Sam
SHE NEEDED TIME and time was a fucking deep thorn in my side.
I watched it pass by, year after year. Let it slip through my fingers because there was no way to hold on to it or make it stop.
Seventeen years. I’d been in love with London Monroe for sixteen and a half of them. I considered those first six months when we were kids a grace period. I was a rowdy young boy getting accustomed to a frilly little girl, until I finally came to accept that one day that little girl would turn into a woman. The only woman I ever truly loved. The only woman I ever wanted for myself.
When I gave her her first kiss, I thought I sealed the deal for us. Maybe she only thought I was coaching her that day, a practice shot before the real deal. But no. For me, that kiss—the one and only time I ever had those beautiful, succulent lips—was the real deal. Yeah, we were young, like really fucking young, but I knew then that there was no one like London. Even at that age, I was certain I would never find another girl like her.
And my young punk self was right! Now I was a man with many years, many kisses, and many other women since. I’d searched far and wide—I’d been to the other goddamn side of the world, for Christ’s sake—and no matter where I was, or who I was with, not a single woman in this world compared to my London.
My London. But she wasn’t mine. I thought I could change that, though. When she called me to tell me what Hunter did, my first impulse was to drop everything and get back to her. She needed me. If there was ever a time when she needed me, it was then. No, she needed me the whole fucking year I was gone. And I lost my chance to prove that to her because of a stupid decision that didn’t matter now anyway.
I left because I had no purpose here anymore. I left because the opportunity arose and I thought, Yeah. Why not? She’s with someone else. What’s holding me back? I have nothing keeping me here and I can’t sit back and love her from afar. So, I put even more distance between us in hopes of finally coming to terms with it. London would never be mine because she belonged to someone else.
And then she didn’t.
Had I not run away like a little bitch, it would be my arms comforting her, my kisses silencing her worries, my heart refilling the pieces of hers that had been stolen.
That’s what I wanted. I wanted it to be me. And now she knew. There was no hiding it anymore. No reason to, either. I’d held back from confessing this secret because I didn’t want to ruin a marriage. But Hunter did that all on his own with his lying, his gambling, his neglect. To think I had respected him enough to stay away. Asshole. At least he was out of the picture now. But if London knew what I knew, she’d be even more devastated. Or maybe she’d hate him the way she should.
Then there was Bryce. Which shouldn’t have mattered. He was irrelevant in this equation. Even the thought of her with him made my blood boil. Hunter had been her husband—that I learned to live with. But now she’d given herself over to another man. Another man who wasn’t me, and to make matters worse, I had to pretend it didn’t bother me. Make believe I was some gossipy girlfriend who wanted to hear all the details about her new guy.
Talk about taunting. That morning when I had to listen to her gush over him and see her all giddy about sleeping with him, it took every ounce of control not to tell her how I felt. In hindsight, maybe I should’ve. Maybe whatever was blossoming between them wouldn’t have gone any further. I stepped aside once before, thinking her feelings for another man would pass. But those feelings only grew stronger until she married the fucking dude.
I couldn’t let that happen with Bryce. Who was this guy anyway? Why was he standing in my way? I’d known her longer.
I had to fight the urge not to scream, It’s not fair! I knew her first! like a child having a tantrum. Instead, I marched to the liquor cabinet and poured a glass of Scotch. I tossed it back in one gulp and yelled out, “Motherfucker!” The burn of the alcohol and of my pride ripped through me, but I emptied another helping of the poison into my glass and cursed some more. Thankfully, my mother was in Florida with some Bunco friends for the week. I could drink myself silly and lose my shit without an audience. How perfect.
But I didn’t want to lose my shit. I wanted to be next door with London, holding her, telling her I was sorry for acting like a jerk and letting her know it was only because I was so frustrated she didn’t love me back.
Will she ever love me back?
I didn’t have a goddamn clue, but what I did know was that I was going to fight for her, for once and for all.
Ten years earlier
This was stupid. I had nothing to be scared of. London was my best friend. Asking her to the school dance wouldn’t be weird at all. She didn’t have a date and neither did I, and I knew for a fact she wanted to go. If you really thought about it, I was doing her a favor.
Mostly, I was doing myself a favor.
Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely loved what London and I had. It was a good gig, a perfect relationship. Minus the physical stuff, of course.
London and I had been inseparable for almost seven years now. I couldn’t remember a time when we weren’t doing homework together or walking to and from school, talking each other’s ears off. Every year we trick-or-treated together until it was too lame to dress up so we stayed home to hand out candy while watching scary movies. We snuck out to house parties together, shared oversized T-shirts, followed the same cover bands around like groupies, and told each other everything.
Well, if I was being honest, not everything.
London had no idea that I was truly, madly, deeply in love with her. Yes, I wanted to stand with her on a mountain, to bathe with her in the sea. She loved that song, by the way. And I loved it because she did, even if she played in on repeat for a week straight. What were best friends for, you know?
I threw my keys onto the hall table after shutting the door behind me. Mom was at work and I should probably start my homework—I had a dumb paper on Thornton Wilder’s Our Town due in two days. London was supposed to be helping me—as per usual—but today she stayed after school for some theater club thing I had no idea she was interested in.
Maybe I was losing my best-friend-touch, or maybe I’d been so consumed with thinking about asking her to the dance that I clear forgot about the theater club thing. Either way, I couldn’t wait for her to get home in an hour. Today was the day. I was going to ask her, and I knew she’d say yes. I mean, who wouldn’t say yes to this stud? If London said no, I had plenty of girls to choose from. But even if there were hundreds of girls vying for my attention, there was only one I cared about.
One hour turned to two and I waited at the window like a neglected puppy. When she finally strolled down the block, smiling ear-to-ear with her hands gripped tightly at the straps of her backpack, she bypassed my house and went straight next door to hers.
What the fuck? Her mom was working. God only knew where Memphis was. There was no car in the driveway. London hated being home alone. She was supposed to be here. Helping me with this stupid paper, saying yes to my invitation to the dance.
Whatever. Maybe she had to go to the bathroom or something. That hadn’t mattered when we were kids, but as we got older she was more private about certain things. I’d give her a few minutes.
But a few minutes elapsed into a half hour and I couldn’t sit still anymore. I didn’t want to wait. I grabbed my backpack and flew out the door, jumping over the short bushes that lined our two properties for privacy. They hadn’t been necessary for a long time.
Her front door was unlocked, so I walked right in like I usually did. I expected to enter a quiet house, especially if London was still in the bathroom. But I could hear pacing footsteps above me, and she was talking. She always paced when she was on the phone.
I hitched my backpack higher on my shoulder and started for the steps. “Hey!” I called out. She scared easily and I’d been known to give her a near heart attack once or twice by not announcing my presence.
But she didn’t answer, she just kept talking, giggling, babbling, and rambling. Teenage girls, I laughed to myself, approaching her bedroom and bringing my hand up to knock on the door before entering.
“Oh my God, he’s so cute, isn’t he? I mean, cute isn’t even the word. He’s definitely not like the other guys at school.” Another string of giggles, I couldn’t see her behind the door, but I knew she was curling her long, brown hair around her index finger.
I should’ve stopped listening then; it wasn’t right to eavesdrop on your best friend’s conversations. But we didn’t keep secrets from each other . . . unless . . . unless she was keeping the same secret I was keeping from her. Maybe the cute boy at school who wasn’t like any of the other guys was . . . me!
Blood pumped in my ears, making it harder to hear her. I leaned closer, my heart racing beneath my baseball jersey, my hope skyrocketing to the point I thought my head would explode.
The squeak of metal springs told me she’d plopped onto her bed and then she started to laugh again. “Uh, duh! Of course I’m gonna go.”
She had to be talking about the dance. Did she know I was going to ask her? Maybe I should barge in right now, all romantic-like. It might scare her at first, but if she was this eager for me to ask her, she’d get over that really quick.
I poised my hand on the doorknob and readied myself with a deep breath. This was it. After this day everything would change. Now that I knew how she felt—that we felt the same way for each other—my best friend would be my everything. She would finally be mine!
“Oh my God, Allie!” I froze at her swoony voice. “Hunter was so freaking sweet when he asked. He gave me purple roses and everything. He remembered they’re my favorite. I swear, I almost died.”
Died. Yeah, I knew the feeling because I almost died right there, too. Purple roses? Hunter?
My hand dropped from the door knob but my heart dropped even lower. Hearing her words and simultaneously losing all hope hurt worse than seeing my father pack his shit and walk out of my life.
Hunter Thompson? Really? She was going to the dance with that blond-haired tool? I knew he liked her. I saw them talking a few times in the halls at school, but . . . really? How had I missed this? How did I let her slip away?
“Okay. I should probably go, too. I promised Sam I’d help him with the Our Town paper.”
I quickly collected my heart off the floor and flew down her steps three at a time. I couldn’t let her know I heard her. I needed time to compose myself before I faced her again.
Instead of going back home where I knew she’d find me in a few short minutes to make good on her promise, I took my backpack and my broken ego and aimlessly roamed the neighborhood.
I wandered and brooded. I remembered standing outside her bedroom door not moments ago, thinking everything would change after today. She was going to be mine.
Turned out, though, I had a lifetime of wandering and brooding ahead of me. And everything did change after that day. Only not in my favor.