Page 37 of Someone to Have (Skylark #3)

TAYLOR

I can’t remember a day when I’ve had more fun. To be honest, I’m not sure how I feel about that. Or the increasingly undeniable fact that Eric seems to be the center of my happiness.

It’s not just the physical chemistry between us, although inviting him into my bed this morning certainly started things right. He knows exactly what my body needs, which probably has less to do with our connection and more with his experience.

It’s easier to tell myself that than to believe the two of us together make it so special.

When Rhett eventually woke up, I made pancakes for all of us. Yes, they were from a box mix, but I still made them and only burned the first few. Neither of my guys seemed to mind. And double yes, I consider both of them my guys.

After breakfast, we bundled up again and headed to the popular sledding hill outside of town, picking up Rhett’s hockey buddy on the way. Being a Colorado native, it’s easy to take the beauty surrounding you for granted.

Skylark is only an hour from some great ski mountains with groomed sledding hills and mechanized runs.

But Widener Hill is special. It’s a place only locals go.

It’s not just one hill, but a series of them.

There are a few steep slopes, while the gentler runs are popular with families.

It’s not odd to see packs of toddlers waddling around in their snowsuits, colorful versions of the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man.

Today, some enterprising middle schoolers set up a hot chocolate booth, and the local crepe truck even made an appearance. Mike’s mom sent us with enough sleds for everyone, and my throat and belly hurt from laughing and screaming down the runs.

I didn’t like the cold when I was younger. That’s the excuse I often gave for why I didn’t spend hours in the rink with my parents and siblings. Sometimes, I felt like Kevin from Home Alone . My family never forgot me. I just didn’t belong, so it was easier to leave me behind.

Today with Eric was different. I never made it down a full run without losing my balance and tumbling into the snow.

But while Toby and Elise would have given me grief for my lack of coordination, Eric dusted me off, cheered me on, and high-fived me at the bottom, assuring me that I did great.

He really is an amazing coach, but it’s so much more than that.

We took a hot chocolate break and shared a Bananas Foster crepe while we waited for the boys. Eric also called in an order for wings, and we picked them up on the way back to the apartment.

I could tell both of them were nervous about having Mike to the apartment, and it broke my heart a little. They were worried about what a teenager would think of their life in a way that tells me neither of them grew up having friends over.

I guess when your childhood is marked by instability and homes that don’t feel like home, inviting someone in becomes terrifying.

I grew up in a house constantly buzzing with activity.

It got a lot quieter once Toby and Elise left for college, but Toby brought home teammates often enough that my parents didn't get too used to the quiet.

I always liked the down times, even when no one else did .

As soon as I get back to my apartment to change clothes, my phone rings. It’s a FaceTime call from Sloane, so I hit the accept button and drop onto the couch.

“Whoa, did you just get back from a run?” she asks. “Your cheeks are positively rosy.” I place a hand on my cheek, which still feels cool to the touch.

“I went sledding.”

Sloane’s face has more life in it today, less of that hollow look that scared me so much before. But the IV pole still next to the chair she’s sitting in makes my heart ache.

“Outside?”

“That’s normally how it’s done,” I answer with an eye roll.

“You don’t do winter sports.”

“It’s part of making myself more confident,” I say even though mainly it was fun.

“With Bryan?”

“With Eric Anderson.”

“The manwhore with?—”

“He’s not like that.”

She blinks slowly, studying me through the camera. “What’s he like?” she asks softly.

“Nice,” I answer weakly. “We’re friends.”

“The kind with benefits?” she whispers.

I look away as if someone off camera is distracting me. Mostly it’s the way my heart is flinging itself against my rib cage like it wants to reveal all my secrets. “It’s complicated,” I say after a few long moments.

“Because you're falling for someone who scares the living crap out of you?” She raises an eyebrow, and I realize I've walked right into that one.

I deflect by nodding toward the IV pole, where a clear bag drips steadily into the port in her chest. “Speaking of things that are hard to judge—how's treatment this week?”

“Better than I expected, honestly. The nausea isn't as brutal as it was during the last round, and I’m still on track to be discharged in time to be home for the play.” She gestures around her room with its cheerful but clinical décor.

“The doctors say my blood counts look good. If I stay on track, I should be in maintenance therapy in a few months.”

I nod, trying not to let my relief show too obviously.

When Sloane first got sick, none of us knew what to expect.

Having her hospitalized again and in need of a transfusion sent the book club into a panic.

But she’s tackling treatment with the same stubborn determination she brought to everything else.

“And your brother's on board with you coming back to Colorado?”

She makes a face. “I’m not giving him a choice. The guy claims to be anti-marriage and kids, but he hovers over me like a Hulk-sized mother hen.”

The words might sound like a complaint, but I can tell Sloane appreciates the attention, even if it’s a bit smothering.

It makes me think about Eric. He’s made a few comments about not being fit for any type of parenting role or commitment, but his actions give a completely different vibe. I can’t help but wonder if relationships are something he made off limits in his head and heart because of how he was raised.

Like how my own shyness and fear of almost everything—but particularly letting myself be seen—has been like walking through life with a giant Macy’s Day Parade float tethered to my waist, holding me back every time a new wind whips up.

With his help, I’ve poked a few holes in the balloon. I’m still dragging it around, but it’s kind of sagging. Maybe after opening night, if things go okay, I’ll finally be able to cut ties with it once and for all.

“I’m glad Jeremy’s there for you, Sloane. If you ever need it, I’d be happy to take time off and fly to Nashville. Any of us would, but I’ve got weeks of personal days banked.”

“Thanks.” She smiles. “It means a lot when I know how much you hate flying.”

“Not that much. I’ll book a ticket tomorrow.” Even though panic flutters in my belly—knowing the last time I was supposed to get on a plane, I couldn’t do it—I smile. “I can do hard things. We all can.”

“I’ll be home before you know it,” she says.

“Hey, I DM’d Kristen Quinn about coming to the library or the bookstore for a reading.”

Her eyes brighten. “Did you hear back?”

I shake my head. “But I’m sure she saw the message. Has she responded to you?”

“Not yet. I’m not giving up, though. By the time we’re through our book club bucket list challenge, I know I’m going to convince her to come to Skylark for a meeting.”

“She can Zoom in,” I suggest. “That might be a lower bar to entry.”

“I want to give her a hug,” Sloane says. “I mean, not enough that I’m going to go to California to stalk her, but we’ve got lots of time.”

Tears prick the back of my eyes at those words. I know the past few months have been hard for Sloane, and I’m glad to see her regaining some of her optimism and spirit.

“So tell me about this sledding adventure,” she commands. “Why were you with the hottie hockey god and not Bryan Connor?”

I laugh then cough to cover it. When I think about spending a snowy day with Bryan, it’s with us reading on opposite sides of the couch.

Maybe our feet are touching? Then I imagine the likelihood of him lecturing me because the book I’ve chosen is a smutty mafia romance, not some classic tome or recent work of literary genius.

Nope, that wouldn’t happen because the book would be on my e-reader. He wouldn’t see. He wouldn’t have to know. And if he asked me about it, I could tell him?—

“That wasn’t supposed to be a difficult question,” Sloane says, sounding confused. “Did our connection go out? Did I lose you?”

I blink and snap my attention back to the phone screen. “Like I said, we’re friends.”

“But you want something more?”

If anyone else asked me that question, I’d straight-up lie without a second thought. But Sloane’s cancer feels like a lasso of truth around my waist. With everything she’s battled, and her vulnerability with us, it doesn’t seem fair to hold back to save myself some humiliation.

“I fell in love with the wrong guy.” I keep my voice low, like somebody’s going to overhear, but the words spill out like water over the edge of an overfilled bucket.

“Why is it wrong to love him?” She leans forward, matching her volume to mine.

“I don’t date guys like Eric and they definitely don’t fall for women like me. Never ever. Besides, he’s leaving once his sister finishes her treatment.” I swallow, this part being the hardest to admit. “I know he doesn’t feel the same.”

“Did he tell you that?”

“Sloane, he’s coaching me on how to get with Bryan. If Eric had feelings for me, he wouldn’t do that.”

“If he thinks it’s what you want and he cares about you, maybe he would.”

I wish I could believe that. I close my eyes and try to rein in the thoughts and emotions tumbling through my brain. Not just my brain but my heart as well.

“You said Eric is different than his reputation,” Sloane says gently. “Or he’s trying to be. Just like you, Taylor.”

I open my eyes and let her see every bit of fear I feel in my gaze.

There’s no point in hiding it now. “I don’t want to be hurt or give my family another excuse to think I can’t measure up to the Maxwell standards.

What’s happening between us doesn’t mean anything.

” I wave my hand like it can shoo away my doubts.

“What exactly is happening?” She waggles her eyebrows. “Sexy-times stuff?”

“I’m not discussing this.” I roll my eyes. “You know he’s coaching me.”

Sloane snorts. “He’s a sex coach?”

“No, but…” I ignore the way my cheeks flame. “But being with him is helping my confidence. It’s making me feel like I’m worth wanting.”

“It’s only natural you’d fall for the man who makes you feel that way.”

“He could make a brick wall feel that way. It’s his superpower. It doesn’t make me special.”

“Whoa.” She holds up a hand in front of the camera.

“Damn right it doesn’t. You don’t need any man to make you feel special.

You’re special just by being you. The point of the bucket list challenge isn’t to turn you into someone different.

It’s to help you see who you’ve been all along. Like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz .”

I breathe out a disbelieving laugh. “Yeah?”

“ Yeah. So get yourself some damn ruby slippers,” she says, like I can order them online and they’ll show up at my doorstep tomorrow morning to make everything better. “Sweetie, if Eric is the guy you want, tell him how you feel. Give him a chance to be your person.”

I cover my face with my hands. “I don’t think I can. Besides, I’m having drinks with Bryan on Friday, which was the goal from the start. Eric’s coaching has done what it’s supposed to. The guy I want to be interested in me is interested.”

She shakes her head. “But he’s not the guy you want anymore.”

“I could want him. I should want him. Eric’s going to leave in a couple of weeks. And it doesn’t matter whether I’m wearing ruby slippers or snow boots. I’m going to go back to just being...me. ”

“You’re enough,” she insists, and I wish I could believe her.

I shrug. “I’ve been here before, Sloane. I know how this story ends.”

“You can’t know?—”

“My first time was with a guy on the high school hockey team,” I blurt out.

I've never told anyone this before. Not my parents, not my siblings, not even my closest friends. I've spent years pretending I didn't date athletes because I thought they were jerks. It's easier to let everyone think I'm being a snob than admit I got my heart shattered by one of them.

“Oh, honey.”

“We were in the same grade, and he was super nice. Different than my brother and his meatstick buddies. Dad used to help out with the team, even after Toby graduated. He asked me to tutor this player—Jason. He was nice and funny and cute. He didn’t pretend not to know me in the halls like most hockey guys did.

And when stuff happened, I thought it meant something. ”

I bite down on the inside of my cheek when familiar ache spreads through my chest. “He never made any promises, just like Eric.” I force myself to smile.

“But I let my desire, imagination, and a stupid, foolish heart get in the way of things, and it almost broke me. What if that same thing happens with Eric?”

“This isn’t high school, Taylor.”

“I know,” I whisper. “Which makes it ten times worse. I’m afraid if I say anything, I’ll lose Eric as a friend. I like being his friend almost as much as I like being in love with him. I don’t want to jeopardize that.”

She points her finger at the camera. “If you don’t risk, there’s no reward.”

“That’s not always true.” I shake my head. “There’s a lot of reward with Pop-Tarts, and they are very low risk.”

She bursts out laughing. “Only you, Tay-tay.”

“What can I say? I’m a simple girl. ”

Sloane seems to consider that. “Maybe you’re making love too complicated.

I’m no expert, because I have shit taste in guys, but you look happy.

If there’s anything the big C has taught me so far, it’s that we don’t give happiness its due often enough.

I can’t wait to see you on that stage. And not because I’m suddenly a fan of community theater. ”

“Community theater is awesome,” I interrupt with jazz hands.

“Agree to disagree,” Sloane concedes. “I want to see your face when you check that challenge off your bucket list. And if Eric makes you happy, you can’t discount that.”

“It won’t make me happy when he leaves,” I say. “Or when he breaks my heart.”

“Risk and reward,” Sloane reminds me, then glances away from the camera. “I need to go, okay? But I’ll check in again.” She winks at me. “For the record, I don’t think those rosy cheeks and your glow are just from the cold.”

She’s right, of course. If Sloane can read me so easily through her computer, I wonder if it’s that obvious to everyone. How am I going to pump the brakes on falling when my feelings are gaining speed like a runaway train barreling down heartbreak mountain?