ANDI

I can’t believe I went to dinner with Fabian. I had spent two days prior to the dinner alternating with heck no and why the heck not? Casey and Lionel both tried to persuade me not to do it; they obviously saw scenarios I had not anticipated, but neither of them had guessed the scenario that played out. It was as if the Fabian that had taken me out to dinner that night was a different man. The easy and playful gaze he had shown me on the few occasions we had met was gone. In its place was an intense and demanding look that bordered on possessive. To say it rubbed me the wrong way was an understatement. It pissed me off. Decker had never looked at me that way; his gaze had been nothing but playful and adoring. Once my mind had drifted down that path, I wanted to see Decker more than anything. I needed to see him. I needed the full explanation that Casey and Lionel suggested I should hear. When I could no longer bear Fabian’s leering eyes or insistence to talk about himself, I told him that I wanted to leave to go find Decker. Any sign of interest was immediately gone and replaced with a look of sheer loathing. I should have known when we pulled in front of the club that things had just gone from uncomfortable to downright wrong. Fabian wasted no time in dragging me past the long line of patrons who were clearly outraged when we were ushered straight through. I was literally thrust through a doorway in the back of the club and was face to face with Decker and Melody who was on her knees, his cock in her hands. Bile had immediately risen in my throat. My heart that had been cracked on the surface by Decker’s lies and callous words, shattered. It was no longer intact, but now broken into a million tiny shards that cut and scraped against the walls of my chest, causing more pain than I ever thought possible. Punching Fabian had been the one, single, most satisfying thing I had done in the past forty-eight hours. It was worth the broken bone in my hand, and it was worth the itchy, uncomfortable, yet now colorful cast that I was stuck with for four weeks.

I glanced down at the work of art I now wore. Casey and Lionel had spent a great deal of time painting it into a beautiful piece of art that was supposed to bring joy to my heart when I looked at it. Instead, it brought pain. Memories of betrayal, memories of that night. It had been two weeks since that night. Two miserable, heart wrenching, sickening weeks, where every little thing around me seemed to have lost its brilliance and wonder. Everything felt darker, and it didn’t help that a dreary rain had settled in over New York, casting it into a cool gloom. Food tasted bland, my clothes looked dreary, and my lucky boots that I wore anywhere and everywhere were tossed under my bed. Decker loved those boots, so it made it harder to look at them. My landscaped lady parts reminded me of Decker too, so I studiously avoided looking there as I showered and dressed. Casey and Lionel had tried everything to break me from the depression that was dragging me under. This was how I had felt after my father had died. Defeated, crushed, like the world had finally delivered the blow that would break me. Not even a twenty-four hour WAGathon with wine, cheese, and crackers could pull me from my mood. The doors to The Book Shelter wouldn’t have even opened if Decker’s mom hadn’t turned up on my doorstep three days after she helped set my broken hand. Apparently she had managed to attain from Decker a little of what had happened, but not the full story. I wasn’t about to repeat it. I was doing everything I possibly could to forget about it. She dressed my cast in a waterproof bag and forced me into the shower. Then she made me soup which made me cry. No one had ever made me soup. Then she helped me open the store and even hung around to make coffee and chat with my regulars. Having her there made me miss Decker even more though. So, two weeks later I had not heard a peep from Decker, not that I imagined for a moment I would. Casey, Lionel, and I were lounging on my couch watching Debra Messing in The Wedding Date. Yesh, it just made me think of HIM all over again.

“You’re nothing at all like Debra,” Casey murmured in a contemplative tone.

I slapped him with the back of my uncast hand. “I am too. I am everything Debra embodies. A successful, beautiful, independent red head. Especially the independent part, I got that down.”

“You’re more Isla than Debra,” Lionel added.

“Isla Fisher?” I wondered out loud.

“Ohhhhhh, yeah, just like Isla in Wedding Crashers!” Casey enthusiastically joined in.

“Are you suggesting I am crazy?” I balked.

“Not at all, sweet pea,” Lionel said, patting my thigh in an effort to placate me.

“You’ve just got that whole I-don't-care-what-anyone-else-thinks attitude going on. You rock the whole go and get em’, tiger motto,” Casey said, smiling with that devilishly handsome smile he used so well.

“She’s fifty shades of cray cray in that movie,” I huffed.

“She’s a beautiful free spirit who sees something she wants and goes for it,” Casey clarified.

I snorted. “Uh huh. You just wait, Wedding Crashes Two will have Vince cheating on her and crushing her heart into smithereens.”

“Glad to see Negative Nancy has joined us for the movie,” Lionel mumbled.

“If you don’t like the company, you know where the door is!” I snapped. Yeah, I was also rockin' Angry Alice right now. I felt rather than heard the joint sigh from either side of me. Now I felt guilty. All they were trying to do was cheer me up, and I was making it difficult. I didn’t mean to; I simply couldn’t shake off the gloom sticking to my skin. A loud pounding on the door downstairs caught my attention.

“I’ll get it!” sang Casey, scrambling from the couch in what I suspected was a chance to get away from my pessimism.

Lionel tucked me under his arm, and I snuggled in. I didn’t feel like visitors, and I knew Casey would take care of it. The familiar murmur of a guy’s voice coming up the stairs to the apartment caught my attention though. I turned out of Lionel’s embrace and lounged over the back of the couch. When that familiar face appeared at the top of the stairs, the one that had been absent from my life for so long, well, the water works started all over again. Bradley dropped his bag and opened his arms. I scrambled in a not so elegant fashion over the top of the couch and ran into his comforting hug.

“Andi girl, I’m here to cut a pair of Steele balls off,” he murmured into my ear. That got something between a laugh and a sob from me.

“I missed you,” I said through clenched teeth.

Bradley and I had always been close, as good as brother and sister. The last time I saw him was the quick trip he made home for my father’s funeral. He hadn’t changed a bit. His blonde hair was still a mess. Lean, athletic, and tall, he was handsome and had garnered the attention of many girls, when Decker wasn’t around. Decker drew the limelight wherever he went, sucking all the attention away from Bradley and onto himself.

“Oh, I love a happy reunion,” Casey sobbed from beside us. I pulled my head away from Bradley’s comforting embrace to see Casey dabbing at his watery eyes.

“You knew he was coming?” I asked Casey, shocked.

“Decker arranged it,” he admitted as Bradley tried to shush him.

“Oh,” I murmured.

“I knew something was up with you the last time we spoke, and I knew it had something to do with him. I still haven’t heard the full story, but Decker told me I should come back. He told me you needed me, and we all know you are too stubborn to speak up for yourself.”

“It’s got nothing to do with stubborn and everything to do with pride,” I muttered.

“Stubborn pride,” Lionel reiterated from the couch behind us.

“It’s a shame you two are related. You’d make a cute couple,” Casey said, walking off toward the kitchen. He spun back around to face us. “Are you first cousins, because if you’re not first cousins then it’s completely legal!” Bradley and I pushed off each other and ewwed at Casey’s suggestion. “You do know there are states where marrying your first cousin is legal?”

“Casey, stop being so queer, and I don’t mean queer as in gay, I mean it as downright unbalanced and kooky. You’re freaking Bradley out and he just got here.” Bradley was moving around, poking around my apartment. Lionel, in the meantime, was dragging Casey out of the kitchen.

“Home time, my kooky little queer.”

Casey objected until Lionel whispered something in his ear, then he turned into a pile of compliant mush.

“Holler if you need anything,” Casey called as he was led away.

“So,” Bradley said as he finally turned to face me.

“So,” I echoed him like a thoughtless parrot.

“I’ve come all this way...do I get an explanation other than Decker’s, ‘I fucked up’?”

I shrugged. A part of me wanted to tell Bradley everything. But that other part of me, that womanly part of me that couldn’t help but care and love wanted to protect Decker.

“He fucked up,” I mumbled.

“Uh huh, I got that part loud and clear.” My lips quirked into a small smile. Bradley’s accent had been twisted into some weird and wacky hybrid of an American and British lilt. “What did he do exactly, just so I know how badly I need to beat him?” I sighed. Bradley was not the beating type. He was more of the pay someone else to beat him type.

“I’m a big girl, Bradley, I can take care of myself. I don’t need you defending my honor.” His eyes dropped to my cast and I shuffled nervously under his scrutiny.

“I see that.”

“Oh stop being a jerk! He’s your best friend. Aren’t you supposed to be standing up for him or something?”

Bradley’s eyes softened. “He’s my best friend, which means he should have known better, he did know better. The way he spoke about you…” Bradley pushed a hand through his messy blonde locks. “He’s never talked about a woman like that before. I thought this was different.”

My heart broke with the deep seated craving for Decker to see me as something more. But he didn’t because if he had, he wouldn’t have had his porn on the side the entire time he was dating me. “So, to whom do I owe the pleasure of beating the ever loving shit out of for that?” He nodded toward my cast.

“Stop threatening to beat people up, you couldn’t beat a one legged man in an ass kicking contest.” Bradley tried his best to scowl at me, truly he did, but he just didn’t have scowl in him. It ended up being a look caught somewhere between constipation and breaking wind. “Oh come on, you’re like The Godfather, you don’t get your hands dirty.”

His pained effort to look pissed off disappeared under his easy going, dimpled smile. “The Godfather, I like that. You sure know how to recover quickly from crushing a man’s ego.” I shrugged as I began fumbling around the kitchen in an effort to make us coffee. Bradley brushed me aside and took over. “So, aside from the obvious trouble you’ve been having with one particular male wanker, how are things?”

“What’s a wanker?” I wondered out loud.

“A dickhead.”

“Then why didn’t you just say dickhead?”

Bradley cast me an exasperated look. “Anyone would think it’s Decker you are related to; you’re both cast from the same bloody mold.” The mention of Decker’s name made my stomach roll. The look Bradley cast me from over his shoulder was full of sympathy, but it quickly disappeared as he changed the subject. “What about the store, how’s it going?”

I was thankful for the reprieve. “Good. Actually great. The store already had a small following, but throw in a stack of new books and some great coffee and people actually come from far and wide.”

“Your dad would be proud,” Bradley said as he turned my way.

I shrugged under the praise I was unaccustomed to. “He always told me not to follow my dreams, but to chase them down and wrap my arms around them nice and tight. I might have taken a couple of wrong turns, but I eventually caught ‘em.” Bradley ruffled my hair like one might do a dog. I tried to dodge the brotherly affection, but he wasn’t having it.

“So,” he threw an arm around my shoulders and drew me into his side, “I have one best friend that I need to pay someone to beat up, and I need to pay someone to teach you how to throw a decent punch. I also heard you need a new accountant.”

My jaw dropped. “You already know what happened?”

He shrugged. “Between the gossips you live next door to and Decker’s mom, I think I’ve figured most of it out. There are a few holes, like how you ended up outside a club in the middle of the night sucker-punching some schmuck accountant?”

Bradley waited for an explanation I wasn’t going to give. “Fine, whoever I pay to beat up Decker will just have to torture the information out of him.”

I rested my head against Bradley’s sturdy chest. “Don’t mess him up too much, Bradley. This is as much my fault as it is his. I knew what I was getting into. Heck, Decker even warned me he’d never been in a real relationship. It’s not like I walked into this with blinders on.”

Bradley moved me aside so he could glare at me with those big brown eyes of his. This was the closest I had ever seen him come to a really good scowl. It was still a little pained looking, but I could tell he was serious and I didn’t want to laugh at him in response.

“Don’t do that, don’t protect him. What kind of bullshit is that? He warns you he’s going to fuck up? That’s not cool, Andi! Decker knows the damn difference between right and wrong, and if he didn’t think he could get it right with you in the first place then he damn well shouldn’t have touched you!” Bradley shook his head in frustration. “It was the same with your dad. You were forever defending him, yet he lived with his head in the clouds and barely acknowledged your presence.”

A little growl rumbled from my chest and I pushed Bradley, hard. He stumbled, but it wasn’t like it was hard to make Bradley stumble, he was your consummate lover not a fighter. He more than likely has never even clenched his fist let alone hit someone.

“Don’t bring my dad into this,” I snarled.

Bradley had the good presence of mind to look ashamed as he held up two hands in a surrendering gesture. “You’re right. That was low. I’m sorry.” He picked up his coffee. “About your dad, not Decker.” Bradley grimaced as he took a sip. “Decker has issues. He’s never really connected emotionally to a woman before and that can’t be good for your mental stability. Any man that can fuck women for money has to have a Pandora’s Box full of baggage.” He cast me a nervous sideways glance. “Sorry.”

I shrugged. What could I say? When he put it like that, I had to agree, but during the short time I had spent with Decker, I never thought of him as emotionally stunted. Our connection seemed real and effortless. His smiles with me were real, the laughter he created was honest. He looked at me with such wonder and awe. God, he looked at me like he loved me. The way our relationship had ended didn’t make sense; it left me missing the closure I needed to move forward. I felt bewildered, lost, and I missed Decker so bad it hurt. Much like I had been Decker’s first real emotional connection to a member of the opposite sex, he had been mine. My adult relationships had numbered three and each of them had been disasters in their own right. Decker was the first man I could honestly see a future with, the first man I dared to dream of a future with. What was I supposed to do when the very person who broke my heart appeared to be the only one who could fix it?