have an inkling of understanding each other. The night is still around us, Florence and the Machine playing in the background, mingling with the gentle rustle of the blanket as Leo starts running his fingers up and down my back.

“Tell me something. Something I don’t know about you.” His voice is deep, and the vibration hums along the side of my face, resonating through my bones.

“Like what?” I ask, my voice soft, as I mechanically start to stroke my fingers along his chest, following the patterns he traces on my skin.

“Something fun or unique about you.” He can’t see the grin that spreads across my face as I think about something random to share.

“Hmmm… let me think.” My hand lowers to his abdomen. God, these abs are made of steel, and I can feel the ripple of muscles through his shirt. The thought sends a tingling sensation through my body, but I strive to push it from my mind, because… you know, we’re friends.

“I love music,” I say. “Like, really love it. I think it can define any moment or feeling, and I have a playlist for everything. I have playlists for when I’m sad, for when I’m happy, for when it rains, when I run, when I lift weights, when I’m mad, for getting ready—I even have playlists for sex. And then I have playlists for each year and season. Each song can takeme right back to where I was in that moment and why I put it on the playlist.”

He chuckles, and I feel his abs compress and release. “What kind of music do you have on these playlists?”

“Oh gosh, everything. I had a friend tell me once that I have the most random mix of music he’s ever seen. Everything from Tom Petty to Morgan Wallen to Jack Harlow. Literally, every genre.”

“What’s on the sex playlist?” he asks, his voice low, vibrating in his chest.

“Ha, wouldn’t you like to know. That’s the last thing I’m telling you. You’ll start blasting my incredibly sexy playlist while you’rebangin’hot chicks next door, and I’ll be forced to listen.” I shake my head. “No, no, that’s not something I’m sharing with you,” I tease. But as I say it, the thought of him with other women sends a rush of envy through my body, a feeling I’ve never experienced until now. I try to laugh it off, but the jealousy gnaws at me, unexpected and unsettling.

“Your turn,” I say, “tell me something fun about you that I don’t know.”

“Okay. Let’s see, I’ve watchedFriendsfrom start to finish at least a dozen times.”

My brows knit together, “Really? I didn’t pin you as aFriendskind of guy. I’ve only seen some of it, it wasn’t as big for my generation.”

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