“THIS IS WHAT I get.” I say the words aloud, as if somehow hearing them will make me accept them. “You’ve gone your whole adult life knowing this would happen, yet you still got caught up.”
My legs dangle off the countertop as I sit in the kitchen, smack dab in the middle of the island. Every now and then, the soles of my feet kick against the wooden cabinets and remind me I’m still sitting here. In the same place. For a couple of hours now. My ass is starting to hurt.
I’ve never sat and watched the sun move across the sky until tonight. It’s pretty cool. The colors change from blue to purple and pink and even a fiery orange for a moment. Shadows change, birds stop flying—it’s pretty incredible. You can also get kind of philosophical watching that shit.
Pondering where my life would sit if I were comparing it to a setting sun, I have to go with the tail end of the colored phase. Layla is, without a doubt, the brightest, most organic thing that’s ever happened to me. She’s lit my life with the most basic things, the most ordinary things, just like the colors a few moments ago reflecting off the kitchen windows. It’s things like candy apples and stupid jokes and private grins that I’ve never found anywhere else and can’t imagine ever sharing with anyone else either.
I’ve always thought if I ever found love, it would come in some big lightning strike. That some massive crack of thunder would happen and light would shine down from the heavens with a little arrow saying, “This is the one for you.”
Now I know, it doesn’t work that way.
Finding love happens at Water Festivals with sugar rushes. It happens in little deli shops over ham and cheese sandwiches. It happens on beaches with stories about grandmas and really listening to each other and making an attempt to understand the other person.
It’s choosing to be together because you don’t have to be. It’s walking away when you can’t be together for their own good, no matter how much it kills you.
This is heartache. This is the thing those Beau McCrae songs are talking about, the ones I love the beats to and got stuck in my head but had no way of identifying with the lyrics.
I get it. I get it all, and it hurts like a motherfucker.
A knock pounds on the door as I lift a bottle of Jameson to my lips. “Come in,” I shout, taking a long swallow of the liquor.
The door opens and shuts, and I don’t even bother to turn around to see who it is.
“You aren’t even locking your doors now? What the hell happened while I was pissed at you?” Finn’s voice rings through the room. His footsteps grow closer as I take another drink.
“I figured I’d leave it unlocked. Maybe someone will make my day.”
“That sounds like a Clint Eastwood reference.”
I shrug.
He strolls into the kitchen. His posture is tight, his eyes curious as he takes me in. “What the fuck happened to you?”
“Just life, man. Just life.”
“I saw the Exposé thing, if that’s what you’re talking about. Callum is a dead motherfucker.”
“I was sitting here plotting his demise.”
A smile begins to form on his lips, but doesn’t quite stretch. “How’d Layla take it? She won’t answer my calls.”
“She won’t take mine either.” I take another swig, the burn a nice distraction from the rest of the pain.
He leans against the sink, arms crossed in front of him. “You don’t believe that, right?”
“Nope.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
The door opens again, and this time, I look back. Poppy storms in, taking in Finn and I. “Hey, it was open. You don’t want me coming in, close the damn door.”
“Pop—” Finn starts, standing straight up.
“And you,” she says, pointing a finger at him, “can shut the fuck up.”
“You two still aren’t talking?” I say, looking from one to the other.
“He hasn’t apologized.”
“Poppy . . .” Finn all but whines. He’s desperate, and if he’s fighting it, it’s a sad, sad attempt. “Let’s talk.”
“I’m here to talk to Branch.”
“Can we talk after?”
“That is totally up to whether you want to be a man or not,” she shrugs, blowing him off. She turns to me. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I just left Layla’s,” she says, a hand on her hip. “And she said you left her.”
“You did fucking what?” Finn booms.
“Here we go again.” Poppy blows out a breath. “I’m going to give you a field goal for being hugely gentlemanly about this, something Finn could take a lesson from. But I’m taking away a touchdown because you’re stupid.”
“You left my sister?” Finn asks again, trying to catch up. “I’m not following along.”
“Then stop interrupting and listen,” Poppy advises.
“I was here first. You technically interrupted me,” he fires back.
“Both of you,” I say, slamming the Jameson on the counter. “Stop it. Fuck it out later, but I can’t listen to it.”
My head falls into my hands. Poppy rests her palm against my back, a gesture that’s well-meaning but feels wrong.
“I can’t do this to her,” I say, my words muffled. “We’ve talked about this before, Finn. This is why you and I fucked around. This is why we didn’t try to go the normal route with life because it’s not possible in this industry. Damn it.”
“I think you’re wrong,” Poppy offers. “I think you’re using an excuse because you’re afraid.”
“Afraid?” I laugh. “I’m afraid I’ll never find someone like her again. I’m terrified I’ll mess this up with her and it’ll hurt our child. But afraid of loving her? As wild as it sounds, I’m not.”
“Then go for it,” she insists. “Stop being a baby.”
“And soil her life with mine? Look at what’s happened. The kid isn’t even born yet and the media has presented it to be a bastard child,” I say, gritting my teeth. “I’ll be the same shit, different day tomorrow.”
Looking up, I see Finn watching Poppy. There’s a quiet confusion in his features. “Maybe you have to take some risks.”
He’s talking about me, but not to me. Those words were aimed right over my head to the little raven-haired sass that’s removing her hand from my back.
“Maybe things wouldn’t have worked out before,” Finn continues. “Sometimes we have to sort of get to the right spot, with the right person, to see the alternate routes that we couldn’t see before.”
Finn cocks his head to the side. “You left her because you wanted to protect her?”
“Yeah.”
“Then I’m taking away a touchdown and a safety for being a pussy.”
“What?” I say, scooting off the counter. “This will ruin her.”
“No, you not being with her will ruin her. All this shit? Did you forget how strong she is?” He looks at Poppy again. “I forgot, until someone reminded me.”
“That’s super sweet,” Poppy teases, “but I’m gonna need an apology.”
“I’m sorry, baby.”
She squeals, running towards him and wrapping her legs around his waist. “That took you long enough.”
“You’re so damn hard-headed.”
“Hey!” I say, shaking my head. “Can this be about me for like ten seconds? I don’t know what to do.”
“Strong women create new challenges and we’re gonna have to draw some new plays, Branch,” Finn says.
“That’s your plan? That’s all you got? This is your sister, one you’ve already punched me in the face—twice—over and you tell me to draw new plays? Can you at least, like, tell me to leave her alone or something?”
Finn kisses Poppy, and then, only reluctantly, does he pull his gaze away to me. “I always do what’s best for Layla.”
“I know.”
He grins. “So go get her, asshole.”
“But . . .”
“If you’d walk away from her to make her happy, that tells me you’d literally do anything to keep a smile on her face. So you go and do that while I use your guest bedroom to get reacquainted with my girl.”
As they walk out of the room, Poppy throws her head back and looks at me upside-down. “Make it good. Go get her and don’t give her another option but to say yes.”
To say yes . . .
I grab my keys and head to my car. The key in the ignition, I head out of my subdivision and onto the highway. Nowhere to go, no one to see, I just need space and fresh air before I do something really stupid.
Like the universe is playing some kind of game, everywhere I look, I see happy couples. Couples with children. Families skipping down the sidewalk. They’re everywhere, like it’s some kind of family day out.
As I stop at a light, I notice a little girl. She’s holding her father’s hand. Hair as blonde as the sun is pulled into two little pigtails with pink ribbons on each side. She looks up and smiles like she knows me, like she’s trying to tell me something. It’s eerie as hell.
The light changes to green and I hit the accelerator hard, my heart strumming wildly in my chest.
Part of my predicament is clear: I can’t half-ass it with Layla. It’s all or nothing, one way or the other. It needs to be nothing because that makes sense. It’s logical. It’s safe. But as I turn the corner, my tires screeching against asphalt in a totally not-safe fashion, I realize my mistake.
Sometimes that play that wins the game isn’t the safe one. It’s not the pass over the middle that will definitely get you ten yards. It’s the Hail Mary at the end that you toss up with nothing but a prayer.