Page 17 of Salvaged Heart

17

ANDERS

“ M y name is Anders, and I am an addict.” A murmur of Hi Anders rippled around the room. I wasn’t sure what had encouraged me to stand. The meeting had been wrapping up, but an unknown force pulled me to my feet. I drew in a deep, grounding breath, testing the sentence in my mind before allowing the words to roll off my tongue. “I have been an addict for almost nine years, and… I will be an addict until the day I die.”

I paused, letting out the weight of it all in a long sigh. These truths were all things I knew deeply about myself, yet saying them out loud to a room filled with strangers took a whole other level of bravery I didn’t know if I had.

No, not strangers, allies.

“But as of today, I am twenty-six days sober, and for the first time ever, I feel like I can actually do this. That I might survive this…that I want to.” A wave of soft claps chorused around the room, the encouragement lighting a new fire under me. “Tonight was a difficult one for me, and in the past, it would have been enough to make me use again…but instead, I found myself here with all of you.”

My hands fussed nervously with the hem of my shirt, rolling the cotton between my fingertips, my stare burning a hole through the fabric. Eight pairs of kind eyes looked back at me expectantly, eager to hear anything I had to share with them even as the minutes ticked by, and I remained frozen in silence. “So, thank you.” I finished abruptly, taking my seat.

“Thank you, Anders.” A kind-looking, older gentleman, who had introduced himself as Mark when I arrived, said from opposite me in our tight circle of chairs. It was a smaller gathering than the one Beckham and I usually made it to, being much later at night. Maybe that is where the confidence to get up and speak had come from. “Thank you for sharing with us.”

I gave him a tight smile and closed my eyes as the chairs around me emptied. The other members chatted with one another as they left. I'd made it here, made it to safety, but now the meeting was over, and the reality of the choices I still had yet to make was creeping back in. I could give myself five minutes. Five minutes to feel all the emotions spinning inside me like a hamster on a wheel, and after, I would do what I did best. Push all that weight down, package it up for later, stand up, and get back on my bike. Then, I’d do something I was less good at and face the consequences of my actions. I didn’t know where I'd go—nowhere wanted me after all—but if I could survive the night, the sun would rise tomorrow, and I would be strong enough to figure it out.

A familiar presence entered the room. My body hummed with every step he took until he appeared at my side. I wanted to jump to my feet and run. I wanted to jump to my feet and land in his arms. His hand hovered over my shoulder, not touching but comforting nonetheless, before he balled it into a fist and dropped it back to his side. I hated that this man who gave affection so freely now wouldn’t touch me.

I’d fucked everything up.

“I’m proud of you.” My entire being craved his company, his words of praise lighting me up, but the shame of what happened between us earlier still haunted me.

What had I been thinking?

Sure, Beckham came on to me, but I should have stopped it. I should have used the few brain cells I hadn’t killed off to tell him it was a bad idea, one he would regret the moment it was over. My brain kept replaying his face when we pulled apart, the look in his eyes, the way he parted his lips to tell me it had all been a mistake. A word I'd heard so often in my life up to this point that it barely did damage anymore.

“We need to talk.”

I knew it was coming, but that didn’t soften the overwhelming sense of dread that came with his words.

“Yeah, I know.”

We sat in silence for a few more minutes, words hovering on the edge of each of our tongues, but both of us lacked the confidence to be the first ones to let them fall. Part of me wanted to tell him what was in my heart, no matter how he received it, how much he regretted what happened between us. But the self-preservation inside me knew the right thing was to squash that down as deep as possible.

“I don’t know what came over me.” Each word stung as I pushed it out, my voice gravelly. “I can be gone by the weekend. Just give me a few days to find a place to go.”

He exhaled slowly, glancing at me from the corner of his eye. I forced myself not to turn and meet it, terrified of what I might find there.

“If that’s what you want.”

“It’s not, but it is what’s best.”

“Just to be clear, it’s not what I want either.” He swallowed hard. “And I don’t agree that it’s best, at least not for me, but I will help get you somewhere safe if what you need is space.”

The words hung between us, heavy and full of a million things left unsaid. I finally relented and met his ice-blue gaze. He looked so tired, eyes welling with emotion, hair tousled like he had run his fingers through it a thousand times. My palms tingled with the urge to reach out and fix it, gently brush each strand back into its usually carefully kept style. How could he look at me after what I did? How could he keep reaching out to me when I only ever pushed him away? Most importantly, why did I continue to let him past my cracked defense, allow him all these little broken-off pieces of me like some fucked up conciliation prize for his efforts.

“I would like you to stay,” he whispered, reaching a hand up to hesitantly rub my cheek, pausing before pressing his skin to mine, a question lingering in his expression. I nodded, gently leaning the rest of the way into his touch, allowing the soft swipe of his thumb over my cheekbone to soothe the restless, anxious feeling growing rampant in my chest.

“We can talk about it or pretend it never happened. Whatever you need. But…” His forehead came down to press against mine, grounding me. “Whatever that was doesn’t scare me. I wanted it— you —desperately, and I think I have for a while.”

“I don’t understand?” He couldn’t mean that. No one had ever meant that.

Not since Jonah.

Possibly not even Jonah.

“Me neither, but there’s something about you, Anders. Something I can’t look away from. Some kind of strange gravity that pulls me to you, and I don’t want to fight it anymore.”

“I can’t be what you need…”

“Just let me care for you then. If I crossed a line earlier, I’m sorry, I won’t do it again. But I don’t need anything from you, Anders. You don’t owe me anything you aren’t ready to give. I just want you to know I’m here for you in whatever capacity you’ll allow me to be. I am not afraid…”

A soft, breathy laugh left my lips. “That makes one of us.”

All those voices telling me I was useless, not enough, broken beyond repair, the wrong gamble to take, hung just outside my periphery, waiting for a split second of acknowledgment to take me down. Pull me into a never-ending spiral and spit me back out. But I pushed them away, moving before I lost the fragile courage I'd mustered, and pressed my lips to his.

This kiss was different from the last. Where initial hesitancy had quickly subsided to a frenzy of want, need, and untamable passion, now it was laced with a quiet, hungry desperation. It was slow, and soft, and… safe. It wrapped me up and held me close, a thousand possibilities flashing like a movie montage behind my closed eyelids. His hands cupped my face, and I held them in place like if either one of us let go, the entire world would come crumbling down. It was patient, unhurried, and so unbelievably right.

My heart was pounding in a rhythm that sounded suspiciously like his name. Beckham, Beckham, Beckham.

My mind harmonizing, y es, yes, yes.

Warm sunlight flooded through the windows, casting the room in a hazy glow. It was a little after ten am, but I'd been up for hours already, lost in memorizing all the details on Beck’s face. Counting each individual freckle that covered his nose—fourteen—then counted them again to ensure I hadn’t missed one. Transfixed by how his long, dark lashes fluttered with each breath. It was the kind of face you could spend hours learning and notice something new every time you looked at it.

The urge to grab my sketchbook and try to capture him, fast asleep, one long arm slung over my stomach, face half buried in my pillow, was strong, but the need to not disturb him was greater. We’d woken together most mornings, but this was the first time I hadn’t immediately wriggled away or tried to hide the fact we had spent the greater part of the night plastered against one another. I allowed myself just to look. It was also the first time I had woken to him cocooning me instead of the other way around.

Not much had been settled between us the previous evening. After the kiss that still tingled on my lips hours later, Mark interrupted us with a not-so-subtle throat-clearing and announced he really ought to be locking up and heading home. We rode back in silence, Kara trailing my bike until we turned onto the peninsula. Once inside, we changed quickly and tumbled into bed, falling asleep the moment our heads hit the pillow. The only contact was Beck’s palm resting over the covers on my thigh.

In a moment, I’d get up.

Just a few more minutes of soaking this in, feeling his warmth, believing that whatever was happening between us was bigger than a few stolen kisses. I’d allow myself a few more inhales of his cedar and bergamot scent. Feel a few more of his soft, warm breaths on my cheek. Run my fingers through his dark hair a couple more times. Keep the hundreds of questions I had spinning through my brain at bay for just five more minutes. Just be for a little bit…

“Morning, sleepy head.” Beckham’s smooth baritone pulled me from sleep. I hadn’t even remembered closing my eyes. “Or, I should say afternoon. It’s almost two already.” He chuckled. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you sleep this long.”

“I was awake.” I groaned, pulling the sheet back over my head, trying to block out the light.

“Sure seemed like it.” He tugged at the sheet, bringing it back down, and propped himself on his arm beside me. “How are you feeling?”

Confused, scared, obsessed with the way the outer ring of your iris is slightly darker than the inner, “Rested.”

“I’m glad.”

“You ready to put me to work?”

“I thought we could take the day off.”

Did he have to look at me that way? The intensity of his gaze was eating me alive, causing something to spool tightly in my gut. If we didn’t get out of this bed, I was in very real danger of mauling him again.

“Nah, the work’s good for me. Keeps me out of my head, you know?”

He nodded in understanding, running a finger up my face and brushing a curl from where it had fallen over my eyes. Every point of contact prickled in its wake.

“We should talk more. About last night.”

We should, but I wasn’t ready for that conversation. There were too many variables and factors to consider, but each and every one of them had the same ending. Beck and I could never be.

“I don’t think there is anything to say.” The words left my mouth as barely a whisper. “I am not stupid enough to think last night could be more than it was.”

“And what was last night? Don’t you dare say a mistake.”

“We were just caught up in the moment, letting off steam. I crossed a line.” He opened his mouth to interrupt me, but I held up a finger to his lips, pressing them closed, “I know you said I didn’t, but I did. You are unavailable, and I should have known better.”

“I think you are forgetting who kissed who.”

“Beckham, you are straight.”

“And you are presumptuous.”

I gave him a few exaggerated blinks in response.

“I don’t know how to label it, but I think we can both agree nothing about last night was straight behavior.”

I scoffed. “A hand job’s a hand job. It feels good no matter who gives it to you.” It was a blatant lie, but that was neither here nor there.

“We will have to disagree on that. It’s only ever been Laurel for me, but that doesn’t mean it could never be anyone else, female or otherwise. I don’t think gender has ever been important to me. It’s always been about something deeper.”

I gave myself a minute to let that wash over me, but the point was mute. “Which brings up the other part, Laurel? What the fuck, man? You cheated on my sister. I should kick your ass.”

I brought an extra pillow down on his head in a playful slap, and he gripped it tightly over him, muffling his words. “Yeah, I messed up.” He let out a long, frustrated sigh. “I’m going to end things with her. I’ve just got to figure out how to do it and stay here with you.”

End things? “No, you can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Beck, she is your future. You can’t throw that away because of a dumb mistake with me.”

The growl that ripped from his chest was almost feral. “I told you not to use that word.”

“But that’s what it was. You both have all these plans. She is your person. I won’t even be in your life a month from now.” The last few words came out in a choke of sudden emotion. But it was true, wasn’t it? The plan had never been for longer than the summer, and last night hadn’t changed that.

Beck looked like I'd just kicked his puppy. “ She has all the plans.”

“What?”

“Laurel has all these plans. I’m just along for the ride. I hitched my wagon to hers because it was easier to do so. I let her dreams become mine because I couldn’t come up with any of my own. But it’s only a matter of time before she realizes I’m not what she needs. That all those aspirations she has don’t require me.”

“So what? You’d throw away six years of your life over a kiss and a decent orgasm.”

“Try amazing.” His brief chuckle gave way to a wave of intensity crossing his face. “I didn’t come here this summer to help Laurel out. I came here to find myself and figure out what the next steps were for me now I don’t have baseball. And I think I have.”

“And that’s what, me?” It sounded foolish even as the words left my mouth.

He flashed me a wicked smile. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. That handy wasn’t that great.”

I rolled my eyes.

“But I have figured out that I can’t make someone else's dreams my own anymore, and that’s how it will always be with Laurel.”