Bent not Broken (295 page)

“Celeste, just so you know,” he says as he tilts my chin back further and runs his calloused fingertips up my cheek to tuck a strand of errant hair behind my ear. His hand fits itself along my jaw. “That kiss...that kiss was exceptional, and I'll never forget it. As I stand here and as long as I live, it was the best I've ever had, the best I could ever have.”

Since my heart has lodged itself firmly in my throat, he's gone before I can speak or even form a coherent thought for that matter. Slowly, I shake my head at his retreating back. We'll never get back to normal if he keeps touching me and talking to me like that.

Three

It’s Just Physical

“I CAN'T BELIEVE you called me over here after the night I had,” Bonnie complains as she slams my door.

“And good morning to you,” I say happily as I wrap up my latest blog post.

“Are you working?” She says this like one would ask,
“Are you crazy?”

Rolling my eyes at her endearing theatrics, I respond with not a little sarcasm, “Um...yes, dear. Why is that so surprising?”

She flings herself and her oversized purse onto my perfectly arranged cushioned couch, bringing my attention to the crystal blue pattern on the pillows which immediately remind me of a set of gorgeous troubled eyes. I jump up to get us some refreshments. “Oh, right!” she yells after me. “You left early. Girl, you have no idea how Bourbon Street was jumping last night. I haven't seen it that crazy in forever. I really wish you would've stuck around. I can’t remember the last time I’ve drunk that much. I was in rare form.”

I snicker. When she drinks, she's not that far off from her regular personality. Just a little louder about it. “It's been a long while since we've been out,” I remind her. I make my way back into the living room with our drinks.

“Thanks,” she replies skeptically as she squints at her water. “What the hell is floating in my water?”

“Cucumber slices,” I say with a shrug.

“Who puts cucumber slices in their water?”

“I do,” I reply with a smirk. “Just shut up and drink it. It's delicious.”

“Yeah, it’s been too damn long since we’ve been out. I think guys have morphed into more macho, more badass versions of themselves. Geez, did you get a look at the Dog Tags' drummer last night? You think Adrian can introduce me?”

“To Garner?”

“Is that the drummer’s name?” I nod. “Yeah, him.”

“I don't know. Are you gonna let the ink dry?” I ask her with a quirked eyebrow.

“Pssh...we've been separated for years. The papers were just a formality.”

I frown at myself. “I know. I'm so sorry. That was rude of me. I know how torn up you were over your marriage ending.”

She waves a hand at me. “It's all good. I know you didn't mean it like that.”

“I really didn't. Let me pose that question a little more delicately—do you think you're ready to date?”

“Yes, honey. I'm ready to date; however, I'm not looking for anything more than a good time, which is why that drummer is perfect.”

Sudden laughter bubbles out of me with that statement. She's looking for something fun, not something serious. I totally get that. Wouldn't ever seriously act on that impulse myself—but totally get it. Last night doesn't count because it wasn't pre-meditated.
Time to get rid of this
, I think. “I did something stupid last night,” I confess.

Giving me an inquiring look, Bonnie angles her head ever so slightly. “This doesn’t have anything to do with Adrian, does it?”

She knows me so well, too well. “What do you mean? Why would you say that?”

“Well, just before the band was headed back to the stage, Adrian asked me to go check on you. I told him you messaged me that you were leaving in a cab.” She narrows her eyes at me, assessing me. “And he seemed kinda pissed.”

“What?” I gasp.

“Yeah, he told me,” she drops her voice an octave or two and throws her hands up in air quotes, “‘I should've fucking known better.’ I didn't get it, and when I tried to question him about it, he told me not to worry and that he would check on you tomorrow.”

“Hmm...well,” I take a deep breath, roll my shoulders, and begin, “I guess he was pissed because he kissed me.”

“He what?” she practically shrieks.

“Technically, I kissed him first, but he took my simple, spur-of-the-moment kiss and turned it into something entirely different; and now he's mad at himself about it because he's full of regret and fear.”

Bonnie just stares at me with her mouth open for a moment. She looks over at my arrangement of photos for a couple of beats and finally looks back at me. “Are you freaking kidding me? You kissed Adrian ‘freakishly amazingly beautiful, broody, black sheep, I could take your clothes off without ever moving a muscle’ Hebert, and then he kissed you back?”

“Yes.”

“Screw the monosyllabic answers, Celeste. I want every single, solitary detail. Be very,
very
specific. Specificity is the name of the game here, understand?”

“Yes, Bonnie, I understand. I wouldn't dare leave out one single detail for fear that you would hack into my computer and give me, all my fellow bloggers, and all our faithful followers viruses of Homeric proportions.” I then proceed to tell her every sordid detail of my little back porch tryst with Adrian. The irony is not lost on me that this is definitely a first: she was always the one entertaining me with her antics when we were in college.

“So,” I sum up, “it was obvious that he regretted it and tried to console me then and there. I wouldn't let him. How could I? I'd just had the most amazing kiss of my life. And he’s been so wonderful to me and the boys. He’s been there for us like no one else, Bon, and I can’t imagine my life without him.” I shake my head and groan a little. “I lied to him, Bonnie. Told him that I'd had too much to drink and that I’d been feeling lonely. That's not like me, but I was afraid if he knew how much I wanted him we wouldn't have stopped. And that would be a mistake...a huge mistake.”

Bonnie hadn't moved a muscle during my detailed, vivid description of my little exploit. Now, she focuses her eyes on me and that never fails to scare me.
Oh, no!
I'm in trouble. She has an uncanny ability to see beyond words, beyond composure to read your exact thoughts, sometimes reading thoughts you hadn’t even fully realized yourself. She's excellent at this with everyone. She's a master with me. “Celeste,” she says my name so seriously it scares me a little as does the fact that she's grabbed my hand, “you're in love with him.”

“Wh…What?” I stutter and give a high-pitched giggle. “No. No, I'm not. I told you it's just physical. Purely physical. And I can control my actions from here on out. I just needed to get it off my chest. That is the only confession I'm making here. I'm
not
professing my love for him.”

“You don't have to profess it, sweetheart.” Her voice is sugary sweet, meaning she's not buying a word of what I'm saying. “It's written all over you. It was tangible with every word that you just uttered.”

Her words give me pause. Am I in love with Adrian? He’s amazing. He’s pure hearted. He’s gorgeous. It’s true I do love him but as a friend, and I can’t picture us having a relationship. It would never work. I shake my head at her. “Look, I know you're typically an expert on how I feel, but you've got it all wrong this time. I’m attracted to him, but I'm not in love with Adrian. I love him, yes, but as a friend, not romantically or whatever.” My hand punctuates this stance with a careless wave.

“No, darlin'. That's how you felt about Tripp.”

I snap back like she just slapped me. “No,” I state.

“Yes,” she insists, “you made the best out of an arranged marriage.”

My voice snaps like a whip with indignation. “I was not in an arranged marriage!”

“Maybe not in the strictest sense of the concept, but I can't think of anything closer. You knew from the time that you were old enough to know what marriage was that you were expected to marry Tripp, did you not?”

“Yes,” I mumble.

She doesn't let me off the hook. “You weren't in love with Tripp, Celeste. You married him because that was what was expected of you.” Her voice gentles. “Tell me I'm wrong.”

“Don't say we didn't have love. We had love,” I protest weakly.

“You had a lovely respect, which was respectfully lovely; however, you didn't have a love like married couples are supposed to have, Celeste.”

“If I admit that, it's like admitting my children weren't formed out of love, Bonnie. I can't do that.”

“Fine. I’ll rephrase—you did love him, but you loved him like a friend. Your friendship with Tripp was unbelievably wonderful, and he was a good guy. But neither of you were in love with one another. I think you know that deep down. I think that's why you slept with Scott during college even though you knew it couldn’t go anywhere since you were practically betrothed to Tripp. You had the hots for him and it could’ve been more if you'd let yourself explore it. You knew you'd never feel that way for Tripp, so you reached out and experienced that little bit of passion before settling in with Tripp.”

Holy shit! This woman!
My mouth forms a tight line and I give a little shake of my head. I tsk, “You're right, Bonnie, about everything—except for your misguided insight into my feelings for Adrian. It really is just a physical thing.”

The cat that ate the canary, she grins slyly at me and asserts, “Famous last words...”

“Seriously. Drop it.”

“If it's only physical, why don't you get it out of your system?” she challenges.

“Umm...that would not be a smart path to pursue. You know as well as I do what happens when you complicate relationships with sex. Besides, we couldn't be together even if we wanted to.”

“And why on earth not? You're both consenting adults. You've both been in relationships and are mature and would treat each other with respect.”

“One word—family. Tripp's family would not tolerate that. They would make things difficult for my family. It would be bad all the way around.”

Bonnie purses her lips for a moment before asking, “Why would they care? Who would y’all hurt?”

“They would care because of who his father is. It may not make sense, but that’s the way they operate. Adrian is finally working his way back into the family fold and sleeping with me is a surefire way to get him compared to his father and ostracized further. I wouldn't put that on him. They're finally starting to accept him, and I know that's something he wants. That's the whole reason behind his reaching out to Tripp a few years back.”

“Ah...You never really went into detail on that.”

“Well, it’s important to him. Even though he wants nothing to do with the family business, he wants to know his family, and when he decides to have his own, he wants his children to know their heritage. So Tripp stepped in and championed him to get the family to open up to him. Adrian's done the rest on his own, though.”

“So why not a little hidden affair? No one would be the wiser except for me. You know I would keep my mouth shut.”

A cynical laugh escapes before I can control it, and I roll my eyes at her ridiculousness. “Umm...did we just meet? Because you know my family. Hiding anything in my family is as far-fetched as an Oasis reunion tour. Shoot...my family makes the Ewings look like the Cleavers.”

Bonnie has the nerve to freaking chuckle at me. Like I'm over-exaggerating or something! “You're so right, girl! What was I thinking? Why would they care, though?”

“They care about everything that has anything to do with image and public opinion.”

She leans in and stares me down. “I know you’ve been programmed not to question your family, Celeste, but they shouldn't be in charge of your entire life. And I know there's a little rebellion hiding in there, girl!”

That’s because questions could end you. “Me? Rebellious? You've known me since we were eight. When have I ever been rebellious?”

She ticks her fingers off as she counts the ways. “I've already offered Scott as exhibit A. Exhibit B I don't see any little Charles Andrew Hebert the effin' fourth running around here—not one of your kids has a pretentious name. C, you drive a freakin' red MINI with racing stripes and three kids in tow. D, Rock 'N' Roll blares out of your speakers when you're in that overly priced private school pick up line, and…I forgot what letter I was on, anyway, you weren't just a little trophy wife. You’ve made your own way on your own terms.”

Well, damn, when she puts it that way, I guess I have been a little rebellious. “Trophy wife? Me? You know what that term means, don't you?”

“Get over it; you're gorgeous! Everyone knows it, and you should too.”

“I'm not ugly; I know that. We'll just leave it at that, all right?”

Her tone becomes dreamy as she insists, “Celeste, you're young and beautiful. You had to deal with one of the most excruciating things a person, a wife could ever have to deal with. I can’t even imagine standing by and watching someone you care about being eaten away by cancer and that rapidly. But, as usual, you put yourself aside and did everything you could for him and for your family. If anyone deserves to have a little fun and get what they want in the meantime, it’s you. You need a little adventure—”

Ready to end this conversation, I throw her my Hail Mary of protests, “He's not even thirty years old, Bonnie!”

“So...how old is he exactly?”

“Um...that doesn't matter! He's not even thirty and I'm thirty-seven. Hello? Freakin' cougar, anyone?”

She rolls her eyes at me. “Cougars are old bitches with leathery skin, lips like an overinflated raft, and a plastic surgeon on speed dial. Your mother? Perfect cougar material.” I laugh, thinking we have changed the subject. I should've known better. She asks between her teeth, “How old is he exactly?”

“He's twenty-nine,” I mutter petulantly.

Her laughter causes my eyes to cut over to her swiftly. “When’s he gonna be thirty?”

“Not for several months.”

She throws her hands out as if sensing victory. “So, y’all are eight years apart. That is NOT a big deal, especially when you're in your thirties.”