Moments In Time: A Collection of Short Fiction (33 page)

I just drove away from a man who truly loved me.

As I crossed the New York border and entered Pennsylvania, I mulled over that fact as I noted the welcome sign that read,
You have a friend in Pennsylvania.
That was when it hit me.

No, I don’t.

I just left my friend, my best friend.

Without a second thought, I took the next exit and turned my car around to head back the way I came.

Back to him.

I pulled into Grayson’s driveway and jumped from the car, then hurried to the door and rang the bell. The door opened and there he was: my beautiful friend and my one true love.

He stood in the doorway, his body stiff as his eyes widened with surprise, and then concern. “Soph? Are you okay? I thought you were going home.”

I looked into the eyes of the man I loved and gave him the biggest smile I could. “How could I? I already am home.”

Grayson relaxed, then he smiled and pulled me to his chest. Holding me tightly, he pressed his lips against my hair and breathed out, “Thank God.”

About the Author

Family and friends are the most important things to Joanne Schwehm. She enjoys meeting new people, traveling, reading, relaxing on a beach and shopping. She has an addiction to coffee and Diet Coke; you may want to stand clear if she hasn’t had her daily intake!

Writing has been something that has been private and not shared until the day
she decided to publish
Unexpected Chance
. Waking up one morning to the voices of Alex Logan and Aubrey Ryan changed everything!

She is an avid sports fan, especially when it comes to the New York Yankees. She
also enjoys playing and watching golf.

She firmly believes wh
en that unexpected chance comes, take it. Don’t let it pass you by. You never know what you could be missing.

Joanne may be found on social media at:

Facebook:
Joanne Schwehm Author

Twitter:
@JSchwehmBooks

Google+:
plus.google.com/+JoanneSchwehm

Website:
www.joanneschwehmbooks.com

Books by Joanne Schwehm include:

Chance Series

Unexpected Chance

My Chance

Other Books

Ryker
(coming July 8, 2014)

by Chelsea Camaron

Edited by Asli Fratarcangeli

Proofread by Pam Berehulke

An ICU nurse takes a personal interest in a patient’s recovery, changing both his life and hers forever.

Chapter One

MaKenzy

“I love you dearly, but you come with a lot of stuff, Kenzy,” Jessika, my childhood best friend states as she pulls open the flaps of yet another box of books sitting in my living room.

“Not all of it will stay, I promise some will go back in storage. I haven’t seen most of this in so long, I want an opportunity to sort through it.”

Being back in Gardendale, Texas, again after being away the last ten years is nice. Moving and unpacking, not so much. I’ve spent my time away from my hometown going to nursing school on a scholarship in Houston, and then working at a hospital there. I have a new job at a hospital in Odessa as an intensive care nurse.

Jessika recently ended things with her fiancé and moved into a new apartment. I’ve signed my lease for the one-bedroom, one-bathroom apartment across the breezeway from her. It’s a tiny space, but it will work perfectly. I’ll be on a rotating shift at the hospital. My hours will be spent there more than here. When I am home, it’s going to be to sleep and do laundry, no need for something overly elaborate.

Walking through my front door, there is a small kitchen directly to the right. It’s basic—a sink, stove, refrigerator, countertop microwave, and cabinets. No dishwasher, which is going to suck, but the place is cheap enough. The bar area is for eating as there is no real dining space.

To the left of the entry door, is my bedroom. Its four plain white walls house my queen-sized bed and one dresser. Off the bedroom is the bathroom. It reminds me of a small hotel restroom. A toilet, a bathtub/shower, and a small counter with a sink. Nothing is fancy or overdone.

Just beyond the kitchen is the living room. There is enough room for a couch and chair, but not a full living room set. I’ve lined the right half of the main wall with one of my two bookshelves, putting the other on the wall to the right of that in the corner. Rather than have the space crowded, I bought a loveseat and a chaise longue. I’ve placed the chaise by the bookshelves diagonal to the corner, making a reading nook. The other half of the room has my loveseat, a small coffee table, and a television we’re hoping to figure out how to mount to the wall.

Jessika and I went to my storage unit that I’ve had for the last four years since my single mom moved to live with my aging and ailing grandparents. We brought all of those boxes over yesterday after we finished unpacking my usual stuff.

“This one is yours to unpack. You’ve really saved everything,” she states as she moves on, opening the next box.

Sitting down beside her, I look into the box of memorabilia. Finding my high school yearbook, I giggle as I pull out the annual. Opening the cover, I smile as I see my teenage doodles.

“You know he’s still here in Odessa right?” Jessika asks, looking over at me.

“Who?” I ask, not realizing who she was referencing.

“Maverick.”

Looking at the focus of my scribbles, I see the many ways I signed his name and mine together in overly girly, bubbly handwriting in my book of memories.

Maverick Slade Collins and MaKenzy Norelle Davis, together forever

Mrs. MaKenzy Collins

Maverick and MaKenzy

Hearts used to dot the i’s and clouds around our names added to the fluff of my high school scribbles. Living in the clouds, I was. Maverick was the popular guy. The football player, hot, and every teenage girl’s fantasy. He never knew I existed. I was the nerdy girl. Braces, a little curvy, frizzy hair, glasses, and no sense of style. Jessika and I have been each other’s only friend since around sixth or seventh grade when suddenly what you looked like mattered.

We both went to college and blossomed. She’s a gorgeous brunette with a thin face and strong jawline to pull off the pixie haircut she wears. Once pudgy, she’s now trim and fit. Given she’s a fitness instructor, she works hard to keep her size-four figure. Her washboard stomach does make me jealous.

My body is shaped more like that of a pear, and my black hair that wants to puff into a wild bush on top of my head is tamed only by anti-frizz serum and an hour every day with my hair straightener. My B-cup breasts are obviously nothing to brag about. My flat stomach isn’t fat, but definitely not defined, and starts the path to my hips and ass that puts me in a size twelve.

Jessika and I look nothing like we once did. She’s learned to embrace her small frame, and rocks skinny jeans with the best of them. I’ve learned that a push-up bra can do wonders, and to slim my hips I wear straight-leg dark-wash jeans, no flare, and certainly nothing of the painted-on skinny variety.

We’re two laid-back Texas girls getting established in life. We’ve both graduated from college and had our hearts broken. Her fiancé of two years couldn’t hold down a job and had no motivation in life to do anything for himself or her. She paid for her own damn engagement ring. Feeling used got old and she’s moving on.

My college sweetheart and I spent five years together. Five years of loving, trusting, and building a life together. Apparently, he didn’t get the memo that we were in a monogamous relationship. So while I spent five years living in the clouds of a happily ever after with him, he was busy spreading his seed far and wide around the Houston area. When not one but two of my coworkers popped up pregnant within two months of each other—both of them by my live-in boyfriend—I had to face some facts.

In all of this, I found out that in the five years we were together, he was only faithful approximately one year, if I’m being generous. Sex addiction, he calls it. Stupidity, irresponsibility, selfishness, immaturity, greediness, and any other way I can describe his inability to own up to his mistakes and his inability to keep his damn dick in his pants, that’s what I call it.

I tried to stay in Houston, but it wasn’t the same. My coworkers were constantly having catfights over him and his child support. Everywhere I turned, I felt his infidelity slapping me in the face. He wasn’t all that in the bedroom, so why they were so hell-bent on being the one he was with was beyond me. He gave me a handful of orgasms over the years, but nothing earth shattering.

“Snap out of it.” Jessika’s voice rings out, taking me away from my thoughts.

“Sorry, I was thinking of how far we’ve come since high school.”

“And Maverick.” She smiles at me.

“He’s probably bald, overweight, and an asshole.”

“He’s still here. I see him almost daily at the gym. Sweetheart, he may be bald, but it’s by choice and a razor, not because he’s lost his hair. He’s far from overweight, unless you want to talk about muscle weighing more than fat. That man is ripped. He works for Titan on one of the oil rigs.”

She’s gushing so much I can’t stop the laugh I let escape. “How do you know all this?” I ask.

“He’s at the gym every day almost. And I may have taken a peek at his client file.” Her smile is filled with devious intent.

“You’re telling me all of this .
 . . why, exactly?”

“Just conversation,” she replies slyly.

“Conversation, my ass. He was a high school crush that never knew I existed, moving on.”

Maverick

Another long damn day and more shit to do when I get home. Since Mom passed away two years ago, I’ve had to help my dad more and more. He’s not been feeling good today and needs me to pick up a few things at the grocery store for him after work.

Mom had ovarian cancer. It wasn’t detected early enough. Even with treatment, she had a rapid decline and lost the battle within eight months of her diagnosis. Pops has been lost ever since. Thirty years with the same woman and suddenly she’s gone. He’s bitter, sad, and lately he’s quite demanding without her. He’s certainly not the man I grew up with, but heartbreak will do that to you, so they say.

Going over his list in my head, I park my lifted Chevy Silverado in the back of the lot where I can easily occupy two spaces. Grabbing a towel from behind my seat, I wipe my hands one more time. Even though I scrub them before leaving work after the hours spent on a rig, I swear I have oil coming out of my pores.

Making my way through the rows of cars, I stop when I hear someone call my name. Turning, I look to see Tonya at a cart return. She’s in jeans so tight they looked painted on. Add high heels, a shirt that is just as tight as her pants and so low cut, I’m amazed her boobs don’t fall out. Her wavy brown hair is down and her makeup slightly overdone. She’s got a nice body, and she talks a good game. In the end, though, she’s rather boring in bed. She’s not a terrible lay, but she’s far from adventurous. Yeah, I tapped that. Well, to be honest, I’ve tapped her and just about every other pussy in this town.

Trying to keep on my path inside, I give a quick wave to Tonya, hoping that mild acknowledgement will appease her. Wrong! She’s doing some crazy half-running thing over to me. Shit! Her boobs are bouncing as I watch, waiting for her to fall and bust her ass in those shoes.

“Mav, wait,” she squeaks as she hurries over to me.

“Hey, Tonya,” I say when she’s in front of me.

“Just getting’ off work, I see.” She smiles hungrily at me.

Well, Captain Obvious, I’m filthy, and it’s dinnertime. It’s a weekday, I work on an oil rig, so common sense says I’m here straight from work. Rather than be a total ass about it, I merely nod in agreement.

“I bet you’re hungry after a hard day’s work. How ’bout you come over to my house and I’ll cook for you?” she asks, her invite laced in undertones of more than dinner.

“Not tonight. I really gotta get goin’, but thanks.”

Rather than wait for more from her, I walk on past her and into the store. After getting a cart, I make my way over to the produce section. Lost in thought, trying to remember my dad’s damn list, I’m not paying attention to everything around me. Stopping at the bags of salad, I don’t look up as I push my cart in front of me so I can lean down to grab the right bag. I feel the cart bump something and hear a slight whimper.

Looking up, I smile at the woman in front of me as she turns around to face me. Whoa, I didn’t expect the anger she’s got going on over an accidental bump.

“Slick, watch out, why don’t ya? I’m sure this little ploy of yours works on every other chick, but not me, okay? So think about that next time.”

“Slick, huh? Well, my friends call me Tapper, but whatever. I’m sorry, it really was an accident, not some ploy,” I say, lifting up the bag of mixed greens so she can see I was getting something.

“Apology accepted, moving on. Have a good day, Mr. Tapper.” She smiles and it hits me who she is. She pushes at her cart and I hear her mutter, “Appropriate name, Tapper, humph.”

“Kenzy,” I call out to her back as she’s strolling away from me. Her gorgeous dark hair swings around her as she turns back to face me. Confusion etches her features as she doesn’t recognize me. “Maverick,” I say, introducing myself.

“Oh my, you’re…um…dirty,” she says, covering her mouth in embarrassment of her unfiltered response.

“Baby, you have no idea,” I reply with a smile and a wink. “You look good, Kenzy. It’s been a long damn time.”

“Y-yeah,” she stutters, watching me. Composing herself, she smiles finally. “I just moved back.”

“Good, I’ll see ya around then.”

“Sure thing.” She turns back to her cart and heads off to finish her shopping, her ass swaying with each step.

I can’t help but want to take my hand to that ass and make it a nice shade of pink. Kenzy has certainly grown into a beautiful woman from her awkward teenage years. She had an innocent, but definitely rough beauty in her youth. One that you had to see past the outer appearance to the heart of the girl. Now she’s carrying herself in a refined but shy way. I don’t think she realizes how gorgeous she is.

A loud throat clearing and a cart running into my ass tells me I’m still shamelessly staring. I turn around and get a raised eyebrow from a little old lady.

I give her a wink and move out of her way, realizing I’m looking forward to bumping into Kenzy again.

Chapter Two

MaKenzy

Being back home hasn’t been as hard of an adjustment as I anticipated. It’s been three months and I am finally remembering which cabinet is which for my plates, pots, and pans, and in general I’m getting comfortable.

My job is a thirty-minute drive in traffic, and so far I’ve fallen into place easily with my station. The rotation of days, nights, and weekends makes having a social life somewhat difficult. Given I’m not in a place to want any of that right now fits in fine for me. Plus, night and weekend differential pay is an awesome bonus to my savings account.